Thursday, June 10, 2010

Homeschool Rambling

I never dreamed I would one day homeschool my children.

Growing up, I thought that homeschool was just a weird concept and that homeschooled kids were a little off.

Then I grew up and learned differently.

If the homeschool kids are a little off then that's because the parents are. I mean, they would have to be to want to teach all of their children themselves.

Take me, for instance.

Whenever I am introduced to people and they find out that I homeschool my children and that I have five boys, their reactions are always the same.

Complete and utter thankfulness that it's not them.

I do wonder if I am doing the right thing or just plain crazy.

There are subjects that I love to teach like History and Literature, but I'd rather put a stake in my heart than do a science experiment or math.

I love teaching my sons, but sometimes the burden of their education sits too heavily on my back. There are a lot of mornings when I get out of bed still in the fetal position.

I question myself all the time.

I try to drill into my sons' brains that education is very important, but I'm afraid it's going in one ear and out the other.

What will my sons' remember about this time of their lives? Will they remember it as absolute torture? Do they call me "The Terror" behind my back?

There are the frustrating days. Sometimes, it's like pulling teeth to get them to stop daydreaming and do their work. I have to sit there and make sure they do it instead of doing laundry, etc. because they'll start goofing off and before you know it, paper is flying everywhere not to mention the cat. Therefore, sometimes my days are not as productive as I'd like.

There are the good days. These days make up for the frustrating, pull-out-my-hair days.

The days I will cherish and think about forever because they all culminate into a big part of my life.

I don't know what will become of my sons.

All I can say is, after all this one-on-one attention, they better not become a bum.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Monster Mash

It's amazing how all my boys come from the same womb, but they are so different from each other.

These differences manifest themselves in different ways, but the most recent was during a movie.

I was desperate for some quiet time and decided to pop in a movie for the youngest ones hoping it would work. Sometimes, movies just don't do it for my little ones.

I turned on the movie and tiptoed away. So far so good.

I grabbed my current book and hopped into bed, snickering. Oh, yeah. It's me time.

A couple chapters later, I realize it's too quiet.

Is the movie actually working? Are they really watching it?

No way.

So, putting on my spy face, I tiptoe to the door and peek around the corner. If they really are watching it, I don't want to disturb anything. After all, I'm in a crucial part of my book.

There they were. The three of them. All glued to the screen. After watching the adorable scene they made together, I started noticing the part of the movie they were so entranced with.

Maybe I should mention that I put in the movie Monsters, Inc.

Yeah. I forgot about the part where "Kitty" scares the crap out of the robotic boy in the practice session and therefore, scaring the crap out of "Boo" and making her cry.

Realizing this a little too late, I watched the reactions of my boys. Seven-year-old Sleepy's eyes are big as baseballs, five-year-old Happy looks bored and nonchalant, and two-year-old Sneezy slaps his hands over his eyes so he can't see anymore.

Yes. You can say it.

I'm a bad mother for letting my little baby see the big, scary monster movie.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Vacuum Surgery

One of the banes of my life are vacuums.

I don't even know if I'm spelling it correctly half the time. I hate the dang things, and they even go out of their way to be hard to spell. I even had to google it to make sure.

I know I speak of them as if they are more than inanimate objects, but I really think they have their own personality.

They love to make it hard on me. Personally, I think they are all hypochondriacs. I have to be very careful with them or wham! They are refusing to work for me unless I get out the band-aids.

Every few years, we have to buy a new vacuum.....and the good ones don't come cheap, either.

In my house, we need a really good vacuum I can trust because this is no run-of-the-mill carpet we are talking about.

It's the kind that has boys, dogs, cats, and clumsy adults using it.

Our last vacuum bit the dust a few days ago after only a few years of use. The last few weeks of its life I had to have Sleepy or Happy sit on it in order to produce enough suction.

After much groaning and high-pitched whining, it started to give out with outright screaming. Knowing something was very wrong, I decided to start taking it apart to see what's what.

I called Doc in because two heads are better than one, and I needed him to see the definite proof that we will have to get a new vacuum.

My strategy proved better than I thought since pieces of broken metal starting falling away during surgery.

My reaction was shock even though I'm surprised I felt any. The boys' faces looked as if they were saying, "Uh, I don't think it's supposed to look like that."

My conclusion as well, my dear Watsons.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Surprise, Surprise

Our cute, little booger is being potty-trained now.

Oh, joy.

I hate potty-training. To me, there's nothing cute about it. It's a nasty, disgusting business and I'd rather it pass by without me having to do with it.

The nasty, disgusting part is really not the part that I hate the most.

It's the fact that I have to get off my patoosky every stinking hour to place the cute, little patoosky on the potty chair.

Let's face it, I'd rather be doing something else.

He is the last one, though, so I will prevail in this. I must or the child will be using my floor for a potty chair for years to come.

Case in point.

Sneezy came to me with a soiled diaper telling me that he "poot". I don't know why I didn't believe him. Maybe because I didn't smell it, but I took his diaper off thinking there were no surprises.

Well, that surprise plopped out onto my carpet and I gasped in shock with my jaw to the floor.

Since Sneezy was standing in close proximity to the "surprise" I told him not to move. I went to grab his ankle to enforce this decree, but he jerked away.

His foot landed in the surprise.

It was Sneezy's turn to look utterly shocked with jaw to the floor as he stared at his foot oozing with surprise.

After the shock started to wear off, his face slowly crumpled into despair and wailing commenced.

I grabbed his ankle to prevent him from doing more damage to the carpet and proceeded to laugh until I cried.

The look of shock on his two-year-old face was priceless.