Remember when Thanksgiving Break meant two, maybe three days off from school (plus the weekend)?!
The Mayor has nine days off. Nine. (Imagining that in the voice of Principal Ed Rooney makes it marginally palatable). And if we're getting technical here, Miss Thing is off for 11 days, but, I mean, it's Preschool. So... WGAF. Except for me.
I assume this is pandemic, that our kids no longer have to agonize through those pre-holiday lame duck days?
I probably ought to be glad that I don't have to shuttle these little humans all over tarnation next week. I probably ought to actually be glad that I get more QT with those same humans for whom I have creative culpability. I ought to be glad that I'll get to do all the gym things next week. At some point next week, #FunMom ought to make an appearance.
But I'm tired AF tonight, so I'm going to sit in hiding and bemoan that their whole week off means I have to do all the stuff I have to do next week with two dead (but very much alive) weights around my neck. And wallow in that it's not just the normal stuff, but all the get-ready-to-host-people- for-a-holiday stuff! Lastly, I'm going go ahead and feel sorry for myself because the cherry on top is rain. All damn weekend.
I know, I know. There's a support group called everybody; meetings are at the bar. If only!