There’s a marked difference in the way we behave at the beginning of the school year, vs. the end. It’s a real thing, likened to animals on a sleep cycle preparing for hibernation. And by animals on a sleep cycle, I mean that rabid bear before it mauls Leonardo Dicaprio in the Renevant. Basically, everyone hyped it up so much that by the time we saw that movie, I was convinced this was a SNL skit and I was on the outside of the joke. He wouldn’t have survived that and I’m pretty sure his eyeball would have popped out or something. Since that would make him less attractive than his usual Leo status, they skipped that part.
But thought derailment per usual, because right now, the end of the school year kind of feels like I’m on the outside of an SNL skit. My eyeball has popped out, and I’ve survived that bear mauling. Call me a twig, because I’m ready to snap.
Everyone is done. Checking out. Finito.
I think here in the south, no one really loses their marbles, because we all care too much about what everyone else thinks. And it merely complicates the situation. For the most part, we like to eat and drink our feelings at night after being passive aggressive in the carpool line. I’m basically one step away from a 48 hour mystery special. Except there will be no mystery. She finally lost it.
Here’s the marked differences I’ve observed of the parents and their natural habitat when it comes to all things school, in the beginning and the end. Summer, here we come.
Clothes
Beginning of the school year: We’re thrilled over those new outfits. Their sneakers and clothes are donned proudly with parental approval. We took them shopping and planned it all out. They wear their favorite selection and shine with pride. No really – their teeth sparkle. We escort them out the door on a red carpet, and marvel at how much they’ve grown. Photo moment. Tears of pride. Shares to Facebook. Look at my greatest masterpiece. They are brilliantly beautiful. Curtain closes. End scene.
End of the school year: I’m pretty sure my second grader went to school yesterday with cinnamon roll icing in his hair, and toothpaste dribbled down the front of his shirt. He’s basically a timeline for his nutrition intake per the rest of the day, because when he gets home, there will be strawberries and ketchup, too. My fourth grader grabbed a wrinkled pair of shorts out of the laundry as it toppled on her, sweeping her into the hallway like a climber buried in an avalanche. The dogs dug her out of Everest, so she survived. We chalk it up to a life lesson in survival skills. The kids are still currently jumping over said laundry, because who has time to fold and put away? {It’s clean. We win because it’s clean.}
This was after a very opinionated discussion about the clothes she was donning and Godhelpuswhenwehaveteenagers. I don’t even really recall my oldest changing this morning. I’m pretty sure he slept in that last night. I thought they started doing that in college. Maybe he just evolved earlier than we did. It’s because we’re good parents.
Lunches and snacks
Beginning of the school year: The best nutrition possible. Love notes. Neatly packed lunchboxes. I eagerly study instagram accounts with the divided metal lunchbox thingies that cost 125 bucks a pop, proudly displaying seaweed sushi rolls with dollops of some word I can’t pronounce, and organic mandarins flourished from someone’s garden. There are shapes and faces concocted in a theme for each day. Isn’t that sweet?
End of the school year: Some crumpled Cheetos and a mushy sandwich when they whine about eating at school, because basically we’ve forgotten what day it is, and just eat the #%&$ chicken fingers and rectangular pizza already.
via– and truly adorable, btw. I just couldn’t swing it that week. Or ever. It’s called boundaries and it’s okay to have them.
School parties
Beginning of the school year: Parties here are a thing. We don’t know about your school district, but they are here. When we first moved here, we had to work one day during the first party, and the kids came home whining that we were the only parents not in attendance. We just knew they had to be exaggerating. But we secretly felt guilty and decided to attend the Valentine’s party, the next round. No one in Williamson County works, and there is a special parking section for all the parents, with a special sign in. I’ve never seen anything like it. I was even passive aggressively bullied by a parent into making a robot juice boxes concoction.
Jk on the robot juice boxes concoction. As in, I actually stood my ground, and just bought plain old apple juice boxes, despite the fact that it was gently suggested in a Pinterest link. And then requested again. Even though everyone else got to sign up for paper plates, and there was no robot theme, the robot juice boxes were expected.
No one died. The kiddos slurped them up with their greasy hands in between ravaging the chocolate candy.
First world probs – We’re all going to be okay.
End of the school year: If you beat us to the paper plates on the Sign Up Genius thingy the room mom sends out, we will cut you.
Cups and napkins and paper plates for the win. We’re not even pretending to try anymore. But bonus points because we’re still participating.
Photo courtesy of Country Living via Brian Woodcock – I only wish they looked this happy when doing homework
Homework
Beginning of the school year: Every night, we all sit down and dutifully review our lists, planners and tests coming up. They study and we knock it out, one by one. Color-coded flash cards and family tag team reviews. Yay responsibility! Yay good grades. Bonus points for pulling it off in the hideaway, for an extra pretty photo op.
End of the school year: Skips school and takes the kids to the latest Avengers movie. Does sixth grader’s Limerick homework for him, because I’m a writer and this is what my career has come to. I’d rather put him to bed than stay up and make him learn for himself, and no one gives a #$&%*# about limericks. We’re not drunken Irishmen circa 1855 in a pub after we slaughtered some Vikings. This is 2018 and it’s almost summer. Bonus points for being a cool mom. More bonus points for not knowing my history and the vague references to Irishmen and Vikings.
No, you don’t get to judge me.
Carpool pickup or drop off line
Beginning of the school year: Waves respectfully, and smiles warmly at Sandra who parked in the middle of the drive-through section to walk inside, despite the fact that there are five cars waiting behind her to drive on through, just as the rules state. She’s head of the parental volunteer unit and will make our lives a living hell if we mess with her. {AKA trying to recruit us.} She probably sent out the memo about the robot juice boxes, and her kids own the 125 dollar-a-pop lunchboxes. To each their own.
Maybe when I grow up, I can be like Sandra.
End of the school year: We’re looking at a cesspool of morons, of the highest selection and variety. I really don’t know how the teachers aren’t one step away from Britney Spears with an umbrella circa 2007. Bald and foaming at the mouth, ready to dismember the tennis mom who blatantly stopped at the front door to let her special snowflake out instead of pulling around like YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO.
Maybe that’s why their faces look a bit plastered on each morning. The smiles don’t really reach their eyes anymore.
I feel like I should give all the teachers bottles of wine while I drive through, a-la Oprah. YOU get some wine. And YOU get some wine. YOU ALL GET WINNNNEEEEE!!!!
I guess that might be inappropriate. Or illegal. You pick.
This photo is basically a metaphor for our lives right now. Except we repaired the pool, and I’m getting in today.
What am I saying here? {Read: disclaimer} That I’m a real live human being who loves her children very much, and truly appreciates everything this amazing life has offered her. I am also officially burned out on all things school, and sarcasm is my therapy. So try not to be mauled, or maul someone. YOU CAN DO IT. We’re high-fiving parents everywhere, keeping up the good fight.
Even Sandra. Stay the course, Sandra.
If you’re a teacher, that’s an entirely different topic. We owe you everything, you’re amazingly incredible, and I hope you relish in every moment of your time off. You. Have. Earned. It. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I was totally kidding about the Limericks. And the Avengers movie.
Maybe.
Next year, we’ll gladly send them back, and do it all over again.
But in the meantime… Summer, here we come.
Janet says
You win. Funniest end of school year post ever. Thank you, once again, for making me feel completely normal. The pressure is real 😂
Aimee says
Gold, pure golden. I might relate to everything in this post!
ashley @ the handmade home says
HAHA! Thanks Aimee. You’re not alone! ;}
Layla K says
I’m absolutely in love with this post and I can relate to all of it. Hysterical! There’s something psychological about the final weeks. God bless the teachers!
Anna says
This is absolutely my most favorite thing ever! Drunken Irishmen for the win! Thank you for making my day.
Allison @ House of Hepworths says
Ashley, I have a 16 and 14 year old (10th and 8th grade) and I STILL could have written your post. Every. Freaking. May. We are so done. Just done. I won’t even admit on the internet how many tardies and absences my kids have. At this point, we no longer care about straight As. We just need them to pass enough to complete 10th and 8th grade. lol I posted this on my instagram a few years ago and it still totally applies. WE CAN DO HARD THINGS! https://www.instagram.com/p/BE8r9C8gpCB/?taken-by=houseofhepworths
ashley @ the handmade home says
BAHAHAAH! SO funny! Yes, I think everyone with older kids always tell the ones with babies and toddlers to relish in the moment because it just gets harder. Better, but harder. It’s tough! And that insta-post is HILARIOUS. I can’t believe your kids are that big!
Barbara Moore says
Oh the memories…. my youngest is 32 and was just bemoaning the month of May (Hell Month). Every single word you wrote is true. And hysterical. And I am so very glad to be 61 years old without a school aged child in sight.
ashley @ the handmade home says
So what you’re saying is that it gets better? ;} We try to cherish every age but that stage sounds kinda nice, too. ;}
Beth Miller says
Oh I’m all about low expectations! I don’t go to all the parties, and I also work full time. The parties are ridiculous in WilCo! I rush to the sign up just so I can get paper products. I happily say NO every year when asked to be a room parent or volunteer for “the board”. I’m proud to say I not once sat in the pick up line this year! #busforever
Lizzi Galland says
I just love reading your blog! It makes me smile and laugh! I just love how real it is!
The reference to Vikings and Irishman may have almost made me pee my pants laughing. Thanks for all the inspiration!
Rebecca says
And the church said: “Aaaaaaa-men!” Thank you!!