battle worn

Today the whole left side of my face is twitching like crazy and my food tastes like soap, in case you were wondering what it feels like to have twin babies and a 22-month-old plus an Arbor, a couple ball-obsessed older children, and a husband who is completely and utterly out-of-pocket because his boss likes to come in town from time to time because obviously he would like to see my Bell’s Palsy return with a vengeance.

The old Toni (from way back three days ago) would have panicked at the thought of spending any length of time during ball season without my parenting partner-in-crime, but new Toni has been blessed with the realization that most people are super nice and they genuinely want to help.

Whether it be offering rides to and from a game, or rocking a twin on a bleacher or chasing a toddler or feeding a whiny 4-year-old, I’ve discovered that the folks in my circle are in fact “the village” that everyone talks about: raising my kids right along with me; taking pictures of my son on the pitcher’s mound, cheering for my daughter at bat. “Want me to hold a baby while you take her to the bathroom?” “Can I do anything for you?” “I would love to feed a baby while you feed the other baby/chase Lucy/wipe the dirt off that ridiculously-priced smooshed hotdog.”

Can I just say that I am proud to be part of such a wonderful community?

And one day, when all my babies are grown and I’m sitting in a pop-up chair beside the dugout with zero children in my lap and not a care in the world, I hope I walk over to that frazzled struggling mother and offer my free hands just as people have done for me time and time again.

Oklahoma you guys. Nowhere is friendlier than here, which is great when you have a lopsided face.

In other news,

Haha SIKE, there is no other news, I have no life outside my children. 25/8 and it don’t stop!

I’ve rage-quit running for now because the stunning lack of hours in a day really just downright angers me.

ME: “What do you mean, I can choose between going for a run, taking a shower, or eating an actual meal?”

UNIVERSE: “Ah yes, you see–those are just some of the choices available to you within a 24-hour time frame. Other options include: cleaning your house in any way; pooping with one baby on your lap instead of two; or taking 19 minutes to realize that no, you can’t fit into your 2016 jeans.”

ME: “What about sleep, or setting aside some special time with my husband?”

UNIVERSE:

UNIVERSE: “Oh–…oh. I thought you were joking. These levels are not going to be unlocked until 2029, unless you want to give up showering entirely.”

ME: “If I give up showering, then my husband won’t want to even touch me.”

UNIVERSE: “And therein lies the genius.”

I’m good, though, in all seriousness. Are there days when I call my husband sobbing uncontrollably? Sure. Will it be easier to set my house on fire and rebuild it than to clean it at this point? Probably. But there are perks, so many perks:

Getting children–and all their paraphernalia–into the car burns twice as many calories as a 30-minute run. It is known.

Arbor and Lucy have both learned to go to bed without a fuss regardless of who tucks them in. Half the time, Lucy specifically asks for Mia to carry her to her bed. This is precious.

I can drink half a pot of fully caffeinated coffee at 5 p.m. without worrying about how it will affect my sleep; I will still pass out in a puddle of my own slobber by 10:00, 10:04 if I make time for Caleb. That’s precious, too.

And on the off-chance that I am too wide awake? Well, I have my trusty exercise bike, so I can keep my pre-pregnancy legs and eat out of the secret stash of Easter candy, guilt-free.

This is a good life.