It never ceases to surprise me how much stuff people do over the summer. I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does. Every. Single. Summer.
Summer Camp. Trips. Enrichment. Tutors. Lessons. Tennis. Swimming. Growing Gills. Karate. Competitive archery. Macaron craftsmanship. Soccer time. Sports crafts. Huckleberry worship. Cat farming. Boogaloo jumping. Mandarin-nymnastics. Treasure ball. Spork-florking. Human flight.
I love my kids. I love my kids. I love my kids. I suck at summer.
IT’S NOT MY FAULT (I experience this every year.) WHEN I WAS A CHILD THE SUMMER WAS A VAST WASTELAND OF NOTHINGNESS PUNCTUATED BY THE OCCASIONAL SERVING OF FRENCH FRIES WITH BEACH SAND ON THEM (I write about this every year like it’s happening for the first time.) CAN WE ALL AGREE TO KEEP OUR CHILDREN HOME ALL SUMMER SO THAT I DON’T HAVE TO FEEL SO BAD ABOUT MYSELF? (No? OK.)
(frenetic clickety-clacking of fingers on a keyboard)
Fiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnne. I did it. I enrolled my kids in a bunch of stuff and now we all have to slog them around in the hot streets and sweat our undercarriages off every three hours so that they can learn how to swim and be sportsmanlike and learn about stuff that’s important. Fiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnne.
Sidebar: if anyone has a really good source for saddlebags that would work on a human…you know, like those big bags that DONKEYS WEAR TO CARRY THE GIANT ICE-FILLED WATER BOTTLES OF THEIR BABY DONKEYS–I NEED SOME OF THOSE.
In case you were wondering, I am the donkey in this scenario.
(I love my children I love my children I love my children I will carry their water bottles to Hell and back if it means they will learn to swim this summer.)
p.s. I would still really like them to learn Mandarin-nymnastics though. Can someone invent that now please?
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