We have just under two weeks of school left, and we are barely hanging on. It is in these last days of the public school grind that I feel my inner voice calling for a revolution. I want to scream, "Freedom!" at the top of my lungs. I hate the end of the year. It feels like a giant waste of time. And although popsicles slightly ease the pain, it is impossible for them to do enough. As a result I keep showing up at school early to dismiss Myles. Yesterday, he was confused as to why I was coming for him, again. And it is really too complicated to explain, but it was so beautiful and hot that I couldn't bear to see him scuff around the dusty playground. And I must break routine now, or we will suffocate. This Braveheart urge comes on the heels of the sponge, that is my son, soaking up some things that I want to squeeze out and erase with a giant eraser, forever. But alas, it cannot be, so I am dismissing the heck out of these last two weeks to help in my brain purge. He came home and read this.
It is not all bad. Not nearly. For instance last week the school librarian graciously allowed me to lead the story time for incoming kindergarteners. She is a giver of life, and refreshingly not territorial about her library space. It was a small thrill that went a long way. So among a few others, I read Nurse Clementine to four captivated kids.
Tollipop, we finally got our first fish. He is a rainbow in a bowl. And although he keeps raming up against the edge of his cage, which is hard to watch, he has brought some beauty to us all.
Last night, I pulled myself away from the Bachlorette, before the show was over. Hip, Hip, Hooray. I had promised myself that I was done forever after last season, but somehow I came stumbling back to it and fell again under its evil spell. I consistently feel terrible after a viewing and can guarantee that at least one cast member will appear in my dreams that evening. Not good. The purge continues on for every member of our family.