This week, I was fortunate enough to have a house-full.
Between friends, there was a little get-away one husband coordinated for a wedding anniversary, and I happened to be the first to say yes to the needed childcare. There was also another slight family emergency with another friend, and I had 3 more added upon our little temporary brood.
It was heaven.
(Merrill might disagree.)
I had three little boys playing cars/airplanes together which made my heart yearn for three little boys of the like to play cars/airplanes on my wood floors every day.
I had five doing homework simultaneously at the countertop.
Afterschool snacks were in abundance, and I felt like a good mom with my Clementine's, apples, and sugar cookies piled high with frosting to offer them.
It wasn’t until dinnertime, when the doorbell rang, and only two who were my actual offspring joined me in their excitement at the door. The pizza lady brought us a bounty of warm, cheesy goodness.
“Wow! I hope that you can handle all of this food. Will you each eat one?” She asked #2 and #3.
“We have plenty here to eat all of this.”
“How many do you have here?”
“Oh, a dozen or so.”
“They aren’t all yours.. are they? You are too young to have 12 kids.” She was alarmed and didn’t hide it.
“No. But I love them all like they were.”
It was a fun night, I loved the back yard all a bustle with many children, but I was thankful for my recovery night last night with only three.