You know, I don’t write in here as much as I should, but it’s not for lack of things to say. There are always flowers growing, things I contemplate knitting, adventures with the kids, sadness, happiness, the whole gamut.
It’s just that there is so little time. I get home at 4:30 and make dinner, feed them, do C’s exercises, try to stop B from eating Lego, watch the older kids bicker or make potty jokes, yell too much, maybe drive someone to soccer. After they’re down there are dozens of dishes to do, e-mails to therapists, school forms or camp forms to be filled out, plants to be watered and maybe, just maybe half an episode of Orange is the New Black.
It’s a juggle. I often feel like I don’t have the patience for my older kids that I wish I did. A trip to the beach or the aquarium would be such a breeze with the two, but when you add two infants it feels more like trek in the Himalayas. Storytime is often drowned out by tears of a baby going to sleep. The babies are easier in some ways because it’s impossible to get mad at a baby. I know this time is temporary, but C will always need me a little more and I’m still figuring out what that will look like and mean for the other three. They do love each other a lot though. All four of them have these interesting little relationships with each of the others, and I’m grateful for that because there’s only so much of me to go around.