Once in awhile we do this thing called Writing Station in spelling class. I give the kids 6 random spelling words, and they have to write a story using them. Sarah's words today were:
heard
know
bravely
crashing
dressed
greenish
Her story:
I heard and now know what that monster was. On Sunday morning it came crashing downstairs in a greenish weird outfit, not even fully dressed. "Aaarrrggghh!" all of us yelled. But...it bravely said, "Hi, children!" It was Mom. The end.
Did I mention it's been an especially rough week with PMS? I probably do appear to be a half-dressed, greenish monster to them. Here's an example:
This morning, I started a new math book with Noah. It's the next level up, and it's getting just plain hard for my tired, old, PMS mombrain. I used to be able to just wing it, but now I'm finding that I have to study the lesson before I teach it. I got confused and messed up, but finally got it done and sent him off to do independent work while I taught Sarah, who is still at a level that's easy for me. But...her math book wasn't in the file folder where it belongs.
PMS Mom went from relatively normal to full-out irritated in less than 2 seconds. Why can't these kids be more responsible? I don't have time to track down her book! I'm supposed to be making a picnic for a brown-bag-it at the library! I forced myself to be calm as I asked Sarah where her math book was. She had headphones on and didn't hear me. Super annoyed now. I lift the headphones and ask again, less calmly. She shrugs and says, "I dunno." I yank off the headphones and order her to look until she finds it. Ten minutes later, she's stressed, I'm mad, there's no math book, and there's no lunch packed. In a rare moment of clarity, I remember seeing a math book by the door, where we pile up recyclables waiting to be taken to the recycling bin. Is it possible that I got confused and put her current book on that pile instead of Noah's old one? I go out to the garage and look in the recycle bin. Sure enough, there it is.
Now there's 5 minutes till we have to leave, Noah has a question, and it looks like we're eating nothing but crow for lunch (which I've had many times, and it's not very tasty). Then wonderful little Sarah, who's been suffering under false accusations, offers to make the picnic while I do math with Noah. We arrived at the library late, and I had no idea what surprise awaited us in the lunch bag. There was one big sandwich in there for Noah, with thick slices of tomatoes, big chunks of cheese, a couple slices of turkey, a glob of mayo, and what appeared to be a whole head of lettuce. The thing was about 3 inches tall. And that was it. That was the entire picnic. I gave Noah the sandwich, and Sarah said, "May I please have a cheese stick?" like she's ordering at a restaurant. I said, "Did you pack one?" and she said no. I held out my empty hand and said, "Here's your cheese stick, and I threw in a piece of pie too." She looked at me for a second, then gave me a slow-spreading smile. Noah wolfed down his triple decker sandwich and asked, "What's for dessert?" I asked him what he packed, and he said "Nothing." and I said, "Well, that's what's for dessert. Unless you can get Sarah to share her pie with you."
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