Spring Break

Ah. . . .spring break.

I don’t know what the words conjure up for you. For me, a college professor and parent, spring break means two things: a week of stupid, drunken antics that tend to leave my students hungover, pregnant, and/or diseased, and a week of sleeping in, being bored, and watching too much TV that tends to make my children ready to go back to school.

Either way, not my favorite time of year. Until last week.

It was spring break in St. Louis Park. My two younger children were home, the 17-year-old newly jobless, the 13-year-old reading Ayn Rand. And somewhere along the line each of them decided to ask every single person they knew to come over and hang out.

Now, you might not think a parent would like that. But I was just back in town after a long trip and irrationally happy to see my own kids. I was in a rare mellow frame of mind. And the simple fact is, the teenagers who were teeming into my house like droves of ants were just downright cool.

There were boys ranging from 16-21, sprawled across couches and tables and chairs. They were drinking from enormous cans of Rock Star and Red Bull and Snapple, hauling in bags of chips and burritos the size of my head. And what were they doing: getting high, staging destructive wrestling matches, setting fire to things? No. They were engaged in a week-long Risk tournament that provoked discussions about world history and famous despots, as well as shouts of "You asshole!" that reverberated through the house at two in the morning, but I didn’t mind.

There was also a younger tier — mostly girls, with a few shy, awkward boys hanging around the edges — from the ages of 12 to 14. They mostly ate pizza and sat on the front steps during those few days in March when it didn’t snow, texting each other even though they easily could have talked. After the boys were gone, the girls had sleepovers during which they held long Disney marathons, watching the videos we’ve owned since my daughter was born. The Little Mermaid. The Lion King.

And I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a satisying week in my entire life.

It was noisy and cluttered and SMELLY (at one point there were 14 pairs of boys’ shoes in my front hall). My husband and I slept almost not at all. But we knew exactly where our children were — and where every other St. Louis Park parent’s were, for that matter — and there’s no feeling in the world as good as that. Add to this the fact that we were buying pizzas and burritos at such a mad rate, we could afford nothing else and were drinking what we’ve come to call our "house" wine, a dirt cheap Nero d’Avola by Archeo that retails for about $4.99. And even THIS didn’t bother me. In fact, I rather liked it.

Nero d’Avola is a Sicilian grape that makes a light, juicy, incredibly quaffable wine. And it seems that no matter how low you go on the price scale, it’s pretty standard and inoffensive. Rather like a happy puppy, the cherry and oak flavor is generally cheerful and easy to like.

Next year, when my son is in college and only my daughter is home, spring break will almost surely have a whole different tone. I will miss the boys terribly — foot odor notwithstanding — and am grateful that at least I was here to enjoy this year’s Risk-and-pizza free-for-all.

If you’re in a mood to read more about children and the joys thereof, check out the new Rake sister site: www.gomom.com. It’s a great resource. There’s only one downside: I’m afraid it’s a little short on wine drinking advice.


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