In essence, several of you asked me if I was a naturally organized and motivated person, thereby allowing me to homeschool and keep up with the house and all the kids and all the laundry.
Yep.
Sure.
That's me.
*snort*
Uh, in reality, that would be a no. While I'm not too shabby at keeping up with my own stuff, the addition of so many little people in my world, all apparently assigned from birth with the rearrangement of every object in the house, has derailed me many a time.
It's not that I come from bad stock. It's just that I spent my younger years in public education and extensive after-school activities. I did have a few assigned chores at the home front, but the actual process of full frontal home management was not something I observed on an hour-by-hour, day-to-day basis. I left for school in the morning with very few clean clothes in my drawers, I arrived home that afternoon to drawers full of folded fashion. Clean clothes and hot food, restocked pantries and decorated rooms, those things just seemed to sort of magically happen while I was away living my life, studying at school and navigating the social injustices of teenhood.
I did okay with keeping up with my stuff through college, admiring the neatniks who lived adjacent to my dorm room, but chuckling to myself that I had more important things to accomplish than organizing my sock drawer. I figured out the laundry thing, avoiding it as much as possible, and I did find that I had a love for cooking, though not for kitchen clean up.
And then I married Mike.
Apparently not.
Michael has always picked up his dirty socks and can always locate his cuff links; he's just not so concerned with the rest of the state of our domicile. His one attempt at laundry was a Polly Pocket disaster; he washed all of my 'television on-camera' clothes that were supposed to be dry clean only. They came out as if they were Shrinky-Dinks consigned to the oven. Tiny. Clean, but tiny.
He's not supposed to touch laundry equipment any more.
While I was no paragon of Better Home and Gardens, we did fine. For a while.
He generally took care of his socks and cuff links.
And I did the rest.
And then 1 of 8 came along.
Who knew there was so much stuff required for the rearing of a spawn? We moved into a townhouse that seemed rather spacious until our baby shower. The room relegated to be her nursery began to fill up like a pastel warehouse and I didn't have the first clue about how to organize all this new paraphernalia. The first few months after 1 of 8's birth were a learning curve on home organization. It wasn't caring for an infant that threw me; I was a natural at that. It was the whole product placement thing that I found confusing.
Through the years I began to figure out what worked for me. Sometimes my ideas have been a little unconventional, but I have learned to customize for us, regardless of what someone from HGTV might think. I'm still mildly surprised that bathrooms need to be cleaned frequently, since I did such a bang up job just a few days ago. I still fight against the reality that I will have to unload the dishwasher at least twice a day. Four loads of laundry to wash and fold throughout the day still seems crazy to me. When people question me about being able to meet the emotional needs of eight kids, I have to smile. That part has never been daunting to me. It's keeping everyone in relatively clean underwear that I find flummoxing.
I have learned to streamline. We declutter on a weekly basis. I constantly have bags of giveaway items in the garage. The moves over the last five years have made this such a necessity; we have gone from mid-size homes to apartments to small lease houses to our big dream house to a temporary domicile. We've had big square footage and places that felt like square inches. Keeping the stuff reduced is the only way I've found to maintain some sense of sanity throughout my nomadic season.
I've given myself permission to ignore the standard organization rules. They just aren't made with a big homeschooling family in mind. I hang up very few of the younger kids' clothes. I use one closet in our present home as a 'Toy Store' where all the toys are stored and 'checked out' for use. I use another closet as our 'Clothing Store' where I have all the out-grown and growing-into clothes and shoes organized by size, hanging and folded for easy grab. I keep a drawer in our master bath full of the twins' jammies and diapers, since that is where we generally get them ready for bed. I keep all my homeschool supplies in cabinets in the garage, out of reach of small hands, but more easily accessible since the garage is close to the dining room where we school.
And still, I fight the mess.
Because the truth is, I'd rather be writing, reading and running, in that order. I believe in a well-run home. It just does not seem to come easy for me. I have to really work at it, and in the wake of ten people, it all seems to come undone so quickly.
But when I survey the jumble of little shoes, action figures, half-eaten sandwiches, the lone bottle of sunscreen, sippy cups and bits of paper that make a merry confetti of my living room, I'm reminded that this is the anthropological evidence of living, the very mark of an active, busy family life. It might frustrate me at times to find all this stuff leaking from its assigned places. But it is the very stuff that bears testimony to this time and this season.
And I've gotten pretty good at stepping over all of it and focusing on what matters the most to me.
And that would not be the condition of my grout, just in case you were wondering.
With, say, a little giveaway?
How about one that's educational and will keep your kids occupied for hours?
Yea, I thought you might be interested.
So let's begin.
First, watch this little video and then come back to tell me how cute my kid is:
We loved going through this new program. 5 of 8 has been happily achieving new levels everyday and I get a little email update from time to time telling me how he is doing. The JumpStart disc set actually allows you to identify what kind of learner your child is: Reader, Athlete, Musician, Team Leader, Artist, Scientist and Math Whiz. The online site, www.JumpStart.com, offers new adventures and friends. Your child can also develop their own avatar, called Jumpeez, to represent them on their adventures.
So here's the dealio: watch my little video, come back here and comment and you will be entered to win a three month membership to JumpStart.com. Tweet about it and get another chance, blog about it and get yet another chance. The contest will close Thursday, June 18 at 11:59 pm and the winner will be announced on Friday, June 19th. Best of luck to you all--and don't forget to tell me how cute my kid is....
My precious in-laws own the place now. They lovingly maintain it, spending many peaceful days drinking in the view and feasting on the memories, both old and new. They are leaving their mark on the place, redoing some rooms, adding some conveniences. Mike's sister and her husband have worked tirelessly to make repairs and modernize certain features. And through it all, they have managed to honor and keep at center stage the memory of the ones who started it all.
One of the reasons for heading for the red dirt of Oklahoma last week was so that Octamom Kids 2-6 could head up to Grand Lake O' the Cherokees for the annual MiMi and PaPa Camp. Mike's mom and dad host the kids up at their cabin for a 5 day extravaganza of boating, crafting, napping, reading, cooking, smore-ing and the like. Attendance at MiMi and PaPa Camp requires that you are of a certain mature age (as in, five years old or older--with a inclusion clause for if you are almost five...such is the mercy of MiMi and PaPa...)
The kids absolutely adore this time with their grandparents and their cousins. Mike's sister and her husband have three kiddos, bringing the grand total of campers up to eight this year. I headed up on Sunday afternoon to pick up my brood and breathe in the memories that the lake cabin brings.
This would be 5 of 8, my nephew CV and 6 of 8.
They're thick as thieves, I tell ya.
They somehow always seem to end up in this configuration, CV bookended by 5 and 6.
And 6 of 8 seems to have this need to lean on CV. Maybe it's because her brothers wouldn't allow this kind of girly affection. But CV is strong. He can take a little cousin snuggle.
That affection tolerance does not extend to me, however.
Understand that I have Aunt Superpowers. I am Extended Family Catnip to my other nieces and nephews. Except for CV. He is not won over by the power of my personality.
At all.
We have made a bit of progress over the years. He will now allow me to pat the top of his head.
Briefly.
And he will allow me to photograph him.
Yea, he's pretty much an intoxicating blend of blond curls and utter rejection for me.
All of which makes him irresistible.
May this be a lesson to us all....
Many of them are gone now, my grandmother's contemporaries, the people she worshiped with, had coffee with, had potlucks with. Had life with. My grandmother still keeps up with many of their grown children and those children's children. And when I see her, when we get the babies down a little early, when the house grows quiet and she can take the conversational stage, she begins to talk. She weaves a variegated tale of old memories and new narratives. She knits threads of family lines and folklore into a fabric of familiarity. She provides the back story, reminding me of everyone's maiden names and how they are related to so-and-so. She builds character analysis, providing a short biopic of each person's lineage, education, vocation, illnesses, triumphs and difficulties.
What?
What was that collective yell?
Oh, yeah, I guess I didn't reveal the future Tony winner's identity, now did I?
For those of you who guessed Kristin Chenoweth, you get a thousand points.
And you really know your Broadway.
So Michael was up in Oklahoma City, visiting the future Tony winner and I was nursing what I pragmatically thought was a sore heart that had no right to be. So I did what any self respecting modern girl would do...I called up one of Mike's buddies and Sadie Hawkins-ed him.
Because nothing ices a bruised heart like going out with one of your fella's buddies.
Michael did call me over that weekend, the cheerful giggles of a future Tony winner ringing in the background. He called to tell me that he was in OKC visiting a friend. He called to ask me how my weekend was going. He called to tell me that he missed me.
I thanked him and told him I was a little busy getting ready to go out with his buddy.
It was a long, strange weekend. I played out all kinds of dramatic conversations in my head. I went out with the buddy for lunch and then dinner. And then dinner the next night. I choreographed some more scenes I thought would play well when I told Michael off when he got back to town. And then I talked myself out of those scenes again.
After all, the poor guy had never even kissed me, had never made me promises, had never acted as if we had an exclusive thing going on.
Even if my heart was acting otherwise.
In the end, pragmatism won out. It usually does with me. I gave myself a stern talking to, stopped all the soap opera dramas in my head.
And accepted Mike's buddy's invitation for yet another lunch date on that Sunday.
So when Michael arrived at my door late that Sunday night, I was surprised. He gave me a big hug. He flashed that perfect smile at me. He flashed those blue eyes at me.
Okay. Whatever. Fine.
He asked if we could go outside and talk, away from the girlie gab of my roommates.
Okay. Whatever. Fine.
We sat in his car, the autumn night chilly. He laced his fingers through mine and asked me about my weekend.
Um, I went out all weekend with one of your buddies while you were up in OKC seeing some girl who would one day be Sally Brown and Glinda not much, why do you ask?
I nervously chatted, random bits of verbiage hanging in the air ,awkward and gangly.
He kept intently looking at me.
Okay. Whatever. Fine.
Pragmatism.
And midway through one of my clumsy, artless sentences, he pulled me across the console of the car that divided us.
And he kissed me.
While I kept my eyes open wide in shock.
Because this was not a development I had foreseen or played out in my head drama.
Michael has always laughed about how stunned I looked and how I kept trying to talk as he began to pull me toward him. He laughs that he wasn't sure if I was terrified, horrified or some cocktail of the two. But he decided to kiss me regardless.
He had made a decision.
Or had at least closed out one option.
He was going to see where the road would lead with me. He was willing to walk a little way down a path that was adjacent to mine. He was going to take a little hike, do a little sight-seeing.
To see if those converging paths might take us in the same direction.
But he was going to walk slowly. He was going to lead the way and set the pace. This was to be a leisurely stroll. His plans and path were well laid out. He had time lines for his professional and personal goals in place. This would be a test run to see if my path would fall in an orderly fashion next to his.
Poor guy. He hadn't thought about the fact that I am a runner. A die-hard, grind-my-knees-to-powder distance runner.
He'd learn.
