It’s 5 o’clock. All the kids are in their underwear. I still haven’t gotten dressed for the day, or brushed my hair, or showered. It’s been one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Mondays.
This morning, I woke up ready and rearing to go. I made us all scrambled eggs, and picked up the kitchen as the kids chowed down on their breakfast I so lovingly prepared. After breakfast, the dishes were cleared, and I gathered all the kids to the living room for circle time.
I’m trying, really trying to have a calm, happy morning. We take our places in a circle, I sing a little song to get the kids to all focus, and I light a candle. A special circle time candle… which sounded like a good idea when I was planning all this out. Little Miss grabs for it, singing happy birthday. I move the candle, we all sing itsy bitsy spider, and Mr. Man blows it out. Bug pouts because HE didn’t get to blow it out. Little Miss cries because we didn’t sing happy birthday with her, and then sticks her finger in hot wax. Not the best start, but the day was young! The morning is still salvageable, right?
I send the little kids off to watch something educational in my room, instead of setting them up with something more educational and less technological in the living room. We have play dough, and Potato Heads, and Lacing Beads and all sorts of Fine Motor Training tools parading around as toys. But- they all need ME to set them up. Mr. Man knows how to work a DVD player. The DVD wins.
Bug and I sit down with his math book, and I cross my fingers that he hasn’t forgotten how to do long division. Last week, he was doing it really well, but it includes not only remembering his multiplication facts, but also a seemingly endless sequence of steps that even I can’t remember to do. Much to my delight, he mostly remembers how to do the problems.
But that doesn’t mean he did the problems. Instead he daydreamed, chewed his pencil, and at one point cried because he couldn’t remember how many times 4 goes into 4. Luckily for Bug, right as he was working through problem 6 out of 9 an hour into when we started Math Class for the day, I hear a crash followed closely by what can only be described as the death cry of a dementor.
I rush to my bedroom to save whatever child is currently screaming, only to open the door at the exact moment Mr. Man was pushing on the door to prevent me from opening it. (Little does he know, trying to keep Mom out of the room is pretty much a red mark saying you did indeed cause whatever injury you are trying to hide). As the door opened, his little big toe got jammed under it, causing him to wail almost as loud as Little Miss.
She’s on the floor, rubbing her face, which is gushing blood. It’s the kind of blood gush where you can’t tell which way is down or up, or if the flood is coming from the nose, or mouth, or lips, or tongue, or maybe the head? Because the blood is everywhere. It’s on her, and me, and the floor, and by golly, I may have been a nurse before I started this homeschooling thing, but Baby blood makes me queasy.
Yes, that is dried blood on her face
And I lost my train of thought…. because it’s 5 o’clock and that’s just the way today was. Hubby came home, and the baby is again screaming, for no apparent reason, other than maybe because her face is a little beat up and that can’t feel good. And honestly, I worked really hard today. I tried to teach the kids. I tried to baby a baby. I tried to discipline a Mr. Man. I tried to clean the house.
I really tried.
There isn’t much to show for a day like today.
Some days are just like that. I get a lot of comments, mostly because I have this blog and the people who say things like this have clearly never set foot in my home, about how they “could never do it”.
They think they can’t do it all. They see my Blog, and see pictures of the best days, and proof of the small victories we have. They see my plans, my hopes, my dreams, and my best intentions.
They don’t see days like today. Days like today prove that I “can’t do it” either. I can’t do everything.
My “school area” – After I straightened up
I can only do my best.
Today, my best means I cried in the bathroom, instead of in front of my sensitive child. Today, my best means I taught Math and did circle time, and still counted it as a successful school day. My best means I didn’t run down the street screaming when all heck broke loose.