The Art of a Martyr

This morning I went upstairs to pick out some books to read to Eli. I discovered an epic mess spread across all three rooms. It was the kind of mess that can only develop over days of neglect, and wild, unadulterated rowdiness with two brothers. This was not especially surprising, but still distressing on a number of levels. In the two hours I took to clean everything up, I came up with my top two.

1. Every Saturday morning is set aside for chores in our home. While I sweep, mop, dust, vacuum and scrub the downstairs, I expect the kids to clean their rooms and the bathroom upstairs. Before they can go play they must finish, that's the rule. But over the last few weeks I've become less and less vigilant about actually checking up on them. More and more I just ask them if they're done. They assure me they are and away they go. Which leads me to my next distressing thought.

2. My children are a) far too smart for their own (well, maybe more for my) good, and b) they have become bald-faced liars. I've always been so proud that my children have never been especially sneaky. They rarely lie to me. And don't tell me I'm just being naive. A mother always knows. And if she doesn't know right off, then she finds out... really quickly. Within two days, for example.

Well, I cleaned up that mess. Every last itty-bitty Lego - which, by the way, are officially my arch-nemesis. Every random sock left to molder in the corner. Every stray marble, chewed-ended pencil, every unidentifiable piece to some long-forgotten game. I picked it all up. And put it all away. Then I vacuumed. Then I dusted. Because I never do anything halfway. (That is some twisted pride, sister)

As I did so I imagined the conversation I would have with my children at the dinner table tonight. I would strike just the right note of firmness. I would keep all the blaming, nagging, martyred frustration out of my voice as I told them in no uncertain terms that they would not be allowed to scoot by without doing their chores again. HA! Oh, they'd sure get it then, wouldn't they? Cleaned rooms, one frustrated mother (who will not, I repeat will NOT stoop to nag), and a free Saturday? Now that's an equation that even Eli can solve with ease.

Here are a couple gems from my day.

Eli has joined the CrossFit Kids class. I looked over today to see him happily cleaning up his PVC pipe. Made me get a little teary. That's my boy! Check out those elbows!

I prepared a marinade for a pork roast that I'm going to cook in a couple days. As I massaged all the yummy spices into the meat, Eli came over and asked me what it was. "A roast," I replied. "Beast?" he asked.


Tonight, the Professor was working with Isaac on a report on an ancestor. He called his mom. His side of the conversation:
"He's supposed to do a report on someone who's dead... No, he has to do one on a dead person... But, Mom, he's not dead!"

The Professor kept creeping back into the kitchen to snitch the roasted carrots and beets that I'd cooked for my dinner tonight. I told him to stop it, because they were mine. His reply, "All vegetables are of the Lord."

And that's all she wrote, folks! Much love,
The Professor's Wife