Officially, today at 5 marked the end of Spring Break 2012 Hump Day. I didn't make it. I found myself sitting fully clothed (in pajamas) in the unfilled 1960s blue bathtub with a hunk of bittersweet baking chocolate and my Kindle at 9:05 this morning, whilst Someone Who Shall Remin Anonymous (LIEF) banged on the door demanding that I fed him breakfast, which, he stipulated, would include the following food groups:
- Nutella
- Graham crackers
- Orangina
Kid clearly thinks that Spring Break is all about "vacation"--but moms who work at home know different: Spring Break is about not whacking people with frying pans. It's about not crying before your teeth are brushed. It's about rationalizing things like hiding in the laundry room or behind the furnace. It's about picking up the phone and faking a conversation with a co-worker so as to avoid Phinneas and Ferb the one where Candace rats them out and there is a platypus that is a secret agent and a German evil mastermind and nutty hijinx ensue. It's about walking with deliberation past your secret chocolate trove and whispering to yourself "I can make it til noon, I can make it til noon."
Except I couldn't make it til noon and as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror--hunched over a spy novel, unbrushed hair, chocolate on the tip of my nose, SITTING IN THE BATHTUB WITH NO WATER IN IT--I realized that I would have to call in the Big Guns.
Literally:
144 minutes of peace, brought to us (ME) by the day that would live in infamy forever. 353 Japanese war planes--including 50 Nakajima B5N Kate bombers armed with 800 kilos of armour piercing bombs--and 6 aircraft carriers: that's about the fire power you need to reduce an 8yo boy to quiet introspection, or at least shocked awe. Whatevs. QUIET. Write down, as it could prove handy one day.
Tomorrow: The Longest Day (177 minutes). If he watches it twice, that's a work day right there.
Other kids go to camp for spring break, or Maui, or Mexico. Mine goes to hell and back and lives to tell the tale.
