There’s A Chipmunk in the Toilet and My Hair is Turning Gray

If I weren’t already in a constant state of mild panic, the chilly mornings we’ve been having would remind me that yes, it’s the end of summer. Time to get school supplies ready, start putting fall clothes in the drawers, wonder who the children’s teachers will be—oh no, wait a minute—that’s me!

I’m ready, mostly. When you home school, you have to be organized. But, I’ve found that the more organized I get the more paranoid I get, often for good reason. The universe tends toward entropy. Something always happens to throw a wrench, or perhaps a rodent, in the plans.

The other day there was a chipmunk in my toilet.

Usually when you hear the words "and it's trying to swim" coming out of your child (in reference to anything living or previously living in some kind of perilous situation involving liquid), really what it means is "it's dead as a freaking doornail." But no! In this case, the chipmunk was very wet and exhausted, but definitely among our living chipmunky friends. We had company at the time, and everyone joined in a little chipmunk-rescuing conga line toward the back door. He ran, we watched, and that was the highlight of our day.

But that’s not the extent of it. Each morning, I’ve been getting up at 6 to write and do paperwork, in the alleged quiet before my children wake and come down for snuggles. This is apparently when all the things in the walls begin to wake up and actively chew through our joists. I try to write, but their chewing is rhythmic and incessant, like little furry metronomes.

Last night as I went to brush my teeth, there was a flying squirrel on our foosball table. I think he was playing red. He stared at me with little almond-shaped eyes then darted into the wall as I looked for a bag to trap him. I later learned that the southern flying squirrel, Glaucomys volans, apparently prefers to nest communally, so who knows how many of his little buddies are hiding in the walls.

Like the rodents (any comparison to vermin is strictly subconscious), my children have minds of their own too. My plans look real nice in my folders, my calendar, and my PDA. Looking at them, you’d think that I sat down and focused without any distraction and figured everything out. Yet, on our first day of school, I realized I couldn’t find my son’s math textbook. On our second day of school, everyone was in the kitchen doing the chicken dance instead of brushing their teeth.
I am aware that the schedules I make are for my own sanity as much as for the kids’ benefit.

Life is hard, home schooling is hard, and I so want something to be easy. Yet, I’ve realized that part of staying home is having a house full of life and learning to love it even when the distractions are driving me crazy. It’s not about me; I only live here. It’s a dance, and I only get to lead sometimes.

At the moment, two of my kids are making weapons out of KNex (“these are bombs, arrows, bombs, bombs, and more bombs”) and flinging them at each other while the other is inexplicably picking out “The British Grenadiers” on the high notes of the piano. Another chipmunk has jumped out onto me from the home schooling shelves, and instead of writing I’m checking out the web page for the National Flying Squirrel Association. The dog is staring at me, with a huge erection.

Why try to concentrate? I can do the white-girl two step, and I can do the chicken dance. It’s amazing what I can do when I’m not being attacked by rodents. For now, that’s enough.