Dear Diary,
Hooray! School’s out, and summer has officially begun. Ten glorious weeks without the sound of alarms, homework crises, or frantic dashes to the bus, lunchbox in hand, while I’m still in my bathrobe and sporting a fine layer of leg hair that’s seen better days.
This summer, we’re going retro — no screens, just me, my kids, and a trusty minivan ready for adventure. I spent countless hours planning our days, scouring Pinterest for inventive ways to fill our time with summer joy. One suggestion that caught my eye was to keep a summer journal, as these fleeting moments with the kids are all too precious. Honestly, I can’t recall much from previous summers; it’s like my brain hit pause, similar to those moments before a car crash or running from a chainsaw-wielding maniac.
Week 1
Our first outing was to the zoo, along with 99% of the rest of the population who were clearly on the hunt for the “best summer ever.” We shuffled through the parking lot, strollers in tow, and paused in the gift shop (the only air-conditioned refuge in a sea of 200 acres) before diving into a whirlwind of animals and sunshine.
“What a perfect day for the zoo!” I exclaimed to a fellow parent, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “So glad summer is finally here!”
“Yeah!” she replied, her smile just a touch too wide for genuine happiness.
Week 2
Of the 90 Pinterest activities I found, only a few made the cut with my kids. I was stunned. Who wouldn’t want to put on a West Side Story puppet show or go for a tour of the local light bulb factory? Apparently, my kids wouldn’t recognize fun if it slapped them in the face. Back to the drawing board.
Week 3
I’ve run out of Pinterest ideas. So, I’ve decided to lift my ban on electronics. I just need a moment to think, and frankly, some peace from the constant bickering. It’s almost like they find joy in driving me up the wall! Oh, and I may have picked up a new habit — smoking. Good thing we’re headed on vacation next week!
Week 4
“Vacation” has a completely different meaning now that I have kids. Really, it’s a massive deception. Traveling with them should be called a “trip,” “chaos,” or “HEY HONEY, CAN YOU PLEASE HELP ME PUT UP THIS UMBRELLA SINCE I DID ALL THE PLANNING AND PACKING?” No, I’m NOT on my period. Why do you always assume that?!
Week 5
My kids have united against me. It’s like a sport to see how many ways they can push my buttons. Their tactics range from whining about boredom while dismissing every single idea I suggest to standing in front of a fully stocked refrigerator, complaining there’s nothing to eat, and yelling “Mommy’s pooping!” out the window at passing dog walkers.
Week 6
Eureka! I’ve had a brilliant idea — two weeks of sleepaway camp! I loved it as a kid. But, of course, all the good camps were booked by the end of summer, so I settled on the only option left: circus camp. At least, I think it was a camp. The kids had to fill out W-2s before grooming the “yak lady.”
Week 7
I miss my kids! Two weeks is too long. What was I thinking? Summer isn’t so bad after all.
Week 8
My children have turned into little demons. When I was their age, my mom drove my sisters and me to morning swim lessons, handing us a dollar for candy and a quarter for a phone call if we needed her. If we called early, she’d just ask, “Is there blood? No? Then I’ll see you at 6.” I used to think she was nuts; now I think she should run for president.
Week 9
stares blankly at calendar
Week 10
I made it! This week, I took the kids school supply shopping, and it felt like Christmas. Parents everywhere flooded into stores, finally able to exhale, their eyes glazed, backs slightly hunched, all grinning from ear to ear as they compared prices on loose-leaf paper. I spotted the woman from the zoo.
“We did it,” she whispered, tearing up as she shook me by the shoulders. “We survived!”
“I know,” I said, wiping my own tears. “Want to come over next week and do that West Side Story puppet show? I’ve got everything you need.”