I guess I have this belief that I cannot stand or endure too much time with my children, or somebody will get hurt, or emotionally damaged, or both. And I considered home schooling. Ha.
But we got through it. Hamish and Stella are suspiciously likable. Maybe because every day they played with the neighbors for long stretches of time. The kids on the block suddenly emerged like tulips, blooming into the street-crossing, socializing category and voila, built-in play-dates.
I got so much done around the house since I couldn't actually leave. It was like wearing one of those parole cuffs on my ankle. Actually I didn't want to leave, unless I could do so alone. Because the schlep, people. The schlep. That is what my spring break was about. A respite from the schlep.
So I worked out, vacuumed the house, wiped down grease-covered kitchen shelves, did laundry, shop-vac'd both cars, which yes, I want a medal for since two children who do not belong to me have commented on the state of my vehicle recently. The first one said, lifting her white patent leather shoes off my gunge covered automobile carpet, "Your car is so messy." The second one asked out of his freshly scrubbed mouth, "Mrs. Hamish's mom? Why is your car so dirty?"
I told them the kids pimped my ride. "What, your cars are clean? Losers."
I cleaned the kids too, which was no easy feat, considering Stella's spring break was devoted to slovenliness. She shrieked and ran every time I so much as picked up a brush in her presence. She wore the same pajama top for four days in a row. I had to hold her down to brush her teeth, chase her with a washcloth, wait until she was done hissing and spitting to wipe the crusty snot from her nose.
She's so feisty.