According to the
youthful coalition, which, incidentally, is both “well informed” and
well staffed, spring vacation is not about chores. Spring vacation is
about socializing, about traveling and, most importantly, about
sleeping in. Spring vacation is not about mops, about brooms, or about
taking out the trash.
Interestingly, though, someone still cooks meals. Someone still chauffeurs warm bodies from Point A to Point B. Someone still buys toilet paper, washes cloths, and otherwise keeps our home operational.
Boy-Getting-Taller, my oldest son, is a superb souce chef. He dices, he slices, and he even knows how to concoct a marinade for fish. Yet, during break, he encouragers all comers to make do with tuna and rice crackers. Ick.
Missy Oldest, my oldest daughter, as well as my oldest child, is superlative among family members when it comes to sorting laundry. She never overheats the delicates and she always makes certain that the cottons are sufficiently dry before removing them from the machine. Yet, during break, she encourages her beloved ones to try wearing their garments repeatedly. Ew.
Missy Youngest, my youngest daughter, is extremely proficient at dusting. She can spot minute particles from across a crowded room. Yet, during break, she would rather trace her finger in such tiny bits of solid mater, electing to sketch flowers and butterflies in those extemporaneous canvases, than lift a rag to dispatch them. Ug.
As for Boy-Who-Needs-Books, my youngest son and youngest child, for some reason, during vacation, he is totally disinterested in flaunting his expertise; dishwasher unloading. He chirps at his teenage siblings and at his parents that we ought to use disposable tableware. Yuck.
Consequently, just before school vacations, my family gets involved in power brokeraging. In short, we become busy with “negotiations.”
Usually, if the teens agree to do half of their usual tasks, I agree to take them to twice as many places. If those adorable “almost adults” agree to sleep-in for two hours instead of for four, I agree to give them money to spend for lunch out or for new books. If they tuck away their surly attitudes and paste “little smiles” on their faces, I overlook their higher-than-usual phone bills.
Somehow, despite the piled up laundry, the unwashed dishes, and the many complaints about my intrusions on their free time, the kids and I (My husband, historically, when not routing the kid-of-the-day on a “trip with Daddy,” hides at his office) get through their time away from the classroom amicably. Somehow, when they head back onto their school buses, I miss them lots.
