It's been pretty slow here.
We're into the thick of summer, and the busiest days have had maybe a couple of two-hour blocks of Somewhere to Be.
I won't lie... there has been talk of 'boredom,' and moments when I questioned the sanity of this much time with this particular crowd of littles - bumping into each other, shooting invisible weapons, jumping onto furniture, flopping onto the floor begging for Something to Do.
In retrospect, though, I will remember the thrill of the lull, bucking trends by doing little that is planned. They will paint it a shiny shade of memory it and tell their own children, "when I was Your Age, we entertained Ourselves and were Grateful!"
Pools have been good, and still exciting. We have been to five or six of them, relying heavily on invites from others. Next year, (she says each year) must have a membership. Summertime, with water, is magic and happy, with exhausted children tumbling into bed. Without water, there is a lot of general oppression, broken up with trips to the library.
We've done that, too: library visits. The third week of break, (I think. I have lost count, and calendars elude me in the summertime.) Sebastian learned bridge at a library-provided week-long (free! two hours a day!) workshop. On the last day, we forgot him - each adult certain the other was picking him up. Two hours later, we figured out we were both wrong.
The Summer My Parents Left Me at Bridge Camp might be a sad future college essay, or at least fodder for comedic self-deprecation, if he we weren't so completely unfazed. I guess he has come to expect such from us. His combined affection for books and the absence of siblings helps. Still. There is something especially pitiful and nerdy-kid perfect about being abandoned at library bridge camp.
There was a lemonade stand. Home-made from the juice of twenty lemons, sold with oatmeal butterscotch cookies. It was sticky, and hot, and we made a tidy profit, in spite of the failed yard sale that provided the backdrop and excuse.
There was a living room fort so inviting that Annabeth slept there. Once with a friend, once for a nap, and a night alone. A coffee table, blanket tenting, a few pillows. It seemed hot to me, claustrophobic, and hard. She loved it. I fought reason and order and left it there. For days.
There was a sketchy drive-in theater, with lawn chairs and popcorn, car speakers turned up loud, a surprising breeze, glimpses of truly inappropriate movies on other screens, and a bed time perilously close to midnight.
For them, there have been sleep-overs. Grandmother, neighbor, godmother. Mini-vacations from the rest-of-us, mini-glimpses of freedom and someone else's pancakes.
For me, there have been job interviews - not yet fruitful, but competent other mom, hair done in the middle of the day provides some novelty. (Never mind my running out of gas on the way to my networking interview. I was rescued: sweaty, beheeled, standing in the middle of the uneven parking lot of the mini-mart that I had thought had gas, but didn't. It did have bars on the windows and a dumpster out back where terrible things happened a month or so ago. It was not a place to be in poplin, pearls, and patent leather. My rescuer was perfect - and assuaged and delivered me.)
Next weekend there will be a long drive, and we will move this show to Maryland and Connecticut - where we are sure to do more of the same, plus extended family, cornfields, some boats, a zip line, nightly cocktails, goats, and maybe even a tent in the yard.
It is summertime. And it is good.