We have just had a gorgeous Big Chill weekend with Beloved’s oldest friends from school, and the house has been filled with thirty people - assorted adults and Smalls - for the past few days. The Smalls were all in heaven, and we have had dreamy food and lots to drink.

My garden is still throwing out copious cucumbers and zucchini, and today, for brunch, I made vegan zucchini pancakes, which were delicious. For dinner last night we fell off the vegan wagon and made lobster rolls, serving them in those red plastic baskets, with Stew Leonard’s best potato chips. Completely yummy, and the lobster salad, from Sheila Lukins’ book, Ten, was amazing. I will say you could absolutely do it purely vegan, with firm tofu, vegan mayo and tofutti sour cream.

We found the baskets in the party store, and I shouldn’t have been amazed, but slightly was, to see them putting out all the Halloween stuff. August feels a little early to be thinking about Halloween, but I came home thinking about what to do this year. The problem with Halloween for me is that when I find a costume I like - what? You’re surprised I dress up? Of course! - I never want to change it. If I hadn’t lost the Princess Leah dress I’d still be striding around the beach saying ‘May the Force be with you’, but a few years ago I purchased a Wicked Witch of the West dress, and I have to say, it’s a good one, in fact, it’s about the most authentic outfit there is. It wasn’t cheap, and what I love most is painting my face green, adding big black shadows under my eyes (I don’t actually have to add them, just make them a touch darker), then going trick or treating with the kids, and NO-ONE RECOGNISES ME.

The only thing is, last year I forgot to paint my hands green, so after we got back from the party store, before the guests arrived and while I was still in the Halloween spirit, I found these:

Green gloves

I think they are completely brilliant, and I am already cackling at the prospect of pulling them on to complete my costume.

I am also fantasising about jeans, boots, and sweaters. School is starting tomorrow - delirious with joy here - and I am ready for fires and falling leaves. I am also ready to get back to the library and carry on with The Love Verb - was Family Ties, but The Eskimo unwittingly retitled - she sent me an email referring to a Love Verb - and we all far prefer the new title.

Off to school to meet the new teachers, and recipes to follow shortly…

Every Summer my head is filled with romantic visions of how I will spend the lazy, hazy days. This year I decided we would plant ourselves at Longshore - our local municipal country club - the children playing happily around my long skirts as we breezed across to the pool, a beatific smile on my face as the children beamed with joy, leaping in and out of the water and behaving like angels.

I thought of this yesterday, as the children sat in the back seat of the jeep, on the way to the farm in Easton, hitting each other and screaming, bursting into tears and whining.

It is the final week of Summer vacation, and I have to confess, I am pretty much on my last nerve. As is every mother I know. I tweeted yesterday about this, and someone said they found it sad that anyone would say this, even in jest. ‘Who would not want to spend time with their own children?’ she asked.

I have to imagine the woman who wrote this has no children. Or perhaps one, very well-behaved little girl. It’s just a guess, but I would very much like to drop our six Smalls off with her for an eight week Summer vacation, then ask her how she feels at the end.

Judgement is a funny thing. It is so easy for all of us to look at others and find fault with the way they act, the way they parent, the things they do, particularly when we have not walked in their shoes. I remember when I just had one child, looking with horror at other mothers, and picking their parenting apart. I would NEVER do THAT, I would think to myself. Look how horribly their children are behaving.

Now, (too) many children later, there is one thing I know with certainty: we are all doing the best we can, and this is, truly, the hardest job in the world. When I see mothers shouting at their kids, losing patience, on their last nerve, more often than not my heart goes out to them, because I know what it’s like.

Four more days until our Summer vacation is over. I love my children to death, and I cannot wait for school to start.

I was talking to someone today about a Communication Board. This is a large board filled with information for those moments when you just can’t be bothered to speak, i.e. when you’ve got home from the Waterpark and are in major sensory overload, and you’re worried that, if you dare to open your mouth, all that will come out is a scream of anguish.

I have been thinking about my own communication board. I have come up with a few options, and am looking forward to spending a craft afternoon with my kids, who can cut pictures out of magazines to decorate.

These are my crucial ones:

Need to sleep. Please watch television downstairs for the next five hours and help yourself to junk food in the pantry.
I would like something to eat, preferably not leftovers that have been in the fridge for four days, but something freshly cooked by someone other than ME.
Please bring me a Martini.
I need someone to give me a foot massage without commenting on the fact that I have not shaved my legs in two days.
Please bring me a cold Corona with a slice of lime.
Snickers bar.
Change the channel. If I have to watch another CSI I may kill myself.
Babysitter needed. NOW.
Pass the earplugs.

If anyone has any other ideas, I’m open to suggestion…

Yesterday The Chestnut and I were at the Horsey Girl’s for an afternoon swim, when HG said, ‘hey, I was going to take the kids to a waterpark tomorrow. Want to come?’ I instantly had visions of all of us laughing with joy as we flew down twisting slides, and I said yes. I didn’t notice The Chestnut looking at me with abject horror on her face.

I also didn’t remember the hell of Great Wolf Lodge.

So I looked at The Chestnut. ‘You’re coming too.’ She tried to fight, claiming Bikram Yoga as an excuse, but I wasn’t having any of it. If I’m going to go through misery today, I’m going to drag those closest to me into it as well.

The three of us are taking our combined army of Smalls and Mediums to a waterpark in Fishkill, New York. Just as as aside, where does a town like Fishkill get its name from, and more importantly, why? Why would anyone name a town Fishkill? Even thinking about the name makes my nostrils clench in defence.

Luckily, I have to be home by six. I say luckily, because an afternoon in a waterpark is more than enough for any normal human being.

But secretly I am thrilled we are doing this. My kids have been in day camp for most of the summer, and our final week of vacation is time for some fun stuff with Mummy. Other plans for the week include fruit picking at local farms, kayaking at Longshore, and barbeques at the beach.

Speaking of fruit picking, my garden is doing exceptionally well, and the deer have left it alone these past few weeks. The edamame are growing, we have been eating kohl rabi, zucchini and beets. I also have nine cucumbers in my fridge, and am rather dismayed that there are five more that look like they’ll be ready to pick any second now. What’s a girl supposed to do with nine cucumbers? Keep it clean, please. I will post recipes shortly for cold cucumber soups and cucumber and dill salad, but I’ve run out of inspiration and would welcome any fabulous recipes…