Most Certainly Not

Sneaky Peeper

My husband has been doing more than the doctor has asked as far as doing NOTHING.  Where the doctor said it was okay to take meals on the porch in the cooler evening air and to be up to 'shower', I have made my husband stay in bed for everything but the bathroom and he took his first hot bath in YEARS yesterday because I wouldn't let him shower for fear it would hit his eye.  I even make him brush his teeth in bed.

But, that didn't stop his eye from having more bleeding.  Today we went to the eye doctor for his recheck and I was so excited as the assistant turned out a light, had him cover his good eye and waved her hand in front of his right eye.  He could see the movement.  That was AWESOME.

What was not awesome was when the eye specialist came in, looked in his eye and told us there is a fresh layer of blood on top of the old layer. 

Sigh.

She wanted to hospitalize him, but found out he would not have a private room.  That meant the possibility of a bad stay like his observation stay following his surgery which would do nothing for keeping his blood pressure down.  So, she sent him home with me.  Increased some of the dosing instructions for the drops and I stopped at the pharmacy today to pick up a bottle which will allow him to not having to get up to go to the bathroom.  I'm serious about him staying in bed.

Our next appointment is tomorrow at 11.

The doctor told us today that we may have to have another surgery performed and if his eye goes all crazy again with another hyphema, he'll be sent to Columbus to The Ohio State University for their doctors to take care of things.

So nerve wracking. 

I prefer one crisis at a time.  Between this and all the drama it creates and M3 and her full set of luggage, I'm...I don't even have a word.  I've gained back the weight I lost before my husband came home and that's depressing in and of itself.  You'd think with as little as I'm eating and as many times as I'm up and down the damned steps in a day, I'd have lost, rather than gained, weight.  But, lucky me--stress keeps me fat rather than making me become skinny.  What great genes I have.

The one thing I will say--the quiet in this house has been amazing.  I don't know what I would have done if the kids had been here.  I'm sure we'll be in this same resting-keep-it-quiet boat next week when they return and I think a little chair in the backyard that I can see from the kitchen window will likely be in order.  Just sit still and shut it.  Easy enough.  If you can't stay quiet in the house, you'll just have to spend your time out of doors.  Easy peasy.

In The Balance

If you've read this blog for any given period of time, you probably already know that I don't like surprises, the unknown, liars and spiders.  Change also isn't high on my list, especially if it is of the Hopey Changey variety.

Things went from Crazy Town to Amityville in a 24-hour period following my last post.

Wednesday, I had to leave Brian at home with M2 so I could take M3 (M1 came along for moral support) to an intake appointment at the Children's Hospital that will conduct the educational testing necessary to corroborate our other evidence that this kid is nowhere near seven years old, as her paperwork indicates.  The verdict?  She has impulse control issues and tries to run the show within a matter of minutes of meeting her.  Really?  Wow.  I think I've been saying that since Day Three of knowing her and the professionals are finally willing to agree that she is not Little Merry Sunshine.  Fabulous.  Welcome aboard!

Wednesday night, Hubs came down with a horrible headache.  I called the eye doctor who has been treating him this week and he called in a pain killer.  The kind of pain killer that druggies knock over pharmacies for and yet, after two, no change.  (Imagine my thrill of going to the 24-hour pharmacy to pick up said prescription and standing in line with the druggies, hoping no one would knock me over the head on the way to the truck).

He slept for a bit during the night, but by 5:30, he said his headache was coming back and I made him get dressed and drove to the ER we'd gone to Sunday night.  His right eye's iris are was completely black.  An "eight ball" hyphema was the conclusion of the ER staff and the eye doctor we'd been seeing asked them to stabilize my husband and then release him to be brought to the doctor's office.  Hubs had two doses of morphine and his headache still raged--probably had something to do with the pressure reading of 38 (normal is somewhere under 20).

I had my mom come to watch the girls and took him to the eye doctor's office.  The eye doctor was incredulous that this was occurring given that he'd been doing so well and I had the strange feeling that he was trying to figure out if he'd missed something, rather than figuring out what we should do next.  Keep in mind during all this, my husband is overwhelmed with pain.  Pale and green, sweaty and chilling, writhing and moaning and not even able to sit up straight in a chair.  The doctor told us we needed to see a subspecialist and that her office was nearly 40 minutes away, on the other side of the city and in a completely different county than the one we were in then.

[Let me interject here that my biggest fear was that I'd be in an accident and the airbag would smack my husband in the face, blinding him.  Or that my car would break down or we'd get stuck in a traffic jam and no ambulance would be able to reach us.  It was horrible.]

Based on the promise of helpful drugs when we arrived at the next stop, I loaded him in the car and took off driving.  When we arrived, no one was waiting to whisk him into an exam room, there were no drugs and the lack of a sense of urgency put me right over the edge.  I had explained no less than a dozen times what had happened to him and how we arrived at this juncture.  Having to do it one last time made me want to jack someone in the face.  I also yelled at the glaucoma specialist who I now find to be completely lovely and competent.  But, at that moment, she was one more person between my husband's unbearable pain and his relief.

The glaucoma specialist ruled that if my husband wanted to keep his eye, we needed to do emergency surgery.  This surgery would take place at the eye surgery center affiliated with her practice which was nearly 30 minutes away and about 10 minutes from where we'd been when we were at the original doctor's office.  I wanted to stab the entire staff in the eye.  No kidding.  I could not believe this.  AND WHY AM I STILL DRIVING MY HUSBAND AROUND?!  I am not a trained medical person and I have an emergency case in my passenger car hurtling down the highway...I wonder if I had flat out told someone I'm an attorney if we would have thought about liability a little more closely?

We were told that at the surgery center, a bed, IV with pressure reducing drugs, and a team of professionals would be waiting for us.  Um.  Sound familiar?

When we walked in, no one was at the front desk.  It was only 11:30 a.m.--hardly lunch time.  I sat my husband in a seat and stood, insurance cards in hand, waiting.  When I'd seen three of four different office workers pass by the office doorway, look at me and keep moving, I'd had enough.  I phoned the office number on the card I'd been given and told whomever answered that yes, indeed, she could help us--by getting herself to the window and my husband to a bed.

She came to the window, tight smile on her face and told me they were waiting on his paperwork to come from the other office.

:: This is not going to end well for her. ::

I told her I had just driven like a bat out of hell from the other office and that I could have brought it with me.  She informed me it took a bit to put the paperwork together.  I asked her if it took more than 40 minutes because that's how long it had taken me to drive there.  She said that's what we were waiting on and I asked her if her office had a fax machine or if they employed carrier pigeons or little Flintstone-era birds that pecked the information onto stone tablets.  She wasn't amused, but I also think she knew her California girl good looks depended on her keeping her side of the sass to a minimum.

After minutes, that seemed like hours, that paperwork arrived.  The Holy Grail paperwork had Hubs listed as an 87-year-old man--how many geriatric UPS drivers have you met?  They also had his LEFT eye as the one needing the work.  Mind you, he is sitting across the table from the woman when she says, "And it's your left eye that will be operated on today?" To which Hubs growls, "NO.  RIGHT." 

You know, the one he has covered with his hand trying desperately to keep it in his damned head?

"Well, it says 'left' on this paperwork."

AGAIN WITH THE PAPERWORK?!

"Um...is that the SAME paperwork that has him listed as an 87-year-old man?!  I think we've established this long awaited paperwork was completed in a pretty shitty manner, so can we just check the boxes and get this show on the road?"

Finally, boxes checked and he was taken back to the surgical area where, finally, he puked.  Twice.  God love him.  He didn't puke in my car.  Nor did he throw up when I encouraged him to in the inner office where we went over that super duper paperwork.  I suppose an eye pressure near 60 would make anyone do that.

Super long story shorter:

Hubs had surgery on his eye.  It is the worst hyphema this surgeon has ever seen.  His eye was still bleeding when she closed the case.  He spent the night in the hospital for observation and I brought him home Friday afternoon.  He is on complete bedrest and is not allowed to have his BP raised in any way--so no loud, startling noises, exciting television or watching CNN.  The kids have been shipped off to various places because they are prone to making noise...lots and lots of noise.

We have been seeing the doctor every day since the surgery and will continue to do so for the next couple of days.  Every three hours, I'm inserting drops, administering pills, etc. and trying to let him rest as much as he can. 

Prognosis?  While he has had no new bleeding since the surgery, he is still in a precarious state.  We have no idea if his retina is attached.  And, until this is over, we will not know what level of vision, if any, he will have in his right eye.

His right eye that is his 'shooting eye' for the Guard.  His right eye that helps his left eye when he drives his UPS truck.

You see where I'm going with this.  While losing sight in one eye would be a devastating loss for anyone, for someone whose livelihood depends on eyesight, it will be doubly so.

Please pray for us.  Hubs burned up his paid leave on behalf of M3--because we couldn't leave her with just anyone given the unexpected level of behavior issues she totes around.  The same behavior that kept him home from M1's recital and instead, had him the backyard weed whacking on Father's Day.

So, no pay and if this ends badly, no insurance either.

Trying to go one day at a time, but not able to do so without worrying ahead. 

Ups and Downs and Still No Sleep

Technically, I can't say "no" sleep, I suppose.  However, the paltry amount of sleep I've been getting lately should count as 'none.'  If I fall asleep before my eyes spy 4 a.m. on the alarm clock, I consider myself lucky.  It isn't that I'm not exhausted--as I was able to sleep HARD yesterday from 3:00-4:15--it's just that when I finally lie down at night, I'm pretty sure I'm wound too tightly to drift off and dream.

======

Well, what an interesting opening to a blog post that was--everything from that point on?  Crazy Town.

M1's dance recital was yesterday.  Her curtain call time was 4 p.m.  She had spent the weekend at her dad's house, which is about 35 minutes from the recital venue.  At 3:15, as I stepped from the shower, I saw that I had a voicemail from M1 and Hubs was outside the bathroom door saying M1 had just called to let me know she'd put her foot through her white tights. 

Um.  Okay?

So, Hubs hightailed it to Target and purchased two pairs of tights in white in two different sizes as we weren't sure what would work.  By 4:20, I was at the venue, tights in hand and coming to the rescue of my high-strung, mini me. 

The recital was my worst nightmare.  79 acts with the 80th being the finale.  36 of the 79 acts were individual dancers.  M1's dance class was slated as Act 66.  I have no interest in watching other people's kids flounce around on stage.  Period.  If it's a group and visually interesting and well rehearsed, I'm more interested.  If it's an individual kid that I've never met?  Could care less. 

M1's dad came to the recital and M2 joined me for moral support while Hubs stayed home with M3.  M1's dad and I have very similar senses of humor and we spent a better portion of the THREE HOURS before M1 performed coming up with ideas of ways to improve next year's recital.  Here are our top picks:

• Have two recitals -- one for individual performers and one for class performances.  [I would also like to suggest that kids not LIVE at the dance studio so that I don't have to see the same kids in six or seven different class performances].  M1 takes one class for 45 minutes once per week.  Seriously.  I sat for nearly FOUR hours waiting to see her perform.
• Install a gong or an audience meter for the performances.  Let's face it--if you are over the age of 4 or 5 and you are standing on stage as a class, looking offstage at your dance teacher for instructions on what you should be doing, you are wasting my time and your parents' money.
• Hand out light up, vibrating buzzers (like they have at restaurants) to parents and buzz them when their kids' performance is 15 acts away to give them time to drive from home, the store or a local bar. 
  

When M1 had FINALLY performed, I loaded her and M2 in the car.  M2 was dying for a Happy Meal and I wanted to pick up a frozen Wanchai Ferry Orange Chicken meal for M1 and me.  I called Hubs to let him know the game plan and his tone of voice suggested that he had recently received a phone call with bad news--as in, someone has died bad news.  I finally told him that I was coming straight home if he did not tell me what was going on and he told me he'd hurt himself doing yardwork (about an hour or more before!) and that he should go to the ER.

Seriously?! 

Apparently, he was using the weed whacker when a stone was thrown from it, hitting him dead in the eye.  And, rather than calling any of a number of people to come to the house to drive him to the ER, he waited for me to come home.  Perfect.

Within two minutes of arriving home, I had arranged someone to come watch the girls and had him in the car on the way to the hospital.  I left him there after having him triaged, sent our friend home, and waited on him to text me to tell me he was done.  The neighbors were keeping an eye on things and M1 was going to be in charge for the ten minutes it would take (tops) for me to drive to the nearby hospital and retrieve him.

He texted me that he was almost done.  I told him I was waking M1 and would be there.  I texted him when I arrived.  No Hubs.  I sat for 10 minutes waiting and beginning to fume.  He KNOWS how I feel about leaving M1 in charge at night and here we are, dragging it out.  I ended up going back home and sitting for another 45 minutes waiting for a text saying he was actually done.

It was after 1 a.m. when my head finally hit the pillow and I was asleep within 20 minutes. 

This morning I had to take my car in for an oil change and be there by 8:30.  The Proactiv skin care I've been using the week has literally made me confident enough to just put on my Mineral Veil, put my hair in a ponytail and head for the hills.  I read a great deal of my John Adams book that I have been trying to get through since before Christmas.  I can read 30-40 pages in a clip, but that means I need uninterrupted moments and I don't have them very consistently.

By the time I arrived home, the headache that I'd felt forming behind my eyes since waking had begun to build.  I tried to sleep it off to no avail and my sinus medication barely touched it.  After having to sit in the car with all three kids for over an hour while Hubs met with the eye specialist, my head felt like a volcano ready to erupt. 

M3 continued her greatest hits collection today with some really lovely mouthy behavior.  Not sure I blogged about the broken key on the Dell from last week (when she slammed her hand into the middle of the keyboard) or the Cabbage Patch doll she covered in Vick's VapoRub during the five minutes the babysitter didn't have eyes on her.  The Vick's episode occurred on Hubs' birthday so Miss M3 went to bed extra early and completely missed the "party."  Her behavior the following day was stellar...but, that didn't last long.

Arrive at this afternoon and discovering that M3 had, at some earlier point this summer, placed up to four crayons in the door handle of her backseat door which have since melted, re-hardened and re-melted several times.  I did not handle that well, I admit, because before that point I'd had to referee her absolute refusal to stop mocking and mimicking M1 and M2's every move which was making them loud and batty.  We are also going to have to replace my car soon for a bigger one as I am slowly realizing that I'm going to be traveling with these three kids for the foreseeable future and they aren't getting any smaller.

Thank God for Goody's Headache Powder as it took care of my pounding head within 10 minutes of downing it.  The headache is still in there, I can feel it, but it isn't pounding and making me feel like my eyeball is going to fly out & hit a wall somewhere.  So glad it cleared things up in time for my to help M3 get ready for bed and accept her apology for her behavior today (it was over the top long before the performance in the car) and for the crayon debacle.  I, likewise, told her I was sorry for being loud and upset--my head hurt and I really needed quiet (which is why I asked for it repeatedly) so maybe next time we need quiet, we can work on it a little better.  It would warm my heart to have one day where I'm not constantly tripping over or being whacked in the face by "what's next" (and not in the awesome way Bravo TV deals in what's next).

Tomorrow is Tuesday which means an office day for me.  Here's to a good night's sleep and resting for once.   

Gearing Up Again

I could lie, but I won't.  I am TIRED.  I slept quite awhile, but I think the excitement of last night led to a very real, very upsetting dream (which made no sense, by the way) that lasted the entire night.  And, no, it had nothing to do with a rogue HVAC technician making off with the silver and killing anyone in our house.  It involved my boss and my futile attempts to bring her emergency aid when she needed it...good grief, it was exhausting!

This week will be another busy one.  I have our lesson plan for the week committed to paper.  M1 and I (and perhaps M2) will begin the Couch Potato to 5k running program this week as well.  I am confident (relatively so) that by beginning this program again, I will regain my motivation to run.  Right now, I just want to run until the wheels come off, but because I have not run regularly for quite some time, doing so would be ridiculously painful and depressing.  I need to start small again and prepare for our joint goal of running in the Girls on the Run Kick Off 5k in late August.  It would be great if M1 and M2 could both do the race--we just have to figure out M2's leg situation and if it's okay for her to do it all.

M2 has her final appointment with the orthopedist tomorrow.  M1 has a dress rehearsal for her dance recital on Tuesday evening.  Everyone will be at the library Wednesday morning (won't that be a lovely trip as we have to make a mea culpa for writing in a darn book--I have NEVER had to do that!), M2 has swim that evening while M3 tries to do gymnastics again.  I'm going to try and line up a sitter for Wednesday afternoon so I can head to the local bar association and watch a video that will garner me 2.5 CLE hours that are imperative for my licensing reporting this year.  Nothing like spending money to be licensed to do something you are never doing...so painful.

The stress must be getting to me.  I'm feeling frumpy again (even though the scale hasn't moved much) and my skin is horrendous.  I decided to take QVC up on its offer and try Proactive.  What the hay?  It worked for Jessica Simpson and Alicia Keys.  It even worked for P. Diddy.  I am pretty sure my sister-in-law uses it so if it fails for me (as I suspect it will), I can let her have the remaining product.  I don't know.  I need to try something!  I'm almost 40 years old and I have the skin I had as a teenager--not good.  The expensive Murad stuff that had been working seems to be taking a break.  Probably because it's more 'winter' skin care than summer.  Whatever.  I just need to be able to look in the mirror without freaking.

Trying not to feel too sorry for ourselves.  My husband and I know so many people who are taking a vacation of some kind this summer.  Many people are going on family vacations.  Others, who have made the wise decision to have some fun before they have kids, are going amazing places ALONE.  We were a little melancholy today remembering our great family vacation to Disney in '08 and realizing that we won't be taking a family vacation for a very, very long time.  The idea of taking M3 anywhere bigger than Target right now fills me with dread and anxiety at a level I cannot even properly describe.  I cannot imagine taking her to a beach or Disney or even King's Island.  Holy cats.  Absolutely not!  I'm even resistant to a day trip to the zoo.  Definitely would not do that alone. 

We may brave the Newport Aquarium next week because she has a late afternoon doctor's appointment nearby and we could kill the mid-morning hours at the aquarium and make sure we're  in town before traffic becomes interesting. 

I feel a little better with it because it is an enclosed attraction and it is my fervent wish that mid-week it won't be overcrowded.  I still think leashes for kids look horrible, but I totally understand it now.  I, honestly, wish more kids were on leashes as other people's children have a tendency to get on my last, raw nerve.  I am running a very good chance at the moment of becoming one of "those" people (whose kid ruins a good time for another family at a public place), but I refuse to do it.  I don't care if we eat an entire day's admission--if M3 cannot behave herself, stay with me, not freak out and scream and every single cool thing she sees, we will leave.  I will then arrange a babysitter for M3 and take M1 and M2 for a make-up aquarium field trip.  I am also not above strapping a 30-pound 5-year-old into a stroller and shoving her through the entire building.  Adapt and overcome.

I cannot put into words how completely and totally fried I am right now.  I know I'm on auto-pilot.  I also know that I could crash at any moment.  Unfortunately, I don't have the time for the nervous breakdown I deserve.  After all, if I did that who would watch the kids, do my job, cook the food, go to the store, shuttle children to and fro, load the dishwasher, worry about the dogs, read all the books on raising M3, drink all the coffee and grow all the gray hair? 

Yeah.  I'm SUPER important so I need to just go ahead and stay sane (or appear reasonably so) for as long as humanly possible.

Boggle

Another end of another week.  Another mea culpa from a prodigal blogger.  Another absent minded hope that someone (other than my mom) still stops by every now and again to see if I've blown the dust off this blog and have written something.

This week marked our first week on our new schedule.  The first week with my husband at his civilian job, the girls home from school, my working from home more than at the office and the first week of Summer Academy. 

The girls took on the week with great enthusiasm.  Everyone gave presentations tonight based on the topic they researched after our visit to the library on Wednesday.  M1 presented a PowerPoint on the Titanic.  M2 presented her handcrafted seahorse habitat (photos to follow).  M3 showed us two pictures she'd drawn today.  All three girls want to have school tomorrow so we can make up for some missed morning lesson time (errands took over one day) so we are ready for next week.  I suppose I should plan next week's lessons?

I finally figured out a relatively accurate analogy for what my life feels like right now.  It's that old tried and true game, Boggle. 

You remember Boggle, don't you? 

It's that handy little game with letter cubes, a tray, a cover and an hourglass timer.  Someone puts the cover over the letter tray and shakes them all up then allows them to settle into a spot on the tray.  Once the cover is removed and the timer started, players try to make as many words as they can from the jumble of letters.

The more words, the better.  The longer the word, the higher the score.  I still remember a particularly rousing game of Boggle when visiting friends in which the word, 'patella', won the day and went down as the Boggle Master's finest moment.

Although a fun and challenging game, living life this way isn't always cool.  Right now, I feel like every day is a game of Boggle.  I'm presented with a jumble of behaviors from M3 which I need to sort, respond to, and understand.  And, as soon as I have something figured out and handled and I start to feel the slightest bit accomplished, someone picks up that tray, shakes those cubes and we're off to the races again.

Wednesday, I took the girls to a local branch of the county library.  M3 and I attended a preschool story time.  I was worried.  I told myself if she could sit through the book reading portion, I would count the day as a success.  Not only did she sit through the book reading, but she sat through two puppet plays, sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and made a craft.  She sat on her carpet square for 45 minutes and didn't roll around, stand up, talk out of turn or do any of the other annoying and distracting things the other kids in attendance did, all while their parents busied themselves on their crackberries or buried their noses in a book. 

While M1 and M2 were allowed to check out books and DVDs (plus select one book on which to base their project), M3 was allowed to check out one book. 

Appropriately entitled, "The First Book", this little tome is an installment in the popular kid series, Henry and Mudge.  Nothing like the story of a boy and his dog to take home from the library.

While waiting in line, M3 looked at me and said, "M3 write?" and made a motion with her hand as if she had a pencil in it and was writing.  "NOOOOOOOO!  No write!" I replied.  "This book belongs to the library not M3.  We do NOT write in books with words and pictures.  Never, never, NEVER."  M3 repeated, "Never!  No write!  No write in this book!" all while shaking her head no and wagging her finger at herself.

Fast forward two days.  The girls gave their presentations at dinner tonight.  M3 talked about her two drawings first and then was WOWED by her sisters' presentations.  Both older girls referred to their books.  M3 then ran to get her book and regaled my husband and me with her recollections of the story (we've only read it once) as she turned from page to page.

Once she finished, she left the kitchen.  Not three minutes later, she was back, book and pencil in hand.  Huge smile on her face.  She opened the book and on the table of content page, in her scrawling hand, were what appeared to be her versions of the page numbers in very dark pencil. 

Oh.

My.

God.

My husband and I both gasped.  I immediately set about trying to erase the numbers.  He immediately set about questioning her as to what she thought she was doing and how we are pretty sure it was clear that we are NOT to write in books EVER.  We also spent some quality time in the naughty chair and went to bed about 20 minutes early.

My husband helped her get ready for bed, told her how much we loved her and also made it quite clear that this was not okay.  She also recounted for him the entire scenario in the library and it was very clear she understood what I'd said and that she knew she was not to write in the book, but did it anyhow.  Hellooo?  Bueller?  Impulse control, anyone?

We will be talking to the librarian on Wednesday when we return the book.  She will own up to it as she would even if it were a complete and total mistake or an act done without knowledge on her part.  I trust the librarian will follow my lead (especially if I give him the head's up) that it is NOT okay, but that he appreciates her honesty and hopes that when her Mommy lets her borrow a book again, she will take good care of it.

This is how life is at our house.  Every day.  One step forward.  Three steps back.  It is a horrible, toe stomping dance.  I'd like to be happy and excited but the moment I allow myself even one little bit of an accomplished sigh, I'm erasing numbers from a library book, helping M2 repair something M3 has "accidentally" broken, or repeating myself for the 18th time in 5 minutes.

I am extremely happy with what I saw at story time.

I am less so with what I saw at gymnastics Wednesday afternoon.

I am extremely disappointed in the library book tonight.

And so it goes.

The girls insist we catch up on our lessons tomorrow, so we will.  I'm also working on making my own podcasts for the C25k program as I'm going to do it over again with M1 (and maybe M2) so we can be doing a 5k by the end of the summer.  Something good for the three of us and definitely needed by me who cannot seem to get back on the running train no matter how hard I try. 

I need to run.  I also need a good night's sleep.  These two things are ever-elusive.

I so just wish there were someone who has lived this journey before to say, "Hang in there, kiddo!  You're doing the right things!  In X months/years, this will be so much less mind boggling."  But, I don't know anyone like that. 

Let's hope this weekend goes well and we can get another week off on the right foot.

Welcome to the Summer Academy

I give.  Uncle and all that good junk.

I don't believe in coincidences.  At all.

I suppose because I don't believe in coincidences, it should come as no surprise to me that the very day I determine that finding someone to be here all day, every day during the summer is impossible for several reasons, I'm rewarded with the news that a tag team of sisters can be here on the "have-to" days of my schedule.

Today, I had a Come to Jesus Moment with myself and determined a few things:

• M3 needs someone who is invested and focused and trained (for the lack of a better term) to consistently and compassionately guide her to preschool readiness and social graces competence.
• I'm Type A to the max.  No one is going to do this job as well as I can do it.
  
• I'm not made of money.  To find a trained/certified person to be here all the time would be big bucks and if I'm going to be shelling it out, why not just be here myself?
• If I can devise a strategy to actually accomplish work at home, I could be here with the girls and still earn the money we need to make ends meet.
• It isn't as if M1 and M2 couldn't use some Mom time and Mom attention to their academics.
• The reality of my situation is that I am the mother of 3 kids and I need to own it.

As this realization dawned on me, the idea for our family's "Summer Academy" was born.  Believe me, I've researched every conceivable thing regarding children, schools, their education, curriculum, instructional methods, etc. and seriously considered homeschooling more than once with my kids.  Much of what we do here involves some kind of loose "extra" stuff aimed at buffing up our skill sets, but rarely do we become very formal about it.

This summer, though, I thought it's best if we impose some real structure so that the girls will be ready for fall, I can accomplish what I need to, the house will remain livable and the girls will receive a big dose of Mom-Loves-You-Let's-Act-Like-We-Have-Some-Sense.  I've noticed that M1 sometimes shies away from challenging or frustrating things.  I've noticed that M2 sometimes has trouble finishing chores if something more fun comes along.  I've noticed M3...well, I've noticed a lot of things!  The girls need some direction, let's be serious.  And, who better to figure out what will work than Mom?

I also, for all my kvetching about teaching other people how to do what I've always dreamed of doing (namely, practice law), am a kick ass teacher.  I really am.  I have objective data that says so--it isn't just me being egotistical.  I love it.  Today, I've already started lesson plans, saved a bunch of websites in our "field trip" folder, and announced the Summer Academy schedule at the dinner table.  I, of course, brought M1 on board privately before dinner as whatever big sis is excited about, the littler girls follow suit.

So, next week, we'll be going to a local library branch and signing up for the summer reading program and M3 will try to be attentive and participative for 45 minutes of preschool story time.  With Daddy deploying to UPS (that's what it feels like anyway), the ladies will be on their own once again. 

For whatever reason, I feel very at peace with my decision and my boss is backing me 100%.  And, as I began to become revved up and plan for the upcoming weeks, I received a Facebook message from my dear friend's daughter saying that she and her sister compared calendars and between the two of them, they would be able to cover the hours that I have to be on campus to meet my classes. 

Do you think that is a coincidence?

I don't either.