Actual Unretouched Photo

Tomorrow is the last day before school starts.  As always, I am shocked at how fast summer slid past us.  Did we swim enough?  Did we soak up enough sun to last us through a gloomy winter?  Did we sleep in enough?  (My teenagers most definitely did.)

I took my 7-year old to the school for Open House.  We met her teacher.  She chose her desk (middle-center).  We stopped by the Book Fair and bought some books.  (Every book she picks out features a dog on the cover.)  And then we came home.

She’s not excited about school.  My seventh grader dreads school.  The teenagers have already started their online school with great reluctance.

But I’m excited about school because this means I can go to the grocery store by myself.

The wind blew away any traces of summer today.  Rain fell.  The scent of fall–or maybe it was just the scent of rain on our dry lawn–filled the air.

Good-bye, summer!  We hardly knew you!

What a weekend it was.

This morning I could see the Pacific Ocean and palm trees and by tonight I was descending beneath the Seattle clouds and then later, cleaning out kitty litter boxes.

There’s nothing like air travel to discombobulate a person.

Except, of course, the idea of picking up an entire household and transplanting it.

If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d explain.

I wish I could hire someone to impersonate me for a few days.

Don’t ask.

It’s complicated.

I would tell you how I spent my afternoon (cleaning my 12-year old’s room, buying ten pairs of shoes, driving behind slow cars to pick up an extra kid because FOUR IS NOT ENOUGH).

But I don’t have time.

More details tomorrow.  If I survive it.

UPDATE:  Too exhausted.  Maybe tomorrow.

My parenting style may be described as benign neglect.  Or, as I like to think of it:  Preparing the Kids for Real Life.

I tend to think that good moms make a nutritious well-balanced lunch for their children each day, using homemade bread and organic produce . I wish I were that good mom.  But I am not.

My twelve-year old son left the recliner where he’d been viewing “Dog the Bounty Hunter.”  As he passed the computer chair where I sat working, he said, “Mom, thank you for neglecting me.  Now I will cook my own lunch.”

I replied, “You are a bad person.”

So, that explains why he was in the kitchen.  He is neglected.  But resourceful.  See how beautifully this is working out?

He decided to scramble some eggs.  So I double-checked to make sure our eggs weren’t on the recall list and he and his 7-year old sister began cracking eggs.  He added pepper to the pan and some bacon bits and some cheese.  “What temperature should this be on?” he asked and I told him medium.

Some time later, he’d gone into the back yard to check on something and I wandered into the kitchen (probably for more Diet Coke) and I noticed the eggs looked awfully runny.

That is because he’d turned on the back burner but the pan was on the front burner.

A big glass mixing bowl was on the back  burner.  I’d put it there after washing it the night before so it could dry.  Someone had perched a large pot (also clean) on top of the glass bowl.  And both of these items were quite warm since they’d been sitting on a heated burner for awhile.

I turned on the front burner and turned off the back burner.  Then I moved the pot.  I used a potholder to carefully move the hot mixing bowl to the other back burner.  I stepped a few feet back toward the sink, hurrying to I could get back to work.

And then I heard an explosion.

I screamed.

On the stove, the bowl had completely exploded.  It looked like a large quantity of giant diamonds had been dumped on the stove top.  It looked like the ice covering a pond in the winter after children stomp on it.  It looked like the aftermath of a windshield following a collision.  It looked like a disaster.

I stood and stared and felt my arms to make sure they were free of embedded glass.  Most of it stayed on the stove, but there were shards on the floor and on my daughter’s little table and on the counter and in the pan of eggs.

Then I swept.  And vacuumed.  I had to leave the sparkling glass bits on the stove until they cooled.

My son was quite impressed by this unintended science experiment.  He informed me that the bowl would not have exploded if I’d left it on the hot burner.  So it was my fault.

Also?  If I’d been a good mom and just made a homemade nutritious lunch in the first place, none of this would have happened.  But then my son would be utterly unprepared for Real Life and I would have nothing to blog about.  So, there’s that.

I was minding my own business, throwing together a salad for a late lunch when I heard a loud thumping crash.  I rushed to the foot of the staircase and shouted upstairs, “What WAS that?”

I fully expected a dismembered child to come limping out of a bedroom or for someone to explain that they accidentally blew a hole in the roof while combining a super-secret, yet lethal combination of Axe body spray and spoiled milk.

But no child appeared.  And no one shouted back.

And then a second house-shaking boom exploded, causing me to shriek again, “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

My daughter appeared at her bedroom doorway on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay.” I said.  “Sit right there.”  I motioned at the foot of the stairs.  A sleepy-looking teenager appeared from his room.

“Stay here!”  I said.

I went outside to see if a car had crashed into our house.

Nothing.

I accounted for the other teenager and ascertained that everyone was alive and well. (The 7-year old was at a neighbor’s house.)

I went into the back yard to scan the house to see if maybe the chimney fell off.  I walked into the front yard to see if I could see smoke.  Maybe something exploded somewhere, I thought.

A neighborhood kid rode by on his bike.  “Did you feel that?” he said.

“I did.”

I thought maybe a car had crashed a few roads over.  Or there’d been a natural gas explosion.

Google suggested that there had been explosions somewhere.

Twenty minutes, maybe thirty minutes later, the actual report came out.

Apparently, some clueless float-plane pilot didn’t realize that there were temporary flight restrictions in the entire region because President Obama was in the area.  Mr. Float-plane flew through the restricted area and two F-15 military jets were scrambled.  They created sonic booms as they raced from Portland to Seattle (in eight minutes, or so I heard).

That was just about enough excitement for one day.

Thank you, Mr. Float-plane.  I almost died from heart failure.

But at least none of my children were crushed by a falling bookshelf.

I have arranged my work schedule so I have Mondays off.  Well, mostly off.  I work at 9 p.m. until midnight.

During the summer, I try really hard to do something fun with my kids on Monday.  Since we have season’s passes to the local waterpark, that often means I drag myself out of bed (after finishing my Sunday night shift at 1 a.m.) and head to Wild Waves.

That’s what we did today.  The weatherman said the temperature would reach over ninety degrees (we’re having a little heat-wave here in Washington).  Perfect day, right?

We arrived at 10:30 a.m. and though the park had only been open for thirty minutes, every single lounge-chair was in use.  I usually spread towels out on a couple of chairs so we have a home-base, but that was impossible today.  A million people and their children and neighbors were all at Wild Waves today.  Were you there?  Because I think the entire population of earth was at Wild Waves.

We stayed for two hours and then headed home.  Even the kids were ready to go because it’s no fun to be at a waterpark when there are long lines everywhere.

Who wants to be outside in a heat-wave, anyway, when you can be home in the air conditioning?

I had a hair appointment this afternoon, but both football practice and soccer practice were canceled.  That’s good because  I was exhausted.  After a quick trip to the grocery store, I took a nap.

Then I worked and now here I am, about to sleep.  (I. Am. Boring.)

And tomorrow is a Sleep In Day.  I have declared it and thus, it shall be.

Sometimes I am too aware that my blog is on the Internet.  I am tongue-tied with sudden shyness and want to duck into the other room so I don’t have to talk to anyone.  I want to type something here before I go to bed, but as I scroll down the list of potential topics, I discard each one.  Too personal.  Can’t talk about that.  Wouldn’t want to mention that.

I’m aware of eyeballs watching, afraid of silent judgments, unwilling to discuss the real life I’m living right now.

So.

Hmmm.

What do you want to talk about?

I know!  Let’s talk about shopping.

Last night at about 1 a.m. I started shopping online for a dress to wear for an upcoming occasion.  I’d like to know why almost all the available dresses are sleeveless?  What are middle-aged women with mushy arms like me supposed to wear?  And the necklines . . . hello?  Am I the only woman in America who does not want to reveal my cleavage to the general population?  Let’s not even talk about belts that hug the upper ribcage which make you look like you’re wearing a maternity smock.

I shopped and shopped and shopped . . . and gasped a little at the dresses that cost more than my couch . . . and finally ended up with a few things in a virtual shopping bag.  I am going to go check tonight and see if I still think those dresses would work.  If they don’t, I’ll return them.

And on Saturday, I’m going to the mall, which is probably the dumbest place to go on an August afternoon.  The guys at the kiosks accost me every time.  I feel like I’m walking down a metropolitan sidewalk, avoiding panhandlers. But maybe I’ll find something that makes me look cuter than I feel and will make a good first impression.

Where are Stacy London and Clinton Kelly when you really need them?

Before summer ends:

1) Picnic at Mt. Rainier
2)  Ride Bremerton ferry to Seattle
3)  Buy shoes for kids
4)  Lament end of summer
5)  Sleep in as much as possible

We have only have three weeks . . . time’s running out.  Time’s always running out, if you really stop to think about it.  But who has time to think?  And why would you want to ponder your mortality when there are things like mountains and ferries and shoe stores?

Tell me, please.  What would you do with $20 and a free afternoon?