life with many kids

On the way home from ballet yesterday afternoon, I stopped by the library. As we left, the older woman in front of me turned, smiling, and said that another woman had said I had left one at home. And then she was gone before I could figure out what she meant.

As I made my way to the van, I realized that Fritz, who was not with me, must have been the “one I left at home” (he was camping).

Which meant that somebody had seen me there before with all six kids. I think I’ve taken all six there twice in the last four months.

Holy cow, I thought, I can’t even keep track of how many kids my acquaintances have, let alone the offspring of a perfect stranger.

Somebody is always watching. And counting.

*******

I finally put something in the car for me to read while sitting and waiting. Mary has gotten past the “hold me constantly” stage which made reading difficult. And she’s not yet at the “holy terror” stage which requires a delicate balance of freedom to roam and explore with vigilant supervision and loving restraint to prevent her from destroying property and injuring herself or others. (She’s almost there, but not quite.)

Several times in the last few weeks I’ve been left to amuse myself while Mary happily played with puzzles or books. And I’ve been reading the various parenting magazines that were in the waiting rooms.

How to encourage manners in your child.
Why you should give your child every vaccination possible.
Healthy things to pack your child for lunch.

I am so beyond these magazines.

I’d like to see articles geared toward life with more than 2.2 children.

Bilocation: how to get four kids to four different activities at once.
Paying for piano: thrifty ideas from thrifty moms.
Orthodonture: does your child really need braces or can he wait until you’re done paying for his sister’s?

One article I saw was about disciplining other people’s children. Years ago, I was uncomfortable stepping in when another parent was lacking. Gee, lady, can’t you keep your tot from whacking my son with the sand shovel? Nowadays, I’m not so uncomfortable, I just don’t want to. Look, lady, I’ve got six to watch, you have one. Pick up the slack!

One section in the article was about What to Do if You Lose Your Cool. Situation: mom drops off kid. An hour later, you find her kid and your kid climbing on the roof of the shed. You yell at them to get down. The article suggested that, at pickup time, you tell the other mom that you yelled so that she doesn’t just get his side of the story and think you’re a bad mom for yelling.

(Ahem.)

This is a public service announcement. If your kid is doing something dangerous at my house (and I don’t care if you’re there or not), I’m going to yell. And I won’t tell you about it later, because I will have forgotten all about it.

Saints, Alive!

The homeschool group did it’s All Saint’s Day party last night. In attendance:

St. Martin, preparing to cut his cape in half (store bought several years ago – see Bill)

St. Boniface Pius X Ignatius of Antioch, whose feast was yesterday (also store bought and reworked – see Medusa) Billy had trouble deciding.

St. Elizabeth of Hungary (yes, I made it, no, I’m not proud. It is, quite honestly, poorly done.)

Mary, Mother of God (Bill bought me that scarf in Afghanistan, the dress is Princess Leia with a trim added)


St. George (Bill made this suit of armor SEVEN years ago out of poster board. He is a clever man. Fritz wore it, but all the other children have shunned it, until now. I have saved it, dutifully protected with crumpled newspaper. Our grandchildren might wear it. Or perhaps I’ll have it framed in a shadowbox.)

I wanted Mary to be a dragon for George, but she would have none of it.

My sewing machine has been going non-stop for weeks, it seems. I’m not done yet.

Just think about it

“Do you pray the rosary every day?” the priest asked me.

“I try to,” I answered brightly, happy to be able to honestly answer in the affirmative. I’m not always successful, but it is a goal, and I’m best when I can go for a run. I pray when I run.

“Do you pray it with your husband…with your kids…or just by yourself?” he pressed.

“Just by myself,” I sheepishly admitted. That’s MY time.

“Well, you know, it would be good to say it with the children…just think about it…”

{sigh}

I DON’T WANNA! Mentally, I threw myself down like my three year old, kicking my feet and writhing from side to side. Really, no matter how far along the path I may think I have come in shunning selfish behavior, I find myself right back at square one: ME AND WHAT I WANT.

I want peace and quiet. I want meditation. I want quiet whispers at the mouth of a cave on a mountaintop.

I do not want 20 minutes of fussing and fidgeting and correcting pronunciations (or remaining calm and ignoring all of the above). I do not want little eyes rolling and little mouths moaning at the torture their mother is putting them through.

But actually, my three older children love to pray the rosary. It is the next two, who are very young, who do the fussing. And the fidgeting. (They all do the bad pronunciations.)

And so, I thought about it.

I discussed it with a friend. Well, actually, I told her just how impossible it was. After all, I was struggling to develop a habit of morning prayers with the children: morning offering, praying for the Pope and his intentions, Guardian Angel prayer. Five minutes, that’s all I had. I couldn’t possibly do a 20 minute rosary every morning. Or afternoon. Or evening.

But then I thought, maybe a decade. That would only add about 5 more minutes. Couldn’t I do that?

And immediately an opportunity arose: Bill’s physical therapy. Three mornings a week, we all drive him over for his knee. The other two weekdays also have us in the car.

So we have expanded our morning prayer to include one decade of the rosary. We alternate what mystery we “meditate” on. We go around for the Hail Marys: Fritz, Billy, Katie, even Jenny, then Bill or I before we go around again for ten. It was a seamless transition, and the kids love it, even Jenny (after our first session where I basically said we would sit there until she did her part and, after about 3 minutes, she finally gave in and hasn’t been a problem since).

Today, in fact, we did it with such ease and so quickly that I wondered: couldn’t we do two decades? I’ll have to think about it

Po-TAY-toe, Po-TAH-toe (let’s call the whole thing off)

This story about a lost manatee reminded me of another lost manatee several years ago.

There was a lost manatee. He swam up the Atlantic coast. He got into the Hudson River.

Bill told me about him. He told me about how they tracked him from Florida. I couldn’t believe it. It just seemed so impossible that they could have followed the animal for so long.

The problem was: Bill said manatee, but instead of picturing this:

I pictured this:

Manatee…Macaw…
How could they track something so small? I asked.
No, I haven’t lived it down yet.