I Love My Kids. I Just Need Everyone to Keep Their Pants On.

Look, I know.

I'm the one who decided to pack up the kids and spend seven weeks at the cabin this summer. Nobody forced me. I willingly loaded the car, packed enough snacks to survive a small apocalypse, and drove us here.

And honestly?

I love it here.

I love this little blue cabin. I love this tiny lake town. I love watching my kids spend their days outside instead of staring at a screen.

I also love my kids more than anything.

But whatever phase we're in right now...

I'd like to file a complaint.

Yesterday I decided I was going to watch one episode of a TV show.

Just one.

I think I spent more time hitting pause than actually watching it.

Every five minutes my daughter had something incredibly important to discuss.

We needed to talk about making pudding.

Then we needed to discuss how old she has to be before she can compete on Kids Baking Championship.

Then we needed to talk about stopping at Love's gas station on the way home because apparently their Goldfish crackers taste better than everyone else's.

I don't know if that's true.

I also wasn't about to argue with someone who thinks I know everything there is to know about the human body, why it's named the way it is, and how every single part works.

Thank goodness I took Latin in high school, because apparently I'm the family anatomist now.

Meanwhile, my son had fallen asleep.

On me.

Not beside me.

Not leaning against me.

Directly on top of me.

I couldn't move because after chasing him around all day, waking him up felt like a terrible life choice.

So there I sat...

Pinned under a sleeping four-year-old.

Thinking maybe I'd actually get to finish my show.

Maybe even read a book.

Silly Mom.

That's when my daughter wandered into the next room with markers...

...and a pair of scissors.

Every parent reading this just felt their blood pressure go up.

Mine did too.

A few minutes later she proudly announced she had made a "sensing chart."

Naturally, I had questions.

It started with an empty apple juice container because people could smell her.

Okay...

Then she explained people could feel what her hair felt like.

Now, if you've been reading here for a while, you know she doesn't like people touching her hair. It's always been a big deal for her.

So instead of letting people touch her actual hair...

She cut off a little piece.

Taped it to the paper.

And proudly informed me that now people could know what her hair felt like without actually touching her.

Honestly...

I couldn't even be mad.

It was weirdly thoughtful.

Slightly concerning from a forensics point of view.

If the FBI ever finds that poster board, I imagine they're going to have a few questions.

But mostly...

It was six-year-old logic at its finest.

Later we went outside because apparently fresh air solves everything.

I figured maybe I'd finally get five quiet minutes sitting on the porch.

Again...

Silly Mom.

My daughter wanted me to admire every invention she'd built.

Every stick.

Every rock.

Every tiny sand creation.

Meanwhile, my son decided he wanted to help me with the landscaping.

By "help," I mean he enthusiastically undid about three days' worth of trenching I'd been working on.

He was so proud.

I was trying very hard to remember that he wasn't making more work on purpose.

He genuinely thought he was helping.

Then there was last night.

my son was having one of those evenings.

Bath time, something that happens every single night in this house, had suddenly become a personal attack.

Everything got thrown.

Everything turned into a battle.

I finally carried him onto the covered front porch so we could both have a minute.

Before anyone gets worried, I sat right inside by the window watching him the entire time.

He looked around.

Ripped every little American flag out of the flower bed and threw them across the yard.

Apparently he was protesting bath time.

Then he calmly took off his pants.

Then his underwear.

Then launched both of them across the yard like he was making some sort of artistic statement.

At that exact moment I realized my aunt's Ring camera probably had a front-row seat to the entire performance.

So naturally, I sent her the most normal text message anyone has ever written.

"Whatever you do...don't watch your Ring footage."

No further explanation.

Of course she immediately tried to watch it.

Thankfully, his grand finale happened just outside the camera's view.

Some things are better left unseen.

The holiday crowd gets here in a few days.

The cabin is about to get louder.

The boat is still being repaired, which is a little stressful.

The mosquitoes have officially declared this cabin an all-you-can-eat buffet.

We've sprayed the yard.

We've used bug spray.

At this point, I think they're using it as seasoning.

Lucy, our thirteen-year-old dog, still believes I personally need to escort her outside, remind her it's bedtime, and occasionally help her clean up after she goes potty.

Honestly, after her encounter with Peg Leg Trash Panda Captain Blackbeard, I can't really blame her. (If you missed that story, it's still one of my favorites.)

Which means, if we're keeping score...

I currently wipe three butts.

Three.

Four if we're counting mine, because motherhood apparently doesn't even let you pee by yourself.

One child is potty training.

One child still needs help sometimes.

And one thirteen-year-old dog has absolutely earned the right to be a little high maintenance.

People hear "seven weeks at the lake" and picture vacation.

I picture wondering whether I packed enough coffee.

Don't get me wrong.

I love this place.

I love this little blue cabin.

I love these wonderfully weird kids.

I even love this season where one child wants to discuss the human body over breakfast while the other stages tiny protests because I dared suggest taking a shower.

But if tomorrow could include...

One uninterrupted cup of coffee.

One complete episode of television.

Zero unauthorized haircuts.

And everyone in this family keeping their pants on...

I'd call that a wildly successful day.