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Making It Up As I Go Along by Samantha Gianulis OUR SUMMER, DEFINED School starts in exactly twenty-nine days. But today, we are at the peak of our summer. The colorful mini footballs that expand with pool water bobble on the water’s surface. The kids go back and forth from the pool to the Jacuzzi. The beach, where the kids just discovered driftwood, is off in the distance, a perfect scene with the backdrop of the Channel Islands. We are a little north of Santa Barbara on our five day family getaway, and I am staring at Spanish tile wondering what will be the defining factor in our summer when I look back on it come September 5th. I am reluctant to drink that Mojito of lime, mint, and rum served with an orchid, because the headline on the newspaper next to me says something about “no end in sight” for the war. How quickly I can let myself feel ungrateful for being here, watching my husband and three children play Marco Polo while other families overseas seek shelter to stay alive. However, I have learned something – I could feel guilt, shame, a variety of other emotions I have witnessed for generations, but it wouldn’t change what is happening in the world. And if I say a prayer here poolside for peace in the world and give thanks for my good fortune, that positivity just may reverberate and catch on somewhere else. Happy parents raise happy kids. Maybe my kids will make a difference in the world one day simply by smiling at someone who needs a gesture of good will. The kids have already done summer camps; we have been waiting for our August spree for quite some time. My husband gets up every day, commutes, goes from appointment to appointment, I stay home with the kids and do my darndest to raise good, empathetic people, don’t we deserve this? Well, we’re here anyways. Let’s make the most of it. Let’s take the pure spirit of the ocean spray, children’s laughter, organically grown mint and pass it on. I’m thinking…Gratitude without guilt. I keep coming back to Captain Jack Sparrow. Do you know how long I waited to hear Johnny Depp say once more: “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?” Weeks after the movie opened, conditions of our large family were finally favorable enough for us to go to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest at the neighborhood theater. When the baby feel asleep while nursing in the theater, my four year old stayed seated by some miracle of nature, and my seven year old was predictably enraptured in the second installation of the Pirates trilogy, I almost got up and danced in the aisle of the movie theater with my extra large Diet Coke in hand. This movie is not a Gone with the Wind or even Doctor Zhivago, but it is darn enjoyable and it thrills my senses. My daughter watches Captain Jack as intently as she watches Will Turner, and I fear, oh gees, she is just like me, she likes both characters. Is she destined for pirate or a hero, or a man who is a combination of both, as it were? Every girlfriend I have agrees, we want our daughters to marry an Orlando Bloom type, however, we fancy Mr. Depp. After the movie indulging in salty tortilla chips and fresh salsa at the new Mexican place around the corner, my son with the inquiring mind asks “Who do you like more, Momma, Will Turner or Captain Jack?” Hmmm, I have to think about that one. “Depends on my mood, honey.” My son looks confused (thank goodness). My husband laughs. And he gives me the smirk that I long for. I’m proclaiming…Enjoy, when and where you can. On more than one occasion, I have thought to myself that repetition would kill me. How many days of the week can you serve breaded chicken strips with ketchup for lunch? How many times can the Disney Channel play the same episode of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody? When will my kids have a nervous breakdown in the Kids Klub of the gym because they cannot color in another Scooby Doo picture, and is it possible to be immune to tracks of sand on my kitchen tile? Repetition has sure made me tired of what I should be happy about. I have come to believe that it is inevitable. Day in, day out with my offspring over the course of a summer has even made me long for getting up at 5:30 a.m., packing lunches, and hurrying out the door two half-asleep children in hopes of getting to school before the bell rings. It may be as simple as the grass is greener, I think it is more like intense heat and decreased personal time reserved for high productivity that makes me batty. If this were not the season of sugary in season tomatoes, crisp watermelon, and poolside beverages, Mommy would be running in circles around the kitchen “island”, droplets of sweat ruining her pathetic attempts at makeup, babbling about what to make for dinner at 8:00 a.m., talking to Paula Deen on the television as if she could hear me…what my aunts call “meshugenah”. Our summer days have gone like this: each warm summer morning I watch the kids stumble out of their rooms about 9:00 a.m., I get them out of the door by 10:00 a.m. so we don’t stay in the house all day, then after our adventures when we return to home base I throw them in a bathtub with bubbles up to their ears after getting sandy or chlorine-y. With only enough spare time to look through the mail, it is then time to put baby in highchair to eat pieces of dehydrated fruit or mango slices so I can prep dinner. I slice, chop, and marinate the best of what our local grocery has to offer. Some days are better than others. I love that time of day…creating in my kitchen, watching the weather forecast, chugging the Diet Dr. Pepper that has been chilling all day, the kids lying in towels on the couch, smelling so lavender-y, clean for the meantime. I am careful that I don’t lose myself or my marriage in the process of parenting’s seasonal changes. The devil may be in the details as they say, but angels hover over the big picture. They’ll be back in school soon enough, and I will actually miss sweeping sand off the floor I just cleaned. I can temper the repetition with my own needs – writing after the kids go to bed, my tattered paperbacks, and an impromptu kiss from my husband with kids tugging at our shirts. I’m realizing…Embrace the repetition, life has too many variables. So, what is the defining factor of our 2006 summer? If I step outside of it and see it like a movie, how would I want it to end? I mean, aside from wishing the satisfaction I feel to everyone, even those who would hesitate to do the same? Toes in the sand, Mojito in hand, smiling towards the horizon. Savvy?
Samantha Gianulis is a freelance writer living in southern California with her husband and three children - four including the dog. Samantha discovered a love for writing in junior high school as a result of a daily creative writing assignment and an English teacher who taught the importance of and challenged her imagination. A graduate of University of California, San Diego with a degree in history, Samantha worked in special events and catering through and after college. Her family and writing are her two true loves, but she has a passion for food and cooking - and keeps a composition book by her stove.
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