Dear Two Years Old:

I am so OVER you.

(Yes. Yes she is sitting in the baby's exer-saucer thing. No, I have no idea why she climbed in. And yes, that is baby powder.)

****************
Last night I hated social media. Regardless of who won and who lost, of who you did or didn't vote for, there is never any justification for nastiness. I voted for Romney. When it was clear, he wasn't going to win, I visited Ann Romney's Facebook page. She's walked a hard road the past year, and has put up with quite a bit of negative attention. After all was said and done, my intention was to send her a brief thank you. I was mortified at the comments that were already showing up on her page. Filth, vulgarity, outright mockery. It wasn't good. Of course, I know there were things being said about President Obama by those who did not vote for him that were equally offensive. All over the internet, on every form of social media, hatred spewed forth. Why? Why when any respectable person would never encourage a child to push over a player on the losing team of a basketball game, then spit on him and call him a name, is it alright for grown ups to do so, in the name of politics? It alludes to another problem--the brazen right we feel the anonymity of the internet gives us. Surely people wouldn't behave in such a manner in person... or would they? 

My guy didn't win the election. I wish he had. But I am far more concerned with the apparent lack of humanity that exists among the citizens of this nation. 

So yes. I hated social media last night. But then when Ivy got into this mess, I decided I should like it again. Because pictures and messes this good? They deserve to be shared.

Afternoon Chaos

My husband called me yesterday afternoon and asked me how things were going.

"Everything's great," I replied. "The chores are all done, I'm starting dinner, everyone is still alive and I've only said one swear word, so all in all, a good afternoon."

Heh.

So, my afternoon groove? I totally can't find it. School dismissal at the elementary school is twenty minutes later this year than it was last year. (3:10 instead of 2:50) People, I know it's only twenty minutes but it is completely throwing off my afternoon. After picking up the littles, then picking up Jordan, it's near on 4:00 before we are home. After the kids do their chores and their homework, which holy cow, is taking forever for Jordan cause I guess sixth grade is where that sort of thing starts, and I nurse the baby and try and get someone (Anyone? Please? Anyone?!) to practice piano, and wade my way through the colossal meltdowns that my two year old has every five minutes for the last half of her day because she is chronically sleep deprived, then try and get dinner going while holding the baby that has suddenly forgotten how to take naps because he's used to sleeping on his belly but now he can roll over so he gets to his back and then just lays there like a turtle, wondering why he's so uncomfortable... I COMPLETELY run out of steam. Then dinner winds up later, and bedtime winds up later, which does nothing to help the sleep deprived toddler.

I'm thinking I need to change some things around. Like maybe I could prepare dinner in the morning so I don't have to worry about it in the afternoons. Or maybe I'll just spend my afternoons in the bedroom eating chocolate covered strawberries and ignoring the chaos in my living room. Okay, maybe I don't mean that last part. Seriously though... I've got to take back the hours between 4 and 6 PM. Seeing my eight year old stand with her hands on her hips and say, "Mom. YOU just said a bad word."? Not my finest parenting moment.

One of my favorites, by Destinee Blau Photography

It's all good though. There are so many things about my afternoons that I love. If I focus on those, it feels easier. I love, for example, seeing my bigger kids help Henry with his homework. Their love and attention bestowed on him so openly is one of my favorite things about having a big family. I love how willing Lucy is to recognize a need, and help, even if she isn't asked. That girl is often the only reason stuff goes smoothly around this place. If she hears Ivy having a meltdown and knows that I'm holding Jack, she instantly comes running. She'll hold the baby. She'll straighten up. She's a rock star. My boys are willing helpers too and I mean no slight against them in praising their sister. But Lucy? There is a natural grace about her--an awareness that I can only explain by identifying her as a female; a born nurturer, already in tune with the needs of those around her. I make a conscious effort to make sure Lucy never feels burdened or pressured to help unnecessarily. She is, after all, not quite 9 years old. At the same time, she is so happy when she is with her younger siblings. She is one of my greatest blessings. What else do I love? I love watching Jordan do his homework, independently and willingly. I love that he enjoys school and is willing to put forth the effort. I love watching Sam build and create and invent, something the he NEVER stops doing. I love hearing the sound of the basketball bouncing against the side of the house. I love the laughter that floats up from the trampoline.

You know what? Even though I started this post feeling a bit grouchy, now that it's coming to a close, I think maybe I do love the chaos of my afternoons. It's loud and hard and crazy, but also, it's us. And I love us.

My oldest and my youngest, the first and last. Love these two boys. And love them together.

********
And also... a great company called Simply Bags just sent me a wonderful customized tote bag to try. It's a beautiful orange-y autumn color, with strong canvas handles and a roomy interior. It's perfect for groceries, for hauling library books to and from the library, for packing a lunch for the park, or for any other thing you're sure to need a bag for when you're a Mom. I love mine and am so happy to try it out. Please do check out their website and see if their is a customized tote that would work for you.

Here's my bag. My crappy photography hardly does it justice. Those are my initials
there on the front. The wonderful orange color makes me want to take it outside
and fill it with leaves from my front yard. Would that be a weird thing to do? And also,
I totally had to spend five minutes cleaning off my stairs so I could take this picture.
I just thought you should know.

Not for the Faint of Fart

Earlier today, Ivy came walking across the living room with something in her hand. I should have been more prepared. She was, after all, stark naked from the waist down. It should have been a clue that I should have been more careful when she pushed her little hand into my face, mere centimeters away from my nose...

"Look, Mommy!" she said. "I pooped!"

Yes. Yes she was holding a ball of poop in her hand and yes, she did nearly smear it into my face.

I'd like to pretend that I have many wonderful and amazing things to tell you since I've blogged so little as of late. I'd like to tell you that I've been on trips and written chapters and chapters of my next novel. I'd love to show you amazing pictures or tell you heartwarming, witty stories.

But really, the poop story summarizes my reality right now pretty well.

I just knew you'd want to be a part of it. So, you know. Your welcome.

I'm  pretty sure Ivy is ready to potty train. But you know what? I'm not ready. You know the parents that believe potty training is like the Olympics and the earlier there kid is trained the smarter they must be? (Insert a condescending voice saying, "All my kids were potty trained by the time they were 18 months with NO accidents" right here. Then call that voice a liar because anyone that says that? TOTALLY LYING.) Um, yeah. I'm not like that. I know I COULD potty train my kids at 2, but it just seems like when you wait until 3, it's faster, easier, and involves far fewer accidents. Seriously... if you wait until almost 4, all you have to do is throw the diapers away and say, "DUDE. Use the pot like the grown ups." They'll look at you and say, "Sure, Mom. Can I borrow the car next weekend?"

I'll admit... I used to be one of those parents. I used to think that surely there must be something wrong with my "maybe I'll NEVER use the potty" kid who shall remain nameless because I don't want to embarrass him but whose name rhymes with Shmenry. But then he turned five and started school and guess what? He's totally fine. Smart, even. He even uses the bathroom at school! By himself! The moral of the story is don't stress if your kid isn't potty trained, especially if they aren't even 3 yet. No, that's not the real moral. The real moral of the story is that Ivy is taking her diaper off and bringing me her poop in her hands and I am so completely not in the mood to deal with it.

I'm sorry. Were you thinking about having a baby sometime soon? And I've just completely ruined it for you? Maybe a gratuitous baby shot will help you feel better....

courtesy of Destinee Blau Photography

Good? Need one more?

courtesy of Destinee Blau Photography

I knew that would help.

Try Not to Blink

My kids go back to school on Thursday. At times it feels like my summer never really started and other times I feel as if I've been living in a really long tunnel with only a small sliver of light filtering in at the end. Summers with new babies at home can be hard. Everything about summer time inspires you to go and do and be in the grand outdoors. But newborns are terrible at regulating their body temperature and they can't be out in the sun and they need to eat ever so frequently and even when it IS convenient to go and do with a newborn, going and doing with a newborn plus a 2 year old and 4 older children? Yeah. A daunting task for even the brightest of days.

I think we've weathered it well. We haven't done much, but we've tried. Last week, I took a breath and a gulp and left Jack and Ivy for 10 solid hours so Josh and I could spend the day romping around an amusement park holding hands with the big kids. They were desperate for it, I could tell. Their little hands reached out for me all day. They wanted to sit next to me, to talk to me, to touch my unencumbered by newborn self. It gave me pause to consider what it does to a family to have so many babies, to have a Mama that is stretched between so many. Perhaps there are moments of hard--moments of frenzy and emotionally taxing chaos that make me wonder what on earth I've ever gotten myself into. But in the end, when Ivy gets in the car and asks when she can see "her Henry" or Jordan takes the baby and changes his diaper without even being asked, or Lucy exercises compassion and provides service by entertaining the little ones while I get dinner ready, I remember that our family is the perfect environment for all of us, parents and children alike, to learn love and tolerance and patience. Yes. My children will make sacrifices because we are many. But the blessings they will receive and the lessons they will learn will outweigh the sacrifices. I hope.

And so we've spent most of our time at home. We've worked in the garden and practiced piano and worked on memorizing scriptures. We've had a few fist fights and yelled at each other far more than we should have and watched too many episodes of Phineas and Ferb. We remodeled our basement and moved two of the kids downstairs. We've made treats and watched movies and tried to do chores every day. Tried. That's a good word. We've read books and gone to the library and spent time on Khan Academy. (Are you familiar with Khan Academy? Go. Learn something. It's awesome.) We've had productive days and PLEASE HELP ME I'm drowning days. And now the summer is over.

Jordan starts the 6th grade, Sam and Lucy are 3rd graders, and little Henry is finally starting Kindergarten. It'll just be me and the babies at home. I figured out the other day that when Jack starts Kindergarten, Jordan will be a Junior in High School. It doesn't seem all that far away for my youngest to be starting school, but it seems completely impossible for my oldest to ever be old enough for high school. I know. I'll blink and he will be.

(linking over to Heather of the EO's weekly Just Write series. Join and just write with us. 

Because sometimes Naps don't Happen and Oh My This Job can be Hard

This morning Jack and I went upstairs for a few minutes of quiet snuggling before his nap. We rocked in the rocking chair and swayed back and forth and smiled and laughed and got good and sleepy. Finally I lay him down, sure he would quickly drift off to sleep. Sure enough, he was quiet within just a couple of minutes. I hurried downstairs to make the most of his nap time, hoping to exercise and get a quick shower before he woke back up. Fifteen minutes later, I heard Ivy talking, Henry talking and Jack crying all through the baby monitor. After a thorough investigation, it was apparent that Henry had decided he needed to change his clothes for no particular reason at all and his jabbering little sister had followed him into his room. Even though the baby was sleeping. Even though the baby had only JUST gone to sleep. Fabulous. I sighed a heavy sigh, then we all came downstairs together. Henry's still getting used to sharing a bedroom with the baby so I can't hold him tremendously accountable. But still... a baby not napping is a baby I must be holding. ALL. THE. TIME.

A few hours later, Jack went down for a nap again, this time already thoroughly asleep. Because we'd gotten off our schedule when he missed his first nap, he ended up falling asleep while eating his lunch. So. Up to bed he went, and down I went to again, try and make the most of his nap time. Five minutes later, I glanced up the stairs and saw that Jack's bedroom door was open, and the light was on. For whatever reason, Ivy had decided that the rug in the boys' room was the perfect place for her to spin in circles, and then fall down. With a big loud shout. And lots of innocent laughter. Can you see where this is going? It didn't take long for the baby to wake up. Again.

So now it's 4 PM and the baby still hasn't taken a nap and we are both still in our pajamas. I just looked at Sam, also in his pajamas and said, "Dude, why don't you go and put some clothes on?" He looked at me, eyebrows raised and glanced at my own less than glamorous attire. Um, right. Maybe I should put some clothes on too? Except every time I turn around, something is waking my baby up, or screaming, or yelling or  spilling something or hitting someone or wanting something to eat or asking to play Wii...

I'm tired, people.

I love my babies. Each and every one of them. You know this, don't you? But sometimes it feels like I'm juggling cats--wailing, screaming, clawing cats that don't like being thrown in the air. Some days, I barely manage to shift beyond crisis management mode. I solve problems and apply band aids and wipe away tears and clean up messes and try and make babies sleep and assign chores and dole out punishments. I take kids to the library because reading is good and I take kids to the park because exercise is good and I teach children piano because music is good. I encourage, I scold, I lead. And some days, I do it all while screaming inside. I hold back tears and will my hands to stop trembling, begging the Lord to give me the patience I need to just. keep. going.

And that's what I do. I keep going because I have to. Because hard or not, these little people need someone to care for them and that someone is me. I never doubt that the hustle and bustle and often utter and complete chaos of my life is worth it. I wouldn't trade my circumstances for anything in this world. I know to be a mother is a blessing--to have these beautiful incredible people in my care a sweet privilege. And at the end of the day, even the hardest days, I always have moments that I can think back on and relish. They are tender mercies, those moments... the one's that allow me to see with crystal clarity the divine purpose in mothering, and mothering well. I will find the joy in those moments.

I will find it when it is easy to see - full and rich and abounding in the eyes and touches and sweet gestures of my children. Still other days I will search long and hard, digging deep to find even a sliver of joy because HAVE MERCY ON MY SOUL THIS JOB IS HARD. But I'll find it. I'll find it because I know it's there.

Even when we're all still wearing pajamas at 4 PM.

Maybe a Little Bit of Cabin Fever

Know what I love about sick kids? I love that they just want you to hold them, or stand near them, or sit next to them on the couch so they can touch your face with their little sticky sick hands and then breathe on you with their hot sticky sick breath. I love that they need toast and a drink of water and some medicine and then some more toast and is there any Coke because being sick means they get to drink Coke and they just feel so terrible and can you just sit with them for a few minutes so they can be limp and sweaty on your lap?

I also love that when you have an army of children in your house, sickness lasts FOREVER.

Sigh. This is not exactly how I thought I would be spending our first few weeks of summer. I realized this afternoon that I hadn't actually left my house since last Thursday. First Jordan was sick, then Ivy, now Lucy, with a little bit of fever thrown in for Henry as well. So we've been hanging out at home. A lot. Haven't been to the library. Haven't been to the park. Haven't been to the pool. I didn't even make it to church on Sunday. We've just been staying home. All of us. All day. (I'm twitching right now. Are you twitching?)

Did I mention the fact that we're currently in the process of finishing our basement? Since Jack is taking naps in my closet, we figure we need to make room for him, you know, in an actual bedroom. The big boys will move downstairs when construction is done so Jack can move in with Henry. It's a great plan. I'm excited. It's only just that framing crews and plumbers and electricians and those guys with the massive forearms that hang drywall? They make A LOT of noise. Hammering and sawing and drilling and banging... I'm on edge, people. The crazy house totally has my number. 

The good news is that my kids--the ones not floundering in sickness on the couch--are well aware that their Momma is mere seconds away from running away and joining the circus. They see it in my eyes, see, and are smart enough to realize they best not throw gasoline on the fire. I'm certain there is a direct correlation between the amount of crazy my children see in my eyes, and their willingness to complete their chores. You oughta see how clean my house is right now. I realize this is fear based. But who am I to argue with such positive results?

I took Jordan to boy scouts tonight both because I was completely desperate, and also because I needed to stop by the grocery store. (What's worse than being stuck at home with sick children? Being stuck at home with sick children and nothing to eat but plain cherrios and saltine crackers. Okay really, who am I kidding. Any other item on my grocery list was simply a cover so I could buy 12 beautiful cans of Cherry Coke. Because, you know, I just happened to be in the store...) As I climbed into the van, I rolled down the windows and yelled at my husband, "Look! Look at me! I'm in my car!" I was smiling perhaps a little too much. Josh just looked at me and shook his head. 

I'm determined tomorrow will be a better day. The kids are all on the mend and we have plans to get the heck out of the house. All seven of us. Look out world. Here we come.

Back to School (Yes. Already.) And pictures!

My kids go back to school on Thursday. it's insanely early to be going back to school. Especially when we didn't FINISH school until the third week of June. But we've adopted a new calendar that allows for a fall break and a spring break and a last day of school on May 24th. This summer? It's been twenty minutes long. But worth it, cause I think I'm going to like the new schedule. Next summer? It will be awesome.

This school year is going to be a good one, I think. Sam and Lucy are in the same class for the first time, which has me vacillating between joyful excitement and sheer terror. I think it will work. Honestly, I think they'll most likely act like they don't even know each other. But I do worry a little about competition. They're both good students, but they tend to excel in different ways. There are very obvious things that one is good at that the other isn't, and vice versa. The way I see it though, is that these two are going to be in school together for the rest of their academic lives. Competition is most likely inevitable. Might as well let them start working through it now, yes? My hope is that they will learn to celebrate what they are both good at and learn to appreciate their different strengths and weaknesses. I hope they will work together, encourage one another. And oh, how I hope that they stay friends.

Jordan, in all of his grown up 5th graderness, will be moving to a different school this year - not quite middle school, but an intermediate school campus right across the street from the middle school. I'm having a hard time with this. No, no, not the school. Just the fact that my kid is in the flippin' 5th grade. It feels a little like it did the other day when an adult - a full fledged fully grown adult person - mentioned that she was 12 years old during the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Wait, what? You could be twelve then, and already be a grown up? Cause, you know, that happened five minutes ago, when I was not twelve, but very much a grown up. Already. When you were 12.

Sigh. At least I was a cool grown up. I wore overalls and Doc Martins and had really awesome poofy short hair.

(I'd just like to state for the record that I totally wrote the above sentence before looking for photographic evidence. How lucky that I found a photo of the poofy short hair WHILE wearing overalls. Note the incredible quality of our first ever digital camera... wait, it wasn't even a digital camera. It was a camcorder that also took digital photos. And also, you may ooh and aah over how adorable Jordan was.)

Anyhoo, I'm excited for the kids to start a new school year and maybe even a little excited for me too. Summer at home with five kids is awesome in so many respects. I really, truly love having my kids around. And I'm not just saying that cause I know they will only BE around for one more day. But (of course there's a but), I'm excited about going to the grocery store without five children in tow. I'm excited about spending a little time with Henry, since he tends to blend in a bit when his older siblings are around. Just because he's quiet and demands little doesn't mean he needs little. I must always remember that about Henry. And finally, because selfish reasons are always best when saved for last, I'm excited about working out again. Remember the triathlon I did at the beginning of the summer? Um, yeah. That was pretty much my last workout. So. I'm feeling awesome. 

Instead, my routine this summer has been wonderfully, blissfully, non-routine. We lounged. We swam. We read books. We worked in the garden and stayed up late and had zucchini bread and popcorn for dinner, more than once. It was everything that I think a summer should be. It was just enough to get us ready for the rhythm and routine of school days; just enough to make us think, "School can happen now. And it will be fun."

And now, some summer-ish photos: (Hang with me... many of these probably warrant their own post, like say, the ones from our vacation that I never even mentioned? But I'm so terrible with pictures. This might be the best I can do.)

This picture makes me hot just looking at it... hot is relative though. This week? It's been HOT for the mountains. 92 degrees and miserable. Most of the summer we make it into the 80's, but the nights are still cool, upper 60's or so, so it never really feels like the heat sticks. Have I told you I love where I live? I do.

Nice to visit other places too, though. Like the beach. 

I don't know why they all look so uncomfortable here...

I love that my baby has enough hair to be wind blown...

they all thought this guy was awesome...

I love her. Have I said that yet?

I really should write a post about our vacation... we stayed at an incredible family friendly resort in Orlando. Want proof? Behold... the minivans.

And here we are hiking a family favorite. This place is local. We hike it all the time. And every single time, I am blown away by how beautiful this world really is...

Not nature, but still something I like to look at...

What you're hiking to see...

And finally... finally? Yes, I think I'm nearly finished...

My handsome boy hanging out with the smart girls

My twins you'd never guess were the same age

Henry rockin' his gymnastics award

The one too cute for words

And my dog. Whom I love with all my heart. Who thinks he's a lap dog. Who sleeps on my bed. And on my couch. Because I'm a sucker and he knows it. And because I love him. 

Finding Joy. Even on Sundays.

Sometimes, Sundays are really hard.

For as long as I have had children, I've been getting them ready for church alone. That's ten years, people... ten years of Josh heading off to early meetings (Truly, I send him willingly... blessings come from service. I know this. I love this. But sometimes one must complain to feel better. So, best get on with it.), ten years of me wrangling little bodies into ties and belts and dresses and shoes with buckles. I admit, it is getting a little easier, now that three of the five are capable of getting at least half way dressed on their own. I need only step in to fix ties and help with hair and button difficult top buttons. But see, getting them READY for church isn't actually the hardest part. Because once they're dressed, we have to actually go to church.

Where we sit.

For 70 minutes.

For the past three years, I've not only taken the kids to church alone, but because of my husband's responsibilities that require him to sit on the stand, I sit with them alone too. It's all well and good. Sometimes one of the boys sits with Josh. And sometimes friends and generous souls sit with me to help. And sometimes the kids behave and we actually make it through a meeting without any major meltdowns. But that doesn't mean it doesn't stretch my nerves and try my patience and make me want to poke my eyes out with one of the plastic forks in the church kitchen closet.

After church, it's always lovely to come home to a house suffering from post-Sunday morning stress disorder - where dirty breakfast dishes and discarded pajamas and rolled up diapers mingle with every random item in the house that I swear was actually put away before we left for church but somehow manages to be tossed about the living room now that we are home. I don't know how it happens, but nothing seems to mess my house up more than Sunday mornings. Except maybe Sunday afternoons.

Because, you know, on a Sunday afternoon, I might actually sit down for a minute or two. And when Mothers sit, messes are made. Or at least, sometimes it seems that way.

And so it is on a Sunday.

This afternoon, I found myself faced with a moment where I had to decide what I was going to make of my Sunday. My kitchen was a mess; dishes piled high in the sink, counter tops covered with more dishes and empty cereal boxes and a magazine cemented to the granite by some sticky substance. Probably maple syrup. I thought about crying. But then, a thought. A gentle bidding not to cry or yell or complain, but to simply let it go.

Let it go?

I tried to look at my kitchen with different eyes. The mess was still there, but it was a mess with purpose - a mess that came from cookies that Lucy and I made together, from a meal that my family enjoyed together. It was a joyful mess. Could I focus on the joy, and not the mess?

I can. I did. And it felt fabulous.

The mess is still there, and will be there still tomorrow morning. I imagine I'll grumble a bit before I clean it up, but it won't matter because the joy will have already made my Sunday. It felt good to let it go. See, that's why I do what I do. The going to church with five kids and the sitting through church with five kids and the coming home from church to messes made before church and the making of even more messes after church... It's because of the joy.

Because family is joyful. And faith is joyful. Sometimes, even messes are joyful. But oh, how hard it can be to see it. Sometimes I can't see unless I pray mightily for God to help me, to help me shake off the blinders of self absorption and see the goodness and the grace and the sweetness of His mercy in every single aspect of my life.

Even in the chaos of Sundays.

Even in messes.

In everything.

**********
This post sponsored by Chunky Bling, supporter of Rising Star Outreach and my sweet friend Karl. And guess what? Right now, Chunky Bling is having an amazing sale, selling watch sets for only $19.95. It's a huge savings and it's over on Tuesday, so go and shop right now this very second. Chinky Bling Big Sale

Summer Stuff

First, an item of business.

One2One Networks recently sent me a box of Newton's Cranberry Citrus Oat Fruit Thins to try for free.

Boy howdy, am I glad they did. They are these deliciously thin and crispy cookies that are so full of "good for you" flavor. That totally sounds like a tagline they asked me to type, but it's not. I made it up cause it's how I feel. Honest to goodness. My kids loved them, my husband loved them, and I could not keep my hands off these things. They aren't at all like regular Fig Newtons. While they are full of fruit flavor, it's all mixed in with baked cookie goodness - no squishy fillings to be found. They almost seemed like they would be an appropriate breakfast cookie. Not too sweet or overpowering, but just sweet enough. It's definitely not the kind of cookie that I'd want to have as dessert. There really isn't anything rich or decadent about it. But they make a great snack. You should try them. I bet you'll like them. And that's all I have to say about that.

In other news, my kids have two more days of school. Well, really one more day of school because the principal has all but begged us to keep our kids home on Friday, just coming in to pick up report cards. I'm absolutely fine with that. Summer with five kids is hard work, but I'm still excited to have them home. Not so much for the noise and chaos that will inevitably ensue, but for the lack of structure and the blissful nothingness that will occupy much of our days. I'm not one to over plan my summer. I love sleeping in a little, eating late breakfasts, snacking through lunches and letting the kids lounge their days away reading books, playing games, and playing outside.

We have a pretty strict anti-boredom policy at our house. The kids are absolutely welcome to feel bored, but if I hear about it, they have to do house work. You're bored? Really? Here's the toilet brush. Go get started. See, I KNOW my kids are capable of playing and entertaining themselves. They have over an acre of woods and space to romp and play and get dirty. They have a trampoline. They have piles of books. They have toys and games and they have each other. Am I there for them? Absolutely. Do I love them? Of course. Will I play with them? Every day. But I'm not a cruise director and I have no intention of filling their days with sparkly fun  and entertainment.

My three oldest kids are on the summer swim team this year. We've already started practice and I'm thrilled at how much they love it. And with how tired it makes them. Bedtime has been a breeze the past two weeks. Exercise is good for the soul, I think. Especially exercise in water.

I'm also excited about this summer because my triathlon will be over. Don't get me wrong. I'm totally excited about this race. (It's Saturday. THIS. FLIPPIN. SATURDAY.) But I've been working out for 90 minutes, four to five times a week for the past six months. It's time for a break. And, it's time for me to focus on other areas of self improvement.

It's time for me to stay up late and write and then sleep in late to make up for it. It's time for me to work on book revisions. It's time for me to start my next manuscript. This summer? It's going to be a summer of words.  My words. I feel them in my bones and it is TIME to get them out.

And finally...

Have you heard the new Coldplay song? I'm SO flippin excited about their new album coming out soon... fall-ish I think? Have a listen...

Survival

It’s easy to wax poetic on the blog about the divine purpose, broader perspective, grand scheme importance of mothering. In my heart of hearts, I know I feel every single ounce of every such proclamation I’ve made, in this space, and others, or else, I never would have made them in the first place.

But many days, it feels much simpler than that. I find myself motivated not by a desire to be the very best, or give the very most. Rather, I’m simply trying to survive – to make it to the end of the day, the end of the summer, the end of whatever it is that, in any particular moment, is making me stark raving crazy.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that five kids is hard, that maintaining a house for this many is an endless, often thankless job. I clean and clean, thinking that eventually I’ll get to the end, only to realize there isn’t an end to a circle. And cleaning a house lived in by seven people? Um, yeah. One GIANT circle. But cleaning isn’t all I do. I usher, feed, drive, chaperone, entertain, teach, scold, encourage.

I keep pedaling, pushing onward, trying, trying, trying to just make it through one more day. And I get tired. Really, really tired.

Tired of messes I didn’t make.

Tired of lessons that still aren’t learned.

Tired of tantrums.

Tired of being tired.

I get the purpose, the meaning. I feel it, love it, want to keep doing it. But it’s hard, people! Hard not to completely loose my cool when someone wakes up the baby or poops on the floor or makes a mud pie in the bathroom sink.

It’s hard to hold onto my sanity when I’m loading the washing machine for the fifty bazillioneth time, or sweeping graham cracker crumbs off the floor in my bedroom even though no one is allowed to eat at the computer desk in the first place and I’ve said it so many times, you’d think everyone would remember, but why would they remember when no one really hears me when I’m talking anyway unless someone is bored or hungry and their legs and brains are obviously broken which is why they are standing in front of me with puppy dog eyes wanting me to feed them, entertain them, make a rainbow, build a swimming pool because it’s so hot, and why didn’t I tell them it was going to be so hot so they could put on a different shirt this morning, because I should have known they would not like being hot!

But then the baby smiles. The kids laugh. The husband comes home from work early. And suddenly, I’m rescued. I realize that I’m surviving, because there is so stinkin’ much to survive for. I’m pushing through one more day because in the midst of all those days, are the moments that make this gig so worth it in the first place.

I don’t love every day. I don’t love everything that mothering requires. Some days, I’m merely surviving. But I’m surviving because it is worth it. (Here we go again – waxing poetic.) I’m surviving because I have to, I want to, I need to be with these little people that so desperately need me.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

And sometimes, you just gotta say that out loud.

She gets "Headaches".

I have this vision of my children, ten years from now, tiptoeing past my bedroom door with their friends. Inside the room, the shades are drawn, and towels are stuffed into the crevices under doors and around the windows to block out every last inch of light. A shapeless blob is huddled on the center of the bed.

"Dude. What's up with your Mom?" A friend would say.

"She gets headaches," my future teenager responds, drawing annoying little air quotations around the word.

"Oh right, headaches."

It would then be understood that the shapeless blob in the center of the bed was, in fact, constantly nursing a bottle of vodka, (Can you do that? Nurse vodka? I have zero liquor knowledge.) or was miserably depressed. Or maybe both. Because headaches don't really make you hide in your bedroom for three days, do they?

Oh yes they do, little teenagers that don't exist yet but are still judging me inside my totally nutty head.

This is what I thought about while hiding in my bedroom for the past three days... about what impression migraine sufferers actually give to other people. Because really. Unless you've had a migraine, I'm not sure there is any way to really understand it.

I'm better now. But man oh man, have the past three days stunk it up royally.

My vision goes first. For about thirty minutes, everything is fuzzy... little jagged lines of terror dance across my vision warning me that very soon, my head will crack open and little monkeys will crawl inside and start squeezing my brain to bits. As soon as my vision returns, the pain starts. Then, for about six hours, I'm miserable. Hiding in the dark, don't touch me, don't ask me for food, please oh, please don't ask me to wipe your bum, miserable. After six hours of holy hell and torture, I'm generally functional, and no longer in really intense pain, but I'm still slow and heavy and feel totally wiped out. By the next day, I'm generally feeling better. Unless, like this last episode, it happens all over again. Three more times. Three times I was fooled, tricked into thinking I was getting better, and then all of a sudden, I wasn't again. I HATE that!

Oh, and my poor, poor children. For two days we weathered it on our own. Major changes at Josh's office made it impossible for him to get away, so Jordan became my caretaker. And everyone else's caretaker too. He made sandwiches for lunch one day, and hot dogs the next. He fixed juice for Henry. He put Henry down for a nap. He unloaded the dishwasher, and picked up the living room. He supervised the playing of Mario for eight hours a day, interspersed with short sessions of "Choo Choo" and Blues Clues watching for Henry. It sounds impressive I know, but really I think he was totally living up the power trip that was bossing his brothers and sister around. Funny what being in charge can do to a kid! On the third day, a dear friend stopped by to check on me, and then my little brother and his wife drove over an hour to rescue me. They brought soup. They played with the kids. They folded my laundry. They brewed me awful nasty bay leaf tea to help my migraine go away. (Jessie... I drank it. It was horrible. But it must have worked. I'm better!:) )

It's been over 18 hours since I've felt any real pain. I think I'm finally out of the woods. It's the worst one I've had in a while, and one I desperately hope isn't repeated anytime soon.

What about you? Any fellow migraine sufferers out there? What do you take to manage yours?

My children live in La La Land.

That's the name of the happy place where my children like to visit. They say it's a really nice place and insist my life would be much more enjoyable if I would simply abandon all sense of reason and join them there. I can always tell when they've flitted over for an extended stay in La La land. When I (because really I'm just a horrible mother) try and impose my reality on them, and make them do unreasonable things like brush their teeth, or put their laundry away, and they look at me with complete shock and utter horror, I know they've been gone for too long, and I must find a way to bring them back down to earth.

Just last night, I walked into the bathroom and found Sam in the tub, water filled to the very top and two inches of water spilled over on the floor.

"Sam!" I cried. "How did this happen?!"

"I just didn't notice the water was overflowing, Mommy."

Um, yeah. And I'm the queen of England. Blurred reality strikes again.

Then there was the time my little fantasy land dwellers convinced the babysitters that they really DO fill the sandbox up with water all the time and that Mommy is totally cool with it, even though it washes all the sand down the back of the yard and creates more mess than should EVER be allowed. Sam and Lucy told a different babysitter once that I let them balance the broom in between the couch and the ottoman, and walk across it like a tightrope. Uh huh. Whose reality are we living in again?

My husband recently received a calling at church that requires him to sit up on the stand, far far away from me, and our four children. I tell you what. Nothing helps you feel the spirit of the Lord like sitting in Sacrament meeting with four children. All alone. We've managed pretty well so far, except for the time when Jordan and Sam decided it would be a fun game to see how quickly they could shove a pen up the nose of the other.

"What?" They asked me when I shot death stare lasers out of my eyes from my end of the pew.

"What are we doing wrong?!"

So LaLa Land is a place where generating cries of anguish OUT LOUD in the middle of your FATHER'S talk is not anything to be alarmed about?

(notice I was much more concerned about the noise than the actual pain they may have been inflicting on one another. I have my priorities in order. Really, I do.)

I must admit, sometimes I want to escape to LaLa Land too. I bet there isn't any laundry to do over there. And surely exercise is something you can do sitting down with your feet up, and a cherry coke in your hand. I'm thinking I need to do some more research about this place...

Feeding Frenzy.

Yesterday I spent a few minutes on the computer completing an array of tasks from the completely mundane and necessary like balancing my checkbook, to the much more fun but not so necessary... you know, like reading your blog. The laptop was, in this instance, plugged in at the desk in my bedroom.

Which left the living room and kitchen unattended for maybe half an hour.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Can you sense the danger that I was so carelessly inflicting on the sanity and sanitation of my home? When I returned to the living room, it looked as if the Armageddon of all snack foods had just wound down to an awful, painful, fatal on all sides, end. There was one common theme, I noticed, that ran through all the carnage. It was all snack food that could be obtained silently, and without assistance. Juice boxes, half drunk and toppled on their sides littered the area, a little trail of juicy drips stickying up the floor in various directions... cracker crumbs decorated the couch, and the little plastic sleeves that hold those noxiously awful popsicles that kid's love anyway... 6 of them in total (yes, that's 2 popsicles each) clung to their syrupy insides, now oozing out all over the counter in the kitchen, and the shelf of the entertainment center. There may or may not have been more damage. But for the sake of my credibility as a mother, I'm not sharing...

Seriously though, HOW long was I out of the room?! When did, "Guys, sit down and watch Olivia while I get some stuff done," turn in to, "HEY! Have a free for all in the kitchen! Eat your hearts out! And please make a colossal big mess in my living room!"

And it wasn't as if I wasn't listening... I swear they must have been little mice, creeping in to the kitchen on tiptoe, because I heard no sound that indicated any mischievous behavior. I KNOW what those sounds are. I've grown quite used to the general feeling of alarm I feel when I'm in the bathroom, or taking a shower and I hear the sound of a kitchen chair sliding across the floor. That's NEVER a good sound...

But come on guys... if the Keebler Elves are going to duel it out with Mr. Redhenbacher, at least let me prepare the room first. I could bring the tarp up from the garage and cover the furniture...

It amazes me how quickly the mess happens. I vacillate back and forth between being a stringent food czar, keeping cabinets and refrigerator under lock and key - all snacks and meals passed through a highly tuned Mommy filter... and just letting the kids eat when they want to eat, as long as those desires stay within a general amount of reason and propriety. I'm generally not one to over regulate my kid's lives, but I tell you what, they keep messing up my house in feeding frenzy free for alls...

Dry bread and water. Nothing more!!

Someone please invent a solution.

I know I'm not the only person that has a toddler who gets dirty. Surely other two year olds eat suckers and play in the dirt and get peanut butter all over their hands. So please oh please someone tell me how to wash my kid's hands without squishing his innards or alternatively soaking his entire self in the kitchen sink.

Does anyone else have this problem? Less than two year old people have short arms... short little stubby arms, that while perfectly sized for their little stubby bodies, are wrong, wrong, wrong for every kitchen sink in every house in America. BUT sometimes hands have to be washed.... and in my house, it's a session of unintentional torture every single time.

You start out confident... you pick baby up, and lifting your knee up to give him something to sit on, lean him forward over the sink... Using one hand to pump out the soap you use the other to keep baby from squirming away. Things start to go south when, because you're brilliant, you use the hand full of soap to turn on the water, dumping the soap on to the back of the sink... You get soap again, then catch baby as he starts to slide off your leg... also with the hand full of soap. Third time's a charm and you finally get little hands soaped up... when your nose starts to itch, becoming so completely unbearable that you scratch your nose with the end of your pinkie nail. So now soap is all over the sink, all over baby's shirt, and all over your face. Excellent. Meanwhile, baby starts screaming because his small intestine has been pressed up against the counter for so long it is crawling inside his large intestine... you hastily rinse off his hands, soaking his entire shirt sleeves in the process. It hardly matters that you did, actually push his sleeves up. They fell down while you were soaping up the outside of his sweatshirt. Just as you are about to end the whole ordeal, you notice half the sandbox hiding under your kid's fingernails... you can't actually wash his hands and leave all that stuff under there, so shifting his weight to one side so that his liver and gall bladder get their own share of blunt force trauma, you try and scrape out the nastified crud from under his nails... you only manage two fingernails before the screaming is so unbearable, and your leg, still elevated to hold the kid up to the sink is trembling from the suddenly-feels-like-seventy-five-pounds balanced on your thigh... you end the torment, promising to get the rest of the dirt in the bathtub... tomorrow, or maybe the next day.

Maybe next time you decide pressed and pounded internal organs aren't worth it. So you sit your kid on the side of the sink, thinking it will be much easier this way. Except babies have short arms... remember? So when you pull his little arms in to the water, he falls in to the sink. Who really cares about clean hands? Let's just take a bath with our clothes on!

One day, all my kids will all be old enough to go in to the bathroom and wash hands alone and unassisted.

And I will rejoice.

Please, oh please someone tell me you can relate.

Rice Anyone?

It's a good thing he looks like this... all cute and stuff...



So that when he makes messes like this... I still feel like keeping him.



And now for some totally unrelated, unsolicited, additional cuteness...



That's all.

Happy in the mornings? Not even a little bit.

I am not a morning person. Not at all. Not ever. Not even when I try. And yet, I wish I was a morning person. I wish it were easy for me to go to bed early so that I could wake up and get an early start to my day.

But then, when it is nighttime, and the children are all sleeping and everything is so quiet and peaceful... to go to bed means to end it all so that I can wake up the next morning and start all over.

It's not working for me though... the staying up late and sleeping in (let's maintain perspective... with four children sleeping in means sleeping until 7:15) until all the children are already awake and ready for breakfast...

What this means is that I fix breakfast and get Jordan off to school. Then I fold the load of laundry that's on the kitchen table, then I fix a Lego set, and take out the dog. Then I sweep the cheerios off the floor and vacuum the living room rug. Then I fix the computer game for Lucy, and then, realizing I forgot to eat breakfast myself I fix myself something to eat and sit down to check my email. After checking my email, I may, or may not decide to write a blog. Then I clean the bathroom, unstop the toilet, read a story, fix a snack for the kids, balance the checkbook, take the dog out again...

And then I look at the clock and realize that it's lunch time, I'm not dressed, I haven't exercised and there is only an hour or two left before I have to go and pick up Jordan. Once he's home, it's basically dinner time.

Perhaps I'm wrong in thinking that all this would be solved by getting up early. But I think it would. I mean really, all I want to do is take a shower, and, in a perfect world, exercise before the shower.

I've done this before. Once, for an entire summer, before I was pregnant with Henry, I got up at 5:40 every morning and went to the gym with a friend. I HAD to go, because she was going, and well, I couldn't be the wimp that didn't show up. So I went... even when I stayed up late the night before, I still went. Where oh where is my motivation? This morning, as I turned off my alarm clock at 6:05, my motivation quite successfully hid under my pillow, and stayed there, until Jordan, fully dressed came and woke me up at 7:15.

Good thing someone in this house is responsible.

I said to Josh as I stumbled over to the closet, "I really wish I could be a morning person... but I just love sleeping so much."

Sigh.

I think I need an intervention.

Do any of you get up early? Perhaps I need a thick skinned volunteer to call me every morning at 6AM, brave my expostulations and insults and yell at me until I get out of bed...

It's all I got.

So, I began my morning thinking I was going to blog about bedtime battles with children, and the solution that most of the time works at my house... but suddenly, I don't have it in me.

Maybe it was the glass of orange juice that was kicked on to the floor as Sam tried to retrieve the last of the Halloween candy off the top of the refrigerator. Or, maybe it was the shard of sticky, stinging glass in the bottom of Henry's foot from his dash across the kitchen while I was trying to clean up the mess. Perhaps it was Lucy's meltdown that stole all my optimism, because she could not find her leggings with the leaves on them, and she could NOT wear her purple shirt without her leaf leggings and they MUST have been stolen because she'd looked everywhere and they were NOT IN THIS HOUSE... until I found them in her bottom drawer where we keep all her pants and leggings.

Or, maybe it was my own clumsiness when I turned to put my cereal bowl on the table and somehow, some way that I could never do again, even if I really tried, managed to drop my full bowl of cereal, shattering the bowl and splashing my entire kitchen with milk. The walls. The table. The window. Nothing is more disgusting than spilled milk. Except maybe milk that's been in a sippy cup for two weeks.

The straw that broke the camel's back was perhaps Henry, while I was cleaning up milk and orange juice and glass from the kitchen floor, climbing in to the laundry basket of clean laundry with his little grimy, banana and chocolate (please don't ask) covered hands and touching every single article of clothing. And then, since he was taller while standing inside the laundry basket, reaching up to the bookshelf and throwing all the books he could reach on the floor.

So, the bedtime post will have to wait until my sanity returns and things are not looking quite so lackluster. I think sometimes it's actually comical when a series of things happen so quickly, and you think to yourself, "Is this seriously for real? I feel like tossing a few more dishes on the floor just for dramatic effect.

And now to keep me from further wallowing in self pity (because really, a broken dish is actually just a dish, and nothing that happened this morning was of any actual consequence), we'll move on.

Over the past several weeks, I've gotten a few blog awards passed on from a handful of my honorable and respected peers. I have yet to pass them on, and because everybody needs a bit of blog love, I'm going to now. From Nobody, and Cheryl at Twinfatuation, I received this award:

Thank you officially :) And now I pass it along to Jillybean, of Thou Shalt Not Whine. Who I think is totally hilarious. I don't know Jillybean personally, but her entertaining wit, and her toddler Max, that inserts the word 'also' into every sentence, keep me visiting regularly. This award also goes to Lindsay, of Lindsay Adventures. I don't know Lindsay in person either, but her skillfully crafted written word and the details she shares about family life in Brooklyn... a life so completely different from anything I have ever experienced, are very intriguing.

Coincidentally, (it really WAS a coincidence... I had that award up there planned long before she gave me this one) Lindsay just awarded me with an E for Excellent blog rating.

I'm honored. :) And happy to pass it along to a few other bloggers who are most excellent themselves. To Nobody of Nobody Called Today, who deservedly so, forever remains at the top of my blog reader. She's hilariously funny, has totally mastered 'kid-speak' and has kids that say enough funny stuff to keep her blog highly entertaining. Though blogging was what started our relationship, I have gotten to know her beyond that and she's all kinds of awesome, even beyond her blogging prowess. She's the kind of person that makes you love yourself just because she's talking to you. And who doesn't love loving yourself?

This award also goes to Glittersmama, over at Random Thoughts. Glittersmama is a friend from a former chapter of real life, and blogging has most wonderfully kept us in touch. She's the kind of person I want to be like when I grow up. She's fun, she's totally real, and she's one of the smartest people I know.

And last, but certainly not least, InkMom, of I'm not crazy, Mommy. I'm biased because Inkmom is not just my very best friend in the whole wide world, she's also the very best sister I could ever hope for. Though her blog is new, it's well worth an Excellent rating.. she's funny, she's witty, her kids are adorable... and she uses all kinds of big, fancy smart person words that will make you feel smarter simply for having read them. I mean, really, who doesn't love a person that uses a word like 'cathartic' in every day conversation? I loce you, E. You are excellent in so many ways, a blog award hardly does you justice.

Sickness, and other random stuff

I'm sick! My head is full of stuff and my body is achy and I have a fever. My children have totally taken over my house. I sit here, snuggled on my coach with entirely too many blankets and watch as the order and cleanliness crumbles around me. Henry's naked, drawing on the wall with a crayon. Sam just crumbled life cereal all over the floor... do you know how crumbly life cereal is? Lucy has decided that it will be extra challenging to mix all the puzzle pieces of ten different puzzles together and then try and put them all back together at the same time.

Awesome. It's okay. I'll be better tomorrow. If not, you want to come over?

So, the house we're building will be done in about six weeks or so... I'm using it as my reason for not doing basic cleaning tasks... the hall closet needs to be organized? Eh. We're moving soon. I'll do it then. The microwave needs to be cleaned? Eh. It won't be my microwave in a few weeks. The basement needs to be straightened up? Eh. A few more weeks won't hurt. Kids' sheets need to be changed? Eh. We're moving soon. I'll wash them then...

Okay. Maybe I should wash the sheets now. And I guess it would actually be rude to leave the microwave a mess. Dang it. I'm talking myself out of my laziness.

One more thing before I crumble in to a heap of miserable snottiness, I have a coupon for Gymboree, 25% off, that has to be used by midnight on the 26th... I'm not gonna use it. I couldn't get it to you in time for you to visit a store, but if you want me to email you the code for an online purchase, it's yours. They've got some cute stuff on sale right now... I've got two codes... leave me a comment if you want it, and I'll email it over.