Keeping It Real

I continue to be asked ‘how do you do it? How do you keep your sanity with four boys?’

I don’t know. How do other people keep their sanity? How did all the women before me and who will come after me be a wife and mother and stay sane?

Or, maybe we are all a little Insane! ;)

Recently, a friend of mine told me that she thought our boys were super well behaved. I don’t know where she had been when they acted ‘normal’. She had only seen them in a school setting, where they were behaving (cuz Moma didn’t tell them to behave and they were all separated into separate classrooms). When she and her family came to visit us for a grilled dinner for the first time, she had told her husband she was sure these were the quietest boys she had ever met. Then they pulled into the driveway and were immediately surrounded by four boys yelling “they are here!” as they jumped up and down like some crazed tribal dance and the dog barked hysterically to keep them in line. Her husband had looked at her and said “THESE boys are the quietest boys?”

Someone was recently watching them play hockey in the driveway and asked me “how do you stay motherly when they act like this?” Just then one of them fell pretty hard; but not damage worthy. I looked at him and said “you okay?” when he took a breath from his wailing. “Yah,” he sniffed and then went chasing the ball cheering happily. She winced as he took another hit but kept running. “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I guess I am used to it.” My husband began to recount all our ER trips. He never made it thru them all before they had to leave.

I love my boys. I love to snuggle with them and have them fall asleep near me or give me hugs. I love to watch Curious George (but not Calliou), Survivor Man, Ted Nugent (but not turkey hunting, calling in turkeys (or ducks) on TV is SO annoying), Red Wings Hockey or Pro Bull Riding.

But there are days I do wonder HOW I DO SURVIVE.

This brings me to today. I’ve talked before about my need for help in cleaning. Today is my day to attack laundry.

Yesterday we moved the baby chicks to the chicken coop. They were happy to have more room but my big chicks looked really small all the sudden in the big coop.

The younger two boys and their friend visiting today are dressed in cowboy hats. They are busy “rounding up” chicks in case they get out. Somehow, when they go in to check on the chicks, they suddenly have an emergency round up of one or more chicks.

They were busy with this when I needed to use the bathroom. We have one bathroom and a chance to use it uninterrupted is few and far between. I told you, I’m keeping it real here!

Almost as if a siren went off on the window blaring to the boys “Moma is in the bathroom. Come now with emergencies!” S4 came running in, pulling his pants down “I have to pee!” he is screaming.

‘You have got to be kidding me’, I thought.

As I am convincing him to wait, S3 comes running in. “Moma, look” he says and shoves his croc in my face, under my nose. This stops the conversation with S4 for obvious reasons. “There is chicken poop in my shoe. I have to clean it.”

Chicken poop stinks. Especially so when shoved nearly into your nostril. And I couldn’t get away.

“No no!” I holler as he heads for the sink, “Use the hose!”

He argues he needs a paper towel. I don’t budge on the hose. He shrugs, runs outside and comes back super fast with a dripping shoe. I didn’t realize he had that much time to even turn the hose on, much less get the shoe wet! “Now I need a paper towel,” he says, and he proceeds to wash his shoe with the bathroom sink HAND TOWEL!

I’m watching him, thinking to myself, ‘how often has he done this that I don’t know about?’

I’m thankful today is laundry day.

He runs outside and I’m thinking about the craziness of the boys and life as I wash my hands and realize the faucet is really loud today. I turned the faucet off to realize the hose is running. I quickly dry my hands, run out to see a river pouring beginning down the driveway (now I know why the shoe was wet so fast, the red wagon was already filled with water), holler to shut the hose off, go to in to drink my coffee (ah, energy….) and realize my hands smell.

Like Chicken Poop.

I had used the SAME hand towel S3 had used to ‘wash’ his shoe.

I nearly gagged.

And then I scrubbed my hands a ton and THAT towel from the bathroom is being bleached.

So, really, it’s by the grace of God we are alive and sane.

In more ways than one.