Raising Maine

Guest blogger: Derek (Keli’s husband)

Let me just start by saying, I don’t usually do this kind of thing. I’m not a writer. I go to work everyday. Keli asked me to write this because she has been too busy homeschooling the kids, and she didn’t want it to be too long between posts. She said she wouldn’t read it. I don’t believe her.

She thought it would be interesting for me to write what it is I thought she did every day. I know what she does every day, and it doesn’t seem all that interesting to me, but hey, it’s her blog.

She wakes up before me and has a cup of tea every morning. Not long after, the rest of the house wakes up, and she feeds us breakfast of her choosing. I am usually here for this part, so I know how it goes down.

Then, I leave for work.

I’m sure at this point, she wags her finger in the faces of our children with a command of “Time to straighten up rapscallions, we’ve got work to do, and there’s no one to help you now.”

She probably loads the oldest up with the most work. “You, with the blonde hair, stop that sniveling, and get to steppin’ with that vacuum.” Our daughter wouldn’t put up much of a fight; she’s a good girl.

The next child has a little more moxie. She may throw a glare at my wife when told to “Fill that bucket up, Cinderella, this floor won’t mop itself.”

Our son, at this point, probably runs for cover. He has a brilliant way of becoming scarce when the going gets tough. Don’t think he gets away though. I’m sure he’s tasked in some way. I would guess he gets sock pairing. At least, it looks like a four year old has been matching my socks.

I imagine this kind of thing lasts for a few hours, until quiet time. Quiet time is a sacred thing, according to my wife. Anyone caught out of his or her bedroom between the hours of one and two p.m. for any reason is soundly admonished. And I do not recommend paying a visit at this time. I don’t know what happens during this time. I’ve learned not to ask.

After quiet time (and maybe some liquid patience, if you know what I mean), she may sit down to teach the kids a few lessons. Of course, it’s all probably done through the television, because, how else would she homeschool and find the time to do all the paperwork for the house/family and do the laundry?

Between five and six, I make it home. Keli is usually in the kitchen, whipping up a dinner fit for a king (me), and the kids are circling the house (they were probably kicked out after “lessons”).

I know I must be pretty accurate regarding her daily routine. How else but with slave labor would she complete the hundreds of menial tasks she does daily?

There you go. Piece of cake, don’t you think?