We’re moved into the house enough to find the measuring cups, toilet paper, underwear, and the Wii.
The kids are done with their camps. It’s the middle of July. No one goes outside – except to swim – in July. July is also the month where anyone with a Texas residence leaves the state and vacations elsewhere. Okay, so there are a few stragglers – none of which my kids have made friends with yet. A fact I am constantly reminded of. Incessantly. Several times an hour.
There are still so many, many boxes to unpack. And spices to organize. And pictures to hang.
But every time I look around, the kids are underfoot. Literally. Like a pack of puppies nipping at my heels. Except for two of the puppies, who have developed an unfortunate sleep disorder – that of sleeping too much – and must be forced out of bed with a fire hose, although a younger sibling spraying water in their faces is almost as effective and much less soggy.
They are driving me insane.
They are driving each other insane.
When I was packing to move, I don’t remember the kids being in my face so much. But I must remember. They had friends. Not yet the case here in this new neighborhood.
When I packed, they didn’t mind me ignoring them because they were busy, busy, busy with school and friends. As I’m trying to unpack, my ignoring them gets a little tricky. I’m the only one they’ve got. They don’t need an unpacker/organizer lady scuttling around their house. They need their mom.
So . . . I repeat, over and over in my mind:
I gleaned this timely gem of advice from Gru of Despicable Me fame. Gru started out despicable but ended up being kinda okay because he saw that some kids needed him. I’m hoping to do the same. Maybe I wasn’t despicable, but I certainly have been less than fully engaged. And I see that my kids definitely need me.
So we’ve been Chillaxing. Swimming. Library. Wal-Mart. Hobby Lobby. $.50 ice cream cones from McDonald’s. Smoothies. Games. Reading. Swimming some more. Parks only once on a rainy day – it’s too dang hot most of the time.
The unpacked boxes, unhung pictures, unorganized spices – they’ll still be there when school starts.
Me? I’ll be chillaxing with my kids. And maybe my kids will think I’m okay.
Anyone want to join us?