The homeschool coordinator came today.
She comes once every week.
She didn’t even let me go home with her afterwards, either.
(Rude)
Her excuse of “a whole bunch of other appointments with other families” seemed kind of weak, if you ask me.
On this particular day she was #blessed to be showing up merely moments after a dog fight over a pig hoof that neither dog had touched for at least three months,
and to the cat literally dripping wet from having just fallen into the toilet mere moments before.
As she entered, I saw her note the wooden sign on the wall begging all who enter to notice just how precious our home.
I shoved a mound of books and papers to the side at the table so that we would have a place to sit, and she stepped over a charging hoverboard before settling in at the table directly next to a brimming full recycling can.
She asked me how it had been going.
She sweetly reminded she was just here to check in.
I smiled a smile here that I imagined looked like a jack-o-lantern that’s been kept far too long.
Wide, hollow, sunken in eyes and jagged teeth.
Sometimes warmly lit from the inside.
Slightly rotten underneath.
I was surprised seeing that grin that she didn’t pass me the business card for a crisis counselor that had availability next week.
I handed her our log sheet of all the assignments that we had gotten done, feeling embarrassed to notice that it looked like it had been written in ancient Sanskrit it was so hastily scribbled, being that when I had written it I had just
so needed to be DONE.
For a split second I fantasized about it being some kind of coded note that I gave her that only she would understand.
A decoder ring revealing that what looked like a simple reading log was really the secret message
“I’lL Be waITinG aT the COrNer at 3:00.
BrinG a PaSSPorT and a beLIEvAble WiG.”
Should I tell her my honest answer that I kind of object to the fact that when I started out raising my daughters to be strong-willed and witty individuals that I had been unaware of what those traits would turn into once home learning was involved?
That I didn’t know they’d be used against me in a pre-teen court of law?
I didn’t know the work it would take to get them to do math models,
when it has become increasingly clear that really all my 11 year old wants to learn is the cook time for a Kirkland hamburger,
and all my 13 year old wants to learn is her 30th Tik Tok dance in the direct center of the hall.
I wondered if I should tell her that I sometimes I miss when my biggest daily thought as to what was happening in their education was whether to immediately throw their sent home papers away, or wait another day.
Should I tell her about the way that science has generally been going?
Where my 8 year old and I read and stop and read and stop every 6 words in order to discuss some new tangent the topic that day has taken her off on?
This week’s have been everything ranging from
- “Does Oprah actually OWN Weight Watchers now? Because that’s a real weird career jump if you ask me.”
- “Do Dung Beetles roll their own poop, or just everyone else’s? Those boys need to get some self respect!”
*reading* - “While a Sperm Whale usually only has one baby, a mouse has been known to have up to twelve at a time.” *closes book rapidly* *looks at front cover*
“What is this, a HORROR NOVEL? Twelve babies at once will haunt my dreams!”
And my absolute favorite:
PAIGE: “What are Damn Selfies?”
ME: “What?”
PAIGE: Damn Selfies. What are those?”
ME: “What are you even SAYING right now?!”
PAIGE: “DAMN. SELFIES.”
ME: *looks at the science book* “That says DAMSELFLIES.
Oh, for the love.
It’s a type of bug.”
PAIGE: “Oh. R.I.P. my mouth.”
Should I have told her that Third Grade Math this week has felt like an actual arrestable assault and that even when I tried to write a Facebook post about it looking for sympathy, my autocorrect kept trying to change “White boards” to “Whore boards”
which I just assumed was in support?
The beds have stayed unmade this week.
The dishes are piled high.
The grip I felt like I had a week ago is slipping.
*A wet cat runs by*
Do I tell her that I keep my voice calm during math,
but in my mind while my eight year old is doing it in her mind, sometimes my brain is doing all it can not to huff,
“It’s SIXTY FIVE. SIXTY. FREAKING. FIVE!”
The answer I want to give to every question some days is “Jesus, be a fence around me.”
Because, as Paige put it when told she had more work to do,
I did not sign up for this.
Tomorrow, on top of this whole situation,
I will be welcoming back into my care for the first time since school started, two preschoolers that I do daycare for.
I will attempt to homeschool my own three,
while keeping the two year old quiet without the use of TV or outside play because, being that we live in California, right now the outside air is trying to kill us in multiple ways.
I will do these amazing feats while helping the four year old connect and complete her own school’s zoom meetings,
and while cutting up food into appropriate sizes,
and while doing third grade math on those blasted whore boards all in time to welcome in our brand new couch that is being delivered (Wait. Did I text YES to confirm?!) by sometime around noon without accidentally letting the dogs out with or without their hoof.
David Blaine WHO, am I right?!
And yes, I know that this is precious time that we will never get back.
I love and care about all of my children.
I’m here for putting work into their life.
Yes, I know the teachers, and doctors, and nurses have been amazing through all of this new, crazy world;
But can we please give a hand and at least one held up lighter to all the moms who can feel me out there?!
Several of us are smiling like jack-o-lanterns.
Several of us want to leave with the coordinator, even just for the car ride.
Several of us are only barely alright.
I did not tell her any of this.
I just showed her all the end results.
The spelling test Paige got all right.
Third grade math pages: The Fruit of our Unrest.
I gave her this and held my breath, feeling all my failures sure to show,
but then she surprised me by smiling and starting to pack her things.
“Looks like you’re doing great!” she stunned me.
“Message me if you need me! OK, then. Off I go!”
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
