It has come to this, my friends.
There are 7 days left until the end of the school year —but I was done three weeks ago.
So my husband and I just washed all the necessary school uniforms x 3 kids for the next 5 days and they are just gonna live on the couch until the last day of school because I CANNOT EVEN.
I have lost the spelling word list. For the first time, I didn’t help my first grader study his words. Everyone say a prayer that the words are super-easy because homeboy is ON HIS OWN this week!
My 8th grader handed me a 6-page fiction story that needed to be proof-read last night at 10:20…AFTER I had already taken my sleeping pill.
Umm…either it was a fantasy story or my sleeping pills contain LSD. In any case, though I am an editor by trade, it was NOT my best proofreading work. Sorry, kid. “Survival mode” is the current status.
Sign my agenda. And the 7,000 permission slips *per child* for ALL THE FIELD TRIPS. The project is due tomorrow and I haven’t started. I need my “class shirt” washed for the field trip. Sack lunch, disposable water bottle, money for the teacher gift but SHH it’s a surprise so SNEAK IT TO THE ROOM MOM like an undercover CIA agent infiltrating a terrorist ring.
I CAN’T ANYMORE.
I work at home. Summer break is usually not my friend. However I am welcoming it this year like a postpartum mom welcomes yoga pants, because I swear to you if we have one more early morning hustle to get the details right for whatever SUPER-IMPORTANT end-of-the-year activity that is happening THAT DAY, Mount MamaSanity is gonna ERUPT.
Teachers, I love you. YOU ARE THE SAINTS OF THE WORLD. I know you are just as anxious to get to the finish line as I am.
But please don’t make me sign another agenda. Can we just get AGENDA AMNESTY next week? Cause I am thisclose to teaching my 5th-grader to forge my signature. I have NO DOUBT she’d be excellent at it.
I mean, and then all this exhaustion culminates next Friday when I have to sit through 8th grade graduation and try not to sob like a maniac while my BABY walks across the stage. My first baby. Three inches taller than I am and about to enter high school. I swear this was him just yesterday:
But this is the reality of how OLD WE BOTH ARE:
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION?? It is all I can do to keep from crying about this 24/7, so *if* and when I find out it’s “Crazy Hair Day” for the 5th graders on Monday as well, this is the tiny puff of air that will just blow me off the cliff.
So, SUMMER, make your entrance. We aren’t just limping through the end of this school year, we’re being dragged behind a red Radio Flyer wagon with a broken wheel.
And it hurts.
I SURRENDER!! Who’s with me? In the words of the great Patrick Henry, “Give me the end of the school year or give me death!”
That’s what he said, right? I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.