By the numbers

4:  the average number of toys/board games/collections of toys/sets of Lego's I can clean up in 15 minutes.
37:  the average number of toys/board games/collections of toys/sets of Lego's my children can dig out in those same 15 minutes.

10:  the number of children it sometimes feels/sounds like we have in our house.
1/2:  the factor by which that estimate is reduced when any one of our children is out of the house.

2:  maximum number of consecutive hours I can spend out of the house without baby Mark.
1.5:  the number of stores I can actually visit in that amount of time.
4:  the number of stores I typically need to visit when I leave the house alone.

342:  the approximate number of episodes of Phineas and Ferb produced by the Disney Channel since its inception.
342:  the approximate number of episodes of Phineas and Ferb I've been privileged to watch...usually multiple times over.

2:  the number of peanut butter sandwiches our 3 oldest can split for lunch.
14:  the number of requests for hot dogs we must endure during said lunch.

30:  the number of minutes it normally takes Mark to nurse.
30:  the number of minutes I accidentally slept today while Mark nursed for his 11:30 feeding.  Consequently also the number of minutes late lunch then became for the older kids.

500:  number of times per day I wonder to myself, "what exactly am I doing here???"

783:  number of times per day it's all okay...cause someone smiles

I hear voices. No, really.

It never fails.  No matter what is going on in the house, the instant I step into the shower I hear them.  Small little voices who are apparently related to me.

Mama, Sissy hit me!
Mama, look what I made!
Mama, is it snack time?  (this one always comes while breakfast is still on the table)
Mama, can I go outside?
Mama, what's the square root of 5,337?  (okay, no one's asked this, but they might as well have)

I have tried so many things to dispell them.  Food.  Toys.  Videos.  Outside time.  Money.  But the water draws them.  Even if I hear nothing for a full 20 minutes before my shower, as soon as I'm wet they come.  They need kisses when I have shampoo in my hair and referee-ing (is that a word?) while I wash my face.  Nevermind what they do while I shave my legs...

I've heard rumors of other women experiencing the same thing.  Perhaps there should be a support group, maybe an underground network of mildly-insane mothers.  I'm thinking of enlisting the help of one of those paranormal study groups you see on television.  I'll let you know how that goes...

I think I'm in like (alternately titled: are there enough parnetheses in this post?)

I've found a new friend.  One that helps me immensly.  In an unexpected place, I might add.  You see...I am not "crunchy" (see definition #2).  At all.  On those little "How Green Are You?" quizzes, I generally get about 2 points, one for recycling (which is probably the easiest, most accessible (read: lazy) way to be any shade of green) and one for packing my kids' lunches in reusable containers (which I honestly do only because it costs less money).  So that's the sum of my crunchiness.  Except for this:

(not actually me.  or my baby.  but it is the same color as mine.)

This is a Hotsling...and I feel special wearing it.  Now, babywearing is generally a crunchy thing to do--it keeps you attached to your baby, promoting bonding and happiness...or something like that.  Truthfully, I bought this thing with one image in mind:  a Wal-Mart shopping cart.  Imagine me, pushing my cart with my cute, talkative 2-year-old in the seat; my wandering, equally cute and talkative 4-year-old walking beside (or more likely 8 feet in front of) me; my brand-new infant in his humongous, high weight infant seat taking up the entire basket of the cart; and my groceries, sitting...where???  Exactly.  This became my biggest worry at about 7 months pregnant, so I found a workable solution.  Workable, of course, meaning relatively cheap (Ebay, my friends, Ebay) and easy to use.

Fast forward a few months and we find a new level of weirdness--Mark.  Does.  Not.  Like.  A.  Pacifier!  Maybe it's just me, but this is a huge big deal.  I mean, how else do you get a baby quiet at the drop of a hat (or in this case, a piece of silicone)?  Paci's have always been a welcome, loved untensil in our babyworld...until now.  Enter the wonders of the sling.  Baby's sleepy and we're going into a store (church, doctor's appt, park, etc...)?  Hotsling.  Baby is almost ready to nurse and I need 10 minutes to make lunch for the rest of the tribe?  Hotsling.  I've actually decided to actually try grocery shopping without leaving the kids at home with Daddy?  Hotsling.  Oh, and the Museum of Life and Science?  Hotsling ALL the way.

You know that feeling you get when you've conquered a little piece of the world?

Yeah.  I gots it.

I can see the future.

I caught a vision tonight of my son.  My baby son, who clutches my shirt as he nurses and squishes into a little lump when he falls asleep.  As I podered his babyness while rocking him in his room, I could see him in his brothers' footsteps...

...at the table eating waffles with the sun shining through the window behind him.
...climbing into his "big boy" bed, which is really just the crib without a rail.
...running to chase balls down the slope of our back yard.
...walking toward the school building paying no attention to the fact that he just left his mother in the car.

Woah.

A Boy and His Blocks

If you give a boy some Legos...

he may or may not ask for the instructions.

He'll make sure all the personnel are in order.

His work will start a trend among his peers,

but he will remain focused on his task.

He will work until his project is finished...

...with a few pieces left over.

A Princess Tale

If you give a girl a princess dress...

she'll need a purse to go with it.

She'll want to wear all her best jewelry,

and she absolutely must have a tiara.

She'll pull out all her favorite princess books,

and she might even build her own castle.

Once she's finished, she'll need a snack...

so of course she'll host her own tea party.

She pays attention to even the smallest details.

She is, after all, a princess.