This morning, my friend’s 8-year-old daughter told him that “I wish school would hurry up and end so I can move on with my life.”
Preach it, sister.
A fair part of me is dreading school’s end next Tuesday. (Really next Monday, since Tuesday’s “closing ceremonies” involve wrestling everyone into their Sunday best only to have them all home again by 10:30 a.m.) But the crush of year-end activities requiring our attendance is so great that at this point I am yearning for next week, with its three hot and bored children. It’s kind of like the 39th week of pregnancy: uncomfortable enough that you can’t wait to go into labor, because at least then you’ll be done.
Here are just a few of my children’s events I have attended in the last two weeks:
- brass band concert
- science fair
- Little League game (4th grader)
- Little League game (2nd grader)
- first communion
- tap recital
- fleadh (Irish step dancing)
- chorus concert
- chorus concert awards ceremony, which was an another hour-long event separate from the concert itself. 60 minutes to hand out paper certificates to about forty children, which is impressive. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to make saying a kid’s name and handing her a piece of paper take more than a minute per child, but they did it.
I had new respect for my own mother after sitting through Maggie’s tap recital. Maggie was a monkey. Her class was eleventh.
Eleventh out of thirty-eight.
I never realized how mind-numbing a three-hour dance recital in which your daughter only appeared for ninety seconds (with someone standing directly in front of her) could be. Lucky me, now I know.
Today I face my personal Sophie’s choice: Maggie’s gymnastics “parents visiting day” and Seamus’ first piano recital, occurring at the same time this afternoon- one on 12th Avenue, one on 5th. During New York City rush hour. Three miles and infinity minutes apart. It is not possible for me to attend both of these events unless I can get Molly Weasley to lend me some of her floo powder. But the tears of both my children this morning mean that I shall, nay must, attempt it.
Is it summer yet?
How’s your year-end going?