Second week back – I don’t think we’ll make it.
The first week back to school was surprisingly easy. Disproportionate levels of ease. It was smoooooooth, it was cream cheese icing, it was James Brown.
This second week back to school is kicking our asses. We are so frickin’ tired. It feels like we have a new baby or puppy in the house. We are devolving to amoeba state, fighting our urge to ooze across the floor in our exhaustion.
By middle of the first week back to school, Rissa had her first cold. (Because children, not fleas, are the plague carriers. Smiling, tow-headed tots will end the world. Take your vitamins. Wash your hands.) Rissa was sniffing and sneezing, blowing her nose, but as soon as I’d even glance sideways at her she’d be all, “I’b nod sick Mummy! I’b nod!” And yet, even with the cold, she was in fairly good spirits.
This week was her first week back to dancing full time. Having decided to enter the competitive dance world this year, Rissa is dancing 3 nights a week and all day Saturday. Last night my 13 year old daughter was at the dance studio until 9:45 p.m. I don’t like to be out at 9:45 p.m. on a weeknight. And here’s the thing… Sure, she’s done dancing at 9:45 – but she’s not home until 9:55, finishes showering by 10:05 – and even if she lies in bed, she’s still winding down from the exercise at 10:30. Teenagers need copious amounts of sleep. Buckets, bins, quarries full of sleep. It’s been documented. In MEDICAL JOURNALS. She’s running out of steam and it’s only her first week back to dance. And I know, I know, there are tonnes of kids out there who are up much later and are much more scheduled in their exctra-curricular time than Rissa is, but I also know they’re not MY kid. I know my kid. David and I share these raised eyebrow silent communications:
This isn’t looking good.
I know.
She’s going to lose it.
I know.
What are we going to do?
See how this week goes, and then we rain fire down upon the dance studio?
How about we have a discussion with the studio?
And then we rain fire?
You can carry the BBQ lighter if you like.
All this to say that I may have to put on my Parent Pants next week. With accompanying stern face. Sure, Rissa might look like she’s 17, but she ain’t. This morning she slept through her alarm. Which wouldn’t usually be cause for alarm, except that Rissa has NEVER slept through her alarm. EVER. She prides herself on getting up early. (I pride myself on having a daughter who can get herself up in the morning.) And yeah, she wants to dance, but my job as a parent is to make sure that she’s educated and challenged and happy, but most important healthy and can make it through her whole week. Not just school, not just homework, not just dance, not just (what is now laughingly referred to as) down time but EVERYTHING. If having her over-scheduled, even doing something she loves to do, makes the rest of her week tank? Something will have to give. And it ain’t gonna be her, I’ll tell you that.
