My Virtual Reading Room

Начинался третий учебный день. Силы родителей были на исходе.

В лифте разговаривали мама и сын.
- Ненавижу школу. Ненавижу. Рано вставать. Добираться. Рюкзак тяжелый таскать. Уроки эти дурацкие.
- Мамочка, ну потерпи, ну чуть-чуть еще осталось. Буквально лет 7.

It was the morning of the third day of the school year. Parents were at the end of their ropes.

A mother and her son were talking in an elevator.

"I hate school. Hate it. Have to get up early. Walk there. Drag a heavy backpack with me. Those stupid lessons we have to sit through."

"Mommy, just hang in there please, there's not so much of it left. Literally just seven more years."

"Andrew dear, let's do some math problems," a father was trying to cheer up his son, who was nodding off as they walked.
"All right," the boy replied gloomily.
"Great," his father continued to pretend to be happy, as if he'd just won a car with a trailer in the lottery. "Give me a math problem, any problem!"
"All right," the boy said glumly. "Calculate how many more years I have left, to carry this school burden. In minutes. No, calculate it in seconds!"

"Everything is terrible, everything is just terrible," a girl of about ten years of age was telling her mother. "I'm now taller than Cyril, you see? Now I see his entire head from above and his head is actually long, like a zucchini! And we'd wanted to get married..."

What can one say, from a greater height, one views many things in a different light :)

"Hurry, Masha, run," a mother ordered her teenage daughter outside the school building. "You sure don't need to be late, on the third day of school! And you too should run, else the teacher will scold you," she addressed a slightly older girl, who was standing near them, drinking coffee out of a paper cup.

"Actually I am the teacher, but you are right, it's time to run!"

And she left the mother standing there with a wide open mouth, out of which the correct words were refusing to come.

"Well, honey," I say to my son Lucas in the morning, "shall we go to daycare?"
"Mom, if you love me, you won't ask me about it again," replies Lucas and I don't ask.

I am busy with complex arithmetic calculations, counting the minutes, no, the seconds. The moments until the next summer.