It's 9:42 am.
Toa of Boy sits at the kitchen table tracing Genesis 1:27 in his copy book.
Sweetling sits at the kitchen table simplifying polymomial expressions and putting them in standard form.
I stand leaning on one of the chairs and finishing the cup of hot chocolate I've been nursing since 8:30 this morning. (And just to toot my own horn, so far this morning I've gotten a shower, done some weeding out front, had breakfast and my morning devotions, whined on Facebook, chatted with Mango, loaded breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and washed last nights pots and pans.)
Toa of Boy closes his copy book. "Wait," I say, "you aren't finished."
Toa of Boy opens his copy book and finds the page he was working on. "What?" he asks. I stay silent and let him find it. He grabs his highlighter marker and puts a period at the end of the sentence.
"Thank you!" I sing.
"Thank you!" sings Toa of Boy.
"Stop copying her," says Sweetling.
"Stop copying her," says Toa of Boy.
Sweetling gives me a look. I shrug and say, "It's like trying to hold back the tides, little girl."
("Like tying hold back tides, girl," says Toa of Boy.")
"Hmmmm..." murmurs Sweetling. "I wonder," she says, glaring accusingly at me, "where he gets that from."
("Wonder where he get tat from," says Toa of Boy.)