Uh oh. Stick me squarely in the horrible mother category but I hate summer holidays. How do I hate them? Let me count the ways:
- The lack of a schedule. As much as I bitch about waking up at 6:30 every weekday, I'd rather do that then somedays 8am, somedays 9.
- The constant togetherness. I love my kids but I'm over them already after just 10 days in Europe.
- It's too long. Why can't we have two week holidays every couple of months all year long instead of this patience-sapping quarter of a year break?
- The "I'm boreds". Really? You want to go there with me, kids? You guys are preteens with friends, your own bikes, have 2 amazing parks and a swimming pool within a 5 minute walk/bike, but if you're still going to insist you're bored I have a rag and bucket with your ungrateful names on them and a garage that needs some attention...
- The fact that we have only one car and a 9 month old baby. Scott will take that car from time to time and leave me alone with the kids with no means of escape. And even if I could get away, I can't leave the kids alone and go shopping or meet a friend like I used to. So long sanity. I hardly knew ye.
- The money. When we can finally get out and do activities like museums or zoos, it invariably costs a small fortune. And for some reason these kids need feeding when they're out. Another King's ransom. Why, oh why is this lottery win taking so long?
So I'm trying to think of some solutions. I need to look for free admissions, activities they're interested in and and bring packed lunches. I'll have to suck it up and picnic (I hate eating outside) and beach (I hate sand in my shoes and/or stuck to my toes). I can set my alarm clock... now that I think of it I have to; the baby arrives at 8. And I'll just send the kids out a lot and fob them off on their friends' parents. Barring those ideas, there's a lock on the bathroom door and a bottle of cough syrup in the medicine cabinet. Desperate times, people. Summer = battle stations.