To commemorate the onslaught of summer at the Akers household, I felt a top 8 reasons why I "love"
(*read, abhore ,) this usually cherished by most, 3 months out of the year, was in order. So. Without further adieu, because we hate when adieu runs over, I present. Summer Lurvin'.
1. The weather. There are 2 things in life I was born without, breasts that grow, and a tolerance for heat. I grew up in Alaska, and found solace in it's summers that consisted of 3 weeks of weather topping the charts at 85. and the rest, a sultry 65, give or take a few for cloud coverage and snow downfall. We don't like heat. We live there for a reason. Not the male to female ratio, not the superfluous amounts of oil flowing through our pipelines, not our hot governor who has a front porch view of Russia, no, we live there because we like to be cold. Anyone who says otherwise is there on forced military orders, and will leave as soon as doing so isn't a violation of the UCMJ. Tennessee, is hot. There is no other way to put it. When you wake up and the temperature is higher than your last perfect test score. It's time to consider moving.
2. The clothes. If there's anything I can attest to being a fan of, it's clothing. I pretty much have an addiction to 3 things. the last one being clothes. I buy them in times of stress, in times of pleasure, in times of pain. (literally, when my pants are so small they squish into the pockets of fat on my gut causing blood blisters of sheer agony, I buy new ones. ) My clothing however has never consisted of 2 items. Shorts, and shirts that reveal my arms. I've found pale white extremities, and a fondness for all things caloric, have left me in a state of continuous pants wearage, not to mention lessening the chance of a stray arm reverberation of skin coming back and giving me a black eye. I believe the term "shake what your mama gave you" should be limited to special occasion snow globes, and gifted magic 8 balls. Not the case with most people in my vicinity. Apparently the fact I wear jeans on the daily leads people to believe I can either not afford shorts, or that I don't have any. Offering to give me yours, is not only going to increase the chances of ending our friendship, it's going to lead me to believe you find my clothing choices an insinuation that I would sport elastic waist band cargo shorts, and mom jeans. I. Would not.
I keep my legs under wraps for a reason. If I wanted to attract starving vampires, I'd ask Kristen Stewart for tips.
3. The end of school. Ah. The joys of having children at home ALL day. It's not that I don't love my children. I do. It's not that I don't appreciate their voices in all different areas of screaming capacity. I do. I just don't know how to do it. 24 hours. A DAY> I don't pretend to be a fan of home-school, let me rephrase, I'm a HUGE fan of home-schooling. Just not one where I am the teacher. I enjoy having a few hours of solitude where I can shave a leg, mop a floor, just to take bets on how long it will take to rival the floor of the local taco bell restroom. I knew when I signed up for motherhood. All 4 times, that I was going to have plenty of bonding time with them. I just didn't realize it was going to consist of so much arguing. And cleaning. and the proverbial screams of problems that really, I don't know, seem like problems.? WE're 4 days in, and I can pretty much see now that when they open the doors for school registration, me and my children are going to be at the front of the line. In fact, I may volunteer to head the operation in hopes of them opening a few days earlier. Yes. That's happening.
4. The vacations. Oh that I were a millionaire and family vacations could consist of a 30 minute jet flight to Disney World, with the nanny who would in turn rub my shoulders as I sipped orange juice and other calming liquids out of a straw. But. THEY DON'T. They consist of 4 things. Car sickness. VOmit. CAr sickness. and lots of ARE WE THERE YET??? We've taken one vacation so far. If 6 hours in a car with 4 kids, 1 DVD player the size of a small paperback book, 2 bouts of "I'm gonna be sick", 1 misread TomTom location, and 7 days of an exhilarating game entitled "cornhole" can be considered a vacation. We travel like the beverly hill billies, only they had nicer transportation. At least the empty wal-mart bags make it appear as if we have coordinating luggage. We're redneck. To the core. We stop at travel plazas, we pee in empty soda bottles headed down the interstate at 95, and we often find it necessary to break the rule, no shirt no shoes no service. I love a good day away from my life, but vacations, in the sense that most people know them, failed to exist at the expulsion of the 4th child from my fertile uterus. For now. Wal-mart is our only destination. Besides. They have cheaper souvenirs.
5. The ice cream man. YEah I know. What kind of horrible woman doesn't like the ice cream man. Well let's see, the horrible woman that has 4 children who at one listen of that wretched here we go round the mulberry tree lyrical gathering spouting forth from your 12x12 ice box on wheels, sends my children into a frenzy, seen only in times of sheer joy and elation. Now. I'm all for supporting small business, even small businesess on wheels that could very well be just a cover up for your creepy kid obsession, but $4 for an ice cream bar, is not only ridiculous, it's not even good!~ For what it costs me to get all my children a snack from your ice cream parlor on dubs, I could take us to Outback. Twice. I feel horrible telling them no as you drive by ridiculously slow, beeping your la cockroach horn, and waving, trying to entice them into your ice cream flavored clutches, but until you lower your prices, or begin offering samples. I have to say. No spanks.
6. Swimsuits. Need I even broach this subject? Obviously. I do. It's the bane of my fat covered existence. I distinctly remember trying on swimsuits one year as a 15 year old high school girl thinking, " I am SO gross." Dear sweet mothers milk, I hadn't seen gross. I hadn't yet watch my body go from a slim 125 pounds to the 205 pound mass that was my grotesquely stretched out frame. I had yet to feed small babies with the glorious bososms that I cursed on a daily basis. My arms had yet to reach full fat gathering potential, with stretch marks from my arm pit to my the fat that used to be my collar bone. My lovely curvy once gymnastic abled thighs had yet to collect wonderful patches of varicose veins that seem to sparkle in the noon day sun. I had no idea then, that swimsuit buying was at it's peak of primal perfection. I've yet to find a swimsuit that alters the entire course of my bodies natural lines, and doesn't give the illusion that I'm stuffing a turkey into an empty chicken shell. It's repulsing. And it's about time swimsuit designers knew how to cater to the population who is willing to swim, yet not willing to risk being mistaken for a beached humpback in the process. I haven't found the lucky swimsuit for this summer. The ones at the local bikini rack breathed a collective sigh of relief when I walked past and didn't reach for any of them. But I'm still on the lookout. I'll get one. And when I do. I'll be sure the sun pays homage in the form of non pasty whiteness. I might even take pictures.
7. The classic hits of summer. We all know them. We've all sang them. We've all called the radio station and requested them, only to wait for the exact moment they came on, and pushed REC/PLAY at the same time to add it to that mixed tape for the boy you gave your heart to, only to discover he was giving it to 3 other girls at the same time, song. One year it was LFO, I like girls who wear abercrombie and fitch. Then it was Ricky Martin, and his risque tune of living la vida loca, Sean Kingston always manages to come out with one, and if you give her 3 minutes, and a chance to throw something that rhymes together, Hannah Montana could pen us the master mix of summers to come. i love these songs. I listen to them. I no longer call and request them on the radio, but I do download them to my ipod under the folder, songs I love, but if anyone asks, I've never heard or paid good money for them. I really do enjoy them. I just sometimes wish you could turn on the car radio and not have to hear them in a continuous stream. Oh well. Give it 6 months, and you'll be able to hear those same songs sung by prepubescent teenagers with high pitched voices and lyrical changes that make it fit for grade schoolers everywhere. I suppose that's a plus.
8. The movies. I love the movies. Really. I do. I'd see them all if they were open to the general public and supplied cages with which to place your children in until which time the movie was over, because the chance of them ruining it with screaming or rapid movements that blocked other people from seeing the movie they paid far too much to see, weren't so high. I've always been a fan of the big screen. HEck, I'm a fan of any screen that allows me to get lost in other peoples adventures for a minute, it does however seem like the incentive of making a summer blockbuster leaves us, the general population stuck with the decision of which movie to waste our hard earned cash on. Every movie preview has Mr. Movie voice promising us something we haven't seen before, and something we can't wait to see. Unless it's Channing Tatum proposing marriage and a lifetime supply of diet coke, chances are, I can wait to see it. And I won't have to pay a sitter, or pay $74 plus tax for the popcorn I'm just going to spill as I'm walking up to find a seat in the dark because I waited til the last possible minute to go in, in hopes of saving myself the embarrassment of going to a movie alone. I love the movies. I do. I just wish the summer had less must-see movies, and more must-see movies I could take my kids to. TErminator cartoon nation perhaps. The kinder, gentler terminator.
As you all know. I write with a constant sarcastic undertone, and really. I love summer. Even if my definition of summer falls short of what most consider a season worth celebrating. I will always be a snow girl, and chances are, summer will continue to be the one part of the year I am forced to invest in medical strength antiperspirant, and a beach towel large enough to cover the parts not worth of being seen in a swimsuit. My kids love it, and enjoy it, and really, with that. Who really cares what it does to me.
(Those of you here about the scrapbook page I may have created today. come back in a few for the posting) this is almost as good as the season premiere of Jon & Kate plus 8. Ruth scrapbooking surely requires at least a few rogue hits. Thanks for the faithful readership. And for what it's worth. You guys rock :)