When I’m not looking up faraway kiddie bootcamps on the internet (but do they take three-year-old girls?), or thinking about how “some folks call it a sling blade, but I call it a kaiser blade”, or fantasizing about propositioning the slightly balding but still cute pharmacist to run away to Mexico with me in my Caravan, I’m actually enjoying summer break.

The things I love:
Staying up far too late reading books, watching movies, finding out that in one way or another, we all like the show H2O. Can you figure out why a thirteen-year-old boy might be amused by this program? Hint: He’s apparently not gay.

Sleeping in until an obscene hour, my poor husband’s alarm clock having gone off and silenced without my even hearing it.

Cooking out on weekends—Bourbon beef kabobs, real Tex-Mex fajitas (with marinade imported from Austin), burgers, grill potatoes, our own hot-wing recipe, salmon and walleye, teriaki chicken strips, grilled vegetables, t-bone steaks, and many varieties of bratwurst. Just remember—Barbecue is a noun, not a verb, it’s something you eat not something you do, and you’re good to go.

Beer. Enjoyed as it can never be in the winter and can only be when it is drunk outside in hot weather.

Bike riding, roller blading, or walking to the playground every day that it does not rain.

Almost never saying, “no.”

Seeing more of my kids—literally more of them—their arm and leg skin in shorts and t-shirts, instead of bundled up in sweaters and long pants.

My ever blooming garden—the tulips and irises fading as the comical alliums burst into their purple globes, with the roses and lilies opening as the summer comes to it’s middle.

Forgetting what day of the week it is.

Having the luxury of time and room to play, and talk pointlessly, and lounge around without rushing.

Ice cream, watermelon and s’mores.

Time to waste, that you know isn’t really wasted at all.

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