I have five more work days until summer break starts. FIVE. I am excited about this for many reasons, but mostly because it will free up time to paint peeling ceilings and doors which dogs slam their noses into because they think they are ajar. Judging by the velocity at which our two dogs run into our storm doors, they clearly picture an enormous lamb shank on the other side.

I also work as a cook (read: lunch lady) in an old school with a single window air conditioner which blows out such a lack of cold air that we might as well have a politician standing in the corner. Or my hair dryer. Same difference.

I took the job because my son sometimes chokes when he eats, which has happened this school year exactly none times. I’m pretty sure my boss thinks it was a lie and that I really wanted to work there because I truly enjoy smelling like pepperoni.

There are benefits to my work outside of that choking thing and the fact that I have the same days off as my kids and never have to worry about child care. Mainly, that I can occasionally sneak a curly fry and that when we make green beans there is a veggie steam that coats my skin. That’s right. Free facial.

But, my house misses me. A lot. If I could read her emotions by looking at her cluttered basement or weed-filled flowerbeds I would see her crying. Crying like she just watched The Champ. She’s tired of her stained carpet and unwashed windows. I think my house would leave me for another owner if it could.

So I have started my list of summer chores. It’s long and ambitious, but I’m confident that I will have the energy and motivation to get some stuff done. If I can cook for 200 people in a kitchen that is to me what water was to the Wicked Witch of the West, than I can certainly get a few chores crossed off of my list.

Because even though my house is falling apart, the central air conditioning works like a charm.

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