Karis has not been the easiest of toddlers so far.  She has a very strong will.  She’s my first kid who has been a hitter-  if she wants something, she’s not afraid to bonk a sibling on the head for it.  She is determined to do everything that her brothers and sisters are doing, even if it means taking 20 minutes to strap herself into her carseat, and there is great risk of screaming and wailing if I try to help.  She doesn’t want to be carried, doesn’t want to sit in . . .

I know that family meals are important. I know that it is a ritual that will hopefully be a source of bonding for our family in the years to come.  But can I just say?  At the moment, they kind of suck. My kids are 6, 4, 4, and 2.  Right now a typically family meal involves Karis trying to climb out of her chair and onto the table about 5 times, Karis throwing any food she doesn’t like across the room, Karis screaming because she wants a “big girl cup” and then spilling her “big . . .

As a working mom, there is very little (if any) room for error or variation from the norm.  I already have more on my plate than is probably realistic with four children – I work as a college professor, I write for a number of websites, and I edit and manage a staff of writers for another.  If everything worked out exactly as planned in any given day, I still probably wouldn’t have enough time to do everything, but I could manage.  However, then there are the weeks (or months) . . .

We had a great Easter today, full of all of the important rituals that remind us of our risen Lord.  Like easter baskets, candy, crap from the Target dollar bins, and an unhealthy focus on matching outfits. I sort of can’t help the last one.  It’s genetic.  Growing up, Easter Sunday was all about the white gloves, the white hat, the white tights, and an outfit that looked like a Quincenera dress that had been dipped into pastel Easter egg dye.  (And apparently, in the year . . .

Yesterday I left Karis alone at breakfast, and she crawled onto the table and went digging through my purse.  She’s quite sure that she unwrapped a treasure of cottony goodness.‘IF SHE ONLY KNEW. . . .

We’ve hit a few milestones in the past month. 1. I have officially “pulled the car over” for each of my children.  Karis’s purposeful and high-pitched screaming on the way home from school pickup on Monday earned her that honor. 2. Jafta is officially too big to be carried.  At 70 pounds, I can no longer lift him.  I have some very sad feelings about that, and I regularly grab him and threaten to squash him back into a baby . . .  and then squeeze him tight.  I swear, . . .

I’ve been meaning to write about my growing disdain for homework, but today Jodifur had a guest post up at Jill’s Scary Mommy blog and she pretty much articulated all of my feelings on the matter.  Here’s an excerpt: I may sound disgruntled, but I’m tired of spending every night fighting about homework. I’m tired of teaching concepts that did not get taught in the classroom but have homework about them. I work, my husband works, we rush home, make dinner, and then do homework. Then it . . .