Summer Days

Our Summer is in full swing. We have been enjoying lazy days, full of swimming, reading books and more books, picking blueberries and apricots, the list goes on and on. The girls were in the Souza wedding and had a great time. I am posting two of my favorite photos. As for me, I am in the midst of projects that I reserve for summer days, organizing, printing curriculum, more organizing, printing books, oh and more organizing... we have too much stuff, I am working on having a garage sale.

Here is a cute little story I have saved, thought I'd share...

Wet Oatmeal Kisses

The baby is teething. The children are fighting. Your husband
just called and said, “Eat dinner without me.” One of these days
you’ll explode and shout to the kids, “Why don’t you grow up
and act your age?” And they will.

Or, “You guys get outside and find yourselves something to
do. And don’t slam the door!” And they don’t. You’ll straighten
their bedrooms all neat and tidy, toys displayed on the shelf, hangers
in the closet, animals caged. You’ll yell. “Now I want it to stay
this way!” And it will.

You will prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn’t had
all the olives picked out and a cake with no finger traces in the
icing and you’ll say, “Now THIS is a meal for company.”
And you will eat it alone.

You’ll yell, “I want complete privacy on the phone. No screaming,
do you hear me?” And no one will answer: No more plastic tablecloths
stained with spaghetti. No more dandelion bouquets. No more
iron-on patches. No more wet, knotted shoelaces, muddy boots
or rubber bands for ponytails.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point. No babysitter for New Year’s Eve,
washing clothes only once a week, no PTA meetings or silly school
plays where your child is a tree. No car-pools, blaring
stereos or forgotten lunch money.

No more Christmas presents made of library paste and toothpicks.
No more wet oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy. No more giggles
in the dark, scraped knees to kiss or sticky fingers to clean. Only
a voice asking: “Why don’t you grow up?”

And the silence echoes: “I did.”

Adapted for use by Donna Otto