It’s not technically summer vacation yet, but my level of caring about Ruby’s school has drastically declined. Even just a month ago, Ruby and I were dutifully taking practice spelling tests every Tuesday night before her actual spelling test on Wednesday; two weeks ago, we halfheartedly ran spelling words in the bathtub while she washed her hair; this week, we didn’t even do that.

“Oh, crap, you have your spelling test today,” I said in the car on the way to school Wednesday morning.

“Oh, crap, you’re right,” she said.

I am the Mom of the Year.

I haven’t completely let my standards slip – it’s not like I am sending her off with a lunchbox full of cotton candy and Tic-Tacs; it’s just that I am not making homemade Lunchables anymore in which I cut out perfect circles of low-sodium, preservative-free ham with a cookie cutter. (Yes, I actually did that for a brief time this year.)

And bedtime has gone completely out the window. I have admittedly never been the best about a strict bedtime routine, even at the start of school. There is about one week in the fall – just after the time change – when my kids go to bed at 8 p.m., but otherwise, Ruby typically crashes around 9:15 and Georgia, who still takes a long daytime nap, is up sometimes until 10. Now that Georgia and Elliot, my stepson, are on a camp schedule, though, it is impossible to get Ruby to sleep at a reasonable hour, especially since most of the neighborhood kids are done with school, too, and Ruby never wants to come in from playing when they’re still outside.

Last night, she literally fell asleep in the midst of cataloging all of her grievances against me as a mother: “You made me come home from my friend’s house and you made me eat dinner and you made me take a bath and you made me brush my teeth and now I am not even tired and you’re making me go to bed and I bet I will be up till midnight and you are so mean … ZZZZZZZZZZZ.”

This morning, as I made breakfast (aka microwaved some pancakes), Ruby whimpered from her bed, “Isn’t it summer yet? How much longer?”

And I had to physically repress a shudder as I said with false cheer, “Just three more weeks after this one, my love!”

We’ll get through it. But if you think I’m not counting every single day just as much as she is, you’re either crazy or you’ve never had to pack school lunch every night.

I love summer. It is my favorite season. And I am so so so beyond ready for it to start.