Mad Meg here with a few more signs that summer is still camping out, hanging on, and wrecking my sanity:
A) The muscles in my shoulders are like bunches of craggy rocks. So much tension, so many knots. Also, so many kids. Who climb so many fences. And who spread to the four winds anytime they leave the house. Why is the grass always greener elsewhere, people? Why?
B) Jack has been spraying lighter fluid on my car and ripping up our picture books, despite the fact that I am his constant shadow. He’s like a red-headed David Copperfield. Without the tight black pants and sexy white shirt unbuttoned halfway.
C) Charlie changes outfits seventeen times daily (a rough estimate). At the end of each day, the laundry pile looks like the Duggars moved in, and Charlie has literally no clothes left in his closet. So he moves on to pilfer from his brothers. He’s enterprising like that.
D) Everyone is bored with all the usual summer activities. Everyone wants fresh new entertainment daily. Everyone can get real and make themselves a frigging quesadilla.
E) The vacuum is nearly toast, dragged and stuffed and mangled to an early death by a certain nine-year-old with a vacuum fetish. But if he isn’t harassing the vacuum, he’s creating artwork in the medium of lighter fluid. I choose life, and a dead vacuum.
F) I currently skip all photos of people on summer vacations in my social media news feeds. Glad you’re having the time of your life in some gorgeous place, peeps, but I don’t want to see it. Moving along. Let’s get back to laundry and protecting the garage and interring the remains of the dismembered children’s books. Also, let’s get back to searching for the children who have left the building and are off climbing some neighbor’s fence.
G) It is still July, for hell’s sake.