No one kicked their heels up higher than the teacher on the last day of school, here in the Fiddle House of Higher Learning. I may have pulled a femur. If that’s possible.
But after a week and a half, I already find myself planning for the next year. And already worrying that everything I stuffed into their heads will leak out the next time they sneeze.
I can’t wait for Biology!
But as you well know, learning never stops. I’m always looking for opportunities to quiz them on a random subject. When they least expect it.
Sometimes, the opportunity just falls into my lap. Like last night when I was tucking the girls into bed. Emme loves to play the “how old will I be when such-and-such is whatever” game.
Emme: “Mom. How old will I be when the twins (very good friends of ours are adopting twins) are 5?”
Me: “Well Emme. They are 1 and you are 8. What is 8 minus 1?”
A pause just long enough for the 6 year old sister to horn in with, “SEVEN.”
Me: “So, Emme, you will always be 7 years older than the twins. So when the twins are 5, how old will you be?”
I will be enrolling Cailey in college when she turns 10. She’s a little math prodigy. Much to her older sister’s chagrin.
This fun game went on long enough for me to realize that I might want to implement some math drills into our summer vacation.
And then, it continued even longer, until my brain swelled to twice it’s natural size from the headache that was forming.
Emme: “Mom. How old will YOU be when I’m 35?”
Now I had to think. Without the aid of my calculator. Or an Excedrin. I answered, unsure if the strain would cause my head to explode all over the pink princess bedding, “Um, 74.”
Emme: “Wow. How old will you be when I’m 50?”
Note to self: Pick up paperwork to send #2 child to a boarding school. In a really harsh climate.