It's the first week of school for my youngest, but my older two are still at home with me, and boy oh boy are they so ready to be back in school.

I may be projecting my own readiness onto them, but I think I can say with a high degree of confidence that if the middle school wanted to put up, say, a big paper barrier across the driveway to welcome kids back, and there was a pile of landscaping materials or something, I would be revving my engine and preparing to shoot my minivan up the pile, through the banner, ready to flip the fictional switch on my dashboard that ejects my children onto the blacktop below, while some sort of rock anthem played.

I'm still working out the details of that particular fantasy.

Anyway, the kids are sick of me. I am sick of them. This proto-back-to-school week which is really more of a fake-out is killing me with the bickering and the whining. I am pretty sure this is why my skin is all broken out.

Then again, I've also been in the grips of a particularly winning bout of PMS, so perhaps my children are not the demonspawn they appear to be. Who can really know these things?

Well, I'm off to rig the minivan with some sort of glittery sparklers and maybe a teeshirt cannon in advance of the big first day next week.

As for the title of this post? No, it really doesn't. Sense doesn't apply when summer break is just one week too long.