Are you having a birthday party???

Was said to me while I was waiting for five girls and one little boy to wash their hands after going to the bathroom.

(As a side note, "waiting" doesn't mean waiting, in the normal sense. Here it implies: lifting up the little ones to reach the sink, stopping Ryah from getting a pound of soap, turning 3 waters so they weren't so hot, stopping someone from splashing on someone else, telling Ryah to rinse more bubbles off... several times, nodding at or otherwise acknowleging at least 12 owies in various stages of healing, preventing the waste of trees by dispensing the towels myself, and keeping the ones who are done busy while the others finish)

It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. Chuckling, "No, they are all ours." Which is always followed by a speachless stare and then "How many do you have?"

It is kind of fun to see their reaction when I say 8.

And shopping at Costco by myself when Keith was gone (I don't get as many when Keith is there), it took me twice as long to go through the store than normal for all the comments.

"Wow, quite the brood."
"Oh, you have your hands full." (You should see my heart).
"You have lots of helpers."
"Busy mom."

Well, and picture this...

The shopping cart is full (it always is at Costco, never fails, sigh). Two kids sitting in the front either fighting or laughing uproariously. (Gotta LOVE Costco carts, with their places for two kids... saves LOTS of fights) Two kids on each side holding onto the cart. And one either wandering around, hanging onto the front or riding between me pushing (and trying to maneuver) and the two kids sitting in the front.

I can see why people comment. I would too.

But the nice comments are fun (usually, unless I'm in a hurry to get out of the store).
It is the not so nice ones that are harder to answer.

"Are they all yours?"
"Are they all from one father??" (No, and different mothers too).
"They know what causes that now."
"Control your kids!" (Ha, control is a myth at best)

Or worse, yet, the stares of pity. I chose this life and while we do have our hard times, we love it. Don't feel sorry for me. Rejoice that these kids weren't aborted and given a chance for life, however busy and full and noisy it is. Or save your pity for the single child who grows up not knowing how to fight and make up. Who doesn't learn how to compromise. Who doesn't know how to play Barbies or something else, when they don't want to, just to make someone else happy. Who doesn't know what it is like to ALWAYS have someone to play with. Who has someone to talk to late at night when the lights are out. Who doesn't know the value of alone-time with mom or dad.
I love my family. And maybe we'll have (or adopt) a couple more. Or maybe not. But either way, I don't regret any one of them.