A few minutes ago, I picked up the T-Bot from school. Finally the day has come - the magical Last Day of which we have been talking excitedly for weeks. As I pulled up at the end of the car line, the school audio system was broadcasting “Celebration”. And then The T-Bot was in the car, frantically pulling folder after folder out of his backpack to show me. And prizes he had bought with his Happy Tickets. And cards. And books. And I breathed an enormous sigh of relief because I hate the school run. And I won’t have to do it for three whole months. Oh, and also I will have the time to take a shower and not just on weekends.

Soon we will all go and pick up Baby Sister from pre-school and then - at least until next fall - I will gain two delicious hours per weekday. Two hours in which I will not be driving between schools or sitting stationary in car lines, listening for the 6 trillionth time to “Incy Wincy Spider”. Or worse, Baby Sister’s current favorite, “Heaven is A Place on Earth”.

Of course, during those two hours there will still be children to think about.

When I tell people my three children will all be home over summer, they look at me like I have lost my marbles. Incredible how it only takes a generation to forget what is achievable. When I was growing up, summer camp was something you read about in books. Occasionally there might be a kids theatre workshop or something going on, but that was something you had to beg to participate in, rather than a way to make your parents life easier. So tell me, why has it become so darn strange to look after your own kids? I mean, if you can, because you are home all day and all.

As the time draws closer, I am actually looking forward to it. Our nighttime routine has already started to slip, in anticipation of no more early morning schedules. Last night The Daddy came upstairs with gingerbread blobs (gingerbread men unintentionally created with too little flour) while we were reading stories, and so bedtime was delayed while we crunched away thoughtfully. We’ll catch up on sleep some other day.

Then there are the playdates. Playdates for kids and Mommies too! Nobody I know comes around after school anymore, unless pushed, because a visit that starts at 4pm… when you need to get dinner on at 5? Not really a goer. I am strangely, childishly exhilarated at the thought of revisiting the era when we would hang out all day, drinking tea and gossiping in the kitchen while the children ran wild upstairs.

I have plans of course. Huge plans. For activities and visits and educational opportunities. Crafts and baking and experiments and exercise and oh! It will be Fun with a capital F! Notwithstanding the fact that when The Daddy arrived home yesterday I collapsed on his shoulder whimpering “how oh how will I survive three months when I can’t survive three hours?”, I am sure we are going to have a great time.

But ask me again on Monday.