- The baby is doing his best to eat an eraser. It looks pretty inviting, actually — turquoise blue, soft, and chewable. I confiscate.
- The 4 year old is crafting. With lots of glue and little supervision. A grammar worksheet finds itself affixed to the table. Tears are shed. I clean and comfort.
- The kindergartener is standing in his chair, waving wild arms over his work and singing, “Octopuses don’t wear shoes — Octopuses don’t wear shoes — ” I am mildly interested in where he picked up this little ditty but determined not to encourage him. I redirect.
- The oldest declares her circumstances ridiculous and wonders aloud how anyone in the world can possibly expect her to perform “seventh grade math in a preschool classroom.” I remove, admonish, relocate, and totally agree. Especially with the “ridiculous” part.
- The 9-year-old sneaks away with his math work — the very stuff that brought him to the brink of frustration-induced madness just yesterday morning — and returns triumphant. The dragons of lowest common multiples and mixed number subtraction have been forever slain. I congratulate.
- The kindergartener recognizes the word “surprise” when he sees it. No prompting from mom, no whispers from his precocious baby sister, no hesitation whatsoever when he sees this word we’ve read and re-read dozens of times and yet never before now have managed to install in his young mind. Today he reads “surprise.” By himself. I glow.
- The 11-year-old takes a break from his history reading to make a paper airplane for the whiny 3-year-old who is sitting next to him on the couch. The little boy beams and the big boy smiles before returning to his book. I melt.
- The oldest announces how very glad she is that we are going to be able to attend a matinée of Prince Caspian on the day that it opens, even if it will be a school day. I ignore that fact that no one has made any such promise to her, and totally agree. Especially with the “very glad” part.