A week or two ago,
I told you that we'd jumped into our home studies. I said our schedule was full and that I enjoyed it and that I'd have to give you the details...sometime.
The very next day, I took a minute-by-bloody-minute account. It's tedious and not even 100 percent accurate because the three kitchen clocks all tell different times. I did try to look at just one clock for most of the day, but I was looking at the clock that says "Who cares?" across the face and has all the numbers tumbled in a heap at the bottom.
***
5:50 - The littlest wets the bed. My husband strips the bed and resettles the child.
6:15 - I stop pretending to sleep and get up. I go downstairs, put the water on for coffee, brush my teeth, check email. Once the coffee is made, I drink quickly, hoping to quell the violent yawns. I work on a blog post, frantically editing, arranging pictures, etc.
6:26 - There are footsteps on the stairs, and the youngest comes into view, grinning broadly. I mostly ignore him.
6:42 - The little boy starts to get ritchy. He begs to be able to light a fire. I say no. He goes to the bathroom and starts washing his socks in the sink, holding them under the running water like a sieve. I stop him. He begs for his breakfast.
7:02 - My husband sits down at the table with a bowl of granola. I’m still working, so I ignore him. (I think the boy ate with him, but I didn’t write that down so I don’t know for sure.)
7:10 - The younger daughter comes downstairs sucking her thumb. She moves silently.
7:18 - I close the computer. I eat my
baked oatmeal (I made it the night before so it’d be ready first thing) standing up at the kitchen sink.
7:30 - I sit down at the craft table with my younger son. We do his reading and then his math.
7:46 - My older daughter wakes and comes downstairs. She heads outside right away to take care of the dogs.
7:52 - I take a bathroom break and when I emerge (before getting my face washed), the kids are fighting. One child is trying to take apart a radio.
8:01 - A bout of name calling erupts. Examples include, “smelly pig face,” “tit-wit,” and “pain in the neck.” I put the peed-on sheets in the washing machine. I finish my morning ablutions.
8:08 - The girls eat their breakfast while I read
Story of the World out loud. We all pop up from the table to go look for India on the map. My younger son surprises me by being the only one who knows where it is. The other kids haven’t a clue. (Sigh.)
8:18 - I have a headache so I take an Ibuprofen. I tell my younger son to stop climbing up the hutch.
8:22 - I sit down with the younger son to finish his math.
8:31 - My younger son informs me that he needs a bathroom break. He takes his math with him. My younger daughter sits down and we start reading. My older daughter calls to me from another table—something about mother ducks and bragging. I haven’t the foggiest what she’s talking about.
8:40 - My younger daughter finishes her reading and my younger son reappears for his math.
8:46 - The phone rings. It’s my mother, calling to say that the tow truck will arrive in 15 minutes for their car. “It can be your recess,” she says. My parents bought a very bitter lemon this summer and now it’s parked in our driveway—they’re donating it to NPR.
8:59 - My younger son finishes his math. I call my older daughter to come to the table for her grammar.
9:02 - The tow truck arrives. Chaos ensues.
Staring AND sticking his tongue out. Who IS this boy's mother?
9:11 - Back inside, I try to get my older daughter to settle into her grammar. But she’s fighting with her sister (those girls!) over who gets to go next.
9:17 - It’s my younger daughter’s turn at reading.
9:41 - I check email while my younger daughter finishes her math.
9:42 - The phone rings. My older son will be home in 15 minutes. He and his mentor camped out under the stars the night before. I’m informed that I’m supposed to make a cup of coffee for the mentor. “Good coffee!” I hear him shout in the background. Like I serve any other kind?!
9:46 - We take a study break. My older daughter does the dishes. I hang laundry, straighten up, wipe tables, get dressed, make coffee, wash the toilet, and light votive candles.
10:03 - They arrive home. My son’s hair is still wet from an early morning swim in the frigid river. We sit at the kitchen table and visit, drink coffee, and my son scarfs down the leftovers from the previous night’s popcorn snack. I offer them some baked oatmeal, but they both say no.
10:21 - The mentor leaves. I tell my son to unpack. I discover that the younger two children tore up their bedroom while we were visiting. The mattress has been moved to the floor and they are jumping from box springs to mattress. I get them going on clean-up, and then have to put my daughter on time-out for squeal-shrieking.
She must think it's cold or something.
10:24 - I work with my older daughter on her grammar. I interrupt her to put my younger son on time-out (not sure why), and to supervise the room clean-up which, of course, isn’t going very smoothly.
10:42 - We switch from grammar to math. My younger daughter interrupts us. She wants to call Papa to find out where her CD is. I say yes. I pause work to search for the right workbook, and to snitch some baked oatmeal. I send my older son to unpack. (Again.)
10:53 - My younger son is off his time-out. (That was a long time. Did I forget about him?) Happy as a lark, he sings his apology to me, “Okay my mother! I am sorry!” I start my older son on his grammar.
11:12 - My older daughter finishes her school work and I send her outside with her fussy younger brother.
11:30 - My older son finishes his grammar. I get him started on his algebra.
11:36 - My older son starts practicing piano while I fix the once-again-crashed adobe flash player so he can do his geography. While he practices, I get out leftovers for lunch: potato soup, spaghetti, bacon-jalapeno pie, applesauce, cooked oatmeal, and baked oatmeal. The other kids are outside. I empty the drainer. I let my younger daughter call a friend just to chat.
12:05 - We cut piano practice short. Everyone is too faint with hunger to function.
12:08 - We sit down to eat and fights break out. Name calling includes whammies such as “little fat brain.” I eat quickly, then make my coffee and clean up the kitchen while they eat.
12:40 - I am sick of the tableside dilly-dallying, so I set the timer. Finish eating or bust, I say.
12:44 - I sink down on the sofa. The kids are still in the process of getting to their rooms. In a few minutes, the house is quiet. I eat a
blondie and drink my coffee, read blogs, and work on some writing projects.
12:52 - I hear whispering. The girls are wanting to work on a crocheting project together. I forbid it, because—hello!—it's rest time. Then I get distracted by Pioneer Woman’s cooking show (I didn’t know they had
episodes online)—I like her idea of adding masa flour to chili. I make a menu list and plan for a Saturday cooking marathon. I upload photos.
1:47 - I call the kids down from rest time. My younger son has fallen asleep.
1:55 - I set up the game
10 Days in the USA. I partner with the younger daughter. The older two kids are on their own.
2:13 - We clean up the game and switch to
Geospy, a computer geography game. Each time the kids correctly identify a state, we whoop and holler. The youngest kid sleeps on in spite of the commotion.
2:45 - The mail arrives, and with it, the first of our new magazines,
Calliope. I read several articles about the ancient Egyptians. The little one wakes up.
3:05 - My older son heads outside to chop wood, and the kids play. I check email and eat a pack of Smarties. I fetch food from the basement for our supper.
3:14 - My older son resumes his piano practice. My younger daughter works on her crocheting project. My older daughter makes her younger brother’s bed and calls a friend to try to arrange a playdate. My older son finishes his piano and moves on to journal writing and his assigned math problems. My younger daughter washes the potatoes. I pick rhubarb and make a rhubarb-red raspberry crisp. I make a chili sauce to go over the potatoes.
4:30 - My husband arrives home. We banish the younger three from the house and visit for a little.
5:00 - We’re all sitting on the sofa, playing Geospy on the laptop.
5:15 - My husband gets a shower. My younger daughter has a full-blown hissy fit because she doesn’t have her own American Girl doll. Her screams and wails are deafening.
5:30 - My husband sets the table. We eat. I finish first and read
Chew On This to the rest of the family while they finish their meal.
6:30 - Supper over, I go to my computer to look up
information on apples. My husband, who has started on the dishes, starts singing a song about me and my computer. I shut the computer and get up to help him. (Not because of the song—I was going to help him anyway—but because I was done with the computer.)
6:55 - I go for a walk. Silence! Fresh air! No responsibilities!
7:43 - I go over my older son’s school work. He hasn’t quite finished it all and will have to complete it the next day.
7:48 - The kids get baths.
8:15 - I read out loud to the kids. We finish
Old Yeller. I make it through to the very last paragraph without crying (I keep thinking of algebra problems to keep my thoughts off the sad story), but then my younger son pipes up, “Are you trying not to cry, Mama?” and I totally lose it. We start our next read-aloud:
Sounder.
8:58 - Lights out for the three youngers.
9:15 - Lights out for the oldest. I finish up some computer stuff, make myself a mug of
hot chocolate with Baileys, and then curl up on the sofa to read
Paris Wife while my husband falls asleep on the easy chair. I don’t write down what time we go to bed, but probably 10:30 or so.
***
I almost didn’t publish this post. I was afraid it would sound like I was bragging. Or complaining.
I’m not doing either, I hope. I’m just taking a snapshot of my Right Now. One year—or ten, twenty, fifty years—later, I’ll look back and think, Wow, that was my life! So THAT'S what it used to be like!
***
Inspiration for this post comes from Aimee of
Simple Bites.
