I have been asking other class parents what they do regarding the summer and keeping their children occupied.

One mom suggests that as an alternative to camp, we might want to hire a live-in student for the summer. That’s what she did last year for her kids. She says that it’s a great option if my husband and I want lots of summer dates and weekend help.

She’s right. That would be a great option. 

The mom goes on to admit that it might get a bit tight in a New York apartment, but tells me that it worked out well in their summer house.

I too have a summer house. 

It is called my apartment. 

My friend just told me this story. Last weekend her husband was away on business and she was working in her living room and her two and half year-old son was playing in their bedroom when all of sudden he comes running out screaming.

“Mommy, Mommy!” 

He runs up to her and grabs her by the hand. He looks terrified.

“What is it?” She asks. He drags her to her bedroom and points towards a dark corner.

“Mommy,” her son whispers “What is that man doing there?”

“What man?” She asks peering into the darkness.

“The Man standing there. The Man with the Rabbit Head.”

My friend says nothing. She finds she can’t talk.

“Make him go away.”  He begs.

My friend tries desperately to get herself together and gives a forced laugh.

“There’s no man there,” she says. She takes her son’s hand and drags him out of the room. She pours herself a big glass of wine and puts Moana on loud for the rest of the evening.

‘What did you do?’  I ask when she’s telling me this

“Prayed he never saw it again,” she says. “So far, so good.”

Is it wrong of me to hope he comes back? I love my friend, but I really want to know what happens.

I have 2 ½ months to finish a libretto and a 90,000-word manuscript.  I also have to order shoes for my child. She really needs shoes that fit. I vow that I’ll do it tomorrow, right after I finish binge watching The Crown on Netflix. 

I just found out we can’t go to Disney World for Spring Break. I wept. I yelled. I stamped my feet, I slammed the bedroom door, threw myself on the bed and sobbed. 

I am 40 years old.  

Working out if I can start a GofundMe to send us there. With FastPasses. Obviously. 

Also daydreaming about rich uncles who die at a ripe old age and leave us a whacking great sum. Currently we have no such uncles. Anyone would do though. They don’t have to be related. They just have to be rich. I have watched enough Dateline episodes to know that I am on a dark path. No good can come from this.  

March is a terrible month.