Worst Day of the Year

First day of school every flippin' year.

I hate it. Call me a strangefellow because I like mingling about with my kids. Twenty years ago, I would have called my future self, weird.

I love having them home, arguing about whose boogers are bigger, complaining about chores, crying b/c someone shot 'em point blank in the eye with a water gun, having their friends over everynight, running up the snack food bill, renting chick flicks and sleeping 'til noon. Ahh, summer-summer, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo...

I'm in G's ear all the time about how the kids NEED three months summer vacation again; how I need three months of summer vacation again. Soon the dreaded book reports and math homework will start and I'll feel more burdened than I did when I was in school. Isn't that the ultimate irony? Who cares if my Mom wished my children to be downright, rotten little scoundrels when I was a smart-arse teen? That would be bliss to not have to be the responsible adult, making sure everyone's projects are completed on time (note, I didn't say in a timely manner - I've given up on that - we're a family of procrastinators) and grades are somewhat acceptable. It stinks up ten months of my life every year. Gerald totally agrees that the kids need the extra month but is mandated by law to provide so many days of school each year. We could get rid of Fall and Spring Break, he says, but I say, shut up! that's crazy talk.

I'm mopin' around the house, severly limited by the amount of clutter that is to be a garage sale next Saturday...to pay for the extracurriculars around here - like our bedroom and bathroom that we just gutted. Yep, been sleepin' in the ole' family room for two weeks, our fireplace mantel serving as a closet and the seven of us sharing two bathrooms. I'm not unfamiliar with bathroom sharing, for the better part of my life at home, five of us shared one bathroom; however, when the status quo has been a private, adult bathroom, it takes a little getting used to the kids' toothpaste all over everything, floss lying around the counter, floors wet and slippery, bar soap that's sitting in the drain, all spongy, shampoo bottles that are empty...again and pirate ships floating in the shower with you. Privacy is the least of my concern.

The worst part of the whole deal though, is that pretty much on a conistent basis, I get into bed and find cracker crumbs all over - those suckers ITCH. The kids apparently figured out that watching TV, while sitting in Dad and Mom's bed, was kickin'. So, while I've been at work and G's been at pre-planning, they've all been scrunched in, snug and warm, eating anything that crumbs and then later using the bed as a trampoline, to evenly spread the crumbs to spots that are inexplicably unreachable to adult limbs, until bedtime. So, you think you've got all the crumbs swept up, you're cursing the kids under your breath trying to come up with an appropriate punishment for kids that feel safe and comfy in your bed but molest it w/crumbs. You're exhausted, you wriggle in, adjust your pj's, turn over twice, get your extra pillow tucked under your armpit just right, tuck the sheets around you, get your tootsies covered, start to drift off and freakin', freakin', freak! You're crumb-scratching.

I'm not sure there is anything I hate worse than crumbs in my bed.

Except for, the first day of school.