Published: August 16, 2008 04:15 am         

Parenting imperfect: Quirks seem bigger during vacation

School cannot start soon enough.

Given the two-week lag between when I write these missives from the parenting front and when they hit print, school will be two weeks away from starting by the time you read this.

And that sigh you hear is every parent in the area thanking whatever lucky stars they hold dear that their kids will soon out of the house.

Now, however, when the Diva and I are at the ugly end of summer vacation, that relieved sigh feels decades away.

Hopefully, this will all end well, with time filled with laughter and games, the sort that grace the cover of every parenting magazine. Picture me in soft-focus pushing her in a swing on a light-dappled day. We will all be so proud.

I have a sneaking suspicion, though, that these last days won't be nearly as elegant, if the past 24 hours are any indication of what is to come.

I spent at least one of those hours _ measured in 30-second increments _ insisting she comb her hair. A combination of swimming pool, sun and chewing gum have rendered it unfit for public view, in my opinion.

Her opinion is the exact opposite of mine. It would appear that this knot of a coiffure is exactly what she's been crafting for six long years. Combing it would undo a lifetime of hard, hard work.

I simply don't appreciate her art. In fact, I keep approaching her art with scissors and a comb, because I am an uncultured philistine.

I've tried creating circumstances where she will be rewarded for neat hair, just like all of the parenting books say. I've tried threats and bribes.

My next step will be holding her down and taking electric clippers to it, which will lead to me being hauled off by the fuzz because her screams will convince our neighbors that I'm killing her.

If you're reading this column, it means that it didn't come to that. If I have been chucked in jail, I'm sure that my helpful editor will pull this and run my mug shot instead.

Normally, I wouldn't get so freakishly irked by something so small as hair. "It isn't," as a friend of mine often says, "the hill I want to die on."

Take one look at the top of my head and you'll quickly realize that our house is not one devoted to the tonsorial arts.

But the situation on the ground changes after eight weeks of near-constant contact with my 6-year old. Things that I could ordinarily let slide are getting under my skin.

Take her habit of climbing into the back of whichever chair I'm sitting in, reaching her skinny arms around me, and flapping the saggiest part of my body that she can reach. Usually, it's the muffin top that's left over from her brother's birth. Occasionally, it's the dangly bit under my upper arm. Once or twice, it has been my breasts _ and the less said about their state of sag, the better.

It wouldn't bother me nearly so much if she didn't a) do it in front of company and b) swing my body around while chanting "flap, flap, flap."

Men have been killed for less.

I'm also now out of ideas for amusing Her Highness, especially on rainy days. My stash of clever art projects _ most of which involve waxed paper, crayons and an iron _ have been exhausted. I can only play so many games of Dora Candyland before I turn to a bowl of real jelly beans for comfort. If I watch "iCarly" one more time, I'll need to have the aggressively catchy theme song surgically removed from my brain.

I'm sure that the situation isn't much better from her perspective. Here she is, trapped with a saggy lady who is the most boring person on the planet. Saggy lady will only play Polly Pockets for mere minutes before wandering off to do dull things like "make dinner" or "fold laundry." She won't read "Fancy Nancy" 40 times in a row just because you want her to, even though you can easily read it 40 times in a row yourself. This adult insists on getting all bent out of shape when you refuse to eat a food that "looks weird," even though it's a food that you have eaten a thousand times before with no complaints.

Still, we've had good times. There have been lessons-a-palooza, which have been a big hit, and countless trips to the pool. We've hung out on a farm, playing with dogs and goats and chickens. We've planted flowers and squash. The Diva is as brown as a coffee bean from so much time romping in the outdoors.

And my husband is teaching her how to golf. They swim. Lately, he's been letting her help paint doors and trim in our garage. For the next few weeks, she'll be at a day camp, romping with college kids who are also on summer break. All told, the summer has been a good one.

But now that we're on the tail end of it, all of those personality quirks that you don't notice so much during the busy school year are starting to really irritate the heck out of us all. It's time for the Diva to have new challenges in a big group of her peers; you know, other 6-year old kids who find an hour of repeating the same knock-knock joke amusing.

I'm sure the next few weeks will fly past. If not, on the first day of school, she'll be the first-grade girl with the buzz cut. And I'll be the one in handcuffs.

Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.