Pie for Breakfast

Today we ate apple pie for breakfast. There just wasn’t time to eat it last night, after our second Thanksgiving. By the time we finished mashed potatoes, turkey, gravy, stuffing, cranberry, yams, and squash, everyone was full. The kids had already gone back for thirds and fourths, and Mom and Dad were stuffed from two heaping plates each.

This morning we came down and thought about breakfast. I saw that unopened apple pie on the counter. I said to my husband, “I want to eat pie for breakfast.” “Go ahead,” he said. “No,” I said. “It would be a bad example for the kids.” So I asked the kids, “do you want eggs?” “No” they say. “Toast?” “No.” “What do you want?” No answer.

“We’re having pie,” I said. “Yay,” they proclaimed. Smiling kids came running to the table. We sat down and cut 4 slices from the pie and ate them. Then two more slices each. “There’s one slice left for dad,” my oldest announced. Dad was not even ready to think about eating again after last night. Or maybe he is not a fan of pie for breakfast. “Ok, I’ll have it later,” he says.

I think we will start a new tradition; we should do this every year. Thanksgiving dinner is so good, that we don’t always have room for the pie. That’s a very good reason to have pie for breakfast.

Lunch at McDonald's

The parents sit at the tables chatting, and glancing over at the tubes every once in a while. Occasionally, one will stand up, walk over to the tunnels, and announce that it’s time to go home. They scan the climber, looking for their Allie, or Timmy, or Julia. Sometimes the appointed child will come out. Other times, the parent will stay there for a while, reminding the kid to come now, or else, we’re not coming back next time.

The kids are happy, climbing, and sliding, and playing their games. Groups of three or four will come out of the slide at once, then climb back up through the tube entrance together.

The mothers will look over, and smile, recognizing their child, knowing that they are still ok.

Occasionally, a child will cry, and we will check, to make sure it isn’t ours. Sometimes, one of our children will be the one crying, and he will say, “Someone was not nice. Right here,” and point to his forehead. But before we can even hug him, he has run back to the climber, having forgotten the atrocity. I guess it wasn’t that bad.

It is loud, the room echoes with excited laughter, yelling, and noise. The mothers can’t hear each other to well, so we can’t have a real deep conversation. We say, “Now I remember why we only come here once in a while.” But we know that it is worth it; what else are we going to do with our kids on this cold day before Thanksgiving, the ground wet from yesterday’s rain? We know that when we get home, the kids will be calm, and content. They will go color or read books, and no one will fight. They have got their energy out, and besides, we didn’t have to make lunch today.

My husband, the chef

When we first started dating, I would be driving home from work and he would call. “Do you want to go to dinner,” he would say? “Yes” I would say, smiling. This lasted for a while. Then one day, he called and said, “I’m cooking dinner, you have to come over.” When I got there, I was impressed. He was making mashed potatoes, and Brussels sprouts, and pork chops, on a weeknight! I had never had a Brussels sprouts before, but I loved them! Growing up we only had mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving – and they were somewhat lumpy. His were smooth, and creamy, and perfect.

When we were first married, on a Saturday, I would say, “I’m going to the grocery store.” “I’m coming too,” he would say. He wasn’t just coming to keep me company; he wanted to be involved with the food selection.

When it was time to cook dinner, he would help. We would cook together. He had a few recipes his mom had written for him, some of his favorites. He would cook these foods for me. Some I had never had before. Some I never knew how to make before, and had only eaten in restaurants.

This was only the beginning of our culinary adventures. Last Christmas, I gave him a cookbook. He likes cookbooks, and can be found looking through or reading them sometimes. He does this with concentration, tasting the food in his mind. When he opened the cookbook that Christmas, he was excited. That night he brought it up to bed with him, and read it there. That winter, he tried some of the gourmet recipes from the cookbook. He shopped for the special ingredients, and made things with delicate sauces, and exotic spices. He made things that took two active hours to cook, stirring, adding ingredients, and gently whisking. These special Sunday dinners we ate in the dining room, with a white tablecloth, and cloth napkins.

A couple times, he wanted to try special crock-pot dinners on weeknights. These were more work than my usual Tuesday or Wednesday night meat, starch and vegetable dinners, so he bought the ingredients, and set out all the spices for me in the morning. He went over the recipes with me, just to be sure I knew his variations before he left for work.

I like his cooking, and I like to copy the things he cooks. Once he’s made something a few times, I can usually make it next time. But he does something special in his cooking, and he can invent recipes. He enjoys making extraordinary creations, and experimenting with ingredients, and techniques. I like to follow set recipes – usually simple ones with not too many ingredients. He can look at a spice jar, and tell you 5 other things to combine with it - and how it will taste when it’s done.

He knows how to throw dough up in the air, and catch it again; and he does it with style. When making a pumpkin pie, or meatballs, he will call the kids in to help. He will let them mix, and pour, and add ingredients. He will set up the counter like a cooking show, with little containers for each spice so they can pour them in the bowl one at a time. He will make sure they smell each spice before it is added.

I am learning from this. I try to be patient with the kids, and let them help me when I cook. I measure out the water and let them pour. But secretly, I want to cook alone. I want the kids to be playing happily while I cook peacefully, undisturbed, with no interruptions. Cooking is not always a choice for me; I have to do it every day to feed hungry kids. But for him, it’s a love, it’s joy, it’s art.

Little Yellow Ticket

Sticking out of the little drawer in my car’s dashboard is a little yellow ticket from the dry cleaner. I keep it there so it will not get lost. It is supposed to remind me to pick up the clothes. I see it as I sit in the car, and tell myself I will stop at the cleaners on the way home. In this same drawer, I keep my outgoing mail. I face the letters stamp side out. I tell myself I will mail them when I get to the store with the mailbox out front.

Needless to say, upon my arrival back home, as I pull the lever into park, there is the little yellow ticket. I forgot to stop at the cleaners. I will have to get there tomorrow. That is, if I can remember. Under the ticket, is the stamped mail. I could put it in my mailbox at the end of my driveway and pop up the flag. But that means it won’t get picked up till afternoon. I can do better than that. I’ll be sure to mail it in the U.S. mailbox in morning when I am out. They pick up at nine am. That will be faster.

Wedged in the cracks of my steering wheel is a note. Occasionally, while waiting at a traffic light, I will think of something important. I will find a scrap of paper in the storage area in between the passenger seat and mine and write in big letters, “Call the babysitter” or “check when library books are due.” When I get home, I will be sure to take the note inside and put in next to the phone, so I will make that important call.

I remember the essential things. I make myself a calendar on the computer, where I fill out events and dates. It is posted on the fridge. I consult it every morning, and it keeps me on track. I remember to pack snacks in my kid’s backpacks. I remember to pick them up from school on Wednesday so we they can go to their lessons. But as for getting myself to the dry cleaner on the way home, well that might take a few days. So if you see a little yellow ticket sticking out of my dashboard, please remind me to pick up the shirts. And if there is a letter under that, please tell me to put it in my mailbox.

Chess

My son almost beat me at chess today. He gave me a good game. At one point, I thought I was going to lose. I made a mistake, and he got my Queen. Later, he was careless, and I got his Queen. Then I got his Rook. I could see him getting distressed. “Mom, you are making moves like the computer.” I am? I did not know. I don’t play computer chess. He does. When it’s his turn to play a computer game, he will go to Chess Titans first, and play a few rounds. Then he will go onto to something else.

I know he will beat me some day. It might not be next week, maybe not next month, but soon. I will be proud. Because when he wins, it will not be because I let him. It will be because I put up my best fight. He will win on his own merit; he will outwit me, and I will be glad. Maybe I should brush up on my skills and play some Chess Titans. After all, I have to be prepared for my son. I don’t want him to beat me too soon.

Playgroup

Today was the first day of my new playgroup. My 10 month old daughter met her first friend of her same age, and they sat on the floor and played together. A baby a few months younger was nursing next to them. In a few months, he will be on the floor playing with them. The three of us Moms had never met each other before, but it didn’t matter. We got along fabulously. How could we not? We were sitting here with three babies, watching them play. Two of us had three year olds present. One of us said we have a three year old who’s in school today. Maybe we should have the playgroup on a different day of the week so he can be there. We talk about our schedule. We say we can do that. We are flexible.

I know that my daughter will grow up with these babies. That she will see them every week. When I say we are going to see your friends, she will think of these two children. One of them already has teeth. One is a little younger than her and has not tried baby food yet. We mothers are paying close attention, and will discuss each of these matters and milestones over the next few months. We will get to know each other and we will become friends; over tea, and water, and animal crackers.

My first Mommy friends, some of which have moved away, some of which I have moved away from, are from playgroup. My very first playgroup was the most care free. There were three of us, each with one baby. The other two moms had actually met each other in child birth class, that’s how far back they go. They are still friends today, 7 years later. They live on opposite sides of the country now, but can find each other over the phone, or on Facebook. I can find them there too. We look back, and we remember what life was like with one child. How hard we thought it was. We were there with each other, when each of us became pregnant with number two. We hugged and congratulated each other. We gave each other baby clothes. We looked forward to playgroup day each week. A few months into that first playgroup, I met another mom at the playground. Her daughter wore a helmet as we pushed our babies on the swings. I asked her what it was for and she explained it was for a plagiocephaly. She was nice and I asked her to join our playgroup. That was all it took, she fit right in.

I was sad when I moved to a new town away from my friends. I was close enough that we could still get together, and meet once a week or more for a play date. But I felt distant, like I needed some more friends in my new town. I looked around, I searched the Internet, but I couldn’t find anything. I asked around and someone mentioned a regional mom’s club. That sounded promising. I called and talked to someone and they told me about a playgroup in the next town. I went to the host’s house on the appropriate day. There must have been about 20 or 30 moms at the playgroup, and they all new each other. A couple talked to me but I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t go back - this was not quite what I was expecting.

About a year later, I heard that my town was starting it’s own Mom’s club. Great! Something local. This is perfect. Apparently, we had a Mom’s club years ago, but it had disbanded, and joined with other towns. But now we were getting our own. Fabulous. I went to the recruiting meeting at the playground and I signed up. I anxiously waited for the first meeting.

A few weeks later, I got a phone call about joining a playgroup. The lady and I chatted and found out we had two boys the same age. She said she was placing me in her playgroup, and I asked her if she waned to get together before the planned meeting so the kids could meet each other sooner. She said sure, she was hosting an activity at her house next week, so I was welcome to come. That is when I met her; my first mom’s club friend in my new town. We have been friends ever since. She has since moved away, but we still get together.

Since then, we have been in many playgroups. Some were large, others small, most lasted about a year or so. Some stopped when kids went to preschool. Some stopped when one of the moms got a job.

In one of my small playgroups, we began hugging each other when we arrived at the host’s house. Every time we got together, that was the first thing we would do. We were so happy to be together, and to share our weeks news. We discussed things about school with our older kids, and things that our younger kids were doing. We discussed everything. I was a little sad when that playgroup ended because one of the mothers started a new job. But the three of us still get together occasionally, at the playground, at one of our houses, or at least on the phone. I know these women will always be my friends.

So today, it is with joy, that I look upon my new playgroup, and watch my daughter play with her new baby friends. I know that this is a special time, to smile, to laugh, to enjoy. These new mothers will become my new friends and our children will become friends too. It will all happen at playgroup.

As Dad calls her, "Mother Earth."

Almost every childhood memory I have of my mother, she is in her brown apron, and in most of them, she is standing at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. It seemed like she was always doing dishes. And now that I am grown, I can attest that she was. She raised 6 children, I am number five. So there was always a lot of dishes.

She also did a lot of laundry. Every morning, she could be found, at the washing machine scrubbing clothes. She would have a shirt in one hand, and a toothbrush in the other. She kept her detergent in a squirt bottle. This way she could squirt on a little when she needed it. Most people would just dump in the clothes, add detergent, and leave. Not my mom. She scrubbed. She got out every stain. Next to the detergent, she also had bleach and a plastic cup, one she had saved from a restaurant or somewhere that gives out sturdy plastic cups. To this, she would add a little bleach. She would dilute the bleach with water, and she would scrub.

When my sister was a baby, mom used cloth diapers. These she would keep out in a pail on the porch untill it was time to wash them. Sometimes she would ask me to carry one out to the pail. I would hold the very tip of it with two fingers, carrying it out as far in front of me as I could.


My mother never yelled. She spanked me a total of three times in my life. I can’t remember why, or what I did to deserve it, but I’m sure it was something worthy.

Occasionally, I was told to stand in the corner. I don’t remember why. She would never leave me in there very long. She wouldn’t yell at me to go there. She would just casually say, "go stand in the corner," so there I would go.

Most of the time if I was acting up, or being energetic, she would tell me to go outside and run around the house 10 times, so I would run. I would come back in, and verything would be ok. That was that. Sometimes my sister was sent out with me. We would do it together - it was fun. We would run until we were out of breath.

Once she washed my mouth out with soap and water. I had said a bad word. I didn’t say bad words after that.

If I asked, my mom would put shaving cream on the kitchen table for me to play with. She let me play with in while she washed dishes.

Every day I would also draw pictures at the kitchen table. When I was done, I would show them to my mom. She would always stop what she was doing, and look at them. “That’s beautiful” she would say. I would draw some more. I soon moved onto paint. She would let me paint whenever I wanted. She never told me no, not now, or wait to later. She just let me paint. I started out with watercolors, the kind for kids. Mom saved every one of my painting, and drawings.

As I got older, and became more interested in art, she signed me up for an art class on Saturdays. She bought me canvas and acrylic paint. She took me to the class every Saturday at 9 am, and at noon she came to pick me up. I would always have to bring home my wet canvas. The teacher had to make room for the students in her other classes. Mom helped me find a safe place to store my canvas. When I finished a painting, she would find a place to hang it in the house. She showed them to everyone who came over.

After school, she would be there to open the door when I walked in. She would always greet me with a “hi” and a smile. She would ask me about my day. Then she would give me a snack, usually apples or something like that. Sometimes, if I asked for a cookie, she would get the box that was hidden in the hall behind the laundry room. I would be allowed to have a couple.

Mom didn’t keep junk food around the house. She did have a small jar of peanut M+M’s in the jar cabinet. Mom did not have Tupperware. What she did have was a collection of deli Containers that she saved every time we got cream cheese or potato salad, or anything from the deli. They were heavy plastic and came with lids. She used these to store things. She could not bear to throw anything useful away. This was in the days before recycling. It you went up to our attic, there was a collection of gallon milk containers that had been washed. She could not throw these away either. Lucky for us, and our house, the recycling program eventually came to our town.

20 years before it became the popular thing to do, Mom was bringing her own bags back to the store. She would save the plastic bags from shopping and take them with her the next time. When she got to the check out, she would give the cashier the bags to reuse. Sometimes it would embarrass me, like when we were clothes shopping and she would buy me something and then tell the cashier that we didn’t need a bag. I learned to tell ask before we went into the store, “can we get a bag today?” I was a teenager. I wanted to walk out of the store with my clothes in a bag.

One of mom’s favorite things to do was to shop at a tag sale. Anytime we were driving anywhere on a weekend, and we passed one, she would always slow down to look. Sometimes we would stop, and get out and have a real look. Sometimes it would be “just junk,” as she would say, but sometimes there was something good and we would buy it. No bag of course.

One day one of our neighbors down the street was having a tag sale. They had a big sign at the end of the street. Mom decided we were going to have a tag sale of our own. She started assembling stuff and put it out in the driveway. She put up a sign that said “Mini tag sale” and when people stopped she told them this was not the tag sale on the sign, but was our mini tag sale and to go to the other one also. We could have had ten more tag sales and our house would not have been empty, but my mom usually just gave stuff away.


There was a woman from the next town who mom always talked to at Grand Union,. She got to know her, and found out she had a daughter a little younger that my little sister. Mom also knew that she took the bus to work at the store. So, next time we went shopping, my mom brought all my sisters outgrown clothes and gave them to the bagger. I asked her why, and she said that she could use them.

Mom was friends with the baggers at all the grocery stores. Mom was not the type of person to make a list, and do her weekly shopping in one day. She usually went to one grocery store or another every day. I of course, went with her to the store. She knew to buy the milk at Finast, the meat a Grand Union, and other stuff a Walbaumbs. She always brought her coupons too. I knew the bagger at Walbaumbs, and he always talked to me. He was slightly mentally challenged, but he was nice, and my mom was always friendly to him. Sometimes he would pat me on the head or something, which I didn’t like, but I didn’t say anything, because he was my mom’s friend. Mom would make friends wherever she would go. Not just with the people you were supposed to be friends with, but the ones that most people overlook.

Changes

We sit in her big back yard. The babies are on the blanket. They are not really playing together, but they are aware of each other. We have a few toys on the blanket, and are trying to keep the babies from wandering off.



The older boys are on the swings. They are dirty. The sprinklers are on. The boys are wet and going down the slide. They are riding in the cars. They are sometimes sneaking into the garden. The garden has dirt patches so we let them play. I don't know how she has time to keep this big garden. We talk about organic food. We really can't afford to buy organic food. But we wish we could. We talk about going to Davis Farm. Maybe we will get passes from the library, and go one day. We talk about the boys. We talk about the babies. We laugh. It is sunny and warm. We are happy.



We talk about houses. We talk about Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I tell her I should nominate her from the show. We laugh. She says they are looking for a new home. She is not sure if they can stay in town. Her family lives an hour away. It would be great to live near them. But she is torn. All her friends are here. All her kids friends are here.



Time goes by. She calls on the phone. We are talking, as usual. They are leaning towards moving near her family. They have been looking for houses everywhere. She talks about all she they will leave behind here.



She calls again. It is definite. She is going to move away. Her husband and family start renovating their new house. They work on it all the time. She has to pack. We get together for more play dates. We talk about how we will still get together when she moves. It's only an hour away. Moving day comes, and they move. She is no longer five minutes away. We talk on the phone. We talk about getting together after they get settled. We talk about meeting in the middle so no one has to drive to far.



I go about life. I take the kids to school. I go to Mom's club. I remember how we used to go to Mom's club together. I chit chat with the people I know. I introduce myself to the new people. But something is missing. Something is not quite right. I go home. I cry.



I call my friend. We make plans to meet at a McDonald's with a play area halfway between us. It takes both of us longer than we thought to get there. We meet. The kids play. I take lots of pictures. It is right before Easter. She asks if we have any plans. She invites us to come to her house. I say I will check with my husband.



We arrive at her new house on Easter. Everyone is outside in her new backyard. She has all the cars and riding toys outside. She has an egg-spoon race set up. And tons of games for the kids. We are celebrating one of the boys birthdays also. The kids are happy to see their friends. They pair up with their buddies of the same age. I take more pictures. We eat birthday cake. We say goodbye and promise to get together soon.



Months go by. We talk on the phone. There are screaming kids in the background. We don't care. We are used to talking on the phone like this. We talk about how the kids are driving us crazy. We talk about what we have been up to. We get off the phone due to the screaming kids.



I go about my life. Do my chores. Take the kids to school. Chit chat with people I know. Go to mom's club.



A card arrives in the mail. It is a pretty picture of a garden. It says "Thinking of You." I smile. It is so pretty, I don't want to lose it on my desk. I think about where to put it. I stand it up where I can see it in my kitchen. I smile.



It is January. My new baby is due to arrive soon. I pick up the kids from school and am driving home. There is snow on the ground, but it is sunny. We are driving by the playground, and they ask to go. I say ok. Why not? I see there is one other car there. We get out of the car, and the boys run to the Big Dinosaur. There is another mom standing there, with 4 kids. She waves. She smiles. These all yours I ask? No she says, the two boys are hers. The girls she is watching for a friend. We chat. She seems friendly. I ask how old the boys are. Turns out, they are a the same age as two of mine. Her two boys have their birthdays a week or two after my two. We talk. She is new around here. She doesn't know any other moms. I tell her about Mom's club. I give her my phone number. She joins mom's club and comes to my playgroup. The kids play. We are happy. We talk about getting together again.



I am getting ready to have my new baby. I talk to my friend on the phone. I tell her about my new friend. She is glad. We talk about the kids. We talk about the baby. I tell her I am nervous. I don't know how I will handle four. She says better you than me. We laugh.



My baby is born. My parents come to stay with us. Life is easy for a couple weeks. My parents leave. Friends visit me and the baby. A big box arrives in the mail from my friend. It is full of pink baby clothes. I smile. I can't believe how much clothes she sent me! I call her on the phone. We talk. We laugh. There are screaming kids in the background. We don't care. We are happy.

Monday Morning

Monday morning I have to be up by 7 am. If I want to take a shower before the school bus comes, then I have to be up at 6:30. But, that will usually wait till later. On a typical day, I wake up to some sort of noise. Either the kids are making train noises with the Geo trax, (loud noises), making car sounds, someone is throwing something, or they are fighting over a toy. That is noise I have learned to live with. Not life threatening. But, then the baby will chime in with her cry, "Ahhhhh. Wahhh." wanting to be let out of her crib. That one is more pressing, since I also want to nurse her. So usually it's her that gets me out of bed. So I get her, and change her diaper. If she lets me, I put her down in the co-sleeper/playpen in my room. But if this evokes cries that will annoy the still sleeping husband, then I will take her with me to see the boys. So I have her under one arm, grab two school uniforms under the other arm, and go to the oldest boys room. He's still in bed, looking peaceful and angelic, wrapped like a burrito in his blanket. So I open his shade, and very nicely pull the covers off of him. "It's time to get up." I say. "Mmmmm" he says, and grabs the covers back around him. "Now" I say, and pull the covers off completely, onto the floor. "It's time to get dressed. You have to get up." He gets up and runs to the bathroom. I leave the school clothes on his bed, and go to the next room.



Here, the younger two boys are playing. They are building cities out of Geo trax, wooden blocks, and cars. The second boy is told to get ready for school. He takes offense that I am interrupting his creation. I tell him I am leaving the clothes on his bed, get dressed. I leave to go check on boy number one.



He is back in bed. Under the covers.



"Get up now. You have five seconds or I'm getting Daddy. One, two, three....." He jumps up. Starts scampering around the room. "Take off your pajamas. " By now, it is past seven. He gets dressed, and I help him with his buttons. On goes his sweater. I send him downstairs to put on his shoes. Back to boy number two.



I find him in his room in his underwear, playing with the blocks. I tell him to finish getting dressed now. Now time to take care of boy number three. I am still carrying the baby around with me. I tell number three it's time to get dressed. He has no interest. I decide to wait till later. Time to go downstairs.



I start making eggs and toast. The kids are now running around the living room, playing. Meanwhile, Dad comes down dressed and ready and says goodbye. "I want a hug" they all say. They line up at the top of the basement stairs to hug him. I hug him too. Then he is gone. I am alone with the kids again.



The food is ready, and I call them all to the table. Tuck napkins into their shirts so they don't get their school clothes dirty at breakfast (this I learned the hard way). With a few reminders to stay in your seat with your feet in front of you, they start eating. I take a minute to pack two snacks each into their backpacks. I turn on the Keurig and use it to get hot water for the baby cereal. I plop her into the high chair, and start feeding her, armed with two extra spoons for her to hold. I ask boy number to to call her so she will look at him and be distracted while she eats. The older boys eat finish their food and start playing again. I try to convince number three to go to the bathroom. I remind him he can have stickers if he pees in the potty. He doesn't want to go. I am willing to let him wait till later, and hoping he does not have an accident in the meantime.



Ten minutes before it's time to go to the bus, I call one and two over to the bathroom to wash their hands and faces, and remind them to dry off of the towel. Then it's over to the other side of the baby gate that blocks the stairs and the front door to put on shoes, coats and backpacks. Meanwhile, number three starts climbing on the outer side of the stairs. The baby is singing from her high chair. After several reminders to get your shoes on now, number one is ready to go out to the bus. He zips up his jacket, then I tell him to stand on the third step I want my hug. I hug him and tell him to be a good boy today. He gives me a kiss and I send him out to wait for the bus. I zip up number two, and help him with his shoes. He climbs on the stair for our hug, and jumps on me. I kiss him and send him outside too.



Number three wants to watch for the bus, so I send him over to the window. I rescue baby from the high chair and we watch the boys at the end of the driveway. They go over to the mailbox and one comes running up the path with the newspaper. I open the door and let in a bunch of cold air, and take the paper. I tell him to have a good day. Baby and I watch, then the bus finally comes. The boys wait for it to stop, then they cross over and get on. Baby and I wave bye bye to the bus. Ok, breathe, breathe, breathe, now we are down to two kids!



Now it's time to chase number three back to the bathroom. I remind him he can have stickers. He takes the bait, and he goes into the bathroom, "Ok, get out." he says. Yes sir, I will. "I did it!" He proclaims. Success!



Baby and I run upstairs to find clothes for number three. Once upstairs, I see the laundry on the floor and decide to start one load. Plop baby into the co sleeper/playpen and tell her it's just for a minute. Then proceed to collect all the laundry from the basket, the kids bedrooms, and the kids bathroom. Put them in, then go back to open all the shades, and make my bed. Empty the clean clothes our of the dryer onto my bed to fold. Remember that I have a half naked boy downstairs. Right, get him some clothes. Try to leave baby in the playpen, but she sees me and protests. Take her in one arm, and bring her with me to get number three dressed. Find number three in the living room, playing cars. Manage to put his pants on without him stopping his play. Get him to put the cars down long enough to put on his shirt. Plop baby down in the living room to play. Back to the kitchen - time to clear the table, and now have a sink full of breakfast dishes and Dad's snack dishes from last night, after I had already cleaned. Decide to empty the dishwasher. As I am taking things out, hear plop plop plop of little hands crawling in. Hmm. Do I cage her in the exersaucer and finish this? No, close the dishwasher. Can do it later. Pick up baby and hug her.