I've loved it for as long as I can remember.  I've drunk it in an official capacity since my reluctant Mom finally said yes.  Before that, I surreptitiously sneaked cups of it from her omnipresent brew.  There are few physical sensations I relish more than sticking my nose into a freshly opened bag of heady, dark roast Starbucks beans. 

I very reluctantly weaned myself off it for each of my pregnancies, which for this and countless other reasons seemed to last eons.  About once each year I gradually change my caffinated/decaffinated ratio so that I'm 'off the stuff' just to see that I can.  I hate the idea that I'm held captive to a substance and so I do my little experiment every now and then to prove my supposed dominance over coffee. 

It's one of those things that brings me a disproportionate amount of pleasure.  What's yours?

During the day, I putter and I putter.  The novelty of silence after nearly fourteen years of constant noise and action still hasn't worn off for me.  For the first two months of having all four kids in school for the duration of a full school day, I didn't even listen to music, so lovely to me was this near-mystic silence.  The silence seeps into my pores, it sometimes feels.  When I run, I've even taken occasionally to turning off my Ipod.  I drink in the quiet as I vacuum, as I clean the toilets.  These toilets are - thankfully - quite clean, given the fact that boys use them.   A brilliant friend and mother to four boys once told me once I'd given birth to Jude, that she taught her boys to pee sitting down from day one and highly recommended the practice.  I followed suit and have blessed her in my heart countless times since. 

Mondays are my go-hard-at-cleaning days and I enjoy these days.  Cleaning feels therapeutic to me.  The ordering of my external world allows me to rest peacefully inside my head.  This careful orchestration of the world around me allows me to knit later on after dinner.  It allows me to read for an hour or so before bed at night.  It calms me.  I do have to sometimes remind myself, though, that my children won't remember my clean floors in years to come, or if they do, it probably won't be in glowing, fond memory form.  They will, however, remember that I took them out to Starbucks for some not-oft-had one-on-one time together, or that I took 20 minutes out of my day to play Uno or Skip-Bo with them.  These are the lessons that I learn and then have to relearn over and over again because at times I am so thick.

I run or do an exercise class or even the Wii several times a week, mainly for the joy of it, but also to combat my ever-threatening-to-expand arse.  I'm not one of those girls mercifully blessed with a transcendent metabolism, but I've learned a long time ago to stop griping about it.  And so I exercise.

I meet a girlfriend for a daytime coffee or something one or two mornings a week, though I can't quite stifle a feeling of growing guilt about it.  My brain is  hard-wired to task accomplishment.  However, I know that healthy people are in relationship with lots of other healthy people and so I continue to prioritize these dates and love them.  I've been blessed with some unusually wonderful women in my life, as I think I've mentioned.

I write for an hour or two each weekday.  I entertain deeply mixed feelings about the practice.  While I enjoy it very much for the most part, there are times when I wonder if I'm wasting my time in a colossal way.  Who knows if this book will ever see the light of day?  But I press on, because I know if I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.  Today I began page 81.  I feel in my bones that I'm a writer.  I feel fully me when I do it.  I feel complete and engaged in an invigorating way.  Whether or not I'm to be a published writer is the big question.  Sometimes I hate what I've written, sometimes I love what I've written.  Sometimes, for the life of me, I can't think of a single thing to write about.  Perhaps this is normal, but I guess that isn't the point.  And so I press on.

Before I know it, it's time to pick up the kids.  When I think of it, I feel a happy anticipation to see them again.  Afterschool, they are brimming over with energy.  They compete aggressively to share about their respective days.  My four little extroverts.   Each day we talk about what our day's number score is (A ten is an obviously perfect day.  Anabel's and Oliver's days are most often tens.  Lucy is usually either a nine or a ten and our Jude - ever working toward being that 'glass half full' kind of guy - is normally at a seven or an eight.). Then we talk about what our High/Low is.  This is - it probably goes without saying - the best and the worst thing that happened to us that day.  The kids eat their snack and then it's homework and musical instrument practice time (guitar for my pre-teen Adonis and piano for my little ladies).  This is my second busiest, but one of the happiest times of my day.  Their joy fuels me and gives me courage to try to be my best for them, for they surely deserve that and far more, lovely little noisy people. 

Spread the word if you know of a whole and positive entrepreneur leading a middle-sized business looking to take it up to the next level.  My boy is fantastic at what he does.  As arrogant as it sounds coming out of my mouth, three of his clients once told me at a party that they jokingly refer to him as 'The Trev.'  He's found his niche in life and is brilliant.  Maybe he can help you or someone you know.

1 cup steel cut oats
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup pecans (or other nuts)
4 cups water (or a water/milk combo)
1/8 cup brown sugar (or agave syrup)
1 T butter
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp vanilla
3 (or more) tsp cinnamon
2 (or more) cups chopped apple or pear

Spray the inside of your slow cooker with nonstick cooking spray.  Combine all ingredients in the slow cooker and mix well.  Cover and turn on LOW setting and cook overnight.  Stir well before serving.

On our Professional Development day last week, the two Littles and I did one of our all-time favorite activities:  we went shopping at Michaels - the arts and crafts store.  And just look at what we found on clearance!  The four kids had gales of laughter together as they assembled the thing.  I'm at that stage in parenting now where my only roles were in assembling the bare bones of the house and then following the real workers around with my camera.  I love this life stage.

There are a thousand things that seep together to comprise my day.  I didn't realize that when I took on the mantle of 'Mom' to a family of six, I'd be requiring and using - essentially - the skill set of a CEO.  I'm in charge of the smooth running of many lives and if I'm on my game, I'm inspiring them daily to become better people.

My alarm goes off at 6:45, though I know I'd be a better person if I made that 5:45 and went for my runs then.  I lug myself out of bed, turn up the furnace and check the weather online.  I then proceed to make breakfast for the kids and if I'm really organized that day, it's a simple matter of dishing out the hot cereal that's been simmering in the crockpot for the past nine hours.  The house smells better that way and it's the kids' favorite breakfast.

I then go to the different bedrooms and wake them up.  Their differing wake-up styles makes me laugh.  Lucy and Oliver are almost always awake and reading  in their beds already, though if they're not, they wake immediately and energetically.  Anabel is slower, but positive and lovely.  Jude takes eons.  He almost always requires a massage in order to maintain a positive mindset.  This is the only time of day where this boy is inclined toward grouchiness and probably wrongly, I treat him with kid gloves and willing hands devoted to long minutes of rubbing my grouchy boy's back.  Finally they're all up and dressed and meet in the kitchen for breakfast where they take their vitamins and chat and eat.

I do Lucy's and Oliver's hair as they sit on our high kitchen island chairs.  Jude and Anabel no longer require this service of me.  My repertoire is no longer sufficient, which frankly, is no surprise.  The hair stylist within me rarely sees the light of day.

We then proceed to rush around at what feels like a frenetic pace, Job Charts in hand for the Littles, and 'we' do 'our' morning duties.  I still have to brush the Littles' teeth, for if I don't, it's a nasty surprise for all those who they come into close contact for the rest of their days.  Let's just say that being thorough isn't their primary consideration for when brushing their own teeth.  Speed is more the nature of the game as far as these seven and nine year olds are concerned.

I swap mornings and afternoons with my carpool partner.  If I'm on my two-week stint of mornings, we're in a rush and if I ever struggle with impatience in life (and I do), it's during this mad morning rush.  We have our litterless lunches to shepherd into backpacks, freshly washed gym strip to pack, planners to sign and record individual reading times from the night previous, hole-less socks to place on little feet (and not-so-little feet), breakfast dishes to put in the dishwasher (though honesty dictates that I let you know that they rarely make it there and usually settle somewhere near the kitchen sink), cheques and permission forms to sign and carefully pack so that they don't go away to that mysterious Land of lost-essential-I-must-have-it-signed-and-turned-in-immediately items, preteen boy bodies to shower (subsequent nagging regarding the towel thrown haphazardly on the floor afterward is almost inevitable), teen girl outfits to choose (because it must be an outfit that no one else on the planet has ever once conceived, and should include, if possible, an apron or a tunic covered in pigs) , and breath to smell.  If some brilliant one among you has developed a more effective plan than the smelling of potentially stinky breath to check for tooth-brushing effectiveness, do tell.  In the meantime, I smell.  And I sometimes cringe.

I beller out my standard line, Jackets and shoes on! in a mystery tune whose origins I'm no longer sure of.  There are four pairs of shoes and four jackets hurredly put on in a hodge-podge flurry of activity as I do so.  On a really successful day, mittens and scarfs and hats are also donned.  We then proceed to pick up our carpool friend and make our way to the middle school, where both Anabel and Jude go to spend their days.  Next is the elementary school where a drop-off is taboo (And frankly, not welcomed by me, either.  I love to hang and chat with the moms who are also there waiting for the teachers to open the doors to welcome our Littles).  And then - and only then - I can heave a sigh of relief for my more pressing duties for the morning are now complete.

It occurs to me that I haven't introduced you to our boy.  Here he is and do we ever love him.  He's the world's most patient cat.  And snuggliest.

Here's a link to my Anabel's blog.  Her most recent entry blessed me so much:

http://gumdropsandmeatloaf.blogspot.com/

Anabel's very talented friend just took this photo of my girl.  Isn't it gorgeous?

I was the blessed recipient of a gentle rebuke last night.  Jude - our family's representative people person - tactfully began the conversation with something along the lines of, "Mom, are  you OK?  Do you feel like you're going through anything these days?" 

It's so odd to rear up these children who then begin to surpass you as they go along.  I'm finding now with both Anabel and Jude, that our relationships are morphing into something brand new and unexpected.  They are my children still, needing the guidance and unconditional love that one would expect, but they're also becoming these new creations who are in a strange sort of way, my friends now, too.  I always knew that they'd both push way past me in a physical height sense (their birth weights were 10-7 and 9-0 respectively), but I failed to foresee this element of their development.  They have real insight to offer me, as I journey my way through life. 

Jude's diplomatic opening led the way for me to be able to accept what he had to say to me, which was - I'm afraid to confess - that I've been distracted and irritable with him of late.  He's probably right, too.  Now that the kids are back in school after the Christmas holidays, I've locked into drill sergeant task mode as I try to dissemble some of the aftermath resulting from six people spending two weeks together, mostly indoors.  To my extreme discredit, I get this way when I'm focused on a task that feels daunting.  I lose sight of relationship and I begin, disconcertingly for everyone involved,  to closely resemble Genghis Khan during one of his military campaigns.  My son's gentle rebuke was just what I needed to hear.  Out of the mouths of babes.