It's official. I'm Math Barbie.

So you know how life has become one long teacher telephone call?

It's because my son, a freshman in high school, is crashing and burning. And he's doing it so completely that soon I'm going knock on his bedroom door to tell him that it's time to leave for his cello lesson, and I'm going to find nothing but a bunch of skid marks and a charred, smoking smudge on his bedroom rug.

Last night I worked with him on his Latin translation for about an hour. I don't know which of the two of us found it more challenging, the person who is currently bungie jumping his Latin grade, or the person who didn't "get" Latin when she took it 40 years ago--and no, I am not exaggerating; I really am that old.

All I know that the Bible nailed it: caeci caecos ducentes, or, the blind are leading the blind. The full quotation is apt: If one blind person leads another blind person, both will fall into a ditch. So I'm hoping that I remembered a few rudiments about gender, number, and case. And didn't push him closer to the edge of the Biblical ditch.

So anyway, guess which math teacher called to tell me about trouble in math class?

My daughter's.

Whee!

Now I have to go all Japanese housewife and help both of them with their homework, make sure their backpacks are organized, blah blah blah ... but what about dinner? What about relaxing in the evening? Spending time with my Japanese husband?

Forget that. He's too busy helping our son with his math. Because I can't handle it.

So here's the deal; I've always had the first shift: taking care of household matters while the kids are in school. You know the drill; grocery shopping, laundry, dropping off the dry cleaning, decluttering, buying the underwear. This is also when I fit in some volunteer work. And blogging.

Then there's the second shift: feeding the spawn and dealing with various kid-related matters once they get home.

But I always had some free time to myself in the evening. And now ... well, I was doing Latin last night until 10:00.

Any second now I'll be standing outside holding up a sign: WILL BLOG 4 TUTORING.

Meanwhile, it's time to dust off the slow cooker. Anyone have any good recipes?

Better late than never, Part 1: The first day of school

It's official.

High school is kicking my ass.

OK, not my high school. My high school is fine. After all, it's rapidly disappearing into the rear view mirror of my memory. At this point, it turns up once a year, mostly to ask me for money or to try to guilt-trip me into going to a reunion.

But my son's high school WANTS TO DESTROY ME.

More Fun With Verbs

I'm not dooce. I'm not even blackbird. But someone left a comment telling me they missed me, so I'm posting.

It's hard to believe that there was ever a time that I was obsessed with my blog stats. For 2005, I was probably lucky to get 50 hits a day. But then a few people linked to me, and I did a few giveaways, and the next thing you know, I would decide on a figure and become grimly determined to achieve it. Like "must-reach-100-hits-a-day-for-a-week," or "must-hit-200-hits-a-day-even-on-Sunday." And with perseverance, it would happen.

But this leads to a lot of blogging for the sake of blogging. Less living, more blogging. And not only does that lead to memes and Wordless Wednesdays and such, it leads to an unhealthy level of introspection.

Not that there's anything wrong with introspection. It's just that it's the province of the young. When you're in your teens and twenties, it's right and proper for you to spend a lot of time figuring yourself out. It's good preventative medicine. You need to figure yourself out so you don't marry someone completely inappropriate, or get married, have kids, and then have some kind of ridiculous midlife crisis.

Those are the years to put your energy into what you want to be.

But when you're in your 40s and 50s, that kind of navel gazing seems pretty stupid. You're in your peak earning years. Or, in the case of us housewives, your peak "put the oxygen mask on your own face, then put it on your children" years.

It doesn't matter what kind of person I want to be. I have kids.

So that's what I've been doing for the last two weeks. Running around putting oxygen masks on everyone else's face.

Shopping for back-to-school supplies, talking to teachers and advisors and resource centers and social workers, signing forms, attending meetings, writing checks, helping with homework, washing clothes, folding laundry, driving, listening, cooking, and comforting.

And reciting the time-worn limerick, "There once was a man from Nantucket," to prove to my son that the kid in his advisory who claimed he made it up? Is a lying sack of shit.

I've also been going to physical therapy three times a week, because I have frozen shoulder. To continue with my airplane analogy, my left wing isn't working right.

And just so you know, when you can't raise your left arm any higher than parallel to the floor? You end up cutting the shit out of yourself when you try to shave your armpit.

(P.S. My title comes from my son's latest Latin worksheet.)

The best thing I can say about Labor Day is that I'm not actually in labor.

1. Yes, I have today off, but

2. The girl still hasn't started school, which means

3. It really doesn't feel like a holiday, because holiday from what? Sitting around in our pajamas?

4. And it turns out I actually do have frozen shoulder, which means the next month is

5. Packed full of physical therapy appointments.

6. On the bright side, I thought I was going to have to post to Mamarazzi, but both the lovely Kristin and the sociopathological Susie Sunshine have already posted.

7. Which means all I had to do was come up with a post for BlogHer Beauty Hacks. So I did. Something about stretching a thong over my face and calling it makeup, but you know what? I'm not really clear on the concept because

8. I still have frozen shoulder and IT HURTS.

What have I been doing, anyway? I mean, other than laundry?

It's life among the lotus eaters around here. In case you're a bit rusty with your Homer, the lotus eaters were a bunch of time-wasting lay-abouts Odysseus encountered on his way home from Troy. You know, that trip that took 20 years? And nobody recognized him when he got home?

That's me. It has been twenty years since my son started high school. Maybe more. Soon his children will be riding the bus to ninth grade with him. Yes, it feels that long.

Meanwhile, my daughter doesn't go back to school for another week.

I really don't mean to complain, but I've got one kid who needs to be chivvied into getting up, getting dressed, doing his homework, showering, practicing, you name it. I'm like a sheepdog pushing a large, gelatinous blog from one activity to the next.

In the meantime, my daughter sits around playing video games and watching YouTube videos in the Summer Vacation That Wouldn't End. And sleeping, my lord, can that child sleep. Last night she fell asleep before dinner, and she's still asleep now.

When we do anything, I brightly try to make it a Real Project, like today, let's Go To The Orthodontist! or Let's Go Shopping for New School Supplies! Which really doesn't fool anyone, let alone me.

I guess I should go. First of all, at some point my daughter will wake up ... after all, it's been 13 hours. And then I'll need to come up with some enjoyable activities, like Picking Up the Vacuum Cleaner. Or Mailing Out the Packages. Or Going to the Bone and Jone Center to Have My Shoulder, Which is Acting Hinky, Looked At.*

Or posting to Mamarazzi.

* See how I mention that without whining? You're welcome.