An explanation of my "First day of homeschool" post

Sometimes I have these really, weird, lapses of memory/reality and I forget that I am the mother of unruly boys. I don't know how this happens, I have three constant reminders running circles around me all day.

This happened to me on a Monday, our first day of home school. I was making pancakes and I told Kenson to go wake Karter up and tell him I was making pancakes for breakfast. In my delirium, I envisioned Kenson skipping down the hall, butterflies flitting about, birdies, singing sweetly on the window sill. He gently leans over his sleeping brother whispering softly, "Little brother.... Mommy dear is making us pancakes. Won't you please join us?" My darling offspring would then walk back into the kitchen arm in arm with broad smiles on their faces.

What was I thinking?

I KNOW that this would never, ever happen in my house..... with my boys. Yet, for some reason, I did it anyway.

Was I drunk on French Vanilla Coffemate or what?

What did happen is this: Somehow when the words left my mouth and entered into the ears of Kenson they turned into "Please, please go torture your brother and see just how mad you can make him." So Kenson, happy to oblige, sped down to Karter's room, leaped onto his bed and began jumping, up and down.

Karter, even under the best circumstances, is not a morning person. These were not the best circumstances and he began to scream like a banshee. I have never heard a banshee scream, but I imagine they sound similar to Karter in the height of his fury.

I intervened.

Karter stopped his screaming.

Kenson left Karter's room only to return a few minutes later to continue afflicting his brother. This time he decided to poke him randomly at intervals as he was trying to fall back asleep.

There really are no words to describe what happened next.

Let's just say it was ugly, real ugly.

I got angry, real angry.

This was our first day of homeschool.

It did not go well.

In hindsight, I probably should have just postponed the first day until Tuesday, but I didn't. (please see first paragraph)

Differences

Monday, Karter and I were making cookies. I was dumping in the ingredients and he was manning the mixer. When we were finished, I ask the boys if they wanted to lick the beaters. Karter has done this several times before, but apparently actually seeing the raw eggs go into the cookie dough affected his decision.

He asked, "Can't raw eggs make you sick?"

I replied, "Well, yes, technically I guess they could. But you really won't be eating very much cookie dough and not actually getting a lot of raw eggs. So you probably won't get sick. You've eaten cookie dough before and never gotten sick."

Karter declares, "I'm not eating it."

That's just the kinda guy he is.

This made Kenson very happy. "Cool!" He exclaimed. "I'll eat yours too!"

Because, that's just the kinda guy he is.

Karter 1, Mom 0

Karter has been a serial sleep stalker for the past few years. I can't really pin point when this started, but it has gone on way too long. He'll come and get into our bed numerous times throughout the night even though we take him and put back in his bed. We actually have counted, and between the two us we have put him back in his bed up to 5 times in one night.

This is very frustrating.

He grinds his teeth. He throws his legs over my head. He pins me to the bed by rolling over on my hair.

Did I say this is very frustrating?

The other night we had this conversation when he crawled into our bed:

Me: "What are you doing?"

Karter: "I want to sleep in your bed."

Me: "No. You need to sleep in your own bed."

Karter: no reply. He just continues to crawl into my bed.

Suddenly, I get a bright idea.

Me: "Karter, you're going to be 7 soon and you can't sleep with your mom and dad when you're 7.

Score!

He gathers his pillow and starts to go into his room.

Yes! Victory is sweet!

But wait... He stops and turns...

Karter: "Mama?"

Me: "Yes?"

Karter: "Can I just sleep in here tonight? For the last time?"

Blam!! Straight to the heart!

The last time? The last time?

Suddenly his life flashes before my eyes. The day he was born; getting his first tooth; loosing his first tooth; his first day of school; learning to ride his bike.

These past seven years have flown by.

Where did they go?

I now see vision of his future: singing in the youth choir; getting his drivers license; graduating from high school; driving off into the sunset with his red headed girlfriend and forgetting about his poor momma who grew him in her womb.

Me: "Ok, you can sleep with us."

Me: "But you have to cuddle with me. And grind your teeth. And throw your legs across my head. But don't pin me to the bed by my hair. That is really frustrating."