Ten days. That’s how long my four kiddos will be home for spring break. One evening, after we finally managed to settle the children down for the night, my partner casually mentioned that there was an extra day off school the Monday after Easter. I gave him a puzzled look and asked what he meant. He had been checking the school lunch menu and noticed the added day off.
That’s when the panic hit me.
Sure, a few days off for a holiday are manageable. We can lounge in pajamas, have movie marathons, hang out with friends, and take trips to the park. But ten days? Did anyone in charge of scheduling realize that amounts to 240 hours and 14,400 minutes? But who’s really counting, right?
I adore my kids. I truly do. I cherish our lazy days together. But ten days straight of early mornings and cranky munchkins raiding the pantry for jelly beans and chocolate bunnies is a bit much for any parent.
By nine in the morning, the sibling squabbles have escalated into full-blown warfare. I often find myself as the mediator for heated disputes over who looked at whom, who forgot to flush, and who “borrowed” the other’s favorite Legos.
It’s chaotic. And yes, they are constantly asking for snacks. They insist they’re starving, despite the healthy breakfast of eggs, fruit, and toast I just made them.
By eleven, I’m already researching summer camps (the ones that are way out of our budget) while my kids zoom around the driveway in their pajamas. Within minutes of heading outside, they’re demanding lunch again because, surprise, they’re about to die of hunger. And it’s too hot outside (even though it’s only 62 degrees). They’re bored, too. (What about the bikes, sidewalk chalk, bubbles, and balls?)
At one, it’s naptime for the baby, but she’s too wired from the chaos to settle down. I eventually give in to my “no screens” rule and let the kids pick a movie. The issue? They can’t agree on anything.
The toddler is singing the theme song from Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, the kindergartner is shouting “Paw Patrol!” over and over while bouncing on the couch, my eight-year-old daughter wants a superhero flick, and my tween, who thinks they’re too cool for anything, dismisses all suggestions.
They finally settle on watching Wonder. But of course, they need popcorn. And yes, we just had lunch not too long ago, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
While I’m frantically popping popcorn on the stove, I can’t help but wonder if anyone would hire me for a full-time job—I’d even consider paying them to take me on. Honestly, there aren’t enough caffeine-infused drinks in the world to help me survive spring break.
After my partner shared the news about the extended break, I realized that this is just a preview of what summer will look like. If ten days of “quality time” is tough, imagine three entire months.
We could try to be organized. I have a background in education, after all. Planning isn’t foreign to me. We could purchase educational workbooks, explore historical sites, create chore charts, and even attempt Pinterest-inspired crafts that require a small fortune in supplies shipped from across the globe. I could totally pull off a Mary Poppins summer.
But that’s just “could.”
Yes, there are alternatives. We could sign the kids up for themed summer camps, but those fees are astronomical, especially with four children. As for my friends who work outside the home, they’ve taken to contemplating the ethics of robbing a bank just to cover childcare costs.
Visiting grandparents is another option, but that would mean a week spent on laundry, packing snacks, and prepping for the trip. Then, when we return home, I’d have another week of wrangling cranky kids through basic tasks while unpacking and restocking the fridge.
Playdates sound nice, but they require me to clean up the mountain of dishes from all the snack sessions and scrub the guest bathroom. All that effort for just a few hours of playtime that half the time is spent serving snacks and reminding older kids to include the younger ones.
Honestly, every option seems miserable because they are, in fact, miserable.
I know we’ll end up having our usual roller-coaster summer. There will be highlights, like attending family weddings, swimming until dusk, and grilling on weekends. But there will also be frustrations, like constant arguments, unwanted sunburns, and never-ending chores.
This chaotic family life is just that—messy, chaotic, and magical all at once.
I know I’m supposed to savor every moment and make each day count, but that feels virtually impossible. Right now, I have to go break up yet another fight over a coveted Lego piece and ensure the toilet isn’t clogged (again).
Welcome to spring break, everyone. And hello to our summer preview.
Summary
This lighthearted piece explores the overwhelming anticipation of summer break for parents, especially with multiple children at home. The author shares relatable anecdotes about managing chaos, sibling rivalries, and the pressure to create a fun and structured summer for her kids. From contemplating summer camps to navigating playdates, she humorously reflects on the challenges of parenthood during school breaks.
Leave a Reply