Mama Mia

There are a lot of things you can say about me: I procrastinate to a point of pain, I'm chronically disorganized, I waste hours of time on the, ahem, computer, I'm hopelessly addicted to my best friend Coffee, I can nap like nobody else...except maybe Leah(; I eat cookie dough like it's a common snack food. I can go on and on. The one thing you cannot say about me is that I don't enjoy being a mother, which is exactly what I heard some unknown foolish woman mutter under her breath when she looked at me yesterday. I was so shocked that I stood up and held my baby close to me and looked her straight in the eye as I gathered my things. But here is what she didn't know...I had been sitting there in the surgeon's office for a solid hour cajoling my baby while being forced to listen to Fox news. After 30 minutes of Glen Beck, I was just trying to get to my happy place until it was over, and that is when she looked at me and made a searing judgement of my character. The takeaway? I probably make harsh judgements of people, if only in my tiny head, based on what I've viewed for only a minute. In fact, I probably did it to the other mom there with her kids just 20 minutes before, I just have my filter intact and mean lady didn't. "The LORD does not look at the same things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1 Sam 16:7) Thank you , God, for looking at my heart and knowing that even though I'm not a perfect mom, I love being one.

Shenanigans

I haven't posted in months and months...had a lot to say and didn't know if I should say it or if anyone would want to read it. I'm inspired this morning, however, as I upload pictures my oldest took of her 3 year-old brother in full adjusting-to-big-brotherhood shenanigans. One is of him standing on the kitchen table drinking from the milk jug---naked. The other is straight out of Abu Grab, laying on the living room floor with a small garbage pail on his head---naked. The only one I can post and not get arrested is of him dressed in his sister's soccer socks, plaid shorts, blue animal print leo and a Bob the Builder potty seat on his head. Oh, and shaving cream on his face. All of these activities were wholesome entertainment while I was nursing Kabob or changing his diaper or (gasp) on the computer.
It's funny that it took arriving at utter chaos for me to finally feel "settled" about the number of children I have. But I'm there, Baby. Yesterday while nursing Kabob in a parking lot after attempting a run at Ulta with all five kids, said 3 year-old hucked a yogurt at his sister and there began a cascade of events that have me questioning my sanity. First, the rushing around the van, all doors open, trying to access the child and the yogurt---I'm still not totally tucked back into my nursing bra, so someone probably got a free show, and still gouging his eyes out somewhere in South Reno. I'm armed with only a container of wipies and I'm piping mad. Where do you begin with leather seats, carpet and yogurt? I just started wiping, and yelling, and wiping some more until it seemed we could head toward home--instead of to Bath and Body Works, aka "Mecca" for my 3 little girls. Did I mention the yelling? Holy Cow, I read that little stinker the riot act.
As we got back on the road, I started asking, "What happened that made him huck his yogurt?" The oldest whispers, "I think she stuck her finger in it and he thought she was going to take it from him." Aaaahhh. So then I'm lecturing us all on everything from packing yogurts, to opening them, handing them to a 3 year-old, and then trying to take them away.
All is well that ends well. We made our way to eat lunch with Papa, then dropped of our van at the local car wash to be cleaned, something it has needed for a long time. Then we shuffled home, Baby Kabob in his sling, 3 year-old prince in his stroller, and 3 grumbling girls. Life is good.