Love is a Battlefield

There are days when homeschooling three boys fills my soul with such contentment I can scarcely believe my luck. When we’re praying for people at church and they remember things I forgot, when they whiz through several math chapters after finally “getting it”, when we’re outside geocaching together on a beautiful day instead of being in classrooms or offices miles from each other….

Tuesday was not one of those days.

Tuesday’s “day o’ irritations” began with Medium spilling an ENTIRE bowl of cereal, which he had accidentally filled to the brim with milk. Hey, no crying over spilled milk, right? We cleaned it up, easy peasy. After a severe berating from his brothers (yeah, like they NEVER spill anything), we proceeded with our usual school day. For lunch we were enjoying leftover spaghetti when Medium sat his FULL plate half on the counter, half off, and yes, the ENTIRE plate hit the floor, face down, after flinging it onto the nearby cabinet and refrigerator doors. Ok, deep breath. Everyone has one of those days when they seem to drop everything. Which he did. Again. When he refilled his plate. Another plate of spaghetti hit the floor. DUDE!!! At this point I’m wondering why I bother mopping EVER, but help Medium clean up this little accident, carry his plate to his seat, and refrain from hand-feeding it to him. I mean, really, what are the chances of another accident?

Good. The chances are good.

As the boys are heading outside to play, I sneak into the pantry looking for something chocolaty. It’s been a rough morning, yo! As I step out of the pantry, I am blinded in one eye as a softball sized hard foam ball smacks me in the face. Yep, Medium nailed it. Keeping any profanity from passing my lips, I stagger to the counter while he profusely apologizes over and over. He was aiming for the pantry door. I calmly ask through watery eyes why he would throw a ball as hard as he could at a GLASS DOOR??? Confused, he replied, “cause I wanted to?” At the point of flying into a Tasmanian devil  fit, I ask him to please go outside. No need for more apologies, just leave before bodily harm is inflicted. He must have sensed the calm was barely holding back the wave of hiney-chewing that was about to hit and wisely exited the premises. I never found anything chocolate.

Sing it, Pat Benatar. Love is a Battlefield.