Here it’s the second week of homeschooling. Already I’m doubting I can do this without pulling out large amounts of hair after going completely gray.

I know I’ve complained about Edmund and his ways before, but he really is the bane of the household. I love him, I really do. He has eyes the color of a Hershey’s Kiss, an easy grin and can be quick to offer an affectionate hug. He’s a clever boy.

Having said all that, does it make me a bad mother to tell you he can be a nuisance and difficult to get along with? Poor Edmund. He’s the third wheel in Susan and Peter’s tight clique. The older two play so well together and I’m constantly telling them to stop ignoring their brother. Everyone is happy for a bit, until Edmund feels slighted, then he retaliates with toy throwing, screaming and other obnoxious behavior.

All of this spills over into my teaching time. Edmund dislikes being alone in his room, so he comes into the kitchen where I am with my student and, well, I think you get the idea. Someone ends up in tears and today it was me.

I’d have him spend more time with his younger sister, but I would have to watch him closely, and that is tough to do when homeschooling another child. (Speaking of Lucy, her latest trick is to climb onto the kitchen table. Plus she’s made it clear she doesn’t care for being told No. At least she still naps twice a day so there is relief for a while. )

I wish I had never stopped schooling this summer because getting back into the routine is hard. I don’t mind taking the time out of my day to sit with my school-aged children to instruct them on their lessons. I’d just like to do it without the disruptions.

I’ve tried having Edmund sit with us without success. The boy is too distractive.

I hate that I feel this way. I miss those days when Susan was only five and it was easy to accomplish a lesson without having to battle a boy. I hate that someone is going to read this and snicker, “Ah-ha! See, you need to put those children into school.”

But I’m a stubborn Irish gal with the red hair to prove it. I’m determined to overcome the pesky preschooler. Can I strap him to the chair and stuff his mouth with cotton? Eh, I’m only kidding.

Maybe.