Apparently, I'm not a "summer" blogger. I thought maybe I could be, once I got used to having King around all the time, but no. I did get over the initial "STOP FOLLOWING ME" period in which he would literally tail me so closely that if I stopped too quickly he ran into my backside. However, he continued to ride me like a drill Sergeant, demanding entertainment as though I was "Julie" his perky cruise director just waiting with a clipboard full of fun activities to suggest. In summary: King's brand of "neediness", coupled with Mike's "I want Mom to HOOOOOLD me every lovin' minute of every mother-lovin' day" faze, left no time for my frivolous writing endeavors.
I was able to nurse an newly acquired addiction to eBay through which I was able to obtain a new (to me) cow-shaped creamer and several used bed sheets that are destined never to become the curtains I intended. Speaking of my unrealized good intentions, aka "things I always talk about doing, but never actually do", I had been planning to have a garage sale in the spring. This, of course, never happened, but I have begun selling some of my infamous "crap" on eBay. Although, it is satisfying to have someone actually pay me to send them my clutter, and it does help alleviate the guilt I have about the money I've spent on my aforementioned addiction, I am thinking more and more that I am just prolonging an already miserable organization process and creating a pant-load of extra work to go along with it (i.e. taking pictures, writing descriptions, packing and shipping).
Surely, you didn't expect that I was doing anything too exciting this summer?
It was not without it's absurd and noteworthy highlights, however, which I will hopefully be able to document in upcoming posts, in-between stories of my already ultra-exciting daily events. For example, I would like to tell you all about how I almost got killed by a speeding golf cart. I always imagined I'd "go" in some ironic and amusing way, like being hit by a garbage truck or having an anvil dropped on my head, but only my real-life could have come up with me being flattened by a golf cart at 3:30 in the morning in Texas, no less. There's also a good story about my summer-kick-off painting project, in which ED and I got high off primer fumes and couldn't stop telling "caulk" jokes. Or there's the one about my "Go Tell It on the Mountain" moment, where I spout scripture to the Jehovah's Witness' who came calling one day. I told them they were "evil doers" and that if they continue to believe what they do they're "screwed." To this the head Witness responded, "does that mean you don't want us to come back?"
I know that after a certain age there is no longer such a thing as a "summer vacation." However, as a stay-at-home mother, summer is the anti-vacation, where your workload quadruples. The messes increase at the same rate at which your time to clean them up decreases. So, "What have I been doing all summer," you ask? Working my ass off, thank you very much.