There are 23 more days until school gets out.

Shoot me now.

Between the end of spring break (a shadowy, distant event—I seem to recall—that took place in late April) and the end of school, my two fourth graders will have attended nine birthday parties (including their own), one fourth-grade "School's Out" party, one town-wide "School's Out" party, one "Register for the Swim Team" party, one field day, one fourth-grade art reception at a local museum, one end-of-year orchestra and band performance, two author's teas, two end-of-season soccer parties, one end-of-season baseball party and one Girls on the Run 5K.

There are probably several other events I don't know about, because I am sitting at my desk with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears, refusing to open any more emails and singing loudly to myself.

Aside from getting faint at the thought of all the overscheduling, I am trying very hard not to calculate the amount of pizza, soda and cupcakes that will follow in the wake of this frenzy.

And, of course, that's not all that's written on the kitchen calendar or cluttering my inbox. There are the usual soccer and baseball games (counting, of course, the 500 makeup games that have been scheduled thanks to April's showers), the increasingly menacing emails from various activities announcing that "fall registration is upon us" and reminders that the dreaded camp forms are due. Make that overdue.

On more than one of the multiple 4 a.m.-bolt-upright-in-bed-moments that punctuate these two formerly pleasant months, I have considered getting a tattoo of the dates of my children's last tetanus shots. If you've filled out any camp forms recently, I think you know what I'm talking about. At least then I'd know where to find the information.

Perhaps it is now clear why I have been spotted on several occasions pacing the streets of Chevy Chase and muttering to myself.

I am not alone. (Well, the rest of you may do better with keeping the muttering to yourself. And I really was just kidding about the tattoo. Mostly.) But the Wall Street Journal reports that the transition to summer has become more hectic than December for many families, that employee requests for time-management advice are running 15 percent above normal levels because of the seasonal rush, and that employers also see a seasonal rise in the use of paid time off and unscheduled absences.

Undoubtedly, a large part of the May-induced madness and absenteeism is due to the fact that all of these "for the children" events require parents. Parents who are caught in a mad vortex of celebration and arm-twisting. I mean, volunteerism.

Field Day requires parents to walk the kids to the park and back, to schlep the equipment and to supervise the activities. The Art Reception needs parents to cart the artwork to the museum, to provide snacks for the reception, and to, well, show up at the reception. The orchestra performance means finding white shirts,  black pants/skirts and dress shoes (WHAT?! Dress shoes?!! Um, does that mean ones that fit?) for the musicians, a few parents to supervise "the green room" and a school auditorium's worth of music, ahem, lovers.

The execution of all these year-end rituals and ceremonies divides the parents into two groups. The first group, hollow-eyed, sleepless, and developing early arthritis from typing too many pleading emails, are the volunteers. To their horror, they have discovered that they are all alone in that category, and that no one is responding to their cries for help.

The second group is avoiding making eye contact with the first group and dodging behind trees and serpentining through the school parking lot. Are they just are too busy at work, or did they become burnt out on the volunteer front by Diversity Night (or was it Family Fun Night?). Maybe they are just self-important, selfish people, or maybe they are practical, savvy survivors with no time for this nonsense. It all makes for an interesting question. You can contemplate it while you're estimating pizza totals for the fourth-grade "School's Out" party or while ordering the T-shirts for the 150 kids on the swim team.

Each event is, in itself, lovely and special for the kids. Each teacher and coach involved is deserving of support and public thanks. Each sports season had its share of sentiment and achievement, each activity its moment of truth and accomplishment. No doubt, they all deserve some measure of recognition and applause. But, taken all together—all at once, it's too much.

Not to be the Scrooge of Spring, but couldn't the fourth-graders celebrate a year of learning with just a cupcake? (I know, I know, they could also have something nutritious. But I could live with a cupcake. Even if in May and June the average is one cupcake a day. Sugar is a small price to pay for sanity.) Are two-and-a-half hours of pizza, activities, games and a movie REALLY necessary to mark the transition to fifth grade?

And couldn't the sports teams do something quick right after the last game, on the field, to celebrate and acknowledge their season? And call it a day before racing off to the next squeeze-it-in-before-summer birthday party? (Mea culpa.)

Everyone I know complains. Why aren't we doing anything about it?

Inevitably, we all have to pick and choose, and some things wind up having to be passed over in favor of, oh, I don't know, work and sleep. You can surrender to the torrent, or embrace the madness, or hide your head in the sand, or just hang on until the final school bell rings. Either way, the summer beckons, with its promise of a slower, more relaxed lifestyle.

Just be sure you rest up, because swim meets and camp talent shows are just around the corner.