Day Two: Dear Diary,

Today I didn't have much time to think about anything, so I will just tell you what I did.

I got up and had a coffee while putting muesli and yogurt in bowls. I noticed again just how lovely the sunrise is, over the coconut trees. Then I noticed that there is still furniture waiting to be stained in the courtyard.  And then I put that thought right out of my head.

I watered the garden and cleaned up the little things, put away laundry and supervised Kid A and YaYa washing the breakfast dishes. They like to pretend they are running a restaurant while they do the dishes, so today I told them they were worthless donkeys and they were both going to lose their jobs if they didn't stop rubbing suds up around their elbows. Actually, Diary, I didn't really say the worthless donkeys part, but I could have.

Then we sat at the table and wrote down what the kids need to get finished this week in their school work. How many exercises in math, what they need to write, and how many times I would like them to break off their pencil leads while juggling their pencils, whine "I didn't mean to! I don't know how it happened!" and then dump all of the pencils on the ground in a mad search for the pencil sharpener.  Many, many times, is what I wrote down.  We may as well expect it.

I would have to say that not a ton of work got done today, because there were many interruptions.  But we did all of our reading, and tomorrow is a new day.  I need to work on the interruptions, because my neighbors don't always understand about homeschooling. I need to draw good boundaries, Diary dear, and you know I'm terrible at it.

I started cooking around noon, and I made dahl and rice and subzhi, with some more interruptions thrown in. I also did the second kimchi step, so the kimchi should be ready in a day or two.  I love cooking, but I love making things that are a little strange even more.  Like kimchi and yogurt and peanut butter and muesli.  Not that they're strange in and of themselves, but they aren't just a meal, they are something more.

Then we ate, and Solo was kind enough to make us a rice carpet.  He also stood up in his seat and waved his bum around to the music, which caused everyone at the table to nearly die of laughter.  Sometimes I wonder why I bother feeding anyone.  They could live on cracking themselves up.

Later the kids watched Tom and Jerry, which is the kids' primary source of historical information of things prior to the 21st Century. I consider it very educational.  We have many, many episodes, and some date back pretty far, so that if I say, while we are reading, "blah blah blah phonograph... hey, do you guys even know what a phonograph is?" they will say, "Yeah, we saw one on Tom and Jerry!"  This also goes for a phone that plugs into the wall, and a hobo with a kerchief on a stick, something Kid A is always pretending to be.

After Tom and Jerry, it was time for the sea. I rushed around flutteringly, getting nothing done, before finally getting out the door and then coming back in several more times because I had forgotten things. We met friends at the sea and I sat in the shallow water and tried to prevent Solo from diving in, since he feels that he is invincible. The boys all used the bodyboards and Leafy got a little more bold about going out further.  I saw a friend from Dharamkot, and we talked about our summers.  The moon rose looking like a gigantic golden coin, and the tide came in swiftly, soaking our towels. Then we walked home and Kid A and Leafy cried all the way, while YaYa and Solo were troupers.  They like to take turns like that.  Everyone misses Daddy. I hosed them off outside before we all took a shower and I noted again that I really need to tell my landlord that my shower is not working.

We had scrambled eggs and bread for dinner, and I didn't even remember to cut up the fruit.  It was a beautiful, simple day, Diary dearest.  There was such a sense of camaraderie between us today, and when it is here, it is almost physical, something that reaches out and embraces us all. We touch each other impulsively. We say we love each other too many times. I listen more, and the kids try a little harder to get along. It is this kind of companionship that makes me really love being a family.