I have something dreadful to admit: I have become a terrible mother.
No, seriously. On Monday, sitting at my desk, which is mere inches from the dining room table, where all three kids but especially Asher were super hyper and hooting and hollering, I bellowed, “Shut UP!”
Yes, I have reached a point where I yell at children to shut up from another room in the house.
But it’s not my fault! You see…
IT’S AUGUST.
[dramatic pause]
Why is August a problem? you might be asking. Except if you have kids, work at a school, or are otherwise involved in the academic or childhood arena, you aren’t asking this, because you already know.
August sucks.
Some of my friends’ kids have already started school. Some don’t start for another month. But in the life of all families, there is an August leading up to school resuming, whether it’s real August or not.
My kids are done with summer. I am done with summer. It’s been hot too long. Right now our air in California is filled with smoke so it’s hard to play outside without experiencing a day a little bit like that of those who lived in Pompeii and Herculaneum two thousand years ago. But I’m stopping to care because I CANNOT HAVE ONE MORE COMPLAINING CHILD IN MY HOUSE FOR ONE MORE MINUTE.
They are bored.
They are hot.
Can they use screens?
They are hungry.
Their sibling is bothering them and won’t go away.
They are bored.
They would like to use screens.
They couldn’t help but punch their brother because he wouldn’t leave them alone.
Can they eat something? No, not fruit. A popsicle.
They are bored.
It’s not fair that their now-bleeding brother gets to have a popsicle.
How come their sister got to use screens yesterday while they were stuck having no fun at all at a birthday party with treats, other kids, a clown, a circus pony, a swimming pool, more treats, a bounce house, more treats, and every freaking fun item in the entire world? They didn’t ask to go to that party–they wanted to have been able to be home, rotting, using a screen.
When is their friend coming home from his vacation?
They are bored. No, they don’t want a job to do, thank you.
Is he home yet?
They know I’m trying to type but they must flop over my lap, complaining, so that I can’t escape.
They would like to have a second popsicle.
They imagine he’s probably having fun using screens at his beach house.
They are bored.
They are bored.
They are bored.
THEY ARE BORED.
…and all of this is by 9:00 a.m.
I want to scream and scream, LOOK, I DON’T EVEN GET A SUMMER BREAK WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BUNCH OF MOPEY COMPLAINERS WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE THE ONLY SCREENS WERE WHEEL OF FORTUNE AND THE SHOPPING NETWORK IF WE WERE LUCKY ENOUGH TO EVEN HAVE THOSE AND I ONLY HAD A POPSICLE ONCE EVERY CENTURY BECAUSE I LIVED IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE AND WE BASICALLY JUST LIT FIRES IN THE BACKYARD FOR FUN NO SERIOUSLY WE DID
But it wouldn’t even matter because they’d be all, “We’ll watch Wheel of Fortune. Does that mean we can use a screen?”
And I also won’t because I’m already on thin ice since I’ve taken to barking shut up from where I am trying to figure out a way to reword a sentence I’ve been staring at for thirty minutes while people argue about whether or not THESE plastic monkeys are the monkeys from THEIR barrel that they did, yes, give their sibling yesterday but now of course want back.
How’s your summer going?
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