Fall

Last week, we had perfect fall weather. The air was crisp, but the sun was warm. The leaves had fallen off the trees and made that lovely crunching sound when you walked through them. I decided to take the children to a nearby farm and let them run free. We stopped off at a store and bought a large bag of bird bread so we could feed the ducks.

We had a lovely picnic, but it didn't take long before the children were climbing trees and running through the leaves. For a minute, I wished we had a yard with large trees. Then I thought about raking and was glad we could just visit those lovely trees.

We hadn't been to the farm for a while, and O squealed with glee at all of the ducks and geese. It only took about ten minutes for the children to feed the birds all four loaves of bread. There were a couple of tense moments when the birds came a little too close for comfort.



After we ran out of bread, we went to visit the rest of the animals. We pet piglets, gawked at the horses, and commented on the smelly cows. Then the children discovered the tractors and everyone had a turn being Farmer Joe for a few minutes.



A didn't have enough time to climb enough trees, but we left the farm tired and mostly satisfied. Now, if I could just have my way, this beautiful fall weather would last until spring, then we'd go straight to summer. Too bad mother nature has her own agenda.

Survival of the Fittest and other church-capades

Today is Sunday. A day of rest. Supposedly. I'm thinking that preparing six children, one husband and myself to attend 3 hours of meetings is not very restful. But that's just me.

Today began like any other Sunday. Church doesn't start until 11 a.m., so we dawdle in the morning. The kids watch cartoons and play the Wii. I get a shower. The baby takes a nap. Just the usual day.

And then we get to church.

For anyone curious, here are the things necessary to survive before we are mercifully allowed to send the children off to their meetings.

1. Bring snacks.

2. Bring a sippy.

3. Bring items of entertainment.

4. Leave all the children at home. Crap, can't do that one.

5. When two-year old throws tantrum, find a quiet corner in the hallway for her to scream.

6. Develop patience. Draw from Heavenly powers. We are at church after all. Shouldn't patience come more naturally?

7. Leave Dad alone with five children and go feed the baby. Plan this strategically so that the baby is hungry smack-dab in the middle of the meeting.

8. Pray.

9. Don't clock-watch. It's too depressing.

10. Books. Lots of books.

After O threw her first tantrum, I hauled her and the baby out in the hallway. We had time-out, then came reverently back in and sat down. She then decided to take off her sweater. Oh, wait. Just kidding. Then another tantrum. Dad's turn. By the time she and Dad returned, E was hungry and cranky.

Needless to say, it was a VERY long meeting today. I determined that I played the church game called how many times can mom leave the meeting.I think I won. I think some days are just better than others.

For all you church-goers out there, it's not impossible to attend with children. It's just harder. (Like just about everything else!) But don't give up, they do grow up eventually. At least that's what I kept telling myself today.

Mommy Brain

Once upon a time there was a very smart lady. One day, she had kids. Then that very smart lady was very forgetful and occasionally a little ditzy. Her friends would whisper when she did something silly. The lady thought they were cruel, but they were really just telling each other a truth.

"That lady has mommy brain," they would say.

"Poor lady, now she's just like the rest of us."

I sometimes joke that I pushed the rest of my brain cells out with my sixth child. I'm only partially joking. I do things now that I never did before. I can't ever remember the date, and even when I do, I get it wrong about half the time. I told someone yesterday that I was sure it was November 6th because it's my Dad's birthday. My Dad's birthday is on the 5th, which was yesterday. I rock.

I lose my keys on a regular basis. Although, I partially blame children for that one. A certain two-year old (cough, O, cough) likes to play with them.

When K was a baby, A was in afternoon Kindergarten and I had to go pick him up. It was during nap time and I was always in a rush waking up kids, changing diapers and getting to the school on time. One day, upon arriving home, I went to get K out of her car seat only to find her completely soaked. I thought she had peed through her diaper. Nope. I had forgotten to put a diaper on her. Who does that? I had actually forgotten to diaper my baby. Lovely.

I leave my cell phone at home regularly. Apparently getting everyone AND a cell phone in the car is a near impossibility.

If it's not written on the calendar, then it doesn't happen. And even if it is written on the calendar, I still sometimes miss things. I can't seem to remember to send L to her church activity every other Friday. It's on my calendar, but I must not be able to read on Friday.

I've learned, however, that I'm not alone. I just have Mommy Brain. I think it's all the hormones, lack of sleep, and chaos from children that causes it. I think it's irreversible brain damage.

Mothers, just realize that when they hand you your beautiful newborn babe, they are also handing you your brain.

Conversation with a Two-Year Old

A conversation with O in the car.

O: Mom, park!

Me: No, O, we aren't going to the park. It's dark out. You can't go when it's dark.

O: Moooom, PARK!

Me: No, O. It's dark.

Quiet. A moment later.

O: Mooom, Moooooom!!! PARK!! DARK!!

Me: No park O. Yes, it's dark.

O: (to herself) Park, dark.

I turn up the music in the van and pray. This could go on all night. O is not easily distracted.

A couple of minutes later.

O: Park!!

Me: O, we'll go tomorrow, ok? All done. No more. No park!!!

O: Morrow. Park. Dark.

Me:(Thinking grrrrrr!) Yes O. We can go to the park tomorrow.

There's a saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different outcome. We have this same conversation all the time, just take out 'park' and insert 'candy' or 'outside' or any number of other things. And somehow both of us expects a different outcome. I expect that she'll give it up sooner, and she expects to get her way. I suppose we are both a little insane.

Search for a missing pet

"M, come feed the cats!" I holler. It's the kid's responsibility, but even with insistently mewing kitties, they manage to forget.

M feeds them, but a few minutes later I realize our Siamese, Winter, hasn't shown up for dinner. She does this on occasion. She has a tendency to hide. I can't say I blame her. If I had a two-year old dragging me through the house, I'd hide too.

I call for Winter, but she doesn't come. The kids call for her and start checking her hiding spots. Ten minutes later, I break out the heavy artillery, a can of tuna. She still doesn't come and I begin to realize she must be gone. We go outside and start calling her, but again, she doesn't come. As the children realize that our indoor cat is gone, several of them shed tears. Their prayers at night include praying that she comes home.

In the morning, I call the shelter. We call outside for her, but she still doesn't come. I realize, to myself, that the odds of her coming home are not likely. You see, our house backs a major road that is under construction. I just hope we don't find her that way.

We find pictures of her and the boys make up a flyer. I take it to Office Max and make 25 copies. A is disappointed that I didn't make color copies.

We spend the morning posting flyers and knocking on doors. The children are hopeful that someone just kept her for the night. But the longer we walk, the more their hope dims.

M asks, "If we can't find Winter, can we get another cat?"

"Probably not." I say with a sigh. Pushing a double stroller with the baby in her sling is very tiring.

"But that means maybe we could, right?" Ah, he knows me too well. I keep quiet and we finish hanging flyers.

It is a beautiful day and although the children are tired and ready for lunch, looking for Winter turned into quite the fun adventure. I just hope she comes home.

In the evening, after dinner, I employ my crew of mini-slaves to help tidy the disastrous house. It was sorely neglected in lieu of searching for our cat. I excused the kids after an hour and sat on the floor in the bathroom finishing up. And then I heard her. Winter was mewing at the front door. I hop up declaring, "I hear a cat!" I open the door, and there she is. I feel like a disappointed parent, glad she is home, but scolding her for taking off.

M is near tears for joy. Odessa picks her up, carries her around and proclaims, "Kitty home!" Even she understands. A member of our family returned.

A says, "Mom, lets get her a collar tomorrow." And our happy family is whole once more.

Messy Monday

This week's Messy Monday comes to you in part by the lovely Halloween holiday. (I love saying it that way. It sounds like a commercial.) In reality, I could take pictures of my whole house for this week's Messy Monday, but I won't bore you. After a week of kids being home every day, the house has suffered greatly. Never fear! I have mini-slaves I intend to put to work today!



Where's your mess today?

On a sad note, somehow our little cat Winter got out yesterday, so I will also be spending time today trying to find her.

Happy Messy Monday!

Halloween

Happy Halloween from a Starburst, a Pteradactyl, a Hippie, an Indian Princess, Snow White, Elmo and Winnie the Pooh!


Halloween was approached with much anticipation this year. I didn't throw my annual party, and by October 31st, the children were nearly ready to explode. The day had the feeling of a bad road trip. I could almost hear, "Are we there yet?" Instead I heard, "How much longer until we can go trick or treating?"

"It's 10:30. You have a while." Sigh. Oh for the enthusiasm of youth!

In order to preserve my sanity, I allowed the children to fry their brains on television and Wii games. O would occasionally bring me her bucket and ask, "More candy?" She didn't go last year, she was too little.

But finally, finally, the time came. The little girls were nearly dragging their father out the door. A is all grown up now, apparently, and went with some friends. E and I stayed home and held down the fort, happily handing out candy to all the little ghosties and ghouls.

Upon arriving home, the kids had to dump their candy out for inspection. K lined hers up in no particular order, while M segregated his into types of candy. L and O, on the other hand, just started finding her favorite things to eat. Dad and I got lucky and discovered the kids don't like peanut M&M's. I didn't complain one bit.

And so another Halloween has passed us by. Before I know it, I'll be writing about Christmas. Yikes!

The Damage