I Should Be Sleeping
During the days, when Babygirl is demanding that we vaccum for the third time or when I'm peeling potatoes with one hand while I'm holding her, during those moments, I think, "I can't wait until she's in bed!" I daydream about the big projects I will tackle when the kids are sleeping.

I'm quite a dreamer.

I say to myself, "Self, tonight you can work on Babygirl's scrapbook." Or "Tonight, you can clean out that front closet," or "Tonight, you can get all the ironing finished." Or, my personal favorite, "Tonight, I will balance the checkbook."

The sad truth is that when the kids finally sleep, I'm tired, too. I end up reading email and posting on message boards and occasionally, reading a book. Last night, I fell asleep thinking what I loser I was for wasting all those hours. Why can't I be more industrious from 9 p.m. to 11 p.m.? Or better yet, why do I need sleep? I could get so much done if only I didn't sleep.

Changing topics, tonight my almost-6 year old asked me if I could change his name some day. "Why?" I asked. "Well," he said, "They will still have to call me my name at school, but I want a different name."

"Okay," I said. "Like what?"

"Flame," he said.

Last night, I actually scolded the boys, "Do not fart on each other!" I have come perilously close to living in a boys' dorm. I remember being in college and my friend and teacher telling me that she refused to listen to anyone tell her about the going-ons in men's dorms. She did not want to know about such vile things. Now, I live in a house where boys pee in heating vents and fart on each other and avoid brushing their teeth. The burp words and spit popcorn kernels onto the living room carpet.

It's a good thing that Babygirl is obsessed with vacuuming, I guess.

The twins are about to get a new room. I'm transforming the downstairs "spare" room--it was a garage once upon a time--into their bedroom. Since we had the baby, we've been all jumbled. The baby has somehow ended up with her crib in the master bedroom and she also has an unused queen sized bed, too. So, we're all shuffling. Next week, two new beds will be delivered.

I also managed to rearrange the living room in preparation for putting up the Christmas tree. (Tonight, I told myself, I could put up the Christmas decorations. Yeah, right.) I lit a Yankee candle today--"Mistletoe"--and the kids said, "Hey, it smells like a Christmas tree." Later on, they wondered about the empty space in the living room.

"That," I said, "is where I put up the Christmas tree. Do you like it? It's invisible." They looked like they believed me for one second. I only wish I could put up an invisible tree. Imagine the ease! And invisible presents, too! I wonder if I could start a trend?

And so the day ends. Two full baskets of folded laundry, a few toys on the floor, some dishes waiting my attention before bed. Tomorrow, my husband returns.

Thanks Giving
I'm thankful.

For kids who yell. At least they are not languishing in a hospital bed, fighting for their lives. They are just fighting.

For the hole in the wall. At least I have a wall painted with red stripes with a hole to remind me of the gigantic dog we had, loved and lost.

For the baby who clings, making my left arm ache while I tend to kitchen chores. I remember well the desperate days when I begged God to give me a baby. Now He's given me four. He's probably cracking up. I'm just glad we weren't able to adopt that set of twins a few years back. I was peeved at the time. God has so much patience with me.

For dirty laundry. We have so many clothes to choose from. (I'm not really thankful for the ironing pile, though. I hate ironing. Gratitude only goes so far.)

For scattered shoes by the front door that always trip me. Some people only have a single pair. We have millions. Or so it seems.

For the green slimy stuff I find in the refrigerator. Some people go hungry, while we have leftovers no one will even sniff.

For my husband who is gone more than he's here. He has a challenging, fulfilling job that he loves. He thinks he'd like to stay home full-time because it would be so relaxing. He's always been overly optimistic. I love that about him.

For my family. We share history, genetics and a lot of laughs. I'm especially thankful for my sister and my mother. They think I'm funny and they always laugh at my dramatic re-enactments. Everyone should have such a great audience.

The day went well. I organized myself last night (as I like to say, I'm only a hand-wash away from a full-blown case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) and this morning managed to cook dinner with a baby perched on my hip. I even had time to sit and nurse her while she napped at noon. Ten of us crowded around the table while my 97-year old grandmother prayed, then we ate off of . . . yeah, paper plates. They had turkeys on them, but still. Paper. A couple of years back, the night before Thanksgiving I managed to plug up my kitchen pipes with potato peels. I had to wash all the dishes in the laundry-room sink. Ever since, I keep paper plates on hand and last night I thought, "Hey, why not?" Martha Stewart would be very displeased that I didn't use my Mikasa French Countryside.

Now, the food is put away, the company is gone, the baby sleeps, my husband telephoned, the big kids are almost in bed and all is well in my world. Well, it will be well in my world as soon as I have another piece of pumpkin cheesecake. Life is good.

Home Alone (Almost)
I'm home alone again. Well, almost. My husband left me.

Well, not "left me" left me. He just went to Texas for Thanksgiving to spend time with his mother and stepdad and dad and stepmom and bio-dad and bio-dad's wife and brothers and sisters and assorted spouses. You get the idea.

He left Tuesday morning at nine or so. I was in a dark mood. The baby had been awake for an hour in the middle of the night. I was tired, head-achey and wondering why I thought it was a good idea that he take this trip. Overnight, someone had broken into our house and strewn laundry and papers everywhere and peed on the toilet seat. Oh wait. No. That was my family. The day before.

At any rate, I stormed around a bit, grumbling and complaining to my baby and then thought, "Oh wait, I don't have to react this way." I actually stopped myself cold! I felt like such a grown-up.

Later in the day, I sat nursing the baby, expecting the kids to return home any second. The door bell rang. "It's open!" I hollered. I'd already unlocked the door in anticipation of their arrival. No answer. I think I actually said, "arg" and untucked my legs and unlatched the baby and went to the door, muttering.

A second before I reached the door, I thought, "Oh wait a second. That was probably a delivery." The boys don't ring the bell. They knock. Then I thought, "Oh, he sent me flowers! Because he knows what a big sacrifice I'm making!" and then, "Oh, he knows we don't have extra money! I wish he wouldn't have."

I opened the door to see the brown UPS truck pulling away.

I see a box.

Of books.

My husband is addicted to books the way other men are addicted to power tools.

Only four more days home alone. Sort of.

My Bad Judgment
This morning, the phone rings. It's N., one of the boys' friends from fifth grade. They've known him since kindergarten. As a kindergartener, he was adorable--a very round, dreadlocked, smiley kid. Let's just say he's not so cute anymore.

So, N. calls. TwinBoyA always answers as if he's channeling Jerry Seinfeld ("Newman"). "Yeah, N.?" he sneers.

Then, "Mom, can I go to N.'s birthday party today at 3?"

I pause. We normally do not allow our kids to play at their friends' homes unless we know the parents very well. We do not know N.'s parents well. N.'s dad has dreadlocks, too, and plays in his own steel drum band. N. has two older brothers. N. gave TwinBoyA two videos for his ninth birthday: Jurassic Park and Lara Croft: Tomb-Raider (both rated PG-13). TwinBoyA's never been allowed to play at N.'s house, though N.'s been to our house lots of time. But this is a birthday party. And TwinBoyA is ten now.

"Okay."

I dropped him off at 3 p.m. on the dot. I walked him to the door and one of N.'s teenaged brothers answered the door. When he opened the door, I smelled dogs and cigarettes. I said, "You're having a birthday party for N.?" And he kind of shrugged and said he didn't know. "I just got home, but there is another kid here, so I guess so."

Oh. "Can I talk to your mom or dad?" He hollered for his dad. I waited, peering into the stink of the house from the porch.

His dad came to the door, looking a little weary. "Are you having a party for N. today?" I said.

He kind of look confused. He didn't seem to know. "Well, yes," he said. At least he sort of said something like that. I said, "Well, I'll be back at 5 p.m. to pick him up."

That was my error in judgment.

At 5:05 p.m., I drove up N.'s street. The street was dark, but ahead I saw a bunch of kids riding a bicycle-cart contraption. I recognized N.'s dreadlocked bulk and saw four or five little girls hanging on the thing, but couldn't spot TwinBoyA. N. waved for me to pass him, but I rolled down my window and shouted, "I'm here to pick up my son!"

"He's in the house," N. said.

Oh. In that smelly house with N.'s dazed dad and his two teenaged brothers? Alone?

Okay, I know that I'm a little on the overprotective side. Even paranoid, I admit. But I would never allow that. Why would N. have left my son alone inside his house?

I rang the bell. Twice. Finally, N.'s dad came to the door. "I'm here to pick up my son," I said. He called for TwinBoyA, then disappeared down a set of stairs to find him. TwinBoyA came into sight and was at the door when the dad came up the stairs. I said, "Tell them thanks," and TwinBoyA said, "Thanks!" And we left.

He smelled like he's been at a bowling alley. I said, "So, tell us all about it. What did you do?"

TwinBoyA said, "Well, first we just played some games that were all rated E."

Good.

"Then, we walked down to the 7-11 and bought some stuff."

The 7-11? "Who walked?"

"Me and J. and N."

Oh my. I don't even let my boy play in the front yard without an adult watching! I would never in a million years have allowed him to walk a half a mile to the 7-11 to buy anything!

I managed to just breathe.

Then, he said, they played in the yard. And then played more video games.

He was starving.

"Didn't you have birthday cake?" I said.

"No."

"So, N. did not have birthday cake?"

"No."

Sigh. Never again, I thought. Never, ever, ever again.

I said, "I hope you had fun," and inside my head, I added "because you will never, ever do that again."

I should have known better. We overprotective mothers have standards to maintain!

Random Babygirl Thoughts
Babygirl hugs now. She hugs DaycareKid to the ground, but she also hugs me tight around the neck. She still does not give kisses, however. She likes to hug the kitty, too, but the kitty doesn't always appreciate her affection.

She is obsessed with cleaning, which is ironic, considering I am not. Today she insisted we vacuum no less than four separate times. What's funny is that DaycareKid is terrified of the vacuum, but the last time we used it, he didn't even whimper. We're doing aversion therapy and getting the carpets clean at the same time!

Babygirl also uses the broom twice a day, at least. I'm surprised she hasn't whacked herself in the head with it since it's full-sized and she is not.

Give the girl a washcloth and she'll get busy washing the floor or the wall. Put a baby on the floor and she'll wipe him with a baby wipe. Leave a piece of trash on the floor (as my sons do) and she'll pick it up and ask me to open the trash compactor. She likes to take the dirty diapers outside to the trash can.

She's had a cold for two weeks and snot continually drips from her darling nose. She lets me wipe it, sometimes even blows a little. I can't wait until she is well again.

Miracle of all, she napped today in her crib! It was literally the first time in over two weeks. A miracle. God is still on the throne.


Babygirl loves her stuffed animals. Big Bird is her favorite. She hugs it around the neck and tucks it under her arm. She is the first child of mine to play with the enormous assortment of stuffed animals that we've accumulated.

Her eating habits are different from my boys, too. She likes meat: turkey cubes, tuna, crab, salmon. She eats vegetables without pause, but will spit out perfectly good home-made cookies. What's wrong with this child? I'm trying to fatten her up, but apparently she inherited some weird skinny-girl genes from my husband's side of the family.

She had two baths today because she insisted that she be allowed to jump in the tub with her brothers. One this morning, one this evening. She's extra clean, but tomorrow morning she'll probably have dried snot on her forehead.

Today, I made either the biggest mistake ever or made the best discovery ever: I put Babygirl on the kitchen counter while I shrugged off my sweater. She likes to be tucked in one arm, sitting on my hip while I work in the kitchen. It's very annoying to work with one hand.

So, I plopped her on the edge of the counter and she looked around like she had landed right smack in the center of heaven. She sat on the counter for the next thirty minutes while I did dishes and fed DaycareKid. She adored the vantage point and is a careful baby who stayed in the middle of the counter so she was in no danger. I have a feeling the counter will be her favorite spot.

She's a tyrant, but she's a cute tyrant!

High-Speed Excitement
I have a new computer. I have a new high-speed internet connection. I have a new color printer which also scans and copies. I've pretty much left the old century behind. Finally.

But it took some time to get all these things synchonized, so in the meantime, I've been silent here, despite the wacky world-happenings and domestic happenings closer to home.

Babygirl is running across the living room, hollering, as babies like to do. She's saying "bap", which usually means "apple", but today it means "bap."

YoungestBoy is due home from kindergarten any moment. He amazed me today by doubling numbers all the way up to 1,024. This kid has a sharp mathematical mind and seems to be able to hold numbers in his head--he adds the hundreds, then the tens and ones and adds it all in his head.

TwinBoyA came in the door announcing, "no homework" and "A on my spelling pretest."

TwinBoyB came through the door literally dragging his coat on the rainy sidewalk and said he's sick. His illness disappeared, though, and now he's kind of vague about his symptoms. He has to study spelling and social studies for tests tomorrow.

Babygirl is now crying in my arms. She doesn't care for the internet, high-speed or otherwise.

Lessons I Learned by Watching Entertainment Tonight
I've learned three things tonight while watching Entertainment Tonight:

1) Always be sure to put on your makeup when going out for a drive, or you will look washed out in your mug shot. (Thanks, Wynonna, for this tip!)

2) Even scary-looking men with straw-straight hair and teeth two sizes too big and eyeliner can critique women's fashions. (Thanks, Stephen Cojocaru, you freakish man.)

3) Women who weigh only 58 pounds also think that their stomachs are fat and bloated. (Thanks, 58-Pound Anorexic.) What's ironic is that the Victoria Secret models profiled after her were nearly as thin, only they had fake breasts.

I've also decided that the words "ninny" and "dunderhead" are underused.

* * * * * * * * * * *

And now, for the cold, hard facts.

Today I:

1) Changed 5 poopy diapers;
2) Grabbed a wet girl from the bath immediately after she pooped in the tub;
3) Wiped noses approximately eighty thousand times. Okay, only 80 times. Still, it was a LOT.
4) Washed dishes three times.
5) Helped YoungestBoy find four pictures of things that start with the letter "N." Very few items in catalogs start with the letter "N." Glued on pictures: necklace, neck, noodles (ripped from the Campbell's can!) and "Noah's Ark."
6) Played outside with the babies and blew bubbles.
7) Laughed heartily at Baby Wrestling. Babygirl loves to hug DaycareKid, but always ends up trying to tackle him with a look of pure glee on her snotty face. DaycareKid looks bewildered, Babygirl cackles with joy and I burst into laughter. As Martha Stewart would say, "I don't want to go to jail!"--oh, I mean, "This is a good thing."


Well, that's enough for now. Now, I must watch Diane Sawyer interview Britney "I Can't Seem to Keep My Clothes On" Spears.

Buying a Box
My kids are thrilled with me today. I bought them a huge box. Well, a huge box which contained a new computer . . . but in their view, the computer is incidental. It's all about The Box.

This is no ordinary box. The Box is large enough to enclose a ten year old and an 5 year old. It's the largest box we've ever owned. Two of them sat in it and watched television tonight through the little slots that are meant to be handles.

My first three children are boys. Since I began this parenting journey ten years ago, I have learned the following things from my boys:

1) The only playthings really necessary are sticks, rocks, mud, water, boxes and Nintendo products, in that order.

2) Peeing directly into the toilet water is a skill which small boys do not possess.

3) Slinkies will last approximately twelve minutes after being removed from their boxes on Christmas morning.

4) Justice is the most important thing (ie. "That's not fair!").

5) Silly Putty will melt into your shorts if you sit on it.

6) The more expensive the Nintendo game, the more likely that it will be scratched and destroyed.

7) If a little salt is good, a lot of salt is better.

8) Sleeping in on Saturdays is against the Law of the Universe.

9) Screaming is an appropriate way to settle disputes. If screaming fails, use elbows. (To the gut, to the head, whatever is closest.)

10) Cleanliness is pointless and unobtainable.

So, I have a new computer. They have The Box. We're all happy tonight.

The Boringest Woman on Earth
I hereby proclaim myself the Boringest Woman on Earth. How did I earn this title, you ask?

Well, for four days my husband's been out of town. In four days, I drove the car twice. Once to pick up a book at Barnes and Noble and once to take the kids to the video store and Wendy's.

In four days, I did too many loads of laundry to count, including every towel in the house (which I had to use when my washing machine lost its mind and spewed water everywhere). I have literally one dirty load of laundry left. I'm ridiculously proud of this fact.

In four days, I saw four other adults: Beth, who picks up YoungestBoy for kindergarten; Sam, whose son, James, came over to play on Friday morning; and John, who dropped off my kids after school Friday and Brenda, who let my kids play at her house after school on Thursday. Now, geez, as I'm recounting it, I guess I saw the lady at Barnes and Noble and the fast-food worker at Wendy's, too. I'm such a liar. I guess I saw the Dominoe's pizza guy, too. Geez, I practically have a social life.

In four days, my baby took no naps.

In four days, I mopped twice.

In four days, I vacuumed twice.

In four days, I read a book.

In four days, I cleaned off the kitchen counter.

In four days, I cared for eight different children.

In four days, I had no real conversations with anyone, other than instant-messages on the computer. I barely read the newspaper and hardly saw the news.

In four days, I screamed "YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!" at least once. Maybe twice.

I am the Boringest Woman on Earth. Who lives in a shoe. With so many children she doesn't know what to do.

Husband should never be allowed to go on business trips when their wives are at home turning into pumpkins.

(Have I used enough nursery rhyme imagery yet?)

Wave if you see me at the grocery store! I'll be the one with the twitching eye and sparkly tiara. Yes, they are giving out tiaras now to really dull women.

I have to go. The children need a whuppin'.

My Twitching Eye
My eye is twitching. This can mean only one thing: I need sleep. But my eye will continue to twitch, because I need something more than sleep. I need to be awake in this house while all the children are asleep. I crave silence.

Babygirl skipped her nap again today. I'm not sure why I bother to say it that way. The truth is, naps are an exception, not a rule. My husband laughs at me because I am so optimistic that she'll nap again regularly. I'm a "glass half-empty" kind of girl. I can find the downside in any situation. I nicknamed myself "The Dream Basher" early in my marriage. My husband would have all these plans and ideas and dreams and I could effortlessly smash them into smithereens. I know. It's a gift. He's the Dreamer and I'm the Dream Basher. (We're meant for each other.)

I had a fairly productive day. I woke up at 6:55 a.m. and thought, "I should get up and shower while Babygirl is still asleep." Then fifteen minutes later, I heard her cry out. Oops. I managed to shower an hour or two later. Babygirl was distracted by one of the boys downstairs, so I sneaked upstairs and got into the shower. It was only a few minutes before TwinBoyB escorted her upstairs. She stood outside the tub and sobbed.

TwinBoyB begged me to take them somewhere. It's cold and rainy here. Where would I take two 10 year olds, a 5 year old and a baby? He wanted to spend his allowance money which was burning a hole in his pocket. I finally decided to take them all to the bank (drive-thru), video store (to rent games) and to buy lunch from Wendy's. I've been trying to get a baked potato from Wendy's for a few weeks, but keep forgetting to order it. So, that's what we did. We rented two games, then went through the Wendy's drive-thru. I remembered the potato today!

When we got home, the boys immediately disappeared to play Nintendo. I played with Babygirl on the living room floor for awhile, then decided to vacuum. Not only that, I decided to move all the furniture and vacuum underneath everything.

I found enough unpopped popcorn kernels to feed a large homeschooling family of rats for weeks. It scared me. But I feel very virtuous now, with super-clean carpets. After that, I put away two baskets of laundry. Then, I whipped up a double-batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. I froze three dozen balls of dough to bake later and baked three dozen cookies. (I need to go pop them into a ziplock bag!) I have only one dirty load of laundry left in the house. I have impressed myself.

We had soup for dinner, then I made all the boys shower and wash. "Let me smell your armpits. Oh! You smell! Get back in there and wash this time!" And then a few minutes later, "Okay, let me smell you again. Did you wash your hair? You did not! Wash your hair! With shampoo!" It took TwinBoyB three tries to get totally clean.

They all have clipped fingernails and toenails and clean hair. Even though we are skipping church tomorrow because Babygirl has another runny nose.

How shrunken my world has my world become when I feel a sense of accomplishment because I have clean carpet under my couch and three dozen balls of frozen cookie dough in my freezer and freshly scrubbed children? I'm not sure whether to pity myself or laugh at myself.

When my husband goes out of town like this, I start to notice that I don't really have a local girlfriend to call and shoot the breeze with. When I was newly married, it bothered me a lot to have shifted from many friends in college to no friends as a newlywed. As we moved from state to state, I noticed that it took longer and longer to connect with women, to click and find someone to telephone in the afternoon while standing at the sink doing dishes.

Now, when the phone rings, it's either A) my husband; B) my sister; C) my mother; and D) someone calling me to ask what someone else's telephone number is. I've become a Directory Assistance of sorts for church people to call! Even a good friend called me yesterday to ask for someone else's number! A while back, my great-aunt from Wisconsin called me (she NEVER calls) just to ask for my sister's telephone number in Japan.

I have often been lonely for women's companionship. Women my age usually have children who are older than my younger children. They are often immersed in their careers. Often, they have long-standing friendships and it just takes too much time and too much work and too much commitment to establish a new friendship.

Then there is the added complication of being a "Pastor's Wife." Just that title alone puts an automatic distance between me and other women. (The ones who know. I often don't tell.) People have assumptions about what a Pastor's Wife is like. I don't really fit any of those stereotypes, but I do feel myself guarding my Real Self. I have to keep some things to myself, keeping in mind that if I complain about my husband, I am putting their pastor in a bad light. So, the church women are not a source of comfort or friendship to me for the most part. (I do have one good friend at church, but she's mother to three children, plus is consumed by a new career. She literally has no time.)

Well, woe is me.

My eye is still twitching and I'm squinting through my contact lenses. The buzzer on the dryer has gone off and I need to get those cookie dough balls into a bag. The fun never ends.