That’s right, I’m on summer vacation [with five deadlines, and a book to work on, but who's counting?] My monster is at Grandma’s getting spoiled [again] for five days. They are going to a wedding, they had a THIRD birthday party for her, and she’s not doubt wearing a lot of pink shit that says Princess [which I hate, but what happens at G-mas, stays there, right?]

The funny thing is, when I tell people I expect high fives and a “lets get wassssted!” but many of my mom friends are puzzled by my enthusiasm for my summer vacation. They “couldn’t” part with their kids for “more than a day, tops..” and I feel a twinge of guilt for the flutter of excitment I get when I think about takin a shit, with the door closed, by myself.  Hell, I went out and bought a new razor so I could spend five minutes extra making my legs smooth as well, my childs butt. It’s like heaven! And I’m not wearing a bra! And I don’t feel guilty about staying up late [cough, 11pm] to watch gymnastics! ‘

And now, for the real purpose of my blog, I need advice…

Down the dirt road from our house, there is a shack. In that shack, are five children, one mom, and one dad. They have baby chickens, dogs, cats, turkeys, roosters, you name it. Sometimes they come over for a swim, and sometimes we go down to say hi to their zoo.  There is one little boy Landen, who is absoutely adorable with his waist length blonde curls, and four year old swagger…but, he won’t leave us alone. Example:

12pm: doorbell rings, it’s Landen asking to talk to my husband. I tell him that we are working today, and he can come for a swim, or to see our pets later but now we need to do stuff, and to come back in a few hours. He says “okay, sure!”

12:10pm: doornell rings, it’s Laden asking if we are done. I explain in my best “patient mom” voice that only ten minutes has passed, now a few hours, like, 120 minutes, so he can come back.

12:12pm: db rings, it’s Landen asking if he can talk to Phil. I say that he’s working, and he tells me a story involving chickens, guns, and police. I nod thoughtfully, and tell him to come back later.

12:15pm: db rings, Laden wants to know if I told Phil the story, and what did he think of it? I tell him I didn’t, we are working and to COME BACK IN A FEW HOURS. Landen holds up 2 fingers and goes “this many minutes…” and I hold up 6 fingers and say “this many hours….”

The doorbell rings at least 10x per day. The thing is, I am patient and the kid IS adorable. IF I didn’t have work I’d let him hang here al day eating peanut butter toast and entertaining me with Redneck stories. But. I. do. How do I make him stop? I could call his parents, but what do I say without sounding like a huge bitch? They are country folk, and probably don’t care if he wanders through the woods to our place, and even though I’ve warned him I’m “getting mad and won’t give him any more fruit roll ups…” he comes back. He just showed up to show me his new pocket knife. I told him I’m not into violence.

ARG.

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