As usual, summer has lasted about 10 days too long-in some ways, anyway. The kids are fighting, being sassy, complaining about boredom. In the other, much more real way, summer never lasts long enough--starting Monday, I have to go through that stomach turning process of packing lunch every day. Something about seeing deli meat before 6:30 in the morning is really nauseating. We'll be navigating bedtimes and baths and uniforms and uncomfy socks and homework and all the crap that comes along with school. It's bittersweet, for sure.
One thing that I DO know for sure is that S has watched waaaaaaaaaaay too many cartoons this summer. Phineas and Ferb, my personal favorites have been on a summer marathon. I think S has seen every episode--not just of the marathon, but of the entire series. He's also taken to one of those stupid Power Ranger shows, and the old standby, Scooby Doo. S will watch TV for hours at a time if we let him. E, on the other hand, gets bored, reads a book and then comes back to it. S, mesmerized, lays on the couch, shoving dry Apple Jacks into his mouth like a zombie.
Of course, kids also pick up every catchphrase from everything they every watch. So, this summer, we've had our share of "smurf" replacing normal verbs. We've also had the crazy Dufenschmirtz voice and we've named our household devices like that evil doctor: the toaster is now "The toastenator." It's pretty amusing.
But, I think the kicker, the single moment when I knew for SURE that S had too much TV was this morning. He was sitting in this GIANT dump truck that he's had for years. The truck's enormity and his relative smallness combine to make it his favorite mode of transport downstairs. He's like an old person in a scooter thing: he wheels from room to room with a gentle push to the floor. Freak. ANYWAY. From the bed of his dumptruck, he's complaining to me that the housekeeper threw away the cheat codes for the video games. (While I understand these words individually, I have know idea what they mean in this order). He's fibbing and "convincing" me that the paper was safely kept on the table (rather than the floor, where I know it was) or maybe, he concedes on the couch. I suggest that if the paper were kept in the cubby with the games, perhaps it would still be there.
"It hardly seems fair, young man, to blame the housekeeper for throwing out paper from the floor. I think you need to accept this as a lesson in keeping track of your own belongings."
S: (rocking back and forth in his dumptruck, quiet for a moment. Then, in evil genius voice) I'll get you next time. (Exits room, in dumptruck)
Touche.
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