School’s out and the children run free. It’s such a welcome change from carpooling, making lunches, helping with homework, and being on someone else’s schedule. Children fill their summer days with playdates, camp, and the town pool. Eventually, and usually quicker than you think, boredom sets in.

Here are a few ways that Tom and I keep the children from driving us bonkers. Use them at your own risk.

Get in the Beetle

Tom: I have a 1967 Volkswagen Bug. It’s in great shape. Very low original mileage. A real beauty. Only one catch. No rear seat belts. To say the front has them is ridiculous as it’s a single nylon lap belt similar to one you’d find on a rusted Tilt-A-Whirl at a hillbilly carnival.

We live in a quiet neighborhood shielded from the crazy traffic of the surrounding city. Quiet enough that you can drive around really slowly with two kids in the backseat without any protection or threat of being pulled over by the police. “The Police” is actually a game we play. As we drive along and the kids hang out the windows and bounce up and down on the seats, I can rein them in by yelling, “Police!” They hit the dirt and cover their heads until I give them the OK.

I know what you’re thinking: This is totally irresponsible, unsafe, and an awful lesson for children. You’re completely right. Which is why we all love it.

Bake

Cynthia: I love to bake. I bake from scratch. I love every part of it. I love finding the recipes, the smell of the kitchen, the decorating, and of course the downing of sinful forbidden calories.

Yes, I love baking...alone.

Baking with the kids is a whole different kind of baking. I call it “extreme” baking. It turns into a crazy science experiment. You have to measure with “helpers” who can’t reach the counter and don’t know measurements, let alone fractions. I let the kids crack the eggs and then occupy them with loads of fun playing “find the shell bits in the bowl.” The music is always turned up to drown the little voices telling on each other about who stuck a “Littlest Pony” in the dough and who is licking the counter. There is always far more spilling, yelling, and tasting going on than actual baking.

It’s all worth it though because the mystery of what is about to come out of the oven is second only to the mysteries of childbirth. You pray it’s what you hoped it would be and then end up loving whatever it is you got anyway. There are no bad babies and no bad sweets in my book.

Let’s Go to the Office

Tom: Yeah, I have an office. A comedian with an office. But it’s virtually impossible to write, read, or make any phone calls in the house. Not with all those people there.

So I have an office, which really helps me work, and, more important, gives me a secret hideaway. And there’s nothing my kids like more than being allowed to visit the hideaway.

It’s a nice building, with attractive furnishings and ample parking. But to the kids the whole place consists of three things: the elevator, the magic markers, and the candy bowl.

When I say office, they hear Playland. They know that if they can get me to bring them to the office, they will get a ride in the elevator, go to their drawer in the desk, dig out their markers and pads, and eat handfuls of candy. Handfuls. This isn’t Dad the “dad,” this is Dad the “office boss.” And the boss may have tough rules about noise and respecting other people’s space, but when it comes to candy, he’s a giver.

After an hour of coloring and chomping on gumballs and taffy, I let them clock out early and I take them home, where “Dad” returns and candy is something you have to earn.

Take a Dip in the Indoor Pool

Cynthia: I stumbled on this little goodie quite by accident. After a particularly messy craft session involving feathers, glitter, and macaroni, I decided to put my little angel in the bathtub. She turned into a red, sticky, screaming monster at the sight of the tub, thinking that a bath must mean bedtime. I convinced her that a daytime bath is really a swim in an indoor swimming pool. She loved the idea!

Now I stick her in the tub whenever I need a break. She will stay in the tub for an hour or more, singing at the top of her lungs. Her tub toys are now “pool” toys complete with a mask and snorkel. I have the freedom of sitting on the sink and flipping through the forgotten Sunday Times. My daughter is happy and, more important, Mommy can have her tea.