Four

People always gasp when they hear I have four kids. I don’t blame them, I would too. Four kids is a lot. I always wanted two; one boy one girl. If I’m being honest, I never really thought about having kids just thought of it as the natural path after you got married.

When Nick and I were dating he told me he wanted three boys. I laughed of course. Three kids was crazy, and three boys? No thanks. Again with the karma gods I have four boys. Four amazing, adorable, perfect, sweet, kind, loving little boys.

If you meet me on the street and ask me how I am, I generally rattle off some exhausted sigh and some barely formed sentence about how crazy my house is or how tired I am. You all nod and smile, either knowingly or maybe with a little bit of pity.

Most the time our house is crazy, but crazy fun! We are playing hangman, and checkers, the kids are constantly yelling for us to see their new mind craft creation, they’re fighting each other because their imaginary game got out of hand, They hide in their room for hours and build Lego worlds than beg us to come up and see. They build race tracks and forts, they listen to music real loud and show us their cool dance moves. Nerf gun wars until someone is crying and all three of the older boys are generally mauling Nixon at one time or another.

Ya its crazy here but most the time its the good kind of crazy and I’m tired because I am trying so hard to make sure everyone gets the right amount of attention, that I see each fort, each colouring page and each boo boo. My greatest fear as a mom is that I’m not paying enough attention. When the pot is boiling over and the baby is crying and they want to show me their drawing and I tell them “I’m busy”… it breaks my heart to see their face. I’m learning to leave the dishes and have a late dinner just so I can see what they are doing, so I can remember all the little things they did that they are so proud of. Parenting is trial and error, and I try so hard. Some days are really good and some days just aren’t and that’s ok.

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