Skip to Content

This post may contain affiliate links. Please read my disclosure policy

Why I Hate the 100th Day of School

Sharing is caring!

I have no recollection of “celebrating” the 100th day of school as a child. Now that I’m a mom, this arbitrary holiday seems like the worst.idea.ever. I’m certain it was specifically designed to send moms over the edge. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for teachers making education fun and engaging. I’m all for parent participation. But. Having to locate ONE HUNDRED small items and COUNT THEM OUT with my small child and GLUE them to a cape, shirt, poster, or other item is most definitely maternal torture.

mom screaming

I’m already hanging by a thread, people. There are hundreds of small items scattered around my house at any given moment, slowly eating away at my will to live. I have cursed the heavens after stepping on legos, markers, crayons, pacifiers, board books, teething rings, puzzle pieces, blueberries, grapes, and Cheerios. So many freakin’ Cheerios. It is all I can do to keep these items from driving me clinically insane. To request that I would gather ONE HUNDRED MORE items is the final straw.

It’s all well and good to imagine that I, or my fellow mamas, would insist our children complete this project on their own. Here’s a big bag of tiny crap, kid. You know how to count. You know how to glue. Have at it. But life doesn’t work that way. Counting to 100 is BORING! RIGHT?! Even for 35 year olds, let alone small children. It takes constant supervision, convincing, cajoling, bribery, and begging to get a child to count to 100 on demand. That means a lot of Starbucks and/or chocolate and/or wine to convince, cajole and bribe mom with, too.

Then, heaven forbid, you have additional younger children in your home. Or multiple tiny people running around. Because, you know, it is my dream come true as a mom of a preschooler to have ONE HUNDRED CHOKING HAZARDS strewn across my kitchen table just waiting to fall into the hands of my twin toddlers. Oh, and when I’m not saving my toddlers from eminant peril, I’m managing my sticky fingered preschooler’s attempts at GLUING the infinite tiny things. The preschooler who prefers wiping his hands IN HIS HAIR to washing them or wiping them anywhere else in the world.

No. Just no.

I refuse.

Here is how this is going to go down, friends.

1) Put all my children to bed for the night

2) Locate my husband’s oldest undershirt

3) Pull out pre-marked bag of 100 pom-poms

4) Squirt glue all over undershirt in crazed fashion

5) Dump bag of poms on glued up undershirt and call it a night

This is the only way to maintain our sanity, ladies. Don’t let the 100 tiny things win. Down with the 100th day of school.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.