Less is more, unless more is something REALLY entertaining and blog worthy.

I guess it was last year--after juggling the schedules of three different schools, their start-times, their pick-up ettiquettes and their obligations--that I began to itch for summer break.  I remember this being a curious change of attitudes and events, as I had spent 93% of the years between 2002-2010 thinking that the school years were the *magical* solution to me having a life + six hours of *free* babysitting + my kids learning how to read and do math.  It seemed like such a win-win, what with kids getting educated while I ran half marathons and chiseled my abs and started a lucrative business in cake pop baking.

Except that I hate running, and education comes with HOMEWORK, and I was born without abs, and I have failed the housewife exam (translation: cake pop making) four times.  As it turns out, I don't know how to have a life outside of laundry and facebook.  

And my little people, of course.  Turns out, I LOOOOOOOOVE them.  

In years past, I've psyched myself up for summer with my favorite "buzz" phrase-- Being INTENTIONAL.  Turns out, I have half a basement full of "intentions" in the form of craft supplies that were going to create great memories and family heirlooms.  I made lists of things we were going to do and adventures we were going to have, and it was all really cute and well INTENTIONED--but it was stressful.  It was expectations.  It was not mixing the paint until it was BROWN!  It was wearing the matching bathing suits!  It was never having the same lunch twice in a week.  It was schedules and plans.   Not bad things, unless you live and die by plans and schedules and the appearance of what great parenting looks like.  In that case it just becomes consuming and busy.  A craft to plan, a mess to clean, a meal to make, a lesson to teach, an hour to fill.  It was photograph-able, but it wasn't very fun.  

And you know, my kids can finally handle fun.  In the sense that they can handle stimulation and sugar without acting like meth addicts.  We can visit the pool without the threat of drowning and we haven't seen a diaper or a case of public diarrhea in YEARS.  Today, we played Qwirkle, and no one had an aneurysm!  In biblical terms, we are ready to fly by the seat of our freaking pants--even if that just means eating frozen custard for 90 days straight.  

So THAT is my plan for the summer.  Doing stuff when we feel like it, and watching movies when we don't. I'm already five days in, and the sunscreen routine, combined with Little J's allergic skin reaction to chlorine? Sun? Grilled cheese sandwiches? is making my eye twitch--which *might* mean that we won't hit the pool until 4:00 everyday (dermatologist everywhere are applauding on behalf of my red head).  I don't really know, and I'm not really ready to commit to any kind of schedule or expectation.  Also out the door?  My idea to sew patriotic buntings for our large, outdoor porch.  Yes, this was an ACTUAL intention, but it's just not gonna happen--because these days, I'm lacking the time to simply read the last 100 pages of "Fifty Shades of Grey.  Mostly because I'm borrowing a paperback copy, and it's inappropriate to read porn at the kiddie pool.  So, "Bossypants" it is, when I'm in PUBLIC.

I do have an image to protect.  And simultaneously trash, here on the Internet.  

My mantra for the summer:  Less is more, except when more is an excellent source of blogging material.