2:00 I holler at Ethan to get practicing because I start hearing definite non-music sounds coming from the living room. I shift Jonah to the kitchen to work on schoolwork.

2:05 I start moving piles of clothes from the window seat in the dining room to the dining room table. I sort everyone’s clothes into piles, add a few stray toys, and make a big pile of towels and blankets that need to go to the linen closet. I notice again that the glass on the window seat windows and French doors (those darned kissy marks!) are in desperate need of cleaning.

2:15 Ethan finishes with the piano and joins us in the kitchen. I get the boys working on their stories for their conference. The babies, Lulu, Maizie and Sofie are in the schoolroom with Joshua, so I start to read the book the FedEx guy just delivered, “The Mommy Manual,” by Barbara Curtis. It looks good, but I only make it through the preface and part of the first chapter.

2:30 The boys are balking at the writing project, and seem to be encountering writer’s cramp. Zoe comes in to the kitchen and announces that her math is done, and before I can even ask, she assures me she’s done both pages and has checked them. (She missed two problems, total). She heads upstairs for some computer time, and Joshua appears briefly to ask whether everyone will be going to judo.

3:00 The boys are still struggling over what to write about, and finally I offer some suggestions. Both opt for spoofs of The Three Little Pigs and begin writing and I decide to check my email and start working on some blog posts. It’s early release day for the public school kids, and Joshua’s best friend comes over to play, er, well, "hang out."

3:15 The babies come back into the kitchen, and Cora, who has a habit of getting into the kitchen trash, fishes out a half-eaten drumstick from after lunch. I run to relieve her of it, but she clutches it even more firmly and chocolate ice cream begins to glurp out of the hole in the bottom of the cone and onto the cone. I throw the cone in the trash and rush Cora to the sink so I can wash her hands, but before I can even finish, Jackson now has his hands on the treasure! I quickly rinse Cora’s hands, set her down and make my way to the accident in progress, but Jackson, knowing my intentions, hugs the cone to his chest and begins to cry. Melted ice cream spills from the top, all over his hands, his shirt and the floor. I grab the trash, stick it in that half bath and shut the door, wash Jackson’s hands, and then clean up the spills on the floor from both culprits. It strikes me that this scenario is somehow a metaphor for my life…

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