Here's the Deal

To continue a summer-long theme, there has not been much blogging from these parts.

For June and July, I blamed it on the extreme amount of time I spent outside at the pool and lifeguarding the front yard sprinkler situation.

It doesn't sound dangerous, but when there are approximately 4 million children in your neighborhood and most of them try to use the sprinkler simultaneously, things can get a little dicey.

Plus, I was busy keeping The Cabana clean. When I wasn't picking up wet towels and swimsuits off the wood floors (as I repeated "Earthly treasures. Rot and decay."), I was busy removing our weapons cache from the powder room sink.

(It's a good thing they don't give you the full range of responsibilities when you enter motherhood, isn't it?)

And when I wasn't uncovering panties in the junk drawer, I was scrambling to remove them from under the stepstool before company came over.

Then came August, a few trips in different directions across the country, back to school hoopla, and the realization that I hadn't actually unpacked all of our moving boxes from over one year ago.

Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing I'd rather do than organize miscellaneous childhood memorabilia and come to terms with eight large bins of Christmas decor, but really.

Also in August came the Olympics.

No one told me when 2008 began that I had a very intense, emotional, TWO WEEK COMMITMENT, during which time I would sleep very little, eat very much, and consider a career in kayaking.

Or truly, if I'm running on Dara Torres' biological clock, I have a good decade of training before I begin my career as a swimmer.

As an aside, you all can have Michael Phelps and his eight shiny medals.

Has he ever had ANOTHER HUMAN LIVE INSIDE HIM for 9 months and then beat the French?

He is so overrated.

Well, kind of.

During the past few weeks, I've started to fantasize about what my life would be like when the children go back to school and I have a few moments to think. 

In peace. And quiet.

And talk. Or not talk.

And go someplace. Or stay home.

And clean. Or throw things in the laundry room and shut the door quickly.

I envisioned myself at Panera, laptop open, iPod humming, typing calmly away. Of course, I'd be savoring a latte and debating between a turkey panini and chicken salad sandwich for lunch.

(My daydream is currently interrupted by watching the 4 million children ride their scooters down our large hill in the middle of the street at top speed WHILE DOING STUNTS, with no thought to the fact that a bloody accident could cause death, or more gravely, postpone my Panera Dream by a week or more.)

(Excuse me for a minute.)

I'm so excited to be all alone and perhaps write, and far more exciting, read a blog or twenty. 

It sounds so heavenly to relax for just an hour without answering questions about poisonous deadly creatures and talking sassy and Barack Obama.

But then you know what?

I will miss those very things.

And the very people that ask those questions.

And I will wonder what those people are doing. And if they're smiling? Or scared? Or wanting to hold my hand? 

And if their friends are being kind? And if they're being obedient?

And I will wonder if his teachers see his tenderness? And need for approval?

And I will wonder if her teachers know she has an intuitive sense of humor? And tries to be quiet, but it's just hard.

I look outside again and there are My Two--amidst the 4 million.

The voices and squeals that can be heard through windows are riding bikes, riding Jeeps, and riding scooters. Their hair is flying, their clothes are dirty, and lunch is still on their faces.

And soon?

Soon it will be quiet. And calm. And still.

I can't decide if I'll like that or not.

But I'll let you know while I'm drinking my mocha.