I don't need the calendar to tell me that the school year is almost over. I merely look to the slow deterioration of my children, home and what little is left of my mind to know the end is near.

The kids are down to one frayed strap and a piece of dental floss precariously holding their backpacks together. Since I refuse to buy any new pants until the day before the first day of school next year, the boys are getting sunburns on their calves at recess. We've got one sock left between us, and they are alternating days wearing it based on bunion flare-ups from their too-small shoes.

And we're tired of homework. Specifically, the never-ending projects which somehow require me carrying the bulk of the workload. I've used so much glue this past semester that all of my fingerprints have been cast in Elmer's skeletons 10 times over. Our kitchen table looks like we've been playing the home version of C.S.I. or we're experimenting with different identities to enter the Witness Protection Program. I truly hope I've made my last late-night trip to Wal-Mart for supplies to recreate the Eiffel Tower in Popsicle sticks. (I'm having a heck of time working off that extra five pounds and getting that horrible grape stain off my tongue.)

We could use a little break from the book reports as well. While I certainly appreciate a healthy appetite for books, I could do without another story about childhood angst written with a plethora of italics and exclamation points! The only things I want my 12 year old reading this summer are Interstate signs and my lips when I whisper to him to fetch me another lemonade because the baby has just fallen asleep after an afternoon playing on the beach.

But it's the waking up early that's killing me. I've noticed that we've gradually pushed our wake-up time later and later each week with the snooze button forsaking some new element in our morning routine for a few extra minutes of blessed sleep. First we gave up making beds and then reading the paper. This week we're lucky if we leave the house without shampoo still in our hair and breakfast of Tic Tacs and Chapstick.

So if you think that I am dreading the end of the school year--that somehow my workload will increase with all four children at home 24/7 as opposed to 18/5 when I have only two at home--you would be wrong in that assumption.

I look at summer as my 2 1/2 months to undo all of the good habits their teachers have instilled the rest of the year. We need some mornings to sleep through the alarm. We need mid-week sleepovers. We need lunches on plates, not scrunched up in brown paper bags. I need to smell sun block and chlorine not industrial janitorial cleaner and sweaty gym socks.

Feel free to remind me of this nostalgia in August when I'm complaining of walking into the grocery store for yet another package of hot dogs in unmatched flip flops and a sheen of bug spray.

But until then, the only number 2 pencils we'll be using will be on the miniature golf course.

©2008 Tracey Henry

Divamail me! Divamail@Suburbandiva.com.