Summertime, and the living is . . . easy?

I am in a summer stupor.
When the children are in school, we have structure and order. We go to bed at a regular time every night and get up at the same time every morning. I know what I need to get done during the hours the children are in class, and I know what we all need to do when they get home.
Breakfast is at 7 a.m.
Lunches are packed, and dinner is at 6 p.m.
Saturday is chore day, and Sunday is spent in church.
In the summer, bedtime is relaxed, which means waking up is very relaxed.
There is no set time at which I know I must have everything done for the day and chores can be done any day of the week.
With all this wonderful time, why is it I find myself walking around in a state of confusion with nothing done but everything half-done, not knowing whether I'm coming or going?
Good intentions
I got up at 8 the other morning, a respectable sleeping-in time. I had promised Andrew and David that I would take them to breakfast because the other two boys were at the homes of friends. After I showered, dressed, dried and curled my hair and put on my makeup, it was 8:45. The boys were still asleep.
I read the paper and had a cup of coffee.
By 9:20, on my second cup, I decided to wake them. We were going to the store after breakfast, and I wanted to be back my noon.
It was 10:12 before we were in the car.
While we were in the drive-through line at the bank, the boys chose the restaurant.
Instead of choosing one of the many fine-dining restaurants in town, they chose the fast-food restaurant with the play place.
We were too late to be served breakfast. Eating a hamburger and french fries at 10:35 in the morning made my stomach churn.
Irritation was setting in.
Leaving the restaurant at 11:20, I knew my hope of being home by noon was not going to happen. The laundry, dishes and cleaning would have to wait another day -- just as it had yesterday.
Stupor sets in
Trying to forget about everything that needed done at home and simply enjoy this time with the boys, I worked to suppress my edgy nerves.
There was only one problem.
Our 10:35 a.m. "lunch" had included soda -- I hadn't thought to substitute with orange juice -- and David was wired. His mouth did not shut the entire ride to the store.
"Is he talking a lot?" I asked Andrew, wondering if my nerves were kicking in again.
"Oh yeah!" Andrew assured me.
With no milk or bread in the house, I could not turn around and leave this task until tomorrow. (Tomorrow was booked already anyway.) I had only two choices.
I could blow up at the child for being happy and carefree. Or, I could sink into a mind-numbing, oblivious stupor.
And so I sunk.
Exasperation
Walking into the store, I couldn't even remember why I was there.
My mind was completely blank as to any item our household needed.
I strolled through the aisles in a daze, speaking the names of the groceries I was passing out loud to see if it would jog my memory.
The 15 times the boys asked if they could buy something, I said no in the same dazed voice.
I sent David and Andrew back to the aisles I had passed when I realized I had forgotten an item.
Apparently, they saw our neighbor about four times on those trips.
"I thought you had sent the boys to the store by themselves," she said jokingly to me when I nearly ran into her by the deli.
It was 2:30 p.m. by the time we got home.
Then I had to leave to pick up my other two sons.
Andrew wanted to have a friend over that night, and David wanted to go swimming.
I didn't get dinner cooked until 8, which is when I realized in my stupor I forgot to buy milk.
The only thing I accomplished this day, I will have to re-do tomorrow.
Oh well, I don't have anything else to do tomorrow -- do I?
gwhite@vindy.com