May in a house with teens is less of a season and more of a hostage situation.
The calendar looks aggressive. Someone always needs a ride somewhere. There are track meets, open gyms, events, forgotten forms, late homework, mysterious smells coming from backpacks, and approximately 47 water bottles rolling around my vehicle at all times.
Every member of this family is currently handling the end of the school year differently.
So naturally, I’ve decided to rank everyone’s attitude.
Because honestly? It’s the only structure left around here.
1. The Mom (Me)
Current mood: One minor inconvenience away from driving into a field and becoming folklore.
I am tired in a very specific May kind of way.
Not winter tired.
Not holiday tired.
May tired.
The kind where you’ve coordinated seventeen schedules, bought snacks nobody appreciates, emotionally supported three middle schoolers through the social Olympics known as May, and still get blamed for not washing their favorite shorts.
Again.
I spend most afternoons asking questions like:
- “Did anyone bring home the form?”
- “What time does it start?”
- “Why are there eight hoodies in my car?”
- “Did anyone feed the dog?”
I would like one uninterrupted hour and a beverage that I didn’t microwave three times.
2. The Dad
Current mood: Quietly trying to survive all of us.
There’s something about dads in May that feels very “calm eye of the storm.”
He’s grilling.
Checking schedules.
Nodding slowly when I explain the logistics of three kids being in different places at once.
Occasionally he disappears into the garage for “just a minute,” which I now recognize as self-care.
Smart, honestly.
3. The Son
Current mood: Calm on the outside. Internally screaming.
Jase is currently surviving the end of the school year through sheer mental endurance and the quiet belief that summer will eventually arrive if he simply keeps going.
Outwardly, he seems completely fine. Relaxed. Easygoing. Emotionally stable.
Meanwhile, I know deep down this child is counting the minutes until the last day of school like a man trapped at sea.
He’s still showing up every day. Doing the work. Getting good grades. Handling open gym and weightlifting without much complaint.
But let’s be honest – this boy does not enjoy school.
Not the drama. Not the sitting still. Not the endless assignments. Not the feeling of spending beautiful May days indoors under fluorescent lighting while life exists outside somewhere.
Honestly? Fair.
The funny thing is, you’d never know how over it he is unless you really know him. Because, unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t spiral outwardly. He just quietly absorbs the stress until he can escape to summer, sports, friends, food, and peace.
Every now and then, he flops onto the couch, stares into the distance for a minute, and says something deeply relatable like: “I’m so tired of school.”
Same, buddy. Same.
4. Daughter #1
Current mood: “I literally do not care.”
And honestly? That would be less stressful if she cared a little.
This child is currently floating through the end of the school year like a tiny exhausted philosopher who has decided grades, deadlines, matching socks, and urgency are all societal constructs.
Missing assignment? “Oops.”
Room looks like a raccoon lost a custody battle in there?“Yeah.”
Important school project due tomorrow? “I’ll do it later.”
Will she actually do it later? Nobody knows.
Certainly not her.
Meanwhile, I am spiraling on behalf of both of us.
I’m checking grades like it’s a part-time job while she’s emotionally lounging on an invisible pool float somewhere deep inside her own mind.
The truly impressive part is how unbothered she remains by her own hot mess energy.
I say things like:
- “How are you not stressed about this?”
- “This should concern you.”
- “Please explain your thought process.”
And she looks at me with the calm confidence of someone who has never once been kept awake by an overdue assignment. Honestly, I’d love to borrow even 2% of that energy.
But until then, I’ll just continue stress-cleaning the kitchen while whispering: “She’s fine. Probably. Maybe.”
5. Daughter #2
Current mood: One mildly inconvenient event away from a complete emotional system failure.
This child is currently attempting to survive:
- the last few weeks of school
- homework
- projects
- exhaustion
- and track practice or a meet every single day of her life, apparently
And let me tell you something: we are operating dangerously close to meltdown territory at all times.
She walks through the door, overwhelmed, starving, carrying seventeen things, emotionally fragile, and somehow still expected to remember assignments and function like a normal person.
Absolutely unfair, honestly.
The energy changes by the hour.
At 5:15 PM:
“I’m fine.”
At 5:22 PM:
“Nobody understands how stressed I am.”
At 5:24 PM:
crying because someone breathed incorrectly near her.
To be fair, I get it.
May has her stretched so thin. She tired mentally, physically, socially, emotionally—all while trying to finish the school year strong and pretend she’s not running on fumes.
Still, there’s something oddly admirable about the way she keeps showing up every day, even when she’s overwhelmed.
Even if she does dramatically collapse across the furniture immediately afterward, like a Victorian woman with the vapors.
6. The Family Calendar
Current mood: Threatening.
The family calendar has become less of a schedule and more of a psychological threat. Every square is full. Every evening has an abbreviation no one understands anymore.
At least twice a week, I stare at it, hoping one activity will simply… cancel itself out of respect for me personally.
It never does.
7. The Dog
Current mood: Confused but supportive.
The dog has noticed everyone is leaving constantly and returning home louder than usual.
He has adapted by following me room to room while I mutter things like: “We cannot possibly be out of granola bars again.”
Honestly, he’s doing great.
Final Rankings
Most emotionally stable:
The dog.
Most dramatic:
Everyone.
Most tired:
Mothers nationwide.
Most likely to survive entirely on snacks and caffeine:
Also, mothers nationwide.
And yet…
Underneath all the chaos, there’s something tender about this season, too.
The backpacks dropped by the door. The late sunsets. The sound of kids coming in and out of the house. The last few weeks before another version of them disappears and grows into something new over summer.
May is loud and messy and exhausting. But somewhere in the middle of all this chaos is a life I know I’ll miss someday.
Even the family calendar.
Maybe.
Fry, Party of Five 
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