Insert interesting title here (or not)

Oh. Em. Gee.
10 days on the injured list and I'm ready to scream! But I'm miserable enough dealing with it. I don't want to write about it, too.

Instead, I'll write about one of my homeschooling weaknesses. My favorite homeschool weakness, in fact.
I love sarcastic answers.
H may be the queen of sarcastic answers for the K-4 set. Unfortunately, I find it too entertaining (and sometimes even impressive) to make a big deal of it.

Name something that is about 12". A foot.
Explain the difference between multiplication and division. Multiplication multiplies and division divides.
Is 2x4 more or less than 3x3? Yes.
Why do you think so-and-so did such-and-such? Because that's what it says on page 5.

Today, she handed me a worksheet with every "answer" marked "Not fare". (Yeah, I know. We'll get on homophones eventually.) I couldn't wait to examine her reasoning.

Instead, I was confronted with another one of my homeschool weaknesses - attention to detail. I had handed her a worksheet from next week's lesson.

I have brats

Being stuck on my derriere is hell. And that's SO not fair, because I'm always dreaming about doing nothing but sitting on my ass. This is supposed to be my chance to fulfill that dream.

Instead, I get to spend the time staring at all of my housekeeping and parenting inadequacies. As I type, my children are wearing filthy clothes, ignoring my orders to brush their teeth, and I think M is actually lost in her bedroom.

Oh, wait. H is reporting that M got in the car with the husband.

Okay, confirmed.

Don't get me wrong. My kids have been more than willing to fetch me things. The olders have been happy to feed the "baby" and the pets. They've managed to wash a few dishes as needed (or reuse when especially lazy) and have stayed out of serious danger, for the most part.

But anything else? Fair game. Because what's Mom going to do about it, anyway? Her crutches only reach so far.

Boy, are they in for a world of hurt when I'm mobile!

I never learn my lessons

H likes to play outside in heels. I'm forever telling her not to, and she's forever sneaking them out the door. How could I ever have thought she was going to be my tomboy?

I make her compromise fashion for safety because the majority of our property is covered in rocks. Big rocks, little rocks, stone pathways, slate stepping stones... It's like we live in a quarry.

3 or 4 years ago, almost to the day, I went running down our stone pathway and sprained my ankle.

I may not remember the exact year, but I do remember sitting in H&R Block with crutches. It wasn't 2 years ago, because I didn't have a baby when it happened. It wasn't 5 years ago, because we didn't live here then.
I know it doesn't really matter, but it's bothering me that I can't remember whether this was 3 or 4 years ago.
Which is probably the Vicodin talking.
Because, on Monday, I went running down our stone pathway and broke my foot.

Maybe I should try wearing heels next time.