A Seriously Itchy Bum

I slip from workaholic to bum real easy.  ~Matthew Broderick

Okay. Not that kind of bum.

I was going to go on (and on) about the uber-relaxed pace of summer.
But then Matthew Broderick (What the French, Toast?!) took the words right out of my mouth.

As I age, I know I'm increasingly in-touch with my bum alter ego - for which I make no apologies. Which is yet another sign I'm aging. Within those two statements, you'll need to wipe away the slime of two predilections - the one to work and the one to please, equally insatiably - to find the nugget of clean. Under all that gunk grins the me who shrugs a "Eh. Why not? It's summer!" to all the otherwise "No!" requests the kids pander. Under all that gunk laughs the me who checks Amazon Prime weekly until - Slap the dog and spit in the fire! - the second season of Downton Abbey makes its debut. Under all that gunk stills the me who gets up at 5:45 to kiss The Man goodbye...and then crawls back into bed with coffee, Bible, book, and blanket.

For us, summer is only two months of time. Then it's back to the real world, whatever that is.
I used to schedule and box and border and boundary those precious 60 days with all that we could do, might see, should go. And, don't get me wrong: you can rest assured I haven't become an entirely different gal between the 20-hoo yah's and the 30-are ya kiddin' me?s. We still have goals and trips and plans and dreams. Those are all good things, don't you  know.

But the other nine months are tightrope walks between work and play, volleying betwixt nose to the grindstone and head in the clouds. Why not be a bum in June and July?

Summer- and its seriously itchy bum - will be over soon enough.