School starts next week. Some of you are sad. Some of you are panicking. Some of you are licking your lips with excitement. I saw one mother dancing in the aisle of the grocery store when it dawned on her it was only ten days away.
I’m sure others of you know down to the minute how long it is until it begins.
Yes, it’s called August. When the kids have forgotten how much they couldn’t wait to have “nothing to do”. “Nothing to do” being a relative term, of course, because what they really meant was “no schoolwork to do” and “fun, fun, fun all the time no matter how much Mom has to drive”. Now that it’s August, all they do is complain about having nothing to do, meaning “nothing fun to do”.
My suggestion of “Well, you could go clean up your room” receives nothing but huge moans of grief.
Now keep in mind that when they say they have “nothing to do”, it may mean they have been idle for, oh, say ten minutes. I keep telling them that someday they will pay large sums of money for someone to let them sit down for an hour or so with nothing to do. That brings more moans.
I am one of those mothers who couldn’t wait for summer to get here. No more early-morning-rush-to-school things. No more after school practice, gymnastics, games … I was going to be able to relax, right?
How many of you are laughing here? Omigosh. I keep forgetting how busy kids are during the summer! Half of it we encourage so they won’t start complaining about having nothing to do in June. Golf at 8 a.m. Here at 9 a.m. There at 10:30 a.m. The other half they cook up on their own … “Mom, can you take us to the movies at 9:00 tonight?” That means that someone has to stay awake long enough to pick them up at 11:30, too.
For those of us who also have that horrid thing called a job, well, this summer schedule can be a real headache.
So, the August syndrome is also the parents rebelling and saying, “NO, you can’t have five people spend the night.” “NO, you can’t build a tent in the middle of the living room with all my sheets.”
When my son has “nothing to do” he follows me around. He watches me read the newspaper and asks questions every ten seconds. He looks over my shoulder when I work on the computer.
The other day, this was the scene and I suggested he go practice swinging his golf clubs.
Suddenly I heard a big “THWACK!”
“Are you playing golf INSIDE THE HOUSE?!” I screamed.
“No, I’m just chipping over the couch.” I guess “chipping” and “playing” are two different things in his mind.
“I meant OUTSIDE,” I responded. “You can’t play golf inside a house.” I couldn’t believe I needed to point this out, but he is a boy, and boys don’t think like mothers.
He looked at me with bewilderment in his eyes. “Well, can I play in the hall?”
I don’t know what part of “house” he didn’t understand.
“Outside,” I said.
“But it’s too hot outside,” he complained. “And there’s nothing else to do.”
I went to the calendar and started counting the minutes.
