The First Day of School

This post could have alternately been titled, "Why do I do this to myself?  Do I really hate me that much?"

Apparently.

So today is the first day of school.  The first day of school with no new books because, hello, books are expensive.  The total for the books I need is $678.36.  I know, you can school for free, but not when you're me.

Anyway.

First day of school.

I took a picture of Sugar at one point, very early on, and she was like, "noooo, do NOT post that."  So, no posting to my blog, but if we're friends on Instagram, well, then you got to see how excited she is to be a third/fourthish grader this year.

Instead of posting her crabby pants picture, I thought it would be funny to post her class picture instead.  Always Student of the Month, this one.


 We'll see how the rest of the week plays out.  Using old books is not nearly as fun as using new books.  It's just a whole lot cheaper.

I'm looking forward to trying some new things.  Like teaching us how to play that piano in the background!

Oh.  Also.  I survived co-op last week.  Obvs.  I suppose I could write a post about that one of these days.

Just not this day.  This day I'm done with.

that one time where i admitted to being a nervous wreck about teaching a 30 minute class.

Our homeschool co-op starts in a few days.

I haven't always been the biggest fan of co-op.  It's been my own deal.  The moms are great, the kids are as well.  I've just had a really crappy attitude about it.

Wanna hear my reasons?  They're so petty.  In no particular order:  I'm not the pretty mom.  I'm not the dresses cool mom.  I'm so not put together.  And neither are my kids.  We're a big mess 90% of the time.  Looking pretty ragamuffin.  Also, my kids aren't the smarty pants kids answering questions.  They aren't smarty pants because their mom is a terrible teacher.  Unless we're talking about teaching them to be crabby and impatient and lazy, then I'm totally teaching them those things.  Another thing, I'm always so ill-prepared for co-op.  I forget to have the girls pull a Show and Tell item.  I forget to bring their color crayons and scissors.

And then there's the whole, Sarah you have to teach a class to be part of the group.

Shoot me now.

I offered to do the childcare for the entire co-op year if I could just please, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top did not have to teach.

Apparently the other moms do not like sugar or cherries.

When it came time to decide whether or not we'd be part of this year's group, I decided that yes, yes we would join and this year I would have a happier attitude about it.  And, dare I say, I actually got excited.

Um.  Til the night before the meeting.

Then my entire life went to hell in just one evening.  I was pretty sure that I'd be moving out, giving up on life as wife, mom, teacher, all of it.  There was no way I could do these things.  So I sat in my (ever in remodel phase) bathroom and I cried the ugly cry.  You know, the one with the snot and tears and broken blood vessels under your eyes?  That cry.  And I emailed Chelsea and I told her it just wasn't possible for me, co-op was my limit.  Beyond my limit.

The next day I get a text.  A long text.  A "you are enough" text.  And I decided that if I was enough for co-op, could I maybe be enough to be wife and mom and teacher, too?  So I stayed in this house another day.  And I went to the co-op planning meeting that night.

I left slightly overwhelmed (these women are all so smart and I am just, well I'm just not) but I also left excited.  I would be the first one to teach, I could get it over with, and wa-la.  The rest of the co-op year could go on.

And now that first class is four days away and I think I'm developing an ulcer.

I'm hopeful that on Thursday at 9:30 instead of teaching a class on hot air balloons I'll instead be in surgery or something.  Something that would be serious enough that I could get out of teaching this class.

You see, teachers have this sweet voice when they talk to kids.  Well, really it's usually mothers in general.  They speak kindly and gently and kids are enamored.

Then there's me.  I talk to my kids like I talk to Josh.  My normal boring voice.  I've never been a baby talker, or an ooey gooey talker.  It kinda grosses me out.  However, that's what kiddos like and need and it's not me.  I'm going to get up in front of these kids and their really smart moms and I'm going to not even know what to say or how to start.

I'm starting to cry.

Yuck.

So I'm scared.  Scared out of my freaking mind.  It's the hardest thing for me.  This being in front of people.  The kids.  And their moms.  And the talking.  And pretending to know what I'm talking about.  It's kinda brutal.

(turning into ugly cry.)

I just want this week over with.

Most families started back to school within the last couple of weeks.  I knew I couldn't start us.  I knew that this first co-op day would consume my thoughts and guts and there would be no concentrating on anything else.  I'm already such a crabby mama to begin with, I didn't think my kids needed to be taught the last couple of weeks by a crabby, stressed out mama.

We will start school next Tuesday.

That is, if I survive this Thursday.

if only i received a medal and beer garden at the end of my housewife day

oh blog.

one day you won't be put on the back burner to life.

and one day i won't just write about running.  but since that seems to be all i do anymore, here is yet another post about running.

Marathon training is going great.  It truly is.  I'm just gonna say it, I think my body is a rock star.  I never would have thought it capable of such hard work, but it is.

I am.

On Sunday I woke up at 5 a.m. after just over three hours of sleep. *yawn* I dressed, I stretched, and I took off running by 5:45.  The schedule said 16 miles.

I ran through town while it was still dark.  I watched the sun come up.  From one town to the next I ran.  And I ran rather quickly (for me) for the first 11 miles.  At mile 14 I was passing Chelsea's house and thinking that I should just stop there.  I was so tired.  I'm not sure how, but I made it the next two miles.

Sixteen.  I ran 16 miles.

I could have pushed myself for another one or two miles, but not another 10.  A marathon is 26.2 miles.  At this point I think I have about 18 in me.  That's eight short.  I know I still have six weeks of training, and that so much of this is mental so I need to quit telling myself 26.2 isn't possible, but crap.  As proud as I am for the accomplishments I've made so far, I'm pretty freaking scared that it will be for naught.  That come Oct. 26 I won't be able to pull off 26.2 miles.

The way my schedule works is that I do three short(ish) runs during the week, with a long run on Sundays. Per this week's schedule I have a "step back" week and am supposed to run only 12 miles for my long run on Sunday. I am running a half marathon with my friend Jessica (the girl who started this whole fiasco for me) on Saturday and will take Sunday off.

Last Friday I went in to see Doc.  I have some hip and ankle issues I've been dealing with.  He asked me, "why'd you decide to run a marathon?"

Blank stare.

I don't know.

At the beginning of the year when I was setting goals a full marathon was not on my radar.  I just didn't think I'd want to.  I had zero desire.  I knew it took a whole lot of commitment.  Time, energy, money, muscle aches, crabby pants, and a whole lot of, "i can do this even though i think i can't."  I usually have so little of that last one.

And I told Doc that.

"I'm a quitter.  I quit everything I start.  Sometimes even before I start."

But this.  This I'm not quitting.

This I'm going to see through to the finish line.  Even if I'm crawling over it.