Seven Minutes of Social Media my @ss...

Seven minutes they say.  "Keep in touch with your community!"  Those who may help you in your eventual quest to market your novel.

Emails, Blogging, Facebook, Twitter, GoodReads, Reading Room, etc. 

Seven minutes a day?  #inmyf%$*ingdreams.

"Summer Plans?"

Each year about this time, an innocent question takes down and terrifies a fragment of society.  My society.  The Midwestern mom society. 

"Summar plans?"

Similar to the first snowstorm of the season, you respond with a bit of shock and unreasonable need for pot roast.  But as the snow melts, trees bloom and Twins play, the question becomes frequent in nature.  Based on your level of readiness, your response ought to roll off the tongue. 

Mine never does. 

Unless I make stuff up (which I've been known to do in a panic), I usually babble on with indecision or whine about today's over-scheduled youth.  Type-A mom's respond with glazed pity and make mental notes to email the name of junior's youth camp.  On the flip side, I've been known to start pandemics involving missed soccer sign-ups and VBS deadlines.  These moms hyperventilate a bit then make a mental notes to email me their favorite brand of chardonnay.  I suppose the purpose of this post is to ready myself for the reality that school is indeed out in less than 20 days. 

Our firstborn's unyielding passion for baseball keeps us on our 'Tripple A' toes well into August as we scoot from one suburb to another in a frantic quest to beat the youth of neighboring communities.  The quest is continuous and thanks to "oil refinery maintenance" (curiously close to Memorial Day, I might add) a rather expensive one.  But what the hell, the kid's a switch-hitter with a killer curve ball.  GO TEAM!

Offspring number two likes to keep things simple (apple/tree, folks).  A little golf, a couple sailing lessons and voila! he's spending his summer the way God intended... relaxed and sublime.  Just don't tell him about those summer tutoring lessons. 

Along comes baby, who's not a baby anymore I might add.  The boy is getting ready for kindergarten so I suppose this summer will be filled with a crash course in general etiquette (kid belches like a trucker and incessantly notifies anyone within earshot he's "JUST FARTED!").  Oye.  It's not as if we've given up entirely with child number three, but I don't care who you are - after the first two, you get a little sluggish in your stubborn quest to raise the perfect child. 

Such is the life of a Midwestern mom.