I’ve decided to embrace summer lassitude.

Every year, I fight against it. Every year, we all gradually sink into it, tolerating a messy house and jungly garden, ceasing productive activity beyond a little desultory knitting and a few bursts of canning.

This year, I’ve been winning.

Oh, the house is of course a mess, and the huge quantities of groceries I bring into the house on Saturday are gone by Tuesday; the boys are doing their best to spend their days eating and making messes, as is the summer tradition.

But I have continued to maintain a fairly good housekeeping schedule and kept working on projects. I’ve been baking and writing and spending only my usual amount of time lolling around. Clean laundry and healthy meals continue to appear at regular intervals. The garden is getting watered and weeded. I’ve been happy about this.

And here it is the 27th of July. Only about three weeks till school starts again. A Floridian was in the store yesterday, and they go back to school on August 3 (like MaMaMoo), as do the Oklahomans. Clearly, though the heat will be with us for some time, summer is fleeting.

Where are the afternoons on the porch reading and sipping iced tea? Where are the summer evenings playing games? Where are the mornings spent in the garden?

I haven’t been overworked (that may still be ahead), but neither have I lazed around any more than usual.

How, then, will I have the satisfaction of getting back to my regular routine after school starts — if I never stopped it? Where will be the pleasure in productive fall days if there is no contrast with hedonistic summer ones?

So I will be adding some hedonistic lazing to my schedule straightaway. Except that tonight I do have a meeting with Chamber Singers to audition a couple of director candidates. That is directly after work, but right after that I will begin lazing in earnest.

#2 daughter has persuaded her roommate to see her point of view, and will be flatting beginning next week. I learned that word from Sighkey. I think it means renting an apartment with roommates in a young and jolly way, and it sounds more glamorous than “sharing an apartment.” Sighkey says that she never flatted at all, which I take to mean that she never lived in an apartment. She makes it sound pretty raffish.

I bet that most American adults have lived in an apartment at least once, and probably with roommates. How is it, then, that we have no word for this, while the people of Kiwi-a-go-go-land, among whom it is optional, have such a cool word as “flatting”?

They probably pronounce it as we would a word spelled “fletting,” too, to add to the exoticism. It would then sound more like “flitting,” a word associated with butterflies and birds and rapscallions.

Anyway, this is what #2 daughter will be doing. #1 daughter will be getting her husband back from the briny deep today, if all goes well and the Navy don’t change their minds. The two of them live in an apartment issued them by the Navy, but I don’t suppose that can be called flatting.