That last month of summer was a slippery guy, gliding through my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold on to him. I tried to make him last, threatened to staple his underpants to the chair, but in the end he slithered away and we closed the chapter on another summer, the best one yet. It’d take me a month of Sundays to catch you up on all the fun things we did, so I’ll spare you the long version. Here are the Cliff Notes on our last weeks of summer.
This girl turned 7. SEVEN!. Did it with her signature sideways mullet. Business on the left. Party on the right.
and some spider with her best cousins,
and a birthday celebration inspired by rhythmic gymnastics and McKenna.
There was a pie from her Nanny-Burd and her Auntie Vete.
She was totally into it. I love parties when they’re totally into it.
Ezra and Peter took their streamers and sharpened the ends into swords, proving once again that you can give a boy a doll, but he’ll cut off the arms, add a scope and barrel and start a small war in a third world country before sunset the very same day. And before you know it, he’ll be a small arms dealer even though his only office supplies are a stapler and a banana. That’s just how boys work.
We celebrated Papa’s birthday too. Then watched him open his new SeaDoo cover with a knife. Despite clear instructions to the opposite. It’s another thing boys do.
Then the adults headed to the tennis court to bring it. I don’t have any pictures of that since we were moving so fast they would all be blurry. Suffice it to say that three former varsity players plus one brother and a matriarch who has played her whole life, in flip flops and bathing suits and playing with racquets from the dollar store (they had to be), afforded us proof positive that playing tennis is not like riding a bike. Except for the soreness. That was very similar.
The boys and I ran the mud run. It is a well-named race.
There was a last beach day.
And a last paddle to the sandbar.
And root beer floats on the trampoline.
And then because we hated our big mean rooster and because Hallmark’s website didn’t list an appropriate last week of summer gift, we let the boys shoot the rooster. I sat inside with my fingers in my ears and texted my friend to ask if this could lead to psychopathy? She assured me it could and just as I ran out to put a stop to it, it was over. And I only felt badly until the next morning when it was blessedly quiet without that bloody bird waking us up.
And no, we didn’t eat him. Broke our own rule and just pitched that jerk in the woods for the scavengers. Good riddance.
Without Big Bad around, I loaded four kids, two borrowed dog kennels and a Keloid scar named Steve into the car and drove to a farm in Dorr for 10 new pullets. And came home with four duckings as well.
Meet Mack, Sprinkles, Puff and Rascal. Possibly the cutest ducks on the planet. We taught them to swim on Thursday. Today we are building a house for them. Just when I thought life was getting easier, along came four ducklings.
We are not ready to say Goodbye to summer 2012 yet, so we’ll just say see you later. Especially since we’re headed back to the lake on Friday to close it up and watch my dad try to arrange all the furniture in the cellar in puzzle fashion while we stand around and laugh like loons and the kids run down to the beach to put sand between their toes one last time. Then we will say goodbye. But not yet. Not yet.
This is me being real. Still holding on to summer. You?