Not that you would, but in case, for one moment, you operated under the delusion that I have it all together all the time and have some Super Mom thing going, let me quickly set the record straight.
No one is Super Mom. Not even Super Woman. I know for a fact she invents catastrophes simply to escape the occasional madness in her house and flies off to feel like a normal person while rescuing people from burning buildings or whatever it is that she does.
I may be capable of producing enough breastmilk to support a third world country, yes, that much IS true. But I often lose my temper and find myself looking for the nearest wall against which to repeatedly bang my head. Today being just such a day.
I will go on record here as saying that I don't for one moment regret homeschooling.
I regret that math is a part of homeschooling. I wish I could set up a little hut outside my home and have a math specialist come do that part of the teaching for me.
Why? I love math. I used to hate it as a kid, but I really don't mind it now. But when my kids hear the word math, their eyes glaze over and they turn into morons. And they're not morons. But you wouldn't know it to be a fly on the wall as we work through our math.
Curse upon curse the stupid process of subtraction with borrowing/carrying/regrouping...whatever they're calling it these days. It baffles my kids to no end.
They can add 3 digit numbers and carry all day long. Give them a 2 digit subtraction problem (well, this applies slightly more to August than Brooklyn) and they curl into a fetal position. And then I do. Wyeth was already in one. Dorien's typically sneaking into the pantry for more Cheerios. Or eating the whole container of grape tomatoes so I can have the delight of changing that diaper later.
Today, Brooklyn wanted to get math out of the way before the rest of school. 3 hours later, I'm still sitting with August, literally BEGGING him to please, for the love of God, just tell me what 17-9 is...PLEASE!!!!
He lolls around on his stool, looking all over the place as though the answer was written on the wall...muttering nonsense as he procrastinates.
"Momma, I don't know....help me....you tell me...what is it?"
"August, let's think about it like we were adding..."
"August, you remember adding. What's 0+8?"
"I don't know! I don't remember....oh, wait, 8."
"August, you know how to do this. You did a whole page of subtraction the other day and you did awesome. You only have a few problems left."
"Mommmaaaaaaaaaa.....I can't do it! I don't know how....HELLLLLLLLP me! I'm trying! I really am! I just need MORE help."
"August, you want me to do it all for you. I'm not going to."
I could go on. But I won't. Cause the headache returns.
In the midst of this homeschool bliss, Dorien poops a ginormous, nauseating poop, Wyeth does a few of his own, requiring an outfit change, Brooklyn decides to regress and forget how to do basic addition or even how to follow instructions, Wyeth needs to nurse, then spit up all over me, and then Dorien puts a see-through orange bucket on his head (calling himself an astronaut) and promptly tumbles down the stairs, head over heels. Don't worry. He was fine.
And for lunch, when Brooklyn looked at her peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and had the gall to ask, "Is this my lunch?" I burst out into hysterical laughter.
I have those days. Oh do I ever. If anyone says they don't, they're lying.
Does it mean I want to throw in the towel?
Then I get a good night's sleep and somehow do it all over again.
With some modifications (see previous hut idea).
Don't worry, I'll be fine. I think there's a chocolate truffle downstairs somewhere.
And I have to hold it together cause I need to go paint a sweatband on our pumpkin.