Frantic–that’s how mornings are with the boys. Every morning feels like a rush to the last chopper out of ‘Nam. The second oldest lays in bed sulking about how tired he is. The oldest yells at his younger brother to hurry, conveniently forgetting he’s still in his pajamas. More than a little shouting occurs at times from hurried parents (though the shouting has diminished drastically since I instigated the 70% rule).

The baby girl is crying because the youngest boy woke her up by running through the house pretending to be superman.

One parent is smeared in peanut butter because a flailing child bumped into her leg. The other parent is jumping between the open door, looking for the bus, and the boys’ bedrooms, looking for shoes. Read more »