We do our math work on the couch, except for Boy7 who had to start using his school desk because he wouldn’t stop doing headstands on the couch. Here he is at the desk:
He likes it, except he says the chair is uncomfortable. Tell me about it, kid. Twelve years of Uncomfortable, and I lived to tell the tale. School chairs are the worst. Remember them? They had the metal legs with the little flat feet attached to the leg by a ball socket so that you could lean a bit back in the chair before the foot left the ground. But if you leaned back too far, you’d be on the rim of the flat foot and your odds of crashing to the floor increased exponentially with each millimeter you leaned back. We learned more about physics from those chairs than from any old dusty tome, let me tell you.
The seat parts of the chairs were made of who-knows-what. I’m pretty sure it was cast iron.
When I was a corporate trainer, some of the chairs in the third floor training room were made out of a soft plastic, which was comfortable, but tended to retain heat. One poor trainee ended up with a heat rash on her bottom and we had to switch out her chair for one of the cloth ones in the waiting room. You all know my immature sense of humor by now, and I’ll tell you I was hard-pressed not to let out an unladylike snort of laugher when she had to announce to us that she needed a new chair because the plastic one was giving her a heat rash on her butt. She’d actually gone to the doctor about it because she didn’t know what it was. How do doctors ever keep a straight face?
Learning sure isn’t for the faint of heart.
Boy9 hasn’t had to use his school desk yet. He sits next to me doing his math. Today we were snuggled together on the couch, trying to learn the lesson, when a violent odor reached my nose. I’ve not smelled a stench like this since I was pregnant and was burdened with the olfactory capacity of a bloodhound. Pregnancy is no walk in the park. There are things on this earth that are not meant to be smelled.
So, there we were, listening to the teacher on the math DVD explain fractions, when the Horrible Stench reached my nose. I felt a pain in the back of my throat from the cloud of green smog I’d inhaled. With watering eyes, I cast about looking for the source of the ghastly pong.
Boy9’s filthy-sock-encased foot was lying on my leg. I could actually see the wavy lines of malodorousness rising beneath my beleaguered nose.
I had to pause the DVD and tell Boy9 to “Change your socks! I cannot work under these conditions!” They don’t give homeschooling parents hazard pay.
Of course, he was completely delighted with his stinky socks and took his sweet time changing them. He came back and the stench was gone….for a few minutes. But then, as his foot warmed the new sock, the odious odor started up again.
The dread truth dawned: it wasn’t the sock–it was the foot!
We had to pause the DVD again and head off to the tub for him to wash his foul feet.
Later, I attempted to walk through the room where the laundry basket with the dirty socks was. The entire room was covered in the green cloud of stench. The poor mouse in her cage was lying on her side, panting shallowly. Holding my breath, my strength quickly waning, I managed to crawl from the room to safety, dragging the mouse cage behind me.
If I didn’t act quickly, those dirty socks would take on a life of their own and provide the plot for a B movie titled simply, “Sock.” Clothes pin on my nose, I had to double bag the socks and put them in the outside trashcan. I’ll be calling the trash pickup company to warn them. They get hazard pay, I’m pretty sure. They’ll need it.
Come to think of it, maybe I should have burned them in the fireplace. Those socks are in the trash can outside, nursing a growing anger at being banished from the family.
If you don’t see a new blog post by midnight tomorrow, you’ll know that “Sock” will be coming soon to a theater near you. My last wish is that you’ll let the movie makers know that I want my part played by Angelina Jolie. We have a strong resemblance to each other.