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Feed Me

The results are in. For those of you who didn't see my post earlier, (drink*) James and I counted the number of times throughout the day that our kids asked for something to eat or drink. We asked for guesses on Facebook and the winner will receive a $25 gift certificate to Hangar B in Chatham, or, for non-locals, a $25 donation will be made to support the efforts of Hangar B and Monomoy Community Services to provide food for local families in need. The work they are doing is just one example of so many amazing acts of kindness that has resulted from an otherwise, discouraging situation.

Guesses ranged from 23 (in my dreams) to 305 (although I'm pretty sure my mom was joking), but the end result was 53 requests and I have to tell you, this was a slow day. Congratulations Deborah Hanley who was spot on with her guess!

The funny (and not shocking) part of our experiment was James's tally versus my tally. We each kept track of requests made directly to us and wouldn't you know - James received a whopping 6 and I received 47.

I know this phenomenon is not limited to our household, and all you moms out there can relate. It's infuriating. They (drink) literally walk right by James who may be doing NOTHING and approach me, clearly busy, and ask ME to whip them up a batch of pancakes. I can't make sense of it. We've even pointed this out to them and yet....

This brings me to my next point, and is only related because it irritates the hell out of me and has to do with food (sort of). The lost TV remote. It goes missing on a fairly regular basis and has been found in all sorts of obscure places, the most recent of which was Kaleb's backpack.

Last night, after another looooong day, James and I finally sat down to eat dinner at about 10pm which is pretty normal for us. You see, dining with five kids is truly vexing. It would be lovely if we could all sit down to dinner and chat about our day, commenting on the perfectly seared sea scallops over al dente risotto. Not happening. So it's the mac n cheese/chicken tender/spaghetti show in the evening, followed by baths, downtime, and bed, at which point we eat more of an adult menu and drink copious amounts of wine in front of mindless TV. Everything you're not supposed to do. (drink)

By the time we get to this point, we are DONE. So on the occasions when the remote has gone missing, it's the last straw. Last night, when we finally tamed the herd, I damn near busted a vein in my forehead when the remote was nowhere in sight. After what felt like hours, but was actually only a few minutes, I finally retrieved it from, what Paige refers to as the Pocket of Doom - the crevice between the couch cushion and arm where (drink) food, candy wrappers, unwanted vitamins, and Polly Pockets go to die. But I was hungry, tired, and desperate to watch a half hour of TV I wouldn't remember in the morning. (Drink) It was worth the plunge into the Pocket of Doom, but I'm telling you guys - I was on the edge. Crazy isn't too far away. (Drink)

*Why do you see the word "drink" peppered throughout this post? For further explanation please read the facts on my home page. If you find it distracting....I can relate. Cheers!

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