Why in the name of all that is beautiful and lovely, do I even try to attempt to homeschool in Spring??
I must be daft.
My children are possessed by chocolate covered, ants in their pants, wiggle worms of the worst variety. They do not know their own middle names at this point; why am I trying to coax fractions or geography out of them?
Here are a few samples of how my offspring's brains turn to porridge this week:
Cora (supposed to be getting dressed...at noon): I hate these socks! They're holey!
Anna: You don't like holey socks?
Cora: No, I hate everything holey!
Anna: MOMMMMMMM! Cora hates Jesus!!!!!
Or take Gianni aka I-Do-All-My-Own-Stunts. His injuries are outnumbered only by his knee jerk reaction to say either of these two things every three seconds:
You could ask him to please not stick his head in the toilet especially when he hasn't flushed yet and he would literally say,
Well, son of mine, do you want the answers numerically or alphabetically? Shall we start with feces and how most SANE people don't want them to come in contact with their faces?
Then there's Anna who decided to write her book report in Gnommish.
I was forced to give it an A seeing as how it could be the best thing ever written. If you're a Gnome.
Then there's the time she feverishly searched high and low for Egypt.
On the map of America.
Anytime I tried to intervene, she shushed me and shouted,
"I can do it! Leave me alone! Don't help! I've almost got it!"
Oh, and let us not forget the fact that my sweet baby, Feces Face, is out front, stalking birds with a plastic, sawed off shotgun. It's not really sawed off, it got stepped on, but I don't think the neighborhood watch will notice the difference. Or the plastic. Turn in at five to see us on the news. I'll be the one popping garlic stuffed olives in my mouth like Xanax.
So, I think I quit.
I bought those garlic stuffed olives yesterday, along with some hummus, some sharp white cheddar, and a bottle of something red. I figure I don't have to come out of my room for at least a week.