Summer at my house is defined by the amount of kids hanging out on my porch. Five or less, it’s early Spring. Ten or more and it is officially Summer. I have a sliding glass door and if it revolved I could have cheap air conditioning. I’m not the only one with a porch, either. I’m not sure what the attraction is unless those are all our yogurts and Sunny Delights I see my middle daughter handing out to the neighborhood kids. I am popular though, when they have something they want to throw away or need to use the phone. Who am I kidding? I usually have one of them call my phone, so I can find it.
My youngest daughter thinks of herself as the entertainment committee for the throng of kids between 4-10 that gather on my back porch. She will start with one or two toys and by the time I have done the dishes there is a complete replica of her bedroom set in the backyard and the door is wide open.
My middle child is the banquet and facilities server for all these children that live a mere 30 feet away and cannot drag themselves to got a drink of water or use their own restroom. I can hear my phone ringing, but alas I know it is not for me plus I could not find it if there was a money prize involved.
My oldest daughter is the commentator, also on the award- winning debate team in her high school. She can text, while riding a bike with one contact in. Her listening skills do not include eye contact but lots of “uh huh, uh huh..” She says if I had an I Pod Touch she would be able to listen to me better. I say she might be able to listen to someone if she didn’t throw her phone at her sister. I might as well rung a bell. Three girls and myself make this house a hotbed of dramatic action. I have no need for soap operas, I live in one.
As it is there are nine kids on my porch right now. The neighbor’s three year-old is kindly cleaning the sliding glass door with her tongue.
“Quit licking the glass!” My oldest one yells and sends a picture of the poor kid to 20 of her nearest and dearest friends. I wander into the kitchen, I immediately get the “You’re in the wrong room look “ from three preteens. I mouth the lyrics to the latest Justin Bieber hit, and sing, “I’m gonna dance unless you get outside and enjoy this beautiful day!” They leave. I look for one of my fat-free yogurts. Gone, along with every spoon in the house. Outside, there is a wolfpack of kids in the backyard. This is one of those moments to be savored, treasured. The door opens and shuts and opens another hundred times. Ahh. Summertime.
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