Summer's End

Tomorrow both the husband and the boy are back to school.  I've been back at work for the past two weeks, but I feel their angst. Zane will put on his long blue pants and his brand new white school uniform shirt.  He has a brand new backpack that looks like a character from Minecraft, and we found the library books that the boy swore he had returned during the last school year.  He's already met his teacher, and he knows where his classroom is.  Larry will be attending teacher meetings, something that he loathes, and moving into a brand new classroom.  Zane is not happy about going back to school, of course.  Neither is his father.  But they'll both suck it up and walk out the door with me tomorrow, their heads hanging and their hearts heavy. Dirges will be sung. Tissues will likely be needed.

Summer is over for the men in the house. 

I know that the actual official end of summer is not here yet, but for me summer ends when school/work starts. School, and work, are all about schedules.  School is about following directions and following schedules. School is about remaining seated while the teacher is talking, raising your hand to answer a question, and always remembering to write your name at the top of your paper. 

Work is about following directions and schedules, emailing coworkers, making phone calls, sitting in meetings, and writing To-Do lists that you will immediately misplace.  Work is looking over folders until you can't see straight, while completing an Excel spreadsheet with faulty cells that nobody seems to know how to fix. 

Summer is not any of those things. 

Summer is about staying up late to see the stars move across the sky.  It's sleeping late because you can.  It's eating sticky, juicy things like watermelon, and then jumping into the nearest body of water to clean up.  Summer is heading to the beach for the day whenever you feel like it.  It's about water balloon fights in the back yard, and Nerf wars in the house.  Summer is about family vacations and barbecues and the gloriousness of having no schedule at all. 

Summer is about floating along on the wind, to what ever adventure awaits, even if that adventure is a nap in a hammock under a shady tree.

We live in a country where kids get their summers off.  I am glad for that.  We tend to overschedule ourselves, and some of us extend that habit to our children, with dance camps, swimming lessons, and the like.  For some of us, not one second of the day is unoccupied, and that's a shame. Children need down time, and so do adults.   Time to relax, recover, and rejuvenate, so we can find our enthusiasm for the next obstacle in front of us.  I think that Zane and his father had a great summer, and are ready to face the school year. 

Still, we are all sorry to see summer end.

A Minor Rant

This is my summer purse. I found it by accident at Borders(Best Bookstore EVER) when they were having their last few sales.  I paid twenty dollars for this purse.  It is straw, for the most part, with a cloth inset so your stuff doesn't fall out.  It usually hangs out in my closet for most of the year, because for most of the year I carry the MOM purse, which contains everything nobody else wants to carry.  But during this summer of chemo/surgeries/radiation, I put the MOM purse aside for a lighter and more summer-y, look.  Everywhere I go, I get compliments on this purse.  I get told that my purse is cute and interesting and pretty.  I've had so many compliments that I started wondering if there was some hidden camera out there, recording my responses for some sort of prank show: "*snicker* We told her that her purse was awesome, and she BOUGHT it!" 

I am not a someone who gets excited about designer purses. I've just never been all that interested in fashion, and I'm perfectly happy with a purse that is useful rather than stylish. But women seem to be suckers for purse labels. Why is that?  If some designer has put their name on a purse, women have to buy it. They don't seem to care about how much the item costs, as long as it has someone's name on it.  If you don't have one of the latest designer purses, it is frowned upon.  You just aren't as cool as the people who own a purse with a label, I've heard. 

I don't get it. 

These purses are exactly the same as any other leather purse; there's nothing that special about them.  They aren't made from the hide of a particularly rare goat that only eats oat grass; they aren't stitched by silent monks in the Himalayas. These purses don't walk your dog for you or balance your checkbook. They're often made at the same factory in China.  Most of these purses aren't even particularly attractive. Yet they cost several hundred dollars more than a plain leather purse.  Why?  Because of the label.

It's the name on the purse that costs you the money.  You are paying Michael Kors, or Miss Vera, for the "privilege" of carting around a handbag with their name on it. They get your money, and you give them free advertising.  It's kind of an ingenious ploy, when you think about it. Why pay some big Madison Avenue firm advertising fees when a company can get some random people to pay extra for the opportunity to advertise their product?   From my point of view, designers should pay me, not the other way around. And when did women get so wrapped up in the name on an item's label that we forget to be discerning and skeptical consumers?  We are all about saving money until someone slaps their name on it; then our need to save seems to be thrown out the window.  I would rather use that money for something else, like a family vacation to the beach.  If that makes me uncool, so be it.

I like my summer bag.  While inexpensive, my purse holds all my stuff.  It has personality, even if it doesn't have a label.  In the world of look alike purses, it's unique.  A stand out.  I'm okay with that. 

Summer's End

This is a continuation of last week's adventure. 

After seeing to the animals on the farm, they spent most of that summer day naked in bed, their arms and legs entwined. Caroline had opened the windows, and a lazy breeze drifted through the room, helped along by the slowly turning ceiling fan above them.  They both knew that there would be hard work to come, but were content to set the world outside the door for a little while.
 
Occasionally they talked, he on his back, her head on his chest. David wanted to share everything, to reveal the dark and secret corners of his heart to her. To tell her that she was the one, that he would never love another. He knew that Caroline would just push him away, like she always did. Instead he told her stories of his years at college and his time in the military.  She burst into giggles as he talked about the first time he ate a tamale.

"Did you really eat the corn husk?" Caroline was breathy with laughter. "You're just kidding me, right?"  She ran her fingers up his arm, scooping up a couple of ladybirds that had found the coolness of their room inviting.  They ran along her hand, scurrying their way to the tips of her fingers before flying into the air. David held up his right hand.

"Swear to God, I ate the whole thing," he laughed at the memory. "I didn't want to be rude, and I was hungry.  I couldn't understand Spanish, and I had no idea why people were laughing until one of the guys filled me in."

"Do you miss it?" Caroline lifted her head, her face close and suddenly serious. Her eyes seemed to be looking through him, looking for something she couldn't name.  David shook his head, hoping that she could see his heart. 

"If I had missed it, would I have come back here?"  His voice was rougher than he intended; he was suddenly tired of holding back his feelings.  If she ran from him, he would wait for her to return, just like he did with a skittish horse.  "You're all I thought about while I was away, Caroline. I thought my feelings would change, that I would forget about you. I never did."

"You say that now, David," Caroline looked away, her voice sad. "And I want to believe you. I always want to believe you. But summer will end, and who's to say that you won't be far away come winter?"

He gently cupped her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip.

"I'm not that guy anymore, Caroline," he whispered.  "I am here, and I am here to stay."

"Mama! I'm home from camp!" They both heard the girl's voice as the screen door slammed.   David stared at Caroline, a slow realization freezing his features. Caroline smiled gently at him, then sat up and began searching the floor for her clothes.  She tossed his jeans at him.

"David, it's time for you to meet your daughter."





Prompt:“... summer will end” and/or “ladybirds”

The Taste of Summer

David's pleasant dreaming evaporated when he rolled over and found her side of the bed empty.  A glance at the clock on her nightstand was unnecessary; the sunlight forcing its way between the slats on the blinds told him that morning had arrived. 

With a groan, David sat up, scrubbing his face of sleep.  As he located his jeans on the floor near the door, he wondered what sort of reception he would find when he left the bedroom.  Would Caroline remember their feud, or would last night's lovemaking still be on her mind?  Should he play it cool, or let his feelings rule?  The unexpected eruption of passion that had rocked David last night was more than he had ever thought to find again.

He wanted more, but he wasn't sure how Caroline felt.

He quietly made his way into the kitchen when he heard the screen door slam.  He stopped cold.  Clad only in his t-shirt, Caroline held a small bucket full of strawberries. She made her way to the sink, her bare feet leaving wet tracks on the floor.  She dumped the fruit into the sink and turned on the faucet, motioning for him to open a cabinet.  He pulled out a bowl and brought it to her, then just stood back.  David was suddenly fascinated by her hands.  Her fingers had been so soft when they slid over his skin just hours earlier. Yet he knew that she took care of the entire farm by herself.

"Strawberries always remind me of summer." Her voice was soft, distracting. The rich timbre rolled over his skin, raising goosebumps.  Caroline's hands had stopped, and his eyes lifted to her face.  He realized that her lips were still swollen from his kisses, and he liked that.  I thought that she hated me. David had been wrong about that.  He had been wrong about a lot of things. He smiled; so much for playing it cool.

"But you have to pick them early, before the heat, because that's when they taste the best." Caroline picked up and examined an uncut strawberry, red and ripe. She moved closer to David, her eyes glazed with passion. She bit into the fruit, the juice exploding over her lips and dripping onto his shirt. His shirt.  The truth hit him.

"Oops." Caroline's smile was an invitation.  David's eyes focused a moment on the stains where the roundness of her curves began.  In his shirt.  His hands grabbed her waist and he pulled her mouth to his. He could taste the strawberry, the sun, the earth, and the sky in her kiss. 

She was his world.




Summer


Hehehe...summer is all about the heat...right? I'm going to go cool off now. 

No Butt-Prints on the Couch, and other Random

Everyone is talking all about the NSA snooping operation.   It's terrible, it's horrible, it's awful!  Except...I remember twelve years ago, when The Patriot Act was first brought up, and the people who raised some alarm bells were shouted down, because it was all to protect us from the terrorists.  The law passed, and twelve years later, some idiot who should have never been allowed access to any data(seriously--don't they do some sort of psychological evaluation on these people before they let them into the secret room?) carries off a laptop to Hong Kong and the whole country is up in arms.  This Snowden character isn't a hero; he's a terrorist.  He performed an action designed to terrorize a country in order to get whatever it is he wants.  We elect our government for the express purpose of making decisions for us, and it wasn't that guy's job to reveal those secrets, as far as I'm concerned. He needs to just shut up and quit going on and on about the government trying to kill him.  The government has better things to do.  I have nothing to hide, and if the NSA wants to be bored to tears, they are welcome to read my texts, emails, and listen in on my phone calls.  Nothing to see there!

Our family has been parked in front of the television for every single NBA Finals game.  Larry assigned us places, because we were in those spots the first time the Spurs won, and what if THAT was the reason they won?  Zane jokingly said that he was going to root for the Heat, and Larry told Zane that if he did that, he was sleeping out in the backyard.  The man is that serious about his Spurs!  Sunday night I was hollering just as loud as he was for Manu Ginobili.  I don't know why I like him, but I sure love it when he gets going.  He's very energetic, so it's likely that I'm just envious.  I used to get envious of their muscles and low body fat, but then I realized that being in shape is part of their job.  They have to work out like that, or they don't play as well, and then they don't play at all. Once I looked at the situation from that angle, I didn't envy those biceps so much.  Plus, I think that I'd look pretty silly with Tony Parker's biceps. 

The other day, Zane told us that we are not allowed to leave butt-prints on the couch.  I just stared at him.  Where the heck did he get that from?  It's going to bother me until I figure it out.  Larry and I can generally trace the comments that Zane makes back to a specific show or a game or a movie, but we are currently stumped.  It's times like this that I wish I could do that Vulcan Mind Meld thing with my son, so I could just pull out that information.  I hate waiting. 

I've been a reading fool lately. I get into these grooves, and I just read everything in sight, one right after the other.  I've read the latest John Sandford book, and I've read a ton of Amanda Quick, and I've been making my way through a book called Badass: Ultimate Deathmatch.  That last book is about some of history's greatest duels, battles, etc. Not what you'd expect me to read, but it's history, and I loves me some history!   Today the latest Neil Gaiman book comes out, and I'm looking forward to reading that, too. 

Only THREE more days of work and then I am FREE for the summer!  I sort of feel like a kid during the last week of school--I can barely sit still!  Do you remember how you felt when you were a kid, anxiously waiting for that last bell to ring so you could run home and begin the summer?  It's like that.  I have all sorts of plans for us, including a trip to...SeaWorld.  Zane wants to meet Shamu, and I can't wait for him to see the Sharks!  I'd like to go to a Great Wolf Lodge, but those rooms are crazy--expensive.  300$ a night for a room with children is too much--we could spend almost a week on the beach for that.  So I'm waiting for a more reasonable price, like 150$.  Seriously--$300+ for a room, not including the 42 extra charges and taxes they add on.  For that much, I want an in-room masseuse, a free steak dinner, and a cabana boy at my side with a palm fan, just in case I get sweaty.

I was a Bad Mom yesterday.  I came home after working ten hours, and I decided that I didn't need to go to soccer practice with Larry and Zane.  Larry is perfectly capable of taking care of our child, after all, and I wanted to just veg.  Besides, I've discussed how the other soccer moms treat me.  After a long day of work, who needs that?  I get enough poor treatment during my day, thank you!  Zane has his very first soccer tournament this weekend, and I hope that he does well. 


Go visit Miss Stacy, because she is the awesome!

Summer at 5pm

Sweltering waves of heat

Chase the dust devils

As I walk across the baked parking lot,

Shoe rubber melting a trail behind me.

Global warming? Pfft!

Crank up that car A/C now!






Prompt:  Describe summer in your own words. Sorry this is late.  I've been working ten hour days and when I do get home, I am just plain tired and annoyed that I have to work ten hour days.  Annoyed doesn't really work for creative endeavors, at least not for me. I hope to be back to myself very soon! 

This weekend we're asking you to describe summer in your own words. Thirty-three of them exactly, of course. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.xOLltQeo.dpuf

This weekend we're asking you to describe summer in your own words. Thirty-three of them exactly, of course. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.xOLltQeo.dpuf

This weekend we're asking you to describe summer in your own words. Thirty-three of them exactly, of course. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.xOLltQeo.dpuf

This weekend we're asking you to describe summer in your own words. Thirty-three of them exactly, of course. Good luck! - See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.xOLltQeo.dpuf