Today is the last day of summer vacation for the Evil Genius. Everyone I know has already sent their kids back to school. My great nephew in Denver (great because he is my niece's son AND because he is made entirely of awesome) has been back to school for almost a month already. The niece and nephews (also entirely awesome) in Maine went back last week. All of my coworkers' children are back to school. Thing 1's Marine started his first college class last night. Thing 1 starts her final semester as an undergrad today. The Evil Genius, though, has one more day of freedom.
If he didn't look just like me, I'd swear this kid got switched in the hospital for someone else's. Left to his own devices, this boy is going to let the day fritter away (most likely in front of screens, ugh). Because he is in middle school--7th grade starts tomorrow--I'm not even allowed to make Last Day of Summer Vacation Plans for him. That is apparently too horrible a fate to comprehend. So, instead, I gave him a list of chores that he will likely ignore until minutes before I come home from work. Sigh.
I'm not entirely sure why this bother's me so much. My Personal Chef tells me I should just let him have a final, lazy day. It goes against my very nature, though. I have this compulsive need to celebrate, or at least observe some recognition of transitions. I have always been like this. I hadn't yet elevated the "marking a transition with a celebration" to an art, yet, but I always made a fuss.
When I was the Evil Genius' age, my neighborhood friends and I made a pact to wear summer vacation right out. On the final day of summer, we were out the door and on our bikes right after breakfast. We'd be on the run all day, stopping only for a baloney and cheese on white bread sandwich and a popsicle. We'd build forts in the woods, jump off the rope swing into the lake, hold a kickball tournament, wade through the swamp to get to the giant rock that we'd defy gravity to climb, and spend all of our loose change on bubble gum and Pixie Stix and Slush Puppies. The really cool kids would stare death in the eye as they skate boarded down The Hill on Tucker Road. This was our last chance to squeeze in summer vacation, man!
At dusk, though, it was over. At dusk, we all went home for dinner and we started to count down the new year. I know the calendar says the year starts for us on January 1, but in reality, this final night of summer vacation before school starts is our New Year's Eve. So after our final day on bikes/ in the woods/at the ball fields/in the lake we'd all go home and start obsessing over our first-day-of-school-wardrobe selection. We'd pack and unpack our Trapper Keepers. We'd call our bestest friend and discuss said wardrobe selections AND where to sit at lunch, crush potentials, rumors we've heard about the new-to-us teachers, discuss strategies for managing the quick change from our cool clothes to our heinous gym uniforms and back again. We'd make resolutions:
He's totally going to waste it.
If he didn't look just like me, I'd swear this kid got switched in the hospital for someone else's. Left to his own devices, this boy is going to let the day fritter away (most likely in front of screens, ugh). Because he is in middle school--7th grade starts tomorrow--I'm not even allowed to make Last Day of Summer Vacation Plans for him. That is apparently too horrible a fate to comprehend. So, instead, I gave him a list of chores that he will likely ignore until minutes before I come home from work. Sigh.
I'm not entirely sure why this bother's me so much. My Personal Chef tells me I should just let him have a final, lazy day. It goes against my very nature, though. I have this compulsive need to celebrate, or at least observe some recognition of transitions. I have always been like this. I hadn't yet elevated the "marking a transition with a celebration" to an art, yet, but I always made a fuss.
When I was the Evil Genius' age, my neighborhood friends and I made a pact to wear summer vacation right out. On the final day of summer, we were out the door and on our bikes right after breakfast. We'd be on the run all day, stopping only for a baloney and cheese on white bread sandwich and a popsicle. We'd build forts in the woods, jump off the rope swing into the lake, hold a kickball tournament, wade through the swamp to get to the giant rock that we'd defy gravity to climb, and spend all of our loose change on bubble gum and Pixie Stix and Slush Puppies. The really cool kids would stare death in the eye as they skate boarded down The Hill on Tucker Road. This was our last chance to squeeze in summer vacation, man!
At dusk, though, it was over. At dusk, we all went home for dinner and we started to count down the new year. I know the calendar says the year starts for us on January 1, but in reality, this final night of summer vacation before school starts is our New Year's Eve. So after our final day on bikes/ in the woods/at the ball fields/in the lake we'd all go home and start obsessing over our first-day-of-school-wardrobe selection. We'd pack and unpack our Trapper Keepers. We'd call our bestest friend and discuss said wardrobe selections AND where to sit at lunch, crush potentials, rumors we've heard about the new-to-us teachers, discuss strategies for managing the quick change from our cool clothes to our heinous gym uniforms and back again. We'd make resolutions:
- this year I'll do my homework as soon as I get home from school
- this year I'm going to make the starting squad on the team
- this year I'm going to kiss [name of the unrequited love interest here]
- this year I'm going to be awesome...
Happy New Year!
Prosperity and Awesomeness for you all!
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