I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of, but wiping chicken butts is my newest claim to shame. Three. If you were wondering. I wiped clean three baby chicken booties. This is a new low, but if I let them get clogged up and they die, the boys will never forgive me.
We got ten sweet baby chicks this week and we lost one right out of the gate. Sawyer tried his best to love it back to life, but to no avail. Dead is dead. I heard him whisper to the chick that it would love heaven with all the other birds. It was very sweet. Then he tightened his grip on the little body, poop shot onto my kitchen floor, and the moment was over. We buried it next to a stump. I'm hoping (with little confidence) the boys don't try to resurrect it later.
The boys and I have had a week of it. We have not seen eye to eye on anything since the week began. I'm exhausted.
They are with Grandma and Grandpa tonight.
"She's nicer than you. Isn't she, Mom?" Sawyer asked today, referring to his grandma. I couldn't disagree. "Yes. That's correct, Son." He wondered if he could spend fourteen nights with them instead of just one. I wondered too.
Earlier this week, during homeschool, I tried to get Sawyer through one short reading book. It was just seven pages long. It had between one and three sentences per page. Totally doable for him...usually. This little assignment took two and a half hours, three time-outs, two Tylenol, and a nap to complete.
Grandma visited two days later when we were about to revisit the devil book. Sawyer was trying to stall her from leaving and asked if he could read it to her instead of me. "Hallelujah!" I thought.
Four minutes. It took f-o-u-r minutes for him to read it to her!
I recently learned I'm no longer in the running for teacher of the year.
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