Close to a dozen

One of my readers has ten children. Maybe she's just kidding. Do you really have 10 kids? If so, WOW. I wish I could have 10 kids. I don't think my uterus could handle ten. Hell, I KNOW my mind couldn't handle ten. I have two and still don't know their names. A lot of people make fun of George Foreman and his troop of Georges, but seriously, the man was on to something. Kid jumping on the bed? No need to fumble through names, if you know one, you know them all. GEORGE! GET OFF THE DAMN BED! It kind of covers all your bases, too. If there's another kid jumping on a bed in another room, he gets off too. It's all good.

At my house, if all's quiet, I just yell, "NO!" at the top of my lungs. I'm not sure what's going on in the other room, but if it's quiet, they're doing something wrong. If I get, "But, MOM!" as an exasperated answer, then I KNOW something's up, and I run to the other side of the house, usually to find one of the kids playing with steak knives, or matches, or hell, even kerosene. Kidding, people. KIDDING. If it's quiet, they're doing something like seeing if the doll's eyes will fall out if you push on them hard enough, spraying Dora's hair with hairspray, or trying to wipe the cat's butt with wet-wipes.

I told Jenna last night, "Jenna, I love you so much that my heart just gets bigger and bigger every day," and she said back, "Mom, you must have a really big heart." I just can't imagine having ten. So, to my reader: Hat's off to you, woman! What a wonderful, big, loving heart you have!