Finish Line, aka The Last Day of School

We've crawled to the finish line. That is to say, we've survived another school year. We've made it. Barely.

For reals. We are crawling across the line. We are worn and weary, beaten and bruised. We are done. Stick a fork in us done.

We've put up a courageous fight, but we are ragged. We've lost a homework folder. We've forgotten reading logs. We are out of clean laundry. We're showing up at the wrong time for events and picking our kids up late from practices. Our house should probably be condemned. Foul language and whining is at an all time high.

Tonight, we've fallen to a new low. The menu said we were having tortellini and garlic toast. We said "forget that mess. We're having donuts."

Yup.

Donuts.

For dinner.

Don't judge us. It's called breakfast for dinner. It's like waffles. Sort of. But the syrup is in the form of sprinkles. And creme filling.

(Actually, the conversation was something along the lines of "who is picking the girls up from practice?" and "we didn't buy the tortellini yet" and "oh filth...the guinea pigs are out of food...need to pick up pig food.")

Our kids think we're awesome. (It could be the sugar talking.)

It couldn't be helped really, this disastrous low. It's been weeks in the making. It started somewhere around standard testing and then it ramped up a notch with spirit week (with a different outfit required for each day- DRESS up! BATTER up! All sorts of ups. It was mind-boggling.) Then there was teacher appreciation week, which we forgot a flower for. (We love you Mrs. B.) Then came grad parties, bachelorette parties, and weddings. Field trips, field days, guard practices. Orthopedic appointments, clinic appointments, and a pre-surgery appointment. A talent show creeped in with the relentless singing, the dresses to be made, the rehearsal...

We just kept crawling toward the finish line looking more haggard each day.

Then, with just one half-day left, we fell out. The Big Guy collapsed on a chair and I flopped back on the bed and we looked at each other and said with a sigh "dinner." And then the Big Guy, the stay-at-home dad extraordinaire, the rock of this family, said "donuts?" And so it was.

Tomorrow, we will drag our sugar-logged butts out of bed and push and drag each other over the finish line.

Goodbye 2013-2014 school year. It's been real.