She: Today was the last Friday pizza day.
Z: Really? You’re going there?
She: I’m going to miss it all. It was the last elementary school play on Wednesday, the last student conference a month ago, and the last spring sing a couple of weeks ago, right after the last bike-to-school day.
Z: One more last anything, and I’m going to have to kill a man. School is ending forever.
She: These are the final weeks at the school where our child has been going for the last seven years. It’s all going to be different once he hits junior high. We won’t know everybody there. What kind of heartless man are you that you’re not emotional about this?
Z: You’ve been saying that since the first day of sixth grade. “This is the last first day of school. This is the last time he’ll only have one teacher. This is the last Christmas show. This is the last time I’ll drive him to school taking Route A. This is the last time I’ll drive him to school taking Route B.”
She: And I’m marveling at every single last last. You should be, too.
Z: How do you know I’m not marveling on the inside?
She: Koss had a great experience in elementary school, and now he has to leave that happy, safe place. It’s bittersweet.
Z: And it’s endless. I could have sworn school ended like four months ago, but it just keeps going. It’s like the last Lord of the Rings movie.
She: But I like it. It makes me appreciate the end when they drag it out longer.
Z: I know they always have a hard time figuring out what to do after state testing, but this year feels particularly brutal. They rehearsed and performed the sixth grade play 300 times …
She: Which was awesome. I can’t believe you only made it to one performance.
Z: They practiced for the big student/teacher softball game for seven weeks …
She: Which Koss is sure they would have won if the teachers hadn’t cheated.
Z: They’ve been having 12 hours of P.E. every day …
She: Which is keeping him in excellent shape.
Z: And they’ve watched at least 700 videos …
She: Which is a great introduction to cinema theory.
Z: It seems to me that with all the free time they have after state testing, they ought to be doing something more constructive. Coal mining, or making shoes for Nike.
She: I think it’s great they have the end of the year to celebrate. These kids have been together for seven years, and some of them are going off to different junior high schools. I think they deserve to enjoy these last couple weeks in the company of their friends. When are they ever going to have a chance like this again?
Z: Eh. Maybe I’m just jealous.
She: I definitely am. He gets to do all the fun last things, and we just get to be sad that it’s ending.
Z: Didn’t we just go to a school play parent cast party last night?
She: Yeah, but we don’t get to have things like parent beach day.
Z: Aren’t we going to beach day?
She: Yes. But kid beach day lacks adult beverages.
Z: And has kids.
She: We need a few more end of the end of the end celebrations for me.
Z: Like when you gave your Site Council binder back to the principal and came home and had a big glass of wine?
She: Sort of.
Z: Or when you passed your PTA binders over to the newbies and came home and had an even bigger glass of wine?
She: And your point would be?
Z: You drink wine. And you’re doing a lot of the last things, too.
She: The end of elementary school is a big deal, and it should be drawn out and celebrated. Really, it calls for wine and chocolate!
Z: Is this the last wine and chocolate of sixth grade?
She: Yes, dear.