By the time most of you are reading this, I will have essentially survived Summer 2018. Woo hoo! I return to the classroom Aug. 2, and while that means I will soon be subjected to long days with other peoples’ sometimes smelly and usually angsty teenagers, it also means that in a few weeks, a beautiful yellow bus will come to collect my own precious angels. Can I get an amen?
Don’t get me wrong. We’ve had a great summer here at chez Wilson. Quality relaxation time, some fantastic vacations and plenty of Netflix binges. But enough already. Enough of the sleeping ‘til noon or three. Enough of the basement Fortnite marathons. Enough of our college kid all up in my grill. I don’t know about your family, but mine functions more smoothly with schedules and routines and expectations of punctuality and productiveness. My pathetic attempt at a chore chart did not cut it.
Bottom line? Everyone is fed up with everyone else. The girls have created a biochemical wasteland in their bathroom. The boys have nearly come to blows over the third car. My husband Doo insists that I complete a honey-do list a mile long because “I’m on vacation.” Yes, I’m on vacation, which by definition means “no work.”
See what I mean? Even my partner-in-crime is driving me bat-poo crazy. The only solution, my friends, is sweet academic imprisonment. We need places to be and things to do. We need homework and practices and bedtimes. We need our lives to return to normal. So though it may be blasphemous to say, I can’t wait for school to begin!
Peace out.
