Since I went back into the classroom, I found it harder and harder to carve out that creative time, that personal time, that time which provides documentation of the evolution of our family. This year, I vowed, "No more." No more failing to take care of myself while taking care of my family. No more ignoring my creative bursts because the floor really needs mopping even though our new moose will ensure it is once again dirty thirty minutes later. No more. Plus, by ignoring me, I ignore the chance to record our family (outside of my journal, anyway and let me be the first to assure you - you aren't reading that).
A new semester for our family means more chaos but a chance to FINALLY get those morning routines down. This is, of course, only after half the school year has passed. The kids are more willing to get going earlier (Well, Drew is, at any rate) and I make it to school only four minutes late instead of fifteen. This also means that sleeping in on Saturday has gone the way of the dodo and I have to behave like a real-live grown-up and go to bed at a reasonable hour so as not to scar the children when they rouse me at 5:42 on a Saturday, demanding pancakes.
Interestingly, the girls are not such fans of the early morning (I knew my genetics would kick in at some point) and Savannah and Abby are only coaxed out from beneath her blankets with an obscene amount marshmallows in promised hot chocolate and a previously approved outfit. Woe be it unto me should I not have prior approval on the apparel I attempt to put on either girl as her sleepiness instantly morphs into four-year old outrage complete with Limp Limb Syndrome, leading to either my capitulation or theirs. Recent obstinacy on my part has left the scoreboard, Mommy - 12, girls - 7. This calculated score is from Monday. Just Monday. It was a long Monday.
Drew has bonded with our new moose. See:
He's only the size of the all of the children put together and with a couple of the neighbor kids thrown in for balance. As a result of our new pet, I have someone new to give me guilt-inducing stares for something as little as moving the bacon to a higher location. He has discovered I am the food provider (I feel like that should come with a musical score) and will regularly lay across the floor in the kitchen, causing me to develop the new dance style that combines jumping, swiveling, and manipulating hot pans and food over a semi-stationary lump the size of Numero Uno.
Drew's desperate needs to be on the computer
every second of
every day of
the rest of eternity have led to more than a little conflict since I want him to move around, be physically active, interact with the real people around him and he feels like speaker phone with his bestie, Henry, is just enough interaction for him and the only reason he talks to me is cause I control the food. (I knew it would come in handy at some point.)
As for myself, my special/countrified eighth period has been scattered across my other classes. This, of course, means that I have a taste or two of the redneck/academically challenged in each and every Comp/Lit 10 class I teach and have now learned that a boy, armed only with a pocket knife and dedication, can disassemble a pencil sharpener in less than two minutes, leaving the metal pieces upon my desk as a memento of our class that day. Also, the brilliance of skipping a class and then coming in to see a buddy during another class period is clearly illustrated by the genuine panic across a boy’s face upon his realizing that the teacher did see him and does know that he “missed” class earlier. The crème de la crème of the week was, of course, the insistence that I should go hunting with some of my special students in a couple of years as their graduation present. My mistake was revealing the lack of hunting experience I had. I was, in fact, saved by the final bell but I am pretty sure they will remember the opportunity to get Mrs. L on a mountain with loaded firearms and I will need some way to deter them in their enthusiasm.
If I don't manage to get out of it, it was nice knowing all of you and Amberly, I'll need you to wipe my journal lest I scandalize the children forever.
