So, it seems that five children is a lot. I'm just saying that so in case one of you decides to have five children because "Beeswax made it seem so cinchy on her blog," you can't sue me for something. Like having my pants on fire.
It is fun, though. If you remember that books and blogs and hairbrushing and the kind of vacation where you just sit on the beach and sip Coca Lites (and eat guacamole served by cute beach waiters to your cabana while you read embarrassing chick lit novels and stare at the ocean, and even sometimes get in it because there are no fish that you have an unreasonable fear of because of that lecture on poisonous creatures on the California coast at oceanography camp in the 5th grade) will still be going on in the year 2020 (unless that whole Mayan Calendar thing is for real, and everything will be over sometime next year).
And as we settle into summer, it is feeling less like a frat party and more like a not-very-good summer camp, in which I am the camp counselor who wishes she could sneak into the woods and eat cream puffs, instead of teaching children to make lanyards. Don't get me wrong. I am quite a skillful lanyard-maker. I made one out of green yarn, and hung the pool key from it.
My cousin Melanie had her fifth child last Monday. Baby Abby is fine, but Melanie is still in the hospital with all sorts of complications, so I've been hanging out there when I can.
I think she'd agree with me that five is a lot of kids.
(Who the heck said eight was enough?)