Bloggable Material

It has been 10 months since I last posted here. That's a long time! I could have grown a whole human baby in that time (I didn't), or finished a year of schooling (nope), or joined crossfit and turned into someone who loves working out (ha ha ha, yeah...no). Every time I start to think about my little corner of the internet here and how I should probably dust off the keyboard, I quickly talk myself out of it and decide that I am too tired, or should be filling my time with dishes and laundry and soaking in my babies because we all know that babies just don't keep. Sometimes, like this week, I tempt fate by uttering something about how nothing really 'bloggable' has happened in my life. And then life knocks me on my a  gives me new material.

Today, I ran into a friend and we exchanged a few quick pleasantries. I apologized for my brevity, as I had no less than 4 metaphorical fires burning across my life that needed my immediate attention, and as I excused myself to leave, she sweetly commented on my hair and how cute it looked. I turned my head around, took a step in her direction, and LAUGHED IN HER FACE. You see, friends, I knew some things that she didn't. Like the fact that the hair she just complimented hadn't been washed in *at least* four days. Or that there were no less than 39 bobby pins shoved into that hornet's nest atop my head just trying to hold it all together. And she had no way of knowing that tonight when I finally prioritized washing my hair, that I could smell the sweat running out of my scalp and down my face before the shampoo ever touched my head. Sidebar: Hi, my name is Heidi, and I'm disgusting sometimes. She didn't know any of that. She just saw me, in front of her, maybe in need of a compliment, and she led with the lens that she sees me through - one in which I have my crap waaaay more together than I really do. 

Here are some other things that she likely didn't know about my week -

Ryan has been planning a trip out of town for the last few weeks. The night before he was scheduled to leave, he had an untimely run in with a bout of the stomach flu. Travel plans had to be postponed, but I still took on the single parent duties so that he could rest and rehydrate. And rest, he did. In fact, my Goldilocks husband rested everywhere he went that day. In our bed, in the guest bed, on the couch, in the chair, and then the other end of the couch. While his body was recuperating, his mouth was BREATHING ON EVERY SLEEPING SURFACE IN THIS HOUSE. All of them. Every single germ-free oasis that I could rest my weary head on was contaminated. That left me with one pillow, a single blanket, and a can of Lysol to work with. 

No stranger to a little sickness in the house, I compartmentalized all of the things that would need laundered, and then quickly got distracted with remembering that it was trash day and we had 2 bags and a recycle bin that needed taken to the curb. Being the strong, independent woman that I am, I slipped on my flats and headed out the door. I would return shortly; barefoot, limping, and bloody, as I had managed to step on a twig that went through my shoe and INTO MY FOOT. 

That left me crippled, bedless, a single parent, and dodging the stomach flu. Perfect. 

I managed to (literally) hobble through the day and the first PTA meeting of the year, get the kids home right at bedtime, and collapsed onto the couch to open my laptop and start organizing the 7 page word document of notes that I had just taken at the aforementioned meeting. I am the PTA Secretary this year, and while I used to be a near prodigy in all things Microsoft Office, I have been out of the professional world for the last 4 years, and my rust is definitely shining through. It is super important to me that I do a good job for the school and my fellow PTA officers, so I refused to close my eyes until the notes were organized and edited and uploaded to the shared drive for review. 

Right as I was giving it a final look before sending it off with any glaring mistakes, I noticed that there was a single rogue bullet point on the screen where it should not be. Fast forward to me trying every single editing trick that I already knew, reformatting the entire document, and googling next-level editing tricks. I had tried everything. Literally everything that I, the help icon in Windows, and Google collectively knew to try. None of it worked, and now it was personal. Every ounce of my self-worth was hanging on by a thread, in the form of a bullet point that couldn't be deleted. 

It was at this point that I found myself silently crying on the couch while my foot soaked in epsom salt, and absolutely inhaling the last of the quick dinner I had made myself after realizing that I had only consumed 190 calories in the last 11 hours. A last bite, a deep breath, and a wipe of the screen later, I was ready to dive back into solving the problem. Wait. Where did it go? It's missing. The bullet point that I have waged a war against and spent the last 90 minutes trying to destroy is gone. WHERE DID IT GO?!? 

It went on my finger. Because it was a flake of black pepper that must have flown off of my fork and onto my laptop screen over an hour and a half ago. 

And I told the universe that I didn't have any bloggable events in my life! That's how you end up sleeping in a chair, clinging to a bottle of lysol, walking around with part of a tree in your foot, and nearing a complete mental breakdown over a single flake of pepper.

If you see a woman with her hair in a 4 day old bun, frantically trying to solve a million life problems at once, just give her a compliment, okay? And remind her to wipe off the screen before she smashes her brand new laptop into 300 pieces.

Hair in a bun and soaking in my babies, because babies don't keep

Smoked Ribs, Fried Brain

I'm tired, y'all. Lincoln has been waking up at midnight for two weeks, both of my kids have pink eye, I'm remembering speech appointments for Lincoln and dress up days for Clark, I have groceries to buy and meals to make, and I'm trying to be Susie The School Volunteer. I. Am. Tired.

If you take nothing else from this post, know that I'm attempting to function under extreme conditions while trying desperately not to catch or further spread conjunctivitis. My brain power is at full capacity.

Today was long. We picked Clark up as a family, ran some errands, and made it to my happy place (the plant store 🪴) just as the skies let loose in a torrential downpour. After perusing and making my choices, we made a run for the car with 2 kids, a flimsy umbrella, a 20 pound diaper bag, and a cardboard box full of plants, pots, and soil. By the time we made it inside the car, the box was crumbling and we were all soaking wet.

As we traveled home, we realized that it was nearly dinner time, and we were all pretty tired. The rain was subsiding, so after we got the kids and car unloaded, I told Ryan that I'd go check and see if a BBQ food truck that he likes was open, and grab dinner to bring home. 

At the exact moment that I pulled into the parking lot, the Heavens opened and dumped buckets of rain everywhere. Having upgraded to a sturdier umbrella while I was home, I was confident that I'd be fine. I hopped out of the car and headed to order. While standing there, I discovered that they must park in the lowest point of the entire parking lot, as my boots and socks were rapidly filling with cold, dirty rainwater.

Bless the woman in the food truck who was trying to help the vegetarian woman order BBQ for her entire family. She even helped me maneuver the checkout system, as I'm too short to reach up that high. 🤦‍♀️

I ran back to the car to wait for my order and excitedly text Ryan that they were there, open, and had ribs. That's the holy trinity of food truck BBQ! A few moments passed, she called out my order, I waded through calf-high water with a current, and retrieved dinner for my family. Feeling like Superwoman.

Once settled back into the car, I put the keys in the ignition, turned them, and...nothing except the radio turned on. I knew that obviously my battery was working, because I had lights and music, and assumed that I just hadn't turned the key far enough. So I tried again. Same result. Hmmmm. Maybe I need to take my keys out and start over. Which would have been a decent idea if I could have gotten my keys out, but they were STUCK.

I have encountered this a few times in my driving career, so I calmly moved the steering wheel around a few times and jiggled my keys again. They weren't budging. I continued this dance of turning the keys all the way forward, all the way back, move the steering wheel, jiggle keys, huff with exasperation, think for a few seconds, and turning the keys again for a solid five minutes. 

My next step in problem solving was Google. It literally holds all the information on earth. I input a couple searches, skimmed the answers, and found that the good people of the internet don't have many more ideas in this situation than I had already tried. 

Soaking wet from literal head to toe, hot and sweaty from wrestling with my entire steering column, and near tears, I called Ryan. He ran through a couple things I had already tried, I tried them again with him on the call, and then we started brainstorming. He was at home with 2 kids and 1 carseat. I had 2 carseats and a disabled car, in the pouring rain, with food that I don't eat getting colder by the second. 

Nearing a complete mental breakdown to accompany this weird half breakdown of my car, I threw my hands in the air and gave up. I told Ryan "I don't understand. My battery isn't dead - I have lights and music when I turn the key. I can turn them off by pulling the key all the way back toward me. I've moved the steering wheel every direction that it goes. My keys are locked into the ignition, but the engine won't turn on. WHAT DO I DO?!" He very calmly ran through the list of things I had tried, and briefly hesitated (assuredly debating whether he was risking divorce by asking his exhausted, stressed, panicked wife the question that he was considering) before saying, "...and the car is in park?"

Y'all!!!! MY CAR WASN'T IN PARK. I had driven up, and apparently just pulled my keys out of the ignition without taking it out of drive!! Of course, the engine won't start and automatically be in drive, risking the lives of all around. Point, you, car makers of the world.

I'm tired. Like spend-15-minutes-fighting-to-get-my-keys-out-of-the-ignition-without-checking-to-be-sure-the-car-was-in-park tired. Enjoy this photo of Clark eating marginally cold ribs while I go to bed at 7pm and sleep until Monday.

Nine Days, Zero Naps

We're officially 2 weeks into the school year, and the Sloans are over here thriving surviving. Today concludes the first full week of school, and we are tired. Not like a normal tired, either. Like the-6-year-old-was-begging-to-go-to-bed-at-4:30pm-tired. 

Over the last nine days, we have endured the following:

- Agreeing to allow Clark to make one purchase from his Amazon wish list if he completed a full week of good reports. 

      - 42 separate conversations about the exact moment he'd be allowed to complete the purchase.

      - Finding a desired toy for $10, telling him he could buy 2, and then finding out there was only 1 left in stock. There were tears, friends. We prevailed and found a similar toy for $30, but there was some confusion and we didn't discover until checkout that he thought he could get 2 of this item as well, but mom thought $60 was too much. There were wails, friends. Finally, we found a $15 *and* a $10 toy and we both made it out of negotiations alive. 

- The school pickup line.

        - It's tough on these streets, y'all. And the parking lot. And the turn lane. And the exit lane. And the one way streets. Parents are the worst example of getting in line and waiting your turn that I have ever seen. And these poor teachers, exhausted from a long day of dealing with our offspring, now have to stand in the blazing sun and direct traffic while diffusing hissy fits from parents who are sitting in AIR CONDITIONED cars. It's the most bonkers thing I've ever seen.

        - We are supposed to put neon lime green signs in our front passenger window that has the name(s) of our child(ren) so the already overworked school staff can grab the right kid(s) and get them into the right vehicle. Name shaming the random consonants that people have thrown together and put on a birth certificate is my new favorite game.

        - My kid is 6. With a backpack half his bodyweight. He is tasked with getting into the car, getting the door shut, and getting himself buckled faster than a NASCAR pit stop. Because I am a decent human being, I don't like to leave the parking lot until my precious cargo is safely buckled, so I drive past the rest of the waiting cars and pull off to the side until I hear the click that tells me he's safe and we can go. I looked in my rearview mirror, pulled forward, and then heard the roar of an engine propeling a car next to me, speeding *directly* toward a staff member directing traffic, before cutting me off and forcing me to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident. Congratulations, dude. You just played chicken with a kindergarten teacher and risked all of our lives to pass a HONDA CIVIC and gain 1 car length. Also, your kid has a dumb name. 🙄

- No Naps & A Mid-Week Urgent Care Visit. 

         - Lincoln loves naps. The mere mention of a nap produces a huge smile on his face as he races toward the stairs and signs "I Love You" to anyone left behind. I have been looking forward to getting to partake in these naps since we made the decision to send Clark to in-person learning. So of course this is the week that Lincoln chooses to boycott daily sleep. THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PROMISED!!

         - Clark developed a deep, wet, nasty cough that appeared right after we ordered our food at a crowded restaurant. So we're the jackholes who took a hacking kid to infect the entire building. 🤦‍♀️ 

- The desire to do everything.

       - Clark has played soccer twice through a local sports organization, and the experience has been pretty terrible both times. Ever the optimists and against our better judgement, we decided we would give flag football a try through the same organization. I emailed first to be *sure* that they have enough coaches this year, and was assured that they do. We signed him up, they charged us 4 separate registration fees, and emailed to let us know he's on a team without a coach. Ryan is a saint and agreed to attend a coaches meeting to see if it's something he's comfortable taking on. Exactly 3 people showed up, and one of them was under the impression that this league of 1st graders is the NFL Combine.

       - In one week's time, I have joined the PTA, secured a corporate sponsorship, and volunteered to do some snack shopping for the school each month. Lincoln volunteered to look adorable, shop with me, & charm the amazing school office staff. 💕

I'm not going to get that nap, am I??

Fear, Loathing, and First Grade

Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

These are the goals that Clark and I identified for this school year. This school year, where for the first time, he will not be with me all day. To say I've been dreading this day is not accurate. I've been *consumed* by it. 

He's my first baby. The baby we prayed for, the baby who I quit my job to stay home with before he became a big brother and started school, and the baby who we checked on each night in his crib to be sure he was still breathing... until he wasn't a baby anymore. I still check on him every night. Just to be sure.

Tomorrow, that baby who now stands 3 feet tall, talks from sun up to sun down (Lord, be with his teachers!) about everything under that same sun, is missing 2 front teeth, has a nose dotted with the cutest freckles, and is sporting a mohawk with a lightning bolt shaved into the side of his head, will get out of my car and walk into school without me. Ryan tells me that I'll then drive my car home and wait until it is time to pick him up, but I have already made peace with the fact that I'll be forcibly removed from the parking lot.

Ryan and I decided before Clark was born that we would not teach our children to be afraid. We acknowledge all feelings as valid, and we have allowed him the space to say all the things he's feeling about school that don't fall under the happy/excited umbrella that we as a society expect 6 year olds to embody. We've talked for hours this summer about how it's okay to be nervous, scared, and sad about not being home this year, but we've also done our best to keep *our* feelings out of his world.

We have saved our sadness, fear, anxiety, and general doom and gloom for each other and for you. Welcome to our pity party. Tissues are on the left, and emotional support chocolate is on the right. 

Knowing how Clark was feeling about the changes ahead, we worked together to come up with a motto that we can have for the year and I can say to him each morning at drop off: Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

Do your best. Clark is going to do awesome. He's a smart, kind, and funny kid. He's been excited to make friends and to have specials like gym and art for two years (I'm a decent 'core subject' homeschool teacher, but PE and art have *never* been my thing). He excels in academics, he has been practicing how to introduce himself, and he is good about remembering his manners. His best is amazing. 

I'm going to do my best, too. I'm going to do my best to encourage him and not let him see my sadness. I'm going to do my best to let him be 6 and make mistakes and then make them right. And I'm going to do my best to generally just get out of his way.

Stay focused. Oh, Lord. This is my child who has to start his bedtime routine one full hour before lights out just to have a prayer of making it there on time. "Go to your room and get in pajamas" usually takes 20 minutes, two calls to the Alexa device in his room that he *always* answers with "Sorry, mom! I got distracted.", and all of my remaining patience for the day. He can do hard things (like staying on task), and I will keep reminding him of this. 

I'm going to stay focused, too. Focused on the growth that Clark is going to experience and how his independence will continue to expand. Focused on the confidence that I'll surely see sprout up in him. And I'll stay focused on my time with Lincoln, who has never experienced being the only kid in the house.

Move with urgency. I've always been the kind of person who rushes through tasks so that they can be finished and I can have the rest of whatever time is left to myself. And I think it's both science and law that people like me have to marry and procreate with people like Ryan, who doesn't crack open a suitcase to start packing until we should have already left for the airport. And like his dad, Clark can...delay. I'm convinced that the house could be on fire, and Clark would find a reason to LEISURELY walk around in literal circles, holding onto something that needed to be thrown away 10 minutes ago, and looking for his other sock... that's also in. his. hand. 

I'm going to move with urgency, too. Both from the parking lot so that I might make it off school grounds before sobbing (or landing a misdemeanor trespassing charge), and throughout the rest of the school year. I'm going to move with urgency and excitement when it's time to pick him up and hear about his day. And I'm going to move with urgency in our time together after school, too. I'm going to be quicker to set my phone down, ignore the laundry, and sit on the floor with both of my babies.

It's here, y'all. First grade waits for no one. He's ready, but I'm going to need more emotional support chocolate. 

 

Clark Started Online Kindergarten (And Other Things That Are Okay)

Clark started kindergarten this week. It didn't go the way any of us had imagined it happening. He didn't need to set an alarm (because he was awake, dressed, and standing next to my side of the bed at 6:40am. I sent him to play with legos in his room and I went back to sleep for another full hour.), there was no bus to catch, backpack to unpack, or desk to find. Instead, we got up, walked downstairs, ate breakfast, brushed teeth, sat back down at the table, and opened up a chromebook.

We as parents have all had difficult decisions to make over the last 18 months. Not one of us has emerged from pandemic life unscathed. If you hear nothing else from my words, please hear this: I see you, I hear you, and I know it has been hard; whether you made similar parenting choices to ours, or the complete opposite. 

After months of nightly discussions, tracking covid numbers in our community, discussing our options with our school and our pediatrician, and a whole lotta prayer, Ryan and I made the decision to start Clark in online learning. Y'all, I have seen less of a fuss made when someone announces that they are joining a cult than I saw when we told people that our five year old would be spending the first 10 weeks of kindergarten learning on a chromebook.

The dialogue usually goes a little something like this: we are asked about Clark starting school. Then the room turns into Who Wants to be a Millionaire: the lights dim, save for one bright, blue-tinted, hot spotlight shining directly into our face. Regis, God rest his soul, looks us dead in the eye and asks us "is that your FINAL answer?", there is a long pause, everyone is uncomfortable, we are silently doubting our answer, and then mercifully, the person we are conversing with decides whether we made the correct selection or not. A few times during this summer-that-seems-to-have-lasted-for-six-years, we have experienced the proverbial studio lights come back on, we are praised for our correct response, and we all joyfully move on.

That scenario, friends, is not the one I choose to write about today. Because if we have learned anything from this little corner of the internet, it's that in the awkward and uncomfortable moments of my life, there's usually some pretty funny material in there if we dig hard enough.

The response sequence that Ryan and I have most often found ourselves in is as follows: the person we are conversing with slowly and quietly repeats the word "online" to themselves, over and over again while we stand there quietly, nodding and smiling, and waiting for our conversation partner to scan their brain for socially acceptable words that seem to always escape them in this part. After what feels like seven full minutes of silence, they usually perk up as if they have just thought of the most supportive answer, smile, and in every. single. case we have experienced, their voice jumps up an octave as they exclaim, "well, that's okay!"

It is at this point that their inner monologue becomes audible for the whole room. We watch as they desperately try to find another supportive sentence to follow up that groundbreaking statement of acceptance that they just expressed to us. If you can get past the skin-melting awkwardness of it all, it really is the funniest thing I have witnessed since my binge viewing of 'Schitt's Creek' during the first quarantine.

Listen, I know that this decision is not a terribly popular one. Ryan and I agonized over it, and questioned ourselves and each other as if we were quizzing the other one on our plotted bank heist to be sure there are no holes in our story (sidebar: if you ever need to rob a bank and your choices for a partner have woefully led you to the Sloan residence, pick me. I'm a terrible liar, I get all sweaty when I'm nervous, and I'd probably demand way too little money to make it worth anyone's time, but I'd still last longer under interrogation than Ryan.). But, it is our decision, and one that I assure you, we have not taken lightly. We are fully prepared that if Clark becomes a 3rd grade dropout who can be found smoking cigarettes in an alley behind a 7-11, we'll know that it was definitely this decision where things took a turn.

Can you imagine if we all just started responding to other peoples' life choices with a combination of condolences and resignation for their future?! 

Person 1: 'Hey Sloans, I'm getting married to this person that I love!" 

Sloans:

Sloans:

Sloans: 'Well...that's okay!"

Person 2: 'Hey Sloans - I got my hair cut!'

Sloans:

Sloans: 'Well...that's okay! It'll work out. Probably..."

Person 3: 'Hey Sloans! I'm pregnant!"

Sloans:

Sloans: (smile fades)

Sloans: 'Well...hmmm...well, that's okay! I'm sure it will be fine! You have probably considered the lifelong consequences of this decision, and somehow landed on this one, but...yeah! We're saying it with enthusiasm to try to make ourselves more comfortable!'

Friends, it has been a long, hard year and a half of isolation. People-ing was hard enough before we had to consider masks, 3-or-6-feet-of-distance, and which-kind-of-learning-model we each enrolled our kids in. I know we are all doing our best, and it is less-than-ideal no matter how you slice this gooey shit sandwich we find ourselves living in. I think most of us are doing our best to re-enter society and feign excitement and support over each other's wrong decisions.

So anyway, Clark started kindergarten. It didn't go the way any of us had imagined it happening, and that's okay. Just like your hair.

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

When it comes to parenting in the world of technology, we feel mostly prepared to guide our boys through the maze. Clark has set amounts of screen time, he knows he isn't allowed to download anything without permission, he only has access to kid appropriate apps, and even understands how to look for the recommended ages on games when he is looking through the play store. 

We know that the conversations will get more involved as he continues to grow, and that we will have to be diligent about staying informed on the latest technological advances. This is expected, and so we feel equipped to handle it. 

What I was not equipped to handle was trying to parent a grown woman in the age of technology. My mother is armed with a smartphone and an internet connection, and let me tell you... that's enough to be dangerous. 

I've come to realize that my educated, successful, reasonably intelligent mom requires more technology supervision than my 5 year old. The woman who was responsible for keeping me alive. The woman who was gainfully employed for 30+ years. An actual, bona fide adult. 

These are a just *few* of our recent exchanges. As you read them, remember: educated, successful, reasonably intelligent, adult.

The Free iPad:

Mom: Hey! Do you have an iPad?
H: Yes, why?
M: Well, I just won one on Facebook!
H: No, you didn't. 
M: Yes, I did! I was just scrolling through my page and then a new page popped up with confetti on it and said I had just won and all I needed to do was click a link and they'd send it to me.
H: Did you click anything?
M: No.
H: Are you sure?
M: No.
H: Did you click on anything after the confetti, mom??
M: I can't remember.
H: Mom. If you didn't enter a contest, you definitely didn't win anything. Why would Facebook give you a free iPad? Now you need to change your password. 
M: Okay. 

H:

M:

H:

M: How do I change my Facebook password?

Amazon:

Mom: Will you show me how to order something from Amazon?

H: Sure.

* 45 minutes later, via text*

H: Just tell me what you want and I'll order it. 

M: Thanks. Here's a picture of my debit card.

*32 seconds later*

M: Heidi, did you get the card information before I delete the picture?

H: Not yet, but you deleting it won't take it off my phone.

M: Yes it will! I heard it wasn't safe to send your debit card over text, so I'm deleting it right away so the hackers can't get me. 

H: MOM. Deleting it only removes it from your phone, not mine. 

M: Oh no. 

H: It's fine. I'll delete it as soon as I order and then you'll be safe, but don't send your financial information to people, ever.

M: Okay, I won't. Also, if you need it, my PIN is 6392.

H: MOM! Didn't I *just* say not to send your personal financial information to anyone via text?!

M: I'm sorry. I'll delete it. 

Different Airwaves:

Mom: If I send you my login information, will you please get onto this specific website where I have an account and get something ordered?

H: Sure. 

M: Here is my username. Let me know if you need the password, and I'll pm you. (This conversation was over text, and this 'pm' comment should have been the first red flag)

H: Yes, of course I will need your password. 

M: Well, I don't know it. It just automatically pops up on my computer. 

H: You're going to need to find it or I can't help you. 

*This woman proceeded to leave our private text conversation, and in an attempt to open a message between the two of us on Facebook Messenger, she somehow managed to start one with 11 various friends and family*

Mom: *sends password and nothing else*

11 people in group message: What? I hope that's not a password. Why is she sending a random password to 11 of us? 

H: Mom, why did you just leave our text conversation and send your password to an entire group message?

M: I thought it wasn't safe to send my username and password over the same airwaves!

H: First of all, it's all the same internet. Secondly, that's the wrong password...

Excess Inventory:

Mom: Have you ever thought about getting a pallet?

H: What?!

M: A pallet. They are $29. You should get one for you and one for me. 

H: I literally have no idea what you are talking about, Mom.

M: Ebay and Amazon and Walmart have excess inventory and they can't store it all, so you pay them $29 and they send you a whole pallet of things. They have electronics, and furniture, and appliances!

H: Mom, that's a scam. 

M: Okay. Thanks for telling me.

*7 minutes later*

Mom: Target has pallets of excess inventory for $9.99...

H: NO, mom. No, they do not. 

I wonder what technology I won't understand in 30 years and the things Clark & Lincoln will have to painstakingly walk me through. Also to my boys, I apologize in advice. 

"It's fine. We're fine. Everything is fine." - A Tale From The Trenches

As someone who has worked my entire adult life, I was very excited about becoming a stay-at-home mom, but I was concerned about whether or not it would be challenging enough for me. Ohhh, how naive 2019 Heidi was...

Clark has somehow reached the appropriate age to begin preschool, but thanks to our friend Covid, he will not be attending in person for quite some time. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I decided that virtual preschool would be a good way to dip our toes into the homeschooling waters... with a newborn... and no teaching experience whatsoever. 

Here's a quick overview of our stay-at-home, preschool homeschooling days:

7am: Lincoln wakes from his 8 - 10 hour (thank baby Jesus!) slumber, and is starving to DEATH. 

7:02am: Clark comes flying out of his room to race the dog, who is also demanding to be fed, down the stairs. 

7:05am: The dog has been outside once and fed, Lincoln has been changed and his bottle is in the warmer, Clark grabs himself a yogurt and heads to the table. 

7:08am: Lincoln is mid-feed, and Clark needs a drink right this second or he will faint from dehydration. 

7:12am: Lincoln is back to eating, Clark is at the table, and the dog needs out for the second time and is staring me down, daring me to tell her 'no', because she'll just pee on the floor while never breaking eye contact. 

7:40am: Everyone except me is dressed, fed, and has used the necessary facilities. So I grab a handful of cheez-its and a diet mountain dew and start our day. 

8:00am: Lincoln starts his 3 hour morning nap, Ryan is heading out the door for work, I get a load of dishes put away and another load started as I make a mental note to remember to put away the 2 baskets of folded laundry that have sat in the living room for 3 days, and get 2 additional loads started. 

8:15am: Fire up the chromebook to get started on virtual preschool.

9:30am: Still troubleshooting technology issues. 

10:00am: Stop working on the chromebook to change and feed Lincoln.

10:45am: Look at the 2 baskets of folded laundry as I head back to work on the chromebook and remind myself that I HAVE to get them put away today. 

11:30am: Awaiting my third email from the "technology innovation team" from the school, who think that I am a moron who can't complete basic computer functions. 

11:45am: Clark is hungry, but I'm making a little bit of progress logging into his learning system, so I throw a cheesestick in his general direction and silently curse that it's time to prepare lunch. 

11:47am: The dog has eaten Clark's cheesestick. She runs upstairs to avoid my wrath while I pick up a sobbing 4 year old off the floor and promise him a new cheesestick. 

1:00pm: Lunch has been served, is cleaned up, the dog has been scolded, and Lincoln needs changed and fed. 

1:45pm: "After I get Clark started on school, I'll run upstairs and get dressed while I put the laundry away." One of many lies I tell myself throughout the day.

2:30pm: Houston, we're signed in! This is not a drill! Preschool is starting!

2:45pm: I start a video for Clark to watch, and take the first load of laundry downstairs and put it in the washing machine. 

3:00pm: Ryan walks in the door to grab a quick and very late lunch before returning to work, but I throw a fussy baby in his arms and try for the 10th time to upload a video of my kid counting to 100 to complete one of the FOURTEEN assignments waiting to be completed on my 4 year old's preschool learning agenda. 

3:10pm: Clark is now crying that his counting video is too large of a file to upload, and suddenly can't count to 30 in any of our eight additional video shoots.

3:15pm: Lincoln is screaming and would like to eat 45 minutes ahead of schedule, Clark is NOT going to count one more time, the dog needs her 83rd trip outside, and Ryan never got to eat, but looks at me with my disheveled hair, still in my pjs, and says "I have to head back to work". I apologize profusely about the state of the house and promise to get laundry put away. He sweetly kisses us all goodbye and assures me that he's not worried about anything on my self-imposed to-do list.

4:00pm: Lincoln is asleep again, and Clark is ready to try a few more assignments. I refuse to acknowledge the laundry baskets that I walk past again, but they remind me that I have to switch that load downstairs to the dryer. 

4:30pm: We're rocking and rolling on the school work. I'm going to get SO much accomplished after we finish this up!

4:45pm: Clark's hungry. Didn't I JUST feed him lunch?! A quick glance at the clock tells me that his stomach is correct and it's time to prepare dinner, which I haven't considered even once today. 

6:00pm: Dinner is eaten and cleaned, and now Lincoln needs changed and fed. 

6:15pm: Ryan walks in the door from his late meeting and fixes himself a sandwich, because I didn't make anything for him. He smiles kindly and asks how my day was. I look at myself and realize that I'm still in pajamas. And the laundry baskets have sat in the living room for another day. I'll remember to switch that laundry downstairs as soon as Lincoln is fed.

6:45pm: Lincoln finally finishes eating, just as Clark needs a bath and to start bedtime.

8:00pm: Clark is bathed, has had a bedtime snack, prayers are said, and Ryan put him to bed. He comes to sit next to me for the first time all day. 

8:01pm: The dog is prancing around the living room needing another trip outside. Her prancing has awoken Lincoln, and he is PISSED. Ryan and I each take one of the souls needing our attention and silently promise that we'll get to spend some time together right after this. 

8:20pm: Both Lincoln and the dog are asleep and Ryan and I can finally chat. 2 more Lincoln feeds and at least one more dog duty ensue, I realize that I never ate dinner and inhale a bowl of cereal, and it's 11:00pm. Both of us are falling asleep as we get Lincoln ready for bed. 

11:18pm: Doors are locked, Lincoln is in bed, Clark has been checked on, and we crawl into bed; me still in my pajamas from the night before. I close my eyes, wait for sleep, and sigh in relief that I got everything done. And then it hits me.  "$^!@ - the laundry is still in the washing machine!!!!"

The good news is that tomorrow is a new opportunity to get it all accomplished, and we look pretty adorable in the meantime: