Boredom descends on the summer break
Are We There Yet?
Lori Clinch

I’ve decided that little boys are magnets for more boys. Little boys also attract bugs, snakes, and dirt that lingers behind the ear, but that’s another column.

It’s not a bad thing, not really. Boys, not unlike onion breath, tend to cancel each other out. The more little boys one has lurking about, the more they play football, talk sports and entertain each other with sounds that would make a cultured individual cringe.

Sometimes it’s so loud and chaotic, I don’t even notice. Then again, despite their numbers, no group can become more bored than an assemblage of little boys.

Take yesterday, for instance, when the sun was high, the breeze was calm and the barometric pressure was at perfection. The crickets chirped, the birds answered and Mother Nature basked in all of her summer glory.

Still I had seven boys — count ’em, seven — lying around the living room, and they were bored. Bored with a capital “B.”

“What do you want to do?” asked one as he stretched back and placed his head upon his hands.

“I don’t know,” replied his buddy with a despondent sigh, “there’s never anything to do.”

They were silent for a moment before one of the little guys suggested, “Wanna squirt each other with the hose?”

“Nah,” a dirt-ridden individual replied, “squirting with the hose is so lame. How’s about a bike ride?”

“Nah, bikes are for girls.”

“My older brother rides a bike, and he’s not a girl.”

“How’s about a lemonade stand?”

“How’s about cops and robbers?”

“OK, but we get to be the robbers.”

“You guys were the robbers last time. Let’s do something else.”

“OK, what do you want to do?”

If one would have believed what one was hearing, there was absolutely nothing in the world for these kids to do but to sit around and watch each other outgrow their sneakers.

I on the other hand had an impossible list of things that needed to be done. The bedrooms were in shambles, the laundry was all but taking over, and we had enough dirty dishes to rival a Thanksgiving festivity.

Not to mention there were 68 pairs of sneakers in the living room alone.

I decided to make up a chore list and scare the doldrums out of ’em with the prospect of hard work.

“This ought to put an end to your boredom,” I said as I marched into their midst. “How about a couple of you load the dishwasher, the others can pick up the toys in the yard and someone needs to come to the laundry room and put away the school clothes for the summer.”

With that, the entire group reacted with shock. It was reminiscent of the witch on the “Wizard of Oz” when Dorothy had the forethought to dump a pail of water on her. They didn’t say, “I’m melting,” but one would certainly have thought they were dissolving into the carpet.

I was trying to figure out what it was that I’d said to cause such a reaction, when little Charlie said, “That’s evil! Why would you even say that word?”

“What word?” I replied, oblivious to my crime.

“The ‘s’ word,” replied his buddy, Hector. “You can’t just go around dropping bad words like that!”

Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I have a lot of “s” words in my repertoire. I have “shoot,” for when my mother is around; “shucks” for when a priest happens by for dinner; and when I want to get creative, “suffering succotash” always fills in nicely.

Generally speaking, I save the big “s” word for special occasions, like when I’m frustrated or have dropped something really heavy on my little toe. Yet with the reactions that were on the faces of those around me, you would have thought that I had said it, the unspeakable s-dash-dash-dash word!

After some careful reflection, I was certain. I didn’t say the “s” word. In fact, I’d said nothing of the sort. “Hey,” I retorted to my little band of charges, “I didn’t say a bad word, I simply said school.”

“No,” Dennis screamed as though he were in pain. “She said it again!”

“Oh my gosh,” added Lawrence. “Can you believe she actually kisses us with that mouth?”

“Well,” I said with a twisted smile, “when you’re out of school, you can either be productive or just sit around and think about school. After all, school is just around the corner, with school shopping and school clothes and the school supplies; why, just think.”

And with that, I cleared the room.

You know, some of the best mothering techniques are the ones you just happen upon accidentally.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” Her e-mail address is lclinch@charter.net.