It started out so well. We had what was essentially a 5 day weekend. The embassy was closed on both Monday and Wednesday, freeing Dave and I up to explore the city, invite friends over for dinner, and generally hang out with our kids. It was lovely, and me me truly enjoy our life in Jakarta. As a bonus, Dave took the day off on Tuesday to take the kids to a water park while I went in to the office. Work was quiet because of the holidays, and being the one to get dressed up and leave for the day made me feel great. 
Dave and I went back to work on Thursday, him from the office and me from home. And my visions of working from home did not quite match my children's expectations of me. Allow me to elaborate.
5:45am - The time my alarm goes off on a typical school day. It did not. Ah.
7:00am - Each of us girls have awoken, moved downstairs, and begun to grow hungry. We are together and lazy; I am likely reading the paper, and two of the three girls may be playing an imagination game together while the third lounges on the couch with a book. Lovely.
8:00am - A fight has broken out between two of the girls, leading me to urge everyone to eat breakfast. As their bellies typically eat breakfast at 6:15, they have past feelings of hunger and reached that starving stage where they would prefer raging like a bear to pouring themselves a bowl of cereal. The fight serves as a linchpin, beginning the break-day torture of being told to do their chores and eat breakfast. This will include screaming, possible throwing, and at least one person sitting in time out for an absurdly long time.
9:00am - After an exceedingly long hour, everyone will be dressed, brushed, having eaten something, and hold no memory of the screaming and general nastiness that took place mere minutes ago. Upon which time I will suggest some sort of fun activity. Maybe we could put up the Halloween decorations, or spend an hour at the pool? No one is interested. They'd prefer to amuse themselves, without my interference. Are you sure, I prod? I've got over an hour until I need to start work. Absolutely. They are quite happy. Making myself fully available to them for the rest of the morning, I accomplish nothing but am required to intervene in multiple small tiffs and tantrums.
10:30am - They've gotten bored and allowed me to set them off on a bicker-free project of some sort. This will last about 2 hours.
12:30pm - I break for lunch. Everyone is happy, understanding that they needed to work independently for the past 2 hours and that I stopped my work to enjoy lunch with them.
12:45pm - Back to work for me, back to independence enjoyment for them.
1:15pm - The ability to work independently has slowly seeped away, and as I approach my work deadline they begin their descent into madness.
2:00pm - My work deadline. Which I have not reached, because young people have asked ten times in the last 12 minutes how soon I will be finished, each time becoming more convinced that I have stopped loving them completely and will soon allow them to fall into malady, starvation, and boredom. I close the door.
2:45pm - I submit work, forty-five minutes past my deadline, having reminded young people five times that the door is closed for a reason and that their latest drawing, although lovely, is not a good reason to open it. My work day has finished. I take a cleansing breathe and open the door to spend time with my children again, suggestions of swimming pools and baking cupcakes swirling through my mind. Each of them runs to me (Lovely to be so loved!) and asks if they can go outside to play with their friends. I refrain from asking why they didn't do this 2 hours ago, kiss them on the top of the head, and send them on their way.
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