The last two weeks of school is like the last two weeks of pregnancy.
I was so huge and heartburny and my back hurt and my feet hurt and I was sick and fucking tired of everyone wanting to know when I was due and what’s the baby’s name (Scrotus, if you must know) and am I having a boy or a girl and am I going to do a home birth (No? Avert eyes, tsk and quote some dumb fucking statistic about c-sections and how women have been having babies for millions of years without hospitals and I’m practicing my Lamaze breathing to keep from completely detonating) and I think,
BRING IT! FUCKING BRING IT! LABOR? DELIVERY? NEWBORN UP ALL NIGHT? IT CANNOT BE WORSE THAN THIS!
But you know what? It was, but at least there were cute baby lips to smooch all the time. And then they got all big and it’s all just a bunch of vague memories about a moment in time. I’m psyched about my family, it was worth it.
Well, the last two weeks of school are similar. It’s like hazing. It is so full of after school events, field trips to chaperone, class parties to cater, going away parties, retirement parties, fundraisers, clean-up projects, NOT TO MENTION the gauntlet of daily bake sales that I have to side-step each day after school and endure the howls of protest when I tell my boys for the billionth time that, “No, you can’t have a brownie and a cupcake and a cookie. Like you did yesterday. And the day before that.”
And IT IS ALL SPRUNG ON YOU AT THE LAST SECOND so you are like, I CAN’T WAIT FOR SCHOOL TO BE OUT! Three months with my kids at home? Sounds relaxing.
But newborns and summer vacation are not relaxing, we know that. That’s why the two weeks prior suck so bad, so we actually look forward to the change, even if the change is just as challenging.
Have you ever read Wool? If you haven’t, you should. It doesn’t have anything to do with knitting and it’s a great piece of post-apocolyptic fiction which, for some reason, I am drawn to. I think I have a streak of survivalist in me. I still have an embarrassing amount of freeze dried food and a solar oven in my basement from when I was pregnant with Testy and
everyone I was freaking out about Avian Flu.
I ill-advisedly read Preparing for the Pandemic, and me being pregnant and broody, stocked up on survival rations. I fantasized about fortresses. My dream home, at the time, was a house featured in the NYTimes Magazine which was built from shipping containers and could be sealed up tight with a system of gears only accessible from the inside.
This isn’t the one I dreamt of, it was even more fortress-y, but you get the idea.
I thought, “Perfect! Then the hoards can’t get my supplies and we won’t starve to death as society crumbles around us! And we could have a gun turret!” Zeb indulged me with the freeze dried food but drew the line at buying mountain property and a bunch of storage containers.
Oh, back to Wool.
As people are being sent to their death – AKA Outside the silo fortress – where they are vide0-fed a false image of a Utopia on the outside so they actually leave the silo … and die from the poisoned atmosphere. They would never leave if they saw how fucked up it was outside, but because they think it’s all hunky dory out there, they traipse off over the hills and croak. Dissidents executed. Disaster averted.
SPOILER OVER, YOU CAN READ AGAIN.
Boy, this is a really cynical attitude towards summer vacation. Ah well, like anything hard you just put your head down and go. There are some moms that are sad when summer is over. I don’t think that will be me but I like to think I can get into the spirit of things.
It will be interesting to see what all that “togetherness” does to my writing. Either it will get really slap-dash or super exciting because my kids will be annoying me extra much which will inspire daily Turrett’s-like, stream-of-conciousness, profanity laced posts that have become my calling card.
I doubt I will have the time to create the finely crafted posts you have become accustomed to. AHAHAHAHAHA!
Something to look forward to. Time to cut the crap.
Marcia gives me a subscription to the Nutrition Action Newsletter every year for Christmas. It is the only health magazine worth reading (IMO) and it is a short read, just 10-15 pages. No fads, no product placement, just studies aimed at verifying or disproving claims. Of course I keep them all, I don’t know why. I’m recycling them.
More receipts to scan and recycle.
Featured image courtesy of http://www.prevention.com