Please...Pretty please. Pretty pretty please.

I've said prayers. We've brushed teeth. We've read stories. I've turned off every light to pretend that we live in a tomb.  It's dark outside. It's past the hour when you should be up. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done. 

I am done.  There are no reserves.  My last nerve packed up an hour ago. I'm tired. I'm no longer responsible for my actions, but you should know my motivations are sincere.  I want to stop.   

Twenty-four seven is not viable. 
Even God rested on Sunday. 

So stop already.  I mean really.  I mean, stop or I unplug the wi-fi and trip the breakers. My phone is still charged so I'll wake us up in time. 

Stop or I'll make you fold socks.
Stop or I'll decide it's time for me to control the television.
Stop or I'll put on music and dance to it.
Stop or I'll decide I really should educate my children more and make you listen to me.
Go to bed.   

Your bed is made. The lights are out.  I charge around the house, scaring them with the Mom's gone over the deep end scary voice, turning off the lights and telling them, the day is over, and I want silence.  Lo and behold, I get it. The house is dark. It's quiet. Everyone is in their room. 

I lie down.  I turn off the lights and drink my water.  I sigh with relief and victory!

Now...I can't sleep.    

Anna Jokes...

Joke #1)

"Mom!"

"Yes Anna?"

"I have a joke!"

"Okay."

"Knock Knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Chicken!"

I made the mistake of laughing the first time.  She now says it all the time, with the punch line, "That never gets old."  

Joke #2)

Your name is Mom but it's really Sherry.  Dad's name is...well I hear you call him Marc, but I don't know for sure so I'll call him Question Mark.

Joke #3) At the grocery store:  Mom!

"Yes Anna?"
"If you see a crocodile, it's very important not to forget to say "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Working on an article, so I promised I'd post.  Thanks to Anna for the material.

Conclusive Evidence

I tried sitting to read a book, and the children came and sat on my lap, asked for food, and made at least five demands requiring I get up.

Later, I sat down to write, and one son came with a project, two with a fight over a toy dinosaur, and another with a diaper change.

So I tried an experiment.

I took a chocolate bar and a diet coke and my laptop, and went to the basement. The messy basement that causes any parent to despair, and any child to fear feasting on the spilled toys, because they know a grown up might ask them to clean.

But the trigger is not where am I that draws my offspring.  They found me within minutes. I think I tried too hard.

Doing the dishes I found myself uninterrupted for the entirety of the job.

Vacuuming yielded similar solitude.

Laundry guaranteed in a house of normally between ten and twelve people, I saw and heard no one.

It seems my children sense when Mom is engaged in leisure, and when she is not.  They don't interrupt industrial activity for fear it will generate more industrial activity, but know if I'm anxious to get back to something that is fun, I will probably accommodate their wishes faster, and that if I'm doing work, I'll probably notice they're not working.

As the saying goes, knowledge is power.

So this post is being written amidst the sock pile, in hopes the cover of a hated chore will thwart their mom radar long enough for me to take a break.

One child has come to sit next to me in the socks.  I'll have to keep fine tuning my camouflage.

Don't Ask Why

Every once in a while, part of my brain must feel I don't suffer enough, and so I venture into my children's room to help with the upkeep.  That part of my mind (secretly masochist) is never disappointed.   I suppose I should feel grateful, otherwise that gremlin in my subconscious would force me to exercise.

Today, I found my middle son sleeping on his bed on his pillows with no pillow cases.  I know there were cases on them yesterday.  They're not there today.  I'm pretty sure he ate them in his sleep.  I'm considering buying organic ones so that if he is consuming them, at least he'll be getting some fiber in the process.

You're probably thinking "Sherry, you're overreacting. Come on, it's a pillow case."  I would agree, if this were the first, second, third, or even possibly the fifteenth time.  But I have a history with this child. We make the bed.  We talk about how it should look.  Almost every morning, it does not look that way.  Most notably, the pillow cases are awol.  Sometimes I find them.  Some are still missing. I've not yet resorted to a hidden camera to discover what happened, but that time may come.

Moving to another son's room, I opened the closet.  Perhaps an ill considered move, but it did explain where the case of 35 water bottles I bought yesterday went.  The kid is a runner so I get needing hydration, but to hide them in his closet so as to prevent all others from infringing on his water rights smacks of a type of corporate mentality I don't favor.  So I'm leaving a note for the lad, and a tall plastic cup in his closet.   "You have a sink.  You have a cup.  You have unlimited water at your fingertips.  Don't go Nestle on me.  Love, Mom."

Lest you think I only pounce on the boys, or that the girls are less challenging, my youngest owns three pairs of shoes.  We only have the left one of each of them.  I have searched.  I've resolved not to buy new shoes until we've explored every option, for I know the moment I come home with new footwear, all the old shall reveal itself and I'll be torn between returning said shoes and now having another pair she can lose.

Another girl thinks water other than from the pool, will result in a Wicked Witch of the West type melting.  "I took a shower yesterday." is her favorite explanation of why today, she should be exempted.  Worse, others are starting to take up her call. "Save the water. Save the laundry.  I don't need it." Granted, that would leave more water for the hoarder son to drink, but still.  I've created a check box next to her (and all the others I have to trust but verify) to ensure next to Godliness is maintained.

Parenting is about sacrifice, continuing on, and loving when what you really want to ask over and over again, and maybe get an answer, is "Why?"

Why do they leave towels and clothing on the floor NEXT to the laundry basket provided for receiving them?

Why do they cut open an watermelon and scoop out a perfect sphere of fruit from the middle?

Who bit through the bar of cheese?

How can the ones who need naps never sleep and the ones who theoretically are youthful and full of energy require 17 hours of rest a day?

What makes it okay to always save the ends of the bread for my sandwich?

Why does doing the dishes mean leaving the pots and pans for me?

These questions go unanswered, even if asked.

It has taken twenty-two years of experience to come to the understanding behind all of it.   It came as a result of my daughter's shopping spree. She'd explained she needed some things.  I agreed.  I gave her a budget, a credit card and dropped her off at the mall.  Two hours later, she came back with bags.  She'd eaten in the food court, picked up some headphones and bought perfume.

"Did you get what you needed?"

She'd forgotten.
The answer is simple.  Don't ask why. They're not holding out on us. They don't know.

You Know You're a Mother When....

10) You feel like you slept in when you get up at 7:15 am. 

9) Your six year old shows you how to blow the dandelions so you'll get to have wishes, and you're wishing, please don't let my lawn be nothing but dandelions, but spend the next thirty minutes blowing dandelion seeds anyway.  

8) Cleaning a room, you find a naked barbie that's been "fixed."  Someone painted a yellow swimsuit onto her.  

7) You've become accustomed to eating end bread sandwiches.  

6) Someone asks, "What do you want to do today...." and it takes you a minute to think that way.   

5) You step on the scale, or look in the mirror and catch the grey and think, I earned those.   

4) Before you've felt their heads or they've said anything, you know who's sick.   

3) If you want to eat ice cream alone, you lock the door to your room with the tv on, and then go hide in the laundry room.   

2) You can tell anyone the exact location of shoes, the keys, their favorite shirt, the towels, and what's in the refrigerator defrosting for dinner.  You cannot remember what you ate yesterday, or a sentence from the last book you read.   

1) You feel like you went to bed early if it's before 12 midnight.   

Happy Mother's Day (One day late).   I had to share the computer with the kids getting their homework done.  :)    

Somebody Stop Me Before I Sign Again

You would think at forty-eight, I'd know something.

But just as crocuses pop out of the ground in the spring, I sign up my kids for activities and so the mad scramble to get from point A to point B begins anew.  It always seems so innocent before we begin.   The 7th grader wants to run track. I'm thinking, that's great.  Her older brother runs track.  

The 3rd grader wants to do soccer.  I'm thinking, awesome, she didn't get to do basketball because they didn't have enough people to field a team so she'll love it.  

I've only signed up two people.  Given my past track record, where I signed up three for basketball,one for singing lessons, and three others for ballet, I thought "I've matured. I've come to know how much I can manage. I no longer overstuff the crust of our lives with cheesy after school and weekend activities."  It's just two kids. How bad could it be?   Well... track practice for the 7th grader is on Wednesday, the same day as CCD which used to be on Tuesday but I had to switch it to Wednesday because soccer practice is at the same time CCD would be on Tuesday.  What was a one trip out one trip back day, is now a game of car mom ping-pong.  

Saturday...son gets bus ride to track meets most times, but not always.  Daughter gets no rides to track meets.  They are everywhere.   I also forgot about band, which has a concert on Sunday in Downtown DC.  

This sort of mad schedule doesn't include the new wrinkle of not having a machine that can take all of us, or the two months to go reality of our oldest needing to get from his work (at a school) back to the campus (for a class) and then back to work in the middle of the day, twice a week.  It's a class he can't miss, but which requires either the invention of a teleportation device, mutant flying powers or me driving over after the kids are put on the bus, to take him to the campus from school and wait around for an hour and then back again before home.  I'm thinking of lacing his birthday cake with radioactive waste and rooting for the mutant powers.  

So I'm adopting a new policy.  I have ten kids.  Each of you get a month long activity.  Two months we get off.  If you don't like the sport allocated to your 30 month period....have some cake.   If you grow wings and can get yourself from point A to point B, I'll sign you up.  

How to Get a Baby to Come (Not Really)

*Inspired by a cousin and his wife, who are expecting a baby any day now.  Please do not start rumors about me.  

Having weathered ten successful pregnancies, I can tell anyone who asks with absolute certainty, there is no way to make those people get a move on absent a petocin drip, and sometimes, even that doesn't work.  Nope.  Best to understand now before the kiddo shows up, these little people, despite their small size, have minds of their own and schedules that do not consult you.  

But when I was expecting, I got all kinds of kindly advice about how to make the babies arrive ahead of schedule, most of them about as useful as hiccup cures, and being based on about as much scientific evidence. 

5) Eat something.  Usually, around 8 months, I'd begin getting suggestions from local establishments about how if I ate #14 on the a'la carte menu, I'd be pushing the latest kid out before the dinner rush.  These testimonies often included vivid descriptions of flooding said restaurant, or deliveries I could take out and take home.  They also often resulted in sad faces on said owners of establishments when I'd deliberately opt not to eat whatever it was, if only to be able to return again some other day and not die of embarrassment.  

4) Whatever you do, you're doing it wrong.  I found if I was exercising, the general consensus was rest.  If I was resting, "You should exercise." The bottom line, everything not causing a contraction must be preventing it.  

3) Smells.  There is something about having a belly the size of a basketball that makes strangers want you to sniff things.  Note to eager perfume hawkers, cigar experts and other fans of aroma based therapy, it doesn't work.   It does however make the pregnant woman nauseated, which one might suspect is a bad idea. 

2) Lucky hats, socks, coats, maternity sweaters...if they were lucky, you used it up. But they are probably just hats, socks, coats and maternity sweaters you happened to be wearing when the little timer in your kiddo finally popped up and said, time to get going!

1)  The only thing I know works is this: Go about making plans. Make them fun. Make them big.  Get to work on making them happen. Eventually, the baby will disrupt plans.

If You Want the Job of Mom...

Attention children.  It has come to our attention that many of you believe you have a keener understanding of what might be necessary to raise all of your siblings safely to adulthood.  You have generously offered your opinions on dinner, discipline, homework, bedtime policies, seating arrangements, errands to be run and budgeting.  As such, I wish to let you know that all serious candidates for the position shall be given an interview to act as surrogate parent in the event I need a break.  Please fill out the following application and submit it along with a resume, signed affidavit indicating you know the position is strictly voluntary and not compensated monetarily, and waiver for all injuries, illnesses or poor academic performance resulting from limited hours for adequate rest.

1. Two children want the same cookie.  Both are snarling at the other and threatening bodily harm.  Without eating the cookie, solve the problem.  Explain your method.  ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
2. After resolving said issue, same two children engage in a silent war during homework.  Establish peace while ensuring all assignments are completed correctly by the correct individuals.  ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
3. It's bed time.  Estimate the time needed to get all under the age of 12 to be cleaned up, brushed, dressed for bed and lights out.  Bonus if you can work this magic under five hours without resorting to threats of serious parental carnage.   ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
4.  There are 11 miles from the school to home.  Without resorting to the drive-thru, get all of them home without a fight.  (Hint: You can make more than one trip).  ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
5. No one likes dinner.  You:
      a) make them eat it anyway.
      b) offer cold cereal until you discover, we're out of milk.
      c) make a new dinner.
      d) start bedtime routine.
      e) order pizza for yourself
      f) more than one of the above.
      g) none of the above.  Threaten all with dish duty who don't eat.

6.  There is a fight over socks. Resolve without bloodshed.

Applicants should also submit themselves to a rigorous physical test involving the carting of several large stubborn oxen up three flights of stairs, washing six cats and dressing 17 chickens in school mass uniforms in addition to loading the car with backpacks and making 7 lunches.  They should all be in the van in car seats. The test starts at 5:45 and is over at 7:50. If you've not made it to school by then with all dressed, in tow and with all necessary equipment, repeat the process each day until you do.

Stress Management or Not

My kids signed me up for a stress reduction seminar.  Apparently my nightly dinner table rants about the 13 laundry baskets never unloaded, nervous twitchy left eye whenever someone mentioned missing shoes and near pathological demand for five hours of sleep had struck a chord.

“We’re thinking, you might need a break.” My oldest one helpfully offered, handing me the brochure.

It seemed like a good idea in theory, however mothering ten children isn’t something the kindly women at the U R GR8! Spaemporium were used to even contemplating. 

The first lady talked about using colors to coordinate children and manage temperaments.  For example, she suggested a red folder for the child that needs motivation to get going, and a soothing teal folder for the child that needs to pay attention and sit still. I asked what I should do with the soothed teal kid who sees red when he gets a girly folder, the perky girl who will be sad if her folder isn’t pink and sparkly, the kindergartner who only likes purple, the son who wants the same thing as her and the teen who wants everything black but then tells me it’s depressing.  

“How many do you have?” she asked, taken aback.  When I told her, she said that color management probably wouldn’t be as effective with so many varying energies in the same domicile. “It’s not designed to use all the colors of the rainbow.”

“That’s good because there are only seven available and I’d need three more.” I responded, though I was sure one of the kids would have found being Ultra Violet rather cool.

On to the Feng Shui expert then for how to arrange all these chakras so they wouldn’t collide into each other and cause a nuclear meltdown of emotionally epic proportions. 

After ten minutes of playing kid tetris wherein we attempted to position each person in their own personal space, taking into account the wandering monster principle of sibling rivalry: whomever is happy shall be overcome, whomever is industrious shall be sabotaged, and if you’re eating it, it was mine first, she suggested I get rid of my own stress points first by consulting the yoga teacher. 

Alas, my body long ago surrendered to gravity.  It was never athletic even when it was young.  Getting into the “crow” position, I could only imagine the temptation of some of my children, seeing their mother with her legs tucked under her elbows, posterior waving and bobbing as she balanced on two hands, to give a giant kick.  Motherhood is already a series of Sisyphean tribulations born out of love; I didn’t see how contorting myself out of whatever dignity I might have left would alleviate my stress. 

In desperation, the three women consulted each other over my case.  Issuing a full refund and a chocolate bar, they wished me well. I could only respond after chomping down on the gift, “Namaste.” 

However, I do feel much better.

Covering Books

Back when I was a kid, they sent home these cardboard covers printed with a yeasty smell.  As kids, we loved them because they advertised for Carnation Restaurant, a place directly across from our school that served fresh ice cream.  We hoped that covering the books would subliminally convince our parents to take us to get sundaes. (It almost never happened). I think they were exhausted from having to cut/fold/tape so many books.  Having only had to do this as a teen ager, I know my books never looked like my classmates, mine usually lost their book covers within weeks if not days, while other kids had books that were so expertly wrapped, you'ld have sworn the Carnation ad was intended as the cover. 

Now we have book socks and contact paper. Book socks I can handle, provided I pay attention at the end of the year when all used book socks become hats for pirates, costumes for superheros and sometimes princesses and pickachus.  But the contact paper, I can buy the industrial strength roll, and I still never have enough. 

Also, contact paper is a seasonal item, meaning once Labor day has passed, you can't find it except at the specialty education store lodged inbetween a Maytag repair shop and a tobacco store and you will pay through the nose for that clear sticky stuff. Personally, I've never understood why we need cover the books; it's not like we don't know we're giving these things to children who will beat them up, and it's not like we have any sentimental feelings towards these tomes that we will be forcing them to open and answer for the next nine months. 

I've started missing the cardboard wrappers of my youth despite knowing that my wrapping skills of yore still haven't improved, and that I'd embarrass my children dreadfully if allowed to showcase my book covering ability in public at my age.  But I stand by my feelings.  I miss the do it yourself book covers.  At least then, I'd let the subliminal messaging work on me, cover the darn things dutifully as required, and head out for some last minute of the summer ice cream. 

Things I've Heard and Learned This Summer

10) No matter what you call them...lime...kiwi...honeydew...no one wants the green popcicles.

9) If they haven't had a sunburn at least once, they haven't been outside enough.

8) It is always meal time...unless you are serving green popcicles.

7) Four year old daughter turned to me in all seriousness after I finished fixing her ponytail on top, "Mom....Always Remember....Never poop in  your pants." 

6) Inhaling does not make the car get slimmer when your son is driving too close to a mailbox. Imaginary breaks don't work either.

5) Whenever you stop at a fresh produce stand, put half of what you want to buy back...you will be full before you can get to it.

4) Whenever you go to the library, put half of the books back, so you'll lose fewer.

3) Dinner on Pool day is funnel cake.  Anyone who objects can help themselves to the green popcicles.

2) You only get a bath on pool day if you ate a green popcicle.

1) Bringing Mom her laptop, a diet coke and a dish of ice cream is an effective bribe against me ever bringing up Summer Math books.  But in reality, you could just bring me a bottle of water and a lime popcicle, I've come to appreciate them...if only from repeated exposure.  As for the math books, it doesn't take much...(I don't like them either).

Destruction in Their Pathway

Look at any baby store, any parent magazine and you will discover that the home we live in 24-7 is unsafe for children and requires at least two thousand dollars worth of specialized equipment to help them reach the tender age of four. But for all the talk of how one has to make a house safe for an infant, the reality is steeper than a newbie parent can possibly bear.

Alas, those veterans out there know it well; a baby needs no protection from the house. The house needs protection from the baby. As my Grandfather and Grandmother would say (and they raised nine), "Destruction in their pathway! Destruction in their pathway!"

The following policies have been devised over years of extensive research (born of hard knocks), to prevent maximum property devaluation from occurring before said toddler reaches the age of reason or the domicile is condemned.

Rules for Toddler Proofing a Home.

Rule #1. Ban writing equipment. As of this moment, all pens, markers, crayons, pencils, paint brushes, nail polish applicators, lip sticks, high lighters, sharpies, white out, paint, India ink, mascara and glue are officially illegal. They may not be purchased. They may not be borrowed. They may not be accidentally brought home in one’s purse or briefcase or backpack. Older children in school will have to complete their assignments either before coming home or on the computer. Those needing to use actual writing utensils will be taken to a separate location, like a library, neighbor’s house, or large rural vacant field and allowed to return only after the assignment has been completed and a thorough body search has revealed no contraband crayons, pens, pencils or markers are entering the vicinity.

Please understand that these precautions may not protect your walls from toddler creativity entirely. Once, I found my daughter drawing on the window with a banana; inspiring rule #2.

Rule #2. Hide Consumables. All food shall be placed at a height of 60, no… they can use chairs and a broom, 70, no… they can climb, 84 inches or higher to prevent scavenging. This includes traditional foods thought to be the preferred choices of toddlers, like multi-colored gold fish, Oreo cookies, apples and juice boxes, and some items that most adults would consider at the very least, unusual; examples of this alternative eating include free basing Maple Syrup, chomping a stick of butter like a candy bar and grabbing whole fists of ground beef before it’s cooked.

Rule #3. No Car For You! Like your vehicle? Hide your keys. Why? Car keys are fun. They make excellent experimental objects for scratching things like dishwashers, wall paper and actual cars. Keep keys in a box on the top shelf of the cabinet to guarantee maximum safety or be willing to suffer the damages plus the embarrassment of being awakened on a Sunday by the annoying car alarm going off that turns out to be yours.

Rule # 4. Constant Vigilance! Consider installing a close circuit TV and an ankle bracelet. Why? Because toddlers do 16 things in the time it takes an average adult to pour a cup of coffee. In the time you’ve spent reading these tips, your anniversary watch just went into the pewter pitcher in the lower cabinet. Because that particular pitcher is the one you use for special occasions, you’ll find your watch next Mother’s Day preferably before you go to pour in some orange juice.

Upside: You’ll find out all your kid does.
Downside: Humanity cannot always bear that much reality.

Rule #5.  Fairness and Order. Explain to older children it is unjust to use the fact that they are living with an essentially non civilized entity with opposable thumbs to their own advantage. The two year old did not mess up your room or strip the bed or leave the toilet scrubber in the middle of the room. Okay, maybe that last part, but own your own mess. Even SHE can’t have done all of this.
Veteran Tip: If you implement rule 4, you can even produce evidence, though in some cases, you might opt to destroy the tapes.

Rule # 6. Contain Yourself. All liquids stored in the house, be they ketchup or water, Windex or shampoo, will be triple sealed to prevent a "help yourself" mentality that has lead to more than a few moments of hyperventilating on the part of Mom. They will also be stored out in the garage. Yes it’s a pain but keep reminding yourself of how long it took to clean up the olive oil from the carpet and you will see the wisdom of this system.

Drinks served at meal time will be in sippy cups for all family members. No exceptions. This will prevent any unfortunate run-ins with electronic equipment that does not like liquid. Cabernet with a touch of ice does surprisingly well in a plastic container.

Special Veteran Note: Do not mix up sippy cups!

ONE FINAL NOTE:
Take lots of pictures of her when she draws her arm entirely purple with the one marker left in the house, or when she stomps on grapes in the kitchen. This impossible stage fortunately is blessedly short, and you’ll want proof for when she has two year olds herself one day of why you can just listen and laugh.

Editor’s Note: These six rules were compiled from the antics of nine different children going through the stage of being two. Cupie Doll, a.k.a. Miss Chief, it wasn’t all you.

Summer Regulations

School's out and before the summer takes over my children's brains, I need to set a few ground rules to ensure all of you have a fun productive 81 days. 

10) Breakfast will be served between the hours of 7 and 9.  If you are up after 9, you must serve yourself and wash up the dishes from serving yourself.  Before 7, there is no breakfast, no snacks, no kitchen chef. Mom is closed.

9) Do not say the word "Bored" in my presence.  Using this word will result in immediate censure and an assignment of reading a book.  Repeat offenders will be given the alternative assignment of folding the laundry.

8) Lunch is served at 12, not 11, not 10:30 and not 2.  It also does not consist of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream except if Mom is having a VERY bad day.

7) Hygeine rules like regular bathing, brushing teeth and fresh clothes in the morning still apply.  They never do not apply.

6) Asking you to do the dishes or put away the towels DOES NOT ruin your day.

5) If I turn off the machine, it is to stay off.

4) Remember there are multiple ages in this family; not every activity shall be geared towards your maximum enjoyment.  Normally, you don't have to go.  However you do have to go if you say "That's  boring" and hurt other people's pleasure.

3) Remember there are multiple ages in this family; not every activity is for every child.  You do not get to say, "No fair!" and demand your spot at the table when it's not for you. 

2) Bedtime still exists. 

1) If mom is slumming and reading a book, napping or otherwise enjoying summer, please do not interrupt her with demands for a ruling over who gets the last popsicle; because the answer will be "Me."  

Thank you, that is all.

Selective Attention Test

The SAT catches about half the people who watch it. This was considered ground breaking as a scientific experiment about how the brain does not see all that is there.

Big deal.

Every mom KNOWS that children have selective attentive awareness. If asked, they probably all spot the gorilla. However, the same observant ones cannot find a shoe on the floor by itself in front of them.

As further proof, I submit the following.

I lamented that if I did not point something out, it would not happen. It was doubted and roundly rebuked by all that of course they saw things and took initiative.

So I conducted an experiment. How many days will people walk around the 14 laundry baskets BEFORE taking the folded items up to their rooms?

Day 1. 14 baskets. Can't quite get to the TV but by moving them around, there's still some room.
Day 2. 14 baskets. Moved around. Now watching DVD's downstairs instead.
Day 3. Mom is trying not to go nuts. 14 baskets now like badly shunted freight cars.
Day 4. Two more baskets have been added to manage the overflow.
Day 5. Kids raid the baskets but none of them are moved.
Day 6. The Gorillia that is Mom thumps on her chest and says, "You all spent the whole week walking around the baskets, fishing in them, but none of you put them away.

Answer: "We thought you weren't finished."
...
Question: If I could stomach it, how many days would the baskets remain. 

Answer: I've decided, I haven't that degree of scientific method in me.

Maybe I Watch the Food Network a Little Too Much

Yesterday, I served dinner.  It was standard pasta rigatoni with butter, a touch of cheese and green beans on the side.  Admittedly, I used paper plates since no one including me was feeling too up on doing the dishes. 

My five year old said, "Thank you chef." and after blessing, took a delicate bite of pasta.  She raised her hand and said, "Chef, could you come  here a moment?"  She then explained that maybe her dish had a little too much salt.  "Did you taste the food before you served?" she asked giving an Iron Chef judge type searing look into my eyes.  I was waiting for her to say, "Please pack your knives and go." when she then was overridden by her younger (YOUNGER) sister, three weeks from four.  "I think it's very good pasta.  The sauce is nice."  she explained. 

"You could have added shrimp. It would have been even better with a touch of shrimp." my eleven year old son suggested.

"And it would look better and be more appetizing if it was served on real plates." my other son put in by way of concurrence. 

"But I don't know how many of you like shrimp, and I do know all of you like buttered pasta." I began.

"Well, you know Mom, you really could expand your flavor palate for us." my oldest daughter volunteered.  Mind you, I cook 33 meals a day minimum, (not counting snacks) and serving for the masses has watered down my menu, I don't want to put forth effort to receive "This tastes like yuck." as a response.

Facing the reality that these food critics were very kindly telling me to step it up a notch, I agreed to designated one night a week for experimentation night.  As I mull through the possibilities, browsing my cook books in a day dreamy kind of way, the realist in me pipes up.  "Ten bucks says next week when you serve them sausage and polenta....they ask for cold cereal or buttered pasta."  But I'm still game, and if the realist turns out to be right after a month of experimentation, I may have to cut back on watching Food Network.

The Purgatory of Purging

Every so often, a purging instinct hits me and I start sorting through all of our home like a cleaning bulimic.  Armed with a laundry bag, a trash bag and a sorting bin, their rooms become my hunting ground and I am ruthless for the first 20 minutes.  Then I get hit with the howls of misery from not always quite a child, and that calls a halt to the process. 

As such, my home  is the laundry version of purgatory.   There are shirts consigned to be immortal in my home with all their flaws and faults and stains.  Worn by no one, but none the less loved, they languish in storage bins awaiting final judgement.

There are times I have prevailed, sending them off to a better or worse place, but the children claim to have mental scars from my victories.

Since I am never without witnesses, I cannot wait to do this task until the last child starts school or our house will explode from overcrowding of tread bare t-shirts. As such, I tried involving them in the process but found they showed as much enthusiasm for this activity as one would for root canal.  I pointed out that this extraction was painless but my eleven year old (who has had a root canal explained), so was the root canal thanks to anesthesia. To get this to happen, I needed to sweeten the deal; he suggested the option to buy new clothes.  I pointed out that sweet deals are what caused the root canal and substituting new beloved items for old ones did not buy me any more storage space which is ultimately what I was seeking. 

When I got a willing participant, conversations things usually ended with me putting as much as possible into the throw away bag and the child frantically seeking clemency for each item.  

Eventually at least one item from the throw away pile would be rescued despite the fact that 1) it doesn't fit, 2) it's torn and 3) the actual color is no longer discernible.   If a trip to the local donations box was not immediate, further rescues would be made.  When I'd find clothing I knew I'd thrown out back in the laundry, they use the fall back claim, "But Mom, I can wear it for pajamas" and "I can hand it down to so-and-so."  I guess if Catholic theology won't work for saving the Pokemon t-shirt, perhaps Buddahism will do.

They'd then lovingly carry said items back to their rooms for fear I'll evict the shirts like a wrathful god, all the time giving me reproachful looks for wanting to discard some of the fabric of their childhood.

Translation: I am stuck with these shirts until I recognize the perfection in their imperfectness.  Shoot!  I thought the purgatory was for the clothing, not for me!

I'll Have a Banana Split

In this down economy, we no longer employ my favorite survival crutch, a maid service with the wonderful name, “Crisis Cleaners.” So now, I must cajole, bribe, entice and warn with a scary low calm voice, my children into keeping their rooms neat and the public areas of the house reasonably free of debris.

The following are provided as a public service to parents everywhere, methods of getting the under 18 crowd to clean up their acts, however temporary.

One Room at a Time Tornado: If I send each child to clean, they will scatter to the four corners of the house, knowing that as I work, I will only rarely come into contact with all of them, thus allowing whoever does not get caught in my peripheral vision to remain in relative obscurity and leisure. By corralling all the critters in a single room and declaring, “We’re not leaving this room until it is perfect.” and blocking the door, the room will sparkle. Some children may get roughed up by others in the process. That’s okay as long as they don’t make a mess of the carpet.

The down side: When they grow up, they will write about you.

One Task at a Time: This approach seems promising, with a Socialist, Each Task according to His/her Skill, appointment of duties. Gamers however soon discern that incompetency equals easier work. So despite the fact that my sons can enter cheat codes and create power points, text message without looking and create 1000 part Lego masterpieces, the operation of a dish washer, washing machine and the mop remain mysteries. For a time, we were at an impasse. However, as I now have the passwords to all the computers in our home, I now can conveniently “forget” how to log onto the machines until they remember how to operate a vacuum.

The One Task at a Time method works as long as tasks can be clearly delineated, but sometimes, the house needs an overhaul in cleanliness, which leads us to the next method of extracting a clean home, straight bribery.

We paid a professional to get the home clean on occasion. Now, we shall pay the amateur. Putting post-its on the rooms with the designated required tasks and the going rate does lead to competitive cleaning. As long as the dollars are cold hard cash and not checks, you can get a room that looks like it was cleaned by a kid for pennies on the dollar. The trouble is, they expect prompt payment and usually, the rooms require a professional (Mom), to go through and redo. The money pays for the illusory feeling of children obeying commands.

Beat the Clock: This works when they are three and you have a fist full of Hershey bar mini’s for the kids who help clean up in the next two minutes. I could tell you that I don’t use it because I worry about cavities or obesity or that my kids have gotten wise to this approach but the fact is, Hershey bars don’t last long in our house, and it’s not because of the children.

The one guaranteed method of getting the home House beautiful is to enlist the aid of my beloved spouse. If Dad is cleaning, then no child has a prayer of exonerating themselves or escaping the chore taskmaster me. We set the timer for one hour and everyone cleans. There are Windex bottles spraying windows, toilets being scrubbed, floors mopped and a vacuum humming everywhere. There are flourishes like children who put fresh flowers on the table or the enterprising nine year old who straightens the pantry and by the end of the sixty minutes, the house looks like civilized people might live here.

After an hour, everyone is exhausted and the idea of dirtying the sparkling kitchen with pots and pans seems a poor tribute to the children’s actual work. So we’ve added a bonus to Sunday One Hour Clean up rule. Dinner on Sunday is Sundaes, and we go out to get them. Now, I just have to figure out how I can manage my diet if we keep the house clean.