Summer Update #2: If Only Everyday was Like Paris

Summer is a long 3 months, especially when you have small children.  There are the constant begging for food (Didn’t I just feed you this morning?), constant begging to go bother other people (a.k.a their friends’ moms), constant acknowledgement that you are boring and mean all at the same time and constant begging to veg out in front of the TV while their brain slides out of their ears.  Ah summer, natures little gift to mothers for 10 months of having a few hours to themselves.  That bitch!

At the last birthday party of the year, for one of Amber’s schoolmates, I was asked over and over where Amber was going to go to summer camp.  I always forget about summer camps, because I never went to one.  It is just one of those things I don’t think about until it is asked of me about a million times while I am trying to save my son from eating the play food at the Children’s musuem.  I have a feeling he is hungry.  I wonder what is the solution seeing as he eats about 10 times a day. 

If I was really smart I would take in all this information and make plans for the next summer, but I file it away in my delusional file in my brain where things go to be done but are really just shuffled around until they are lost and forgotten.  I was lucky this year, one of the moms told me about this great camp that is at Tulane University.  As she told me how great this summer camp was, I started to daydream of my fun summer:  long leisure alone time in the bathroom, the ability to eat my lunch without some crib midget begging for a taste then spitting it out proclaiming it disgusting, able to be on the computer without have someone tugging on me for attention only to have them ignore me the minute I get off, no hour long discussions about Spongebob and Squiward where you are sure you are going to die from the stupidity of it all and maybe, just maybe, you can go shopping without having to pull some little boy from under the dressing room or a little girl asking you about your deflated tummy really, really loud.  I had made a decision to rush home after the party and look it up on the Internet.  As I scrolled down the website, everything looked good.  I was slobbery so bad, I was scared my computer would short circuit. Then in one second the world stopped and my dreams crashed and burned on the side of the road.  The summer camp would cost me $1350 for 4 weeks of child freedom summer fun for my little darling.  That is just one kid; I would still have one  hanging from a limb all day.  Who knows why I thought this camp would be anything but expensive?  I mean it is only at one of the most expensive university in town and for all that they offered there was no way they were going to give it away.  A summer of whiny, cranky, yelling small people flashed before my eyes until I came up with the brilliant plan of compromise.  I would take them on the field trips that were available at the summer camp (we are members at most of them, anyway) and we would join a few choice classes on our own.  And I would finally, FINALLY, sign Amber up for Gymnastic class.  So not as great as the ultra expensive summer camp, but close.  At least, sometime would be chewed up and we won’t be staring at four walls trying to claw each others eyes out for kicks and giggles.

Then we have a day like today.  Three kid Wednesday was pushed to Thursday and we needed to buy some gifts for 2 little boys that will be having a birthday soon.  We were off on our first field trip of the summer, Toys R Us.  Okay, can someone explain to me why would they have a giant toy warehouse and either have nothing in stock or hide items to the point Indiana Jones, himself, couldn’t find it?  The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, forget it, how about where the hell are the My First Skates?  We took our time, carefully weighed all of our options and picked out gifts sure to drive the birthday boys’ mom crazy.  I would like to know which toys don’t annoy the crap out of parents, but instead I just pay it forward.  I mean we could give them a plastic bag to play with, but they have all those warnings on them.  Sure there were times when I wished for a choke chain and leash to keep those pesky kids with me, but mostly no one asked for this and that and oh yeah this over here a million times which made the trip a great success.  So in my good mood, I decided we would have lunch with that allusive creature called, Dad. 

We arrived at La Madeleine first, of course, and I placed our order. 

“I will have the chicken Parisian…SAM DON’T LICK THE PASTRY COUNTER…with a cup of tomato basil…WHERE DID SAM GO…Amber what do you want…AMBER WHAT DO YOU WANT….and yes, I will take the pasta salad…DAMMIT, WHERE THE HELL DID SAM GO…sure I will like the half sandwich….AMBER. WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT. Okay, they will have the pizza kid meal….Amber do you want orange juice, milk or lemonade?  Are you sure you want orange juice?  Gross.  Okay, give her the orange juice and…SAM IF YOU CAN’T STAY WITH US, YOU WILL GET NOTHING TO EAT(Sam runs off giggling).  *sigh* I think that will be it.”

Seeing that I was all alone with two raging lunatics, I received the royal treatment.  A nice man carried my tray to the outside patio where we would sit at a wobbly table and be tormented with the possibility of hot, boiling soup falling into our lap at any moment.  But then we sat down and there was a nice breeze and all the rest of it fell away.  The haunting of a troubled summer left my shoulders and the kids settled in and were quiet.  They ate their lunch without much fanfare and I was able to sit and enjoy a deliciously rich tomato basil soup.  We would share and talk and just relax.  At that moment, I could imagine ourselves at an outside cafe in Paris, except the servers were nice and no one gave the stank eye to the crude and rude Americans.  There was bustling all around us, but we could take our time and just enjoy our moment.  It was heaven for about 15 minutes, then Daddy showed up and the clamoring for his attention began.  Still my semi-calm state could not be wrenched from me.  We visited for awhile and then we all were off on our separate ways.

Maybe, I can do this summer thing without the aid of summer camp and our bank account screaming for mercy.  Maybe, we can enjoy our summer and not kill each other.  Of course, all of that is a bunch of maybes, so  I kept my promise of signing Amber up for 2 gymnastic classes a week for filler.  I do, however, have this haunting feeling that I have just traded my dance class torture for gymnastic torture.  But hey, I will keep the attitude positive until it is proven that, yes indeed, I do need to kill every mother in that damn gymnastic class. Or Sam needs to be pulled from the rafters.