adjusting to only seven kids at home...

Everyone knows that you blink, and they grow up. You're happy to know the adult they've become, your child turns into your friend, but part of your very soul aches that it went by so quickly. You know you could have been kinder and more patient with the child that has grown up, and you wonder if you possibly could have appreciated him enough.

When you have lots of kids, this happens over and over again. We were even for a few years there, eight home and eight left the nest. Now NINE are out on their own. The two oldest girls here (Kathryn is 20, Evelyn is 19) talk about getting an apartment, ect., and ouch. I know. They grow up and leave. But I will never for the LIFE of me figure out people who can't wait until their kids leave and they can have their house back.

Don't get me wrong, the house isn't quiet, except for rare instances where it IS, and that's just weird. We still have kids here, in fits and starts, sometimes both of these lovelies at the same time. Here's my granddaughter Lydia:

She arrived last evening to spend the night with us, happy as could be. She likes to play "store".


Anne was here yesterday. She is a busy one, and if she finds a pencil or a pen, watch out. But she likes to sit with me and read books and sing songs and cuddle. :) I play with her while the kids do their schoolwork, and it' ain't too shabby, ha.

I do find myself missing Joseph at random times during the day, hearing a noise and expecting it to be him, then remembering that he moved out. It's not like I miss him terribly or that I'm broken up about it, it's just that years and years of having him around, it's hard to adjust. How can a mom be lonely during the day with four, five kids in the house? (Yesterday, Kathryn worked in the afternoon, Jon, Char, Cam, and Anne were here all day...)

It's not loneliness. It's that ache in my soul. The older you get, the clearer the childhoods of your children become. You can just SMELL their hair after baths, and remember them all in their towels, and bedtime stories and prayers, and the glee on Christmas mornings. You smell cinnamon buns, and you think of your kids waiting to open presents, because at our house, cinnamon buns = Christmas morning. Your brain cannot retain everything, so your memories are sifted and shifted and perhaps the stomach bugs and door slamming episodes fade a bit, and you maybe remember yourself as more of an ideal mom than you actually were. The Laundry Mountain in the doorway of the laundry room becomes somewhat of a joke, but you know it was a huge ordeal back in the day. The Couch Monster of clean clothes is funny now too.

People tell you, "They grow up fast", but no, that isn't happening in MY fam. No, my days trod and plod and oh my goodness, is it only eleven a.m.? How am I going to make it 'til Paul gets home? A few in diapers, one nursing, one being potty-trained, kids getting off the bus with homework, things to be signed and kept track of, and oh no! Library books not to lose! Dinner, oh what's for dinner?

The days are long but the years are short, they say.

When you know this and experience it, the poor youngest kids, getting so many hugs from mom. :)

Ah well. Joseph moved out, but lots of his stuff hasn't moved out, and there are kids fighting for that bedroom, ha. Our bedroom situation is going to be like one of those little square plastic puzzles where you move the small squares around to make a picture. One room gets emptied when girls move into Joe's room, we redo floors and paint, then another room gets emptied, we redo floors and paint, then one girl moves from room she shared with sister, and voila! No guest room for me, no sir, these kids see the possibly of an empty room, and they cannot possible share anymore, no way. Char and Cam will be the only ones left sharing a room. Nine people in a big house, there used to be 18. Four kids shared the room that Sonja will have to herself.

Oh well, time marches on.