It’s with great dismay that I’m realizing that my 6 month slob-fest really needs to come to an end. Playing online until midnight and lolling about in bed until 8:00, while decadent, isn’t productive.
I realized this when I sat down today to create my Homeschool Plan for the 2012 – 2013 school year.
The Overly-Legislated State of Pennsylvania requires that homeschoolers instruct their elementary aged school children for 180 days each year. At the end of the year, you must surrender to the state documents demonstrating that you have completed these 180 days of instruction.
In order to create said documents, you have to somehow locate a piece of paper—the state offers no guidance on where you’re supposed to find this “paper”–and on this paper, graph paper is best, you must draw 180 little boxes. Over the course of a year, you must laboriously place 180 little x’s in each box. It’s much like prisoners and their tally marks on their dungeon walls.
And, to make things very, very tricky, you are only allowed to count your 180 days between July 1st and June 30th. Since I’ve already turned in my State Mandated Homeschool Scrapbook for the year, any educating I do this week won’t count. Five entire days that won’t count! You know how it goes. This will be the week where the President of the United States stops by to personally give a lesson to my children on American history, a meteor will almost hit the earth, passing a mere 50 feet above our house, and we’ll find a dragon egg hatching in our backyard and I won’t be able to count any of it towards the children’s 180 days of instruction.
So, in anticipation of the official start of the educating year, which begins on Monday, today I made my 2012 – 2013 Homeschool Plan. It was quickly apparent to me that in order to fulfill my grand educational plans, we need to start this year in 2010 and end it in 2014. Either that, or do school for 18 hours a day. I guess that would be ok, except when would I have time to take pictures, write The Blog, and grow out my hair?
Oh, you may think it doesn’t take time to grow out your hair, but you would be wrong. I’ve entered the hideous hair stage where the hair isn’t short enough to cake with hair glue and spike up, and it isn’t long enough to gather into a ponytail. It just sort of hangs there, half sticking out, half sticking to my head.
All of this means I’m having to spend a considerable amount of time wrestling with my hair each morning, in a desperate attempt not to turn people to stone when they catch sight of it. Michele knows what I mean.
I used to work with Michele, and we became dear friends. I don’t get to see her much anymore, since I moved away, but whenever I think of her, I can see her looking up at my hair (Michele is only 2’5) and pursing her lips, frowning, and slowly shaking her head. My hair never met with her approval.
See, I used to save time in the morning before work by drying my hair with the air blowing out of the car vents. I’ve always been a bit overly-logical and the way I figured, it made a perfect analogy:
hair dryer : air drying your hair :: car vent : air drying your hair
Different tools, same result. Of course, drying your hair by car vent tends to leave your hair lank and stringy. Ok. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, but it wan’t good either. I could tell from Michele’s frowny face.
So, Michele invited me to her home one day. That was the day our friendship bridged the gap from Work-Friend to Friend-Friend. She invited me with the sole aim of Fixing My Hair.
She met me at her door with a resolute smile, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she knew the Secrets to Good Hair. Her sink was lined with Hair Products, and for two hours she labored with my hair, spraying it with water, applying product, smoothing, straightening, fluffing.
All to no avail. Michele was utterly perplexed to see that my hair still hung there, lank and stringy, unmoved by her exertions. Finally, she pursed her lips at it and frowned. It was obviously Bad Hair and earned her staunch disapproval. Michele and My Hair have met each other with chilly silence ever since that day.
I think I’ve written about it before, but my hair remained in that state until a few years ago, when I told my hairdresser, “Oh, do whatever you want with it,” because it couldn’t possibly look worse than it already did. The hairdresser gave me a short haircut and for the first time ever, it looked neat and tidy.
And, as usual, I don’t have a clue what I’m writing about. Something about how growing out my hair takes time from my day. That’s right—because I’m determined not to let it get lank and stringy as it grows out. So I have to take time on it trying to strong-arm it into place each morning. A mighty battle fought, and I haven’t even eaten my pancakes yet.
Speaking of eating pancakes, if we would all stop eating, I think I could squeeze another 3 hours into our school day. I’m kinda wondering what’s wrong with feeding the family cheese sticks, cherry tomatoes and Sonic’s Jr. Deluxe Burgers every day. Dairy, fruit and veggies, grain and meat, right? Oh wait, the kids won’t eat tomatoes. Or burgers. My cheese/tomato/burger plan is a no-go.
And the final point is this: since I have to feed the family, wrestle with my hair and educate my children, I need to get myself to bed by 11 so I can get up at 6:30.
Thus ends my 6-month slob fest
Picture of the day. I could take a boring old picture of school books, but that would be, well…boring. Or I could take a picture of my hair looking lank and stringy. But I’m too vain for that.
So, instead, here’s a picture I took yesterday of Wendy. She’s been waiting for me to take a nice picture of her, and here it is. Finally!