Well, Then.

Tizzy wanted her foot to be just like Mommy's.  She even makes unsavory noises to
indicate that her foot hurts.

Yesterday I posted of Facebook, Rule of thumb:  If you have 7 kids and you EVER find yourself thinking, "Gee, it's such a quiet night.  I can't believe everything is so under control"...there is someplace you're supposed to be and you forgot.

I got a text from a friend of mine this morning about how she dropped her daughter off somewhere at the time the class was supposed to be ending, and drove away.  When the teacher called her, she said to the teacher, "Circe would never do something like this!"  So she wanted to thank me for making her feel better.

Oh, if only I was the person I have somehow tricked people into thinking that I am.  Since I'm not, I might as well make the rest of you feel better about your life management skills.  Without further ado, here is a list of things I have forgotten this week:

Ptolemy's preschool
Ptolemy's dance class
Golda's flute lesson
To order Xanthe a new piano book
A meeting with a customer at the violin shop
Freestone's violin when we went to violin lessons
Deodorant

And that's not even counting the things that I forgot that someone reminded me about in time to slvage the situation.  Yesterday, I gasped and said, "Cello!  Oh my gosh!  When is Ari's cello lesson!?"  Thursday.  OK, dodged a bullet on that one.  Since cello was on Tuesdays last year, an internal (false) alarm went off Tuesday at 4:30.  Five minutes after I asked Ruby to put Tziporah to bed, I suddenly gasped again and said, "Where is Tizzy!?!"  Since this happens pretty regularly, Ruby didn't even wait for me to finish panicking before promptly answering, with a touch of exasperation in her voice, "In her crib."

I don't know why I'm so shaken up all the time.  Part of it is trying to function with one foot.  At the risk of sounding like a big baby, it's annoyingly tiring to get around with a hurt foot.  Everything seems more difficult than it really is, and it all takes longer, too.  Then there's the constant distraction of the foot pain.  Add the constant stream of homework and it's no wonder that things don't get written down on the calendar.  I'll even go so far as to say it's no wonder that, when I stare at the calendar, there is no measurable brain function happening behind my glazed-over eyes.

My friend Tiffany sent me an article that hits so close to home, I might try it in real life.   To paraphrase the author, here is my letter to my kids' teachers:  "Dear Mrs. Teacher, I am sending a packet of laundry to school today, as my child didn't have time to finish it at home, with all the extra work you sent home.  It shouldn't take long.  Just make sure she understands the concept of the clothes having to be in a neat stack.  Due to the time we spent on schoolwork at home, she also did not have a chance to explore outside, sit down to dinner with the family, or read for fun.  Please take just a few moments at the beginning of the school day to do that.  One more note:  my daughter was late for ballet due to a homework meltdown, so please make sure you allow her time before or after recess to do ten minutes of barre work so she doesn't fall behind in her ballet class.  Shouldn't take more than ten minutes, tops.  Also, we are learning the concept of putting the glasses on the top shelf of the dishwasher and the plates on the bottom, so if you wouldn't mind going over that briefly with your class, that would help us at home."

Do you know what would make my life easier?  For one, if the whole family didn't have to invest their whole night into Xanthe's "one page" of math a night.  If Freestone could just READ his book, instead of having to stop reading and fill out a reading chart that he doesn't have any interest in filling out.  If I didn't have to sign a million papers and notebooks and logs a day.  How about if I just assume you are doing fine during your 7 hours of school and your teacher just assumes you're doing just fine on your 4 to 5 hours of family/music practice/sports/extracurricular lessons/religious training/dance/dinner/reading/relaxing/playing outside/visiting grandparents/running errands/bathtime/bedtime/sibling time/parent time.

Because if I have to waste any more time babysitting the public school system, I am going to write a caustic blog about it.  Oh...wait.

"What is the central message, lesson learned or moral in your story?  How do you know?"
I DON'T know.  Now leave me alone and let me read my book.