I knew I could do it.
I figured, if I could squeeze out six kids, run two home businesses (one of them our main source of support, pitiful as it may be), run a house that is approximately half the size that is appropriate for a family of 8 and still have people come over and say, “It’s so clean! And quiet! Not at all like I thought it would be!”, provide the brood with three squares a day and kiss them on their clean faces before I tuck them in at night and all the while keep my hair looking fabulous – I can start a little blog. Right?
This is me: I am the mom who can look into a cupboard that most would say has nothing in it and pull enough things out to make a decent, mostly nutritious meal that will be deemed acceptable by most and sketchy only to the very timid or small. But I can’t find my car keys ever, ever, ever and when the phone rings, I am certain it is someone calling to tell me I am late – I am never late.
I will be annoyed if you are late, but I won’t trash you to our friends. I will, however, click you in the forehead when you finally show up. Late, as usual. Gosh. Get a watch.