Ugh! So close to the end of school, and yet… 7 working days to go. I’ve said it before, the end of the year feels like taffy on one of those taffy pullers you see on the boardwalk, where this thick, gooey, disgusting mess (I don’t like taffy) is stretched impossibly thin until it gets so damned tough it breaks your teeth and rips out your fillings. Are you feeling my pain yet, because I could go on!!!
Anyway, my throat is sore and I’m once again exhausted–I read the end of 1984 to my Seniors and Gatsby to my Juniors, and I was a little surprised that, after whining at them continually to read the fucking book and do the fucking questions, that once we reverted back to kindergarten and story time, they were totally entranced. Well, if nothing else, I can say I sent them out the door with that, right? But all I wanted when I got home was to nap, and all four kids were talking at once and then, *SURPRISE* mom and dad showed up to take Chicken to her media presentation. Which was great on the one hand, because it meant that Mate got a few minutes to sit down and have some dinner before he had to go watch her, but on the other hand, I had one of those disorienting moments when the day job interposed itself on the night job, and all I wanted to do was yell at people to be quiet so I could think. The moment passed, and it was me and the short people, and they were destroying the house.
Anyway, that was the day, but I’ll leave you with two things that happened that totally made it better.
The first happened in the car. The Cave Troll and Ladybug have been fighting like, well, insects and trolls for the last few weeks, and so this time, when I stopped to get their milk and french fries, instead of getting them one order to share, I got them two orders, each in a separate bag, so they might not argue over them continually. And then I heard it. RRRRIIIIPPPPP. Looking in the rearview, I started lecturing the Cave Troll, “Please don’t rip up the bag and the fries and the napkin…please don’t make a mess for mommy.” And then I looked up into the rearview again and laughed so damned hard I almost had to slam on the brakes. He’d ripped open one seam of the bag and situated it on his head like a hat and was looking at me benignly in the mirror. He wore that damned thing all the way home.
The second was tonight. Chicken, tired from her school presentation, was getting ready for another activity tomorrow and grumbling about it. “Darn it–it’s eight grade, Mom. We’re not that special–for the love of crap, just let me get the hell out of middle school!”
*sigh* *sniff proudly* Yup. That’s my sweet little girl.