Friday, December 16, 2011

No Rest for the Weary

As my daughter clung to the railing of my mother's house, screaming "save me, grandma, save me, don't let them kill me!", I suspected I may have made a wrong turn somewhere in my gentle guidance of her development.

Let me retrace my steps.

After we finished her morning work on phonics -- may I just interject here that phonics are very, very boring? -- she was supposed to have her piano lesson at her grandmother's. After her piano lesson, she and her brother were going to go with Tatty to deliver cookies to various ill members of our congregation.

All to the good. She was happy to see her father. She wanted to bring a glass of water. No, her father told her, you don't need refreshments to steel you for the five blocks to the home for the aged. You will not die of dehydration; this is not the Sahara.

We live in a rain forest.

This is where the little train started to run off of its tracks. Her father told her to get in the car. She refused. He insisted. She broke away screaming, running back to my mother's house, yelling, "grandma, save me, save me!"

By the time she was locked in the main floor bathroom, she was probably wise to lock the door against me.

Some time later she explained to me that she had attempted to hold on to her calm place, but it had escaped and run down her leg, disappearing.

Rather like she did, but with less screaming.

Then she wept for an hour.

Then something amused her and she fell on the floor giggling.

My daughter has more emotional range on an average afternoon than I have displayed in the last ten years.

Monday, December 12, 2011

All the weary mothers of the world . . .

Firefly declined his nap time. I hope to exact payment from him in the form of an early bedtime. And by "early" I mean "on time, like any normal child."

Thing I don't understand: the 180 day school schedule. Munchkin's books usually have lesson plans of 140 or so lessons. I don't know what the other days are. And apparently we're supposed to be doing 180 lessons a year. I have to work every day. Why is it that children don't? And given that children have the memories of goldfish (once round the bowl and they've forgotten everything they ever knew and are seeing the pink stucco castle for the very first time), would it be better to give them shorter lessons more often rather than full days only half of the year?

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Drowning woman waving

I'm drowning. That's why I'm not updating here. Munchkin is spending three to four hours a day doing home school, which has tipped the workload for her mother from "controlled chaos" to just the chaos part. Plus this being-Jewish business is time-consuming. Especially in a city without a close by kosher bakery that we are willing to use.

I'm looking for someone to clean and/or run my boys in a circle a few times a week, and if I find someone (IYH) I will update more often.