It's been a long August here, with no camp for Caleb, insanely hot outside. I'm not always sure to do during these long, formless days. We wind up with scenarios like this:
Caleb (reading from a fast food bag): What's all over the house?
Me: Dog hair.
Caleb: No. A roof. [Frowns]. Obviously.
Caleb: What always ends everything.
Brandon: [Raises eyebrows.]
Caleb: The letter "g."
We can barely stand it.
Call me a rigid old wingnut, but I've realized that I'm happiest when I know what I should be doing. This week is the last before school starts and the parenting is easy. We've been shopping for clothes (poor child has had a growth spurt, bursting out of his size 7s like the Incredible Hulk), snatching up school supplies (he insisted on getting his own tape so let wouldn't have to rely on the teacher's), and getting in what time we can at the pool.
Someone in the neighborhood set up a Slip and Slide the other night, and all the kids were out late while the adults milled around with our drinks. The air definitely had that last hurrah feel to it. It was buggy and we all had stuff to do, but we lingered out there because this wouldn't last much longer. Less than a week, and we'd be be forcing the kids into showers and laying down the law with bedtime, but this night, we could be loose, with our beers and our slippery kids and the knowledge that we were in the right. This is what you do when, and because, summer ends.