My Own Personal Holiday

Everyone should have one, really, their own personal holiday.  Mine’s a floater, and it’s today.  I know you probably forgot; it’s OK.  It’s not like you have to get me anything to herald Wendy’s personal holiday–there just aren’t a lot of greeting card manufacturers geared up for such a niche market.  I understand.  A friend of mine once held Celebrate Wendee Day when I was having a pretty crappy run of things, and I’m not gonna lie–it was pretty cool to feel just a little special for no real reason.  Since having children, Wendy’s own personal holiday has become the first day of summer break.  Yes, because I am this crappy a person, I pay someone to watch my children (it’s called Day Camp, people, and it’s FUN and active, and my children are happy, no they’re ELATED, to be there.  I’m not that big an asshole, geez!) and I celebrate not being at work by cleaning the house and/or sitting on my ass reading a book, maybe watching an episode of Orange Is The New Black (cause you sure can’t watch THAT when the littles are around), watching YouTube videos, maybe riding my bike.  It’s a day when I do whatever I want for about 6 hours.  In.  A.  Row.  It’s the best non-holiday ever.  You don’t have to invite over relatives you don’t really like for a potluck dinner and you can listen to your iPod the whole time–you can even replay your favorite song 3 times in a row and nobody crabs at you.  I just did this in fact, so I know it’s true.  You can be that person you totally make fun of–who forgets to eat breakfast?  Me.  I forgot to eat this morning in all the Wendy Day excitement.  Maybe I’ll get some lunch.  Going out for lunch on one’s own feels a little indulgent, no?  Well, it’s my personal holiday, so it’s on!  If I feel like it later that is.

I love my sons more than I will ever be able to convey.  Crazy mom love.  The moment I found out I was pregnant with each of them, I knew they were boys.  I just knew.  I knew if I ever were to become a mother, I’d be a boy mom.  Being moderately inappropriate in terms of my sense of humor and in the way of things I find funny that most girly-girls don’t, I’m a great boy mom, and I love those boys so–they make me laugh with the dumb boy things they do and clever boy things they say, they make my heart sing when they do something thoughtful just because, and they make my heart ache when they’re sad.  Last night E was torn up again thinking about our recently departed Izzy, and the big kid chimed right in alongside in sad, brotherly solidarity.  I love my sons immeasurably, but I am so glad that today, on Wendy Day, I’m in my own house all alone.  That is what I really need–not to be mom, but to be alone, to wash off the school year, scrub my memory for just a moment or two of my crazy career of public servitude, and just be.  Exhale.  I made it through the second most difficult school year of my career, and definitely the most difficult personal year of my life as a mom.  A little celebration is in order.  You can get me a card next year!


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