Edict of Mom & The Treaty of Hotdogs

The kids are free at last, free at last. Wednesday was their final day of school and I'm happy for (me) them. No more blasted daily homework, and the rules of showering can be a little more relaxed. (Why is my left justify not working? And my strikeout? And my font color?)

My feelings on Summer Vacation are that the kids should enjoy themselves. Stay up a little later, sleep in a little later. Get dirty, get wet, go barefoot. Eat ice cream, catch 'lightning bugs,' camp out.

And while I don't expect my house to be spic'n span, it's gotta get better than this. I mean, there was straw at the front door, mud at the back door, and Lord knows what in between. I think it's time they step up to bat for dear old mom.

So Thursday morning before I left for work I made a list. It filled an entire page. And the only thing I was asking them to do was clean the floors. That's right, an entire page to explain how to clean the floors. And I wanted so badly to share the document with you. It was embarrassing and over the top, sure. But alas, they threw it in the garbage! What would make them do such a thing? So now I'm even wondering myself "How do you fill an entire page with floor cleaning instructions?' As far as I can remember it was something along the lines of:

• Use the sweeper
• Use the broom
• And a long, rambling explanation about Murphy's Oil Soap and a wet rag.

This assignment was directed at the girls since Sam is up every morning working in the market by 7:35am and he does most of the feeding in the evenings. He's even been doing a little cooking. I love that kid.

Anyhow, I knew the girls would be highly offended by this list and I was glad I was gone when they got it. I also think their Dad though it was a little harsh but I was undeterred by all of this. I figured it could only result in an improvement no matter how half-hearted and indignant they were.

And it did. I can't honestly say what they did or didn't do but there was definitely less stuff on the floor when I got home. They even made another small step in cleaning the hell hole that is their bedroom. So even though their work was not stellar (and was nearly all undone by bedtime and I'll have to do the entire list myself this weekend anyway) I was pleased and proud of them. I made sure to compliment them, thank them, and overlook the huge stinkeye Aggie was giving me when I came home.

And as further proof of my good will and benevolence, I arranged an impromptu weinie roast. Those kids are suckers for sharp sticks and fire. And hot dogs and s'mores. Mom kind of likes them, too. And all was peaceful in the land for many hours.

I'll leave you with this little ditty: I am looking for a yellow box, who has purple chicken pox.

This is the song you sing while you're assembling s'mores.

Ya, I don't know. That's Aggie for ya.