waning summer

It is the last full week of summer and I find myself culling from a shallow reservoir of resolve.
You think that vine will hold you as you swing over the rock pile? Try it.
You want to light matches at the sink? Thanks for letting me know.
You'd like to have cheese sticks and cheddar crackers for dinner? Sounds perfect.

If I were to write a parenting book at this point, an ode to the end of summer, I might call it: Fine. Whatever. Go Ahead.

I love all of it, all of the chaos, the joy, the irritation, the boredom, the hardships, the fun. The wet towels and the dirty toes. The BOYS!  I love them.
But my patience index is, regrettably, waning. The needle seems suddenly stuck somewhere between OMG and WTF.
All I have for the boys are sighs. Where do they get the energy for all of the activity? For all of the arguing?!

Summer is Andy's busy season at work, and apparently it is our loud season at home. 
But that's just it, a season, so I know it's not forever. I know I will miss it all someday.
I will miss matchbox cars on the table and stickers on everything but paper, carting five thousand library books to return and refolding the entirety of the linen closet, post-fort.

Still I need a volume control. Plus some kind of armor that forces their complaints to bounce off me and land in a pile at my feet.

Instead I'm just over here like a real life shruggie emoji, trying to ignore the noise and the mess, and acknowledge the luck of it all.

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