The other day, I decided to see if I could make good homemade sub rolls. So I found a recipe, put the ingredients in the bread maker after breakfast, and had a finished product around lunchtime. When I told David this, he said, and I quote: "Clearly its time to have another baby. You've got way too much time on your hands." Hah!
I was actually having a really good day with Ben. He hadn't climbed up on the table 12 times before 10 a.m. or spilled anything all over himself, so I was firing on all cylinders.
Though he does have a point about the gratuitous bread baking. I do sense a trend. It seems like around the time I have an older toddler, the urge to bake bread comes on me strongly. It's something I like to do, but since I don't mind buying bread from the store, it's something very optional.
I do have plenty I could be doing. But lately, I'm sometimes choosing to ignore that to do what I want to do. Call it spring fever. Figure out who to call to get bids on painting the house? Nah, not gonna. I HATE having anyone work on my house. Finishing up putting together the kindergarten wonder book? Nope. I'd rather read a book about books.
I just finished "Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader" by Anne Fadiman. So instead of sweeping the floor and doing the lunch dishes, I typed up this quote by Holbrook Jackson for our schoolroom wall: "In reading aloud, you are greatly privileged, first to consort with all that is noble and beautiful in thought and imagination, and then to give it forth again. You adventure among masterpieces and spread the news of your discoveries. No news is better worth the spreading; few things are better worth sharing." I think I made the right decision.
We spent a lot of time outside this morning. The boys decided they wanted to plant a chewing gum tree in the backyard (per "My Father's Dragon.") We took some sick supplies to a friend on bedrest a couple of miles down the road, and then it was back to playing again. When Evan accidentally pulled out one of my daffodil bulbs, Seth got a better lesson in shoots and roots than he'd ever get from the gardening books we've been reading. Lunchtime saw us gorging ourselves on jack cheese and "Stuart Little."
When Ben took his usual opportunity to climb on the table while my back was turned and dumped my water on himself, I put him in crib timeout after stripping him to his diaper. And during that 5 minutes, the large mirror on the mantel fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.
He'd been playing near the fireplace a lot this morning. There was no warning. No slamming doors, nothing. I almost never put him in timeout. If he'd been there instead of upstairs, we'd be at the hospital right now.
So when I took him out of his crib, he got more than one extra hug and a whispered prayer over his handsome and infuriating little head. Oh, my beautiful boy, I want you with me, driving me crazy all day long, for many, many years to come. Yes, oh yes, I do...