I am wearing my last pair of clean underpants. I tell you this not to make the pre-pubescent among you giggle, though if I have, you’re welcome. I tell you this because, despite your long faces this morning, it’s time.
It’s time for you to go back to school and to work.
It’s time for me to get a chance to do my own laundry instead of waiting for the snow gear to finish up in the dryer—again.
It’s time to put down the holiday cookies and put your hands where I can see them.
It’s time for Dad to stop hollering down the stairs, “Who left the lights on again?”
It’s time for me to be able to carry on a telephone conversation without simultaneously motioning to people to clean up the milk/close the snack bags so they don’t go stale/ leave the wet snow gear in the garage for now/stop hitting your brother/turn off the lights so Dad doesn’t holler again/stop snitching cookies/check the dryer for mittens.
It’s time for me to be able to write a sentence, maybe two, without listening to the shredder operate just 10 feet from my desk while two people ask me whether the model train store is open, as though this type of information is provided telepathically to anyone with XX chromosomes.
It’s time for the holidays to end.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy our time together. I did. But I’m wearing my last pair of clean underpants, and so it’s time for the break to end. I hope you’ll understand why I did not share a long face with you this morning as you left for work and for school. Also, why there are no mittens in the dryer, just my underpants.