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Family Daze
Higher powers needed for moms during summertime
By Debbie Farmer
The prayer of a stay-at-home mother in mid August: Dear God, please grant me the strength to last until Back to School Night.
Give me the energy to drive the swim-team carpool, take knots out of wet shoelaces with my teeth, and untangle the dog from the sprinkler hose.
Grant me the wisdom to remember the name of the kid from down the street who hasn't left our house since July.
Walk with me through the backyard over piles of wet bathing suits and empty ice cream cups, to rescue my good lipstick from the bottom of the wading pool.
Give me the courage to accept that everything in the refrigerator had either a bite taken out of it or a finger stuck in it, or is reproducing in the vegetable crisper underneath the expensive cheese.
Guide me down the hallway to the laundry room, where I can experience five minutes of peace and quiet by turning the lights out and climbing on the dryer so the kids can't see my feet underneath the door.
Help me accept that even if I take the kids to the circus, install a pool in the backyard, go on a safari, and carve a redwood tree into a canoe and sail down the Congo--my children will end each day with "I'm bored."
Grant me the serenity to smile when my husband insists on tossing the hamburger helper on the gas grill because "everything tastes better barbecued."
Give me the fortitude to sit through 85 hours of swim lessons, and watch as my children backstroke around the pool the same amount of miles it would take to reach Communist China.
Smile down on me the day my husband decides to take the family camping in the wilderness for three days with nothing but a tent, a few sleeping bags and a cooler full of potato chips and Pepsi.
And when it rains (and you know it will, God), lead me to the nearest 7- Eleven to buy the umbrellas my husband refused to pack because "only an idiot" would expect a storm in the middle of the summer.
In your infinite wisdom, show me how to disconnect the video game console that hasn't been turned off since June 22.
Grant me patience not to rip the car stereo out of the dashboard with my teeth when my husband listens to "Louie Louie" for the 186th time, cranked up to full volume.
Comfort me when I realize the color of my earthtone carpet has changed into a mixture of melted blue popsicle and the remains of somebody's purple slush.
And if I ask too much, God, just give me the foresight to know that one day the barbecue, television and sprinkler hose will be off; the refrigerator, front door and garage will be closed, and I will wonder where my children--and the little redheaded boy with the glasses--went.
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
