Thank God it's time for school to start again. I thought about trying to sugar-coat my words with metaphors on life, learning and growing up, but I didn't have the energy to think of any.

This summer has been the very definition of chaos, and I am beyond thrilled to pass my kids off to someone else for a few hours a day. You can judge me if you want to, but I won't care. I'm going to be too busy finishing a thought, or sleeping in more than two hour intervals.

After sickness and surgery earlier this summer, I was looking forward to relaxing and diving into summer fun with my kids.

I didn't realize I would dive into the country club pool on accident with my baby on my hip, or that by embracing summer I would come home after being out of town for weeks to a 97 degree house. It cost more to replace the unit than I paid for my first two cars, and while we're on the subject I just got four brand new shiny tires on a car that I can't fit another dried up chicken nugget in.

I've always said I was going to drive my car until the wheels fell off because it's finally paid for, and I was almost right. Looks like we're good to go for another 100,000 miles of crushed cheerios, dumped over soft-drinks and road trips that make Freddy Kruger look like a total sissy.

Maybe it's wrong that I've been cruising by the school supplies aisle at Wal-Mart for the last four--okay fine, five weeks just to sniff the smell of school in session: new crayons, nap mats, pencils and paste. Ah, I feel light-headed just thinking about it. But in the last eight hours, my 19-month-old has gone to the potty successfully exactly once and decided she no longer needs to wear pants, rubbed an entire bottle of toothpaste on her body like it was lotion, broken a decorative plate and bitten her sister's lip and drew blood. (Yep, you read that last part right.)

I was "recognized" from the newspaper at a local restaurant just after Emma, my 4-year-old, mutinied at the pizza buffet because I wouldn't let her fix her own plate (please note she couldn't even see over the counter.) I was forced to drag her out of the way, while balancing two plates of food and the only high chair left in the place, to the party room to put her in time out.

My kindergartner seems to be the only one who isn't constantly wreaking havoc, but beggars can't be choosers.

School is in session for her and I'll take all the help I can get. Emma doesn't start school for a couple of weeks, and I'm trying to keep her lip out of Sadie's mouth and Sadie's diaper on her bottom, and myself out of a mental institution.

Yes, maybe I should savor the moments more, even though they smell like pee and leave my clothes bloodstained at night.

Maybe I should stop driving by Emma's preschool and sighing longingly at the idea of a few moments peace. But if finishing a thought is wrong…wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her, zebandrobin@hotmail.com.)