Not so adventures of the St. Clair clan...

 Tomorrow is a transition day at our house.  Ross goes back to work tomorrow.  If you have ever had kids and are breathing, you probably know what this means.  If you don't, then you've probably never yelled at your kid either.  It probably never rains on the weekend where you live.  And your dog probably poops gold nuggets.   Transition days in our house, are hhhhhard.   This time around, I feel a little more prepared because Ross reminded me it was coming.  To get in the right mindset, I gave myself a root canal this morning without Novocain, I listened to the first line of "Wheels on the Bus" play on repeat 147 times, I ate a package of saltines without any water, and I dropped a boulder on my foot.  I'm feeling like I've got this.   I'm getting up early, taking a shower, and making a strong  cup of vodka  coffee.  I have low expectations set for the entire crew, and if the "gold nuggets" hit the fan, I'm shipping kids off to grandma's

It's shocking to me that I've been a mom now for seven years.  It feels like an instant and an eternity all at once.  I can't remember my life without kids (I must have been very bored), but at the same time I can't believe it's already been seven years since we brought Sawyer home for the first time.  It seems like yesterday.  Time is funny like that. Sawyer's birthday was earlier this month, which everyone already knows.   Because he told them.   He has told every person he knows and many that he doesn't.  They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Lord love him.  He loves  his birthday.   He started inviting people to his party approximately five months ago.  He invited the eye doctor, and for a second I was worried the man might accept.  He invited kids on the playground and at church, adults we are friends with and some we barely know.  We encourage hospitality in our family, but we are still working on boundaries.     All in all, his birthday was

It's August. I guess I can stop waiting for that call from the Oregon Department of Education.  It appears I didn't earn teacher of the year after all.  I wonder if it had something to do with my mask policy?  It definitely could have been the mask policy.   Personally, I thought the duct tape worked great.   *Sigh* It was probably the mask policy.  You win some.  You lose some.  Better luck next year.   Speaking of next year, we are trying a hybrid homeschool program.  Sawyer gets to go to school twice a week and learn at home the other days.  I'm confident he will fall in love with his teacher in the first eight minutes.  She is young, cute and very enthusiastic.  It's going to either make him work really hard or be a complete distraction.  Either way, on the "home" days, I'm going to make her look really good.  Pajama Mama is neither young nor cute and I'm rarely enthusiastic (which may have also played into the whole teacher of the year thing).  An

 I'm the place chain letters come to die.  I'd forgotten about these gems until a friend recently asked if she could send one to our boys.  I acquiesced because, dang it, I'm an adult.  In the past, I've had the best of intentions with recipe chain letters, socks chain letters, and every variety that came through the mail in the nineties.  I have had approximately zero success at following through on these intentions.  Surely, I've matured in this area of sending mail.   Nope.  No, I have not.   The guilt and the shame are familiar.  Every time I look in the direction of the "to deal with" pile and see the neatly folded papers waiting to be addressed, I shudder.  I need  to deal with you.  There are kids depending on me, darn it!  I can't.  I just can't.  I will.  Maybe.   Here's the thing, I'm happy to send the package of stickers or whatever to the first person on the list.  It's the passing it on that kills me.  My dilemma is that I