Why, hello, there; it's been a while.

Apparently three kids are enough to render even basic tasks so complicated that significant strategic planning is required to take a shower, make a sandwich, or get the mail. It should be noted that I haven't had much trouble finding time enough to pour the wine, though. My priorities are appropriately aligned. Nevertheless, I sincerely apologize for my absence. It's been far too long since I delivered an update on my motley crew.

Atticus:

Atticus started kindergarten last month and has been killing it. He already has a girlfriend (ha, whatever that means. I expect their interaction begins and ends while she opens his yogurt at lunch, but we roll with it and treat it like a real thing). He's making friends and loves his teacher and has homework every night, which is about as good as I had hoped things would be in big-kid school. We're currently trying to figure out how to illustrate his favorite book character on a paper plate, which will take ages because Atticus is surprisingly meticulous, almost painfully so. If he makes a mistake, no matter how small, he wants to start over completely. He also cannot stand glue, marker, or dirt on his hands. So homework takes too long to complete and involves many trips to the kitchen sink, at which point Brian and I pour another glass of the aforementioned wine and try to convince him that Harvard could care less about his macaroni art and it won't be a part of his transcripts.


Quinn:

Quinn is...how do I put this?...hard to catch. He's always on a mission, which includes but is not limited to: climbing up the stairs with no ability to get down alone, dumping every toy out on the living room floor, repeatedly (and with no regard to our requests to do otherwise) bringing half-masticated crackers to his little sister, and stealing and hiding everyone's shoes so that we can't leave the house when we want to, forcing us to search every possible nook and cranny until hours later--oh, look!-- they're in the washing machine. Needless to say, he's a busy little boy. But he's also unfailingly curious, which will serve him well when he's older. So we'll just hold on tight and try our best to enjoy the ride.





Lucy:

You guys, this kid is CUTE. She has these dimples that just melt your heart and is almost always smiling. Of course, when she's not smiling, she's screaming her bloody lungs out. We joke that she has #fomo (which stands for "fear of missing out." Don't worry, I had to ask someone, too). If she isn't being held or in the middle of the action, she's not happy. When we lay her in her bassinet, she pushes her little shoulders forward like she's trying to sit up and will babble at you incessantly. We assume this means she'll be a busy little chatterbox. Considering the boys were pretty quiet and super-chill babies, it's a definite change of pace. While it means that we'll have our work cut out for us, she's also one fierce little lady who will hold her own one day, and for that I am grateful.




Me:

I'm back at work and honestly struggling to juggle the absolute insanity that is my life right now. I love teaching. Love it. But I'm starting to question whether or not the classroom is the best place for me at the moment. My kids are at three different schools/daycare situations and it requires a small village to get them to and from their respective locations. Atticus attends an afterschool enrichment program because I can't pick him up when school lets out at 3:15, and we have nanny who takes Quinn, Lucy, and another Rise student to our house until I get home from work. When it's all said and done, I'm essentially working so that we can afford to send Quinn to Rise and I'm ok with that, but I wish there were an alternative. I wish the tuition was less or the hours longer. I wish we could win the lottery and I could stay home with Lucy, walk Atticus to school in the morning, and be a more active part of the parent community at Quinn's school. I wish I wish I wish. But this is our reality right now and I'm doing my best to make the most of it. Someday I might be in a position to run the PTA bakesale, at which point I might curse my domesticity anyway...the grass is always greener.