Dear Teachers. I'm sorry.

 

I’m so sorry. It is nearly 10:00 pm and the darlings you will attempt to instruct next week are still going full speed. 

They’re still at it not because I think it is a good idea exactly, but because I’m on vacation, too.  I’m in my new super comfy pajamas I opened Christmas morning. Well. The pajamas I actually opened the week before Christmas but only because by that point I’d become accustomed to opening and wrapping everything that arrived. I’m planning not to take them off until at least dinnertime tomorrow. How many Mondays EVER can you say that? 

I’m enjoying my jammies, homemade cinnamon buns (I apparently found them way more delicious than anyone else here - thank goodness the pajamas have a drawstring waistband) and a new magazine. Call me simple, but this is my idea of paradise. I have to tell you, that while I am very anti-gun and couldn’t grow a weed (hooray, cut flowers!), I am beyond tickled that Santa subscribed to “Garden and Gun” magazine for me. And not just so I can amuse my European houseguests. It is good. I am dog earring pages right and left and you can be sure that some of the recipes and book reviews will work their way to your mailbox in the new year. 

The only thing punctuating my jammie/bun/magazine reverie is the happy, giggly chatter of little girls who should have been asleep hours ago. I know that we’re all going to regret this something awful next week. In however many hours are 24 times seven in fact. I know. Their brothers, fresh off a few days of late night road trip/bowl game/hotel room service, have enough sense (or maybe have just given in to exhaustion and the delight of their own pillows and covers) to sleep through the neighboring sorority party. 

I have tried to break up the festivities. I really have. But I also know I’m more accomplice than sheriff. Ten days into our Christmas holiday and we’re right back to July. Getting anywhere before noon seems like a spectacular achievement. And today’s “getting somewhere” was to eat a yummy lunch out after spending an inordinate amount of time ogling American Girl Dolls. That part I won’t apologize for. The grandparents apparently conspired to all send cash this year and that burns holes in little pockets. Especially those which belong to girls who like pretty dolls. And history. And books. Okay. I confess that we didn’t buy a single book today. This is becoming a giant mea culpa! But one of the dolls got her ears pierced and I’ve pretty much told my girls that they’re as likely to get their own ears pierced as getting a tongue ring or tattoo on my watch. 

So the dollies are freshly pierced and outfitted, the girls are super-sugared and schedules and nutrition have fallen by the wayside. It is going to be tough, tough sledding for us all this time next Sunday night. I feel it in my bones. I know that the six year old who just bounded back out of bed to gleefully announce that she was the “last one awake” will surely be the first one in the school clinic next week suffering from a kazillion ailments that would be remedied by a good night (or two weeks worth) of sleep. 

But know that I’ve tucked her into the guest bed (after I cleared off leftover gift wrap and tape dispensers) and things are finally moving in the right direction. (About time. I still have much more magazine to conquer!) And I suspect you’ll agree with me on this point: I’m guilty of spoiling them this week but only because I know next week will bring spelling tests, school uniforms and the general busy-ness of the rest of their life back into our world. 

Maybe in part because this year I see that while small (and often still found on my hip!), a six year old isn’t really terribly little anymore. Sure, she’s my baby. They all are. But one day the Mister and I won’t stay up exceedingly late tucking surprises under the tree on Christmas Eve and someday (maybe way, way too soon) no one at our house will ask for new dollies. Soon there will be long days when the kids are with you that I can work off late night cinnamon buns and snacks and order will be restored into our collective worlds. But for now, I’m letting loose. I know we’ll all be sorry next week, but I think in a few years or so I’ll be glad.

Here’s hoping you’re enjoying the time off just as much as we are and readying yourself for the giant platter of cinnamon buns I’m bringing on January 4. My small way of saying thanks for understanding.