IS IT THE school holidays yet? Seriously, what is it about the end of term that turns kids into mini versions of the completely drunk aunt at your cousin’s wedding?

Emotional is an understatement.

This week my son has dissolved into a sobbing heap roughly every two-and-a-half minutes, he’s just so damn tired.

It is a bit heart-breaking to see him in such a pickle.

It is also utterly knackering.

Most schools in Brighton and Hove don’t actually break up until early next week and the last few days have felt like wading through treacle. In a meringue-style wedding dress. With concrete boots on.

You get the idea.

The little ones are beyond exhausted and are dragging their tired little bodies to the finish line, literally in some cases.

In the last few weeks they, and we, have been squeezed for every last drop of energy and enthusiasm.

First there was the school trip, which I went along to help with.

Don’t be fooled.

This isn’t because I am a wonderful, selfless mother who dedicates every waking moment to her son’s enrichment and life experiences.

Well, I do that where I can, of course.

But mostly it is to do with the fact I am an epic people pleaser who just cannot say no to anything asked of me.

It is a bit of a curse, but at least I look like I’m trying to help so every cloud.

The school trip was actually a lovely day spent in a nature reserve, hunting for “mini beasts” or insects as they are otherwise known, and pond dipping for tadpoles and the like.

Very cute. In fact the whole day passed without a single drama, which is slightly annoying for a columnist.

On the subject of never saying no I, soon afterwards, found my fingers typing “yes, I do” on a school Facebook post. They were asking if anyone had a clothes rail the PTA could borrow for the summer fair.

Not a particularly big ask in the grand scheme of things, but our clothes rail was buried under six years’ worth of kid’s clothes, toys and other paraphernalia in the loft.

Oh and empty boxes. My husband is obsessed with the keeping boxes things came in. The box for the telly, the box for the computer, the box for the smart speaker thingy. We have all the boxes.

Anyway, cue me, sweating and swearing late one night while I tried to unearth the clothes rail in 30 degree heat.

Also cue my husband stood at the bottom of the ladder, helpfully shouting: “I don’t know why you offer to do these things, you’re your own worst enemy.”

The following morning I had to drive my car for an embarrassing quarter of a mile to the school gates to take the rail in. Having wrestled it out of the car, I stood helplessly on the pavement with the four gangly bits of rail plus a six-year-old, a book bag, a lunch bag, a water bottle and a pile of giant foil platters.

Did I mention the platters? I’d also agreed to buy platters for the barbecue and they were big enough to sail to France in.

Then sports day arrived. You’ll be relieved to know I didn’t have to volunteer for anything this time, but I do have a child who cannot deal with losing.

I spent weeks prepping him, explaining how it is all about the fun and how he must be nice to the winner, then come and have a cry with me if he needed to.

Thankfully the school opted for a non-competitive version of events but we still had tears within five minutes of it starting.

He had missed his teacher shouting “go” and that was pretty much that. One broken little man in a heap on the grass.

On top of all, that we’ve also had the usual tennis, football, end of Beavers type affairs plus the last-minute panic over this term’s project.

That involved writing a rap about a bumblebee at 6am one morning.

So bring on the holidays I say, they can’t come come quick enough.

When we get there it will all be worth it as the long six-week break lays ahead.

Remember that feeling as a child?

It felt like an eternity didn’t it? Full of hope and promise with no uniform or school work to worry about.

Six. Whole. Weeks. As a grown up, though, it goes by in the blink of an eye. It will feel like a matter of minutes before you’re in a 45-minute queue in Churchill Square, cursing yourself for not buying school shoes earlier.

Just think, when they go back in September, there will be Christmas stuff in the shops. I’ll leave that thought with you. Happy holidays.