This last weekend I met my hero, my role model. The gal who said that she started blogging by "taking a picture of her kid eating spaghetti out of the garbage and decided to share it with family." Yes, I model myself after her. She also got pregnant with her fifth child while living with her parents. So there was an instant connection.

It was a lovely day. The conference itself could have been mind numbingly boring (it wasn't) and I would still have loved it. Mostly because of the monsoon rain that had blown in, no really it was the remnants of a typhoon. And there were soccer games to be played. Three of them in fact. So having to stay indoors while not wrestling X-Man (who apparently found the largest mud puddle out there and laid down in it to exemplify his annoyance with the father figure during one of the games).....yes please.

The day started out lovely. Lots of friends were there. The conference was entitled "Catholic Women Rejoice." I observed that it was difficult to rejoice when there were no mimosas served with breakfast, but I'd survive. And so we went on a journey of encouragement and joy. And lost binkies. I missed a good section of the first talk because I was retracing my steps looking for a lost binky. I figured no one was going to enjoy the conference or do any rejoicing without the binky. I found it, stashed inside the baby carrier, the one I had searched numerous times, only after I retraced all my steps.

Then my hero spoke. Simcha Fischer gave a lovely speech. She spoke  about how a mother will always pick up her dirty sticky little children, no matter if she's ready to head out or not. They were true words, and not the last ones to make me teary that day. Gestated Cinco, who was the one child to make the cut and attend with me, spent the entire talk trying to get herself under the table next to ours. Fortunately, this amused those sitting there. I, however, was perplexed how she kept getting herself over there. She was very dedicated in her efforts, and was rewarded by the doting of countless women. Later, she even had Simcha oohing over her. She's good that way, being utterly adorable.

However, this wouldn't be my life without some absurd situation created by my children. And Cinco certainly delivered. Over the last few weeks, she's practiced her vaulting. She's quite the bouncer now, up and down, up and down. She's also fascinated by food now. I've been holding off, I say I'm waiting until six months due to the father figure's absurd allergies. But there's a large part of me that is dreading the end of the not so horrible nursing diapers and more horrific diapers. Like the kind X-Man produces with impunity. So, I didn't let Cinco eat my lunch, although she continued to vault herself towards it, with arms outstretched and mouth open. I shared my food delaying wisdom with the other mothers. Mostly I just talked. I'm sure I said very wonderful, wise things. Things that a woman covered in feces would say....while people were attempting to take her seriously.

this blog exists for pictures like this. 

As I was opining at lunch, I just happened to look down. And if I'm being honest, the first thought that crossed my mind "well I guessing I'm blogging about this." Pictures don't really do it justice. You can't see the vibrant green through the brown. Nor can you see the damage done to my favorite pair of jeans. Gestated Cinco's legs are more impressive than the off the charts length would let you believe. Her bouncing allowed for the contents of her diaper to cover a greater arc than any child before her. A detached spectator would have been in awe.

I am who I am, so I took one look at myself and didn't really worry about clothing, or the fact that I was supposed to go to dinner with my role model that night. I thought "Hey, I know what I'll do!" So I let another friend worry about tracking down another sweater for me to wear. I marched myself up to the front of the room and to the head speakers' table. I found Simcha, tapped her on the shoulder and said "In light of your talk, about embracing those who are dirty.....wanna hug?"

She didn't.

my role model and my little girl. 

It took a good twenty minutes to get myself and my daughter cleaned up. I had the forethought to bring a change of clothes for Cinco, not so much for me. A friend had a sweater that I borrowed and I enjoyed the remained talk given, although I missed the beginning, cleaning up poop and all that.

Dinner with Simcha was lovely. I found that she was everything I envisioned but more. More humble, more gentle, more sincere. I really do want to be her when I grow up. She was so gracious and just down to earth. I really think she was surprised that so many women turned up to hear her speak. There is a real joy that comes from discovering that the woman you look up to is even a better person than you imagined.

After the wonderful day and night and Cinco's shenanigans, I wasn't even fazed to come home to a leaking roof.

For reasons she won't explain. Gestated Cinco is bound and determined to pull the phone off the shelf and onto her head. Again. She apparently thinks it's still her best hope for rescuing.

As of tomorrow I will have an attic. An insulated attic that is. An attic in which I can lock my children. Oh did I say that aloud. I mean, an attic in which I will lock my children's clothes and various other things that they continue to outgrow yet I seem to still need. This will go a long to to clearing out my living room. And hopefully taming the zoo that is our home. Although, as we will all still be living here, it's a minor victory.

I was stopped at a traffic light, puzzled as to why my car was rocking. Much to the father figure's dismay, I keep the bass turned way down. So it wasn't that. I craned my neck and saw X-Man rocking out. There really is no other way to describe it. He was literally rocking his carseat, fortunately anchored, back and forth while thrashing his head and kicking the back of my seat. I am impressed with that boy's power.

It's not so much that the boy has soul. More that as he is now in a big boy bed, in a room full of toys that no one else can bother him in, he kinda skips out on the nap. He'll stay in there for three hours, enjoying his peace and quiet. As a result, as we head off to afternoon soccer, he's bound and determined to do whatever he physically can to keep himself from passing out. Because you never know what exciting things you might miss in the commute to soccer.

Cinco enjoys the show. She starts squealing, with then encourages him further. Then she gets even more excited. Today, the joy cumulated in a thrown binky. Which hit me in the head as I was driving. The arm on that child is most impressive. Of course, both were startled when I let out a yelp. The three older kids didn't even lift their eyes from the Calvin and Hobbes they were reading. I caught the two little ones exchange looks of wide eyed concerned, followed by more giggling. I think X-Man was hoping Cinco would stumble upon another binky.  My clean driving record appreciated her inability to.

I used to think that typing while nursing was hard. Now I miss those days (does that make me sound old?). While typing this, Cinco has gone from bouncing herself on my leg, to laying on my leg gnawing my knee, back up and vaulting towards my nose to holding my thumb and licking the keyboard. We're calling it a night.

It's been the kind of day where you don't even notice the extension cord that plugs the fridge in a working outlet. Two rooms away. The electrician said it didn't have anything to do with the father figure's resetting of the outlet, numerous times. But I'm not so convinced that they aren't in cahoots with each other. I mean, the guy wants to get paid doesn't he?
I discovered that toys breed if you put them in a cardboard box and leave them unattended. Mostly they make hodgepodge toys, mixes of random parts, none of which go with each other.
The insulation should be installed Friday which means part of our hobo existence will be put to rest as we put totes away in the attic. Not that we'll have a floor or anything. We know our place after all.

Sunday morning found the father figure and I playing beat the clock as we attempted to find ourselves with time to actually reach church on time. Somehow this led to a conversation that contained the phrase (uttered by me) "Your fat wife." The father figure responded in a sassiest voice possible while still possessing a y chromosome "If you mean P H A T girlfriend." Well played husband, well played. We will never be having that conversation again.
I'm sitting in the car with Mac, X-Man and Cinco while Baba and Baby are practicing soccer. Of course they are in different parts of town, my life doesn't get to be that simple. X-Man is determined to remove the Lightening McQueen from the base of Mac's umbrella. Mac is convinced the umbrella ought to be opened in the car. Cinco knows she's missing out.

Today's car trip went something like this.

X-Man "MA!!!!!"
"What?"
"I dunno"
"Ok."

"MOM?!"
"What"
"I dunno"

"MA!!!!"
"Do you know what's going on X-Man?"
"Nope"

Because that's not annoying or anything. Lest I became bored while driving X-Man kept things lively with the unmistakable sound of a rather full glass of water being dumped.

I find myself retaliating at times. Mostly just for kicks, because I'm a bad mother.

"MA!!!!"
"X-Man."

Pause

"Ma!"
"X-Man"

Pause

"NO. MOMMY!"
"X-Man."

Irritated pause. The child is not amused.

"MOM. ME. MOM. ME"
"X-Man."

At this point he crumpled to the floor, head in hands and began to wail. Until he realized that Cinco had vacated her swing and he was on a mission.

"Ma"
"Get out of the swing X-Man."

He was triumphant. He won. I was almost as amused as when Baby wails to the father figure "I'm hungry" and he responds "I'm Daddy." Now those are some fireworks.

I'm going to pretend that the flooring guy didn't tell us it would be mid-October before they can get the floors in. I'm going to forget that the electrician can't figure out what half the switches in the house do. It's not that I don't LOVE plywood covering what should be a window....that's four weeks out as well. What really is eating at me is the fact that the hardwood floors that are in the house already make it very, very easy for Cinco to get everywhere. And at the moment, everywhere in this house is still mostly a death trap. Death traps sing the song of Cinco's people. And don't even ask me how many places and times X-Man has gotten his head stuck today.

Ok, I'm back. Gestated Cinco crawled into a garbage bag and is now lecturing me on the cruelty of taking away the best toy evah!

It was occurring to me as I tried to get Cinco down for a nap--a nap that she most firmly rejected  by the way--how weird my kids are. Some might call it tactile. I call it really, like spine tingling, annoying. This line of thought started as I recalled the events of the previous night's soccer practice. As I was talking with other moms, trying to figure out how I would manage 8am, 8:30 am and 9 am  soccer games, no where near each other of course, I realized that Cinco was yanking on my lower lip while trying to eat my nose. And I was there talking, like this was all normal. Because in my life, it is. I'm assuming that's where the strange looks were focused on. But whoever really knows.

When Baba fell asleep she liked to play with my cuticles. She would trace each finger, over and over again until she fell asleep. Heaven help me if I had a hangnail. She would play with that sucker for what seemed like an eternity. And, rookie that I was, I let her do so. It still causes me to cringe, ten years later. Baby liked to pull my hair. I should have let her continue this instead of letting her focus on her own. She spent four years with large bald spots on her hair where she had twisted it out. Mac liked to play with my neck skin when drifting off. Yes, that's right. My son went for my jugular on a daily basis. X-Man preferred noses. He would hold my nose while napping. I'm sure there's a not so hidden message in that. And then there's Gestated Cinco. She likes my whole face. Any of it. All of it. Preferably my nose, again. Although, unlike her brother, she prefers to slip her delicate little fingers up my nose. While grasping at my eyelashes. What make this all the more impressive, is that she does all this with her eyes closed. So maybe it's not so much weird as it is talented.

X-Man has his head stuck in a stool, again. He's bellowing "Help please." Guess it's time to show him manner pay.

This doesn't have to do with anything. It just makes me happy.

Today's brand new experiences. Watching X-Man straddle a fire hydrant and shoot passing soccer moms. Never thought of it that way, but fire hydrants do actually make passable turret guns. Good  to know. X-Man also hasn't learned that he should not bring me my wallet saying "help, help". He likes to pilfer through it and find mommy i.e. my driver's license and Costco card. Except that in doing so, he lost my Costco card. I have five kids.  I can't go without Costco.

Also, when moving cleaning supplies, some might mix and burn through the box and singe the floor. It's been an interesting day. And with that, I'm back to unpacking.

This is why I'm not blogging tonight. This is my living room. I distinctly remember telling the father figure that I did not want a fixer upper or anything that needed work. He listens as well as his children.