“Tell her I’m scrubbing the toilet.”

“Yeah, right after you take that soufflé out of the oven.”

Merlotta may be my Starbucks buddy but until I organize my kids’ summer schedule, she’s off limits. Her kids’ activities have been lined up since Christmas. Merlotta’s got them training for a marathon, teaching Origami to arthritis rehab patients and alphabetizing canned goods at a food pantry – all before noon. I’m still sorting out cookie dough deliveries from last fall.

“So, what’s on tap for the Contessa kids this summer?”

Amstel Light?

“Pinot is going on an Egyptian archaeological dig, Grigio has enrolled in Lithuanian opera studies and Cat’s volunteering at the United Nations.”

“Oh, they’re still camped out on your couch.”

I’m trying. The kids just finished the school year inside and I figured they might enjoy a change of scenery. I sent Pinot and Grigio outside to pull weeds. It was just like taking a sauna in a luxury spa, only outdoors and the plants aren’t fake. That worked well, until the lady from Child Protective Services landed on my doorstep. An anonymous tipster reported seeing a couple of indentured servants that looked an awful lot like abused teenagers slaving away in my yard. I really need to cancel the boys’ cell phone service.

Cat enjoys exercise, so walking Bongo, our 45-pound mutt, seemed like a natural fit. That didn’t work out, either. Bongo’s idea of exercise is rolling off his mat. This time, a lady from the SPCA showed up to investigate reports of a dog being dragged by his leash down the road.

“Maybe you could look into sending the kids to camp,” Merlotta offered. Sure, and increase neighborhood home values at the same time.

Pinot and Grigio would love it. Now, if I can only find a camp where wake-up is 2 p.m. and kids get their meals by standing in front of an open refrigerator whining, “There’s nothing to eat around here.” It would need a large parking lot, too, so the boys could aimlessly drive around burning four-dollar-per-gallon gas.

We had looked into shipping Cat off to a sleep over camp but she backed out when she learned the linen turndown didn’t include Godiva chocolates. No biggie. Cat has since discovered that needling The Big Guy into buying her a cell phone is nearly as invigorating as a massage and a heck of a lot more fun than a pedicure. Too bad The Big Guy doesn’t feel the same way.

Kids aren’t the only ones pining for summer relaxation. Take The Big Guy; he communes with nature. He traipses for hours along green trails carrying a heavy pack on his back, occasionally wandering into the forest or into a sand pit to dig holes. When he strays from his group, he’s easy to spot in those hot-pink shirts and yellow shorts. It’s like he’s a walking GPS (Global Positioning System). He’s even got a special call to let others know his whereabouts, though I think yelling “here” makes a lot more sense than “fore.” Thankfully, he doesn’t have to worry about heat stroke. A young girl with a bad case of the giggles follows him around on a motorized cart filled with beverages.

The Contessa is considering options for summer fun, too. Swimming crossed her mind but that would involve wearing a swimsuit. The last time she ventured down that road, Ronald Reagan was president and his wife, Nancy, strangely enough, came up with the idea to “Just Say No.”

Actually, the Contessa has discovered the ideal summer activity: marking the days off the calendar until school begins. Sixty-four more days to go!

Danielle Schaaf is the co-author of “Don’t Chew Jesus!” and can be contacted at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com.