Homework - the GRADING papers edition.

I'm pretty sure that this time of year is even worse for the professors then it is for the students.

Homework, by Russell Hoban
Homework sits on top of Sunday, squashing Sunday flat.
Homework has the smell of Monday, homework's very fat.
Heavy books and piles of paper, answers I don't know.
Sunday evening's almost finished, now I'm going to go
Do my homework in the kitchen. Maybe just a snack,
Then I'll sit right down and start as soon as I run back
For some chocolate sandwich cookies. Then I'll really do
All that homework in a minute. First I'll see what new
Show they've got on television in the living room.
Everybody's laughing there, but misery and gloom
And a full refrigerator are where I am at.
I'll just have another sandwich. Homework's very fat.

So, why do they assign it then? Wouldn't it just be better for all involved if they would just lighten up? This is the argument I'm continually making to my oh-so-conscientious resident professor. Or I will continually make it when I see him again in the middle of May.

The Trick

Having children who are so close together gives me the opportunity to enjoy pretty much all of the ages and stages of early childhood at once. It's a time of great richness and joy. IF you have a moment's peace to actually notice how amazing each individual and each age is. And therein lays the trick.
I'm striving to "stop and smell the roses" (or sometimes the actual Rose) these days. Just trying to get enough alone time and distance to actually observe and enjoy my children, rather then just be trampled and depleted by their various needs. Ironically it is often leaving them that really helps me to appreciate them. Not always but often. If I take one hour "off" after Daddy gets home from work then I, believe it or not, enjoy bedtime and all of their bedtime delaying techniques, snuggles, snail-paced teeth brushing, stories of the days events and plans for the next day and what they want for Christmas (does that end at some point in the year or is it year-round?).
Another way that I've been learning the art of seeing them, not just being with them, is to read articles, books and blogs of older mothers who have learned by experience that this time is as brief as it is intense. In the middle of the apparent chaos of life in a home where there is a ratio of children to adult that no daycare center would allow (at least for the majority of our waking hours) there is also a simplicity. They are a pack of little bodies - careening around with reckless abandon.; they are a bundle of sheer enthusiasm; they are very easily impressed (Daddy can jump up and TOUCH the ceiling!!!); they are still awed by God's great, beautiful world; a pack of M&Ms can fix any problem; they all eat the same five foods (oatmeal, hot dogs, pizza, mac&cheese, and chicken nuggets); I can wash all of their tiny clothes for a week in one load; they can "ride their bikes" for an hour straight just traveling the length of one house; going to a McDonald's playplace satisfies everyone's need for exertion; they all want to sit right next to me, all the time. Ahhhh. If only there were time to really know these things about them.
Well, time must be made because, for me, it is in realizing these things that peace resides. And one thing that we are quite short on in this house is peace. Who ever knew any child under 6 to be peaceful, let alone four of them?
I will not always have the joy of watching a five-year old learn to read and draw blueprints of his forts before he builds them. I will not always have the joy of watching the complete dearness of a three-year-old girl twirl in her billowy dress in the spring. I will not always have the joy of hugging a 1.5 year old's precious Winnie-the-pooh shaped body and feel him pat me on the back in return-affection. I will not always have the joy watching a sweet pink baby's face completely light up with a smile at the sound of my voice.
And it is very likely that I will never again be able to enjoy all of these things in the exact same minute. "The days are long, but the years are short." And peace does actually reside here, if you can just see it through the chaos.

Poop Chronicles, vol. 4

The Pony Edition

I found Thomas sitting in the horse-poo that's waiting to be mixed into the garden. So, being the good mom that I am I ran and got my camera. And when he had gotten up and moved on I put him back for this shot.

But then we followed up with a bath in the ultimate kitchen sink. Because I am actually a decent mom.

A Sour Morning Rose - caught on camera

Rosie and Anthony are sitting next to each other eating breakfast. Anthony is having frosted mini wheats and Rosie, o-gret (yogurt). Anthony leans over and kisses Rosie on the cheek. She gets a mad face and responds, "Daddy, Aferny kissed me and got me all wheat-ey."

They turned to each other and smiled and said giggling, "Wheeeeaaatyyyy".

And then she returns to the scowl. Some days a girl just wakds up on the wrong side of the bed. It's going to be a long day for the rest of us. And this is why it's important to have a camera without a delay.

Poop Chronicles, vol. 3

This morning Anthony had another "accident" in his underwear. This is extremely unusual for him so I started to ask the series of personal and embarrassing questions that only a mother (or doctor?) would ever want/need to know. So, naturally, I'm sharing them with you, oh internet world.
Me: Are you having diarrhea?
A: No. It's just that it's all hard.
Me: Oh, so your poop is all hard. Is it hard to push out?
A: Um, actually it's all hard and soft. See, when I start to go I push and it's easy. Then I push and have to wait. And then I push and if it still doesn't come out then I need to wait longer. So that's when it's hard.
Me: But is the poop actually hard to get out?
A: Well, sometimes it's easy and then hard.
Me (thinking that we are not really getting anywhere useful and that I do already understand the mechanics of having a bowel movement): OK. Well, do you have an accident in your underwear before or after you are sitting on the toilet?
A: Before. See, I just THINK it's a fart but really it's POOP!

Ah. That is what I was getting at. I still don't really know if he's constipated or not but at least I understand that it is both hard and easy for him so he can't be too badly off.

Here is another mystery of Anthony pooping that I have not yet been able to untangle. Given his extreme need for privacy in the restroom you can understand how too much prying or (heaven forbid spying!) is not really an option. In the aftermath of a visit to the bathroom I frequently discover small streaks of poop in floor AND THE WALLS of our bathroom. Dis. Gus. Ting. John and I have both spoken quite severely to him about this but every once in a while it still happens. It's just so bizarre. So completely bizarre. I have taken out stock in Clorox Wipes and am working out what would be appropriate disciplinary action for whatever it is that he's doing in there (I have images of that commercial where the dog is dragging his butt around on the carpet and the woman gets her carpets cleaned). Anyway, that's your dose of poop for the day. At least I hope is it. I wouldn't want the poop fates to get you for looking askance at us! Beware!

Wordless Wednesday

A Few of my Favorite Things

My own personal garden gnome:

Saturday morning bike races that start with: "Let's pretend that you got a headstart..." just to even the playing field.

This curl: On this head: