Hubby asked me this weekend when did I want him to take his vacation. Until a couple of weeks ago, he was going to have to take his vacation the week of July 4th. Now that his employer no longer has his dedicated route, he can take his vacation when it suits him. So I said May, June and July. Hey, whatever works, right?
Mother's Day is the second Sunday of May each and every year. A day to honor the moms, step-moms, adopted moms, moms-to-be, honorary mothers as well as grandmothers, aunts, you get the picture. One day a year, kids scramble to make or find something perfect for Mom because someone decided to honor her and has hyped up the day. Commercials on tv steadily advertise what moms "want." Jewelry, flowers, clothes (no one asked my opinion of what I wanted). What they didn't tell you as children, and what us mothers don't realize until their children are of a certain age, is that Mother's Day isn't a holiday honoring mothers. Mother's day is a day for your husband (significant other) and your children to offer you gifts to bribe you for what is immediately ahead.
Ask my kids and all three will be able to tell you they have eight days of school left. Eight. And I have no idea how I'm going to start to keep them occupied. Of course they'll have their Wii time and the time they use to care for their Webkins. But there's the rest of the time that I need to come up with creative ways to get them outside. Outside to get up off their rumps and get exercise. Outside to give me five minutes of peace and quiet so that I can deal with the next break down or argument (or maybe even blog). Also running through the house will probably be various friends from around the neighborhood. Two live right down the street, within walking distance and are usually here on a daily basis. Another few friends live out and about but are pretty good about calling wanting my kids to visit for play dates or vice versa. So I'm going to have to be prepared for extra kids, which mean snacks, drinks and activities. Right now? I'm going to enjoy the eight days of quiet I have left.