What do you do in the summertime?

There's a lovely song from my childhood that starts out "Oh, What do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green?"...

Well, in South Texas in July, all the world is brown. At least, most of it. Especially during stage 2 water restrictions. I don't know exactly how many days it's been since we've had measurable rain fall, because I don't watch the news. I personally don't think that shootings, car accidents and heroic pets count as "news" but I'm sure I'm in the minority on that one since the local news stations seem to be faring quite well. Regardless of how long it's been, most of the grass in my neighborhood is brown. Although there are a few industrious retirees who refuse to give up because growing grass in impossible conditions is their hobby.

Who's idea was it to have lawns in South Texas? People here spend an appalling amount of money every year trying to defy nature by growing grass in a desert-like climate. They buy sod, install sprinkler systems, plant shade trees (which consume huge amounts of water themselves) fertilize, and then spend hours upon hours with a garden hose in their hand trying to make something grow that was never meant to grow here. The smart people do something called xeriscaping (although my husband calls it zero-scaping because of his adorable miss-use of certain words, but I digress). It's basically getting rid of the impossible-to-grow grass and planting native, low water shrubs and flowering plants surrounded by mulch or ground cover of some kind. Much more sensible. What a novel idea! Planting things that were meant to grow in this climate! Now it's not ideal for spreading out a blanket and having a picnic, but it's too hot here for picnics anyway. Which brings me back to my original topic.

What do you do in the summertime when it reaches 100 degrees before 11:30 and then stays over 100 long after the sun has gone down? Especially when you have 5 kids to entertain. All the things that we would do in a normal climate suddenly become vastly shorter activities at best, and perilous at worst. I don't do well in the heat. When I'm pregnant, the danger of my spontaneously passing out increases exponentially. So why, you may ask, did I choose to live here? Well that's a very long and not very interesting story. Suffice it to say that I met my husband here, whose mother lives here; all of our children have been born here, and since my parents are nearby the prospect of our moving is not anywhere in the near future. Although every year around this time, usually on a day when it's 105 in the shade, we talk about how nice it would be to live in a place with four seasons again, or at least to spend our summers somewhere cooler. Whenever we have this discussion I imagine Suze Orman hearing it and laughing hysterically. Oh yeah, I could practically write a whole book about her.

So picnics are out. Unless you are one of those moms who gets up early even in the summer and is capable of putting together a lunch for 6 that is more exciting than PB&J and a juice box, loads the kids in the car by 9:30 and gets out of the sun before 11:30. And I'm not one of those moms. Besides, if you have a picnic before noon in the summer you might as well just count that as breakfast. Because by the time everyone sleeps in (including mom) and eats around 10, PB&J at 11 is about the most unappealing thing ever. Add in to the mix that the older kids think the park is boring unless there's food involved and the park becomes a non-option. Especially since I hate taking them to the "good" park with the sand box because of, well, the sandbox. Last time I took them there, the three year old got no less than an inch of sand caked into the inside of his crocks and then left them in the suburban. I forgot about them until Sunday morning so... he wore socks only to church that week.

Yes, my 3 year old wears crocs to church. Unless they're caked with sand, and then he wears socks only. I'm not the kind of mom who would search high and low to find church shoes that fit his gargantuan feet after having no luck at Marshall's and Target. His feet are simply too thick to fit into normal shoes. And two stops is about my limit for finding anything. If we don't find it in two stores, we go without. At least until I happen to be in a third store.

There's always the library. But there again, out of necessity, it needs to be a very brief activity. Luckily the branch of the library we visit is very small. I can basically keep the entire kid's section in view from one or two vantage points. As soon as we're through the automatic doors, each kid bolts in his or her own direction. I usually follow the three year old because I figure he's the most likely to tear all the pages out of a book before I catch up. I spend the next 10-15 minutes multi-tasking. Saying yes to this book, no to that one, trying not to lose my temper as I explain for the twentieth time that the princess diary books are, unfortunately, inappropriate for anyone under 18 no matter how cute the movies were; while simultaneously trying to find a few books that will entertain the three year old long enough for me to check out books for the other 3 who insist on having their own cards but are incapable of keeping track of said cards on their own. The good thing about the library visit is that when we do finally get home with no less than 25 books (5 per kid is the limit), usually they are content to read for about an hour before they start using the B word again (b-o-r-e-d). That word is off-limits in our house.

I'm the kind of mom who threatens her kids with classic mom lines that are now considered by many 'experts' to be detrimental to children's growth and development. One of these is "if you are bored, I will be happy to find you something to do...". This line gets spit out in varying degrees of length and tone of voice depending on how long a day it's been and how many times I've heard it that day. The least sugar coated version is "Go find something to do or I'll find you something to do!" I imagine that these 'experts' of whom I speak are sort of like Palaeontologists. They study scientific theories and come up with a science fiction version of what works based on what they have read without ever actually having seen a real-live child. They're like those people who stop you in the grocery store and tell you how to keep your kid quiet when the only contact they've had with kids is to judgementaly observe the sub-standard parenting skills of the neighbors across the street without actually talking to them.

My only saving graces in the summertime are the pool and the free movie. Although these, too, have their pitfalls.

The local theater offers a "Summer Family Film Festival" (although I'm sure my aspiring-director of a brother would make impolite gagging noises at any of the 2 hour potty joke fests they call 'films'). There are two movies per week, one rated G and one rated PG. Usually one or the other of them is tolerable. Although this week the choices are Space Chimps or Hotel for Dogs. I'm not kidding. Those of you without children will probably laugh and think I am making those titles up. I'm not. The sad thing about these movies is that someone wrote those scripts, and then someone ELSE read them and thought they were great! And then someone ELSE read them and decided to actually fund the production! And then someone ELSE read them and said, "Yes, it would be an excellent career move for me to star in this!" And then thousands of people saw the ads on TV or the previews at the theater and said "Well, if John Smith of Entertainment Weekly says it's going to be 'Delightfully Entertaining' that's good enough for me! Let's go spend $10 on a ticket and $20 on a small popcorn and drink!" And then they leave the theater buzzed on caffeine and clogged with artificial butter and tell all their friends it was 'pretty good' for a kid's movie and the cycle perpetuates itself. And that, ladies and gentlemen is why we get so many ridiculously mediocre movies year after year. But again, I digress.

To enjoy the free movie in the summer, you just need to remember two things. One, get there early enough to get a seat somewhere in the middle. Otherwise you will be climbed over by nose picking daycare kids wearing matching T-shirts with their phone numbers sharpied onto the back. Two, it's only free if you BYOSnacks. I carry a small backpack purse. It leaves my hands free for grabbing escaping toddlers and smacking wayward hands while balancing gallons of milk and keys and door handles. It's not a large bag, because I don't believe in large purses, but that's another blog. It is, however, big enough to fit 5 juice boxes, 5 fruit snacks, and 5 baggies full of microwave popcorn. Sometimes there's room for me to squeeze in a real soda for myself. But since the movie starts at 10am, I'm usually still waking up and digesting breakfast and movie treats are the last thing I want to eat. Which is my other complaint with the free movie. I know, they want the hoards of daycare children out of the theater before the paying customers arrive, but I would be so much happier if it was in the middle of the day when the sun is strongest and the only other entertainment option is the pool.

Which brings me to the only other summertime saving grace. The neighborhood pool. For $250 a year I can get a key and go whenever I want. Except Monday, which is 'chlorine day'. It's the best money I spend all year. It's open from May to October. There are no crowds to contend with, there are no treats for the kids to beg me to buy, there are no lines; and when we are there alone (which is most of the time) there is no one to tell me that making the 12 year old sit in the sun for 15 minutes for stealing his sister's goggles is cruel. It's simplicity itself. Cold water, pennies to dive for, and when I want some quiet I can just stick my head under the water. The only time we have ever disliked the pool is when the occasional 'neighbor' makes it unpleasant by telling my kids they can't swim in her "lane". There are no lanes. The are no lines. There are no lane lines in our pool. But this woman (typical of the retirees who live in our neighborhood) acts like it's life and death for her to be able to swim endless laps in our little pool. She even told them one time "I have to swim my laps! I just have to! I have no choice but to swim these laps!"

But the retirees in my neighborhood are a blog for another time.