Jenhatmaker blog: worst mom on last week on school

This link isn’t working at the moment but it may later
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever

Here is a link to another blog, hopefully their link works to link to Jenhatmaker blog
http://authoradduling.blogspot.com/2013/05/jen-hatmaker-worst-end-of-school-year.html?m=1

The author’s facebook fan page
http://m.facebook.com/pages/Jen-Hatmaker/203920953040241?id=203920953040241&_rdr

Excerpt:

The emails coming in for All Of The Things – class gift, end of year letters, luncheon signup, party supplies, awards ceremonies, pictures for the slide shows, final projects – are like a tsunami of doom. They are endless. I mean, they will never ever end. There is no end of it. I will never finish and turn it all in and get it to the (correct) Room Mom and get it all emailed and I am pretty sure the final week of school will never be over and this is the end for me.

Brandon:

“You don’t have to do all that, you know. Just blow it off.”

Me, staring blankly:

“Well, what a lovely thought you’re having there in your brain. How nice for you to be thinking that thought. I want to live in your imaginary world where my failure to do the School Stuff doesn’t mean our kid is the only one not wearing a purple shirt or didn’t have his pictures in the slideshow or didn’t bring in a handmade card for his teacher like every other student. I’ll just ‘blow it off’ and our kids can work it out with their therapists later.”

“Touchy.”

“You don’t even know about all this, man.”

So, Mom out there sending Lunchables with your kid, making her wear shoes with holes because we’re.almost.there, practicing “auditory reading” with your 1st grader, I got your back, sister. We were awesome back in October; don’t you forget that. We used to care, and that counts for something. Next year’s teachers will get a fresher version of us in August, and they won’t even know the levels of suckage we will succumb to by May. Hang in there, Mama. Just a few more days until summer, when approximately 19 minutes into our glorious respite from homework, liberated from the crush of it all, ready to party like it’s 1999, our precious children, having whooped and celebrated and “graduated” and squealed all the way home will announce:

“I’m bored.”

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