Some days are better than others.

I have three happy boys.

Well, most of the time, that is.

Each manages his school work, schedule, and responsibilities. Of course, we’re here to help, but we rarely get asked. In fact, just yesterday a friend asked me what my eldest was doing in math class and I sheepishly answered, “I don’t know.” (He is finishing the quarter with an A, though.) At any rate,

I am not a micro-manager.

I think my job is to teach my guys to handle their workload, manage their time, have fun, be part of the community, and to be a vital, integral part of the family. And by all accounts, I was doing quite well.

Until.

Two nights ago, one son cried himself to sleep after procrastinating on a long-term project. He finished it, but couldn’t get to his English homework. I hugged him and loved him and let him cry. The next morning, he woke himself up an hour early and finished his English homework. And he left for school singing.

It wasn’t easy, but I knew I’d done right by him.

Fast forward to right this minute.

A different son is sitting at the computer crying. Crying might be an exaggeration. Whimpering might be a better word. Yeah, that’s it. Whimpering.

He had 30 profiles to do for science. He was given the assignment weeks ago. He rushed home the day it was assigned and did five. Or ten. Not sure. But still lots more to do.

Every nice afternoon, he make the conscious decision to put it off. I (kindly) suggested that he do several a day because those things can pile up and bite you in the… (I did NOT say that. But thought it for sure.)

So today. He had his snack. Did his math homework. And then realized that the 22 profiles that were not complete are due on Monday. And tonight is the last school night in that equation. (There’s no school on Friday due to the end of the marking period.) So if it’s not finished tonight, he has to do it on a “weekend” night.

Well, that just plain sucks.

But you know what? That’s how it is. And though I want to hug him up and tell him that I’ll help him, I won’t.

He got himself into this *knowingly* and he’ll get out of it.

But I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s not.

I just hope that this truly is a learning opportunity for him. I sure don’t want to do this again.

Are we all farmers?

I’ve been reading a lot about the plight of farmers lately.

Prices are lower and the demands are greater.

It ain’t easy.

I guess it never was, really. They get up early. Work hard all day. Physical work.

Maybe some time with the family or neighbors. And then rest until it’s time to start again.

Moms. Some work outside the home, some don’t. Either way, the demands are great and the rewards are sporadic.

I mean, some days the sloppy kisses and amazing hugs wash away the physical and mental exhaustion. And some days, there’s no immediate reward. Some days, you know that you’re just tending your crops and soon, very soon, they’ll give you back something to make it all seem worth it.

String beans. Lettuce, tomatoes, lima beans, milk.

Or a scribbled piece of paper with a picture of you and a heart in purple, green and black crayon.

Sure, the love is always there. Just as the knowledge that the crops and animals that the farmer tends are sure to respond to your tending and care. It’s the cycle. The circle. The way it is.

And knowing you’re raising great kids should be reward enough.

And it usually is.

But sometimes, you’re so tired. So bone tired that it is hard to remember.

Yes, I fold laundry in between trick-or-treaters. And yes, I get up at 5:30 to get dinner started in the crockpot.

But it’s all worth it.

Every fucking exhausting, hopeful, frustrating, amazing minute.

And just like the farmer, I know my work will pay off. My guys are going to be amazing.

They already are.

Tootaloop

I came across this looking for something else but got all excited. I had one of these! Mine was yellow. It was the bomb.