six word fridays: easy

Evening outings that stretch out late
run! play! juice boxes! now: BEDTIME!

Oh wait, no. That’s not easy.
That’s a recipe for a meltdown.


naptime… bedtime… mealtimes… outings… hmm. nope.

I haven’t any expertise in ‘easy.’

(luckily I’m still good at ‘fun.’)



This week’s topic: EASY. Because something somewhere must be.

Need directions? Or the button? Want me to email you next week’s topic? I’d love to. Check out this page.


fairies: this way, please

You know how it is, when you’ve had a long day, and the children seem more tired than usual all evening, and then when they finally fall asleep you look around and think: why yes, my house IS drowning in dishes-laundry-toys-unanswered email-etcetera, but… ah, well! all that can wait until tomorrow morning, when I shall be rested and rejuvenated! Off to bed with me, now!

Except then you are woken in the night repeatedly, because it turns out the children were tired-seeming because they were planning to be awake and sick to their little stomachs all night long.

Somehow, even on a night like that, the cleaning fairies do not manage to come and restore order to my household. Possibly I need to start leaving a window open or something.

perhaps we need a key shelf

Life feels full right now. Not super busy, just regular-busy, but full.

It is true that I’m the kind of person who can follow a link to an article entitled ‘Men’s Health: Is Your Spleen Killing You?’ and then spend the next four days convinced that yes, I am suffering from a rare spleen disease, even though 1) I was not even the intended audience of that article; 2) I had no symptoms of spleenishness before reading; and 3) I don’t even know where the spleen is, exactly, so how would I even know if I was experiencing spleen issues? Then I google the heck out of spleens and discover that no, the spleen is nowhere near where I would have guessed, there’s nothing wrong with me at all (except that I read stuff I should never have clicked on in the first place).

With all that going on, no wonder I feel busy.

And then yesterday I lost my keys. My car keys. You would not think this was a big deal, given that our lives are very home-based. Several days together could easily pass without me ever getting into a car, let alone driving one. Plus we have spare car keys.

Do you know how I discovered my lack of keys? Of course you do. I told the kids to get in the car, and then grabbed the keys to unlock the doors. Except I didn’t grab the keys, because they weren’t where I thought they would be, and four children plus one baby were doing an antsy dance on my front doorstep waiting to leave.

The spare keys, I knew how to locate.

They were in Dane’s pocket.

With Dane.

Not at home.

So I looked for my keys in all the obvious places, and then in all the less-obvious places, I ran up and down the stairs eighteen times, and then I gave up and called Dane. (“Hello?” he says. “Where are my keys?” I say.)

He knew where my keys were. (On a bookshelf, upstairs, behind the books. Because: of course.) I ran back up and got them. Then back down again.

This is the point at which I realize that even though this may have been the one time ever that my kids were able to locate shoes, it still took us half an hour to get out the door.

So you can see how it is that my days are full. And it’s not even fall yet.

selections of a day

“Has anyone ever sledded all the way down Mt. Everest?” they ask, and then run off to try to teach the baby to fake-cough. (He already taught himself to fake-sneeze.)

They try to teach him to sign ‘hat’ and ‘boots.’ (H wears no hats. He owns no boots.) He blows them kisses and waves bye-bye.

“Can we each eat a tomato? A whole tomato? A roma tomato?” they ask.

Yes, you can eat tomatoes. No, you should not use the ball pump to squirt air at your brother. Yes, I know you didn’t ask about that. Stop anyway. Thank you!

“Can we have chocolate chips?” they ask. I think not. “How about one chip each?” I think not. “Can we read books?” Um, yes.

“Please don’t break my toe,” the eight-year-old says to the five-year-old, but he’s joking. I checked.

Shall we head outside? I say. Suddenly I am alone in the living room. The backyard, however, is highly populated.

“Can I share my apple with Eli?” the eight-year-old asks. Milk, signs Eli. Milk milk milk milk.

“If I were a country, I would pick USA. If I were a state, I would pick California,” the ten-year-old says.

“Not me,” says the three-year-old. “I would pick whichever one was purple.”