In yesterday’s post, Mau reminds me that we need to be flexible, especially when considering the typical military man’s schedule, which is not very family friendly.

I agree! (One of the reasons I homeschool is to take advantage of family time when we can, not when the school system and the military schedule happen to mesh.)

But I don’t think having a routine means slaving over school work on Dad’s day off. I think having a routine means ensuring the family’s needs and priorities are met.

If I stay on top of the laundry every day, we can take a day off (even two) for family fun and still find clean underwear in the drawers.

If there is a set time during the day to do chores, the entire family focuses on getting the house in order, so that when we decide to go to a free outdoor concert after dinner, the condition of the house at our very late return doesn’t make me regret that choice.

If there is a set time in the morning for breakfast and other things, I don’t feel guilty at 630 am telling my early birds to leave me alone while I type a blog entry. I will give them my attention at 7 am.

If there is a set bedtime for the kids, there is a set mom-dad time afterward.

I don’t want to be a slave to a routine, but I also don’t want to be overwhelmed with basic household maintenance. Not prepping dinner, a family necessity, means not having a healthy dinner or means eating late. Not expecting my children to do chores at regular intervals means raising children with very bad habits and expectations and means having parents who are angry that the kids make messes and don’t clean. Not doing the bills on time means paying late fees.

None of these options are good choices.

Later today or tomorrow, I’ll share my schedule. I think it’s fairly loose – has a lot of “margins” – and really just lays out family expectations and priorities.

My main goal yesterday was to have one box-free area in my home. I picked the living room – dining room for several reasons:

1. I like to sit on the couch in the morning and watch the birds.

2. The only chance I have to routinely sit down during the day is at dinner time, and I didn’t want to spend that time staring at more work that needed to be done.

3. That area was much more advanced than my bedroom as far as unpacking.

We still haven’t found those missing shelf brackets, so a stop at the local big-name Everything Under The Sun Hardware Store (okay, TWO stops at the local EUTSHS, since we didn’t get enough brackets the first time), and we were able to empty a dozen very heavy boxes.

I moved several boxes into the sunroom, since their contents belonged there (which really just transferred the mess to that room), put a few boxes with decorative items in the front closet (out of sight, out of mind), and lined the hallway with six or seven narrow packages that hold framed pictures (I can’t see them from my seat in the dining area, and they are technically not in the living room, so it’s okay).

Voilà. One box-free room.

I even dusted the dog hair from the floor and put a fresh table cloth out. Dinner was fabulous.

Atmosphere does make a difference.

At dinner, I announced new rules for my new space. Except for the baby toys, of which there aren’t too many, the area was to remain toy-free. In fact, I told them I didn’t want to see any personal items of any kind, and anything found in the area was subject to immediate confiscation and permanent disappearance (except for school books, which, if found, would cost the perpetrator additional assignments). We have a very nice family room in the walk-out basement. There is plenty of room for the toys, the school stuff, and I even set up our small kitchen table for games, puzzles and coloring.

“This area is to be an oasis of peace and quiet,” I declared.

I wonder if the EUTSHS sells potted palm trees.

Katie just doesn’t get her brothers.

“Moooooom, Peter’s bleeding!” Peter might have been bleeding, but he did not want to stop playing. She stood in the kitchen stamping her foot and looking at me. It was obvious that I was expected to do something. The child needed medical attention.

“Moooom, you can see Billy’s underwear through his white baseball pants!” Actually, I pointed out to her that you couldn’t see his underwear because he is very particular about his shirts which are always neatly tucked into his pants. You could see his orange striped shirt, but not his underwear. This was very embarrassing. For her. Billy was happy to be wearing baseball pants and nothing, not even lack of white underwear, would stop him.

Not too long ago, there was a verbal scuffle in the living room. Parental intervention revealed that Fritz yelled at his sister for “interrupting” the hockey game. Fritz was chastised for his poor behavior, but I felt it necessary to explain to Katie that men do not like having their sports viewing interrupted.

“Nobody likes it when somebody talks during a show,” protested my husband, also a bit grumpy for having his hockey game disturbed, and not at all pleased at being the target of sexist remarks.

“In a woman’s mind, there is a big difference between a movie with dialogue and a hockey game.”

He didn’t agree, and I doubt any man in my life would. Which is why I will continue the sexist training of my daughters. Once they master Men and Sports 101 which covers talking during games and commercials (especially ones for beer), as well as blood, injuries, clothing, hygiene and good luck rituals, we’ll move on to level 201 which will discuss techniques for turning off the TV so you aren’t interrupting when you do talk.

…besides the obvious reason that children vastly outnumber adults here. I mean, should we vote on school attendance? or curriculum? chores? whether or not to buy a Playstation?

Even “safe” things that I try to put up for “vote” won’t work out equitably in the end.

The waffles vs. pancakes vote would usually go in favor of pancakes…and one kid who prefers waffles would have to settle.

The sausage vs. bacon issue would go to sausage…and that same waffle kid would lose out here as well.

What flavor ice cream?
Where to eat dinner?
What TV show to watch?

Compromise assumes that sometimes you give and sometimes you get. But what if the majority rule means you never get your way? What if another sibling is particularly good at manipulating the preschool vote to go his way?

Can we see how this applies to the real world? Is the majority rule always fair? Are some organizations particularly good at manipulating votes?

Like school and chores and other weighty matters, there are some things that aren’t votable: the Bill of Rights. But even in less serious subjects (taxes, health insurance, even prayer in schools), we have to recognize that a vote might not be just.

Apply that to the left or the right as you see fit.

For breakfast, I served both waffles and pancakes. And the grown ups ate this.

Two weeks before Mary was born, I planted several hundred bulbs. It hurt.

But the pain is a distant memory, especially as we’ve enjoyed the splashes of color: first the yellow daffodils…then the purple tulips…then the yellow streaked with orange tulips…then the pinkish tulips…and now just a tiny bit of purple irises.

Recently, Katie realized that bulb plants come up year after year. “Will the people who live here after us see the tulips, Mommy?”

She, like I, thought that was neat. Next spring, some other family will be watching little plants push up through the ground and wondering what surprises await them. Even if they recognize tulip plants, they won’t know what color until it opens up and shows the world.

It was probably just a federally paid worker and not a private gardener who planted the azalea bush in the front that is finally losing its purple flowers. Same thing with the cherry or crab apple tree in the back. But it doesn’t matter who planted them or why. I just wonder if the gardener anticipated the joy his or her work would bring to me years later.

The leaves of the tree in my back yard are now pushing the flowers off. Pink gives way to the green. Bill installed a birdhouse Billy made for Scouts on that tree, and sparrows seem to have claimed it as their home. How lucky we are to be able to watch them from our dining room table as we do school.

My only disappointment, if you could call it that, has been the irises. Unusually hot weather in October caused the bulbs to grow instead of sleep. By November, they were all out of the earth and wondering why the days were not getting longer. In early spring, while tending to the beds, I pulled the dead leaves off, but left the green ones. A few weeks ago, I considered trimming them to the ground, but they just looked so hardy that I decided to wait. Sure enough, I have a few blooms and see more coming. But they are pathetic looking! The fall growth and improper dormancy caused them to be stunted. That’s okay. Next year someone else will see them in their full glory.

I think sexism comes naturally to boys. I have one (a sexist boy), but he didn’t get that from me. I can’t really blame Bill either. I can accuse my husband of many things, but not sexism.

A few days ago, he (the sexist boy) casually remarked about women and guns not mixing. Something about how women don’t shoot them. My husband, in shock, informed him that his Nana (my husband’s mother) owned several handguns and was a better shot than he was. This boy of mine thought that it was illegal for women to shoot guns, or at least that it had been at some point in the past!

I reminded him of the female soldiers he’s seen. Asked him if didn’t he think they knew how to use a gun. The problem with logic is that it ruins one’s misperceptions!

Today I bought one of these (but I didn’t pay nearly that much!). The boys had one last year and used it a lot, but it didn’t survive the winter. My boys and two friends set out to put it together, but quickly decided the directions were too complicated. Sexist boy of mine wanted his dad to help. Bill was working on stuff for school, so I dropped all of my womanly work, you know, cooking, cleaning, and baby-tending, to see if my pretty little head could make heads or tails of the instructions. We did a few steps easily, but when I stopped to carefully read the next step, this kid sighed a heavy sigh and said, “Shouldn’t I just go get Dad?”

I was a little annoyed.

Just as we were finishing putting the net on, Bill came down to get more beer (it helps him write better) and stepped out back to see how we were doing. I informed him of his son’s comments, and my hero leaped to defend my honor by reminding the boy, “Your mother is an engineer!”

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this kid.

It would be silly to purchase birthday cards when I have a whole bevy of artists right here. And if the recipient is a neighborhood kid, it’s really a waste of money to get a store-bought card. If I spend $3 on a card for my mother, I know it will spend at least a few days (weeks?) on display in her home. She will look at it at least twice (once when she gets it and once when she gets rid of it), and likely think some pleasant thoughts about me. Children only look at cards because their parents make them look at cards to see from whom the gift is.

At least I appreciate my children’s efforts.

Although the artwork is cute, what I really love about these cards is the generosity. Here, Fritz includes Peter in the “from.” We all know Peter can’t make a birthday card (at least not one that does the job of wishing a happy birthday and identifying the giver of the gift).

And this one says it’s from Katie. Billy drew the pictures and Katie colored them. What team work!

Last I saw, Billy’s card wasn’t done. He’ll spend days working on a “masterpiece.”

Jenny drew her own card, but somebody, probably Fritz, wrote the words. Can you identify Princess Leia with her blaster?

It’s evidence such as this that makes me feel like I’m doing something right.

Would you like to add some fiber to your diet? Years ago, when I was pregnant with Fritz (and therefore, being my first child, had the leisure to stand around the cereal aisle at the grocery store comparing labels for a half hour) I found myself in desperate need of, ahem, regularity. I scoped out every single cereal on the market and discovered that Fiber One was, by far, the most fiber-laden of all. Ten years later, there is some competition, but from what I’ve seen (sorry, I no longer have hours to spend looking at labels), Fiber One is still top dog.

The downside is that it looks like gerbil-food.

Fortunately, I don’t have a desperate need to eat the stuff. Bill had been eating it, and I stocked up the last time it went on sale. But then Bill tasted their Honey Clusters version. The Honey Clusters tastes infinitely better than the Original flavor and has almost as much fiber. Unfortunately, it also has high fructose corn syrup and other junk. Bill doesn’t care, but some people do. Me? I eat oatmeal now.

In any event, Bill’s been eating the Clusters and ignoring the two boxes of Original on the shelf. What to do?

Well, Fiber One helped me out by putting a Crunchy Fudge Cookie recipe on the box using two whole cups per batch! And you know what? Add enough sugar to something and it really isn’t tough to eat it. I only had one kid turn her dainty nose up at them. The rest begged for just one more (again and again and again). I don’t think I’ll have any trouble using the rest of the box. I mean, if health food tastes this good, how can I not make more?

In fact, when I started this post, there were four lonely cookies left. I wondered what I should do with four cookies. Six of us like them. They couldn’t be saved for another evening’s dessert – heavens! the squabbles. No, somebody must finish off those cookies to keep the peace. As I wrote this post, deeply considering how very little my family would appreciate the sacrifice should I choose to eat them all, but how, in the long run, it would perhaps be the right thing to do, Bill and then Peter wandered into the kitchen and noticed the cookies. Apparently, they had the same thoughts about how the cookies simply could not be left and that somebody needed to just eat them to save us all.

And so they did. My hips thank you, dearies.