“Hey! How is homeschool going?” Such an innocent question. And yet, there are so many not-so-innocent words I want to throw out in response.
First of all, let me be clear. I’m not complaining about getting that question. It’s a normal, natural question. It’s one that I would ask too if I were talking to a mom who just started homeschooling. The problem is in my answer, which is: It’s not.
Lest I give the impression that my darling little angels have been something less than pleasant to educate, let me start off by assuring you: None of this has been their fault. None of this has even had anything to do with school, reading, math, or science. (Well, it actually did have a little to do with science. Namely, microbiology. Also internal medicine, dentistry, grief, psychology, religion, family arbitration, and several mountain ranges worth of laundry. We’re onto college already!)
To explain all this, I’ll have to take you through my week in review, in which I battle a hotel inspector and somehow manage to pull an eyebrow pencil out of my cleavage in front of my father in law. I know. This makes no sense. Let me explain.
This all started just after Labor Day. (Before you say anything, yes, I do now realize that it was 2 weeks ago. Two weeks of pure Hell.)
You see, I had a fantastic plan. We were spending the last week of August in Ocean City, at the famed Princess Royale hotel. After our vacation, we’d return home, have a couple days to regroup, then start home school right after Labor Day.
The first day of homeschool went OK, except that S was distracted by itching pretty much all day. I thought the problem was just the mosquito bites she got at the beach. (She really got eaten up.) But the next morning, she woke up with even more bites.
I pulled back the sheets on her bed. Her mattress is still covered with plastic, whew! (Cuz you KNOW what I was thinking.)
But wait. Emma’s mattress isn’t covered. Their beds were right next to each other. I pulled back Emma’s sheets, and there it was. Signs of bedbugs. Bedbugs. In my house.
WT actual F???
I called Terminix to get an inspection. When the guys came out, I was stupidly optimistic. Maybe I was wrong. I’d never seen a bedbug before. Maybe the little black dots were just dirt. When the guys came downstairs, I looked at them hopefully. “Did you see anything?”
“Yep,” they said. “You’ve got bedbugs.”
OK, just so y’all know, they assured me that this did NOT happen because my house is dirty. That’s not how you get bedbugs. The number one most likely culprit: a hotel. And according to my Terminix guy, Ocean City is bedbug central. We’d just gotten home from OC, and we had a brand new infestation.
The rest of the week was consumed by laundry, vacuuming, and my tears. We had to take ALL of our clothes to the laundromat, guys. All of it. Every freakin’ little thing my
family owns. Plus all of our sheets, towels, blankets, and rugs.
You see this dumb ass play mat? Even this dumb ass play mat.
It took 3 car trips and $112 worth of quarters. Then I vacuumed everything, sanitized everything, and Terminix killed all those little fuckers with some kind of freezing poison. (I won’t tell you how much Terminix cost, but I’m going to have to sell one of the kids now.)
On the bright side, my house has never been cleaner than those 5 hours we weren’t allowed in the house.
So it should go without saying that I was pretty ticked off with the hotel. My husband called and emailed, insisting that they should pay Terminix to get our oldest out of indentured servitude. (When you can’t pay at a restaurant, they make you was dishes. You don’t want to know what they make you do when you can’t pay Terminix.)
We spent the next few days arguing with the hotel about it, and we still couldn’t get them to pay.
The rest of my Hell is too much to spell out, so here it is in list form:
- I had a root canal that got broken up into 2 visits, so the dentist had to drill deep into my tooth twice. At 90 minutes each time.
- The anniversary of my son’s death passed.
- A member of my family discovered a health problem that could negatively impact her career, and another family member was a big fat jerk about it.
- My refrigerator broke and leaked all over the floor.
- My 2-year-old inexplicably fixed the refrigerator. I honestly have no idea how.
- My brand-new car battery died as just as we were trying to escape this God-forsaken house and head for the library.
- Two of my kids got a nasty cold that’s NOT strep and CAN’T be treated with antibiotics.
- While my husband’s parents were visiting, my MIL had to be rushed to the ER. She’s going to be OK, but my poor in-laws still haven’t been able to fly home.
- While my MIL is in the hospital, my FIL is staying with us. And since this isn’t just a usual visit where we have our days planned out, he’s seeing a lot more of what my life is really like. This includes, apparently, me finding stuff in my cleavage that doesn’t belong there.
- I ran out of beer when pretty much every person in my family could’ve REALLY used one.
- I also ran out of regular coffee. I HAVE NO REGULAR COFFEE, PEOPLE! I’m pretty sure that’s one of the seven seals of the apocalypse.
As you can see, we’ve been pretty dang busy with everything BUT school. Somehow, I think my kids have learned a few things anyway, including such lessons as:
- Social Studies: How to manage a disaster (or how NOT to, depending on how you look at it).
- Engineering: How to operate multiple models of washers and dryers.
- Math: How many cups of coffee does it take to keep mom sane? (More than zero.)
- Science: What species of insect crawls all over you in your sleep and freaks mom the f@%k out?
- Foreign Language: Deconstructing mom’s “special French.”
If you’re reading this, it means that I still have access to the Internet, at least. Could you please bring me a cup of coffee? I’m right here, under this mountain of laundry.
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