Summer: Going For Broke

So, parents, how's it going for you this summer? You broke yet? Because we here at Chez Counce are so busted we can't pay attention. From the "They Didn't Tell Me This at the Hospital" files: how in the world does the average family with a couple of kids actually afford summer? Help me out, people. Because as fun as summer is, finding that fun and occupation for the kids without a handsome fee can be a  wee bit of a challenge.

Part time care for three kids under ten during summer costs slightly less than a luxury car. Whatever do people do when both parents work full time for child supervision during the summer months? Food budgets triple (oh school cafeteria, how I miss you). At the risk of the kids sitting around losing brain cells in front of screens, diversions must be created. And I swear, local businesses know my plight and are ready to charge me.

To wit: scenes from a recent Monday when the kids were all home. Hubs was off to make the lion's share of the scratch that keeps these kids in Goldfish and peanut butter, leaving me in charge of the day's fun. The challenge, should I choose to accept it, was to haul them away from computer games and the TV and entertain and feed them in healthy and nutritious ways. I decided in my infinite wisdom to find a indoor play facility where they could get a little movement in.

Oh, I did my research. I scoured the internet for venues that wouldn't interfere with our paying the mortgage this month. But clearly, I'm in the wrong business. I can only imagine the scratch these places pull in. But there was one place we've been before that didn't break the bank, so after all the urging the kids out of pajamas and into clothes and the horrors of being made to brush their hair and teeth, we made our way to the Bounce House.

To my horror, the old, inexpensive and somewhat ghetto bounce house was no more. In its place? A brand new, shiny trampoline park. Well, you know the kids weren't hearing we weren't going in to play, so away we go to explore the new place. And holy cats. Twelve dollars an hour? Per child? Egad. Not even lunchtime on one day and we're down forty bucks. For an hour. I cruelly refuse to buy them two dollar bottles of water.

One hour, several trampoline injuries, a couple of crying jags (not mine), a couple of ice packs later, and it's only midday. Fine, thinks I, we're off to where are all broke parents go when we can't afford better fun: yeppers, the fast food restaurant's play place. I know I'll have to boil the children to get rid of the monkeypox germs they'll pick up there, but it is what it is.

Lunch time. At which we purchase and consume no fewer than 38 chicken nuggets, three orders of fries, and three shakes. I eat an ice cream cone and swipe fries from the kids. Ka ching! We're down another twenty-something bucks. All for the pleasure of acting sticking to the table and being forced to leave, I kid you not, when a child too young to be there peed all over the upper tunnels of the play equipment. Parenting is so glamorous.

I was getting desperate by this point. We scrambled to get away from that petrie dish of a restaurant. Where to go? There was still half the day to kill, and there is no more money. Thank the gods for our government, however: the park is free. If only my nine year old son, Borg designation 1 of 3, didn't decide in his rather new, surly pre-teen kind of way the park was lame. Laaaaame. And refuses to get out of the van. Free stuff is so boring.

Mid-afternoon, we're back home, and I'm shoving a remote back into their hands to stop the arguing and indian burns. Sigh. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Between trips to visit family and the beach, bounce houses, pools, water parks, the movies (how is popcorn and candy and a drink more expensive than entrance? Someone explain), carnivals, festivals, museums, and camps, the one thing I'm really glad I'm paying for? Streaming Netflix.

Unless I win the lottery some time soon, it's looking more and more like an all-Ramen noodle menu for the month of July if I try to keep up this level of entertainment for my children. I know you feel my pain, parents. Here's to making it to the end of the summer without having to sell plasma. But next summer? I swear, I'm opening a bounce house and getting filthy rich.