Finally blogging again . . .

I am so far behind in my blogging that if I tried to catch up on all the events and pictures I’ve missed, I know I would get bogged down and just never blog again.  So, I’ve decided that I will just fast forward through these last eight months as though they never happened—although I can assure you that they did—and start fresh with this week.  If you are confused (that is if there is actually anyone reading this) and you need clarification or catching up on something, just leave me a comment J

So, it is late.  Way too late.  And, I should be sleeping.  But, I spent most of the evening fighting with my husband—my stove is broken and has been for a month, and he keeps saying he’ll fix it, but hasn’t yet.  (He’s not handy, I know he’s not handy and I love him anyway, but I still keep expecting him to magically become handy).  The stove story is a saga for another post, or most likely just best forgotten.  Anyway, it has been my experience that fighting with one’s husband is not conducive to quickly dozing off (although, perversely fighting doesn’t seem to have the same effect on my husband who is blissfully snoring away right now).  So, I was lying in bed thinking and contemplating all things important as well as all things irrelevant and odd and I thought maybe it would help to just put some things down on paper (or screen as the case may be).  Just be forewarned . . . I’m feeling tired and random.

We have a new foster child.  He’s a three-year-old little boy; in fact, he is one week and four days older than Jeffrey.  We’ve wanted to try doing foster care again for a while, and we are really having a great time with our new little guy.  However, I have found that having one more child has really added a new level of insanity to our lives.  We now have six kids under the age of nine—and three of them are exactly the same size and almost the same age.  It is really pretty hilarious whenever we try to take the whole crew anywhere.  You though it was funny before?  You should see us now. J

So, I have to ask myself this question . . . what is wrong with me??  Why do I have this compunction to keep bringing more children into our lives (because, let’s face it, Jerry is a great sport about it, but you know he’s not out there signing us up for this!).   I have a confession to make . . . sometimes I watch moms that just have one or two kids and it just looks so much easier.  They have enough hands.  They have enough laps for everyone to sit on etc. etc. etc.  So, it’s not like I’m blind to the fact that life is harder with six children than it is with just a couple.  But, still I keep collecting kiddoes.  Maybe I just like things a little crazy and busy and noisy (oh my gosh, you wouldn’t believe the noise!!!).  I think that might be part of it . . . although a lot of the time the crazy, busy, noisiness absolutely drives me up the wall.   

But, in the midst of all this rushing around and feeding children and changing diapers and cleaning and cleaning some more and feeding more children and feeling like a complete loony toon, there are moments of absolute perfection.  That blissful five minutes when all six kids are playing a game together and being so sweet I just want to ignore the mountain of dishes and watch them play.  Or the first time one of them sees a brother or sister crying and rushes in to help them feel better.   

Every day there are moments when I look at one of my children sitting a certain way or saying a certain thing or looking just so perfect and precious and it’s almost like time stands still for just that one second and my heart fills up and I love that child so much that my I feel a physical ache in my chest.  In that moment I know that it is all worth it.  Whatever craziness may come . . . the early gray hairs, the messy house, the noise, the skeptical looks from observers, the frustrations . . . it’s all worth it for these absolutely perfect little munchkins that can make my heart melt with just a little pat on my cheek or a funny look or a word of wisdom spoken with a lisp.  

That is until they start beating each other up over a favorite toy or all six start screaming at the top of their lungs and racing through the house toppling things and people over as they go.  Then I start looking for the nearest traveling circus we could join, because we are just a complete freak show . . . on second thought, maybe I’ll just send the kids . . . then I could finally have some peace and quiet.  On third thought (as I glance into my kitchen with the still not-functioning, torn-apart stove) maybe that circus needs a new handy man too.  I have one I’d like to trade in for a new model. (hee, hee, hee)