We are three days away from the first day of school.

And I can’t wait.

I’ve made some comments about how I may be looking forward to Wednesday more than I’ve ever looked forward to any day in the history of my life, and I’ve been met with people who can totally relate, and then others who are telling me to enjoy this time because it goes so quickly.

I’ve got to tell you something.

Time cannot go fucking quickly enough for me right now.

This summer has destroyed me.

I’m shot. Burned out. Over it. Done.

Like seriously fucking done.

Maybe this happened for a reason.

Because up until a couple months ago, the thought of putting Number 7 on the bus and watching her drive down the road to her first day of kindergarten sent me into a convulsing fit of hysterics.

I was dreading it.

But not now.

Now I’m ready.

I’m sure I’ll cry as I watch her walk on that bus.

Yesterday the two of us went to the grocery store together and I was reminded of the days where I’d pick her up from preschool and we’d go run errands, just the two of us. I told her I’m going to miss those days of us having time together.

But right now I need her to go to school.

I need all the kids to go to school.

I need them to get out of the house.

I need a fucking break.

Michael Phelps has talked about how when he swam in the London Olympics, he couldn’t wait to be finished. He wasn’t enjoying swimming. It wasn’t fun. He even was starting to hate swimming. He just wanted to swim his last race and get the fuck away from the sport.

And I feel exactly the same way right now.

I need to get the fuck away from my kids.

And they need to get away from each other.

We’ve had a long summer this year. School ended earlier than it has in a few years, and it’s beginning later than it has in a while. We’ve had two more weeks off than normal, I think.

But it feels more like two years.

And with none of the kids going to camps, and all of them being on the swim team together, and with me having to take them to work with me every day, we have all been going everywhere together. All summer long.

It’s too much.

We all need a break from each other.

The fighting, arguing, crying, bickering and teasing begins less than five minutes after the first kid wakes up, and it lasts all day long.

It’s constant.

And I know there are things I could do.

I know I could crack open my positive parenting book and work on implementing some new strategies and I know my kids behavior would change and they wouldn’t be beating the shit out of each other.

As much.

But I am so far gone that I just don’t have the energy.

This morning Number 7 was trying to beat the crap out of Number 5 with a recorder.

She was running around in only underpants, her hair down, unbrushed and full of knots, and wielding a recorder with a look of rage in her eyes. She was like a psycho blond Mowgli.

She was so out of control that my husband and I were laughing to the point of tears. You know, those times your kids are doing shit they shouldn’t do and you know you should be doing something about it and totally discourage the behavior but you cannot stop yourself from laughing?

Yeah. That.

Last week, Number 5 pushed Number 6 when she got pissed at him, and he fell into the corner of a metal planter and got a pretty impressive black eye.

A little while later I noticed he had a scratch on his other eyelid.

I asked him where it came from, and he said, “Don’t worry, Mommy. That’s not from anyone beating me up. I did that to myself.”

And I was relieved.

I am to the point that injuries don’t bother me as long as they weren’t inflicted by a sibling.

When we were on vacation, we were there for five days before Number 5 asked me when I was going to get her a toothbrush so she could brush her teeth.

Five days.

I had no clue.

Like I said, I’m done.

I just need it to be Wednesday.

I need to get the kids the hell out of the house, and I need to reset the damn clock.

I need to have time to miss them.

I need to reclaim my house.

I need time to care.

I need time to regroup so, like Michael Phelps did with swimming, I can rediscover my love of parenting and get back at the top of my game.

Because right now I’m functioning at the lowest level of parenting their is.

My daily goals have dwindled down to basically to the presence of a pulse and the absence of bloodshed.

And that’s not good.

I may regret wishing away the last few days of summer at some point.

But I don’t think so.

It’s okay for me to be ready for the kids to leave.

I see all these super cute and happy Facebook pictures and posts about summer and amazing experiences and we’ve also had some really great moments this summer and made some great memories.

But right now my house very often resembles Lord of the Flies. For every one Instagram-worthy picture I take there are 9,999 other ones that are not suitable for any form of social media.

So I am going to enjoy these last couple days of summer. I will do my best to make some more memories with the kids in the next 72 hours and appreciate this time I have with them.

But when that last bus pulls away from the house on Wednesday morning, I’ll be the braless blond chick doing carwheels in her pajamas in the driveway.

Let the school year begin.

 

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