Seventy-one days of summer.

"That's not much!" says my oldest. "Sure it is!" says me. But in my heart, I'm not convinced. School starting in the heat of August is just rude.

We got home from Yosemite yesterday afternoon, and slept like granite boulders last night. With our family getaway done, now I can turn my attention to the rest of the summer.

On the drive to and from the park, we either listened to the radio (sports talk, bleh) or the kids watched DVDs. Which is fine, I guess, but my own memories of road trips include lots of singing and stories. My kids know a few of those old songs we used to sing, but "I've been working on the railroad" gets old. Really, really old.

So!

Summer goal #1: Learn every song in I Hear America Singing - Folk Songs For American Families and keep the DVD player off unless we're driving further than 300 miles. (Which, yeah right.)

Summer goal #2: Teach my kids how to make a baked potato-sized roasted marshmellow over a glowing campfire.

Summer goal #3: Tackle anything that strikes their fancies from The Dangerous Book for Boys - within reason.

Summer goal #4: Keep media influences to a minimum - for the whole family.

Summer goal #5: Live like the Bunnies do in Bunny Day

Summer goal #6: Help the kids keep a daily journal to record their adventures...and update this blog daily, to record mine.

How can it be that I have a child entering third grade, one entering second and my youngest entering her final year of preschool? Time is flying by, and I am almost afraid to blink. Well, except for those times when I'm squeezing every orifice shut against the onslaught. I want to capture this summer as it flows past. I want to experience it alongside the kids, instead of wishing it away, or acting like a martyr.

This trip to Yosemite reminded me once again that in parenting, you hope for the best and plan for the worst. You discover that Blink mini-trash bags make excellent barf bags AND liners for the potty, and you are gratified and actually feel efficient for having them in the car, instead of squicked out by having to deal with barf and pee on the road. You take a bunch of pictures and choose not to remember the tantrum in the dining hall, the dirty tent or that skinned knee, because by the time the last load of laundry has been folded and put away, all that will be over. The happy memories will be what the kids talk about. The tent will be fondly remembered. The skinned knee will heal. And the ruined meal? Totally eclipsed by the evening snack of cheese and crackers consumed by flashlight while bats flew overhead.

That is what it is all about.