Monday/Saturday Same Dif.

     Summer is officially here… and with the ending of school all my days are both a Monday and a Saturday. Confused? Let me explain… With my days promptly beginning at 6 am, where I become, maid, short order cook, waste management, chauffeur, event planner and coordinator, dog walker, entertainer, tutor, detective, jungle gym, referee, ass wiper, kleenex, and whatever else my day has to offer and ends shortly before my will and sanity have no hope of returning; therefore EVERYDAY is Monday. But since getting out of my pajamas is technically not required of me… its Saturday. 

    With a long and arduous winter under our belt and a huge transition back to Florida and then the devastating passing of our beloved pet; I was ready for summer vacation.Then, it started and I remembered that vacations are for children and fathers not for mothers. With our adventurous past few months, my husband and I decided on a low key summer that I am reveling in. Playdates and a twice a week golf camp my only required events and of course, working out to keep my insanity at bay and my ass between Kim Kardashian and Momma Cass  size.

     With the lack of truly having to be anywhere at any given time, we have lost our ability to get ready in a timely fashion. Seriously, it took us seventeen minutes to put crocs on to take the poor dog for a walk. The other morning, after a torturously long attempt at breakfast, I sent my eldest upstairs to get ready while my the younger took his required bites to move on to the next task. When I came down from making beds, I was delighted to see my three year old beaming at me that he had finished not just bites but his whole plate. Rushing him upstairs, brushing teeth, and outfits picked out I was left with the task of getting myself ready. Mid-hairbrushing, I found my six year old with his pants around his ankles shuffling angrily at me that his poop was too dirty and he was tired go wiping. I told him I didn’t care if took until the next day but I was not going to wipe his ass. (I said butt to him but you get ass). Mid-wing of my eye liner I hear a scream and an “I’m Sowy” which means I am totally going to lose my shit. And there he was… pants still around his ankles but now with excriment smeared on one butt cheek, in his shoes and on the poor little fishy mat. After a hazmat-esque clean up, my winged liner looking sad from sweat I went to clean the breakfast table. There I found out that my three year old is a diabolical genius. He had smashed his mini muffins into little pancakes and secured them underneath his plate so it layed perfectly flat. And that my friends is a typical morning in the Shula house.

     Summer is here and the living ain’t easy but it is highly entertaining. Whether it’s my three year old trying to choke the life out of my six year old or my six year old telling me that his brother “ legitimately needs a zipper for his mouth”…my days are never boring, and neither are my reactions to some of the said behavior. I feel as though I might actually look like a cartoon character as I yell so loudly I can legit feel my eyes bugging out of my head and I can read the cartoon bubbles over my boys head that read “ Well, we did it. We drove the bitch over the edge. Secret high five. Lets do it again tomorrow”.