Then 7:30 am comes.
Day 1, and I walk into the kitchen to find half of a bag of cereal dumped onto the floor because the older kids become zombies the minute the TV is turned on, and the 2 year old twins become experts in demolition when they are unsupervised.
The fighting has started before I even got to the kitchen. Children fight about the most ridiculous things, anyone with kids can tell you that. The big fight at my house is over milk. Who takes it out, who puts it away. They will literally have a staredown/screaming match over whose going to get the milk. They have a long list of rules about milk responsibility. If you get your bowl first, you have to get the milk, unless someone else gets a bowl around the same time as you and puts cereal in it before you. If you use the milk first, you have to put it away. If you use the milk last you have to put it away. (As you can see, their rules change depending on who feels like doing what.) They can fight for 15 minutes about milk.
Idiots.
I wish I could say as my kids got older, they have become more civilized. When a child is born, you hold them in your arms and dream about making them geniuses by taking them to art museums and the symphony. Then they turn about 2 and all those dreams go straight down the toilet as you deal with temper tantrums and 14 straight hours of Dora the Explorer. And again, you dream about when they get older. "Then," you tell yourself, "I will be able to show them all the amazing things in this world."
Yeah right. I wouldn't take my kids to a restaurant that doesn't sell cheap Chinese-made toys and "almost" chicken nuggets, let alone take them somewhere that grownups have actual conversations.
So, while my summer dreams may have to be adjusted, I again tell myself the lie that maybe in a few years, when they are teenagers, I will be able to do cool stuff with them.
Dream on sister. Dream on.
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