On being a student . . .

I am a student, and certainly not a straight-A student, like my former sans-child-bearing-hips self. This student more closely resembles the one in my recurring college nightmares. I am a struggling pupil, at the mercy of my children, who are so many steps ahead of me I can no longer keep count. That said, I have become quite adept at many things under their rigorous tutoring. I can . . .

-Find the long-lost sippy cup. Fast.

-DVR "Maggie & the Ferocious Beast" with my eyes closed

-Locate, pre-soak, wash and dry the cherished blanket before it's even missed

-Handle the "Witching Hour", which involves making four dinners (the dog's, Ben's, ours, and the baby's), all the while holding Cameron The Great Nap-Striker on my hip. For the record, this happens every night, week after week, month after month, and NO I STILL HAVEN'T GOTTEN THAT GIRL TO SLEEP THRU THE NIGHT, so I remain completely sleep-deprived while juggling.

-Provide my services as a Jungle Gym, which is especially helpful on a day too cold to venture to the park. I'm also a rock-star flotation device at the swimming pool.

-I am one mean diaper-rash-stopping machine.

Still working on the fine art of discipline. Today I screamed (yes, screamed) at Ben from the confines of my too-small-shower to leave my steaming hot mug of French Vanilla alone. As in, "Benjamin James, DO NOT TOUCH THAT, DO NOT TOUCH IT, LISTEN TO ME, AAAHHHHHH, NOOOOOOOO!!!" It sloshed all over my just-cleaned bathroom countertops and all down his little navy labrador T-shirt. It's the cutest shirt, and the bathroom did look pretty and polished after my rigorous scrubbing. More yelling, tears welling . . . When I finally pried the darling rooster mug from his coffee-coated hands, he looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said "Mommy, will you be nice to me now?" That kid. Like I said, I'm learning, too.