Repost

*I wrote this months ago and then deleted it because, well I don’t know. I was feeling vulnerable. That’s a pattern here, by the way … however – I’m rereading it tonight and laughing out loud. So I thought you might too. Maybe not, but maybe. That’s good enough reason for me.*

There’s way too much estrogen in this house right now. I have 2 more girls than I’m used to, which is also 2 more kids than I’m used and let me just chronicle a few helpful hints to those of you in my situation … um, ever.

I’m the youngest of 4 biological children – and when hell broke loose, so did our family blood line … I now am (not) the youngest of 10.

Folks, the Brady Bunch has nothing on this clan of Dutch people.

My husband, oh the lovely husband who gets to wake up and go to work and cackle while he reverses out of the driveway as I stand in the window, baby on my hip – 3 ankle biters biting and tears streaming down my face, that husband. He has a job. I want his job some times.

(Exaggeration there)

He’s the oldest of 5 biological children. The End. Thats a nice story.

Any way. POINT IS: We come from big families and always kind of thought we wanted the same thing. Well, at least CLOSE to it.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (catching my breath) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who lets these young thing-a-ma-bobs get married with IDEAS and IDEALS? Boy, throw a rock in their plan and watch them scramble for air. It’s my favorite past time.

The rock in our plan was Reality. And I’m forced to look very closely at it this morning having 2 more kids hanging out here today and yesterday. These kids are my nieces and I love them bunches. It’s awesome for Jessica to have playmates all day and it tires her out in a way I’m never capable of.

BUT. If I survive to the end of today we’ll all be lucky. I can take a quantity of small people larger than me (the quantity ratio that is) for about 30 minutes on my own and then I start sweating. In that 30 minutes I’ve already exhausted all my ideas.

Let’s make funny faces in the mirror!
Who wants their picture taken?!!
Let’s BAKE something!!
Play a game?
Read books?
Chase eachother – I’ll watch …
I’m. Uh …. I can’t breathe. I’m just going to sit here for a minute – don’t kill each other.

STOP WHINING!
NO MORE TATLE TAILING!
SHARE. SHARE!!!! SHARE!!!!!!!!

I’m on the sidelines of a touch football game called “Getting Through Today” and I’m the referee.

Here are the rules of engagement:

Clear liquids only, it’s entirely possible that they’ll decide it’s a good idea to paint the entire basement with water and then join in a raoucous game of “Throw Water At Me, This Carpet Needed A Good Washing” (True story)

The Baby is the Ace In The Hole. USE HIM. Everyone’s too loud? SHHH! THE BABY IS SLEEPING, PLAYING, DOESN’T LIKE LOUD NOISES … IS ALIVE!

Reward, reward, reward. Read this as: Bribe, Bribe, Bribe. Candy. Cookies. Pretzels. Whatever you have at your disposal. It is your friend, because you no longer have any.

Time out’s. Are inevitable. Shit is going to go down. There are 3 females in close range ages and all have an idea of how to wear that tu-tu, or the one and only hat, and oh-mi-god stop fighting over those stupid chairs.

Is there blood? No??? Sweet. Shake it off, send em back in there – nap time is 20 minutes away and we’ll be damned if they’re not begging me to read them Good Night Moon in less than 5.

Refined Sugars … ARE FROM THE DEVIL. The tasty, tasty freedom devil.

Remember to laugh and have fun. They really are only this age once.

Thank you, Jesus.

One thought on “Repost

  1. Hilarious. Totally hit the nail on the head… and I thought it was just little ‘ole, only-child me! For me, two is enough, three is too loud. Four… well, shoot me. To those who can handle it – more power to ya… but I’ll keep my sanity in my back pocket for a few more years and then remember where I put it… Those others – well, they are either saints or permanently insane.

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