For me, it was mainly spent helping the Little Guy put his
As ever, I was determined not to be one of those parents. You know, the ones that try to pass off perfection as the work of their hapless 8 year old. Oh no. He was doing this one by himself, which meant much sitting on my hands (me, not him) as he painstakingly typed out the display board headers; the urge to yank the laptop off him and do it myself was overwhelming, but I triumphed.
Meanwhile the Ball & Chain spent three hours (over two days) driving the Man-Child around Chicago and outskirts as they fulfilled the "supervised driving" portion of his Drivers' Ed. (Before being able to sit the test, 16 and 17 years olds are required to do 50 hours of supervised practice.) So that's done - now he can take his test. Oh boy. And we've only just had the Queenager's dents bashed out of the right side of my car.
After the driving, the car was parked in the front street so that Man-Child's band (and I use that term loosely as only the drummer turned up) ran through their numbers in the garage. God knows what the neighbours thought but the Ball & Chain magically found things to do in the kitchen, where he could emit tutting noises and utter things like "They call that music?"
Meanwhile, the Queenager is on Spring break from college. Traditionally, students take off for riotous vacations in Florida, drinking their body weight before breakfast every day. With four friends, the Q was driving from DC to Boston on Sunday - a trip of about 450 miles. So what were their travel plans? Well, first off - "plans" is a bit of a stretch. I phoned her at 1pm her time, and she sounded like she was still in bed. Then she had to pack, then they were probably going to leave at around 3pm. (That was their "missing the traffic" strategy. God forbid they should get up early to miss the traffic.) On reaching Boston, they were just going to phone their friend for more specific directions. Forget maps, or phone apps that would, if employed, direct them to Brookline fairly easily.
Oh and when you text your dad at 8pm that night to say you're taking a rest stop, let's not have a clue where you are. The name of a state would have sufficed! (Turns out they had another few hours of driving to do. Not sure how happy that mother was going to be with five college kids turning up after midnight.)
And now they're all out of the house.