No more crack of dawn school runs, no debates about why the contents of the lunch box have come home untouched again. And no more waiting in the playground, hopping from foot to foot as the heat from the tarmac burned every available skin cell and the sweat quite literally, dripped off us by the litre-load.
Everyone said their farewells for the summer and swapped escape plans. The only topic of conversation in the last month has been:
“When are you leaving for the summer?”
“Where are you going this year?”
“How long are you staying away?”
Everyone was quite literally desperate for term to end.
So you’d think that not even a week into this joyous period, we’d still be at the honeymoon stage of lie-ins and late nights.
The big brother seems to be of the misguided opinion that being off school means being entertained at every point of the day, every day of the week.
I thought I was doing quite well by arranging a few play dates and a cinema outing in the opening days of the holiday. But I’ve already been hit with that phrase that is the verbal equivalent of nails going down a blackboard.
“Mummeeeee, I’m BORED”
I’ve tried pointing out the bedroom full of toys, books and games. I’ve reminded him of the existence of puzzles and art supplies that have been neglected for months. I’ve even succumbed to bouts of television and the DS.
When does term start again?