I’m Bored

Not even one full week into summer vacation and my kids are bored. The pool has already lost its luster, every morning has become an iPod filled disaster, with cries of “He destroyed my house!” (Mind Craft reference), every night, which is still filled with sports, ends up later than the one before, every morning feels earlier…

If this is what my summer is going to be like, I’m screwed. Worse, I’m screwed with no personal time to regroup from the constant fighting. That is, unless you count the two hours my husband gave me, the other night, so I could make returns and go food shopping. He first offered to let me go to hockey myself, so I could veg out on the stands. Nice, but I needed to get some things done, so I suggested he take all the kids to hockey and let me go run some errands.  Whoopdeedoo, folks!  (I swear if I see him leave for work, dressed for golf, one more morning, I might have to beat him down. Kidding! Sort of.)

Of course, I’m stealing some time now, after a crazy morning, a boring day at the pool, where, at least, Second Son didn’t harass me for something from the snack bar, which he’s done every single day since we’ve started going to the pool. But, I only ended up on the computer, instead of cleaning my house, like I really should be doing, because I was searching for summer camps.  I know, I’m a bit late to the game, but my romantic notions of lazy, unstructured, happy summer days have abruptly been displaced by reality.

And reality in my house is non-stop fighting, eating (except when they should), electronics, and some obnoxious show my kids have started watching called “The Regular Show”.

Is it possible that I was really looking forward to this?

So, after first being denied the cheapy summer parks camp because it was full, it is now open, and Second Son is going, without hesitation, meaning I think he’s just as excited to get away from us, for the morning, as we are to get away from him.  Teasing and screaming can be exhausting!

I’m hoping we’ll find our groove, eventually.

 

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