A day in the life: predictions

Or, how I will spend the next 24 hours.

11:37pm Sit down to write, panicking at the next twenty four hours and the futility of it all.

12am Finish replying to emails, give Homeschool Tracker another shot.

12:05 am Alternately marvel at the genius behind HST and despair at the futility of trying to learn a new program under duress.

12:10 am Idly peruse the message boards, hoping to find someone posting to me who has, actually, found the magic wand and is frantically looking for me so s/he can hand off so I can figure out HST and stop panicking at the ever more quickly passing time. See how it slips through my fingers even now!

12:20 am Despair at the futility of finding the person in possession of my missing magic wand. Go to bed. Or, finish making bed. Stealthily, so as not to awaken Q. Creep in between sheets, praying that Q will stay asleep. Read three sentences before passing out.

12:40 am Q awakens. Q is fussy. Q would rather sleep across my belly (like he did last night) and cause my innards irrepairable harm than sleep like a normal child, lying flat or even with his head propped up. (Which is why I haven't just gone to bed already. I dread nights like this.) Tonight, however, I will remember to draw up Maalox before I go to bed and I will put it on the nightstand so that when he awakens, I will remember getting it ready and I will dose the baby and lo, the baby will SLEEEEEEEEEEEP.

2 am Q, the growing boy, needs to eat.

4 am Q, the growing boy, needs to eat.

6 am Q, the growing boy, needs to eat.

8 am Q, the growing boy, needs to eat at exactly the same time I am trying to get the little girls awakened, clothed, fed, and out the door for their counseling appointments.

8:30 am My aunt has left with the little girls, bless her. Now Q is asleep. I, however, am too wired to hold still, and if I do, I will get very perturbed at the futility of it all, so off to the shower I go, dragging all the way.

9 am I'm dressed, ready for the day, the other two kids and the extras are waking up, grumpy, because they didn't want to go to sleep tonight. As it's dawning on me that if I hurry, I could get something accomplished before the baby wakes up, Q awakens, howling, eyes shut. The growing boy would be happy to eat, but I hold him off a little, wanting to extend his feeding pattern just enough to get him through "baby therapy" (phrase coined by G) without having to stop for feeding or sleeping.

9:30 am The extras' mama arrives. The children act like hooligans for a little while as I race around trying to get something accomplished and said mama rocks Q as they resume their mutual admiration society.

By 10:45 am we're all off in opposite directions.

11 am "Baby therapy."

12 noon Feed kids lunch en route to afternoon counseling, Q eats in one of the parking lots. Make various phone calls while kids chew, doctor's offices, etc., make notes while sitting at stop lights.

1 pm G and E begin sessions. The rest of us "do school" on the floor while I'm nursing the growing boy.

2:40 pm We're done. Baby is changed. We collect our stuff and head off to the library for the weekly run, this time to reserve some books (for all ages) on the fall of Rome. Wheee!!

4 pm Done at the library, we head home for chores and more baby feeding. Kids clean bathrooms, I pick up stairs/entry area and clean out the van. Kids do PEGS, since the morning was hectic and make sure they have clean and ironed clothes laid out for church.

6 pm Dinner magically appears on the table. Tra la!

6:30 pm Bedtime!! Kidding!! Just kidding. Seriously, run a couple loads of laundry, pick up more, vacuum, dust, dishes, nurse... nurse... Maybe go for a walk or kick soccer balls around. Ever noticed Mia Hamm's flat stomach? Surely she got that by playing for about an hour a week with her kids, right? Right?

8 pm baths

8:30 pm stories, nightime vitamins

9 pm Lights out

9:15 pm Retuck the ornery little folks.

9:30 pm Bedtime, revisited.

10 pm Say emphatic things to last remaining alert child in stage whispers so as not to disturb nursing baby.

10:30 pm Q will be asleep, only to have to wake up to burp as I am about to get something accomplished. At least twice. Which causes me to wonder at the futility of things. Tra la! Perhaps I will actually go to bed when he does. At least he's not teething, right?

So we'll meet up here tomorrow night (if I've managed to survive) and see how much reality looked like my predictions. (Disclaimer: I'm sure it will go well, whether or not I get any sleep. But if I should not appear back here tomorrow night, let's just assume that I'm asleep, okay? Thanks.)

In the meantime, I've thought a lot about the following quote over the last several months and thought I'd share. It's from It Must Have Been an Angel, by Marjorie Lewis Lloyd.

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1

Substance. That's pretty real, isn't it, pretty substantial. That's something to take hold of. Now tell me, if you have the substance of what you hope for, if you actually have it, what is the first thing you do? You thank God for it, don't you? So faith thanks God, thanks Him enthusiastically--even though it cannot yet see the thing it hopes for. Faith knows it has the answer.