The Fourth of July is finally upon us. I can tell thanks to the sweet, subtle sounds of shit exploding outside my house. The relentless ballistics begin around supper and continue until well after I’ve passed out for the night #merica.

Don’t judge my collection

The familiar percussion, while equally obnoxious and annoying when you have two sleeping toddlers, serve as a reminder that summer is already half over. And to that I say, yaaaaaay.

(I mean, I don’t see how that’s possible because I could’ve sworn that there was snow on the ground a month ago. And hey, maybe there was, after all we are living in a dystopian hellscape these days.)

As a mom, this halfway marker means that I have already gone through one whole tube of sunscreen. It also means that my annual cursing of the sand gods has begun. Sand? In the water table? Really? Tiny, gritty, hard stuff that gets stuck in every crack and crevice of these two sweat monsters who insist on sharing every inch of my personal space with me? Sounds dreamy.

Don’t worry though, I’m cherishing these days because they are fleeting and all that #thedaysarelongbuttheyearsarealsolongbecausetoddlersarediffrucultandnobodycantellmeotherwise

And while my list of summer complaints may be long (who wants to talk about sweaty, sticky, popsicle mixtures that draw bees and ants on every outdoor surface?), my list of whatever is the opposite of complaints is longer. I mean, we fed giraffes, we went to a farm and picked fresh strawberries with our friends, we ate ice cream by a fountain. This summer has been treating us well, mama just needs to vent a bit sometimes.

But, I do still find myself missing a time when summer meant whiling away the hours with a good book. Especially during times like these when we’re in the middle of an obnoxious heatwave that I think may actually kill me as I walk from the house to the mailbox and back again.

You see, I discovered quite quickly that summer reading as a parent is way different than summer reading when you’re childfree. I can’t exactly say that I haven’t done any reading this summer, but I can say that I have done whatever amount is “no reading” adjacent.


So, I present to you – My Summer Reading List 2018:

Potty Time With Elmo

By Elmo, maybe? Who knows.

Read: Well I don’t read it so much as I push the buttons that make the sound of the toilet flushing to keep my youngest busy while I try and use the bathroom in peace. I have done this every morning since the first time she discovered that she liked it and for the most part, I can do it all with my foot. Take that second grade teacher who said that I needed to learn to manage my time a little more efficiently.

The instructions on the microwavable bag of popcorn

By Orville Redenbacher

Read: Every. Other. Day. Seriously, I have microwave time amnesia and can’t retain how long it should cook for. One minute? One minute 20 seconds? A minute and a half?! The difference in char between five-second increments is real, y’all. Add that sentence to the list of weird sentences I say now.

I’m Just Happy to be Here

By Janelle Hanchette

Read: once, in a single sitting, while the kids trashed the house because OH MY GOD IT’S THAT GOOD. Also, this is officially the only book I have read this year. OH MY GOD.

The News

By EVERYONE

Read: At every nursing session. Seriously. Dystopian Hellscape.

The Google

By The Internet

Read: Every time a kid coughs, or has a fever (because summer colds are a thing when you have small children), or a weird poop, or does something ridiculous and I think, “Is it normal for kids to do things that are that ridiculous?” so I Google it and the internet tells me both, “Yes, all kids are ridiculous.” and “No, you’re kid is especially ridiculous, talk to their pediatrician ASAP for an evaluation.” Because that’s how the internet works.

Anyway, this is officially the longest reading drought of my life. I’m okay with it though because I know that soon enough these kids will be more independent, and I will be able to crack a book without pictures (or read my kindle when it’s not 3 a.m.) again. This will all seem like it wasn’t so bad and I’ll tell my husband, “Of course we should have another one, look at how sweet and easy these two are.” Because I’m kinda ridiculous, too. Maybe it’s hereditary.