The summer I got my butt handed to me by 7-month-olds

This week has been one of the best weeks of my year:

You guys, having a daughter who really did live the dream and go off across the country to college? It’s super hard, but when she comes home it is that much more super-glorious.

(This fact does not remotely prepare me to discuss the short three years I have left with Mia before she moves off to the downstairs bedroom and goes to community college for two years before going for a bachelor’s degree at a local university and then settling in far away down the street: ALL THE TEARS.)

Another fun thing that’s been going on every day at 10:30 a.m. and 6:10 p.m. :

Babies cry, and twin babies cry double, and Indie’s mutant powers have presented earlier than we expected, so if you’re driving by our house and you hear what sounds like earth-shattering nuclear blast followed by defeated sobbing, it’s just the fallout from Indie’s super-sonic screaming; carry on. (Hahahahaha help me.)

I wish to God I had at least six more hands so that the clone I need to make of myself would be a helper of maximum efficiency.

I’ve spent way too many moments sobbing into the spit-up covered carpet because of how overwhelmingly hard–nay, IMPOSSIBLE–it is to take care of all people and things at once, and my sweet attentive husband recognizes the potential for a complete nervous breakdown and/or aneurysm when he sees it–so he arranged for a hiking day followed by a one-night stay at a nearby hotel, while some brave (and I do mean BRAVE) friends of mine have agreed to tag team with Cheyenne (also brave; maybe even more brave because she’s been hanging around all week and she knows 100% exactly what she’s getting into) and spend a day in the bloody trenches of pleasure in our lovely home getting the mental beating of a lifetime taking care of our inhumanly loud gleeful and expressive small children.


I’m only freaking out at about a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10, which is excellent for me considering Lucy, Duncan, and Indie have never been left overnight; y’all I am genuinely concerned for the ears and tickers of our gracious volunteer baby-wranglers cause this four-kids-under-the-age-of-4-plus-a-tween-and-a-teen business is the realest most hard thing ever.

I hope they enjoy baby cuddles.

I hope they’re Berenstain Bear fans. I wonder what Arbor will say? Probably a story (peppered with sentence-enhancers) about an alien-witch that lives in her front yard; maybe a story about the injustice of mothers who hide a secret stash of chocolate chips on the top shelf of the pantry and don’t share (obviously fictional).

Also: quiet time alone in nature with my husband. Hiking. I can already smell the fresh, triple-digit-hot air–and it smells like melted granola bars and a good night’s sleep.

Joking aside: yep it’s loudballs around here but these kids are freaking awesome and my friends are awesome and life is awesome. Here’s our little slice of heaven:

About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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