The long, hot summer

There is something about summer that seems to accentuate our parenting flaws. We relax a little bit since there is no homework and no one has to be at school by 8 a.m. Dinner tends to be later, bedtime is a little looser and ice cream is doled out like vitamins. The household is devoid of any homemade charts that monitor things like screen time or chores. We have our moments though. Well, Kristen does at least.

This upcoming week will be “Screen Free” by her decree, which should be interesting. Elliott has gotten really into Minecraft lately. Half the time he isn’t even playing, but watching instructional videos by some British guy who calls himself Stampy Cat building elaborate Minecraft worlds. I don’t understand these worlds, or why an adult would care to create them, put them on YouTube or call himself Stampy Cat. Anyway, Elliott will be just as happy playing Boggle this week, right?

Last Friday night, Margo wanted to watch the video of her ballet recital so we left her to her own device. Apparently, she toggled over to Netflix and 34 minutes of an episode of Orange Is The New Black. I’ve never seen the show but from what I gather, it’s not intended for the 4-year-old ballerina set. She says she didn’t catch any bad words but noted there was a shower scene involving “friends.” I give her and her nonplussed attitude much credit. I give us very little. So yeah, maybe a screen free week is a decent idea.

Hopefully, it fares better than the week that Kristen decided unilaterally that our household was going to stop eating cereal with added sugar. I was not debriefed. Children revolted and the morning routine was blown to bits. In a rare act of subterfuge I stopped at the store for “bananas” later that day and returned with a couple boxes that three out of four Sullivans could agree upon the next morning.

The achilles heel of our household is the sleep schedule and summertime is doing nothing for our handicap. Kristen and I take one child apiece and usually fall asleep with them after reading stories. When you ask me what the last good book I read was and I answer Diary of a Wimpy Kid, I am being dead serious. At some point around midnight, we drag ourselves out of our respective child’s beds and retreat to our own which is a terminally flawed ritual, I know, but they are awfully snuggable when we put them to bed. It’s just then they wake in the middle of night as changed beings.

Elliott has something of a hot stove reaction to waking up and finding that he has no company so he might come in around 2 a.m. or so. As he has gotten longer and leaner, sharing a bed with him can be like cuddling up to a sack of triangles. So instead of catching the wrong side of an isosceles for the second time in a night, I just wave the white flag and trade beds with him. I should wear a FitBit to bed because after falling asleep in Elliott’s bed, then retreating to my own, then forfeiting my spot back to him, Margo fetches me for my fourth sleep location of the evening. There I can enjoy her patented flip flops, sideways donkey kicks and sleep-whining about the covers being on (or off ). It’s a ninehour circus of sleep where I net about six.

Needless to say, The Society for Gifted Parenting might not come a-calling this summer but the truth is I don’t really have any interest in listening to Yanni or drinking beet smoothies either. Oh, wait, I think the week after “Screen Free” week is the “Summer Smoothie Cleanse” week that Kristen has planned. I’m pretty sure after that we’ll have this place running perfectly.