Ooooops!

The other night, I was visiting my friend's MySpace page. She has a link for a You Tube clip of the show "Family Guy". Never having watched the show, I clicked on it, out of curiosity. It was so hilarious because this particular clip portrayed a baby bugging his mother until she blew her cool. Anyway, the kids were sitting with me, and they all enjoyed it as well. So we scrolled through the other clips and chose another one to watch. This time the clip was, well... not as clean cut. It showed a father confronting his son's bully and beating him up. The kids were rolling on the floor in hysterics (why is violence so funny to children?). I was mortified that my kids just witnessed an act of cartoon crime. But I was more mortified that they thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. Late that night, I went to You Tube and watched a couple of other clips, thinking that the violent clip was just a fluke. I'm sure you all know by now, that it wasn't. The clips were so hilarious, that I couldn't help but watch, despite how utterly sacrilegious and crude they were. After two or three clips of tearful laughter, I got up to get a drink. Suddenly, I heard little feet scatter. Oh, Lord...what have I done? My kids are going to be forever corrupted and I facilitated it! I'm pretty sure that they all took notes on the drunken baby clip because the next day, Aiden and Phillip were quoting lines from it:

Phillip: "You're drunk!!!" (to Aiden)
Aiden: (purposely slurring his words) "You're SEXY!!!"

OMG, I've ruined my children. I wonder if Uncle John can make a trip down to do a baptism for Reed and an exorcism for the rest of the kids? Another proud parenting moment...(sigh)

The Agony Of Defeat

Whew! It is nearly 10 pm, and I'm so glad that today is finally over! It was just one of those days that seems to fray every last nerve, physically wear out the body and make me wanna have a good cry. I took Trenton to Sylvan Learning Center for an assessment test. He was severely undernourished in the academic area this last school year. I've tried my best to help bring him up to par, but I can't be the mommy and teacher that he needs. So, much to my dismay, I had to seek outside help. My pride is hurting...and soon my wallet will too. Anyway, we were in the van, coming home from Sylvan, and the kids were hungry. I did not want to stop for fast food because we are trying to be financially responsible. Okay, I'm not that great at it, but Daniel is forcing me to try. So the kids were not happy, and made the ride home pure hell. For the remainder of the afternoon they proceeded to seek vengeance on their hold out mother. They fought, littered the house with toys/food/clothing/trash, and had terrible attitudes. I was so stinking tired by the time dinner came, I wanted to retire to my room and give up. But dinner wouldn't make itself, so I pushed on. After I made spaghetti sauce, I realized that we were out of pasta. So I improvised and served up a new casserole. As I expected, the kids were not impressed with my concoction. Marlie told us that she would rather eat her own poop. Despite dinner turmoil, we decided to take a walk, just to get out. Bad idea. The kids were all over the damn place. Marlie complained the entire time because it was too windy, too quick, too not in her control. The wind had kicked up and was chapping the baby's face. By the time we returned home, Reed's face was crusted over with snot barnacles. The kids ran into the house, peeled off their clothing, discarded the articles all over the floor, and ran out back to play. I looked over at the dinner mess, the toy mess, and the whole dirty house and something in me snapped. That was the last straw. I called a family pow wow. They all stampeded into the living room, directing me to hurry up so they could go play. Let me tell you, I laid down the law. I cancelled tomorrow's coupon drawing, shamed them all for their disgraceful behavior and ordered them to bed. The whole speech lasted ten minutes, but it was very effective. They all silently marched to the bathroom, brushed, and got into bed. No songs, no water, no hall light on. But they did get a kiss and the promise of a fresh start tomorrow. Now, if only I can find someone brave enough to be the mom tomorrow, because I'm not sure I can do it again!!

Dork Denial

So yesterday, I finally went on MySpace to look at my sister in law's page. But you cannot view people's pages unless you have an account. So I open an account. Then I realize that once you open an account, you automatically have a MySpace site. Greaaaaaat. Daniel will not be happy to hear this. As long as I have a page, I might as well design it, right? So then I start designing. This is fun. I keep adding stuff...this is really fun. I only have two friends, and 14 views, but who cares. I'm not doing it to be popular w/ all the MySpace dorks. (Yeah, I'm in denial) But I love to design the page. It is so fun that I become obsessed. I was on the damn computer almost all night designing my site. Daniel thinks I am insane for enjoying something so ridiculous and pointless. Hey, if I do something, it is all or nothing baby!! Okay, I guess I have to face the fact...I have become a MySpace Dork. As if I wasn't dorky enough to begin with. (sigh)

Tip# 542

Tip # 542 for mothers of evil geniuses:
Always, ALWAYS check your beverage before consuming it. The evil genius child will often pull practical jokes on the unsuspecting family member. Most often, it ends up being the mother who falls victim to these pranks, as she is usually preoccupied with 20 other things. Case in point: I am enjoying my blueberry iced tea, and reading email. Although delicious, my tea is getting thicker in consistency, with each drink. After 5 or 6 drinks, I examine the tea for an explanation. I find 3 ice cubes (normal), and two raw eggs (also normal if your son thinks it is funny to put raw eggs in the ice dispenser.) The eggs both had small holes in the shell (probably made during their journey down the ice maker canal) and were leaking out raw egg membrane. So remember this little tip before you commence beverage enjoyment, "NEVER let your guard down!"

Creepy Crawly

Last night, we were watching Animal Planet's Most Extreme show. It was about animals who are extreme reproducers. The number one animal was the tape worm. I know, ewwwwww! I am completely repulsed by the thought of the possibility of any parasitic bodily invasion. Just the mention of the word, "parasite" makes me do the butt cheek clinch. Anyway, the show went on to discuss the symptoms of having a tape worm, or lack of. Most people do not even know that they have one because the symptoms are so unnoticeable. Usually the most common are increased hunger, fatigue and mild anemia. "Oh, that explains it. You have a tape worm!, " Daniel points at me, laughing. I am insulted, and grossed out, all in one. As we sit, watching the end of the show, my wheels keep turning. I can't help but to wonder if I really could have one. (By the way, I am a huge hypochondriac.) I run to the computer, look it up on Web MD, and then I remember a few months back. I had an ultrasound of my stomach to find the MIA IUD. I remembered asking the ultrasound tech if I had anything in my stomach, including tape worms. She laughed at me, and said it was all clear. I breathed a sigh of relief at that thought. Later that night, as I was tucking Marlie in, she asks, "Mom, are you gonna get the worm out of your stomach?" Oh Lord have mercy...I sure hope the other kids did not hear Daniel's taunting. For all I know, the whole neighborhood will be talking about the Prescott family, whose kids read sex books, run wild like savages and have a mom with tape worms.

CowDorks

Here is a picture of what happens to Daniel and I when we get a little time to relax... We end up drinking too much, wearing cheesy cowboy hats, and start thinking we are cool. We've never even sat on horses before. What a couple of dorks!!

A Sure Winner

In a desperate attempt to end the constant bickering and mess making that has plagued our home since our second child was born, I've devised a system that is based on rewards. I know it sounds pretty simple, but you'd be surprised how well it works. I use a coupon book that I found at Stater Bros titled, "What A Great Kid". It is full of cool incentives like "Go To Work With Dad Day". I have a Ziploc bag that I put the kids' names in when they do a good deed, or keep themselves from doing something downright evil. We hold two weekly drawings (2 seemed like a good number since it gives more chances to win. But if you have less kids, one might be enough.) However, before you run to Stater Bros to buy one of your own... put down the car keys and read on. There are a few things to keep in mind when implementing this system:

1. Warn the kids that there will only be one winner per drawing. Make sure that they completely understand that not everyone wins a coupon each time. It is so difficult to see the disappointment on the face of a toddler who thinks they have won, and has to be told otherwise. It also keeps the winner from being mobbed and robbed by six jealous siblings.
2. Be sure that you pick the coupon to be rewarded. This is very important because if you do not select an appropriate coupon, you might end up carting your child and 5 rambunctious 6 year olds to an amusement park of their choosing. That could get expensive!
3. Sometimes it is necessary to cheat in order to make sure that every kid gets a chance to win. It keeps hope alive in the child who struggles to get just one name in the bag. And it also avoids anger induced tantrums from the feeling of utter defeat for the tenth week in a row.
4. Do not hand out entries for every little deed, unless you use a potato sack to put them in. Once the kids get the hang of the system, they will be very eager to get as many entries as possible. If you have as many kids as we do, you will be killing quite a few trees per day.
5. Do not award a coupon titled, "King For The Day" to a power hungry, vengeance seeking 7 year old, unless you are prepared to be labeled "knave" and give hour long foot massages while trying to explain to the other kids that they have to grant this child's every wish for the next 10 hours. Trust me on this one.
6. Do not be surprised when the excitement of the rewards system wears off, and they all decide that the coupons are really not worth all the trouble of behaving, and ensue the usual mayhem that sends you to the brink of insanity. Just be glad you got those few days or weeks of compliance and peace. Oh, and I forgot to tell you... you might want to buy some Bayer and ear plugs for when this happens (because it will happen.)

Cheers!

I have to share this less than proud moment. It serves as a reminder of why drinking too much is a really bad (and sometimes disgusting) idea. I was just picking up sipper cups in my living room and had a flashback moment from our trip to Laughlin:
I was picking up empty bottles and cans in my in laws' backyard. (Even adults forget to clean up after themselves.) I saw my bottle of hard lemonade next to a bottle of murky liquid and cigarette butts. I continued to attempt a quick clean up session. Apparently the alcohol in my system completely blocked my short term memory. Five seconds later I took a drink of the lemonade in my hand, only to discover that it was not my lemonade at all. It was the cigarette butt water. I immediately spat it out, gagged and looked around to see if anyone noticed. Nope...everyone looked preoccupied through my blurry beer goggles. The worse part is, I don't even think I brushed my teeth right after. Maybe I just swished with lemonade and moved on. That is probably the grossest thing I have ever done. Then again...it is not the first time I have had too much to drink, so who knows. That is one memory I would have rather suppressed, but it was too funny to keep to myself!

A Penny For Your Silence

I have plenty to share today. Like my trip to the park yesterday morning. I took the kids in the morning, thinking it would be relatively empty. HA! It was pretty empty at first. But once ten o' clock rolled around, it filled up fast. Anyway, there was a group of moms who knew each other and congregated under the shade structure. It just so happened that Reed's play pen was situated next to their table. I was doing my thing, chasing kids, counting kids, stopping Ella from killing herself... not really aware of what the other moms were doing. Finally, I walked over to retrieve Reed from his enclosure and I heard whispering. My supersonic ears immediately picked up some comments. They were about me. One lady was telling the others that she thought all of them were mine. Another was sneering in disbelief. Another was saying that there was no way I could be that skinny without starving myself. One was joking that it must be hard to be so perfect. Now, it is usually not important what someone weighs or looks like, because we all have things that we'd like to change about ourselves. But I have to point out that every single lady sitting there was very overweight. So maybe it was an attempt to justify their own issues with themselves. I don't know. I was so hurt by their conversation that I decided to leave. I obviously did not want to be in a place where I was once again the freak. I accept the fact that it is abnormal to have so many kids. I understand that people will always have something to say about it. That is okay with me. But why attack me for being who I am? Does being skinny make me sub human? Does it give them the right to bad mouth me? They don't know my story... know nothing about me or my life. I'm sure they were all happy that I left. If they had put as much effort into getting to know me, as they did bashing me, maybe they would have gotten to like me. It was a valuable lesson in giving people a chance, no matter what you may think about them initially... but a hard lesson to learn.

Sometimes, Race Does Matter!

Little Timmy, who lives down the street, came by to ask if he could play yesterday. I've met Timmy's mother, a very nice lady, with two kids and no husband. Timmy is much younger than his teenage brother, and has nobody his own age to play with. As is the case with all of my kids' friends, we welcome Timmy to play anytime. So Timmy's grandma left him at our house to play for a few hours. Apparently Timmy's mom was at work. I know that none of this sounds strange or worth reading, but it gets better. I noticed that Timmy's grandma (whom I've never met before yesterday), looked very Hispanic. Timmy's family is very African American. I did not want to bring up the obvious difference in front of the kids because I felt it would create an issue. We have always taught the kids that race doesn't matter, so bringing it up might have made them think otherwise. However, it gnawed at me the whole time he was at our house. I thought about the possibility of the lady being Timmy's paternal grandmother. But Timmy did not look one iota Hispanic. "Timmy," (I just had to know,)"Is your grandma your babysitter?" He looked at me matter of factly. "Yeah, she's my new grandma." It hit me like a brick. Timmy had been attending preschool according to his mom. "Why aren't you at preschool today?," I probed, trying to sound nonchalant. "I stay with my new grandma now." I think flames may have shot out of my ears. The lady who dropped him of to play, was probably sitting on her butt in front of the TV, eating bon bons, getting paid a good amount money for doing absolutely nothing. She probably saw the kids and I out front and recognized a huge window of opportunity. Because hey, I've got seven kids... what's one more? I'll tell you what it is... it's one more kid!!! I have no problem with kids coming over to play, but I have a huge problem with babysitters pawning them off on me while they get paid for it. I don't even know if Timmy's mom knows that he was at my house at all. You better believe that I will be having a little chat with Timmy's mother later!

Laughlin, Ne(ver again)vada

There are two things I learned during our vacation this weekend. One is that vacations are not really relaxing, even without kids. I was so worried about how my Mom was doing at my house, that I could not completely let my guard down. I kept waiting for the cell phone to ring with news that we needed to come home. When it did not ring, I was worried that it was not working. When I realized that is was working, I started to wonder why my Mom was not calling to inform me that everything was okay. So I ended up calling her way too many times for no good reason. After hearing that the kids were being very good, I questioned my own ability to make them behave. Why were they being so good for her and never me, damn it?! Finally, I decided to have some drinks and settle down. That is where lesson number two comes into play. Too many drinks, plus one strange hotel room, equal a restless night of anxiety for this mom. I have had better sleep during a bout of illness stricken children, than I did on "vacation". I was so afraid of having a hang over when we returned home, that I sat awake until 3 am, worrying about how I was going to cope. I did not want to ruin Father's Day for Daniel. I certainly did not want the kids to see me laying worthlessly on the couch. On top of that, I did not know how I was going to stomach the bumpy ride home. Goffs Road even makes me very nauseous on a sober day. I sat and worried for hours, while Daniel snored away. I got myself so worked up that I would sweat and then shiver and then run to the bathroom, thinking I was going to wretch. I have never been so psychotic over the fear of a hangover. The next morning, I was exhausted, but not sick. Good grief... what was I so worried about? Being a mother has made me a completely spastic person. Looks like our next vacation will be in our little plastic pool out back. And ya know what? That's perfectly okay with me!

In Search Of Sleep

In my haste to prepare for our departure to Laughlin tomorrow, I let some things slide. Which basically means that the kids ran wild all day while I tried desperately to fold and put away the 28 loads of laundry I've been neglecting for two weeks, and pack my suitcase. My whole entire walk in closet was packed with clean laundry. I never did refold all of those clothes that Aiden threw all over my room last week. I just kept shoving it all into the closet, hoping that the magical laundry fairy would zap it all away. I finally gave up hope and decided to tackle the job myself. Mostly because I couldn't find any clean clothes for the river, and my underwear only had two clean sides to begin with and I used them both (I kid, I kid). Anyway, because of my crazy laundry frenzy, Ella missed her post lunch nap. I tried to lay her down, but she refused to stay put. After many attempts at nap time, I gave up. The day flew by and soon it was three o' clock. I was on the phone with my husband when Ella came looking for me. She was in flip flops and her birthday suit. Her hair was standing straight up like she had stuck her hand in a light socket. She had orange Popsicle all over her mouth and Reed's binkie hanging out of it. That's not even the funny part. She ran in the room, looked at me, muttered something quite incoherent and then flopped on my bedroom floor and passed out. I'm pretty sure she was already asleep upon entering the room because her eyes were already closed by the time I ran over to her. I seriously thought she had gotten into the wine and was in a drunken stupor. But I guess that's just what happens to wild little girls who miss their much needed afternoon naps. So there she lays, in the same spot on my floor, for fear that if I move her, she will pop back up and resume being her crazy little self before I've had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief. Man I hope she peed before she fell asleep...

The Future Starts Now

The kids and I made a trip to Stater Bros. this morning, to do our weekly shopping. They were all very good, and it was almost pleasant. I say almost because as we got into the checkout line, I noticed a lady in front of me, and five teenaged kids in front of her. The lady turned and noticed us right away. "Wow! You remind me of myself ten years ago," she observed, flashing a mouth that was only half full of teeth. Her skin was leathery and her voice was hoarse. She looked completely frazzled. That is not what bothered me the most, though. The five teenagers who stood in front, she revealed to be hers. Every kid was either tattooed, pierced or pregnant. Some were a combination of two or three. They all looked like juvenile delinquent freeloaders. My first reaction was a silent, "God...NO!" Thank goodness it was silent. I forced a little smile, crying inside for fear of what was to become of us. I made a vow to avoid becoming that poor lady, and keep my children from becoming hers. I don't know how, but I'm gonna try my damnedest, because I've seen the future and it scares the crap out of me. On the way home, we had a serious talk about choices. They might be too young to understand everything that I was saying, or the reasons for saying it, but I think I should start now, just to get a head start!

Tonsils?... What Tonsils?

I am sick...again. I have been sick since our move to this city. In fact, I haven't had a normal voice since December. It sounds like I've been a chain smoker for twenty years. The kids no longer ask for bed time songs because it is too painful for their ears to endure. My sinus infection, I've named it Linus, has yet to vacate the cavities in which it has made itself comfortably at home. Just when I think it is starting to leave, and I can breathe, it renews its lease. I really thought that after having my last baby, I would finally feel good again. I was very wrong. I would spare you the whining and just go to the doctor's office for some Amoxicillin, but I'm not so sure that they can help. The last time I visited their office, hoping to get rid of Linus, the doctor looked at my throat and asked, "How long have your tonsils been gone?" Ummmmmm, I still have my tonsils. So, I guess I'll just endure the dizzy spells, sinus pressure, chest congestion and fatigue that fill my days and haunt my nights. After all, if the doctor can't even recognize a pair of healthy tonsils, I don't think it is safe to trust her with my infected sinuses. I can't wait for my sister in law, Nicole, to graduate nursing school! At least I will have someone trustworthy to turn to, and I'm pretty sure she is able to recognize tonsils!

The Informant

My daughter, Marlie is fast approaching an age where boys are no longer gross (except for her brothers). The media has played a large part (unfortunately) in her education of the opposite sex. Thanks to the "Hannah Montana" show on Disney, she is well aware of what what a crush is. However, after our outing to Lowe's, I realize that she needs to learn the difference between crushing and being polite. I was loading paving stones into the bed of the truck, and not having an easy time of it. Those suckers are heavier than they look. I kept smashing my fingers under each one to prevent them from slamming down too hard and breaking. I must have looked like a person in need of masculine assistance, because three men offered to help load them up for me. I gladly accepted the help, to avoid breaking my back. I thanked them when they finished, and we went on our way.
Flash forward to this morning. Daniel calls me on his way to work. There was a note, written by Marlie, left in the back seat of the truck. It read:

"Dear Dad,
When we were at Lowe's, three men helped Mom load up the truck. They were not workers from Lowe's. Mom was crushing.
Love, your little angel"


Tell me, if you will, how to respond to the letter without looking guilty. If I had gotten mad at her for writing such bologna, I'd look guilty. If I started laughing hysterically (which I did), I look like I'm trying to make light of the situation, which also looks a little guilty. Luckily, my husband knows that I'm not the flirtatious type!
**And as a side note, that little shenanigan was not nearly as annoying as our trip to Starbuck's. Where she told a lady, who was complimenting my figure, that I had surgery on my breasts. What is the point of getting realistic looking breasts, if your daughter is just going to blow the whistle on you anyway? Note to self: Keep a roll of duct tape in purse, for trips where Marlie is present.

Startin' Em Young!

Normally, I'd be livid if one of the kids got into my face products and emptied the jars. But how can I be angry at a two year old, wearing a face full of caviar eye cream who innocently asks, "My face pitty mama?" While I'm not thrilled about having to shell out $$$$ for more eye and skin cream, I can appreciate her desire to fight the seven signs of aging skin. You are never too young to start the campaign against premature wrinkles! Now if only she would teach Marlie to take such interest in her skin. The girl fights me about washing it with a wash cloth!

Happy Friday!

Good Morning, I have 3 unrelated little tidbits to share, but I wanted to squish them all into one, so as to save myself time. You see, my two oldest boys are gone today, and I want to spend every second of today accomplishing tasks that I cannot do while playing constant referee to my two "UFC" trainees. So here goes:

1. Last night, my husband found our 6 year old son, Trenton, hiding some reading material under his mattress. He waited until Trenton left the room to recover it. Low and behold, it was a book that Daniel and I had purchased at the book store one night, during a rare dinner date. I know this may come as shock, but it was a book on "bedroom technique" (complete with tasteful but graphic pictures of real people). Despite what you may think, we are not sex know-it-alls, and hey, who couldn't use a few new tricks. Apparently (to my horror), Trenton found the book, hidden in our closet, and decided to educate himself on a new subject. So now, he is not only good looking, but armed with knowledge far beyond his years. Looks like we wont be inviting any of Marlie's girlfriends over to play this summer!

2. For those of you who read my excerpt on where to find missing items, you will not be surprised to hear this. I had lost two of the kids' report cards last week. I have been searching the whole house since then, in an attempt to locate them. My mom had been asking to see them, and the kids could not get rewarded unless they had the proof of good grades. So, this morning Marlie and I were digging through the toy box for her Designer's World remote, and at the bottom of the box were...the two missing report cards!! My theory is indeed correct! When looking for an important item that has gone missing, always check the bottom of the toy box!

3. Last but not least, I was in the kitchen making breakfast this morning, when Daniel Sr. walked out, sniffing the air as if he was half blood hound. He walked over to a crock pot that I had been cooking a pot roast in, overnight. "Ohhhhh, that's what that smell was. I just thought you had been farting all night, " he laughs. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Flattered because he thinks my bodily gasses have the delicious odor of simmering pot roast? Or insulted, because what does that say about my cooking?

The Great PJ "Caper"

I'm sure that all of you know how it feels to endure an overly tired child's meltdown. I know you have all felt the desire to pull every last hair out of your head to keep from beating a toddler who is irrationally screaming in his most shrill tone of voice about some random item that he cannot find. That was me last night. I was exhausted from yet another day of summer break chaos. It was only 7 o'clock, and I just wanted all of them to take a bath and go to bed, so I could do the same. Is it so much to ask for a chance to shower (and feel like a normal human) a few times a week)? Apparently so. We bathed the kids and were in the midst of applying lotion and dressing them, when Aiden decided that he wanted his Superman pjs. Not a problem, I found them in the first basket of folded laundry I dug through. Unfortunately, that was just not good enough. "I meed da cake," (translation: I need the cape). Fine! I start rifling through the other baskets in hopes of finding the cape. Meanwhile, the other kids are now out of the tub and running naked through the house. Three baskets of laundry later, no sign of the cape. Aiden starts screaming like a banshee and throwing folded laundry everywhere, trying to find his beloved cape. Kids are now having a lotion fight in my room, and I'm hoping they do not find the baby powder that is sitting, open, on the dresser. I am searching for the cape like it is the Holy Grail. Aiden is pilfering through every basket of neatly folded clothing, undoing a day's worth of folding, while snot and tears cover his once clean body. I grab a red bandanna and attempt to tie it around his neck. He jerks around, in a maneuver that causes me to slip and tie it a little too tight. "You ah choking me!," he wails. "Dis is not my cake. Get dis off me!" I sigh, and try to remove the cape despite his bucking and writhing. Daniel Sr. is trying to restore order among the others, while I try to appease the inconsolable toddler. After ten more minutes of crying and screaming, I give up and fall on the floor. Nine baskets worth of clothes have painted the room a lovely shade of disaster. I am quickly nearing the point of administering a spanking and putting him to bed in underwear. Suddenly, there is a strange silence. I look around for the demon child to find only a sea of garments. With great haste, I get up off of the floor and start searching. The other kids are brushing their teeth, but not Aiden. The kitchen is empty, except for dirty dishes. The family room is full of toys and dirty clothes, but no toddlers. I am sure he has hidden somewhere, carrying out an act of vengeance against his evil mother who failed to locate his precious cape. Finally, I look in his bedroom and find him playing quietly with his toys. Uhhh, did I miss something here? "Nevuh mind, mom. I don't meed my cake." He hops into bed and asks for a kiss, as if nothing ever happened. I couldn't even be mad, because it would take more energy than I had left. I was so drained, that I passed out in Ella's bed, while singing to her. Oftentimes, being a mom means that washing stinky armpits and greasy hair do not take priority over finding a lost superman cape.

Be That Pig

Something weighs on my mind, and I feel the need to share it. Please do not take offense if you happen to be the kind of person I speak of. My intent is not to offend, but to enlighten.
During our family outings, we meet a lot of people who strike up a conversation about our big family. Some of them cringe when we tell them that they are all ours, inwardly thankful that they made the choice to have a small family. Most however, express their unfulfilled desire to have a large family, like ours. It is sad to hear the reasons these people create to justify their decision to stop. Most site financial or work related reasons. Some say that they do not have enough patience to have more kids. Here are my answers to these:
Unless you are a physically disabled parent, single parent, or living in a third world country, lack of money should not be a reason to keep yourself from achieving the dream of a big family. We are a one income family, and not the income of a doctor or lawyer either. Yes, things are tight sometimes...but God always makes a way to provide for our needs. Did you catch that word, "needs". People have a hard time distinguishing needs from wants, including myself. Secondly, some say that they need to work, and could not stand staying home with their kids. Why, because it is hard work that requires patience? Patience is a learned attribute. We are not born patient. As infants we are self centered, immediate gratification seekers. Yeah, it is hard to learn to have patience with our kids. But, (I can attest to this,) what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. What would the world be like if people didn't do things because they are difficult to do, or require qualities not innate? We are not born knowing how to be doctors or lawyers. We have to go to school to learn how to do these things. It is the same with parenting. Only, the school of parenting is often full of hard knock courses that include endless pop quizzes and are absent of a physical teacher. That is why we pray so much! Yeah, it is a difficult school to attend, but the rewards are much greater than those of other jobs. People choose not to step out of their comfort zone in the parenting world because it means an extreme amount of commitment.
Ravens' coach, Brian Billick, stated in a graduation speech: "In a bacon-and-egg breakfast the chicken is involved, but the pig is committed. Be that pig."
Silly, yet profound words that I find relate perfectly to this matter. You can be involved in parenthood, or be committed. Many people cannot commit themselves, and so keep their dream of a big family on the back burner. My good friend, Bridget, has often called me, plagued with this very decision. Another child means less comfort, more negative comments, and yes, less expendable money. But, it also means so much more of the great stuff that really matters in life. Bridget has come to realize this, and just gave birth to her fourth baby. She's a great mom and takes such joy in her role, that I'm sure she would back me up on this theory. I often struggle with the fact that we are done having kids. My body would probably not be able to handle one more pregnancy. Evethough it would not be in my body's best interest to carry another baby, I often rethink our decision. What I'm saying is this, do not keep yourselves from achieving the dream of a big family because of the fear of commitment. Push through the fear of being uncomfortable financially, or inadequately equipped with patience. You will acquire all that you need during your journey, through faith and perseverance. The joys of numerous children, far outweigh the difficulties (even if some of the contents of this blog communicate otherwise). I have never heard a parent regretting the choice to have another child, only the the choice not to. Refuse to be a chicken and be that pig!

A Rare Occurrence

Yesterday, I decided to tempt fate a second time, and took all of the kids to Disneyland, again. Nothing crazy happened, no one got lost, and yes, we were still the freak show. What did happen, however, was much more pen worthy in my opinion. The kids had all brought their chore money to spend, and decided to buy various pirate paraphernalia. Daniel was particularly excited because we allowed him to buy a pirate gun. Guns are something we usually avoid buying, so as not to indulge his already huge fascination with them. Anyway, we were on the tram back to the parking lot, and the kids were all contently playing with their purchases. Trenton, who takes such joy in pushing the limits that we set, was dangling his toy over the edge of the tram. Despite our warning, he continued to do so, until the toy escaped his grip and fell to the ground below. Utter devastation is the only way to describe the look on Trenton's face. The tears were enough to end a ten year drought. Across, from Trenton, I noticed little Daniel, staring intently into the night. His little brow furrowed in thought. He looked at Trenton, in all of his sorrow, and I could just see the blood spilling out of his heart. I don't know who was in more pain,