Back from Vacation

If parenting six kids has taught me anything, it's that parenting anything under six kids is a flippin' walk in the park.

In our herd, we have just about every flavor monkey you can imagine. We have monkeys with learning differences. Monkeys that are brilliant. Monkeys that are bossy, monkeys that smell (good or bad, we're not particular), monkeys that whine, monkeys that are amazingly kind, monkey that are dour, monkeys that are hilarious and on any given day, monkeys that are all of the above.

No joke.

So when I decided to go as the SOLO parent to Disneyland with all the monkeys that were available-- which turned out to be only the 3 that I birthed-- I was completely undaunted. In fact, so used to the million monkey march am I, that I invited one of my sister's kids to go with us, to make up for the dramatic loss in numbers.

Oh my GAWD, I am so AWESOME.

FACT: I did take 4 kids to Disneyland, and I was the only parent.

FICTION: I am not awesome. My sister's kid is easier to parent than... something really easy to parent. I don't know what that would be. He is compliant, helpful, kind, mannerly, easy to be around, witty, and distinctly likable, at least in a 2 and a half day stint. We didn't get to day 3, so I have no idea if he smells like fish at that point.

But I will say with all the sincerity that I can muster, it was an easy trip. Mostly because my sister's kid, like my oldest, is 14. He is also my oldest son's best friend. And he and my son hung out with my 11-year old, who felt super cool in the company of teenagers (even if it did include his older brother). So my trip to Disneyland as the solo parent largely consisted of me entertaining my four-year old.

Which if parenting six kids has taught me anything, it's that parenting my four-year old is the hardest thing EVER in human existence... but generally only when she is hungry or tired. Or breathing.

FACT: Hanging out with a four-year old in Disneyland just might be the best way to experience the wonder of that place.

No Fiction.

It was a great trip.

Harry Gets Braces!!

The process:
The product:

Whaddayacallit?

Last Thursday, one of the sunshiniest people I know got her tonsils removed. Gabby, my eight- year old stepdaughter --

--wait. Is that the right word, if I'm not married to her father, but rather, actively choosing instead to have a life-partnership sans fluffy white dress, bad hair and overlong ceremony?

Call it my subtle protest against the people who are against gay marriage.

Call it my even-more subtle way of flipping the bird at "the man."

Call it living in delicious, wrongful sin-- if sin can be delicious while you're busy conscientiously building a life and family for six kids, two dogs and a cat in the process. (I believe it can.)

HERE'S MY ISSUE (well, an issue) : What are the names for things if you have no ring? What do I call wonderful Gabby, if in fact my Parter In Crime (hence, PIC) and I are not formally tied?

Okay and ANOTHER issue: A car loan, three bank accounts and our lease pretty much effing TIE us, I would think. So why can we not be considered domestic partners? (My office won't consider us as such until we've been one-full year in our current living arrangement. DETAILS.)

And then PIC himself. I am a WOMAN. A thirty-seven year old WOMAN. Children have passed through the hallowed halls of my birth canal. Further, PIC is a MAN. A man who "discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn!" I REFUSE TO CALL HIM MY BOYFRIEND.

...ahem.

That said... I want a relationship word for the three monkeys I coparent, whom I happen to care about greatly and-- dare I say it-- LOVE and for whom I have similar dreams and hopes and desires as my biological monkeys: that they grow into happy, functioning adults.

My three whaddayacallems.

Bad mommy

I heard a small voice shouting at me from across the house, and I actually sank lower into my chair. In some kind of ridiculous way, I was attempting to hide even more quietly in my room, while at my computer. I got all still-like, similar to a mouse who's trying to go undetected. The problem is, I'm mommy -- which is EXACTLY like being a brown mouse hiding quietly against a white background. Or like a horn blaring through the silence. Or like a searchlight existing on a dark night. Or... you get the idea.

No worky.

What makes my shrinking particularly silly is that I was entirely alone, behind a closed door in my bedroom, working quietly at my computer which FACES A WALL. I was actually trying to hide what would technically be IN FRONT of my computer, thus remaining in plain sight.

It makes no sense. I know that now.

Seconds later, my brilliant secret lair was infiltrated. A four-year old burst through the door, her hyena-like chatter filling the room with a barky, non-stop patois laced with too many pronouns to follow logically.

POINT: If I lived in the wild, I would be hyena food right now. WORST HIDER EVER.

Post Game Analysis: Week Six

The week started with a delicious blessing -- PIC and I had the WHOLE WEEKEND to ourselves, sans children. We are occasionally blessed with such unfettered time, and we luxuriated over it. we slept in on Saturday, read the paper, lazed about, and then went car shopping.

Apparently that killed the day right there.

Is there anything more exhausting than shopping for a flipping CAR?? (Well, duh. Don't answer that.) I had forgotten that the whole process takes many, many, many hours,even though we picked out what we wanted right away. and the woman who helped us with our contract.... we are somewhat convinced she's a meth addict. A rare meth addict with all her teeth, but still...

Sunday we went for a lovely bike ride, a 26-miler, whereupon PIC's front wheel went ballistic and busted out two spokes at the same time. The front tire was so out of balance, the wheel couldn't even rotate. that was at mile 12. I jammed home and returned with our new pride and joy (aka new car).

When we got home, my sunny and relaxed demeanor was replaced with aches and sniffles, and WHAM! Full-blown sinus infection (no pun intended). YES, for the LOVE OF GAWD, I will STOP writing about my ILLNESS.

For me that was week six. All of it. I was incapacitated for several days, and finally just now am surviving. and PIC's kids have returned back home. We are a blended family once again, with two (currently) whole coparents.