My husband and I have hardly any pictures of us together. There are several reasons for this.

1. We rarely think to take them.
2. My husband isn’t fond of having his picture taken.
3. I’m usually the one taking pictures.
4. We rarely wear nice clothes.
5. My husband has no patience for smiling at a black box.
6. It takes time.
7. My husband hates posing.

The other night when we were on our way out the door to go to a wedding, I grabbed the camera, husband, and a willing daughter, and stomped them into the front yard. You stand here, I ordered my daughter. We’ll stand over here. Get pictures from the waist up. Click fast. Go! Go! GO!

I knew we only had about 14 seconds before my husband stalked off. If she held the clicky-thing down for the full 14 seconds, there was a slight chance we’d get something halfway decent.

Except that we were squinting into the sun, so, without knowing it, we shot any chances of a good picture all to smithereens before we even started, dagnabbit.

Which didn’t really matter much because I was too busy looking like a crazy lady.

And my husband was too busy looking like a Class-A Dork.

But, looking like a dork rather than an Uptight Angry Man is an improvement, I say. Baby steps, people! Baby steps!

And then I about ripped his head off his neck trying to get him to kiss me.

Not-So-Little Secret: my husband hates it when people get in his personal space. When I (or the kids) get too close, he hunches his shoulders and whaps the air with his arms, exactly like a panicked duck. And then I say, “You’re flapping again, honey.”

Even Sam, the guy he works with, knows all about this personal space thing. In fact, sometimes when they’re talking, Sam will intentionally move closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Sam gets a big kick watching my husband try to edge away discreetly.

About 13 seconds in, my husband announced he was done.

“Oh no we are NOT!” I informed him.

See? That’s me informing him.

But then my daughter, in an effort to get a better shot, took a step backwards and fell smack into the forsythia. I had to help her extricate herself.

We tried a few more shots, but attention spans were waning. My daughter, however, was just catching on to the idea of continuous clicking, and I had to tear the camera out of her hands.

But not before she blurred me up real good.

The end.

PS. The wedding was lovely. These glasses were the favors, and now the kids fight over them at every meal.

This same time, years previous: the potluck solution, cornmeal whole wheat waffles, hard knocks

everyday; ordinary; commonplace 

Painted piggies.

Chilly mornings: this little guy got to light the first fire.

Picked without permission, but so pretty I couldn’t bring myself to care.

This same time, years previous: goodbye summer, hello fall, a new day dawning, Greek pasta salad

We started our book learning early this year. With no garden to obsess over, I honed in on the kids, poor dears.

It took us a couple weeks to get up to speed, and we’re still not quite there yet. Workbooks are arriving in the mail every other day, and I’m eagerly awaiting my one big splurge—three different magazines from Cobblestone. I know I could check them out of the library but don’t want to bother. I want to read these magazines out loud at our leisure. So there went nearly a hundred bucks, ouch.

Our schedule is pretty full. I’m sure I’ll relax as we get into the year, start cutting corners and all, but for now, we need the structure. I’m being all sorts of strict, operating under the mantra that declares new teachers should never smile at first. Or something.

I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying myself. I get bored sometimes, but I’m figuring out how to balance the tedious with the games (this one’s the current favorite), videos, and fun read-alouds. At the end of the day I feel like I’ve accomplished something important. It’s a nice feeling.

But for the details! Oh, the details!

What’s it like to homeschool four high-energy children, you ask? How do I juggle different grade levels and abilities and curriculums and minuscule attention spans and bad attitudes? How do I work in meals and cleaning and puppy training and blogging and business phone calls and walks and movies and a newspaper column? It’s simple, really—

JUST KIDDING!

It’s not simple, not at all. Oftentimes, I’m like a not-funny clown in a really bad juggling act—the kind that drops balls and gets hit by balls and finally, in desperation, hurls balls against the wall. I get irritated and grumpy and then I bite my husband’s head off when it’s not even called for (sometimes it is), like yesterday morning when I came downstairs to discover that all the laundry he had folded was still sitting on the table in neat little stacks.

“How am I supposed to teach the kids when the table is covered in laundry?” I snapped. “If you’re going to do something, do it all the way. I’m sick of following through with the kids—don’t make me have to follow through with you, too!”

He, in turn, has been bemoaning the lack of anything edible in the house. The other morning, he asked, “Where’s all the food we canned this summer?” When I looked up from my writing, there he was, standing by the jelly cupboard, a confused, peeved look on his face.

“Um…in the basement?” My voice dripped sarcasm. “I haven’t had time to bring the jars up. Obviously.”

We’re not always at each other’s throats. Just sometimes. No need to stage an intervention. Yet.

Anyway, back to homeschooling. Where was I? Oh, right. The details.

They are as follows: studies all morning, lunch and rest time, a few more random studies, supper, reading, and bedtime, with play and chores scattered throughout.

I know, I know! That was entirely unsatisfactory. Maybe one of these days I’ll take minute-to-minutes notes of my day. It’d probably make me look ADD, though. Or schizoid.

But maybe I’ll see if I can work it in.

This same time, years previous: whole wheat jammies, coffee fix ice cream, ricotta cheese, and pesto torte