It's been months since my last post (this sounds like a confession). I don't have many excuses, well, I guess I have a handful of them - three kids, a husband, a home and a flourishing business. It's not that I haven't thought about blogging. I've thought about it a lot. Unfortunately thinking about blogging doesn't make it happen. Mr. Steve Jobs needs to get on an app for that.

Time. Or maybe lack there of. This has become a huge theme in my life. Time to get up. Time to get dressed. Time to leave. Time to work. Not enough time to get everything done. Time for dinner. Time for bed. Time to catch up on house work. Not enough time to get it all done. Time to rest. Not enough time to rest. Blah, blah, blah....

Sigh. As a result of time and lack of time, blogging has taken a back seat. Well, let's be honest. Blogging isn't even in the same vehicle. I had to let blogging out of the car. Each night I would vow to let it back in (along with other things that had been pushed out). Why it's happening today? Who knows. But I'm certainly not complaining.

She is now four. Four going on fourteen. Sassy (wonder where she gets that) and smart. Bad combination. She also has the memory of an elephant. Which is not in my favor either. She's constantly reminding me what I had said to her earlier - "Mommy, are you forgetting something?"
"Um, what?"
"You said that I could have a present if I was good all day."
"I did?"
"Yes. Remember when we were getting dressed this morning and you were brushing my hair."
"Oh, that's right."
"So where is my present?"

Gawd. She's only four.

The boys are two and there are two of them so that calculates to four. And that is how it feels. That there are four of them. Fights, yelling, choke holds, hugs, time outs, smiles, laughter, mine-mine-mine, me first.
It's a wild ride. They are amazing. The process of having them in my life is an amazing experience and I am so thankful. But......but wow. What a job. As I lay them down to sleep, kiss their heads, listen to their mumbled jabber as they chatter with pacifiers in their mouth, I am so thankful for their little faces but I am also so thankful that they are going to bed.

Time for a wee-bit of peace.

the eleventh

I don't usually stay home with the kids during the week - I work. So on the rare occasion that I do, I try to tolerate treasure each moment. I mean, I stay home with them on the weekends but that is different. While there is always things to be done (endless list of to-do's) over the weekend. The schedule is flexible. Although it might not appear to my husband that I am flexible. I am. Just as long as I can eventually get my chores done. The worst feeling is starting a Monday completely unprepared for the week. All moms know what I mean by "prepared for the week."

For me there is something sacred about Monday - Friday. It's as if those days are mine. My schedule. My routine. Hello, my rules. So when the one of them woke up at 5:30 am (after both of them fussing all night - which by the way sucked cause I had a few too many chardonnays the night before) and I had not yet showered, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that although today is a Monday it is not My Monday. Breath, Breath. I gleefully swooped up the baby to discover that he had peed through his pj's. Well, then I guess his waking up early is justified...you are forgiven. We scampered (not so much, but it sounds cute) downstairs with a dry set of clothing for him. As he was having his morning bottle, sans wet clothing, I enjoyed a few sips of warm, fabulous, strong, dark, French (get your head out of the gutter).....coffee. Of course that was short lived because the other one woke up too. So there we were, the three of us hanging out watching a little news while the beast continued to sleep.

At around 7:00 am she stumbled down the stairs and into the family room. She always looks like she pulled one over the night before and is still drunk. She walks funny and her hair...girl, her hair. I pity the man who marries her if the hair thing continues. She looked like a heathen. Something between Cousin It, an 80's hair band with a little Flock Of Seagulls thrown in. It's hot. But to top it all off, she is in pink-penguin-footed pajamas. Rachel Zoe would die. She saunters in and immediately started asking questions about what I was doing. She doesn't get the whole no questions till 8:00 rule. Obviously not my Monday.

Almost every single toy ended up on the floor and after picking them up twice I gave up. The pillows were off the couch. Blankets were strewn about. I was almost in the corner rocking back and fourth....the clutter it kills me. But, remember, it's not my Monday....secretly, I wanted My Monday back.

As the day went on, we played outside and while I was inside checking on the boys, she ran inside (with the hair-do flapping in the wind as she ran) and told me the dog pooped his pants and it stinks. I laughed. I guess their Monday isn't so bad after all.

We all went for a walk. She pushed her twins in a stroller and I pushed mine. I guess I missed the memo because each time I tried to talk with her, she would tell me to be quiet because her babies were sleeping. Again, I laughed.

Later on in the day we were sitting on the couch together eating raisins out of the tiniest box know to man. I looked over at her and whispered (her babies might still have been sleeping) "I love you."

She turned her head and with a huge smile whispered "I love you" and then put her tiny two-year-old arm around me. I laughed and a single tear ran down my cheek. I want more of their Mondays.