Marinated in the Last Days of Summer

I’ve seen some folks posting about “soaking up the last days of summer,” and I’m in a state of semi-confusion. I mean, I get that it’s awesome. Summertime that is. Lazy days. Hazy days. Sluggish, even. Perched on a sandy shore, lounging on a back porch, smelling the fruit of a grill’s labor, lying in the bed way past an alarm clock. Summertime is good. Summertime is good.

But I’m saturated, y’all.

I couldn’t soak up the blood from a turnip, even if I was poked with holes by a shark swimming in the Gulf.

I’m SATURATED. Full up of it.

(Maybe because I’m raising three kids and a husband in an almost mid-life crisis?)

I’m so saturated my go-to shorts are now all of the drawstring/elastic waist band sort. I’m over 15 pounds soaked up. Literally. The liver has about gone out and the guy at the corner store has learned to quit commenting on my “frequency” because he knows what’s good for him and his bottom line. Plus, I don’t need lip from another human bein’ right now and he might have finally learned his lesson. Keep quiet around mama.

My kids fight like they’re training for WWF. You know, that fake fighting but the attacked offended acts SUPER dramatic and the offender struts around acting SUPER sanctimonious. “That’s what you gets,” and “OMG my leg is bro-keeeeeen. For real this time! It’s brooooookens!” are the script du jour around this household. For the life of me, I cannot ref another round with these offspring of mine. Can’t. And not just because my elastic waisband is too tight to move…

Lunch during the summertime OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. “I’m hungry!” “What’s for lunch?” “I’m sick of BLT’s and PBJ’s!” Why didn’t Truett Cathy sprout somewhere along my family tree to offer me even more free Chic-fil-A than I already get?!? “NO WE CANNOT GO TO CHIC-FIL-A TODAY! Y’ALL USED ALL MY POINTS IN THE APP AND I AM NOT PAYING FOR LUNCH BECAUSE WE’RE NOT MADE OF MONEY AND IF WE EAT IT AGAIN OUR DRAWSTRING PANTS ARE GOING TO QUIT FITTING! LIKE BUST WIDE OPEN, PEOPLE!” It’s so much easier packing a lunchbox (remind me of this when I start fussing eight days in) that they open with chagrin half way through their school day and with nary an ear that cares what kind of grumbling they might have. It’s kind of their comeuppance when they go back to school. “Bet that BLT sounds pretty good right about now,” their lunchbox whispers as they eat cold ham and cheese slices with an apple all brown from being sliced the night before. Mwahhahhahahh! (Not to worry– I spring for the chemical laden apple slices that don’t brown at the beginning of the year. Heck, who am I teasing? I send those apples whole. They’ve got front teeth for a reason…) I offer a handwritten note as a band-aid and a white flag some days…

Just today my son informed me that, “Today was the most boring day.” The.most.boring.day. Oh these spoilt rotten chilrun. He had literally just jumped off the couch in the air conditioned living room with a bag of Cheez-its next to him and a half-charged iPad with every game under the sun on it including Netflix after spending a week at the beach with grandparents that gave in to his every whim and a weekend with his other grandparents that gave into his every other whim and I suh-wear that I was this.close.to.the.edge.of.explosion. I suggested he read a sight word or two, write a thank you to his Uncle Cody and Aunt Ashley (I finally got some airmail stamps, y’all!) for his birthday gift, or go clean his room, and then his boredom was cured for a minute. But coming up with these ideas, y’all. I just can’t do it anymore, captain! (And hear me when I say: I feel NO need to entertain my children…they have to learn to do such on their own at some point, no?)

Our kids start back to school this week. I’m excited about this, y’all. I tell my husband every event on our calendar and ALL THE THINGS THAT WE HAVE TO DO THIS WEEK (which he adores when I do) and I kid you not, y’all, but this joker of mine plans a BACK TO SCHOOL PARTY. AT MY OUR HOUSE. What in the ever loving world? The summer heat must have gotten to him. I do love our friends that he coordinated this with. Like love, love. But oh my word! It’s like my husband wants to take the stress and multiply it exponentially– like he’s a dang stock trader or something. Risk taking, going out on a ledge, and expecting a solid return. While I love that he is finally getting things done around the house that have been needed to be done all summer (just kidding, honey, a little bit), my summer tank is on way full and I’m about to overflow.

So much for the solid return, hon.

I’m a liquefied pool of done. Full on saturation.

Bring on the school year!