Let the Wild Rumpus begin...

"Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation.  If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you."  ~Erma Bombeck

Three days left.
That's it. Just three more days of school and then summer vacation is upon us.
Ish.
It's every school kid's dream and most working parents' nightmare. Although, this year I'm not worrying so much about what happens during the summer hours as I used to. Due to me moving back home with my parents this year, my kids will be spending the majority of their summer vacation with Grandma and Grandpa.
There will be no Jersey Shore marathons (my parents don't have cable).
There will be no walking to Kwik Trip and blowing their allowance on Pixie Stix and Monster energy drinks (my parents live in the country).
There will be no five hour long Facebook log-in sessions (my parents are helping me impose computer time limits).
There will be no sleeping until noon and leaving bowls of cereal all over the house (my parents are helping me enforce my Chore and Responsibility Chart & Reward System that I started this week).
Luckily, there will also not be any $300 utility bills due to the central air being on non-stop. (my parents don't have central air... as they like to say, the butter needs to be melting on the kitchen counter top before the window units get turned on).
Interestingly enough, my kids are starting to get excited about some of Grandma and Grandpa's "projects" that they're going to work on. Like working in the garden and helping Grandpa up in the shop. And I know my parents...it's not like it's going to be all work and no play. My kids will be taken to plenty of pools and beaches. I think they'd be horrified if I told them how my cousin Jena and I used to have to cool off in the summer when we were kids:
In a cow tank. Yep, that big steel watering hole filled with cow's slobber...where we'd happily sit and play with our Barbies. Seriously, I don't like to remember that too much because it makes me dry heave.
With the summer beginning, it also fills me with a little trepidation as far as the summer wardrobe goes. Now that I'm single again, I need to focus on scaling down my tree trunk thighs and ghetto booty. My trainer, The Tin Man, should probably get a medal in putting up with my whining and complaining when it comes to working out.
One night this last week I met him at Como Park, so we could work out next to the lake. There is a walking path that goes around the lake, and some times people will come up to us and ask him: "Are you a trainer? Can I get your card?"
I guess this time of year makes everyone want to get into shape.
So a few nights ago at the lake, the Tin Man was trying to get me to stretch my obliques from a sitting position. Right away I started complaining: "But my surgeon said I'm not supposed to rotate to the right if my left hip is facing forward and not moving..."
He tried to explain how I wasn't going to be rotating, just carefully turning my upper body. Apparently my ADD was in high gear, because I still wasn't getting it. I could tell he was getting exasperated.
"Like this," he told me, getting behind me. He placed his arm around my neck, so it would stay still and face forward.
"Oh, I get it." I said. "I still don't like it. It hurts my stomach muscles and I'm really tired and kind of hungry..." My mouth went into automatic pilot whine mode.
The Tin Man leaned closer and started talking into my ear.
"Listen to me," he said in a low, even voice. "Right now, all people see when they walk by is a black man with his arm around the neck of a white woman. And that woman is starting to make noise. I swear to god, the cops will be here in two minutes if you don't STOP. RIGHT. NOW."
I tried not to laugh. As much as I wanted the exercise to stop, I didn't want my friend to end up in the pokey.
So now that I think of it... maybe this summer vacation won't be all that bad. My kids will get to experience a summer like what it was "in the old days". I can take them to some of the beaches I used to go when I was a kid, and they'll get to hang out with Grandma and Grandpa... in a house with melted butter on the counter tops and a list of chores that need to be done.
Yep, this summer might not be bad at all.