Before I do though, I just have to say that all of those blog poo-poo-ers out there in the world (who are of course, not reading this blog because they would poo-poo it) have no clue what they are talking about. Bloggy friends turned *IRL friends are the best kind ever. (And vice-versa for that matter.)
*In Real Life
I'm also gonna post all out of order because, well, I'm just dying to tell you this story.
So our little family of one child joined up with two other families with five children each ranging in ages 10 months to 14 years. Danny got quite a healthy dose of having siblings for a few days and he absolutely loved it. And I loved it for him! It makes me so excited for when we're ready to have #2. But having siblings for Danny isn't what I wanted to write about.
What I wanted to write about was a little stretch of 15 minutes on Sunday morning. Mckmama and Karina were off at a photo shoot, leaving me with three dads and eleven children. We did breakfast and playing and hanging out just fine. Dads thrive at that stuff. Especially when camping. Especially when pancakes and sausage are involved. Yumm. Well, then the gray water in the Mckinney's
10 children. 15 minutes. One little me.
What could go wrong?
"Sure, go for it," I said. So I stood holding Flurry (10 months old) and Letha (Karina's oldest) held Danny. Two were in the other tent-trailer and that left 5 others for me to count repeatedly for the next 15 straight minutes.
Everything went fine for an entire 4 minutes. And then...
Well it started when Big Mac (6 years old) came hollering with big ol' break-your-heart crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks because he had fallen on his bike. I gotta' say, he scraped up his legs pretty good. I called him over to the lawn chairs and started to administer extensive
One band-aid and some coaxing to be calm and take a deep breath.
Two band-aids and some coaxing to be calm and take more deep breath.
"Ooooooooowwwwwiiiiieeeee it STINGS!!!"
"I know, honey, shhhhhhh...."
Most of the kids have made it onto the carpet by now.
And then joining the harmony of the howls and cries, Small Fry (3 years old) came over holding her tiny little finger out which had been caught in the door frame as another toddler tried to close the door.
So now Big Mac is yowling, I'm soothing, Small Fry is whimpering, Letha is shushing, Flurry is fussing because he's trying to crawl OVER me to get to the baby wipes, Danny is whimpering because of all the crying and 3 other children are asking questions.
That's when one of Karina's 12-year-old twins looked at me and asked, "Would it help if I start crying too?" I laughed and sent him to get my phone.
Band-aid number three on Big Mac's knee.
Band-aid number one around Small Fry's finger and more soothing.
Approximately 8 minutes had passed since the dads left.
Next was a frantic phone call to my husband: "Just hurry up and come back!!
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease put a band-aid HERE!!" Big Mac begged.
I made him promise to stop crying before I put it on. He didn't know if he could. I said he must. He reluctantly agreed to try.
Band-aid number four on Big Mac's knee.
"Now you have to keep your promise," I told him.
"I just want to rest in the trailer," he said.
"It will be here soon," I said and careened my head around to see if it was anywhere in sight.
Then I stuffed the contents of the diaper bag back in and one of the kids gathered the 29 million pieces of band-aid wrapper and threw them away for me. Blessed blessed child that one.
"Where IS the trailer???" children started asking.
13 minutes had passed.
And then after more rocking and soothing and reminding of keeping promises and "No, you don't need any more band-aids," and "would someone please go retrieve the bike?"... ...the trailer....
...pulled around the bend! All ten children CHEERED!
10 children. 15 minutes. One little me. What could go wrong?