So the new school year is fully launched. The kids are in co-op, I’m teaching a few co-op classes, all the learning therapies are on the calendar, the twins’ have started attending Wednesday night youth group (cue weeping), and I’m back to BraveWritering in my “free” time.
‘Nother words: We’re hustlin’.
Our Tuesdays are so complicated with learning therapy and co-op and me teaching that I literally had to draw out our schedule so Andrew would know how to help us. The good news is, we’d talked through the game plan with the kids so many times the week before that the whole thing ran like clockwork and I wondered what I was panicked about.
Now, the Monday before co-op was a different story. We did a full day of our school and then figured we’d put the finishing touches on the supplies we’d been diligently collecting for weeks for the kids’ co-op classes.
Remember, I’ve already organized and labeled the supplies for my kids to use at home. And then we had to do it again, for six kids, for two classes a piece.
By the time we finished at 9:30 that night, all the art supplies counted and sorted apart from the science supplies, which were also labeled individually, and everything put into each child’s bag, but SEPARATELY, OF COURSE, all the checks written out (pant), all the medical release forms signed, all the snacks and lunches packed, all of MY lesson plans and class supplies packed, I made sure to type all my friends who buy school supplies like pros every year and send them my virtual standing ovation.
That job is not joke, y’all. I wish I’d majored in “Paperwork” in college.
At any rate, Tuesday was a rousing success after Monday’s suffering and I think we are all just a tiny bit glad to have the First Day over with. Now we can settle in to a steady hum for a few weeks…
Speaking of steady hum, guess who could major in “Potty” at preschool?
He’s dry all night and almost all day (unless he gets excited and jumps up and down too hard.)
(I am very sympathetic.)
So, it looks like I’m done.
After eleven and a half years. Somebody do the math and tell me how many… Nope. Never mind, I don’t want to know.
On my 36th birthday (which was Saturday), Finn gave me a pile of un-used diapers and promised never to fill them again.
But it would have been a great gift.
Instead he told me, “It’s my BIRFDAY! And we got you a PRESENT!… Where’s MY present?”
Finn didn’t get me anything at all but he claimed his sisters’ offering as his own. The girls slipped downstairs early on the morning of my birthday and gave me a gift bag. In it was a jar full of pennies (“We collected them for you, Mom!”), slips of paper with their names written on them, and a half eaten bar of chocolate.
Ellen said, “It’s HARD to have a bar of chocolate in your room and not eat it, Mom!”
Willa nodded seriously. “Yes. We each just had a little taste to make sure it isn’t the really bitter kind of chocolate, you know, the kind that isn’t good? We wanted to be sure it was just right.”
And you know what?
It really was.