Dan Quayle grew up to be the Vice President...maybe there is hope yet

I have a pretty strict policy about helping my children with their school projects. First rule of thumb is don't ask me at the last minute. The second is not to expect me to do it for you. As long as all my children want, is someone to check their spelling, grammar, typing, or even their content...all they need to do is ask nicely, and *not* the night before their project, that has been assigned for three months, is due. This seems to be a relatively simple policy on my part. I would go so far as to say that it is insane that I have to spell it out, because it is common sense.

I sent my child to school today with his Geography Fair project on the little known country of 'Whales.' There was a moment, however brief when I picked his printed work up from the copy store, and I thought about whipping out my phone, correcting his spelling and adding some type of substantial content. I decided against it. It was purely self serving in my desire to have him off restriction for his grades, so that he can resume playing with friends and not fester under my skin like a really horrible poison ivy rash. Alas, I managed to resist temptation.

So...what are the chances of him pulling off a 'B' with the name of his country spelled wrong, do you all think?

Ranting...

Hubby is home, so routines have changed here at the Proud house. Hubby likes to stay up late and hang out watching re-runs of 'Spartacus, Gods of the Arena' and the wee little ones are sleep resistant because they want to hang out with him. (About the Spartacus thing, it's a freaking soap opera for men...what makes it so special, the fact that there is sex, blood, and gore...or??? I'm drawing a blank on this. In fact, I'm beginning to think Lucy Lawless is some kind of witch. 'Xena, Warrior Princess' might have actually sucked worse, and he frickin' loved that one too.) *I* have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to get the big kids off to school, so *I* must go to bed before three in the morning. Hubby usually rises around noon, and the wee little ones usually rise between ten and eleven. I hate, deplore, loathe this schedule. I need sleep. I need sleep while the moon is out. Hubby, does not. Apparently, my wee little ones have inherited this genetic abomination.

The solution to the current dilemma, which is how to get the babies on a normal schedule that doesn't make me want to cry, is, in Hubby's opinion, for me to put the babies to sleep despite the television blaring CNN while he simultaneously listens to Persian music YouTube, so he can watch 'Spartacus' without tiring himself out first. Then I'll get up at the ass crack of dawn with the older kids. Simple, right? NO! Not simple. This idea is bullshit.

My solution is...for Hubby and myself to lay down with the little ones until they fall asleep, and then, if he...or we, wish to get back up for some child free quiet time, so be it. The babies will wake at a normal hour, I won't be exhausted and grumpy every morning, and he can have Lucy all to himself. I figure if the little ones are up and running, playing, and noise making, Hubby will convert to this schedule sooner rather than later, and then...I won't have to wait until two in the afternoon to vacuum.

The current, "let's meet in the middle" solution is for me to sleep on the sofa, falling into an exhausted sleep somewhere between ten and midnight, and him half-heartedly try to put any still awake babies to bed on his own, until they wake me back up with their crying. Then I take over, he retires to his Warrior Princess, Roman sex goddess, or what-the-hell-ever, and HE is happy.

Good thing I have all this help around here these days. Can you imagine if I had all this financial stress AND parenting became ten fold harder? Sheesh. I would really be a tired shell of a human being then, huh?