Since our first son started school five years ago, we have come to equate summers with looser time constraints, creative projects our boys will complain about doing (one of these days they’ll think it’s cool…maybe), and the supreme enjoyment of family togetherness. Boys have the wide open space of a day to do whatever it is their hearts wish (usually that’s complaining about how they’re so bored), with few requirements beyond chores, tidying, and daily reading time.
The problem is that, right around August, we all start singing the summertime blues.
It’s not just because it’s so hot here in South Texas (105 on a good day). It’s also because we get a little tired of each other.
The last few years have been tight budget-wise as Husband and I have worked relentlessly to build businesses from the ground up with a bunch of crazy children interrupting us at inopportune times. That means we haven’t been able to justify the expense of any extra trips or special activities, which means we’ve mostly stayed around the house, all cooped up inside together, because if you go outside, you disintegrate.
You can measure how tired of each other we are by the number of arguments that happen in the course of a day and the volume of our voices during those arguments. Parents are short with children, children are short with each other, no one listens to anyone anymore. We live in a relatively small house, so there aren’t many places to hide from each other.
One of my boys, the one who loves the Great Outdoors, takes refuge outside. He’d probably sleep outside if we let him—but, again, the danger of disintegration looms. Another of my boys closes himself in the garage, which is a playroom of sorts and has become exponentially messier as he’s spent more time there (he says it isn’t him). Another two with identical faces are usually sent outside to play on the trampoline and talk about how unfair it is that they have to play outside on their trampoline and their swing set all the time.
I haven’t yet found an adequate hiding place. I’ve tried the laundry room, the library, the game closet, my bedroom, my closet, and my bathroom. When I huddled in the shower once, one of my boys came in and announced, “You’re way too big to hide, Mama. We’ll always find you.” I tried not to take offense.
No solace for me in the summer.
Here are some things that have begun to crawl under my skin as we close out our seemingly endless summer:
1. The complaining.
I’m not just talking about me. I try hard to have a good attitude about everything, but when you have six children talking all over each other and trying to tell you a story they made up or, in intricate detail, this dream they had last night while, at the same time, two of them are whining that they’re starving and why can’t you just get breakfast on the table while another is complaining about how he doesn’t even like what you’re cooking, even though he doesn’t know what it is (you’re not even sure), it’s hard not to complain. Complainers beget complainers.
I’ve started a complaint jar, where they can now write their complaints down for Husband and me to read later, but, you know, it takes way more effort to write them down, so the boys will typically just close their mouths instead. Which also works.
2. The heat.
It is ridiculously hot in South Texas this time of year. It’s so hot that my boys will go outside with the full intention of playing outside for the rest of the afternoon, and then they’ll come in half an hour later with blood-red faces, gasping about how it’s too hot to play outside. You know it’s hot when kids actually notice the temperature.
It’s not unusual for me to get weather notifications about how the heat index is off the charts, which means it’s dangerous to play outside for any length of time. No one feels like a good mother when she pushes her children out into a heat that would make her cry if all her tears hadn’t dried up on contact with today’s oxygen (is there oxygen in this summertime fire? I can’t really tell.). So we get a little more family togetherness inside the house. Just what I always wanted.
3. The mess.
My boys don’t put anything away. We recently had almost a whole week without our children, because Husband and I needed to do some organization work that is impossible with kids underfoot. The house was immaculate when they returned home—and ten minutes later, in their excitement at the new organization, they’d made a grand mess of things. Honestly, I’m surprised we even got ten minutes.
The other day, I told my 10-year-old, who was this week responsible for cleaning up the dining room, which includes an art table, “No one gets to use the paints anymore.”
“Why not?” he said.
“Because you used them five days ago, and they’re still out.”
“But Daddy’s the one who got them out,” he said.
And therein lies the problem. My boys operate on “Whoever got it out has to put it away,” instead of “Whoever was the last one using it has to put it away.” They see no fault in this logic, mostly because it benefits them. It doesn’t benefit them any longer. I’ve been quietly amassing points for every item they leave out, and at the end of the month, when they have their allowance payout, you’ll be able to hear the explosion from thirteen miles away.
4. The noise.
Six boys, as you might imagine, can make a whole lot of noise. Sometimes I can’t even hear myself think because of all the voices competing to be heard. The noise continues to steadily build all summer, because as they get tired of family togetherness, they start fighting more, which raises voices and word count, both.
I’m an introvert living in the middle of a zoo.
5. All the lights burning.
Every time I come into an empty room, all the lights are blazing. The other night the last of four lightbulbs burned out in the boys’ bathroom. Based on the number of times I found that bathroom light left on, it made sense. So I left them in the dark for a while. And then, when I remembered that boys already have enough trouble getting excrement in the toilet, I went with LED lightbulbs.
They’re still blazing every time I pass, because my boys are under the mistaken impression that they live with a light fairy who follows behind them and turns off the lights for them so their little muscles don’t have to expend the extra effort. And she used to, but no more. Now I just put another mark on the tally list. They’ll likely be paying the entire electricity bill this month.
6. The extra pounds.
You’re supposed to lose weight for the summer, but I did the opposite. Why? See all the above.
School starts in another two weeks, and I will be glad to return to the regular routine and the structured way of life. I thrive on routines and predictability.
Of course I will miss my boys when they go back to school. These summers aren’t endless; my sons are fast growing up and will soon look for any opportunity to be away from home.
So, for now, I will bask in the requests—not requests for something to drink or more screen time or a dinner that tastes better. I will bask in the requests to sit on my lap or read another story or spend a little extra time coloring a picture with them. And when those requests come, I will allow myself to get carried away—start thinking that I could do this all year, maybe I should homeschool, I could get used to this chaos. Because it won’t take long for the next slap-fight to break out and shake me out of my sentimentality.
There’s nothing like the summertime blues to drive you crazy and fill your memory bank all at the same time.
