The Manson Family Summer

For the love of all that is Mark Harmon, I wish my kids were in summer school.

Now I understand why my mother was never as excited about summer vacation as I was -- and why her mood seemed to suddenly lift on the first day of school. If I have to spend any more time alone with these two people who insist on calling me “Mom,” I truly don’t think we’ll emerge from this summer vacation with any semblance of a healthy mother/child relationship.

I resent how being a stay-at-home mom in the summer is essentially like having another part-time job. During the school year, I have my normal mom duties -- laundry, meals, applying the occasional SpongeBob band-aid, maybe reading a book or two if I’m in the mood. But that is when I have a limited number of hours alone with the children each day. Over the summer, however, they are always here! I wake up in the morning, and they are here. I turn around at lunch time, and they are still here. I go to cook dinner and they are still, freakin’ here! All day! Every day! They never go anywhere else! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about this?

So, my summer job has become entertaining these children. And, I don’t mind admitting -- I should be fired from this job.

Sure, I could pack us up and head out to the park, but guess what? The park is boring. At least it is for me. Like I want to sit on a hard bench and sweat in the blistering sun just so they can run around on playground equipment that has been touched by every snot-nosed, germy, virus-carrying kid in the county? At home, they may fight with each other, but at least I have my computer. And my air-conditioning.

And yes, I could arrange for play dates, but that requires me to take a shower and put on makeup and try and look presentable to the other moms.

Museums require everyone acting civilized and mannerly -- and that simply ain’t gonna happen. The Aquarium costs a bazillion dollars, the movies cost even more and all those bouncy, jumpy places are loud and smell like dirty socks.

So, my laziness and my -- okay fine, it’s just my laziness -- has left us stuck at home for the majority of the summer with nothing to do but get on each other’s nerves.

As a result, we have all slipped into behavior that is almost feral with regards to how we treat one another. There has been screaming, hitting, biting, crying, name-calling and mocking. And that’s just from me. The kids have been much worse. Nothing I do seems to evoke a positive response, so I have sunk deep into the negative just to exact my revenge.

Our house is plenty big enough to allow two smallish children to coexist without having to ever come into contact with each other. However, they will not stay away from each other! There is a constant display of acrobatics and professional wrestling that inevitably leaves one of them crying. I have heard myself say more times than I care to admit, that grand old Cosby line, “No one in this house is allowed to touch anyone else in this house ever again!!”

But it never works.

If one of them turns on the Wii, the gaming console sends out a high-frequency vibration that only another child can hear and causes that child to come screaming into the room crying, “I want to play! I get the white remote! No, I don’t want to play bowling!!”

I know we’ll never be the Von Trapp family, but we could at least stop resembling the Manson family.

Last night, I decided we needed to have an emergency family meeting to deal with this growing problem.

Before the kids were to go upstairs and get ready for bed, I sat them down on the sofa, summoned all of my years of parenting website research and attempted to reach their little hearts and minds. I began all Dr. Spock-like by telling them that I, too, was guilty of bad behavior. I apologized for yelling and being short-tempered and using an ugly voice with them. I then asked them if they thought they could help by being better listeners and being kind to each other and showing JAO and I more respect.

L was the first to nod and respond. “Right,” L agreed. “We need better manner. New ones.”

“That’s right, L, we do.”

“Because mine are old.”

“Oh. Well, then we definitely should get you some new ones.”

I turned to Z, “Z, are you going to use your manners?”

L answered my question instead by saying seriously, “I’ve never seen any manners in Z’s room.”

Well, that explains a lot.

“Then we’ll have to get him some.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

After we all agreed that we would start over anew, fresh-family-faced and full of love and mutual respect, L jumped up from the couch and announced, “Okay, now I have something to say.”

“That’s wonderful, L, we would be happy to listen.” See what a great, loving, supportive mom I am already becoming? After only one, good, After School Special chat, the kids have fallen in line and jumped whole-heartedly on the Ozzy and Harriet bandwagon.

L ran across the room saying, “Give me one second;” followed closely by her parrot who intoned, “Gib me un second!” They ducked behind the recliner to prepare for their speech. I took a seat next to JAO on the sofa. We exchanged loving smiles that seemed to say, “Aren’t our children wonderful, Darling?” “Yes, Love of My Life, we are truly blessed.”

After a few moments of whispers between the two, L walked proudly out from behind the chair to take her position right in front of her father and me. She stood tall and began what I was sure was going to be a mature, respectful message full of promises of obedience and deference toward her loving parental units.

This is what she said:

“Mom, Dad, I love you. And you love me. And...” She whipped herself around, flung her tutu up in the air, and stuck out her back end to reveal her bare butt.

I am not kidding.

Next came Z with his Toy Story Pull-Up down around his ankles, saying, “I lub you!” and he, too, bent at the waist and mooned us.

JAO and I did the only thing we could do -- laugh. We laughed until tears came. We laughed until the kids were rolling on the floor with their shiney hineys flashing also laughing hysterically.

In the end (pun intended) I guess I would prefer a house full of zany laughter than one of strict, rigid obedience.

How better to say, “I love you” than with a good, old-fashioned mooning?