The not so usual suspects.

I used to admire the Gosslin's on the front of the Good Housekeeping magazines annually. Then I was thrilled when they got a show. Then I watch the show and astonishment set in and all the grandeur faded. Then the Duggars come along. I could watch the ever kind, ever patient, ever smiling (and ever pregnant) Michelle Duggar come up with names that start with J all day. It amazes me how she can orchestrate dinners, bathes and homeschooling with a school bus full of children and never seem to need a trip out to have a pedicure or drink with an umbrella. I really admire her.

If you knocked on my door on any random weekend (or weekday if we are being completely honest) to find laundry folded on my couch and the odd cup of tea left where Bridget can't reach from the morning. I make no claims to be as domestically gifted as my Mother, or Grandmother (or your Mother, or Grandmother)

Last night, we had several boys from Daniel's baseball team sleepover. Today we picked up an extra. At one point today, I looked in my living room (in my extremely modest home) and counted; Jamie, Bridget, Daniel, Alex, Danius, Kevyn. When the door opened and Ashley, Sandie, Saprina, and Natasha walked in, causing Boris to get excited and join the party, I wasn't sure where to move. I didn't really have to think too hard, as there really wasn't anywhere to go.

Now, I was doing very well until the time came to bring Boris to his new family and we were running behind. In the middle of changing Bridget's bum and dressing her, the doorbell rang, one of the kids opened the door and Boris escaped, reeking havoc on the neighborhood as a troupe of bicycling five year old girls were riding past my door. A husky on the loose was quite enough for a chorus of screams. While all the boys were chasing the dog in an effort to corral him into the truck, I was quickly packing his belongings with blurry vision from holding back tears about his departure.

When I hear the door bang again, a bleeding 11 year old is looking at me. He did battle with our front concrete step and lost. A giant skin out about the size of a baseball needed attention and apparently in this zoo, I am the chief monkey nurse. Of course, because in these situations, nothing else would make sense, the first aid kit is in the baseball bag in the back of the truck which was on the same parking lot as the renegade dog.

I work wonders with my gauze and polysporin, wrap up his arm, throw Boris's things together, have Jamie put a hysterical one year old in the truck, while one of the kids captures the dog.

While we were dropping the dog off (and I am crying hysterically, mind you) the boys are elsewhere in the park, playing football. Jamie drives my sobbing self through the Tim Horton's drive through to get me a much needed coffee. I come home, find my house extremely empty without my furry friend and put the baby in the bathtub in time for all of the kids to come trouping into the living room again. The gauze and tape and TLC previously administered had come loose during a game of flag football. An icepack was needed for a sprained leg. A hot shower and ointment for the kid who chafed his leg. More gauze and tape and polysporin for my initial casualty.

So. After much debate regarding the movie to be watched and the snacks to be had, I sit on the couch finally to drink my coffee. It is colder than day old dish water at this point, but I don't care. I lay it on the windowsill behind my head to baby proof it. Then all of a sudden Bridget (whose UFC name would be Bridget the Spider Reynolds) crawled up beside me, reaches behind me and before I can grab her, dumps an extra large, double double over me, her, and the couch.

So...Michelle Duggar, wherever you are and whatever you are smiling at, I admire you. I really do! Sleepovers are fun, but so are Sunday evenings when you have only your own kids and everyone is sleeping soundly.