So, yesterday went something like this….
Today I was hoping for so much better. Because, who wouldn’t.
So, I let the boys sleep in while I read my Bible and contemplated Life, The Universe and Everything. Then, when they got up I made pancakes per their sweet request.
All was well until I went upstairs to change into my running gear. I heard the fan click on in the downstairs bathroom and the boys bickering, “clean it up.” “No, you clean it up.” “I cleaned it up yesterday! You do it.” “I’m going to tell Mom Isaac peed in the bathroom again.”
Isaac, by the way, is a cat. And there is not a litter box in said bathroom… so this is a problem.
So, in my running gear of course, I bleached the tile floor and set up a litter box in hopes of preventing further feline urinary mishaps. Then ran the empty kitty litter container out to the recycle bin before the garbage men came.
In the five minutes I was outside one of the dogs got on the table and ate a stick of butter. A whole. Stick. Of. Butter. Because, of course.
*yelling* *shaking empty butter dish at dog* *deep sigh*
When we decided to homeschool I committed to making sure the boys got fresh air and exercise every day. So, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday most weeks I run while they ride their bikes. The trail takes us along the river and I love how every day it is different in our four season climate.
One of my favorite spots on the trail is a hundred-year-old weeping willow tree that reminds me of Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas.
As I run the boys ride their bikes ahead to pre-determined checkpoints and wait for me to catch up. The willow is one of those spots. Today when I ran past the boys did not pass me, but since the trail loops and I would be turning around soon I didn’t worry about it. It wasn’t long before the voice from the smart phone said “You are halfway through”, so I turned around. Boy 2 was waiting a short distance back down the trail – but I didn’t see Boy 1. And Boy 2 didn’t know where his brother was either.
“Well, let’s go find him,” and we went back toward home together.
As we approached the willow I saw Boy 1 laying on the bench, fingers woven together behind his head, gazing up into the tangled branches. Although it was tempting to be angry for causing me to worry, my overwhelming emotion was envy.
For 10 minutes his brother wasn’t telling him to get out of the way or leave him alone. For 10 minutes there were no parents telling him to hurry up, slow down, clean up, or get things out. For 10 minutes, at least, it was him, the silent river, the whisper of Grandmother Willow, and the whoosh of cars passing by on the road.
It occurs to me that perhaps I should consider intentionally working times of quiet into our schedule. As I type that I think how sad it is that quiet should need to be scheduled at all.
I may have posted this particular blog too early in the day.
Because, wait! There’s more!