Shark Roars and Butterflies

Supper on the table at 5pm so we can eat together as a family before rushing out the door to the older children’s music class. Kevin late. Supper being dished up, Kevin arrives. Family enjoys fresh-made biscuts and beef stew with potatoes and sweet potatoes. Gobble, gobble, gobble. Then the friend arrives whom we take along to music class, and we’re out the door again, at least it feels like again, and off into the dark night, accompanied by what looks like a full moon. Eerie clouds across its face. I’ve dragged along a whack of library books on butterflies, as that is the theme of Apple-Apple’s upcoming birthday bash. While the kids are in class, I read through them. They’re disappointingly similar in content and arc. To summarize: egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, butterfly. Throw in an attempt at plot in one form or another (class watches the butterfly life cycle; tortoise observes the butterfly life cycle; butterfly observes caterpillar yet to discover butterfly life cycle). Anyway, fourteen books later my eyelids are feeling a little heavy, so to the chiming music being made behind closed doors by my children (and the moan of a saxophone from down the hallway), I let myself drift off. Actually, not sure whether I have much choice in the matter. I’m pretty tired (see below). As I drift, I sense a mother and child coming to sit beside me on the bench, but lacking all pride don’t even attempt to shake off the waves of sleep. The child explodes with an unnerving random roar at least once per minute. As my brain wanders into reverie, suddenly “ROAR,” and my neck jerks involuntarily. His mother says nothing to suggest this behavior is inappropriate, and later, when I’ve given up on the catnap, or it’s given up on me, I realize that this isn’t just a behavioral tic, but a response the shark book he’s thumbing through. Should have opened my eyeballs earlier and offered him a tome on butterflies. They’re quiet.

This pretty much sums up my day. Disappointment over a new 1/2 bushel of sweet potatoes found half-rotten and unsalvageable in the cold cellar. Grumpy griping children. Baby napping only to wake in a foul mood half an hour later. Oh, and CJ is not sleeping through the night. Did I say anything to suggest that he was? Yah, he must have stayed up late last night reading that post and deciding he was far too clever to fall asleep on his own after a mere fifteen minutes of crying. Last night was one of those write-0ffs, and despite letting him “cry it out,” he never got to out, and we ended up walking him, patting him, and, finally, bringing the infuriated little soul back into bed with us. It was a long one. You’re almost glad to see morning so you can get out of bed and have a cup of coffee.

Scoops Aren't My Forte

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