I’ve been pondering Labor Day. It’s really a holiday in
disguise. At best, it’s somewhat of a nebulous holiday. For
example, some people (usually politicians and academic types) know
that it is a day to recognize and honor the American Labor
Movement. Other people think of it as extra day off from work with
pay.
I’ve been pondering Labor Day. It’s really a holiday in disguise. At best, it’s somewhat of a nebulous holiday. For example, some people (usually politicians and academic types) know that it is a day to recognize and honor the American Labor Movement. Other people think of it as extra day off from work with pay. Still others (and you know who you are) have absolutely no idea what they are supposed to be celebrating, but think it might have something to do with a groundhog coming out of a hole to look for it’s shadow.
But, let’s face it, to mothers of school-aged children, Labor Day means only one thing, one glorious, wonderful thing: the end of summer vacation.
Frankly, by the beginning of September, I’m a little tired of spending my days with a group of people who drip blue slushy on the good sofa and argue over who is breathing more air.
Labor Day is my cue to drain the wading pool and rescue my good lipstick from the bottom of the sandbox for the very last time. It serves as a wake up call to get the children back on a regular schedule and off to bed at a decent hour in this time zone.
Another thing about Labor Day is that, unlike any other time of the year, I’m at the peak of my game. My children haven’t been late for school yet or missed any homework assignments. And I’m still considered a reliable member of the carpool.
Plus, I no longer have to care about what I look like in a bathing suit. I can go back to my old pre-summer ways of wearing long pants with elastic waistbands over my pasty white legs. The world will no longer see that my stomach is pale and flabby and that the backs of my thighs have the same texture as Play Doh that’s been run over by a waffle iron.
Let me tell you, for mothers, Labor Day isn’t just a holiday, it’s a declaration of freedom.
If you don’t believe me just ask my friend Julie, a loving, doting mom, who celebrates Labor Day by singing “Hallelujah!” Then she shoves her three children into the backseat of the car and speeds off to the nearest store for school supplies. And it’s not just Julie. My friend Linda catapults out of bed on Labor Day morning and immediately begins sifting her children’s sandbox for all of her good silverware.
Of course people without children can’t really understand this. They don’t see how we can celebrate the end of long, lazy days of nice weather, swimming, and trips to the beach. But I have a feeling it’s because they didn’t spend the last three months playing cruise director for a group of energetic tourists with the attention span of, say, four seconds.
However, on top of marking the end of summer vacation, Labor Day also causes me to slow down and savor the summer days that are left. There is something about the holiday that adds a certain joie de vive to barbecues and swim meets that just wasn’t there in mid-June. I’m not sure why this is. Maybe it is human nature to want things you can’t have. Or perhaps the end of summer makes people more introspective. Or maybe it’s because I know relief is in sight.
No matter what the reason is, there will always be people who treat Labor Day as an opportunity to honor the American Labor Movement, and others who consider it just another excuse to stay home from work.
But, between you and me, if you ever want to know the true meaning of the holiday, just ask a mother of a school-aged child.
