Helicopter

The last few weeks of summer seem like cruel and unusual punishment. The libraries in my city have gone on furlough. The lifeguards have gone back to college. When I search the internet for "things to do with kids," I get back the answer, "A whole lotta nothing."

Speaking of the library, I have this tendency to request things and then forget about them. Suddenly, a stack of 15 books comes in, and I have no idea why I wanted these particular ones. Last week, as I was gathering my books in anticipation of the aforementioned furlough, I noticed this one:


The premise of this book seems to be that the downfall of our society rests on the fact that we are hyper-scheduling children. The author suggests that I SHOULDN'T be trolling the internet for activities at all. Instead, I should kick back with a cocktail while the kids run wild with their imaginations. Furthermore, we should be banishing all electronics and plastics and let children devise their own playthings out of trash and earthen matter.

Great idea! I especially like the part about the cocktail. But my annoyance with this author began on page one, when he said, "Ambitious mothers force hours of homework on bewildered ten-year-olds, hanging the abstract fear of 'future employers' over their heads."

OK. I start to get irritated when the BAD MOTHER gets brought up so early in a text. And I snickered at the thought that it was ME and not the SYSTEM that was making my darlings do their math homework every evening. Of course, if I'm honest I have to admit to feeling a bit twitchy about the fact that YOU are having your kid practice those division facts over the summer. And I am feeling twitchy that my kid knows that 8 times 6 is 48, but when I ask him what 48 divided by 8 is, he looks at me like I'm speaking a different language. Is your kid going to be better prepared for third grade? Will your kid go to a better college? Will your kid win the Pulitzer Prize, while mine lives in my basement and plays video games all day? Crap.

One day last week, we started our day with this conversation:



The abrupt ending of this video clip was followed by me losing my mind. My tirade sounded something like this: "You are young, healthy boys! I just read a book that said that I am not supposed to be planning your summer. You are in charge of yourselves. Go run around! Go hunt something! Go build a structure out of sticks and trash! Go! Go! Go!"

Green sized me up and said, "Can we play the Wii instead?"

Seconds later, the grumpy bunch of us were piled in the car to go partake in the great outdoors. The boys were sullen and vocal about it. Imagine the whining. Close your eyes and visualize Green treating me to a speech about INJUSTICE. Imagine this speech lasting the entire 45 minute drive through traffic as we searched for some nature.

We ended up at the Arboretum. When we got out of the car, Green said, "What are we going to do here?" I sighed heavily. "Green," I responded. "Look at this wild-ness. There are adventures to be had! Be free!"

Green slumped his shoulders and said, "All I see are trees."

As it turns out, trees can be pretty fun. They are fun as long as you have the best seat in the biggest tree. If, however, your seat is inadequate or your tree is petite, you might start to whine a bit. You might call your mother over and say, "It's not fair that his tree is better than my tree." And if your mother is anything like I am, she might say something like, "I am not in charge of the trees." And you might respond, "HE ALWAYS GETS WHAT HE WANTS AND I NEVER GET ANYTHING MY LIFE IS TERRIBLE." And, if your mother is anything like I am, she will suddenly realize that she left the cocktail ingredients at home.

At one point, we found a tree that suited everyone. It was one of those huge, droopy trees with an underworld all its own. It had multiple good seats. It could be *gasp* shared! Blue and Green climbed up on a branch and started scootching down the length of it. And I started to worry, just a little bit. Very quietly, I wondered, "What if they get splinters in their butts?"


Now, if I looked up "butt splinters" in the index of that book, it would point me to a section called, "Butt Splinters Are Part of Adventure!" Or maybe it would point me to a section called, "Mothers Who Worry About Butt Splinters Are Raising Uncreative, Dependent Monsters!" But the truth is that this author probably never had to extract splinters from the butts of his screaming children. I'm pretty sure he left that task to his wife.

So I hovered a bit under that tree. Hover, hover, hover. Their hair was ruffling from the rotors of my metaphorical helicopter. I tried to distract them from my closeness with some chit-chat. "Boys," I said, "I think it looks like a castle under here. What do you think it looks like?"

Green looked up and around. "I think it looks like a boiler room," he said.

I exclaimed with delight! A boiler room! Now, THAT was creative. "Green," I asked, "when have you ever seen a boiler room?"

"I saw it on Club Penguin," he answered.

Dammit. Club Penguin is a video game! The book is right! Technology has seized my kids' imaginations, and now they're ruined.

We began to walk back to the car in defeat. Back to the Wii and the computer and playing "I Gotta Feeling" over and over and over again on the Ipod. As we walked, we noticed that all of the trees in the Arboretum were labeled with both their regular names and their species names. We passed a pine tree with this sign underneath that said, "Pine Tree: Pinus"

Say that out loud to yourself once. Pinus.

Pretend that you are an 8 year old boy, and say it three times quickly. Pinus, pinus, pinus.

Tears started running from my kids' eyes as they hooted, "PINUS!" at the top of their lungs. "PINUS!"

They ran and screeched. Whooped and jumped. Played.

And isn't that what summer is all about? Wide-open spaces, sunshine, and a dirty word?

No See, Long Time

Yikes! Did you hear that scream? So sorry. That harrowing noise came from Green. And no, he didn't lose a limb. He and his brother made a "solar cooker" out of a cardboard box and tin foil. They decided this afternoon that they were going to saute some crab apples, uncut, soaked in half a bottle of vegetable oil. To make apple pie.



Needless to say, the project didn't work.

AND HE'S NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO COOK ANYTHING AGAIN! EVER! HIS WHOLE LIFE IS RUINED! AND HIS HANDS ARE OILY! VERY OILY! HOW CAN HE USE HIS HANDS NOW! THIS IS A DISASTER!

The irony of this episode of outdoor screaming is that I had just finished a long overdue blog post in which I discussed how much my kids have matured. I think I will tuck that one away for later.

I don't have a solid explanation for why I stopped writing. I suppose it was a combination of things. First, there's Facebook. You guys expect juicy essays from me, but Facebook? It just wants a sentence or two. Or a funny picture, like this:


I can be quick and thoughtless there, but this blog usually requires a day's labor. Michael says that I like "microblogging." I think I might just gravitate toward "easy."

The other problem I've encountered in my writing involves Blue and Green. Those cute kindergarten cherubs who liked penguins and Curious George are now official "big kids." And with that, it seems like there are some privacy issues or some lines that shouldn't be crossed. Plus, the things that used to be kind of funny, like a story about an epic hissy fit at the beach over ice cream, might not seem as charming if it's about an eight year old (or two). I feel like we're renegotiating our relationships, and it's awkward to do that in public. Or maybe I just haven't found the right words.

But here we are at the end of summer, and I do want to come back to this place. To YOU. Back-to-school time. Turning-over-a-new-leaf time. Special thanks go out to Sarah, who has reminded me that blog writing can be fun.

So here's what's in store for the next few weeks. You will journey with me as I try to find things for the boys to do during these final days of summer. We already have a line-up of doomed projects (cue the screaming). I know that some of you are cherishing these dwindling moments of summertime togetherness with your children. I, on the other hand, think that this much togetherness is overrated.
(Note the fancy hats. These were part of project #4556 this summer. They are already falling apart. Blue warned me that the only thing that will repair his work and SAVE HIS LIFE FROM BEING A TRAGEDY is the purchase of a hot glue gun. I suspect that he also plans to use the gun on his brother.)