Of the Day the Mommy Quit

Yesterday I quit.

I was just done.

And when you consider that my full-time job is Mommy, that's kind of a big deal.

But as I tried scrubbing off stubborn dried-on egg remainder from the morning before so I could make breakfast (because, you know, washing the egg pan when I'm actually done with it would be too much) with an inadequate washcloth (because my normal discloth was sitting in the washing machine, where it had been, also, since the day before) with a whining second-grader who didn't want to do spelling, crying as she does every day, hoping she'll get a different result (other than "Suck it up, buttercup" - we're all about compassion in this house) and trying to talk an apathetic first-grader through his math problem, with nothing more than shrugs and "I don't know"s in response to every leading question I can think of without out-right giving him the answer, I realized I was just done.

Here I was, having spent hours already that morning changing diapers, doing Bible Study, emptying the dishwasher, filling the dishwasher, cleaning counters and answering questions - working so hard at just being Mom. And there they were, with very simple tasks in front of them, too upset that they couldn't just do whatever they wanted, that it was somehow easier for them to do nothing or cry than to just get it done and move on with their lives. So many of us had work to do and I was the only one doing it.

So I quit.

I threw the washcloth in the still-crusty frying pan, declared, "I quit. Make your own breakfast. Teach yourselves. I'm done."

And I walked away.

There was stunned silence for a moment before the crying started. Mommy had quit on them and they were hungry and how were they going to get food? And when was Mommy coming back?

I sat down in the den, pulled my laptop into my crossed legs and decided I could do whatever I wanted, now that I had no job. I sifted through email and overall ignored the commotion happening only a few yards away and three steps up.

Somewhere the toddler had gotten ahold of something (a not-dangerous something - I'm not completely heartless) that made the four-year-old upset and he wanted me to do something about it.

"I'm not Mommy right now. I quit. I'm sorry."

The second-grader took matters into her own hands and removed the object from the tiny fingers. The toddler, incensed at this injustice, was crying.

I was listening to music.

The oldest, the one who didn't want to do her work but was shocked that Mommy wasn't doing her own, continued to impress on the others the severity of what just happened.

"Mommy's not going to make us breakfast!" Because this, this lack of eggs on their plates when they were perfectly capable of pouring a box of cereal, was going to be the death of them, and didn't they understand this was important?!

I sat and pondered where to go from here as I let the frustration simmer down from a boil.

Obviously I recognized that my resignation would not be accepted in the long-run. At some point I would have to pull myself back to my job. But when would that point come? At what point would they actually pour their own cereal and make up for my lacking? And should I maybe just feed the toddler, at the very least?

Ten minutes passed.

The commotion upstairs quieted as they resigned themselves to the fact that Mommy really wasn't going to do anything else.

And then two sad faces appeared at the top of the steps.

"We're sorry we didn't do our work."

"Oh? Do you see how maybe it's good for people to do the things they don't want to do?"

The girl seemed oblivious to the point I was making, but the boy seemed to understand the desired response: "Yes."

"Because you want me to make breakfast, even though I don't want to. Doesn't that mean that sometimes we have to do the things we don't want to do?"

"Yes," from the boy.

Then the girl spoke quietly and sorrowfully, "I'm just sorry because I love you and I don't want you to be sad."

Well, I'll take it.

I motioned for them to come down. They slowly walked toward me, not sure of what else might be necessary to make this right. I wrapped the girl in a hug, kissed her forehead and declared, "I love you." The boy came a little quicker and received the same response - a hug, a kiss, "I love you." The toddler came in, too, lips puckered, ready for her snot-covered kiss (the snot was from her nose, not mine). The four-year-old decided this was a good moment for some affection, as well (he's a hugger).

Refreshed, I set the computer aside and pulled myself back up the stairs to the waiting frying pan that still needed scrubbing.

I was surprised to notice the wet washcloth that had been resting in the crusted mess as I simmered had used the time to soften the hardened places - and it all wiped away with very little effort. Breakfast was on its way.

Sometimes we all just need a little time to rest in order to soften the hardened places and get back to where we were meant to be.

Of Our Scientist

Remember when I told you Emmett was our sponge? Our questioner, our scientist, the one voted most likely to push this homeschooling momma to learn a lot more about everything just to satisfy his insane desire for knowing exactly how the world works.

Questions that have me honestly answering, "You know, I actually don't even understand how that works - I just know it does." Questions like "How does the other phone know you're calling it?" which leads to "How do phones have their own numbers?" Follow-ups as simple as, "Why?" are not good enough for this guy. He literally thinks through my answers and comes up with legitimate inquiries based on that new knowledge.

So then we had Daylight Savings Time.

Blow this kid's mind.

The poor guy, as the days have been getting shorter through the fall, has begun having mild breakdowns when the sun begins to set. "It's already bed-time and we haven't even had dinner!" Now, on the one hand, I totally want to work this "sundown = bedtime" misconception - especially now, post Daylight Savings Time: "Oh look, Daddy just got home from work, but, bummer! It's bedtime! See you guys later!"

But I do tend to have issues with lying to my kids. Darn conscience.

Thus, I've been trying to explain that the sun just starts setting earlier during the fall. Thus, Saturday, as we were at the grocery store, pre-dinner, while the sun was setting and he was crying, again, about not having eaten (eating is REALLY important to our kids), I went so far as to explain that the next day, it would even be dark when we went to evening church/children's choir.

Lo and behold, as we're gathering children into the car to head to choir, the remainder light of the day was glimmering through the twilight. "Momma, did you tell me it would be dark before we go to church? How did you know it would be dark?"

"Well, it's something called Daylight Savings Time - we had to change the time on the clocks, so now it gets dark earlier."

"How do you change the time?! That's silly!" "Well, we just change what time the clock says." "But how do you change what the clock says?" "We just do." (aka the Lazy Mom's way of saying, I can't explain it right now - we were in the car, so it wasn't exactly an option to pull out the clock and show him how it works.)

Pause.

"Momma?" "Yes?" "How do the clocks control the world?"

Bam. Well, now that's a good solid question from a four-year-old.

So, then I have to go into dynamics about how the world itself does its thing without changing - the only thing that changes is what time the clock says, which affects when things like children's choir starts.

But really, I'm just grasping at straws, trying to describe this crazy world in a language a little boy can understand.

And somehow he's soaking it all in, despite my worst efforts.

All I know is google was invented for such a time as this.

Of Striking the Educational Balance

Two weeks into this Pre-K at home thing and I keep waiting for her excitement to wane. And, yet, every morning she wakes up and I announce, in response to her daily question, "Where are we going?" - as if we would only get dressed were we going somewhere (okay, maybe that was true for awhile, but I've been working on that) - "We're not going anywhere; we're doing school," her immediate response is, "Yay!"

In fact, this very morning, after breakfast, she rushed to her top basket to grab the first work for the day. Unfortunately, I had to tell her to wait because I like to be with her as she works (and, yes, she definitely prefers this, as well) and her youngest brother was just beginning to stir and be in need of nourishment. "Why don't you play for a little while until I'm done feeding Joseph?"

Her whining, frustrated response was quick, "I don't want to play! I want to start my work!" Oh, goodness gracious, we have raised ourselves a nerd in our very own vein. Because when I was her age (and older), my version of play was to pretend to be teacher using discarded workbooks from the local elementary school. I have always loved workbooks. I still love workbooks.

And this girl's workbook (thank you, Dollar Tree) involves Disney Princesses. So you can imagine her dismay at the delay. It is definitely an encouragement as her mother and teacher. But, again, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to fall.

This fear drives me every week, as I plan, seeking the next thing that will continue to hold her interest, as I learn what she loves, what she hurries through in favor of the next activity, and what makes her cry in frustration.

 Of course, I'm not ditching the latter just yet. It's the challenge that will grow her even as it hurts at times. We just need to remember there's a difference between a challenge and an unrealistic expectation. Just as there is a difference between challenging her and keeping goals within existing parameters.

 Striking the balance - the ongoing struggle.  


1,000 Gifts: 
906. Spilled paint, a beautiful mess sparkling in the sun 
907. Mashed goo, the remains of a reward well-earned 
908. Wonder Box 
909. A self-dressed girl, yellow legwarmers and a matching arm sleeve 
910. A baby boy's pudgy legs peeking from around the corner 
911. The same baby boy's little foot, joining his hands in back-seat play 
912. Unexpected sparkles in the twilit sky 
913. Good car conversation 
914. Learning a new game, his heart's language 
915. An empty dishwasher when I awake 
916. Packing his lunch, fruit snacks, lunchbox and all 
917. Fixing what was broken 
918. Much-needed time away

Of Schoolin'

Philip and I have tossed around the idea of homeschooling since before we had children.  It was always a nice idea.  Until I realized my daughter was about to turn four, the year in which most children enter Pre-School, and I still had no idea how to even begin teaching my little girl the formal learnings of life.

Of course, I understand Pre-K is rather an optional thing and not entirely necessary for success, but as far as I'm concerned from my home-schooling base zero over here, I have an entire year now to figure out how to do this thing before it becomes for real.

Which means establishing routines so she won't be completely freaked out by the idea of a schedule which requires her to do Mommy-orchestrated activities other than her own agenda of playing house or Uno Moo.

It means me putting a system into place for how, where and when work and lessons are completed and learning to multi-task so the as-yet un-schooled children don't feel neglected.

It means figuring out how to lesson plan for someone under the age of thirteen (the youngest age with which I have real-life teaching experience) and how to select and implement a curriculum (even if it's self-designed).

Thus, we started yesterday morning, bright and early, trying to fill two hours with Pre-School activities before her littlest brother's well-baby check-up (he's 18lb 2.5oz and 26 inches long, in case you're wondering).  And for this girl, Tuesday, the day she would start school, has been right there under "Birthday!" since I first mentioned it to her.  Doing school at home?!  This was going to be amazing!

And it was quite wonderful for both of us.  Until I expected her to complete a few activities on her own.  Then suddenly her joy turned to tears and success to frustration and she may have become the first home-schooled pre-schooler to actually get time-out on her very first day (leave it to my girl).

So, we're learning.  Together.

But right now we have tomorrow's work all laid out and ready for action.  And, hopefully, by next year, we'll have this thing down.  And her first day of Kindergarten can maybe not include disciplinary action.

Our work station for now.  It kind of makes me happy to see it all together.  The ice cream cone concept was something Philip remembered from growing up (adapted together with a few other ideas I've found).  As she completes the work in a basket, the scoops go on the cone and when she's done, she chooses a bonus activity as a cherry on top.  I might be kind of proud of that.

1,000 Gifts:
871. A little girl on her first bike
872. New school supplies
873. A work station all decked out and ready
874. Late nights at IHOP
875. Energy to face the day
876. Impromptu naps
877. Princess balloons
878. A little boy in a purple tiara
879. Big Boy pants
880. A memorization partner
881. Voicemail

Of Homework

It makes me smile to know that one day I will be able to tease our daughter about the time back when she used to say things like, "Can I do my homework?!" or "Homework?!  Yay!"  I'm not even sure where she learned the concept of homework (probably Sid the Science Kid, it's where she learns all her school-related vocabulary, including the concept of drawing in her "journal"), but from the very first day I printed off some worksheets for her to color on and practice tracing she has dubbed these activities "homework."  So, today, when I told her we got to do homework, this girl was practically jumping out of her chair.  And, of course, her copycat brother was pretty happy about it, too.

It won't always be this easy, but I'll take it as long as I can.

1,000 Gifts:
73. Lasagna fresh from the oven (paired with yet another loaf of homemade bread - marvelous)
74. Three babies finally asleep after a long day of refusing to do so.
75. A room filled with clothes handed down to us for our sweet boys.
76. A rainbow of markers.
77. A tub of unexpected ice cream.
78. A blue, glittery ball rolled back and forth across the floor by a formerly cranky toddler.


Taking Time for Play: Outside
Tonight's Sunset.

Of Skills Practice

A few months ago, I realized that if I planned to homeschool my children in the future (which I do, currently), there would be no official enrollment date or schedule handed to me.  It would be entirely up to me to establish a curriculum and routine for our family.  And Micaiah's pre-school days are getting closer every moment.

This terrified me.  I am not so good with keeping us on a schedule here at home; other than when we eat and sleep, our time is fairly unstructured.

The night these thoughts occurred to me, I declared to Philip that I was going to start now so when pre-school was upon us, the idea of following a schedule at home would not be entirely foreign.  I had seen some toddler learning activities on Pinterest and decided Mondays would be our structured "learning" days - or "learning practice" days.  We would focus on letters or different themes and incorporate them into our daily lives - such as choosing an "apple" theme and eating various appley foods and performing apple-based activities.  This was going to be great!

I'd like to tell you I stuck with the plan.  Heck, I'd even like to tell you I made it so far as a week, even a day, before falling off the wagon.  But I would have had to actually jump on the wagon, in more than just theory, for that to be true.  Yeah, we never took even one step in that direction.

Until today.  Kind of.

While I may not be ready for the commitment of a set schedule, I encountered a link to a Valentine's Tot Kit with printable activities on a blog I follow and just knew we could do it.

This morning was the day.  I printed the few activities I found interesting and prepared them for Micaiah.

She was thrilled!

And so we spent about 45 minutes (what I discovered to be my limit) of our morning counting, coloring, cutting and lacing.  She loved every moment of it.  And I thoroughly enjoyed sitting next to her, guiding her fingers into the scissors and gently instructing her on proper positioning ("Remember to turn your hand, Baby.").  I held my own lacing card and showed her how to thread the yarn through each hole.  I helped her count the hearts on the cards, reminding her not to forget "6" as she is known to do, and asked her to match that to the printed number on the paper.

With nearly every activity, she would have impressed the socks off me, if I'd been wearing any.  She actually recognized her numbers when she saw them (I knew she could count, but I did not know if she had yet picked up on the printed variety); her cutting stayed, mostly, on the dotted line; she lined the varied-sized boxes up accurately by size without even a hesitation; she even traced some of the letters on her coloring sheet (before she decided flat-out coloring would be more interesting).

This child of ours is a genius!  I look forward to continuing to watch her little brain develop.

 Coloring - if you look closely, you may be able to see her traced letters.

 Just look at that concentration.  She totally rocks at cutting.

 Getting her ducks in a row.

So proud!

Meanwhile, Emmett's great achievement of the morning was finding himself a helmet (which, of course, he desperately needs) to protect his own brain so he'll be prepared for those learnin' days, too (not that he's not already learning a ton everyday).  Unfortunately, I'm not sure how effective a helmet with such a large hole in the back would be, but at least he's trying.