“Are they ALL yours?”

I was asked that same question FIVE times today at the store. Five… at least. (I sort of quit counting after awhile.)

I don’t mind it when people ask, I suppose. I know my children are remarkably close together in age. After all, we have five children and the oldest is just five. (That’s not counting our miscarried baby.) 

I know we’re somewhat of a spectacle, too. You should see me just trying to get everyone situated in or around the shopping cart when I head to the store without my husband or some other insane adult (as was the case today.)

What cracks me up is that most of the time people who stop us are one of two types of people.

1. Either little old ladies with bluish-grey hair (I’m not judging, just describing) who offer the advice to enjoy it while we can. So sweet… and so true. I’m sure they’re speaking from experience, so I try to listen to every word they say.
2. OR moms about my age or younger who seem incredulous to the fact that five children can be done and are even more amazed that they’re so close together.

The second group are the women who always ask my children’s ages. They stop me half-way through to repeat some of the numbers, just to be sure they heard me correctly so they can report such record-breaking stats to their husbands when they get home. Then, they proceed to tell me why they have the number of children that they do. For example, “Oh, I’d like to have a third one, but my husband says two is just right.” Or, “We just can’t afford it. I have to work just to keep them in daycare.”

Then, they follow up with the kicker: “Well, I’ll let you move on. You’ve sure got your hands full!”

I’ve heard that so many times that I’ve started answering, “Yup, but so’s my heart.” Then I smile. Because I know we’re blessed. Even if we don’t all fit on one shopping cart.