Sometimes the temptation to give up without giving anything a chance is very strong. I become overwhelmed and defeat myself before I can even begin. I want to try to bring that pattern to a grinding, screeching halt.

After a few more hours of thought I've decided to take tentative baby steps toward educating my children rather than wait and try to go headlong into it. This way at least I can see where my strengths and weaknesses lie and perhaps even develop a pattern that we can follow later.

A time for reading.

A time for math (their dad will handle that one).

A time for history.

A time for play.

See where I'm going with this?

By the time Johnathan started kindergarten he knew his alphabet, how to write his name, address and phone number, how to call 911 for help, and how to count to ten. He could also clean his room (but most often didn't - LOL), tie his shoes, pick out his own clothes without dressing like a clown and make simple lunches. That boy had his shit together.

He also had more cheat codes stored in his head than any other kid I've ever seen. My brother got his ass kicked playing video games with John, and John was only four years old. He had long since begun problem solving and had a wicked sense of humor.

I don't flatter myself in thinking that I had very much to do with the things I mentioned in the last paragraph, but I'd like to think the study habits he learned while I was teaching him to count and tie his shoes had something to do with it.

If I could do that with him, surely I can do at that with the babies.

So on Monday I'm going to start seeing what I can do about getting them started on their alphabet using home made flash cards and a Blue's Clues toy I bought them for xmas.

It's worth a try.

In other news...

It's official: John has reached that age in which disgusting comments and insults directed toward other kid's mothers is held in extremely high regard. Sure, it was probably funny before, but at this age they've refined it to an art form. On Monday he made some muscles in his back sore by helping Larry take a bookcase downstairs for me. The next day at school he mentioned to his friends that his back was still a little sore. One of his friends started teasing him about it, asking him if he hurt it lifting a book or something similarly wimpy. My son's reply:

"I hurt it last night while I was humping your mom."

His friend's response: hysterical laughter.

That was my response too.

I'm either turning redneck or recalling a past life. I used to be a twelve year old boy, I'm sure of it.

Sometimes I think I still am.