Negligence

I received a concerned email.
From my mom.
She was concerned, because my blogging this week has dropped off precipitously. (read the following with furrowed brow)
"Your life must be busier than usual (which I can't imagine is even possible) since there have been no blogs since Monday. Am I missing something? Is everything okay?"
So, for the record, no, you haven't missed anything. And yes, everything is okay.
Aside from the painful epiphany from Monday, I haven't even had time to check the computer until this morning. I've been full of good intentions, mind you. But it has been one jim-dandy of a week. This IS a sanatorium, in case you've forgotten.
Let me catch you up to speed, in no particularly chronological order:

Baby S left yesterday. They found a home for her and both of her siblings out in Queen Creek. Bittersweet. Our family actually discussed the possibility of taking all three of them, and even though it would have involved a little bedroom shuffling, a little inconvenience, and a lot of extra commotion, everyone seemed to like the idea. Unfortunately, CPS determined that adding a three-year-old boy and a nine-year-old girl would set us over the limit of children allowed in one home under the age of 5 (Micah 4, Hyrum 22 months, Baby S 2, Baby A 19 months, Brother C 3). This was a little disappointing, but I had thought and prayed about it, and I knew they would end up in a good place. Now they're all together. It has been heartbreaking to listen to Sister B call Baby S every day, sobbing and sobbing because she misses her sister so much. Now they're all in the same place, and the possibility of ten kids in the house is gone (at least for now).
Her stay with us (eight days) made me realize two things:
Epiphany #23--Taking care of three two-year-olds is exponentially more difficult than two.
Especially when all three have diarrhea and one is up all night with a fever and vomit. I now have a greater appreciation for my friend Joyce's life with her triplets. I experienced her life six months from now this last week.

And, as much as I liked having her here (she was truly easy and sweet), I noticed a difference in the way I felt about her and the way I feel about Baby A. Baby A has been with our family for five months, and now I realize:
Epiphany #24--I love Baby A. Like he was my own. Like a child I had carried for nine (or in Heidi's case, seven!) months. And it will take me to the brink when he is taken from here.
Enough of that.

New Beginnings was Wednesday night. The remodel of my blog is in tribute to that night: The Young Women Values in Black and White. I thought it went well. If you work in YW and would like the ideas we used, let me know.
No matter how prepared or organized or thoughtful I try to be, I always seem to be the Tasmanian Devil of stress before I have to give a lesson or a talk. And my husband, currently up for best supportive husband in a starring role, is amazing. He came home from work early on Wednesday and, with his best multi-tasking skills, managed to spray all the weeds, take care of three two-year-olds, straighten the kitchen, extend a few stake callings, feed all eight children a healthy dinner (I did do that part), and putter in his garden.
Epiphany #25--Crock pots were invented for Tasmanian Devil days.
Epiphany #26--Always marry above yourself.

Thursday. The day that saves my sanity. The day that allows me to be alone. The day that is filled with errands, temple, and more errands. I am one of the most spoiled people on earth. Readily admitted.

Thursday is the day that I have a babysitter.

You cannot appreciate how splendid it is to shop Costco alone unless you are the mother of multiple children. To linger over the book section without wondering if someone is opening the fruit snacks. To sit in a beautiful white and tan houndstooth armchair and dream about it in your living room without the possibility of strawberry jam stains. To fold up both of the child seats in the cart and fill it to the brim.
Epiphany #27--A day alone can soothe even a savage mother beast.
Even one who was up from 2:30-5 am with a feverish 2-year-old.

As long as this entry is, I need to include one more thing:
Today Brad let me sleep in (please refer to Epiphany #26). I finally was rousted out of bed by Micah's question: "Mom, are you sick?" This put me so behind on my plans for the day: my motivated, organized, busy, Tasmanian Devil plans.
But, instead of turning into that whirling dervish, this morning I just sat. Sat and played with my boys. I'm watching Max the Great for the next few days (while his mom and dad party at Disneyland), so I had four funny, happy, silly, energetic boys for the morning. And I sat. And I watched them coo to the baby. And I watched them point at pictures of our family, with Micah trying to teach Baby A and Hyrum how to say their names. And I watched those three boys play tag-team wrestling in the hallway upstairs. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Giggling. Tackling. Tripping. Tickling.

My house is still filthy, my little boys are barely dressed (Max, of course, as the living breathing doll in the house for a few days is fully decked down to the snazzy baby shoes), and my personal hygiene is in question.
Epiphany #28--Sometimes completed checklists just can't measure your achievements for the day.
Today, I played.