Ladies, (or Gentelmen) I Have a Million Dollar Question

I have been pondering this question for for the past 4 years, since the birth of triplets, and then one more, but in the past two days, it has been rolling through my head like a film strip. I have been trying unsuccessfully to find a logical explanation for my million dollar question.....

Why is it that my husband gets to lay in bed well past the sun has peeked over the horizon while my day started when it was dark enough that the moon could still be seen?

Better yet, why does he get to sleep his sniffles away without even a thought to who's going to get the kids up and out the door for school?

Wednesday morning, the moans and groans coming from my husband's mouth would make one believe that he was on his way out of this world. Expecting to see him round the corner into the kitchen deathly ill, I questioned what his symptoms were that had him feeling "so awful."

Barely able to respond through his pain and misery, he explained that he was "horribly congested." To top it off, he had a "horrible headache." Due to this extreme illness, he was forced to stay home and he retreated to his room and cozied up under his covers. Call me inconsiderate, tell me I have no compassion, but for crying out loud, he has the sniffles.

NEVER-EVER-EVER I have I been able to crawl back in bed because I had a runny nose. In fact, I recall being expected to resume my duties as a wife and a mother just days after a c-section with baby number four. My gut was sliced open and a baby was pulled out and I received not a bit of sympathy or compassion. It didn't matter that I could barely stand up straight, three other children and a husband still had to eat and be taken care of!

* * *

On more days than not, Mark goes with me to drop the kids off at preschool. While talking with another mother the other day, she commented to me how wonderful it was that Mark helped me get the kids ready every morning and brought them to school. It's a good things I was standing near a chair, because it helped me stay standing as I rolled with laughter! I nearly wet my pants!

Through the laughter, I was able to enlighten her. The scene each morning was much different than she expected.

I have walked 2 1/2 miles, taken a shower, woken four kids up, dressed four kids, styled three girls' hair with glitter and bows, made breakfast, poured glasses of milk, made three lunches, added a load of laundry to the washing machine, eaten my my own breakfast of Honey Bunches of Oats with banana, all before Mark even thinks about rolling out of bed. I'm actually his human alarm clock, giving him reminders of the time in between my morning duties. (I must give credit where credit is due....Mark does style Isaac's hair each morning!)

Which brings me back to the question.....Why is it that my husband gets the privilege to catch zzzz's until the very last moment, while I feel like I've already run a marathon?

There must be a logical answer to this million dollar question.....

Anyone?????

Sir, Yes Sir

It has taken birthing four children to make me realize that I could never be in the military. Not that I ever considered it as a career, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, I would have failed before boot camp was over.

How does the birth of four children bring me to this conclusion? It is the fact that I not only gave birth to four children, but to four drill sergeant children. They have always been very demanding with their needs, but in the last few weeks, they've really stepped it up a notch.

They've so perfected the ability to bark orders at me, there are times I feel obliged to stand straighter with my hand firmly placed at my forehead. My hands are safer at my head, as I would prefer to wrap them around little necks cover mouths, choking hushing out the orders!

By 7:30 am yesterday morning, I was already at my wits end. My orders by that time included, but were not limited to, doing hair, helping with shoes, delivering four different cereals to the breakfast table, delivering four sippies of milk to the breakfast table, finding an acceptable cartoon for eating entertainment, making three lunches for school per each sergeants request, and the list goes on.

I'm aware that these are my duties as a mother and I am perfectly fine with that. The problem lies in the way my sergeants ask for things. I might even be able to forgive the way they ask for things as well, but then it's the repetitions that really drive me crazy. If their actions are any indication of what they are thinking, my four kids are under the impression that I am hard of hearing. It's the only logical explanation for why they make the same request 25+ times in less than 3 minutes.

Like a broken record, Annie must have asked me for help with putting on her shoes 15 times within 3 minutes yesterday morning. Her request was perfectly acceptable, however, her timing was all wrong. I was in the middle of making those previously mentioned three lunches and pouring those previously mentioned four sippies of milk when she was barking her orders.

At her first request, I was like an inactive volcano, calmly reminding her that I would help her after I had completed my task at hand.

Even at her second request, I was pretty inactive. Bubbling a bit more than at first, but still calm.

By request 15 I was erupting. Lava poured from me and I wanted to ignite the whole house, shoes included! I'm so thankful that no one was in my line of fire, because if they were, they would have had white tennis shoe for breakfast instead of cereal! Reliving my immaturity is quite comical now, but at 7:30 am yesterday morning, there wasn't anything funny about it!

Because I'd rather be in control than have orders barked at me, I'm going to find and execute a solution to this problem.

My kids would probably suggest hearing aides, which is not a bad idea at all. I'd remove the batteries, place them in my ears, and I'd have instant ear plugs to block out my orders.

Sweet Dreams

Why aren't they this sweet peaceful when they are awake?

Patient Gene

I've decided that if there is any gene that I want the kids to get from their father, it is his patient gene. Not to be confused with the "penny-pinching gene" that fuels the patient gene.

You see, upon discovering that one-fourth of the strand of icicle lights that I was hanging from my patio this afternoon didn't light up, I did the most logical thing. I walked them to the trash can and gently dropped them in. Another strand was about to join the first when my husband realized what it was I was doing.

He was mortified at my actions and I was more mortified at what it was he wanted me to do.

"Just take a working bulb from another strand and replace each of the bulbs on the non-working strand until you reach the one that is burnt out and it will illuminate."

I was completely dumbfounded that he honestly expected me to use my valuable time to complete such a task. I mean, really. That's two strands with one-hundred light bulbs each. You don't have to be a math genius to realize that that is a very time consuming job. If you've ever tried to pull those little pieces out of a strand of Christmas lights, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

To me, paying a few dollars at the local Wal-mart for a few new strands of icicle lights was a much more feasible idea. But because my husband is a cheapskate frugal, he took on the duty of returning the strands of lights to their original working order. And because of his patience, he diagnosed the problem and executed the solution. So, we saved a few bucks, the kids and I learned a few things about patience and persistence, and I have a gazebo that looks beautifully illuminated because of the work of my husband! And with the money we saved fixing those two strands of lights, I can go out and buy some more lights to hang around the yard! Thanks, Honey!

Christmas in November

My kids are going to be in for a big surprise when they wake up tomorrow morning. It is their belief that Santa will be visiting in the night, due to the fact that we decorated our home for Christmas tonight. Their excitement was evident on their faces the whole evening, and I overheard numerous conversations between the four of them, where Santa was the main topic!

They even wrote letter after letter, expressing their love for him.

"Mom, how do you spell, 'We love you, Santa?"
"Mom, how do you spell, 'Dear Santa, we decorated our house for you tonight?"
"Mom, where are we going to send these letters to make sure Santa gets them?"

We agreed that the best place for the letters were tucked inside their stockings. He will easily find them there when he scoots down our chimney to fill the stockings with goodies.

I get the feeling that I will be answering the question, "How much longer until Christmas?" for the next 30+ days. I'm assuming my response will eventually be, "There will be no Christmas at all if you ask me that question one.more.time!"

So Very Thankful

In the midst of the stress of raising four small children, being a wife, and managing a household, it's easy to overlook all that I have to be thankful for. It's easy to get wrapped up in the daily routines and duties, unmindful of all that I went through to have my children. It's so easy to lose perspective, taking for granted what God has blessed me with.

A husband who loves his family and is a wonderful provider, but most of all, a wonderful friend. After being together for over 15 years, there are times when I still get those nervous butterflies in my stomach when he walks into the room.

My social daughter Angel, who keeps me on my toes with her articulate conversations and emotional outbursts. A sister who loves and protects her brother and sisters more than anything.
My easy-going son Isaac whose gentle spirit makes him a pleasure to be around. His love for dinosaurs and transformers seems to be infectious, as he can recruit his three girlie-girl sisters to go back in time with him to the prehistoric ages.

My quiet instigator, Bella who loves to get attention by shyly making comments to those around her. Her precise ideas of how she thinks things should be, sometimes causes friction between her and her siblings.

And last, but certainly not least, my wonderful surprise baby, Annie, who is never.never.ever.ever at a loss for words! She's kept me busier than the triplets ever did at this age, with her gift for gab and interest in pointing out every little detail of every little thing, from a fleck of dirt laying on the sidewalk, to pointing out every "city bus" that we pass on the street.

Not just at Thanksgiving, but each and every day, I'm so thankful for the family God has blessed me with.

Kamahi Cinema

Tonight, it was movie night at our house. After dinner we went to Blockbuster to choose a movie. Within record time, we narrowed down the 36 movies to one...Chicken Little.

Upon arriving home, my husband and I remembered that due to 40 little fingers, our DVD player was in need of a tune up. Because the kids wanted to cuddle on the family room floor with a fire in the fireplace instead of our bed, it was Handy Daddy's job to excavate the old DVD player from the dusty garage and make it work. With a little bit of elbow grease and 75 reminders to the kids to "back-off," the theater was ready to roll the movie.

All of the requests made by the movie-goers were granted:

All of the movie-goers were happy:

But I guarantee you that there is only one movie-goer that could tell you the details of the movie.

I couldn't tell you any more about Chicken Little after having watched the movie tonight than I could have told you before we plucked it off the shelf at Blockbuster.

I was much too busy defending myself against three monkeys who were more interested in wrestling and playing than watching characters on the television screen.

I'm not complaining. In fact, I rather enjoyed the evening. If it weren't for them, I would have been sawing zzzz's by scene 3!