I wish I had some deep spiritual insight into life to offer today, or a new poem, or a powerful quote from a good book I have been reading (yeah, right, like I've had time for any of that!) Even prayer and worship, which normally help me hold things together, have not been as constant as they should be. All I can say is that God has a way of buoying me up though these times by two means: family, and humor. And usually they come as a set. Here's a sample . . .
My nine-year-old son to one of his siblings: "You touch that last cupcake and you'll enter a world of pain." Survival of the fittest.
My seven-year-old son, who had been sick for a few days, was asked if he felt better: "Yeah, except when I stand on my tippy-toes my leg wiggles." . . . uh, okay then . . .
My five-year-old son had tripped on the game controller cord twice in one day. A little later, one of my other sons was telling jokes and asked, "What has four legs but doesn't walk?" The correct answer is a table, or perhaps a chair. My five-year-old sadly replied, of course, "Me." Four legs, son, four legs!
My three-year-old son came into the living-room in tears, saying, "Mom, I need a dwink."
"Why can't you get a drink?"
"Cause I need tea, and Gregory [the baby] is on the fwiderdayder." Really, it's not as bad as it sounds. He can't literally get on the fridge, at least to my knowledge.
My nine-year-old son: "Ewww, there's something floating around in the fishbowl." To which my eleven-year-old daughter (and the fishbowl's owner) replied, "No duh, they're fish." Sometimes you just make it too easy.
My sixteen-year-old daughter, while we were watching Prince Caspian: "That's a really tall midget!" Everything is a matter of perspective, I suppose.
You can't make this stuff up, folks. Large families involve some sacrifice, but the return is one hundred-fold.