I see things piling up around me and feel overwhelmed with the need to do them all right now.  Yet, I know that none of them will get done while I’m contemplating the ceiling.  Yes, it has been one of those days, ok, maybe a week.

Anyway, yesterday, I decided to start to do something about it all.  Of the many things on my list was a need to call a few places to get information about various after school activities for Duke (there are doctors and dentist appointments too — but I am ignoring those for right now).  So, I placed THREE phone calls.  I left messages at all three places regarding what I discussed.  As of this typing, one place has called me back.

One.

Yes, I said one.  That was 24 hours ago.

Now I wonder, do I call the other two back and leave more messages or do I wait, it has been only a day, afterall, or do I call other places since it has been a day. So, I was in this customer service funk, when Prince arrived home yesterday and declared that we were going shopping that evening.  (Seems we need a handsfree bluetooth something or other for our car before July 1st, since there will no longer be talking and driving allowed in the SnarkState (which is fine really, since there won’t be any roads soon enough, with all the state on fire — but still.)

So, we head off.  Place one gave us what I term “typical service”  in other words there was a child (maybe 14) who spoke to us, gave us bland answers to our questions, and never gave us the sense he cared.

We go to place number 2.  We find that they have the peg for the thing we want, but no items of it and the price is about $200 cheaper.  Yes, I typed that correctly.  So we wandered a bit and left thinking we’d return over the weekend.  On the way out, Michael Jackson’s “Pretty Young Thing” was on the music and Duke and I were dancing around a bit.  This guy who worked there walked by and remarked “Never too young to enjoy Michael.”  Which stuck me as totally funny and a little weird.  Well, we got to joking on our way out with him, not thinking anything of it.

In the parking lot, Prince and I discussed the sign and wondered if it was a weekly special maybe we should ask for rain check or something.  So back in the store we go.  We wander to the corner where the item’s sign was and there was NO one to be found.  I stood for a second raging that customer service in the US stinks beyond reason, when ‘Eggo’ (his name from his nametag — no, seriously) rounds the corner and says, “Back so soon?”  It was the same guy from earlier.  I pull the peg with the sign off the display and hold it out to him and say, “I want this.  Well, not the peg, but what the peg was for.  That price is a bit high for just a peg.”  He giggled and said, “but that’s a great peg, totally worth the $200.”  “You price match right, because I can go down the street and get the same peg for $5 and I’d still be over paying.”  Everyone laughed.

So, Eggo and I bonded (I may have suggested that I was going to put him in my pocket and take him home with me and suddenly the price jumped — don’t know why) and Prince and I bought, um, a receipt. (The kit is arriving Friday and will be installed this weekend, so we left with a receipt.  I declare that customer service is NOT dead, yet.  However, it is on life support.

Duke loved playing with new friends, he loved getting away from his mother for a few hours a day, and he got to SWIM in a pool for him on Friday.  Seriously, I couldn’t have made camp any better if I’d soaked it in chocolate and put sprinkles on it.  All my worries about a late night camp decision is gone and I’m trying to decide if I’m going to extend his camp experience into August or try out other camp options (like Soccer Camp — who knows.)  However, there is one very sad bit from Camp - Week One. Duke did NO art.  Like seriously, the boy didn’t pick up a crayon, paintbrush or anything all week.

No, I have no idea why.  All I know is that I’d ask him how his day was and he’d happily declare “I don’t do art.”  Then he’d ramble on about the playground or the cars or that swim day was coming.  But no art. No painted something or other to hang on my fridge, no piece of painted ceramic something that I will hang in my kitchen FOREVER (ala a certain ‘Kitchen Prayer’ that I believe my parents might still have).

So, we chatted about art.  “Do you like to do art?” “No” “You used to, what happened.” “I don’t do art.” “Do you like the kind of art they are doing?” “Mama, stop.”

Ok, ok.  So as I dropped him off this morning, wait, let me explain how this went better.  He ran as fast as he could in front of me to get to camp FASTER and I struggled to keep up and when he got to the door of the camp room and I was barely around the corner to go down the hall, he looks back and screams, “Mama, come on….camp is HERE!!”  Ok, yes, he’s a little excited.  So, I wait to sign him in (which by the way, note to all the parents that have to drop little Johnny off with 3 adults to 1 kid — please have the rest of your family wait outside of the classroom so those of us who are dropping off can sign in and move on — we don’t like having to wait while the 3 of you –who are related, came in the same car, and will be leaving together — need to discuss something about the next thing you are doing that morning.) and I turn around to find him at the playdough table — because hello, their playdough has glitter in it!

I go to give him a hug and kiss and he tells me again, “I don’t do art.” I say, “Fine, sweetie, you don’t have to, but have a good day.”

I pick him up at noon and he comes running towards me and tells me, “Mama, I do art today.”  Ok, so I haven’t seen it yet, but apparently he does do art — and he’s really looking forward to tomorrow’s art project, painting wooden snakes!

[In other news, no, we are not on fire, though we are a little smoky.  The kids had to stay inside today because of the smoke (yeah for no sand) and there is a lovely bonfire smell to everything.]

The sandbox.

Oh, how I loathe that thing.  First, I live with four (yes, FOUR) cats.  You can not tell me that there is a cover in the WORLD that will keep a cat out of a giant box of sand.  (And yes, I threw up in my mouth a little just typing that out.)  Next, the darling, near perfect child that I have LOVES the sandbox — to the point that he likes to bring home (you know for later) in his shoes.

Then we add to the joys of the sandbox in our shoes, Frankenhouse.  Oh, you ask how can a whole house play into my hate of the sandbox?  Well, you see we live on the second floor of Frankenhouse and there is no place to put your shoes on (or store them when off) by the front door.  Yes, I blame this house, and no it is totally not crazy — stop looking at me like that.

So, I let Duke climb the stairs in his sand shoes, I make him take them off when he gets upstairs, but I’ve long lost count the number of times that the shoes full of sand get dumped out on a chair, floor, a bed, maybe a cat or two.  I’ve tried a rule of getting to the top of the stairs going straight to the back door and emptying the shoes.  It does not work.

With great joy, I said goodbye to that horrible sandbox at the end of April.  With cockiness, I thought I’d felt the end of gritty floors and sand in my chair.  I rejoiced for nearly 6 weeks of sand-free life.  Then, then…I’ve been bitten in the butt for my bravado.

Summer camp has a sandbox!!!  Dangit.

Actually, that’s not 100% true, there was one thing that annoyed me about camp.  It was the swimming.  You see, in addition to all my camps to go to, I also had summers and summers of private swimming lessons.  Now, I wasn’t a great swimmer, but I was ahead of my years in ability and know-how.  However, by a certain age in camp, we were expected to swim daily (or maybe it was weekly — who remembers) and at the beginning of the summer they’d give us a swim test to attest to our abilities and group us for group swim lessons.  The problem was that I always felt that I was pushed into a level lower than my actual ability.  (not the camp’s fault really, they tended to put me in the most advanced group, but lower than the group of jr. lifeguards — because of my age — I had the skills, just not the years.  I was outraged by the injustice of it all.)  Finally, in one of my last years, I stood up for myself and cut a deal that if I could do the butterfly stroke across the pool, I’d be moved up.  I did and they did — I shut up for a bit.

So, it was with glee and joy that I found a day camp for Duke this summer.  You may remember that we are heading into those dreaded, less cute, school years; and as such, we have our first summer vacation this year.  In a fit of fear that Duke would spend his summer bonding with Playhouse Disney and PBSKids on TV, I searched for a summer camp for him.  When I was done, I’d signed him up for a summer of weekly themed fun — filled with my own excitement.

For weeks we’ve been talking about how much fun camp will be and how much fun Duke was going to have.  I worried that he might not like camp like I did.  I worried that he’d hate it and I’d never get him back into the joys of camp.

I need not fear.  We walked into camp this morning and Duke took a look around.  He was off on his own in minutes and barely slowed to give me a kiss goodbye.  When I picked him up from camp, he wasn’t ready to go home yet.  But the best part?

“So what did you do today in camp?”

“Mama, on Friday I get to go SWIMMING.”

Yup, nothing’s changed, the room still smells the same; the games are the same; the special events are the same…and best of all — there is SWIMMING on Fridays!  But there’s no swim test for his age group!

Yes, it is all true.  No, we didn’t still have a piece and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that just yet.

However, I have been cleaning the kitchen most of today and I’m not sure if I’ve made it better or worse.  No, not everything is put away yet. Yes, I’ve totally run out of steam. No, I’m not willing to cook in my kitchen this evening. No, I’ve not told Prince that I’ve move more furniture yet.  Yes, I’m more than a little afraid of his reaction when he gets home.

But, you see there’s this spot in front of the fridge that hasn’t been this clean in a LONG time.  And I clean the window….that counts for something right? RIGHT?