The mice went out for an evening drive and came home with a carload of flowers. Then they had a picnic on the dinning room table. Sometimes I wish I could shrink myself down to their size and join them for a day . . .
Oh, so patient with him.
Even when he wants it over
and over again.
Even when he grabs onto her hand
and pulls her off of the piano bench,
and over to the couch,
or the bookshelf,
or the kitchen.
Talking to her,
listening to her.
Wanting, so much,
to enter into the constant conversation
of this family
leftover breakfast crumbs,
baby on the table,
oil pastels smeared into my fingers and on my bare feet.
This is one of those homeschooling days that feels hard. I’m not sure why. Teething baby? Endless messes? Tired mama? Overworked papa? Too many interrupted moments?
Today, I wish I could call a substitute teacher and take a few hours off. Is there a service out there for substitute homeschool teachers?!