My 2 Cent Soapbox: Dreary Lazy Days of Summer

My 2 Cent Soapbox: Dreary Lazy Days of Summer: Dreary Lazy Days of Summer Today's summer days stretch like cats and drop back to sleep There's no cadence to these timeless days...

Summer Daze

Today's summer days stretch like cats and drop back to sleep
There's no cadence to these timeless days
Just a meandering of starving, stray dogs across the calendar,
looking for scraps of fun, something to be done.

Gone are the glory days of 80's play when hours spent themselves.
Time was measured in street lights back then.
Now time is marked in red ink on a desert-ed white organizer.
It's day-camped out and bought online, our scheduled summer time.

I once summered with fellow two-wheeled travelers
or scaled structures designed to scrap and bruise the skin.
I wore my wounds like merit badges, or a membership
to the skinned knee society of the climbed and conquered tree.

Now, I inhabit Mars with a crew of three, my kids and me.
Shuffling around home base, checking monitors to connected space.
No signs of life roam outside these double-insulated walls.
The terrain's been deemed too hostile to sustain children's games.

For our health, we stay Zip-locked and stranger-danger safe
behind bolted doors and on the couch or on a chair
summers spent upholstering our backside and cushioned bellies
lazy cats who go no where, too bored to care, too scared to dare.

My 2 Cent Soapbox: Summertime Vent: When Do I Get the House Back?

My 2 Cent Soapbox: Summertime Vent: When Do I Get the House Back?: A Summertime Vent They are here! Everywhere! Every bloody moment of the day! I can’t even write this blog post without a child’s head po...

Summertime Vent: When Do I Get the House Back?

A Summertime Vent

They are here! Everywhere! Every bloody moment of the day! I can’t even write this blog post without a child’s head popping into my office space needing to know what I am doing, how they can help, or when will I log them back onto their own computer. Big brother exists and so does little brother and average-sized dad. They all watch my every move, examining, questioning, syphoning my energy and my time. It’s amazing how very little I can achieve while being busily monopolized all day long. I play stupid little games on my iPhone like Homescapes and Wordscapes between making food or inventing chores or games or air-conditioned outings to keep kids occupied because my mind and fingers need to go through the motions of doing something that won’t piss me off if I’m interrupted.

Because if I were to actually do the things I want to do: write, study for the RICA, etc. things which require my full attention, I’d be doomed. Within minutes of attempting to craft a plot, character or sentence, or even start memorizing the strategies for Domain 2, they would be in my space and my face derailing my train of thought and killing off half my mental passengers.

I count the days till school restarts not just because I want them out of my space. I need them out of my space. I need to write uninterrupted. Heck I need to just hear myself think for two hours straight in my own space. This is the key part. Because I can wander the aisles of Target for some “me time” or go to the library to write but for my own mental sanity I NEED THE HOUSE. I need to hear the silent walls echoing back my undisturbed thoughts or a marathon dance session of Abba music sung loudly and off-key. I need to eat alone without someone commenting on my extra-large cinnamon roll “Aren’t you on a diet?” even if it’s just in their head or wanting to help me eat the cinnamon roll or wanting me to stop eating it long enough to cook them spaghetti for breakfast or watch them make slime for the 100^th time.

And no one in the house gets it. Plus, I sound like a selfish bitch when I say that I need everyone out. They promise to stick to their rooms, but that’s not it. There is something glorious in a completely empty house. Something wholly mine! My space to be as weird and wonderful as my strange self wants to be without explaining why or fending off the “You’re so weird” looks and comments. Maybe I want to dance naked to said Abba music without turning my husband on or sending my kids to therapy. Maybe I want to act out the first chapter of my novel-to-be without censoring language, plot, and bad accents. Maybe I just want to feel the empty space and let my pent-up aura spread its wings. Right now I feel confined to the space of my body, a too small container that others touch and knead with needy cat’s claws. My mind and spirit are bigger than my body. They need the full area of the house to spill out and stretch my cramped thoughts out.

I love my kids. I love my husband. I just love my own space and company, and I haven’t seen either since summer began. Oh well. Only 29 days to go.