Tomorrow begins the first of the boys' last three days of camp this summer. After Thursday, they will be with me 24/7 until the end of August when school starts back up. I wish they went to year-round preschool.
It's not that I don't enjoy spending time with them, because I do. But I also like time to do things around the house without interruption and there are never enough hours in the day to get everything done. I had really high hopes at the beginning of the summer--the weeks that the boys were in camp I thought I'd really scrub the house, really work on my book, really organize the closets, really get a jump on the fall consignment sales. It's almost July and I haven't accomplished half of what I hoped to do, although I've been more productive than I would've if the boys had been home.
It's annoying that children get vacations that they don't need, but adults who sorely need them end up spending all their free time cleaning up after vacationing children.
I miss the summers of my childhood. Waking up late and playing outside with my neighbors until well after dark. Hide and go seek. Basketball. Softball. Roller skating laps around the subdivision. The annual trip to Myrtle Beach with my cousins. And the one summer I had nothing better to do than watch the movie Dirty Dancing over and over every day.
It's been a long time since I had an extended stretch of time that was totally mine to do with as a pleased. It was probably in the two months in 2000 that I strapped on a backback and traveled in a big loop around Europe by myself for two months. It was a little like a postmodern vision quest in a lot of ways, and was rejuvenating to my spirit. Very soon afterwards (a matter of weeks actually) I met Tom, and haven't thought of myself as a single entity since. With the addition of Sam and John, any free time I ever had for myself has gotten lost in the shuffle. Here's what I dream of--several hours where nobody needs me for anything and I can lay in a dark room and think my own thoughts all by myself without interruption. But the only way that would ever work is if Tom and the boys, and the dogs, and the cats left the house and were physically prevented from returning before a certain time.
I don't know about the rest of you mothers, but I can no longer really truly relax because I'm so used to being interrupted constantly. I've just given up. In the course of writing this one (relatively short) blog, John has unplugged the TV twice, and twice I've had to get up and turn Lady and the Tramp back on, I've fetched a bowl of gold fish and two sippy cups for the boys, retrieved the bowl of goldfish from the living room where they're not allowed, told Sam to stop sticking a blanket over John's head at least six times, put a meowing-for-absolutely-no-reason cat in another room and shut the door, and started our dinner... Now I have a headache, the blog isn't finished, I'm ready to send a certain 2-year-old to his room, and need a dose of extra strength Tylenol for the stress headache I have coming.
This is just a twenty minute segment of my day...