This morning we woke to a houseful of five girls. What's one more? Actually, five usually works out to be easier for me than our own four. They entertain one another. I wouldn't want any of the moms who give me kudos and props (there's my one and only attempt to use 1990s lingo... moving on to current slang as soon as I learn it) for keeping "extra" kids so often to figure out my secret.
Was it way too far from the beginning of that sentence to the point? I think so, too. I backed into the point for a REASON, though. I really do feel guilty. We have extra children over all the time, and the other moms in our circle marvel at me.
It feels kind of good to be the recipient of blatant awe. And disbelief. But the truth is out now -- I get more out of the sleepovers and all-day play days than my children do, probably. Worse than that, when a friend asked last weekend if she could take my girls to a large wild animal park or just "away" for the day to help me with my writing deadline, I turned her down. Am I cracked? I just don't like to be without my kids, even when the other person is a long-trusted friend. Even when my own kids beg to go.
I always wanted to have a tribe of children. I grew up with just one brother; we were both teenagers before my sister was born and then we were young adults when we were joined by stepsiblings. So the big-family mystique was strong with me. I often want to snatch other peoples' children on the street. But only when they look like they don't appreciate or feed or bathe their kids often enough. Don't worry... I'm not after yours. Except maybe for a playdate.
In a related matter, I'm signed up, committed to NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo this month. We have an extra child this morning... two extra last night... and it helps me get stuff done and still have my babies around. Mercenary, maybe. But it works for me.
Every day, baby.