I have two kids.

They're both smart. Off the charts smart. They're both hopelessly disorganized. They're both underachievers. 

I would be a rich woman for every conversation I've had with teachers. They blow away the IQ tests, then get Cs.

I push. I shove. I help. I buy a computer. We have a tutor. Dyslexia. ADHD. General spaciness. Clilmb the wallsitis. Distractathon.

What it really means is that I feel like a homeschooler without the lovely flexible schedule, without the ability to sleep in, and (oh yeah) I have another job that pays the bills. Every shred of homework that comes in, I make sure it gets done. Every shred. Every spelling test. Every verb, pronoun, sentence, variable, hypothesis, capital, product, and paragraph. If I'm not there, it doesn't happen.

In the grand scheme of things, I know there are parents whose kids have severe problems--autism, Downs, cerebral palsy--they'd trade me my space cadets in a New York minute. I should be grateful. (Today I'm not.)

I need a day off. I need some time when this house of cards won't come tumbling down in a sea of bad grades and "He should try harder" and "She's really intelligent, but..."

Another mom I know, mom to a whole herd of older kids, said in middle school she turned into Nazi-mom, for every one of her kids. That by the time they got to high school, they finally got it. They finally understood how to keep track of their stuff, how to do the work and remember to turn it in, how to take notes and keep a planner and not lose their math book/lunch/coat/head every day of the week.

High school? So I have how many more years of this?

I'm counting the days to June. Even more than they are.