When is my holidayz?

This is a question the child has been flinging at me incessantly, ever since he wrapped his head around the concept that come a few days more and he will not have to get up at the crack of dawn and drag himself to school. What makes things worse is the fact that all his fellow six year olds in the building complex have started on their summer vacations, and are seen running riot in the park at any odd time, including times when the sun is at its blazing worst, with their mothers calling out for them in desperation from balconies, peppering their calls with threats of no food, no dessert and pappas being called to enforce home returns.
To make life easy for the brat, I began ticking off the days on the calendar. Kill many birds with one stone I thought. Get the days of the week down pat, get the concept of counting days off pat, and get the brat (born to the Generation I Want It Now) used to the concept of waiting. Therefore when the brat asked me again, on a sunless morning, when his holidays would start, I sighed deeply and pulled out the desk calendar, to show him physically that he had four working days left in which he had to drag himself to school. Only to find that the entire month had been struck off as neatly as the brat could manage.
"What is this, brat? Why have you marked off the entire month?"
The brat's expression was the precise one I think I had at the ripe old age of 16 when I decided that my mother was totally uncool, when she didnt know who Limahl was. You don't either. Well, it doesnt matter now, no one really does anyway.
"I finished the month. Wai tu cancel one day one day. I did it all together. Fasht. Its over. My holidays can start now."
There is a reason why this generation is also called the shortcut generation and it has nothing to do with shorts and hair cuts.