Summer 2010, I love you. You are mostly awesome, but slightly exhausting.
Isn't summer meant for relaxing?
Not that I'm complaining. I'm just saying.
Between baseball games and practices, swimming at the pool, playing outside, going for walks, and my children wanting to be doing something every second of every day, I am exhausted. Don't even get me started on the state of dishabille my house is in. The other day, I found myself wishing I could just throw all four of my children into a large playpen for a few hours, just like when they were babies, so I could get a few tasks accomplished. Great idea, huh? I could toss a few scraps of food in there, a few Nintendo DS', and I might even get a chance to visit with my old friends, "The Real Housewives".
Alas, there is no such invention. Instead I came up with this.
I set up our tent in the basement, and voila. Instant "me" time. Not that my "me" time involved massages, pedicures or sipping Cosmos. It was Clare + a mop + Windex + Mr. Clean Magic Eraser + paper towels + my vacuum cleaner = good times.
The tent was such a hit that I had to keep poking my head down the basement to make sure everyone was still accounted for, because it got too quiet. Statistically speaking at my house, seven-and-a-half times out of ten, too quiet = SOMEBODY IS ABOUT TO GET INTO BIG TROUBLE.
But nothing. Everyone was getting along fabulously.
Be still my beating heart.
I was temporarily impressed with my own genius, as the tent was a means to corral my children peacefully, entertain them, and get my own tasks accomplished all at the same time.
Basically, I got my four little dears to sit down, shut up and chill for a few hours.
I'm a huge fan of the "chilling out" part of this story. Me likey.
But hey y'all, a new phrase was born in the tent, and I thought I would give you the heads-up, just in case you happen to run into me and my brood somewhere in public. If you see any of my children, even my sweet little girl, toss their pinky finger in the air, hoist an imaginary monocle to their eyeball, and utter the phrase, "Pip, pip Cheer-i-o," in a fake British accent, RUN.
Just run like heck. Far, far away.
"Pip, pip Cheer-i-o," is their new favorite code phrase for, "I'm going to inflict a world of hurt on your nasal passages, whether you like it or not."
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
I have no idea where my children come up with this stuff.
Your children do weird stuff like this too.
Aaaaanndd....this is the part where you nod your head and say, "Uh-huh Clare! Right on! My kids totally have code phrases for bodily functions too! Sing it sister! Loud and proud!"
Never a dull moment, people. Never a dull moment.