At the end of the school year, I feel a little bit crazy town, like all the tiredness and frustration and routine have compounded until they explode in May. I start doing crazy things like playing games with time, negotiating as if I’m at a peace summit, and bargaining and bribing people just so we can get out the door. For example…

The alarm goes off, and this former liberal arts major thinks she can suddenly do tricky calculations in her sleepy-headed state. I bargain with the clock—does it really take us 15 minutes to eat breakfast? Today we can do it in 10, which means that it’s 6:05 right now minus Y times X…so I’ll wake up the kids at 6:32.

After my math/clock shenanigans, I employ my negotiation skills (that are so good they could be used in Middle East peace talks) to wake up two girls who do not want to wake up. One daughter just points at the door and grunts to get me to leave, and if I foolishly stay in her room, she’ll kick her covers at nothing in particular and yell, “No! It’s not time!”

By the time we make it downstairs, the girls stare at their plates as if they’ve never seen food before. I utter phrases like, “I’m sorry I cut your muffin incorrectly,” which is not a phrase I ever thought I’d say to another human.

Next, we’re back upstairs brushing teeth and staring at our closets even though we picked out clothes the night before. Usually, at least one child decides she’s not sure she wants to wear the pre-selected outfit so she sits on her bed and plays with her American Girl doll as if carpool pick-up is not imminent.

It takes a lot, but by this time, this mama has reached Def-Con 3. I start giving a time countdown, which has no bearing on actual time, “Girls, you have 12 nano-seconds until you need to have socks on your feet because carpool will be here in 10 gigawatts.” It makes no sense now, it makes no sense then…but no one seems to notice. Everyone is too busy looking for the library book, math worksheet, or show-n-tell item that wasn’t tended to the night before when I asked people to get those things together.

I negotiate (again) in my head about whether they can just put their shoes on in the car (Decision = yes). I’m told things like I gave the allergy medicine in the “wrong order” as if I was ever told the “right order.” The girls have sworn they’ve brushed their hair, but one look proves them wrong…and they wonder why I’m so irritated.

The doorbell rings. Carpool is here.

As I fling their 85-pound backpacks out the front door and hastily throw a peanut butter sandwich in their general direction, I realize:

May is the new December.

After school concerts, gymnastics showcases, award ceremonies, and highly-sugared end-of-the-year parties are just a piece of the chaos.

You feel the May craziness too, right?

How a year’s worth of sandwich-making leads you to suddenly hate peanut butter? How waking angry people up every day gives you the shakes at the sound of an alarm clock? How All The Things leave you exhausted?

Well, the good news is that, even if we can’t slow the speed of the train we’re on, we can at least enjoy the ride.

Here are a few solutions I’m intentionally implementing this time of year, and I hope they can benefit you too:

  1. Take a deep breath and say out loud: “God is in control so I don’t have to freak out right now.”
  2. At some point today, tell yourself “I lack nothing.”
  3. Do one thing this week that brings you joy and connects you back to yourself, i.e. read a book that’s been sitting on your nightstand, watch your favorite show or go on a walk.
  4. Connect to the voice or face of another.
  5. Move slowly.
  6. Watch these videos if you need a laugh or if you need a good cry.

 

Mamas, you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. (Winnie the Pooh said that so we know it’s true.) We can make it through the exhaustion, craziness, and frustration that the end of the school year brings, one small step at a time.

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