I shouldn't post jokes I made up with my six-year-old. But I'm tired, so...
Knock, knock
(Who's there?)
Doctor
(Doctor who?)
Hee hee!
From here. I like this show, even though the episodes vary wildly in quality. Science is Magic, dinosaurs can rampage across space ships, and Charles Dickens meets alien ghost-zombies (that's when I got hooked). Hee hee indeed.
My husband's not working. I'm not working. The kids ARE in school.
It's the best holiday I've had for a while.
Sure, I still have to grade three essays a day (blah), and there's some lesson planning to do, and I need to clean my whole kid-riddled house before my younger sister's baby shower next Wednesday, but--and this is important--when my kids start chucking cars down the stairs or smearing peanut butter on the walls, it's not always me they yell for.
And if they do yell for me, sometimes it's my husband who goes and cleans up the toothpaste, or the marker, or the STOP PLAYING WITH THAT DEAD SPIDER! corpse.
I should be writing. I'm excited about my fourth book, and today I'm making a final choice between first person and third person point of view, but I just thought I would share what it feels like to not be the only one at home with a one-year-old, three-year-old, and six-year-old.
