Seven Takes to a Fun Summer

It’s Friday! That’s Takes. This week, seven takes to surviving summer.

One
You know, because on June first the children announce to each other that that means summer, even though it is pouring rain and they can’t go outside and they have a month of school work left. And summer doesn’t officially begin for another three weeks. You tell them, again, to keep unloading the dishwasher because there is still lots of work to be done, and so one of them wanders away to go find his civilization ruining fidget spinner, another lies on the floor to moan about his general ennui with life, two other ones begin squabbling viciously over who will be forced to put the away silverware, and yet another one announces that she has too much other work to do and can’t participate.

You sigh, tell them all to get out, and unload that precious time saving machine yourself with your head phones in and your back resolute against yelling.

Two
It is June, really, and you look over the long bright days that will surely come once it stops raining, and know from the center of your soul all the way down to your fuzzy flamingo slippers that there’s going to need to be a routine. It won’t be ok to have kids just banging around asking for toast every thirty seconds and if they can just ‘check something on the kindle.’ How many times do you want to have to say, ‘What on earth do you need to check? You have no weather app, you don’t know how to navigate a calendar, time means nothing to you, and you don’t seem to love reading all that much, or can’t, so what are you going to check?’ You could stand around eternally waiting for the child to search the depths of herself looking for the name of something that isn’t a game, or, you could just plan on not having that be a thing. No. You’re going to need a routine.

Three
You outline the plan in your mind. In the morning, as soon as everyone is finally up, they will all make their beds and clean up their own lavish breakfasts of hot chocolate, eggs and toast, cereal, and crumbs all over the face of the kitchen. They will then take turns practicing piano and typing. They will actually get dressed for real and then put away their clothes properly. They will sit with an improving book for a while, at least five minutes. They will not argue with you about the relative merits of Garfield and Calvin and Hobbes. They will, this year, become people who read for pleasure and not because you are by turns shouting at them snd pleading with them. This is going to be the year.

Four
As part of the plan you decide to invest in water bottles to be taken to the park. You trundle pitifully off to stand in the Walmart Aisle (because either you’re boycotting Target or you can’t afford it any more, especially for something like Six whole water bottles) and consider the immensity of what you’re about to get yourself into. If you buy nice water bottles, they will Immediately be lost. Indeed, probably on the way to the park, even though there would be nowhere to put them down, three, at least, will be lost. But if you buy too cheep ones, they will break on the second park visit (still day one of the summer) and there will begin to be fights about whose was the broken one and about the relative ickiness of sharing. But if, as you consider this terrible reality, you break down and decide just to get a big flat of water already in bottles, you will feel the foul gaze and ire of the ordinary park dweller who, you know, wonders what kind of jerk you are, ruining the earth like that. As you drive home with no water bottles of any kind, you congratulate yourself on saving money and remember that college humor video about how it’s actually dangerous to drink too much water. Phew.

Five
You gaze over your calendar and think to yourself, ‘We should have some outings. We should do some Fun Things.’ You google Fun Things on your phone and then remember that getting children into a car and driving anywhere is not fun. It could be ‘good’ in the sense that becoming holy and more patient is good, but fun isn’t really a thing. So you recast all your outing ideas as educational. It’s better to keep everybody’s expectations low anyway. If you’re disappointed already, it’s more likely that you’ll eventually cheer up. ‘Look children,’ you say brightly, ‘We’re going to go visit all the revolutionary war sites within a hundred miles.’ They lower their brows and begin asking questions about the water bottles, and if they’ll have to wear shoes, and will you be buying them ice cream and souvenirs. You nod vaguely and promise, because you’re a horrible liar, ‘that no matter what, it will be Fun.’

Six
And, of course, you look over the house and garden and at all your own bookshelves and piles of paper, and the long rows of neat squares on the calendar and know, Know that this will be the year that you read all those books, and finish all the church, house, school, and garden projects you have saved up for when you ‘have more time.’ You promise all your friends that with the endless pearly days you’ll be free to pop out to the lake, and meet up at the park and library, and absolutely be free for lunch. You’ll start out hopeful, with a purposeful glint in your eye, charmed by the freedom and industry ahead of you. It’s going to be the rest you really need.

Seven
Three weeks into July you wake up in a restless sweat in the middle of the night and see the fatal flaw. Planning to simultaneously catch up your whole life and have the perfect summer rest are not the least bit compatible. Oops. You drift back to sleep and awake a mere forty five minutes later to the alarming, vigorous call and hammer of the woodpecker right at the window. He is so close, you could almost just reach out and grab him. But there’s a screen in the way, because it’s summer. Ah! But soon the cozy stillness of winter will be here! It’s just a month or so away. Chin up! And go check out more Takes!