Don't we do things for people heading into trying ordeals or the unknown? We have parades for soldiers going off to war, throw confetti and wave handkerchiefs at ships sailing the seas, shave surgical patients, afford last meals to condemned men, and probably something exciting for astronauts. What about mothers preparing to spend a whole summer break at home with four kids? Shouldn't something be done for them? Big Mama is looking down into the blackness of that crevasse and I feel something should be prepared for her because I certainly don't have the stones to do what she's about to do.
I suppose whatever is to be done for her is up to me, though - dinner out, some sort of gala ball, a parade? I bought her a book as diversion, but she'll be finished with that by tomorrow and tomorrow is only the beginning. The beginning of the arguments, the whining, the uninvited touching and the perceived boredom. She will have to mediate, punish, implore, feed and entertain these miscreants for two and a half months because there's just no budget for Miscreant Camp this summer. The whole idea of it makes my palms sweat and blood pressure climb. So, if you need me, I'll be at work dealing with the tax man and his uninvited touching, and thankful for every peaceful minute of it.