Dear 1:15 on Monday

First, I hope you are reading this. Second, please don’t be offended.

With tomorrow being May 1st, I turned the calendar page to start filling in the boxes. It’s pretty much a blank slate right now, but I know I don’t have that much freedom. I’m writing in the weekly events that will continue right through to June 17th, the last day of school. There’s some comfort in knowing what the weeks will look like until then. Until all hell breaks loose – in a good way – for summer. What camps are the boys going to? Should we just have an old-fashioned summer instead of all that scheduled entertainment? Shall we have more days like today: With friends here overnight last night, we made smores and then they stayed up late giggling, thinking I wouldn’t hear. And I decided not to hear. I closed my door. This morning all four of them were up early and outside at 8 a.m. spraying silly string and painting a banner and reading on a blanket. Dare we let summer just happen?

I digress. At 1:15 on Mondays, I have no standing obligation. And on my calendar in the May 2nd box are all of my normal morning responsibilities with time and title. But then in the middle of that day’s box: “1:15.” Period. No description of who I’m supposed see or where I’m supposed to be. I hate seeing that and other than a futile brain racking for the next 72 hours, I can do absolutely nothing about it.

If we emailed about 1:15 on Monday, it’s quite possible that email no longer exists. I found Liam last week closing out my email, “Just click on the X in the corner, right Mom?” Yikes, I’m unsure what else got X’d out. And late one night last week, I was cleaning out my inbox and the delete button got stuck. Perhaps a little yogurt from the fingers of my little closer.

1:15, I hope you are reading this and respond. Or, when you call at 1:30 on Monday wondering where I am, I hope we are good enough friends that you forgive this oversight that is bugging the heck out of me.