Stick it on the shelf

Before I get to the heart of the matter, as I frequently do, let's begin with a bit of not-much-really that strikes me as humorous.

I am currently reading First Ladies: Presidential historians on the lives of 45 iconic American women, which is essentially a compilation of interviews conducted by C-SPAN for the yearlong history series, First Ladies: Influence and Image.  It's an absolutely fascinating read.  It's put together in chronological order, and I'm currently about ready to start the chapter on Grace Goodhue Coolidge, which means that Eleanor Roosevelt is coming soon, and that's just something to look forward to.  For me, the highlights so far include: Abigail Adams (what a national gem); the amount of presidents and first ladies who died while in office in the 100 years (give or take) from the mid-1800s to the mid-1900s; Edith Bolling Wilson and the great cover-up; and the staggering amount of presidential children who did not survive beyond childhood. 

The boy is currently reading The House on the Cliff...a Hardy Boys book.  And that's by choice.  He laughs every now and again about how implausible the story line is.  I knew that back in ye olden days when I too read the Nancy Drew (and, yes, an occasional Hardy Boys) books.  They're all 17-18 folks.  And they do incredibly sleuthy, dangerous things, linking together absurdly ridiculous plot points that defy logic.

I think I win this round of my-book-is-better-than-your-book.

(I read several of the Boxcar children books while nursing the Younger.)

Okay, here's what I'm really sitting down to write about today: The school year is officially d-o-n-e done (as my good, yet entirely fictitious, friend Clementine says).  I'm looking at the Elder's lunchbox stashed on top of the fridge.  I don't have to stop that that particular sequence of 6 stop signs again for another 10 weeks.  And those two points together are enough to make me feel all giddy and free.  If I were standing in Target-ville right now, I'm sure I'd be gleefully putting random bits in my cart willy-nilly while the birds in my head chirped mad, happy songs.

There's nothing that we regret about choosing the particular school that we did for the Elder, but after we're-not-really-fighting-but-don't-mess-with-me with the Younger 3 out of 5 days getting her in the car to go get the Elder, I'm ready for a break with that.

The lunch packing doesn't bother me cause it's not like I'm doing anything different than what I normally do to feed the kid.  I just stick it in a box with an ice pack and send her on her merry way.

But the picking up and the waiting for the buses to leave before she's released and the ins & outs of the car & carseats and the muggly wuggly chitchat and the Elder climbing on & off & on & off & on & off my lap...it's just not my favorite part of the day.  

So stick that school year on the shelf, and let's enjoy the fruits of a year well spent.