Every morning the little girls climb into my bed and ask me if its a Movie Day. Their little voices quiver in hope. And every day, except for Monday, I say, No. No No No. A thousand times No. It is a School Day, or, on Saturday, a Reading Day, or on Sunday, A Church Day. And then they say, “aw” and whine until I chase them out to go find themselves some breakfast. It used to be that I would make breakfast. I would haul myself out of bed and go down and make pancakes or French toast or cream of wheat or oatmeal, and I would stand there, in my robe, staring at the mess and chaos, trying to drink enough caffeine to make it all ok. But then one day it occurred to me that, what, were they babies that they couldn’t toast themselves a bagel or pour some cereal into a bowl? So now I buy enormous quantities of both those things, and eggs– sure, make yourself an egg, I don’t care as long as I don’t see you doing it–and cook pancakes at night sometimes for supper, or maybe even for lunch if I’m feeling the rush and thrill of human ambition, so I guess never. And while they’re doing that–pouring and scattering cornflakes, lathering butter and Nutella onto every surface, filling vast mugs of hot chocolate and sprinkling the chocolate powder over everything–I stay up here and blog, and watch the anemic sun fight its way over the horizon. When I think they’re definitely all as full as they can be, I go and fry myself an Aldi sausage and an egg and retreat to my corner in the office while they “clean up”. There’s no way I get through that bit without some shouting about sugar being poured out everywhere, like some kind of pagan oblation to the god of the ants.
From that point till about ten they continue to be on their own. They have chores to do and they are supposed to put on actual clothes and they have lots and lots of school work they’re supposed to get to on their own. They are supposed to take turns on the piano and turns on the computer with math. They can come in and ask me questions, but they should be active and busy, doing all the work they’re supposed to do. Sometimes Elphine wakes up super early and has done the bulk of her work by the time ten o’clock rolls around. Other times, like today, she is still asleep, and will be frustrated and angry with herself by 4 in the afternoon when she is still looking at a pile of books and everyone else is done.
Ten is the first real hard stop. I pour another vat of caffeine and beat my way into the school room and huddle up against one the of the heaters and conduct Morning Memory Time. We pray, anyone who wants can pray if they want to. I read a portion of the bible, we’re near the end of Genesis, we practice our bible memory work, in this case Isaiah 55, we sing one or two hymns, and then we recite whatever poem we’re working on. Then Alouicious and Elphine desperately practice their spelling words while I review French vocabulary out loud, and read a chapter of whatever book we’re reading. We just started Frightful’s Mountain. By that point the spelling practice should be over because we have to have spelling tests before lunch, and math, so Stop Dallying! I have, by much trial and error, figured out how to give three levels of spelling tests simultaneously but it does, should you ever happen upon us at that moment, involve a great deal of shouting. Not angry shouting, just a great roar and din of people, especially me, trying to be heard. Then I check the tests and return them to be corrected and carry on with Life of Fred. We get through about three chapters a day. I read it out, we work through the Your Turn to Play together on the board, and then I give each child a small white board with a bunch of sums to work on their own.
At that point we are all exhuasted and hungry, and I am hoarse from yelling, and so either I go make lunch, or I send in a kid to make sandwiches. I’ve been trying to have pots of soup made ahead that can just be heated up, but I’m not nearly as organized as that requires. That really only happens once every fourth week but it should be something that’s there every day. We used to have a break at this point, or rather I did, to recover my wits. But we had a great horrible terrible time getting back into gear, so now, you eat lunch, you run around downstairs or run on the treadmill for no more than ten minutes, and you get back to work. I mean, not you, The Children. The afternoon is spent in me helping people who need help. I work with Gladys mostly, and deal with a constant flow of interruptions from the others. I also try very hard to make sure the little girls get their Daily Story. So sue me, one story is better than no story, if you know what I mean.
Usually we are all done between two or three, on a bad day, four. I shout for everyone to clean up the completely trashed school room and wander away to fold laundry, make dinner, work out (in nice weather this is the moment when I take a long walk up the hill, dragging my lazy dog behind me), and, if God loves me, read a snatch of a book or something. If the children are obedient and work hard and the school room is clean, they get to watch Wild Kratts. Elphine takes herself up stairs and hides in her room or goes to church to play with her friend. On Wednesdays we have to rush dinner because there’s fencing in the evening, but the other days we eat dinner and I lay back on the couch while the children clean up the kitchen, with complaining. Bedtime is 8 o’clock. I’m not kidding, I have to be in bed by 8 or I completely melt down.
Part Two: How we survive the madness of the little girls and what did we do with them when they were horrible babies.
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