Scaling Mt Never-rest

Laundry is an ongoing challenge in a family of ten. Although, if I were to be completely honest, laundry was difficult when mine was only a family of three. But, I digress. In the interest of humoring others who may (or may not) share my challenge, this is to give you courage to scale the heights of Mt Washmore, Mt. Foldmore, pushing all the way to the very top of Mt. Never-rest, the highest height of motherdom.

The pile is what won't fit anywhere else.
The laundry sorter is full, the blue hamper in the  middle of the page is full.
Laundry is getting out of control!

Here is my exploding pile of laundry, and the photos just don't do justice. Although the pile looked huge when I cowered at its base, somehow it shrunk between the basement and the computer. So, you'll have to take my word for it; the pile is was HUGE. Later, I'll post some beautiful pictures of what it looks most of the time, when Mt. Washmore hasn't recently erupted and Mt. Foldmore is under control.

You are probably wondering, what did I do? How did I manage to so effortlessly scale the heights of Mt. Washmore? Well, the honest answer is, I didn't. My children did. Ah yes, I've learned the art of delegation. I'm mastering it, you might say. Each child is responsible to start and fold at least one basket of laundry a day. And, since we have an extra large capacity front-loading washer, each basket is at least two regular loads.

Though my children don't necessarily enjoy helping with laundry, they all understand the concept; you don't wash, you don't wear. I didn't really know how to do laundry when I left home. Somehow my clothes were always clean when I needed them, and every once in a (great) while, my mother would call me to come help hang Dad's work shirts when the buzzer buzzed on the dryer. Beyond that, laundry was a mystery.

You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear when I realized I must scale the heights of Mt. Washmore, on my own, regularly! Then, just when I was beginning to get the handle of Mt. Washmore, Mt. Foldmore erupted, explosively, all over my house! Adding to the craziness was the arrival of a new baby girl, complete with spit up and dirty (cloth) diapers. Suddenly I found myself at the base of Mt. Never-rest, quivering and quacking. It looked insurmountable, overwhelming, and beyond my ability to comprehend.

But, thanks to a few tips from other "climbers" I noticed the hand holds, the small steps that could be taken, and the ropes that would catch me when I fell. My favorite "rope" is the laundromat. Yes, the infamous laundromat, where you can wash and dry countless loads of laundry, all at once, and get them folded on tables specifically designed for that purpose.

It has been quite some time since I've resorted to taking all my clothes to the laundromat, but knowing that option is available does bring comfort.  In the end, though, my biggest piece of insight is, just keep swimming. Laundry, like dirty dishes or stinky toilets, never goes away. It just keeps being generated, day after day. And, as a very wise woman once told me, when the laundry piles and dish piles and chore piles finally go away, I'll miss the children who helped create them.  Until then, I'll keep climbing.

Taking the Next Step (through the desert)

Someone asked me recently how my day was going. The question caught me unprepared; I honestly didn't know. But, the question got me thinking; how was my day going? So, I stopped to think about it. Kids were crying, but only one at a time. My son was asleep (and he doesn't sleep well at all), I'd started a load of laundry, dressed and changed two kids, put out a fire (literally), and fed my kids. Plus, my hubby was coming home that night, and I had recovered from being sick. So, at that point, it had been a good day.  Unfortunately, things went downhill at that point.

Though it isn't worth detailing, I was discouraged and downtrodden, beat down by the daily battle to raise eight children (two with developmental delays), manage a busy home, and keep my mind. The lure to just stop was very tempting, though all my attempts to submit a resignation have been futile; God doesn't work that way.

So, I got back on my feet and took one more step. Taking that step was huge; my situation didn't change, but my attitude did. And, I could again look back over the day and focus on the highlights, realizing that even with the challenges and difficulties, the highlights outweighed the low points, and I really did have a good day.

Sometimes the hardest part of parenting, or life, is to take that next step, the one that comes after falling down AGAIN! Instead of focusing on the failures and falls, choosing to focus on the successes, no matter how small they may seem. So, I'm choosing to celebrate the successes (kids got three meals, some laundry did get done, and everyone got dressed before the day was over) in spite of what seems like overwhelming failures. According to some wise person (on a card I once read), Success is "getting up once oftener than you fall down." At least for now, by that definition, I'm choosing success.

Walking the Marble Halls

I recently spent several hours on the campus of my state capital. That in itself is not too big a deal. but, I wasn't alone; I had five children with me, all under eleven. The day was wonderfully educational. I learned several valuable lessons (I'm sure the kids learned something, too).

First. I learned that our state capital is most definitely NOT family friendly. Parking is terrible. Any spaces relatively close to the building itself are reserved. Residential parking is available for an hour a day, and (if you can find one) visitor spaces are available for $1.50/hr. $1.50 adds up quickly (especially when it takes 15 min just to get unloaded), and an hour can be incredibly short.

Also, capital buildings are filled with very serious looking people (mostly men) who ave completely forgotten what it is like to be a small child. Not only have they forgotten what is like to be a child, I think many of them have forgotten that they were children, or that they are suppose to represent the children in their districts as well as the lobbyists in the marble halls.

Finally, I learned that the marble halls (which can be quite intimidating) are really not so scary. And even in such lofty places, filled with powerful men (and a few women), real people still walk. It was a truly amazing experienc; one I hope to repeat again some day. Next time, though, I want to do it on a sunny day (when I don't mind walking several blocks), before nap time, and with plenty of snacks; for my children, and for those who have forgotten what being a child is like.

Big Boy Toys

Our house was built before the sewer came through our part of town, so we've been operating with a septic system since moving in two and a half years ago. Just over a year ago, we received a letter from the local county health department that we had to connect to the sewer. That process began today.

Because we educate our children at home, we have the privilege of making the most of different opportunities, like when a huge backhoe pulls into your yard and starts digging a 12 foot hole! The mother of a four year old boy, I expected he would be enthralled. What I didn't expect was how my daughters would respond. Three of my daughters lined up on the couch along with my son, captivated by each step of the process of connecting our home to the sewer lines. They watched until the pile of dirt in our front yard obscured their view of the backhoe and workmen. But, they were back at the window again watching as the men returned all the dirt back to its proper location.

I've heard it said that the only difference between men and boys is the price they pay for their toys. I don't know that I completely agree with that perspective, but my little boy (and his big sisters) really like those big toys!