I'm all over the place.

Nothing is right, right now. Our bedroom floor is in flux, so our bed is in the family room. But everyone is being eaten alive, so Andrew won't sleep here, even though he's also being bitten on the couch. Lucy is sleeping with me tonight because she had a horrible nightmare last night and was afraid to sleep alone. Stone won't stop barking at something. My mood is terrible, probably hormones. The babies aren't sleeping great this week, but I have to walk across the house to fix them when they wake. Everything is wonky. I can't fix anything tonight, but I also can't sleep because it's all just uncomfortable and not right.

Four weeks of awesome.

So...we just finished week four of our homeschooling journey. Y'all, it has been very, very difficult. Remember my debilitating disease? I blame that. It's easier than admitting that my disease is totally not affecting me at all right now and the real problem is my debilitating laziness.

Cajoling, convincing, enticing, forcing, tempting, begging...getting kids to work is akin to listening to jokes. I HATE listening to jokes. I'm about to tangent this thing all over the place.

Aren't jokes the absolute worst? Someone tells you a joke and then stares at you expectantly while you force a laugh. Most of the time they're terrible and not funny at all. Mostly because smart humor is subtle. They're called "bad" jokes for a reason. Nobody wants to hear a joke.

And speaking of, it's okay not to feel obligated to send a mother of twins that picture of the twin crying while the other one laughs and says, "she thought I was you so she fed me twice!" Got it. 25 times. If it's on Facebook and you run across it and think, "HA! Laura has GOT to see this!", trust me, honey, I've already seen it. All of them.

Whoopsie. Homeschooling. I would like to brag for juuuust a quick second because at the end of week four, we have completed four weeks of work. That's major for someone who really doesn't follow through on anything but pregnancies.

Ummm...what else? Charlotte moved an hour west, so that's stinky, but now I know she's totally unbusy because she's just petting donkeys all day. (No, really. I think that's really all she's doing.) So last night I said, "come over tomorrow and stay all day!" And she texted back, "okay!" Neato.

We finally got a Costco membership. I'm hoping that Andrew will take a solidly patronizing, "aren't women adorable when they spend too much?" stance on this one and just leave me to my own devices. Note to spouse: I NEVER shop at target, so it seems like maybe we can just think about all the money I'm saving you there and apply it to my Costco problem? And really, I don't think "problem" is really the right word. Well, unless finding your heart's retail twin is a problem.

I'm lying in bed with the sweaty mess that is Claire. She is so cute. Her piggy has a hole in his neck and she took "some a da stuffs out." So we're going to fix him tomorrow. Killer.

Miles had his first time out today. Incidentally, he also had good first lawnmower ride, so it was a draw. Max also had his first lawnmower ride, but he wasn't driving so he really couldn't relax at all. You know men. Always needing to be in the driver's seat.

I'm like Da Vinci, but way better and covered in peanut butter and jelly.

This is the longest stretch of time I've been pregnancy-free since 2006. I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm not unhappy. On the contrary. I'm having a wonderful time. But I feel so strange not growing a person right now. It's like telling a painter not to paint, friends. 

Are we going to have more children? I don't know. It's not really in our plans, but we love babies and we'd gladly accept more children. On the other hand, there's a lot that would need to happen around here to make another baby fit. Speaking just in terms of space, we'd need to make room in many ways! I have plenty of Catholic friends who'd say, "just buy a bigger car!" Y'all, we bought a bigger car and we filled that one. We bought a bigger house and it's starting to bow at the sides. Is material need a reason not to have more babies? Not really, but we pray about it and we talk about it, and having another isn't really on our hearts right now. Of course, Lucy, Claire and the twins weren't on our hearts, either, and now I'd say they're pretty firmly stuck there. It's hard to say what our final number will be, and if five is it, I'm just fine with that. Sometimes it feels like the world of Catholic homeschoolers is a "who's van is the fullest" race. It makes me tired, examining our lives and reasons and trying to figure out if we're called to have more. And sometimes when I say the word, "done," out loud i feel like a fraud who's failing to embrace her vocation.

Sometimes I think, if we're so good at this baby-having thing, shouldn't we keep doing it? What if Da Vinci had stopped at five paintings because his minivan was full? Dramatic, right? Not really, when you consider the possibility that one life can have.

Raising children isn't something done by those without talent for other things or those who are having children to fill an endless quiver. It's something done by those who are brave enough to take responsibility for the outcome of a life. A life that will touch hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of people.  In our case, five lives. What an amazing gift. Five minds to shape. Five souls to cultivate. Five pair of hands to give aid to the world. Five unique smiles to give others hope. Five possible outcomes. Five possible saints. Five amazing people, and Andrew and I are at the helm, shaping their futures. Five masterpieces. And masterpieces take so much time, and so much love. Five masterpieces is enough. One masterpiece is enough. Any number is enough when we use our finest paint, our best brushes and our greatest love. 

And really, Da Vinci was no master compared to what we're doing. He created representations. We are creating reality, and that, friends, is what really matters.

Max's soulful vacuum ballads frequently moved the audience to tears.

Because, isn't a project easier when your five-year-old cuts up your plans?

It's like babblefish.

Miles: bleegooo! Deego Deego Deego! Bleh? 

Max: blibb blibb bleegooo! Deego?

Miles: Blech blah blah blah Deego! Bleh?

Max: Deego Deego Deego!

I can translate. 

Miles: Mom just mopped the floor! I'm pretty sure I saw a cup of crayons on the dining room table. I can grab them if you want to take a few minutes to color on the floor with me. There are orange ones in there, too, if you're hungry. You in?

Max: oh man...I AM ready for a snack, but I was going to flush some Legos on my way to punch Claire in the face. meet you in five? It really shouldn't take long.

Miles: no, no, yeah. That's actually perfect. That'll give me time to pull the raw chicken trimmings out of the trash and get Mom yelling. make it ten?

Max: perfect. Stay efficient, as they say.