Settling in

Things are finally starting to settle into a semi-routine. The crazy hectic non-busyness of summer has mostly dwindled; and we are easing into a new pace of sorts, discovering how we do this thing of functioning as a family while keeping the dishes and the laundry clean, schoolbooks found, and babies fed and dry.

Eden (6) enjoying her first taste of cotton candy. "It's yucky," they all agreed.
"Mama, next time you can just get more funnel cakes."

The tips and tricks of mothering a large family are few and effective: 1) assume the role of Child of the Light rather than Martyr, 2) learn to love your job (aka Fake It 'Til You Make It), 3) fiercely love your husband, 4) realize you do, after all, have it really, really, really good so choose to laugh, and 5) get off the computer. 

Simple, really.

I am amazed at how complicated we like to make things. 

(I readily admit, it's undoubtedly taxing [esp. that 3-yr. old in green]; but it's not rocket science.)

Friday morning

I'm sitting here looking out the window, and there are delicious signs of fall. The morning glory has climbed almost to the middle of the telephone pole across the street, our butterfly bushes are gargantuan with a few purple blossoms left yet, and the porch swing is swaying gently with the breezes still left from last night's cold front passing through. If I look very selectively, I can perhaps forget that the windows are in desperate need of washing and that the front porch needs a good dose of elbow (and knee!) grease and a rather vicious scrubbing.

The children are sitting at the breakfast table, giggling and enjoying each other. If I listen very selectively, I can perhaps forget that I know their humor is over the comment, "It smells like rotten eggs in here. No, it smells like throw up on top of rotten eggs in here."

Signs of fall, and signs of The Fall.

There are no deep thoughts here (obviously), just a glimpse of my morning.