I gotta say, these summer days have been a lot quieter than I expected so far. Mia’s still in Boston, battling hours-delayed flights each way trying to get back. Ezra and Lorenzo both have neighborhood friends less than a block away from our house and have been gallivanting around with them most of my workdays, which is much more conducive to my working environment than, say, a nerf war in the living room with bullets whizzing by my head and the tsunami of crying and tattling that ensues after they just start bludgeoning each other with the guns right around minute seven of the battle.
The 6 a.m. alarm clock is now a thing of the past (and the near future of course, but I don’t want to think about that right now), which is wonderful. As usual, though, I’m still finding a way to screw it up by telling myself “Hey, you don’t have to get up at any particular time in the morning” and thus staying up far too late watching bad TV shows (adios House of Cards, you’ve officially jumped the shark this season) or putting red-ass beatdowns on little Chinese and Brazilian boys and girls playing Clash Royale. (The Eastern European and Russian ones return the favor by putting the same beatdown on me).
Because breakfast is no longer rushed, it’s healthier and tastier for those who choose to eat it, thanks to the unlimited supply of free farm-fresh eggs I enjoy from my girlfriend’s 150 chickens. I’m down to only one child who refuses to eat eggs (that’s Mia) but to me that’s a victory: I thought eggs were gross until well after I was old enough to legally drink.
The kids’ weight training program is off to a soft launch (got paused quickly due to Mia’s Boston trip) but will fire up in earnest this week. Lorenzo’s progress is uninterrupted, though, mainly because his workouts consist of hoisting the exercise ball over his head and hurling it at the wall, leaping into the same plywood wall with a flying kick, dropping into a backward roll and then hopping on the bench and knocking out 25 twisting decline situps, peacocking to his brother and sister.
The inside of the house looks like Fallujah. A few extra hours inside times three kids will do that.
You can tell that both boys are missing Mia because, nerf wars aside, they’re mostly being nice to each other. I can’t quite put my finger on why one thing causes the other, but my best guess is simply that it’s the I-miss-my-sister version of misery loves company. Despite this, the over-under on how many minutes will pass before they start fighting upon her return is still in the single digits.
First, though, she has to actually get home. On the way to Boston, her first flight was delayed, necessitating the rebooking of 40 people and sending them through different cities to get there. On the way back, she’s delayed an hour again, long enough to miss the final incoming Rapid City flight. If she misses that one, she’ll be making an unexpected overnight stay in Denver. United Airlines is really overdelivering on the bad customer experience this time.
When she gets back, we’ll begin the fierce parliamentary debate about where we should go on our summer vacation. Lorenzo’s short list is “North Carolina, London, and Poop World.” I know this because he wrote it on one of my front porch posts. In Sharpie marker.
I’ll keep the floor open for better suggestions. In the meantime, happy summer, everyone!