Tomorrow, my 16-year old’s Spring Break begins. This is a glorious time of year in which I don’t have to make a school lunch before I crawl into bed. I don’t have to spend 45 minutes each afternoon retrieving him from school. I don’t have to make sure his favorite shirts are ready to wear each morning.
Tomorrow, my 11-year old is still in school, her charter school which requires her to do her coursework at home. So I will be doing my best to push her along, to prod her to do her best. I will insist that she does every subject even though she’ll try to bargain and convince me to let her do two histories tomorrow instead of one today and one tomorrow. I will try to be the Voice of Reason and the one who doesn’t let her off the hook even though I’d like to just play hooky pretty much all the time. (Don’t tell.)
In another week, my son will be back at school and my daughter’s Spring Break will begin. And I personally will be counting down the days to summer, that fantastic time of year where our schedule is less structured and we can breathe without considering how to solve a quadractic equation and there will be absolutely no sentence diagramming.