Not dead yet

This blog has been dormant for six weeks, so I wanted to poke up my head and say I haven't died. I'm writing the first draft of a new novel.

Whenever I'm in this stage of the novel-writing process, other things tend to fall by the wayside. My head is so full of the story I'm writing, it's hard to focus on other stuff, such as blogging and marketing and laundry.

I'm a little over halfway through the first draft of a thriller called STASH THE CASH. It's ripping along at my regular pace, between 30-40 pages a week. At this rate, I should be done within six weeks, with the usual months of rewriting to follow.

I'm also teaching this semester at the University of New Mexico. That class keeps me busy on Wednesdays. I volunteered to teach a few sessions at an April 20 writing seminar at UNM, and I'm devoting this weekend to preparation for that.

So it's a busy time. Kelly and I have also been socializing some, trying to catch up with our Albuquerque friends. Hard to believe we've been back in New Mexico six months already. Feels like we should still be unpacking.

Of course, I've had my head down, writing, ever since we got here. First, I cranked out the latest Bubba Mabry story, a novella called PARTY DOLL. And now I'm hard at work on STASH THE CASH.

Meanwhile, I signed an extension on the film/TV option on my 2004 novel BOOST. And, while I can't really talk about it yet, there's some film interest in 2005's BANK JOB as well. Now if I can just get Hollywood interested in my more recent books, such as LOST VEGAS or THE BIG WINK, I'll be all set.

For more info about all my books, check out my Amazon page at http://www.stevebrewer.us.com/. Now I've got to get back to writing the new one.

Crowing from the (almost) empty nest

You know what I haven't been doing lately? Back-to-school shopping. Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha.

Our youngest started this week at Shasta College, but he didn't need any new school supplies or clothes. He had a pen, and he wore his usual hippie rags. We threw some money at him as he headed out the door, and that was about it. He stays at our house some nights, but that's temporary. He's pretty much on his own.

As most of you know, Kel and I are trying to take advantage of our emptier nest by selling our beautiful home in Redding, CA. (Price reduced to $400,000! For slide show, click here.) As soon as the house sells, we're moving to a place by the beach in Santa Cruz. Why? Here's why:

(I don't know the photographer, but he's got lots of awesome aerials at his website. Check it out.)

But enough gloating. For you poor souls who still have kids in school, check out the Home Front archives for a few laughs, including this column about back-to-school shopping. Enjoy!

Ho-ho-ho, Merry August

Back-to-school shopping always seems like a summertime taste of Christmas.

Such a haul. New clothes, new sneakers, new backpack, new lunchbox. Bright yellow pencils and crisp white paper.

For the kids, it's as if Santa came to visit in his vacation clothes. For the parents, though, it can be a nail-biting, heartburn-inducing exercise in breaking the bank.

Small kids demand that all clothes and school supplies come decorated with trademarked characters from Marvel or Mattel or Disney or Nintendo. No matter which character your child loves best, all the goods bearing that likeness sold out last February.

If parents try to inflict anything else -- plain T-shirts, for example, or a notebook decorated with Barney instead of Pikachu -- the children will roll on the floor and howl and kick their little feet.
It's easy to spot those kids' parents. They're the nomads wandering from store to store, weeping and clutching handfuls of their own hair.

If you're lucky enough to stumble upon a hoard of the correct goods, the sticker shock will make your eyes jump out of your head and roll around the floor. Ten bucks for a binder? Thirty bucks for little bitty jeans? Sixty dollars for sneakers?

Holy slide rule, Batman. Before you know it, you've racked up a credit card debt that won't be paid off until the little beggars are off to college.

And for what? Clothes the children will ruin or outgrow by winter break. School supplies that will be lost or destroyed. (Has any kid, anywhere, ever made it through the school year with an intact protractor?) A backpack that produces an odd, musty smell you can't eradicate. And, of course, after a month or two, the kids will decide Pokemon is passe (or so all the parents pray).

By the time Christmas does roll around, it's time to replace everything. And it's hard to fit a new NASCAR lunchbox in a stocking.

I'd like to say it gets easier as kids get older, but that would be lying. Fashions change, but the demands are much the same. Instead of screaming for a pink Barbie lunchbox, your daughter will insist on a pink Paris Hilton crop top. Your son will object to any pants that aren't large enough to house a family of six.

And the sneakers just keep getting pricier.

Some parents of teens simply hand over a credit card and lie down in a dimly lit room until it's over. Others participate in the shopping, but must budget for stress remedies such as bourbon.

There is hope. Eventually, the kids' growth slows, so they might wear a garment more than, say, twice. The household fills up with so many backpacks and lunchboxes and binders, a child might actually re-use one, assuming it doesn't smell too funky.

Our two teen-age sons show little interest in back-to-school shopping. The older one, who's in the seventh year of his ratty rock-and-roller phase, refuses to wear clothes unless they have more holes than a screen door. The younger one never throws anything out, so his closet is overflowing. They both own relatively new, stink-free backpacks.

So I left the boys at home when I did the back-to-school shopping. I returned with a sackful of composition books and pens and said, "Here you go. You're all set."

I know it's not over. Teachers will demand specialized goods. Backpacks will be lost. Tattered clothing will turn to dust.

But I'm hoping we can hold out until Christmas.

School's out

The end of the school year can be a tough time for parents.

In the summer months, we parents no longer have a taxpayer-funded place to store our children for seven hours a day. We must find ways to keep the kids safe, fed and amused while we work. We must transport them from place to place in oven-like minivans. We pay more for summer camp than we might pay for tuition at Yale. We must plan a (gulp!) vacation trip with the kids.

But let’s not focus on the complaints. Let’s take a moment to look at the benefits of school-free summers.

No more pencils, notebooks or other school supplies are necessary in summer. Children (especially boys) tend to lose those items repeatedly during the school year, along with their jackets, gloves and random shoes. Replacement costs go way down until fall, when we must completely outfit the students all over again.

No more books other than those of the children’s choosing. I recommend that kids spend as much time as possible in a nice, air-conditioned library.

No more teachers’ dirty looks. Parents suffer just as much as the kids when misbehavior, failing grades or other bad news require teacher meetings throughout the school year. Sure, the kids might still be little vandals during the summer, but your neighbors can’t force a face-to-face meeting the way teachers can. Just don’t answer the doorbell.

No more calls from the principal. (See above paragraph.) Plus, no more of those automated calls where the principal’s disembodied voice informs parents of minimum days, STAR testing, truancies, emergency lockdowns, etc.

No school means no homework which may mean fewer arguments around the house. Instead of standing over the offspring, forcing them to do their homework, we parents can force them to do yard work.

Summer means lots less laundry. Youngsters need to wear fresh clothes to school every day (whether they like it or not), but in summer they can go around in the same swimsuit, T-shirt and flip-flops for days on end. Swimming puts more towels in the mix, but at least those are easy to fold. Since the kids are home for the summer, maybe you can even get them to do the laundry. (Hahaha. Just kidding.)

School-related fundraising comes to a halt in summer. For three months, parents won’t have to foist band candy, bake sales or raffle tickets on their co-workers, neighbors and former friends.

Summer gives children more free time to climb trees, ride bicycles and skateboards, wrestle the family dog and engage in other dangerous activities. This gives parents the opportunity to get re-acquainted with the family doctor, insurance providers and the staffs at local emergency rooms.

(A parenting tip: Remind your children that “Look, Ma, no hands!” is a boast, not a medical condition.)

Most of all, summer vacation means parents can spend more “quality time” with their kids, aside from the hours spent in emergency rooms.

Take the children on a picnic, take them fishing, go to a ballgame, play games together or spend hot afternoons in air-conditioned matinees. Family activities are where memories are made, and summer is the best time for them. The kids will thank you (someday) for devoting your summer months to their welfare and amusement.

One final benefit: The more time the family spends together, the more eager the children will be to return to school next fall.

B.T. phone home

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. I’m at the airport in (insert city here). Thought I’d call and see how things are around the house.”

“Oh, everybody’s fine. Just the usual around here.”

“Yeah? No major disasters? Haha.”

“Oh, you know, the usual. A small grease fire when (insert teen-ager’s name here) was cooking, but everything’s fine now. A little smoke damage.”

“Yipes.”

“We needed to paint the kitchen anyway.”

“Was (teen’s name) traumatized by the fire?”

“Nah. (S/he) seemed to think the whole thing was funny.”

“We’ll see how funny (s/he) thinks it is when (s/he) gets to paint the kitchen.”

“I’m just glad no one was hurt. Although the fire did affect the dog.”

“How so?”

“He yarked up all over the carpet. I guess it was the smoke. Might’ve been something he ate. One of my rubber gloves is missing.”

“Better keep an eye on him.”

“I will.”

“I’m afraid to ask about the cat.”

“Missing for three days now.”

“But the kids are OK?”

“Well, we did hear from the school.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Hate to bother you with this when you’re traveling. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, go ahead and tell me.”

“Well, (insert student’s name here) got detention. We have to meet with the principal.”

“What did (s/he) do this time?”

“It’s no big deal. Just the usual. (His/her) hair.”

“Now what?”

“It’s (purple/pink/magenta/green/some other color not found in nature).”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake--”

“And it’s shaved off on one side of (his/her) head.”

“Are you kid--”

“And the other side is dreadlocks.”

Pause.

“Well, that’s different.”

“The usual teen-aged attempt to get attention, but the principal says it’s distracting the other students.”

“Oh, well. It’s only hair. It can be (fixed/shorn/burned).”

“Also, the principal said (his/her) clothes are inappropriate.”

“What kind of puritanical operation are they running--”

“I think it was the fuzzy chaps that did it.”

“Oh.”

“Another fashion statement. The usual.”

“What about (insert older child’s name here)?”

“Some progress there. (S/he) called the other day and (s/he) is not riding with those bikers anymore. Had a little dustup in (insert city name), but I sent bail money and it’s all fine now.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

“Oh, sure. But hey, I was going to ask you: Have you noticed a funny noise in the bathroom?”

“What kind of a noise?”

“Kind of a rumbling? After flushing?”

“Uh-oh.”

“The plumber said it was a sewer line problem.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s OK. He fixed it. Only a thousand bucks. And the sinkhole isn’t even that big.”

“Aaugh.”

“You’ll see, when you get home from your trip. I think we can fix it ourselves. Rent a dump truck. Buy some sod. How hard can it be?”

“Right. How about you? Have you been able to work amidst all this mayhem?”

“Oh, sure. Though I did have to redo a bunch of stuff after the computer died.”

“The computer?”

“And my boss wants a meeting. Something about our ‘place in the community.’”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. But he does play golf with the high school principal. No telling what he’s heard.”

“Great.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just have a good trip. It’ll all be waiting for you when you get home.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Maybe I’ll go to Vermont instead.”

“Vermont?”

“That’s where my luggage went.”

“Oh, my.”

“That’s business travel for you.”

“The usual.”

“Right.”

Egging 'em on

Across America, the "morning scramble" is not a breakfast dish. It's the mad dash to get the kids out the door to school.

In a fit of blind optimism, parents start each day with the notion that everyone in the family will be on schedule, and we won't have to race around crazily at the last minute. Each school day, we hopeful parents watch those expectations dashed.

As is the case with so many things, the children hold an opposing viewpoint. The children do not care if they are late. They're not thrilled about spending the day in school anyway. They maintain that they would happily live forever as uneducated goatherds if they could be allowed to sleep for only five more minutes. Thus it begins. Every day.

Once they're up, younger children tend to wander off. Teens are too busy text-messaging their friends to actually get ready for school. Sleepy kids of any age seem to have difficulty with the question, "Where are your shoes?"

When our two sons were small, the culprit was distraction. They'd forget they were supposed to be, say, rounding up socks that weren't crunchy. Instead, I would find them watching cartoons, or barefoot in the yard with the dog. Or dressing in a ninja costume, "just to try it out," five minutes before departure to school.

And there was always a last-second disaster of some sort. I spilled my milk. I can't find my homework. The dog won't give me my shoe. We'd scramble about, solving crises, until the last possible moment, then zoom out the door, trying to reach school before the final bell, weaving through traffic like an ambulance on Saturday night.

Now that they're older, our boys require only minimal overseeing. The struggle is at the front end -- getting them out of bed -- rather than forcing breakfast down their gullets or locating their missing science project. It goes like this:

5:45 a.m.
Mom: "Good morning! Time to get up. Here comes the light! Get up!"
5:55 a.m.
Dad: "Good morning! Rise and shine there, boys!"
6 a.m.
Mom: "You guys must get up now. You're going to be late."
6:10 a.m.
Dad: "Hey, come on. What's the matter with you? Did you stay up all night?"
6:15 a.m.
Dad: "Get. Up. Now."
6:20 a.m.
Mom: "I'm coming back here in two minutes with a pitcher of ice water. Whoever's still in bed gets it."
6:30 a.m.
Boys reel around house, yawning and sniffling, wolfing food and throwing on the rags that pass for their clothes. Mom and Dad nervously hound them with questions -- "Did you brush your teeth?" or "You call that breakfast?" or "Is that the way you WANT your hair to look?" -- all the way out the door.

One day, as younger son sprinted to his room to fetch something he'd forgotten, the older one waited by the front door. A veteran of years of racing off to school, he gave his parents a wry smile and said, "We were almost on time today."

As a hopeful parent, I thought: There's always tomorrow.

It's Santa's fault

If your children aren't getting the education they deserve, then blame Santa Claus.

That's right, it's because of jolly old St. Nick. And the holiday shopping season. And the Pilgrims. And whoever devised the calendar we currently use.

Educational experts regularly moan about the state of our schools, saying our children are falling behind their competitors in other nations. Such economics-fueled worries have led the federal government to develop many expensive programs to make schools more "accountable" for the fact that our children (and future taxpayers) are idiots.

I haven't followed the development of these programs all that carefully, but I believe the biggest one is called "No Child Left With A Behind," which has something to do with corporal punishment.

Anyway, my point (and I do have one, right here on top of my head) is that all these so-called experts overlook the biggest problem with our public schools, which is that we have a big whopping vacation set squarely in the middle of the school year.

That's right, the Christmas break, though it's called "winter break" in most places now because of assorted lawsuits. Kids get two to three weeks off from school, which is why so many working parents sing the carol: "All I Want for Christmas is Some Inexpensive Child Care."

Even those of us who work in home offices have problems with winter break. We're available to stay home with our kids, but we won't get much work done. And, naturally, here at the end of the year, we're usually facing crashing deadlines.

This leads to conflicts within the home. For instance, it's hard for the work-at-home parent to concentrate on his job during the post-Christmas period, when he has to stop every few minutes to repair cheaply mass-produced toys, or to run to the store for more batteries. Eventually, the parent will explode in frustration, which can take the shine off everyone's holiday spirit.

Parents might be able to manage if it were only two or three weeks of winter break. We could plan for that time. Set aside our work, and really enjoy our time with the children. Let the Christmas spirit warm our cockles and jingle our bells.

But no. As most parents will tell you, there's hardly any schooling going on between Halloween and New Year's. November is a big washout. The kids get long weekends for Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving. Teacher conferences cut many school days in half. And when the kids are in school, they're busy cutting turkeys out of construction paper and re-learning the annual lesson about Squanto and the Pilgrims. And that's in high school. The younger kids are still mastering crayons.

The first half of December is full of plays and recitals and Christmas pageants and basketball pep rallies and letters to Santa, rather than education. Then, faster than you can say "ho-ho-ho," the kids are home from school, with visions of Playstations dancing in their heads, erasing whatever they learned during the fall.

By the time they get back to school in January, they've forgotten everything, including Squanto and algebra and, in many cases, what gifts they received for Christmas.

Teachers are forced to review all that came before, to get the kids up to speed again. Just about the time the children have settled into a routine and are really learning -- spring break!

So next time you hear someone moaning about today's schools, blame all the holidays. And when your boss wants to know why you blew your December deadlines, say, "It's all Santa's fault."

That's my boy!

Me: My son's in your class. You're his favorite lecturer.

Professor: Which one is he? My classes are so large--

Me: Blond dreadlocks.

Professor (thinking): Hmm. Wait, he doesn't wear shoes?

Me: That's the one.

Barefoot bear barely beats bus

As I write this, the soles of my feet are still smarting from my morning jog on the sidewalk outside.

That's because I went jogging in bare feet and pajamas, chasing after my son, who'd hiked off toward the school bus stop. Without his lunch money.

Haha, you say, that must've been a sight -- fat old bear of a guy puffing along in his PJ's -- and I'm sure you're right. Fortunately, I didn't run into any neighbors. Their kids apparently remembered their lunch money before leaving the house.

All across America, however, other parents know that sinking feeling that occurs when they realize the kids have departed the house without their lunch money/musical instruments/homework/science projects/pants. Chasing after them is a major source of exercise for parents of school-age children.

You'd think that, after a few years of this, the kids would learn to do their own inventory before they leave. Pat down their pockets, asking themselves, "Have I got everything I need?" But you'd be wrong.

Kids never learn this. The son I was chasing this morning? He's 15.

Yes, I could've let him go without lunch. Yes, I could've made him beg food off his friends; he's done it before. All you stern disciplinarians out there will think: Could've taught him a lesson. But, whoops, you'd be wrong again. Adolescents don't learn from such experiences. They simply blame us parents for forgetting the lunch money, and we have to hear about their suffering for a week. Better to go for the morning jog in jammies.

No matter how well-prepared the parents may be, no matter how much planning is done or how many outfits are laid out the night before, school-day mornings are chaos.

Everyone's working at cross-purposes. The children typically aren't eager to run out the door for another day of enforced edification, so they drag their feet or wander off. We parents want the kids out of the house, equipped with everything they need for the school day, so we follow them from room to room, wringing our hands and saying, "Do you have your homework? Lunch money? Did you brush your teeth? Comb your hair? Do you have your house key?"

That last-minute inventory-taking is important. Without it, parents find themselves driving to school hours later, ferrying a Play-Doh volcano to Science Fair before the deadline expires. (Murphy's Law says the project will slide off the seat into the floorboard, so the parent shows up with a lopsided volcano. More recriminations.)

The morning routine gets slightly easier as the kids get older. Kindergarteners need so much stuff -- snacks, jackets, mittens, paste, pencils -- that parents need a U-Haul trailer to ferry it all down to the bus stop. Elementary school students have less to carry because all their stuff is in the school lost-and-found.

Teens haul their own junk in their enormous backpacks, but they still must be quizzed about what they're forgetting. And, they must be forced to remove their stereo headphones to hear the questions, which makes them grumble and snarl.

It's worth all the fuss, though, when the parent goes through the list and hits upon the one item the kid's forgotten:

Parent: "Did you brush your teeth?"
Kid: "Of course." (Rolling eyes.) "Gawd."
Parent: "Got your homework?"
Kid: "Uh, no."
Parent: "A-ha!"

There's no time to gloat, however. You need to save your breath. Because a few minutes later, you'll be running for the bus stop, screaming your child's name and waving his lunch money over your head.

I recommend shoes.

(Editor's note: I wrote this one a few years ago. Now, in similar circumstances, we call the teen's cell phone and say, "Come back and get your lunch money. Or starve."

Bad news bearers

Of all the modern afflictions that plague today's parents -- sleeplessness, sass, televised violence, fast food, Eminem -- nothing's worse than the dreaded Call From School.

You parents know these calls -- when you answer the ringing phone and a disembodied voice on the other end identifies itself as being from your child's school. Is anything more instantly stomach-wrenching?

It's never good news. School officials don't call the parents to say little Johnny made the honor roll or that little Ruthie is an introspective, respectful scholar. No, they only call in cases of emergency or dire misbehavior.

Sad to say, but experienced parents know that the absolute best news that can come from such a call is that the child is slightly ill. Throwing up, or headachy, or running a mild fever. When it's the school nurse on the phone, we parents immediately assume broken limbs or random gunshots. When the nurse says little Johnny merely yarked all over his teacher, it comes as something of a relief.

Yes, the child's illness disrupts our workday and might even require a quick trip to the doctor, but at least there's nothing life-threatening. More importantly, calls from the nurse concern something that's completely out of the parents' control -- a virus, a germ, a freak accident on the seesaw.

We don't want our children to be sick, but we'll take that any day over the calls that report discipline problems. With bad behavior, there's always the implication that the parents are to blame.

Where did little Johnny learn such language? Why doesn't he do his homework? Why does he keep picking fights? Why does little Ruthie suffer temper tantrums? Why does she dress like a tramp? Is everything all right at home?

Teachers, counselors and administrators have the kids' best interests at heart, and most of them have more patience and understanding than your average saint. When things go wrong, there comes a point when they must simply throw up their hands and lob the problem back to the parents.

But the ever-present implication that the kids are not being reared properly only serves to dump a big shovelful of guilt on the parents.

(Granted, some parents need that wake-up call. There are certainly some homes where everything is not all right.)

But most of us parents are doing the best we can. We monitor the homework production and we turn off the TV and we try to get our wild-eyed children to eat something other than processed sugar. We lecture and scold and threaten.

For seven hours a day, however, the kids are out of our hands. They're in the wilds of school, being stalked by bullies and pressured by peers and exposed to bad influences. When the kids inevitably act up in response, it's not the bullies or the bad influences who get the Call From School.

The call goes to us guilt-ridden, worried parents. And we're expected to do something to fix the problem.

The only solution is for parents to use caller ID to avoid these calls. Kidding! The real answer to misbehavior is for the parents to march right down to the school playground and push little Johnny off the seesaw.

Then, when the Call From School comes, it'll be from the nurse. And the parents can act surprised and say, "Is everything all right at school?"

Shopping (& sobbing) for back-to-school clothes

This time of year, all across the country, parents quietly weep in department store aisles because they're shopping for new school clothes.

Hang around the mall during back-to-school season and here's what you find: Parent pulls garment off rack and says, "How about this?" Child turns up nose, rolls eyes, snorts, etc… Flustered parent tries repeatedly with same results. Finally, parent surrenders and allows child to make a selection. Parent's reaction: "Oh, my GAWD! Are you kidding me?" Then the process starts over again.

Younger children often can be bought off -- they'll wear anything as long as it's decorated with the proper licensed action figure or Disney character.

But rebellious teens want only those clothes that draw their parents' disapproval. No matter how hip you may be as a parent, your teen will find some garment that turns your stomach. This article of clothing, naturally, becomes the child's absolute favorite.

Conversely, any garment the parent chooses will be deemed way too square and will be hidden under the child's bed until the child outgrows it.

It's always been this way. I remember shopping for clothes with my mom, back in those halcyon days between Woodstock and disco, and it always resulted in a tearful argument. In those days, we kids got our wardrobe cues from our schoolmates, who were quick to let us know when we were dressed like geeks.

(How strong was that peer pressure? Let's just say that I owned a pair of platform shoes, even though I'm already so tall I have to duck through doorways.)

Nowadays, teens look beyond their peers when deciding what is cool. They get their clothing cues from the rock stars on MTV.

For males, this means clothes so baggy that, if the average boy whirls around suddenly, his clothes remain facing the other direction. (This is why so many kids today seem to wear their clothes backward, though it doesn't explain why their baseball caps always point the wrong way.)

For females, current fashion requires the opposite. Their clothes must be so tight that their eyes bulge slightly, giving them that surprised Valley Girl look. A whole generation of young women do not know what it means to be comfortable in a T-shirt. Girls also want bare midriffs and low-slung jeans and giant clunky shoes. They want to look like pop divas, all of whom dress like hookers.

These fashion choices make parents froth at the mouth, which, of course, is the whole point.

But parents have a new ally in the Clothing Wars. Many schools have adopted dress codes that ban outlandish fashions. These dress codes -- aimed at stemming gang activity and classroom distractions -- outlaw "sagging" and bare midriffs and dangerous jewelry.

Parents should carry these dress codes along when they take their kids shopping. They can use them as ammunition when arguing about the appropriateness of giant pants or see-through blouses.

When that doesn't work, parents can use those absorbent pages to wipe away their tears.

Back-to-school means work for parents

This time of year, a hush falls over households all across America as the children head back to school.

Not only do the kids go away, taking their noise with them, but parents everywhere fall to their knees and give silent prayers of thanks for their tax-supported public schools.

Most fervent in this gratitude are we millions of parents who work in home offices. As the long, hot summer comes to an end, we might finally get some work done.

Not right away, though. First, we'll need to pull the house back together after three months of round-the-clock kid habitation. That means scrubbing and tidying and fishing the dirty socks out from under the sofa. Putting away the mildewed towels and swimsuits of summer to make room for backpacks and school supplies and winter coats.

But once the house is all arranged, we work-at-home parents plan to jump right into the fray and catch up on those projects that have been hanging fire while the kids were hanging around.
OK, so maybe we'll take a few minutes here and there to revel in the peace and quiet. The kids can be so loud, their noises so random and sudden and disturbing. Just having the home to ourselves again is a blessing we should take time to enjoy.

Solitude is great. No interruptions. No distractions. No dropping everything every few minutes to answer questions or referee disputes. A little alone time is just the ticket. Finally going to get some work done around here!

And if the quiet gets oppressive, hey, we can listen to our own music now. Enjoy some classic tunes without smart-aleck teens making gagging noises in the background. Nothing like an up-tempo soundtrack to help propel a person through a mountain of accumulated work.

When the phone rings, it'll be for us! All summer long, every phone in the house has been tied up by kids. Now it's our turn. We can spend the first few weeks of school yakking on the phone, catching up with our friends and family all around the country. When we're not busy working, of course. That comes first.

The kitchen sings its siren song, and that can be distracting in its own right. Now that the kids are back in school, we can finally have some snacks to ourselves. We can stop hiding our favorites, as we did during the summer so we had some chance of getting to them before the voracious, growing children scarfed them all. With fewer dirty dishes on the countertops and fewer sticky freckles of Popsicle juice on the floor, the kitchen's a more pleasant place now, a good spot to hang out while we stoke the engines and get ready to get to work.

Here's another thing: It'll be easier to get back in shape. We've got some major working-out to do, as soon as school resumes. Having the kids around is so exhausting, we've had no energy left for climbing Stairmasters or pumping iron. But, hoo boy, we're gonna get after it. Have to balance off that lonely snacking.

Plus, we'll have time to get lots of work done. Did I mention that?

Yessirree, now that the kids are back in school and the house is finally quiet, we work-at-home parents can hear those long-ignored deadlines, tightening around us like anacondas.

Gulp. Anybody for a Popsicle first?

Beware: Bad dog days

We've reached that time of year when parents everywhere pause to take stock of how well the children are thriving in the creative, challenging climates carefully constructed for their summer vacations.

Kidding! Here's what parents really are asking themselves: Can we, as a family unit, survive more prickly heat, poison ivy, tedium, laundry, nausea, sunburns, sleeplessness, selfishness, spats, spite, overeating, overworking, over-reacting, underhanded undercutting and underwear underfoot?

Will we make it? Can our pocketbooks and our nervous systems endure the rest of the summer? Will the kids kill each other, or will we have to do that for them, too? And, finally, most importantly: How much longer until school resumes?

This is the hard part, folks. The summer doldrums. That seemingly endless period when parents are reminded just how lucky we are to live in this great country of ours, where the government, dutifully and without complaint, takes our kids out of the house nine months out of the year. Our appreciation of schoolteachers grows immeasurably (how do they do it?) and we count the days until, once again, our biggest worries center around grades and lunch money and after-school activities.

By this point in the long, hot summer, even the kids wish they could go back to school, though they'd never admit it. At school, they could have some fun between classes or on the playground. They could see their friends without worrying that their parents might be somewhere nearby, poised to embarrass them. Even homework would be better than summer ennui.

But no, we still have two weeks to go. Weeks during which the parents will be distracted from their jobs, worrying whether the kids are kept occupied in ways that don't involve felonies. Weeks during which the kids are so overcome by boredom that they can barely drag themselves to the kitchen, where they stare blankly into the open refrigerator for hours at a time. Weeks of excess laundry and innumerable dirty dishes and beach sand ground into car upholstery. Weeks of sibling bickering and tied-up telephones and teen-age eye-rolling.

When I was kid, and we reached the summer doldrums, my parents responded to my every complaint with instructions to go play outside. I try this now, with my two sons, and they look at me like I'm crazy. Outside? It's hot out there. And, besides, there are no computers or telephones or TVs outside. How are kids supposed to entertain themselves?

We parents try to be camp counselors and organize activities for the kids, but it rarely works out. An example: One summer, I spent more than hour sweatily changing out wheels on in-line skates so my sons could go free-wheeling around the neighborhood. They were back in five minutes. All done. Ready to return to the sofa and the TV. I hadn't even finished cleaning the grease off my hands.

If we parents don't provide activities to distract them, if we leave it up to the kids to entertain themselves, they pick unwholesome ways to waste their summer days, such as playing computer games while simultaneously yakking on the phone and hogging the Cheetos.

When they get bored, the kids turn on each other, fighting and snapping and snarling, forcing parents to intervene. I often think I should wear a striped shirt and a whistle.

These everyday frustrations mount (along with the grocery bills and gas money and water-park fees) until we parents think we (and our wallets) can't take it anymore.

But hang in there, parents. Just a few more days. Because the doldrums will pass.

And then it will be time to shop for school clothes.

Don't know much about history

It's often said that those who fail history are doomed to repeat it, usually in summer school.

American students -- surprise! -- don't have the grasp of history that they should, according to the results of a federal test called the National Assessment of Educational Progress, or NAEP.

NAEP (which sounds like a rancher's way of saying "yes") asked 29,600 students in the fourth, eighth and 12th grades some very tough questions about the First Continental Congress and the Civil War and other topics not currently featured on prime-time television.

According to the test results, 67 percent of fourth-graders, 64 percent of eighth-graders and 43 percent of seniors showed at least a basic grasp of history. The number of students judged at or above "proficient" were in the teens or worse.

Diane Ravitch, an education adviser to the Bush administration, noted that younger students'
scores were up slightly from previous years, but she called the seniors' numbers "truly abysmal."

"Since the seniors are very close to voting age or already have reached it," she said, "one can only feel alarm that they know so little about their nation's history."

(Government officials worry that ignorant new voters will consider all politicians to be money-grubbing scoundrels, and will make each decision in the voting booth by flipping a dime. A voter with the proper historical perspective knows politicians have always been considered money-grubbing scoundrels, and instead flips a quarter.)

Ravitch's alarm over 12th-graders' test scores overlooks two important points:

1) Seniors can see graduation coming -- the light at the end of the tunnel -- and they're no longer putting their best efforts into taking tests.

2) They were probably drunk.

Ravitch, however, blamed high schools, which she said "are failing to teach U.S. history well and to awaken mature students to the value of history as a study that matters deeply in their own lives and to the life of our nation."

This is precisely the problem, or as George Washington (the inventor of peanut butter) once said, it "hits the thumb on the nail." Many American students disdain history, expressing the sentiment that dead white men in powdered wigs and stockings using feathered quills to sign important documents have no relevance to modern life. They express this sentiment like this: "Aw, ma-a-a-an!"

Students ignore history at their own peril. History can crop up in adult conversations, and those who "don't know much about history" can be embarrassed and socially shunned:

Boss: "How about that game last night? A regular Battle of Hastings!"

Employee who was poor history student: "Huh?"

But an employee who'd paid attention in school would pause intelligently and say, "Ah, yes, the Battle of Hastings. I believe that was in 1967, was it not?"

Which employee do you think will get the big promotion?

So, as we can see, history is important. But it's not just the teachers of our great country who have the responsibility to imbue our children with a knowledge of history. It's also the job of parents to make sure children understand all that has come before.

That goes beyond just helping with homework. Parents need to make history a part of everyday life. Some suggestions:

--Parents should comment when current events mirror historical ones, helping their children to
see the connections that occur over time. For example, a parent might say, "Your behavior in church reminded me of the Battle of Hastings."

--Parents should set a good example for their kids by dozing in front of "The History Channel."

--Now that summer vacation's here, parents should consider taking long car trips to view our nation's historical monuments and places of interest. This can make history "come alive" for children in ways that dry textbooks can't and will produce lasting memories, if you don't all kill each other in the car.

--Parents can even read history books to their children in place of the typical "bedtime story." (They'll find that their kids go right to sleep, sometimes within seconds.)

Remember, parents, we're creating the informed citizens of tomorrow and it's a job we must do today. The rest is history.