It’s taken more than a decade for him to figure it out, but finally it seems that my husband understands it takes so very little to make me extra happy with him. A sweet email, an inexpensive bouquet of flowers, an occasional extravagant gift because I “deserve all that and more” and I smile for days (or weeks or more). In fact, the memory of last year’s birthday surprises still makes me all glowy.

All morning long, I told myself to take a picture, but the camera was in the car. I eventually did get a picture, but only after Pete had had his way with it.

Fritz has been feeling under the weather since this past weekend. Nothing terrible or needing medical attention, just a run-down feeling, some stomach achiness, headache, stuffy ears. On Sunday, Bill told Fritz they needed to go get him some cleats and a new glove for the upcoming baseball season, and he begged off – a sure sign that he was sick.

So when he told me yesterday morning, in tears, that his ear hurt really badly, I was not at all surprised. And even though he hadn’t had one in years, I was positive that he did have an ear infection.

But, boy oh boy, was I mad at him. You see, he woke up at his usual time between 6 and 630 am. He asked to watch the two episodes of Lost in Space that he hadn’t seen yet on the Netflix DVD. After that he got dressed and then set to work at the dining room table on his first drawing of the day. {My three oldest kids draw multiple pictures every day from their imagination. I do not know if this is normal for most kids, but it is quite the usual thing around here. The drawings have gotten more and more detailed as the kids have gotten older. Billy now adds word bubbles, asking me if he spelled “RETREAT!” correctly – can you guess what his drawings look like? Katie did one the other day with snooty-looking women walking snooty-looking dogs. It was hysterical.} And this is where I found him at 9 am when I suggested we begin with math.

That’s when the tears came. And I asked him why he didn’t happen to mention the earache in the previous 3 hours he’d been awake. Why suddenly tears when it’s time to start school, but no tears when he’s busy working on his drawing?

I called the doc and got an appointment for later that morning (sort of – the post had a power surge and after the guy on the phone told me to come in at 11 am, the power went out and the appointment wasn’t finalized. I went in anyway, and they accommodated me, thankfully). In the meantime, I made him do his schoolwork, because I am a mean teacher and an even meaner mom.

Off we go to the doctor, and we get out of that office before noon, but we need to go to the pharmacy for antibiotics (yes, he had an ear infection). Jenny decides she’s had enough and wants to go home, so she moans and sprawls on the floor. I cheerfully remind her several times that there are big men wearing big boots who will not see her and will accidentally step on her and it will hurt and perhaps she ought to not lay herself quite so much in the aisle. After a while, she grew tired of the hard floor and relocated to the chair into which she proceeded to contort her little body into a myriad of ever-changing shapes. At least she was no longer moaning.

I suppose I could have picked her up from the beginning and made her sit in a chair. Or tried to hold her and Pete in my arms. But the floor area wasn’t particularly high-traffic, and I figured that her low moaning and inconvenient location was preferable to everyone within fifty feet than the full-blown tantrum that simmered just below the surface and would have boiled over at the first sign of a battle of wills. And despite her imperfect behavior, she was well within the normal for her age and only those in the immediate vicinity were aware of her presence: I judge acceptable behavior not by how many people tell me my kids are well-behaved but by how few people notice their even being there to begin with.

In the meantime, Pete did some squirming and back-arching in my arms and then finally settled down and went to sleep. I really would have preferred he squirm and arch his back, though. He slept for about 10 minutes before they called our number. Five minutes later, as I’m getting him in the car, he woke up. And that was the end of naptime. Three hours later, he was a mess, and his usual two-hour midday snooze was sorely missed.

What’s a mother to do? Make dinner, take the kids to baseball practice, and thank God Almighty that both little ones fell sound asleep on the way home (and not on the way there!), and that they stayed asleep, and that the older ones didn’t give us (much) bedtime grief.

And then rise this morning to begin a fresh day.

Last night at bedtime prayers, Pete sat with his hands nicely folded. He has no idea what all these words are that we say, so instead he just randomly said words that he did happen to know. “Hail Mary…” “JUICE!” “…full of grace…” “DADDY!”

With the change in seasons and clothes, Jenny now has a new wardrobe consisting primarily of things that Katie was wearing not too long ago. I love seeing these old favorites on another child. I only wish my boys hadn’t progressed to the point where the destruction of clothing didn’t seem to be their primary goal in life.

My kids like to go “back and forth” when eating their breakfast and lunch (this is not permitted at dinner). No non-food items are allowed at the table while they are eating, and so my children will go from one activity (like drawing a picture at the dining room table) to the kitchen table to get a bite of sandwich and then back. I really don’t prefer this behavior in my older children, and I keep telling them that it is hazardous to leave their food unattended. Sit and eat, or else. This is a very real threat. Between Pete and the dog, there is no guarantee that your meal will be waiting for you when you get hungry for another nibble. Jenny has just come in crying because Peter ate all of his pancake and then moved on to her (unattended) pancake as well. This seems to be one situation where natural consequences are not enough to convince them to change their evil ways.

My husband needs to go to the eye doctor. He’s having trouble reading and needs to put paper farther away from his face than normal to read the fine print. Yes, we’re getting old. I remember a time when I knew exactly how old I was at all times. If you ask a kid how old he is, you don’t expect him to have to think about it. Last night, though, I had to do the math to calculate what my age will be in two weeks when I have a birthday. Sadly, if you ask me in May how old I am, I’ll have to do the calculation again: 36. Despite the gray hair, I didn’t realize that 36 would feel so young!

We’re having a mini-Easter today. Yes, it’s early. Friend Stacy’s husband Doug got back from Afghanistan about two weeks ago, and they are having an open house welcome home party pretty much all day today. “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them?” (Matthew 9:15). No, he’s not Christ. But it is fitting to celebrate his return. I’m making meatballs that taste like Swedish meatballs but the sauce is made with Guinness beer. And since Bill drank all the Guinness he bought in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, he will just have to go out and buy more. Twist his arm.

There is an offensive odor coming from Pete, and I want to get in a run before it rains. Two weeks until Easter!

There was a time when I dutifully made long to-do lists. And I dutifully checked off the things that I did as I did them. I would refer to this list throughout the day, re-prioritizing as the day progressed, adding new things as I remembered them. And the next day, I would take the old list and rewrite it with any new obligations for the new day.

It was a very good system.

But I stopped using it about four years ago. Bill deployed. I was pregnant with Number Four. I started homeschooling Fritz. At that time, my to-do list was the same thing every day:

1. Pray.
2. Get self and children dressed.
3. Feed self and children.
4. Pray.
5. Do school.
6. Wash obvious dirt off children.
7. Pray.
8. Put children to bed.
9. Cry/pray/fall asleep.

I really didn’t need a list to keep me on track.

That was then. I’ve been telling myself for the last three years that school is my priority and everything else I can manage to accomplish is gravy. I still make to-do lists, but they are usually for the weekends, and I don’t check them constantly, and they’re not the full and detailed ones of the past. Basically, I’m winging it.

This is not a good system.

First of all, school continues to be a top priority, but it doesn’t (always) take all day long. Especially now that we are in the home stretch – the last 10 weeks – the workload is easing as we complete workbooks and other projects. And especially now that the days are longer, there seems to be more time available. I have projects and planning and reading that I need and want to do.

Secondly, school is very important, but there are other very important things. And sometimes these very important things don’t take that long to do, but they need to be done. And sometimes these very important things need to be done at the right time. Like calling your mentally handicapped brother on his birthday. Not the day before, not the day after, but on his birthday. Because that really matters to him.

And when I fail in such a little, important thing, it is time to go back to a system wherein I not only look at the calendar and say, “Gee, Glenn’s birthday is this week,” I actually write down on my list: Call Glenn on Thursday.

And then I do it. And then I check it off. And then I’m happy knowing that the very important things in life are being done.

I have to love days like this. Ones where nothing goes according to plans. After all, they really just remind us how little control we have over our lives anyway, right?

So, long to-do list: more spring cleaning, sewing, laundry, bills, trip planning, and, naturally SCHOOL.

Then the phone rings:

Bill: Michelle, I’m really sorry. I need to go to that dinner tonight in civilian attire. Would you please bring me a suit and tie?

Me: Sure, honey. No problem.

{click}

Jenny: Mommy, I don’t feel well.

And then vomiting. And now she’s passed out on the dining room floor.

So, short to-do list: visit Bill at the office, extra laundry, and hopefully, SCHOOL.

I do know that the Reuben sandwich is not Irish, but neither was St. Patrick. The Reuben is my favorite way to eat corned beef and is traditional fare at my home on March 17th.

If you have never tried a Reuben, it is likely that some or even all of the ingredients are not foods you prefer. I introduced this sandwich to Bill early in our marriage. He balked. He didn’t like corned beef, swiss cheese or sauerkraut. I assured him that I didn’t like them or rye bread either, but somehow, grilled together, they produce a most satisfying meal.

Yesterday, I made them for lunch. When dinner rolled around, he asked me what I was making. “Well…,” I said. “Reubens?” he asked. “If you don’t mind…,” I said. “YES!!” was his jubilant response. He’ll be happy to know there’s just enough rye and corned beef left for one more sandwich today for each of us.

If you have leftovers from yesterday’s corned beef dinner, I highly recommend making Reuben sandwiches, even if you don’t think you’ll like them. And for all you Irish purists out there, I did also make Irish Whiskey Soda Bread. Yummy.

Well, I did it. And it wasn’t too too painful either. The big clothing swap.

This past week, we’ve taken a spring break of sorts. We had just completed nine straight weeks of school with no field trips, no fun, no days off. Work, work, work. We needed some down time.

I picked a good week, too. The temperatures soared into the 70s on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Yesterday it was cold, blustery, and ended up sleeting in the evening. We enjoyed some time at the playground, had a picnic at the park with friends, and pulled bikes, skateboards and roller blades out of the garage and into the alleyway for hours of good exercise.

I stripped all the beds and washed everything – comforters and blankets too. Moved beds and dressers to vacuum underneath and behind. Removed broken toys and other junk to the big garbage can, and collected 6 bags of clothes and 2 bags of toys to drop off at the thrift store.

And that’s just the upstairs.

The warm days were great for airing out the house, and then the last cold, rainy day was perfect for scrubbing grime off white bedroom furniture (no fantastic weather luring us outdoors and away from chores). But of course, with only winter apparel in our drawers and closets, the kids began begging me to get out the summer clothes.

It’s mid-March. It’s northern Virginia. This is not the Deep South. Wednesday: 78 degrees. Friday: 38 degrees. In another month, perhaps, the kids will regularly be wearing shorts and t-shirts and sundresses, but even then, sweaters and long pants will need to be kept available for rainy days or chilly evenings. And I had already planned my big clothing swap for the first week of April – right before we head off to sunny Florida and Alabama.

But then again, I look at all of Fritz’s pants which are about a half-inch too short, and his “church” pants no longer fit. The kids will need stuff for Easter and for vacation, and did I really want to be scrambling that week doing shopping instead of packing and battening down the hatches? And so, I took a deep breath and dove in. As expected, Fritz needs everything from tennis shoes to a bathing suit (except for t-shirts…I actually made him give some away). And Jenny needs nothing except for sandals and a pair of light-weight tights. I’m relieved the chore is mostly done – still some heavy clothes in the laundry or the dressers because it is still winter. And I have several weeks to get to the stores and find some good deals.

Today, I’ll finish scrubbing the crib rails which were shockingly yucky and haul the giveaway bags to the car (if I can sneak them out without the kids noticing). And I’ll try to get my husband to help me with one remaining closet in our room with mostly his stuff (just to straighten it up). Next week, we’ll go back to school, but I’ll begin working on my downstairs spring cleaning. Two and a half weeks until vacation time!!!!