It’s the summer and that means we are going to fling ourselves into the car and drive somewhere fun instead of keeping to the Usual Habit of podcast and links on this bright shiny Monday morning. We’re going to shake it all up and record sometime later in the week when both our voices aren’t cracking, and we can talk for more than three minutes without wheezing. I will, however, be on The Ride Home with John and Kathy later this afternoon (4:40) chattering away about all my travels, if you want to listen in.
The point of summer, as far as I can understand it, is to so neglect your routine and the regular order of your life that when school finally rolls around again, and the cooler weather, you are so desperate for normalcy you stop complaining for thirty seconds and cling to tedium like an American UN official to Big Formula. Don’t make me breastfeed, you scream at the Ecuadorians, or I’ll impoverish you so fast..no wait, that has very little to do with starting school up in the fall, except for when you have children you do have feed them somehow, for years and years and years and years and years.
July, in other words, is going to be a whirlwind of crazy activity, and then in August we’ll settle down and never deviate from our routine ever ever ever again, at least until February when we collapse under the weight of the weather and all our sorrows.
The other point of summer is to cope with the two July birthdays—the sixteenth one and the twelfth one. Feel vaguely traumatized by this. Not sure why. It’s better for children to grow up, of course. And none of mine seem to be growing very tall, so that’s good. But…well…I guess I’m old enough to be your mother at a whole new level.
And now, oh my word, I have to dig through the pile of rubble to find shorts for the two kids who swear they have never had any and have never seen the ones they do have and they loathe the worthless ones in their drawer. Tinkerty Tonk.
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