Cool is a Temperature and an Attitude

• It's cool outside today.
• And I like it.
• I think I'm growing up because I can let go of summer now without throwing a tizzy fit.
• (I love the term "tizzy fit.")
• Maybe I'm only acting mature because autumn on the east coast is beautiful.
• Riveting.
• Stunning.
• Ridiculously flamboyant.
• And an actual season.
• Instead of two weeks wedged in between summer and winter.
• (No offense, Utah.)
• I'm going to a Phillies game tonight.
• I'm going to wear a jacket and a scarf.
• And I'm going to eat a pork sandwich and nachos.
• And possibly some crab fries.
• (Crab fries actually contain zero crabs.)
• If there's room left, I will enjoy some Graham Slam ice cream, the greatest ice cream flavor in the world.
• The food at the Phillies games is top notch.
• You heard it here first.
• The coolness actually set in last night.
• Ryan and I slept with the window open.
• The cool air brought our sleeping bodies back together in the middle of the bed for warmth.
• After a sweaty summer apart, clinging to the cooler borders of the mattress.
• Hello, stranger.
• Mind if I warm myself for a while?
• Fall is not so bad.
• (Don't get me wrong, summer is still the best.)
• But fall is not so bad.

Fun with Max and Mom

Max wasn't very happy about the to-do list I gave him this morning. It included reading two chapters of a book, and then writing a short story. He protested immediately, and I tried to explain that he needs to keep up on his reading and writing during the summer or else his brain will turn into mush and start oozing out of his ears. And if that happens, I explained lovingly, he will die.

Reading + Writing = Not Dying

I sat down to read with him, but he quickly became annoyed when I offered help. I tried to give him a few sound hints, and he huffed and puffed and let me know that I was "blowing it." Fifteen minutes later, we parted ways on page 8.

Next, he stomped around to find a piece of paper and pen. He scribbled in the middle and wrote, "Hi. Good-by!" and submitted it to me with a frown.

"Try again," I said. "You could write a story about old ladies." (Max uses old ladies as the punch line to almost all of his jokes and stories.) He rolled his eyes and walked away.

A while later, he tossed another story at me with a scowl:

old ladys atkt the world

the polies cild them.

The end.

Two can play this game. "I love it, Max," I said. "This is really funny."

"YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY?" He screamed, "POLICE KILLING OLD LADIES?!"

Then he stomped in the other room and ironically slumped into the Time Out chair.

You know, one of the most important things we can do as mothers is make summer miserable for our children. My work today is done.

Give Me a Lazy Summer or Give Me Death

It's time for somebody to check the cruise control on the axis of our planet. It's going a wee bit too fast for my liking, and I think I speak for many when I demand that we slow things down a bit. It's July 11 already, when, according to my calculations, it should only be June 22.

Where is the lazy summer I've been expecting?

I need more time to sit by the pool, estimating when I should reapply sunscreen.

I need more time to marvel at fireflies.

I need more time to narrow down my favorite ice cream flavors.

I need more time to watch boring, summer re-run TV.

I need more time to take self-portraits with my webcam.

Speaking of portraits, self and otherwise, Ryan and I ventured to the post office last week to apply for our passports. When it was my turn to have my photo taken, I zhuzhed my hair a bit with my fingers and sat down in the chair with a big smile. The no-nonsense postal worker, Leroy, told me to sit back in the chair further. Then he told me that I didn't need to smile and show teeth. In fact, he said, most people don't smile at all. He waited for me to drab it down a few notches and said, "There's no need to vogue."

Needless to say, Ryan was rolling his eyes so far into the back of his head that he sprained his cornea. He will never let me live this one down. I know this because he brings it up at least three times daily, and  then does an over-exaggerated impression of me, batty eyes and everything.

I'm sorry if I care about making a good impression internationally. I didn't know it was discouraged.

Psssssst!

I have a secret.  That's why I'm whispering.  I'm writing in a small italic font, because that's how you whisper in print.  Anyway, back to my secret (and I'm warning you, I will deny this if you ever mention it in public) I'm feeling like.......the thing is........it's just that........{sigh}.......OK, here it is: I'm getting the teensiest, tiniest, itty-bittiest tired of summer.  It's becoming slightly annoying to dab my sweaty face seven times with a towel before applying my makeup in the morning.  The mosquitoes are eating me alive.  Everything is sticky, and the air at night is more hot and dead than the entire Cullen family put together.  

There I said it.  But I'm warning you: DO NOT TELL A SOUL!

Immortal Summer Soundtrack

Question for you: What is/are the song(s) that mean summer to you?  

I want to immortalize summer and since strutting around in a string bikini all year long is NOT an option (nor good for my children's development and eyesight) I thought I'd download some tunes and make a mix tape.

Leave me your favorite song idea(s) in a comment and you'll be entered to win a copy of said mix tape.  (Or CD if you're in to that newfangled technology.)  I'll give away three.

(P.S.  I like to write in parentheses.)

Summer, Don't Leave Me

I'm entering a stage of mild panic.  Summer is whittling down from months into weeks.  Soon weeks will whittle down into days.  

Boo.

Hoo.

Sniffle.

Have a great weekend.  Go soak up the sun.

{P.S.  I took this picture along the roadside one day.  Full of summer glory, don't you think?}