Some funny stories from the first half of an exhausting Sabbath

Some days I know have been filled with terribly funny things—I know because I write them down throughout the day (on Facebook for the most part)—but by the end of the day I don't have enough of a sense of humour left to do them justice.

Right now, for example, it's 10:30 PM.

I got the last of my children to bed at 9:20, which, all things considered, is really pretty good. But, Alexander just wandered in (which means he was asleep for all of 1 hour and 10 minutes) and is now trying to go back to sleep in my bed and Zoë just wandered in as well (she hasn't fallen asleep yet).

So I'm just...tired. Like, reliving even the funny moments sounds too exhausting because the kids are...still...requiring...my...attention. But I suppose I can try anyway.

This morning we asked Rachel to help the kids get into the van so we could go to church. As she was heaving Alexander into his seat she accidentally bonked his head on the roof.

"Oh, oops!" she said. "Are you okay?"

Alexander grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked on it, and said, "Oh, oops! Are you okay?"

I mean, I didn't know a toddler could channel vindictive sarcasm but apparently they can.

On the way to church, Rachel was asking about Superman and his powers and wondering how his people could live on Krypton when kryptonite has such an adverse effect on them. So we discussed Superman mythology the whole way to church (very reverent of us) as well as different versions of shows and their merits.

Gender roles

While Andrew was out doing the grocery shopping with Zoë, I pried Rachel away from the game the kids were playing ("We're making our own economy!" Okay, kids) so that she could hold the ladder for me while I climbed up to clean out our gutters (which are full of acorns).

"We are good at gender roles," Andrew joked when he got home.

"Well, which job would you rather do?" I asked him.

"Mmmmm..." he hedged.

"Same!" I said.

So we both got the job we prefer: him—walking down aisles, and me—climbing up ladders.

It works out.

*****

Bananagrams

We played Bananagrams this afternoon, which is a game I haven't played in ages. The kids were able to come up with some pretty good words (sometimes by cheating—Miriam spent one round "fishing" in the draw pile and because every time you return one letter you have to take three she ended the game will a billion tiles still to play so that was kind of a lame round, but she learned her lesson (and she spelled doctorate, which is one of those pretty good words I was talking about, but still)).

One round Miriam spelled the word repetition. At the end of the round when we were proudly reading our words out loud (guys, I managed to spell penitentiary in one round (I should note: there is no benefit to creating the longest word, aside from bragging rights)) and Miriam said, "Okay! I got repetition, surf, boas, moat..." she continued through her list of words and then said, "And repetition! Did I say that word already?"

"Uhhh..." I said, waiting for her to figure out her unintended pun.

"Oh!" she said, and we both started laughing because that's funny.

Though Alexander isn't in the picture, you can see what he was doing in the background (ie. playing with everything)

Red pens

Today I don't really know what to write, which I suppose is alright because sometimes days are just drizzly and dull. It was actually a pretty good homeschooling day, with Benjamin finally buckling down to do his research project. Getting him to write a rough draft of anything has been difficult (to be fair this is only our second report); he seems to think it's a waste of time and wants to dive directly into the good copy.

I can't say I blame him because drafting isn't very appealing—getting dirty and making mistakes? Carefully choosing your words only to later abandon them, striking them out with a red pen? Yuck.

It's really not a thrilling activity.

The good copy is where he—surprisingly—shines. He loves writing out his words on the lined paper I designed especially for him (because somehow he ended up with a college-ruled notebook, which hasn't been ideal for guiding his developing penmanship, so for his good copy I print out paper with dotted lines to help him make uniform letters). Somehow he's able to write neat and tidy letters when he does his good copy, which he's unable to do during any other writing activity (which is why it's surprising to me that he can).

Yesterday I printed out a manuscript of my own to edit while the kids worked on their projects. I read it to them first and they gasped in all the right places (which, really, is just one because it's a very short story). They loved it.

And then I brought out my red pen and marked it up—noted a few inconsistencies, some missing words, thought of some better words to replace mediocre words, fixed some punctuation.

"What are you doing?" the kids asked.

"I'm editing my story," I said.

"You wrote that?!" Miriam said with a note of surprise in her voice.

"Yes, I wrote it," I said.

"But it was good," Benjamin said. "Why are you changing it?"

Censorship

There is a particular homeschool curriculum that has been suggested to me several times, but which I simply can't...stomach. I'm sure it's fine; it just feels a little rote, a little simplistic, and a little too...censored...for my tastes. I've been looking at the book lists the curriculum offers and, I mean, they're fine, but the list of books explicitly not recommended is making me gasp like a fish out of water.

I mean, The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency? I'm pretty sure my mom left that book (or one the series, anyway; maybe even a couple) at my house in Egypt when she visited us years ago. Wonder. Farewell to Manzanar. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Just...so many books. For so many reasons. Angelina Ballerina, guys, which makes it "seem normal to complain about family members being annoying." Also, Angelina Ballerina is self-centered and impatient.

Like...you know...most four-year-old mice I know.

The thing I love about Angelina Ballerina, though, is that she always seems to come around to things in the end. She is a mouse who learns lessons. So my hat is always off to Katharine Holabird for pulling off such delightful tales of an endearing, though dare I say...annoying...little mouse.

The Magic Treehouse Series is also not recommended because the "family is not supported." For example, on one of the few pages the reviewer deigned to look at, Jack laments having to play with his sister, saying, "Oh, brother. This is what [I get] for spending time with [my] seven-year-old sister."

Like, can you even imagine a family member thinking another family member was being annoying? Because that never happens fifty times at my dinner table every evening! We are loving towards each other unrelentingly, 100% of the time. How dare authors include characters who at times exhibit such abominable traits such as feeling short-tempered every once in a while, or being annoyed at a sibling!? That's not the way families should be.

But, unfortunately, that's the way families are.

At least...that's the way my family is.

We fight, guys.

Just the other day, Benjamin stabbed Alexander with a pencil—left a long gash in his leg.

What's your name, man?

Alexander can say a lot of complicated things:

• Happy birthday
• Screwdriver
• Spiderman
• Where are you?

He actually can say pretty much anything and says things with surprising grammatical acuity. His pronunciation, however, is hilariously lacking, and his voice is so tiny-sounding that it makes everything sound cute, even if it's not cute when it's written down because, well, it sounds like perfectly normal English. 

Dentist tales

I had to go to the dentist today, which was unfortunate because (a) I don't like going to the dentist, but even more so because (b) I had just been to the dentist to get a couple of fillings (because my teeth are terrible and I always have cavities no matter how well I brush/floss/gargle—I mean, seriously: my dentist/hygienist is always like, "Wow! Your teeth are so clean! There's hardly any plaque build up at all. This is remarkable! Do you have an electric toothbrush?" Why, yes, I do. Thank you. I am religious about my dental hygiene. "You do a great job. Also: three cavities." And I'm always like how?! Why?! Ugh.).

Anyway...

I had just gone in to get three (3) cavities filled on October 28th. All on my bottom teeth, but on both sides of my mouth and we went ahead and filled them all at the same time and it took forever and my mouth was so numb. When they finished (around noon) they were like, "You should be numb for another hour or so..."

And I was like, "Okay, great. So I should be regaining feeling by...5:00 or so?"

I didn't say that out loud, of course, because my mouth was embarrassingly numb and I couldn't form a single word properly. It was all I could do to keep from drooling. But I know how my body reacts to pain medication (that is: very well).

My mouth was even still a little numb when we sat down for dinner.

But, I'm fine now.

Except that I noticed a hole in my tooth. It was a beautiful, perfect hole, so I figured that it was from part of a filling falling out. I called the dentist and made another appointment—for Friday last week—but then woke up so very sick on Friday morning.

Thankful tree 2019

So, I did it! I painted a tree on my wall and it went just fine. It's not quite symmetrical, which is fine because I meant for it to be asymmetrical but I'm afraid it's not quite asymmetrical enough, but that's okay. Sometimes when I make an attempt at representing something found in nature—be it a flower, a cloud, a sunset, or whatever—I always think that I didn't do a very good job, that it doesn't actually look like that. But on the other hand, sometimes I look at nature and think to myself, "See? Clouds can look like that! And would you look at this really weird twig!" and I know that pretty much anything I could draw or imagine probably already exists in nature (because nature's just that crazy). There's a high probability that a tree that's ever-so-slightly asymmetrical as this one exists somewhere in the world today (and that's good enough for me):

We've been slow about putting leaves on this year. It's been an exhausting semester. But we're slowly filling it up with things we're thankful for. and it's fun to have it be so big and bold on our wall!

Remembrance Day

Orchestra days are always a little chaotic, simply because it eats up such a large chunk of time from the middle of our day. We try to use that time effectively (read in the car! do math while we wait!) but it always ends up feeling like we don't quite get everything done. Today especially I felt pressed for time because in addition to orchestra I decided we should finally get around to doing a poppy craft.

We've more or less moved on from WWII (more because we have moved on to WWI (because why not do history backwards) and less because we just finished reading Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes and it turns out that the author took quite a few artistic liberties with this story that has forever been touted as historical, so we ordered a book authored by Sadako's brother to round out the matter in our minds (spoiler: Sadako totally managed to make 1000 cranes before she died)), so I decided that since Remembrance Day was coming up we should study WWI for a while.

The kids have been working on memorizing In Flanders Fields (which Benjamin wishes could be just a little bit happier in tone, but I was like, "No, dude. War is definitely this gloomy, so...sorry") and today we made some plastic canvas/needlepoint poppies to wear. It was certainly an exercise in patience for the kids (and for me as well, if we're being honest, since I was trying to guide the two older ones through their projects while allowing Zoë to pull the needle through the one I was working on, and kept having to stop to help everyone fix their mistakes), but be we made it through it!

First I had them enlarge the pattern—which, incidentally was an 11x11 square—on graph paper, so that totally counts as math (though we still did our regularly scheduled Singapore math as well). We talked about lines of symmetry and so forth. And then I let them loose with yarn and needles. They needed a ton of help when we first started out but by the time we were finishing up they were rethreading their needles like champions.

We ended up with five poppies: one made by Benjamin, one made by Miriam, and three made by me (with Zoë and Alexander taking turns pulling the needle through whenever they they could convince me they should have a turn).

Here they are wearing them just before I called them to attention for our moment of silence:

Primary program 2019

Today was the children's primary sacrament meeting presentation, so our pew was abnormally quiet since only Rachel and Alexander were sitting with us. The other three were up on the stand ready to sing and say their lines.

We have such terrible memories these days that we couldn't quite remember who had participated in last year's primary program. We know that we went—it was the Sunday after Karen had died, so we were all pretty much a mess, which is probably why we couldn't remember much about it.

Rachel was sure that she had been sitting with us. I was almost positive that we only had Alexander with us. It took quite a bit of whispering for us to get it all figured out.

Last year Rachel, Miriam, and Benjamin participated in the primary program (leaving Zoë and Alexander to sit in the audience). Then in January, Rachel graduated from primary to the young women's program, so this is her first year not participating in the program. Also, Zoë graduated from nursery into Sunbeams so this was her first year participating in the program. I think Rachel cut some sort of wild deal with the primary last year and if she participated in a small singing group she wouldn't have to say a line (and it surprised me that she would pick singing over speaking, but there you have it).

So, that was last year.