Eraser Eater finally got to go to Ikea to spend his gift card last weekend. Yes, he got an Ikea gift card. Is that not wild? He was so thrilled it was ridiculous. Yes, he is ten. He especially likes the modern design of home items. He got a rug to put under his modern chair (that I assembled with half a brain in tact, remember), a shelf to put his things on (the side table he really wanted was discontinued), and a pillow to put on his chair. A modern one. 

During morning prayer the kids and I use the BCP and then say our own petitions in the middle. After that, we go around and thank God for a few things each. Yesterday Eraser Eater said "Ikea."
The kids think it is fun because I always thank God for things like chocolate and Nutella. 

I have been teaching Fahrenheit 451 in my upper level lit class at the co-op. It has been a little bit of an issue since the book has a lot of mild language. I tried my best not to make it too much of an issue though. In class on Monday I went over the fact that people in this world use bad language and we as Christians are called not to do so. I quoted scripture and left it at that. 

The rest of the class went great---until I asked the kids what they thought of the society in the book. My son, the Oldest, raised his hand (yes, he is in my class). 
"I thought it was a hellish nightmare!" he hollered.


You Are As Big As Me

I just have to do something about my lazy kids. I HAVE to. Not only do they argue all day when put together, they intentionally annoy one another. Yesterday at Co-op I was in the quiet church office making copies for my classes. Eraser-Eater comes storming into the quiet room, silently weeping. 

"The Girl told me that I am in love with Avery." 


He retreats to the corner of the little cramped room where he sticks his nose in the corner and weeps some more. A muffled "but I don't! And it's not funny! She's making fun of me!" comes out in a blurry wail. 

In comes the culprit. 

"What!?" she says with long eyes. 

"Get in my classroom RIGHT NOW!" I whisper.

Then the Girl wants to push the cart at Costco today and when I refuse to let her and the Oldest chides her about it, she whimpers, "I just don't feel a part of this family!" 

To make myself feel better I mentally grab an economy pack of duct tape, rip it open, and start taping. Hands bound together, feet---maybe just one big tape to the cart. But, the most important detail is the major slab of tape over the mouth. That is a MUST. Oh how stupid I was, I would think. I tried so hard to get them to talk and now all I want is for them to silence themselves. 

I clogged a toilet.  Forget that. They don't admit fault. More like: the toilet's clogged!
I'm really hungry. I know I just ate. I am starving!
You keep sitting in the middle seat! I want ROOM!

They even keep each other in line and then argue about that!
You are supposed to do the dishes! 
You ate all those chips! I thought you said yesterday you were going to watch what you ate!
Your room is a mess! 
Stop sitting in that bathroom forever and a day! You know you are going to clog it!
Quit banging the glasses!
You promised Mom you would time yourself when playing games! That's it...I'm setting the timer!
Mom said TWO HOURS of playing piano, you're playing it whether you like it or not!
Drink all your milk right now!
You are not getting dessert!

The list goes on and on. Then someone wails (usually the one being bossed around) and then I am the one, bound by the wrists, brought to the scene of the crime with my head all a muddle. 

It is the same song and dance every time and it doesn't stop. And it is all because they talk

On our way out of Costco this afternoon the kids and I battled our way to the car in the freezing air with frozen yogurts in our hands. I have Raynaud's disease, for those of you that don't know, and when I touch frozen stuff for too long or when I am just plain cold, my digits go numb and it can be painful and very uncomfortable. By the time we reached the car I was spent but I had to get those stupid purchases in the trunk. 

My twelve year old son, avoiding the whipping wind, stuck out his hand to jerk the door handle. 

"Can I get some help?!" I yelped, an icicle hanging from my nose as I was struggling to drop a big box of Costco junk in the trunk.

"Are you crazy? It's freezing outside!" And he opened the car door went inside. 

He of course, had the advantage as I did not want to leave the cart there (a big SUV was waiting for me to leave too) and get in the car and chew the boy out. I was so cold I was starting to burn but I knew I had to finish the whole job so I could get in the car and chase him down.

First, I got in the car and rubbed my hands together as I winced and almost cried, head down on the steering wheel for a few moments.

"I am starting to wish I helped you," he began.

I put on my gloves. (It would have helped if they had been on before, what a dork I am)

My beginning sentence started with, "You are as big as me...you are HUGE..........!!!!!"


This is Funny

I have never heard an animal sound like this before! What a riot!


School Last Week

Last week I had one horrendous day with school (the first day) and then it was better after that. Suddenly the Oldest knew how to isolate X and the Girl knew how to stay on task, and Eraser Eater stopped whimpering from the floor. There were a few times I almost wept openly, crying out to the homeschool gods to release me of this painful task, but because I have a pea brain, I forget about my sorrows once I go to the bathroom or get myself a drink of water, and I start all this malarkey up again, like it is brand spankin' new.

Like things could not have gotten worse, Eraser Eater's chair came in the mail. The smallish sort of box was placed in his chubby hands and he hastily ripped the thing open. It was nearly five o'clock in the evening and I was sitting next to the Oldest at the table, helping him isolate X and gingerly pulling out my teeth, one by one, and pelting them at his nose when things got a bit difficult.

"Mom! Can you help me put this chair together?!" yelped Eraser Eater in an over-excited manner. The Girl and the Neighbor Girl were sitting on the floor helping him rip open the box. The whole idea of putting a chair together was a bit too much for me at that moment. You see, when the mind is freshest it can think clearly and work as expected. But as the day goes on and pressure is applied, soon the brain gives way and soon you have soup once you hit exactly five o' clock. I had about two brain cells left to use floating in that boiled mass of liquid thinking material, and I didn't want to use it on putting a chair together. But then the pieces....

The pieces the girls decided to scatter about in their great haste----it seemed that they were scattering all over the walls and hair and everything scatterable. It was a wretched thought. The next thing you know, I have gathered up all my teeth, put them back in their sockets, and high-tailed it to the scattered pieces. Screws and little do-hickeys. Two arm rests. A pad. Various other pieces of chair like material. I grabbed the instructions. They were unreadable, and they didn't even have any words. Pictures of nonsense. Nothing made sense. Pounding the skull does not work, it just rattles the soup.

When the brain is freshest it can take two seconds to figure out how to put four pieces of chair together. It took me probably forty minutes. I read the instructions backwards, sideways, then finally not at all. I studied the pieces. I put it together wrong then I put it together right. Eventually a very smaller-than-I-thought-it-would-be chair emerged before my eyes.

"It's perfect!" squealed Eraser Eater. "It's modern and perfect!" He sat in it. The Girl sat in it. The Neighbor Girl sat in it.

I turned around. No Oldest at the table. "Oldest!" I yelled.

He peeped from around the corner. "I took a little break...."

Ejected soup on the floor.


Doozie Was Almost Right

Putting the smack down is a bit tiring. That is what I have had to do since the Professor went back to work after his two week vacation.

This past year:

Wrinkles have developed on my forehead
a number of things have died or given up years of service including my ghetto oven and my coffee maker
And the rest is a blur.

The Girl was caught last week eating the contents of her nose while I was reading a book to her out loud. I could not believe it. In fact, it made me so angry because I remember the countless times I have struggled to get her to eat something she doesn't like the taste or texture of. Granted, she is not overly picky, but to be semi-picky and then to be PICKY (if you catch my drift) on top of it sent me over the edge.

I made her oatmeal, her meal of non-choice.
"Why did you put a banana in it?" she winced, holding a spoonful of her punishment at bay.
"To make it extra gooey---like a booger!" I hollered.
"Mom!!!"she gasped, surprised at me.
"What?" I said, "you can't eat actual food, but you can eat the taint from your nose---the accumulation of various germs piled on one another over and over...."
"Mom! Please!" she begged, looking helplessly at her spoonful of gooey, booger-like stuff.

It took her two hours to eat it. Aren't I wretched?

And now I must go get tires on my car. Ugh. Perhaps that is my "toll house" of purgatory-like punishment. Perhaps.