Only Fair

My husband takes Mondays off. This works out great for him, but not so great for me, because Monday is a school day, a daycare day, a regular work day for me. I woke up to the alarm, greeted Babygirl who was sitting in her crib removing her fuzzy jammies, and went downstairs to make breakfast for YoungestBoy. When he was dressed and fed, he went to play a little Pikmin 2 on his Nintendo Gamecube before school.

Meanwhile, DaycareKid arrived, the twins woke up, the neighbor called to see if we could switch carpooling times, so I had to go upstairs to let my husband know he needed to take the kids to school, rather than pick them up. He was reclining in bed, watching morning news and I really did my best not to feel like a jealous indentured servant. I'm not on a time-clock, but I am certainly on a schedule, a mommy-track if ever there was one.

By 9:00 a.m., I was sitting in the backyard watching the toddlers run back and forth and flit from playhouse to chalkboard to sandbox. The twins were supposed to be writing about their weekend (they went to both a corn-maze with the youth group and the rodeo with their dad).

The www.k12.com curriculum has not yet arrived, much to my chagrin. I would be a rotten homeschooler if I were doing this all myself--finding curriculum, implementing it, teaching them, etc. Their learning styles are polar opposite to mine, as are their personalities, genders, food preferences--pretty much eveything. I'm not sure if it's because they are almost 12 or because they are boys or because they are twins or because they are not genetically mine, but they are a puzzle to me. They hate to write. TwinBoyB took two hours to write three dismal, poorly-spelled, sloppy paragraphs.

The curriculum must come this week! Or pretty soon they'll be watching SpongeBob for their "literature" class. Right now they are watching the Narnia chronicles, which I'm pretending is actually educational. They have to finish their writing assignment before dinner. I better think of what dinner will be or they won't have much incentive.

Babygirl is two years old now. I probably have just forgotten how brilliant my other children were at this age, but she seems to me to be a remarkable toddler. She can describe her feelings with words. She counts to twelve. She has a great memory, and of course, she can spell pool. The other day, she said, "Go to the pool?" and I just looked at her, wishing I didn't have to explain that we couldn't go because it's closed and she apparently thought I didn't understand her because she peered into my eyes and said helpfully, "P-O-O?"

She insists on being unclothed or half-clothed most of the time. Yesterday, I was reading in the living room while she frolicked (minus her clothing) in the family room where the twins were watching television. Then I heard her: "I peed in the potty!" A quick check confirmed that she did, indeed, pee in the potty. I applauded and we carried the liquid treasure to the bathroom to dump it. This morning, she peed on the floor, but awhile later, said, "I need to pee," and went to the potty where she made a little deposit. She was a little confused, so reached in with a pointer finger to touch it while I yelled "YUCKY! YUCKY!" I know the specialists say not to make a big deal about how disgusting fecal matter is, but ewwwwwww. I can't help myself. We washed and flushed it away.

My baby is growing up. Just like that. Before you know it, she'll be picking out ugly bridesmaid dresses for her friends to wear in her wedding. I just hope her hair grows in before then. And I hope she wears underpants, too, especially when she plays in the sandbox.

As I mentioned, my husband took the boys to the rodeo yesterday at the Western Washington Fair (also known in these parts as The Puyallup--that's "pew-al-up.") Being male, no one really gave me any details, but I gather they had fun and that the rodeo clown was the best part. Unfortunately, no one took a camera, so ultimately, it will be a forgotten trip, I'm afraid, without proper documentation.

Today, my husband is back at the fair--it's not fair!--manning a Habitat for Humanity booth. He's volunteering from 2:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., so yes, that does mean that I will enjoy the rest of the day taking care of everything here alone. On his day off. Which is not a day off for me. Ever.

He called to say it's raining, and I said, "Hey, better a rainy day at the fair than an unrainy day stuck at home!"

However, here's a ray of sunshine: my living room. Not only are the walls vivid orange-yellow, but as of a few hours ago, we have new carpet. A thousand words could not begin to give you an adequate picture of the yucky the old dingy white shag carpet from 1973. Now, I will only be embarrassed by my not-quite-chic shabby furniture. I will also hope that some of my well-to-do friends decide they need a newer couch than the one they purchased three years ago so I can update my interior design.

Time to vacuum, so I can rearrange the unchic-shabby furniture, a motley assortment donated to our cause by my mother (her dad gave her the tan swivel rocker), a church couple (brown recliner, also used a scratching post by our cats), gold couch (traded from the parsonage in Michigan), and coffee tables (from the neighbor when she moved). The coffee tables are the exact kind my husband grew up with, which seems appropriate. Of course, that also means they are 30 years behind the times, but then again, so is our house. Trading Spaces, are you listening?