So after a lot of a headache, and a murphy-licious situation regarding my sponsorship letter getting first forgotten, than lost, I managed to pick up my books the day before the University bookstore closes for a week. I was stoked. Call me a nerd, but I love to pick up my books, browse through them, and get a general feel for what the upcoming course is going to be about. And I do this usually about a month before school. (NERD!)
I put them in my bookbag, I take them out again. I sort them according to size, according to when I will need them throughout the week. I like to be able to find the perfect fit in my bookbag for them. I will even try to read at least the first chapter of every book before school even begins.
When I got home this morning from the bookstore I rushed down to my room to do just that. I handled them, I flipped them over in my hand, I browsed them, I skimmed them. I did just about everything short of smelling the pages of the book .
Whats different about this endeavour, however, is I have children. School-age children. Running around my house, talking to me, distracting me. Asking for breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner. They are running out of the house and down the street, begging to go to the park. They are fighting, and playing games that needs to be monitored and supervised.
In all honesty, going to school was much easier with toddlers and babies. They were ruled by routine. Breakfast, playtime, snacktime, naptime, luchtime and if I was lucky, nap again. (I was rarely lucky) Toys kept their attention for longer than 5 minutes, and I didn’t hear “I’m bored.” Plus there was no fights.
As I write down the review questions for that first chapter in that first text, I had one child approach with the “I’m hungry” that I was expecting. Unfortunately this is also the one that never accepts my first answer and will constantly ask for clarification and reasoning.
Finally I pull rank and declare “I am unable to be Student and Mom at the same time! Mom needs concentration!” This seems to placate him, as he turns and leaves my room to wait patiently for Mom to return. I never truly understood what his brain processed until he came back downstairs mere moments later asking:
“When are you going to be Mom again?” and is the style of Kid, another question immediately proceeds, with “When you are Student, am I still allowed to call you Mom, or should I call you Student?”
I laughed at how literal Kid took my words, and put Student on hold so that Mom could get a snack ready for the rugrats.