The Fruit of Boredom

I really wanted to make it to the pool yesterday, but the sky looked gray and vaguely threatening. The previous afternoon found us packing up our gear to leave the pool post haste when a whopper of a storm moved in. It was one of those storms I would have loved to watch with the kids . . . from the safety of my living room, not from the right lane of the Bobby Jones Expressway.

We prayed an Angelus, we watched lightening hit a pole, I cried a little, Tim held my hand.

No joke.

So today, what with the fear and the hassle factor, I wasn't heading for the pool unless the coast was clear.

We did a whole lot of nothing. As a rule, I'm not a big fan of A Whole Lot of Nothing because inevitably we dissemble, and the results are usually not pretty.

(And, in the interest of full disclosure, there was some of this. John, bless his heart, is an easy target. The older boys and a friend started fake whispering behind their hands, leaving John with the impression that he was being left out of some fantastic plans or big secret.

He shrieked. Loudly. And then I dealt with the boys. Loudly. Then I apologized. Then they apologized.)

And then we got back to having the perfect lazy summer day.

The boys played Clue.

Kolbe made super hero costumes for John.

Tim and I taught Kolbe to play Euchre.

I re-organized John and Ainsley's room.

We erected a tent in the living room.

Tim played his guitar for a long time.

Kolbe worked on his script.

Tim spent an hour building Viking Lego guys with John.

This has been the best summer ever. I'm not entirely sure why. I spied the Back to School sales circulars and had a pang of wistfulness wash over me.

In early May, when sports and car pools and homework and to do lists and permission slips overwhelmed me, when I looked forward to the blissful, unhurried days of summer, it was this day I imagined.

 And now I'd better run. We have water colors to do.