You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when you tell your children that you are going out to lunch with friends (your friends, not theirs) and they whine about how boring it will be.
You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when you haven’t been seated two minutes before they are fighting over who is kicking who under the table and who is stealing whose crayons and who is taking up more table space than the other ones.
You *think* it’s time for summer to be over when the whining and complaining reaches its peak and you look around the restaurant for gypsies to sell the kids to.
You strongly, strongly suspect it’s time for summer to be over when the words “Stop acting like an ass and embarrassing me in front of my friends!” hisses out of your mouth at the table.
You KNOW its time for summer to be over when you overhear one of your table-mates whisper to another table-mate, “That’s exactly why I didn’t bring MY kids.”