Labor Day

Labor Day sucks.  There.  I said it.  There are good things about Labor Day, sure.  It’s a day off, first of all (not that I’m overwhelmingly concerned about days off these days!).  And it’s always within a week of my birthday (and my dad’s birthday and my friend Maureen’s husband’s birthday – I guess all really fabulous people are born on September 7th) so it always feels like a holiday to celebrate my birthday.

But way back in 1894 when Grover Cleveland made it a federal holiday, he did so to appease the goddamn unions in this country and that just makes my stomach churn today.  Back then – when we actually needed unions so that employers wouldn’t and couldn’t work 11-year-olds 75 hours per week for 8¢ a week and then fire them when a 9-year-old came along willing to work more hours for less money – unions actually formed to do good, not evil.

But today we have labor laws that cover every conceivable wrong an employer could ever consider even on their most malice-filled, greedy, Scrooge-like day.  Simply put: unions are now the greedy bastards who are bankrupting this country.  So I’m not so much in favor of a holiday to celebrate them.

But more than that, Labor Day symbolizes the end of summer.  That’s just sad.  That’s just depressing and sad.  You can’t wear white after Labor Day (just watch me – nothing I love more than white corduroy).  People put their lawn furniture away not long after Labor Day.  Kids go back to school and we have to sit behind the stupid buses as they transport all the little kiddies (who look out the back windows at you and glare – or worse, they wave excitedly and you’re supposed to engage them and match their enthusiasm when doing so – ugh) to schools when you’re trying to get to work on time or get home to make dinner.  All the stores are filled to the brims with Halloween (and yes – wait for it – wait – THANKSGIVING – yep, I said it) decorations.  The nights are longer and the days are shorter.  The trees and flowers and even the weeds look tired and ready to go dormant.  Sure you get to turn off your AC for a few weeks before you need to turn on the heat – small consolation.

There are people out there – you know who you are – who positively swoon over the coming of the fall season.  Sunnydale Insane Asylum called and they want their freaking inmates patients back.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking I sound awfully bitter and negative.  That’s okay.  You can say it.  I’ll not apologize for it.  I don’t even mind the coming of winter as much as the coming of fall.  Winter comes at Christmastime and nothing in the whole year is as wonderful as Christmas.  And even though there are a few things I truly love about the fall season (football, pretty fall colors, the first week I get to switch to my colder weather wear and those rare beautiful Indian summer days of blue skies, pumpkins and brilliant fall foliage on a 65 degree day), they just don’t compare to what it signifies.  It’s an ending after all.  That’s why they really call it “fall”.  I think they call it “fall” not because the leaves fall but because it’s our fall from spring and glorious summer.  It’s when we fall into the pits of winter.

Ho hum.  This is not a happy blog post.  I’m sorry for that.  I’m just telling it the way I see it.  It’s a picture-perfect, beautiful Labor Day.

But it’s still Labor Day.  Damned unions.

He’s baaaack

Well, not quite, but he will be back tonight after we pick him up from the airport at 9:48pm.  Spencer’s flight arrives tonight from Tampa.  This summer he was only gone for a couple of weeks which is weird because he has always been in Florida for seven to nine weeks over the summer.

This is where I’m supposed to lament on and on about how horrible it always was to put him on a plane and not see him for the entire summer.  This is where I’m supposed to say that I just could barely stand to be alive while he wasn’t with me.  See, it’s not as simple as you’d think.  I always knew that he was in good hands with his dad.  And he loves his dad so much and he loves visiting his dad in Florida so much.  And he is and always has been such a great kid and so responsible and so level-headed.  So I never had to worry that he was going to meet some horrible, untimely end or be tragically damaged, scarred or injured.  I knew he’d be okay and in fact, I knew he’d have a blast.

Hmmm.  Maybe I’m not as egotistical as other mothers who think they are the only human beings in the world who can adequately and properly take care of their children.  Maybe I’m the mature and reasonable and responsible and rational one.  Maybe . . .  well, probably it’s not really that.  But anyway . . .

The truth is that I  am not afraid of the truth.  And the truth is that every mother needs a break.  And my situation provided a good break – for Spencer and for me.  I was able to enjoy the break because I knew he was safe and loved and happy and in good hands.  And fast forward 12 years and I have the evidence that he has turned out great.  If you asked Spencer today if he wished he hadn’t had to go to Florida every summer, I’m betting he would respond with a resounding NO WAY!  So, no harm done.

This year, however, he’s all grown up and big and adult and this year, he was only gone for two weeks and this year I missed him A LOT.  What’s up with that?

It’s because he has become this phenomenal and funny and engaging and intelligent young man and I have missed him.  He’ll be back in his room by bedtime tonight and I’m glad.

*sigh*

It’s all good

It’s summer.  So, it’s all good.  And this year, it’s really, really, kick-ass summer in top form.  The days are long, the sun is shining, the ground is warm, everyone’s wearing flip-flops and big straw hats . . . hell yeah, it’s summer.

And when it’s summer, the idea of thinking about school is just downright wrong.  The concept of digging deep into complicated issues is “off”.  The obligation to engage in heavy lifting in the political arena is a travesty.

So, we all agree, right?  And then, why do I bring this up here?  Because I had a bit of an epiphany this morning.  If it had been February, I’d have had this moment of clarity long before now.  The Dennis-Yarmouth Regional School District times its budget process at the end of the school year.  I think the first vote by the town (Yarmouth) on the annual district budget override was in May, then the second vote just took place yesterday, and now there will be another infamous “tent meeting” (which will include our neighbors in Dennis) within the next month where they will undoubtedly drive the final nail in the coffin of the clear message sent by the taxpayers to deny their never-ending request for more money.

My epiphany was that they time this during the summer because they know that, during the summer, people are just more lackadaisical about everything.  How angry and worked up can anyone really get when you live on Cape Cod and it’s summer and everyone is smiling and happy and there are beaches to visit and hot dogs to grill and the sun’s rays to soak up?  Oh yeah, a wily and sly plan to be sure.

I think the budget for the following year should be decided on in February.  Let the school district have the gall to ask a town of voters for more money [again] after we’ve been shoveling snow, bracing against the cold winds, hunkering down in our darkened living rooms and packing on the pounds from seeking comfort in heavy stews laden with potatoes.  Yeah.  No, I don’t think so.  And let them bring the vote to the taxpayers again in March when we’ve been schlepping through freezing rain, surviving a month with not one holiday, tired of our children and their homework and school projects and sick to death of putting on the same damned sweaters and corduroys day after day since November.  Right.  I would almost respect them for the courage it would take to do so.  And for the grand finale, let them try to get all the interested voters from Yarmouth and Dennis to come to the school some dark, cold, rainy night in April when we’re all homicidal from living through endless rain, cold and gray, can’t even imagine that summer will ever even exist, and angry because most of the rest of the country gets spring and the Cape never does (except in glorious 2010 – thank you God).  It would be a bloodbath and I don’t think one person in town – except Superintendent Woodbury perhaps – could muster up enough passion/compassion/empathy to throw a nickel at the School Committee – let alone vote to raise our taxes for the rest of our lives!

Light Bulb Moment: This is why the budget is voted on in the summer.  By that time, parents’ aggravations at their kids’ teachers are a thing of the past and we’re hopeful that next year will be a great year for our kids and they’ll have teachers that they (and we) love.  By then, the ridiculous things that went on during the year (politically correct new rules, stupid teachers holding up offensive signs, etc.) are a distant memory and we feel fondness for this time in our children’s lives.

So, if something which is hotly contested and debated each year must be voted on at all (and boy, how I’ll bet the Superintendent and the School Committee wish they could run their little show with no interference from the stupid taxpayers!), then do it in the summer.

Because in the summer, it’s all good.

Well, it’s not all good.