“How do you do it?”
As a mother of eight kiddos all age 13 and under, I hear that question more than any other. It even manages to eclipse the dreaded, “You DO know how this keeps happening, don’t you?” query (in case you are wondering, we do know, and we like it). I often answer with, “On a wing and a prayer!” but if I had to describe a typical day, it would go something like this . . .
It’s a 5am wake up, on weekends too,
When I was already up at ten, twelve, and two.
It’s two cups of coffee–please make that three;
Nursed a baby all night and I’m dead on my feet.
A whole loaf of bread, eighteen eggs on the side;
You’re STILL hungry? I’ll let you finish mine.
It’s taking three minutes to go number two,
While an audience of four impatiently waits on you.
It’s late out the door, and running behind;
Hopefully none of their teachers will mind.
Baskets of laundry that never get done,
There’s 30 loads a week . . . make that 31.
It’s “we don’t hit” and “please wait your turn!”
Wondering, again, if they’ll ever learn.
Dad’s almost home, the day’s almost done;
The countdown to freedom has finally begun.
The last slice of cake, split eight ways with care;
“His piece is bigger!” and “It’s just not fair!”
Packing their lunch, checking their math;
Debating how many I can fit in one bath.
It’s three tiny bedrooms, with trundles and bunk beds,
Just enough room for eight little heads.
It’s just one more story, just one more song;
Who knew that bedtime could take so darn long?!
Praying for patience from God up above,
A gentle reminder that the greatest is love.
It’s one more cup of water, hugs, and prayers,
And I’ll spank your bottom if you come back downstairs
It’s five minutes alone, then someone cries;
A look of defeat in my watering eyes
It’s a husband and father who’s willing to rock
With babies and toddlers; never watching the clock.
It’s an escape to the bathtub with a good book to start;
It’s my house is crammed full–but so is my heart.