I Remember These Days

Today was my son's last day of school.

I stopped by for his 'last day' pizza party and I'm pretty sure the noise decibel could have given Times Square on New Year's Eve a run for its money.

Really.

Where else would you find a class full of 2nd-graders exchanging rib-cracking hugs and counting down the clock as they awaited the school bell to ring. The magnitude on the excitement-meter was similar to the thrill I get when I awaken to peek at my alarm clock and see that I have another hour before dragging myself to the shower, or even better, realizing that neither of my children have crawled under my covers, which means my back won't hurt once I'm upright.

That kind of excitement.

I watched as my oldest devoured two slices of cheese pizza as though he'd never been fed the triangular shapes of dough, and yes...I think he chewed before swallowing, only to be followed by two chocolate-chip cookies and a round of kickball outside in oven-like weather.

But that's what you do on the last day of school.

The last day. It's like the last fudge-striped cookie in the plastic tray, or being the last to slide into a seat when you play musical chairs. You're glad to have it. On the other hand, some 'lasts' aren't so good. Like being the last to be picked for dodgeball, the last in line, or the last to learn that your cubby-mate at work is expecting, and here you thought she was just eating more. Shame on you.

So, we're off to get milkshakes. What better way to celebrate the last day of the school year than by downing a tasty drink that packs a gazillion grams of fat?

P.S. Despite the deafening screams when the bell rang, I managed to snap this pic. Griffin is in the gray shirt, hands in the air.

Probably what I will look like come August.