The kids are happy, so I am. Throw some hot dogs on the grill and you don’t have to cook — that’s my vacation. Everyone eats them, too.
The house is a happy mess — wet towels and goggles and flip-flops by the door. I don’t mind cleaning up. In the winter we get balled-up homework and tests, school shoes kicked hard across the room.
No one needs music lessons in the summer.
The music is everywhere. Although they’re running too fast and laughing too loud to hear it. And I let them stay up too late because they’re roasting marshmallows on the deck and they don’t have school the next day and even though I still have to work, they won’t mind rushing in the morning because the leagues’ playoff is tomorrow. A happy morning — that’s my vacation.
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