So. Summer is here. What now? I'm not quite sure. I've hardly caught my breath, since I only arrived home yesterday after a long drive. I woke at 9am today, unpacked, drove to the library to take out books by Annie Dillard, Dorothy Sayers, and G.K. Chesterton, and read. Also, I talked to my mother. Altogether, I feel as though the day has not been my most productive ever, and I'm already tired again at 8pm. This latter fact is especially bewildering to me, since I slept for twelve hours last night. I must be tired.

As usual, my family's house was a disaster when I arrived. Everywhere I look, the more mess I find. When I indignantly ask one of the scruffy urchins who call themselves my siblings how such filth came to be on the kitchen counter, he or she replies, "Oh, that's Madeleine's/Gregory's/Lillian's chores. (S)he must not have done them last night." Indeed, and everyone else has walked by last night's cookie-making remains for an entire day. Why? "Oh, Mercy didn't clean the dishes last night either, so there wasn't room in the sink."
*frown*
This is what happens when the eldest female child in a large household departs for several months. Chaos ensues.

I try to explain to my youngest sisters, ages 11 and 13, why the upstairs kids' bathroom was a problem. "Well, see," I say, pointing to the tiny blue trash can next to the toilet, "it's overflowing. Don't you think someone should empty it?"
"That's Gregory's chores," they quickly supply.
"Yes, well..." I pause. There's too much. I don't know where to start. "Look at the soap scum flowing down from the soap tray in the bathtub."
My oldest brother, Ted, takes a break from his computer playing next door to interject. "It's just soap! It's clean, right? What could be cleaner than soap?" Maddy and Lillie giggle, and I shoot a poisonous glare through the wall.
"I think it probably has dirt mixed with it." I falter, and then find my rhythm again. "But that's beside the point. Take a look at all this!" (gesturing to the towels on the floor, the hair behind the toilet, and ring in the bathtub) "It has obviously not been scoured for weeks!"
"But we cleaned it just for you, so it would be nice when you arrived," whispers Lillie. Her lower lip begins to wobble.
I eye her small face with a practiced gaze. She seems sincere. The problem on my hands is larger than I thought - they don't even see the filth! I dispatch my 20-year-old sister, Magda, to Walgreens for scrub brushes, Bon Ami, and elbow-length, yellow rubber gloves. Time to teach these munchkins how to clean!

This is what happens when one's mother spends all her time selling advertising for a homeschool magazine and grading kids' workbooks. Little things like cleaning tend to slip. We'll see what I can do.  ¶ 5:59 PM