If there were ever two words that put the fear of God in me, it’s those two.
Here’s what I know about summer vacation:
- We are two days into it.
- I’m ready for it to be over.
- I hate the lack of structure.
- No matter how many activities I organize for a certain someone I keep hearing “I’m bored, what should I do next?”
- I am and will continue to be cooking for and cleaning up after Maya constantly.
- Despite the stupidity of the term, play dates are crucial.
- I am and will continue to scramble around trying to make 100 different arrangements thanks to abbreviated summer camp hours.
- I will realize – once again – that I should have provided Maya with a sibling, simply so that she could have built-in entertainment.
- Then I’ll realize – once again - that in that case I’d have to scramble around making arrangements for TWO kids.
- At some point I’ll exhaust my contact list and will beg Ali to watch Maya so I can actually go to work.
Here’s what I also know about summer: it doesn’t affect my husband in the least. He doesn’t worry about calendars and schedules. He doesn’t worry about alternate arrangements or coordination of any kind.
As a matter of fact, he continues to do what he wants, when he wants, how he wants.
So why does he get away with this? That’s what I want to know.