Lazy Days . . . a.k.a Bored to Tears

It's August 8th. I can hardly believe it, but summer is almost over. School begins in just over two weeks.
I need to prepare!

Where does the time go? Does it feel as though it passes very fast to everyone? Or is it just me? Is it magnified from my perspective?
The days of summer go by at the same speed as do all the other work days of the year. For some reason the days that I do not go to work seem to fly by more quickly than those I spend with my colleagues . . . watching the clock . . . counting the minutes left . . . knowing that I will surely die before the hands move the necessary inches around the dial to free me from servitude.
For my sons, my bored young men, I believe time passes more slowly, with less consequence and with far less remarkability than it does for me.

I think they are bored.

I think they have been bored for weeks.

It's summer and they are teenagers; too young to work and too old to be sent to sports camp at the YMCA dragging a swimsuit and a sack lunch.
Their friends are on vacation or hold up inside their respective air-conditioned homes. In their defense, it has been over one hundred degrees outside for weeks. They cannot exactly spend afternoons outside without risking heat exhaustion, heat stroke or something similar.
Their Mother is at work. 

They are left to their own devices - boy devices - which means staying up late Facetime-ing with friends, sleeping until two in the afternoon the next day and not having to get dressed until a parent arrives home from work and calls them to the dinner table.
There are Pop-Tart wrappers and empty orange juice cups mounted on bedroom furniture surfaces, clean laundry piled on dressers aching to be worn or just noticed, damp towels piled on bathroom floors and laptops teetering on the edge of meltdown because they haven't been turned off for weeks. Their batteries  are toying with molten stage. YouTube is bookmarked and evidence of texting volumes are gaining on the heights comparing to Mt. Everest; somewhere near twelve hundred. One more zero and it would come close to a record. This month, it's just a 'personal best.'

The boys are happy, content, quiet, occupied - albeit with Internet monotony and they are teenagers who need to begin finding their own way through their days and through the forced, alone, togetherness that this summer has provided them.

School starts soon.




Th