My School Room

I would take a picture but it would wound my pride too much.

I remember years ago telling my friend Apryl in Connecticut that my desk was a reflection of my well being. When it was neat and tidy I was feeling good and on top of things and when it was a deep pile of books and papers and detritus, I was not doing so well.

I now have a much bigger barometer. My school room.

And let me tell you. Things are not looking so great. I point to too much to do and general slovenliness to blame. (Does placing blame help? Maybe.)

There are stacks of papers on every flat surface except for the floor. The final frontier. There's a sheet tacked in the window. The old blinds collapsed in a dusty frightening crash and the new blinds are sitting in their long narrow box, waiting for Adam. He's busy too.

The sun is filtering in through the sheet.

It's hot.

We're not used to hot here.

And there's also a smell. I don't even know what it is. It's not coming from the laundry room which is nearby and seems a likely culprit. It's not even coming from the kids' bathroom which is further away but not the cleanest spot in America either. I've tried to follow my nose all around the room to no avail. I sprayed air freshener. Braeden said, "Mom, don't cover the smell, eliminate it with Febreze." (Febreze can feel good about its marketing campaign.)

I still smell something.

And my kids don't. I keep demanding of them, "What is that?!" and they look confused and say, "What?"

Grrrrrrrrr.

I could stay here and clean and straighten (and find the smell?) or I could take my children over to Grandma and Grandpa's to their shady backyard to run in the sprinklers.

Pardon me while I go gather swimsuits.

(This school room did not get this way because I'm disciplined.)