I know, I know

I've been REALLY boring lately. Problem is, we're having a lovely Winter this Spring, and as a result are trapped indoors, staring longingly out the windows at the deceptively bright sun, knowing that within about 3 minutes of venturing outdoors our noses will be running, our cheeps will be chapped, our fingers will be frozen, and our voices will be whining.

So instead, we stay inside. We do yoga, and make laser beam obstacle courses with yarn, and debate the speed and maneuverability of Matchbox vs. Fisher Price vs. Little People vehicles. We run laps around the house while Miss Sarah booms "NO RUNNING UPSTAIRS" and then we cackle as we totter down the steps to run uninhibited in the basement.

Today, however, is the second day in as many weeks that we're actually capable of going outside IN THE MORNING. Given the Winter we had, this is Very Big News.

Continuing along with the Hurry Up and Spring, Already, D*****, we made egg carton seed starters this morning! 

Here's how...

Step 1: cut egg cartons in half
Step 2: poke holes in bottom of one half
Step 3: line other half with aluminum foil, being careful not to tear it
Step 4: put side with holes on top of side with foil
Step 5: fill each cup halfway with soil
Step 6: sprinkle with seeds, top with soil
Step 7: enlist as many toddlers as possible to help
Step 8: label, put in sunny window, water, cross fingers
Step 9: put extra soil in water table, stand back, and listen to the giggles and shrieks

                 

                  

Paint is so PRETTY, Mama!

I went to the bathroom alone. Clearly, that was my first mistake.

Actually, I take that back.  My FIRST mistake was buying the blasted beautiful paint in the first place. 

I wanted paint so that I could make Valentines for the parents in the daycare. They've all gone above and beyond for me, and I know what it's like, as a parent, to wonder what the heck your child does all day. Sometimes, I like to show that we really do have fun here, no matter what the kids tell them (they're still stuck on how awful it is that I make them clean up after themselves).

Anywho, we did our super awesome Valentine craft for the mommies and daddies, and I locked the paint away in the cabinet. I made sure that it was at the back of the cabinet, and that none of the kids saw which cabinet I put it in. I trust them, but, you know. Okay, okay. I don't trust them.

After I was sure that everything was as secure as I could possibly get it, I made my escape. I get 2 bathroom breaks per day, on a good day. The kids were occupied with trains and blocks, so I tiptoed in to the bathroom, locked the door, and took a deep breath. Sometimes it's the little things.

42.3 seconds later, I opened the door to a "thwap! thwap!" sound. The sound that a toddler hand makes when it hits something wet. Something...thick...and wet...and...OH MY GOD.

I raced around the corner to see C and Zo sitting at the dining room table, grinning like goofballs, slapping away at a HUGE (roughly 18" in diameter) circle of paint. Three almost-empty bottles of (thank you baby Jesus) washable tempera paint sat beside them on the table.

I shrieked something unintelligible and cried, "STOP. DO.NOT.BREATHE." They both turned to look at me, with their hands above their heads.

I grabbed Zo by the wrists and threw my other arm under her legs (since her jeans were covered in paint) and carried her carefully to the bathroom. I stripped off her pants, without dropping anything on the floor (go me!) and then held her arms over the sink while I washed her off. She had paint up to her elbows.

As I came out of the bathroom, I watched in terrible slow motion as baby We grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and pulled it on to the floor. Remember the paint that was on said tablecloth? Yeah. Now it was all over my floor, walls, chairs, and dog. The long-haired St. Bernard. Cool.

Remarkably, the baby didn't get any on himself, so I removed him from the situation as far as possible, and looked up to see sweet C standing on the dining room chair, with his hands over his head. As he gave me a sheepish smile, he said, "you say-ed no moving, mommy. I didn't move!"

I got him cleaned up, wiped down the dining room chairs, and set the kids at the dining room table to color while I finished wiping the paint off every flat and furry surface in my home. 

Two days later, I remember the tablecloth and pants that I had sitting in the utility sink in my laundry room. I'm eternally thankful for the makers of Oxyclean and a washing machine with a "deep clean" cycle.  

An exercise in futility

***Disclaimer: I love my job. Really. It's the absolute perfect job for me, I'm eternally grateful that Mister B pushed me to try it, and I firmly believe I have the greatest group of kids in the whole world.***

Ahem.

I think that, instead of water boarding, our go-to torture method should be to lock someone in a room with approximately half a dozen toddlers, and insist that they are not allowed to leave until the TODDLERS have cleaned up the 782 toys that are scattered on the floor of said room.

You see, they'd never leave. Ever.

We cleanup (read: I cleanup) our toys before we transition to another area of the house, or to a major activity. This process usually involves more redirection than you can imagine. Something like this:

"Put the blocks in the bin, please.
No, not in the couch, in the bin.
Z, stop sucking your thumb, please.
Out of your mouth, baby W.
No, A, blocks don't go in your ear.
Okay.
Everybody ready?
Books!
Let's put the books on the shelf.
No, not in the trash, on the shelf.
Shelf.
SHELF.
Okay.
Yes, I see that block!
Can we put it back in the bin, please?
No, not on the table, in.the.BIN."

Lather, rinse, repeat. It's exhausting at times. Worth it, because I know that cleaning up after oneself is a very important life lesson.

*********************************************************************************

Life is about to get much more interesting around here. Jax starts baseball soon (he's moving up to coach pitch this year), Sam starts ballet on Saturday, and I'm starting a new business. I'll be a Pampered Chef consultant, come March.

It's a lot, but I thrive when busy. Good thing, too, because this life we've created for ourselves is nothing if not busy.

Thank the universe I found Mister B. He completes me, grounds me, and puts up with my insanity. He's a keeper, that one.

How do you do it?!

I get this question a lot.

Most of the time, it's from someone who has stopped by the house for an interview, or a friend who has come over for dinner.

"Oh my gosh!" they say. "How do you keep it so clean and clutter free??"

Ha. Hahahahahaha. Ha!

I don't. True story. If you walk in to my house between the hours of 7am and 7pm, it looks as though a bomb went off. Clothes, toys, sippy cups, and various other toddler accouterments are scattered willy-nilly over every surface. There are dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and food crumbs all over the table. Clean diapers litter the floor (the baby's favorite game is to drag them all off the changing table shelf and throw them as far as he can) and it's generally, well, a mess.

Case in point:

Thankfully, every day I get to work cleaning, and organizing, and straightening up from the activities of the day. The mess is held at bay, at least for a few hours, and I can go to sleep knowing that I don't have to wake up at 5am to get it all done. I can't stop working for the day until the house is straightened up. Slightly neurotic, yes, knowing that it's all going to be trashed the next day, but that's the way I work. 

After an hour or so of frantic, mad-dash work, it looks like this.

This I can live with.

So now you know. I DON'T have a clean house most of the time. I never will, at least as long as I'm running this business. There's just no way.  

I'm learning to be okay with that.

A Comedy of Errors

Most days, I like to think I'm pretty "with it."

The kids eat well, play together beautifully, and just generally enjoy their days, and I do too.

Yesterday, though. Hooooo boy. YESTERDAY can stay far, far away.

The alarm went off at 6:00. I rolled over, checked my email, saw the kids had a 2 hour delay, and went in to Sam's room to turn her alarm off. Trekked downstairs and turned on the coffee pot, then started the morning tidying to get ready for the day. Dishes, sweep, make sure everything was ready for the kids' arrival.

We were already off kilter thanks to the delay. Instead of putting Sam on the bus at 7:20, she was home for breakfast, which confused the little kids. Wy and We came at 7:30, Zo at 8:00, Ru at 9:00. Got Sam on the bus at 9:20, and then realized the children were likely going to murder each other if I didn't occupy them, and FAST.  So, we made homemade fruit snacks. Of course then we had to wait for said fruit snacks, which caused another round of whining, screaming, and tantrums from almost all of the kids.  They watched me set the beans to soaking for dinner, and make rice (also for dinner).

Jax usually gets on the bus at 11:15 for half day kindergarten. When there's a 2 hour delay, he's actually on a one hour delay, so he got on the bus at 12:15, meaning he'd be here for lunch, which he never is. I spent most of the morning dashing frantically to the computer to check the district website over and over and over, to be sure that I had the pickup time correct.

11:30 rolled around and I panicked, realizing time had gotten away from me and I had to feed these kids before I sent Jax off to school. I threw together pork chops, pasta, and parmesan cheese, and set the crew down to eat while I tried to keep We awake in his high chair (I failed...he totally crashed at about 11:40...a good 45 minutes before nap time). Between the 5.5 kids, they polished off a pound of pasta, three pork chops, three clementines, and a half gallon of milk. They starve, I tell you. Each of them had three helpings of food.

Finally, blessedly, it was time to put Jax on the bus and get the rest of the kids down for naps. I laid We down in the pack and play in the basement, turned the monitor on, clipped it to my waist, and hightailed it upstairs to put the rest of the kids down in the bedrooms for naps. Got Wy, Ru, and Zo settled, and then collapsed on to my bed with C, where he snuggled right up to me, tucked his head under my chin, and fidgeted for 40 minutes before he fell asleep.

1:00.  I tiptoed downstairs, being careful to close the baby gate silently, took a deep breath, and realized I hadn't eaten yet. Oops. I grabbed some of the rice I'd made earlier and what was left of the pork and threw it in a bowl, sat on the couch, and flipped on Pretty Little Liars, trying to finish just one show before the wakeups started. No dice. C came downstairs crying at 1:30, and Zo followed behind him at 1:45. I heard the baby stirring at 1:50, so I ran downstairs to rescue him from baby jail before he started screaming. Just as I leaned down to pick him up, it hit me. THE RICE. THAT I LEFT IN THE BOWL ON THE COUCH. WITH TWO TODDLERS.

I sprinted upstairs, but was too late. It was total ricemageddon in my living room. Zo looked up at me with her beautiful, shining, proud face and said, "Miss Sawah!  I feed Weo!" Ah. Good baby. Now, if you're unaware, Weo is our 2 year old St. Bernard. With long hair. And a winter coat. And the rice was sticky. I enlisted the help of the kids and we finally de-riced the dog, although it took another 20 minutes. By that time, the rest of the kids were awake, so I carried the now hair-filled bowl of rice in to the kitchen, poured it down the drain, and made another cup of coffee. I put milk in it. Those were my calories for the day.

2:15 meant I had to put the chicken in the oven for dinner. SO glad I remembered that!

3:00 brought the big kids home off the bus, and time for snacks. I cut up the fruit snacks that we'd made that morning, to many cheers, and the kids chowed down. Got We his snack, went through Sam and Jax's backpacks, checked their homework folders, and got them set up to finish their work for the day. Checked Sam's homework at 3:30, made sure the put everything away in their backpacks for the next day, and then took everyone downstairs to play.

4:15 Zo wanted to snuggle, so I picked her up and realized she was really warm. In-ear thermometer said 100.1. Temple thermometer said 100.7. Foop. I texted her parents to let them know, and her Dad said he'd be there within half an hour. At about this time, Wy decided it was time for him to leave, so he started pacing in front of the door wearing his boots and gloves since his Daddy told him that he'd be able to go play in the snow as soon as he picked him up. For 45 minutes I had to keep explaining to him that it wasn't time to leave yet, and he HAD to wait. He was not thrilled.

Zo left at 4:50, Wy and We left at 5:00. That left only Ru. I sent my kids downstairs to watch TV while I got dinner started.

Ru got picked up at 6:00. Dinner on the table at 6:30. My kids up to get ready for bed at 7:00. Cleaned and clipped finger and toenails, got them tucked in at 7:30. As I laid in bed at 7:30, after Mister B tucked them in, I realized I wasn't going to make it out of bed. He came in, saw my face, and said, "take a pill. I'll see you in the morning."  I do so love that man.

Sleeping meds...take me away.

A Puddle of Love

That's what I ended up in today.  At least, that's what I'm calling it.

Zo and Chaw-ee had a rough morning together. Everything she did aggravated him, and she kept insisting that he go to "time out!  TIME OUT CHAW-EE!!!"  It's interesting to watch 2 year olds try and one up each other.

When Al arrived, things were mostly calm. Wy, We, Zo, Jackson, Chaw-ee and I were playing downstairs. Mister B was home for the morning, so I asked him to man the door so that he could send Al down to us when he got dropped off. Sweet, beautiful Al came running down the stairs with cheers of "good morning, friends!" his little blond head bobbing in to view with each step.

C immediately melted down. "I don't WANT Al here!  He takes my toys!" he screamed. "No honey, we have to share our toys." I said. He thought about it for a minute, acquiesced, and then crawled in to my lap, curling all 36 pounds of himself around my torso while firmly stating, "snuggle."  It wasn't a request, but a demand. You'll snuggle with me and LIKE IT, woman!

Zo followed suit, and crawled up to intertwine herself with C. Before I knew it, J was perched on the back of the futon by my right shoulder, Wy by my left, C wrapped around my middle, Zo tangled up with him, Al sat as close as he could get to me, and We was desperately trying to climb on to the futon to reach me. Unfortunately, at newly 1 year old, his climbing skills aren't that great, so he kept floundering.

"Want to play dress up?" I asked, hopefully (my legs were going numb).
"NO!!" they cried, in unison. They don't do anything in unison, except contradict me, apparently.
"What DO you want to do?"
"SNUGGLE!" they cheered, and they each burrowed closer to me than they'd been before.

I sat for a few moments, soaking it all in. Really, I'm blessed. Here in my immediate vicinity were a 5 year old, 4 year old, 3 year old, two 2 year olds, and a one year old, all vying for my attention, and I was meeting their needs.

We sat for a few more minutes in the quiet, and then J said, "mama?  Will you sing?"

And then my heart exploded and I melted in to that beautiful puddle of love, as they all looked up at me, nodding in agreement, and sighed contentedly as I started to sing.

Hiya!

In February, 2012, my husband and I had a come-to-Jesus meeting and ascertained that my current occupation, "mom", wasn't cutting it. I needed to do more, or else we would lose the dream house we'd purchased 9 short months prior.

 With that in mind, I set out to find a career that I could a)actually make an income doing, b)had flexible hours, and c)allowed me to wear yoga pants. I love yoga pants.

 Almost a year later, here we are! My first DCB (daycare baby) started in April, 2012, and I haven't looked back. I love this job, more than I ever thought I would, and plan to continue doing it for a very, very long time. In fact, we've toyed with the idea of buying another house and using it just for the daycare so that we can have a home-based daycare, but get around the pesky you-can't-run-a-business-here HOA regulations.

So, welcome! I plan to highlight the activities and (mis)adventures of a young (hey, I'm not 30 yet, I'll claim young) mom working to raise a family of 5 kids while balancing the needs and desires of another 6 kids on a daily basis.

 Hang on, y'all. It's a bumpy ride. I'm looking forward to seeing you around as I navigate potty training multiple toddlers, settling squabbles, and avoiding burnout.

 As for the cast of characters you'll hear about, we've got:
 Miss Sarah: me
Mister B: my husband
Torah: our oldest daughter
Neenee: our middle daughter
Sam: our youngest daughter
Jax: our oldest son
Cha-wee: our youngest son
 DCBs 1-6: Wy, We, Zo, Al, Ru, and Av.

 Please do comment. I'm aching for adult conversation.