We’ve been swimming before, but they’ve never seen Mommy or Daddy do competitive swimming starts or flip turns. (I wonder why?! )

I won’t even begin to describe their fascination with parts of gymnastics. I’m just thankful that they can’t reach the rafters in the garage.

Anyway, the swimming thing hit new heights this week when Nate and I witnessed our boys trying to “take their mark” off the arm of the couch and dive onto the cushions. We pretended not to notice because it was oh-so-funny. We let it go, while wathcing out of the corner of our eye(s) again and again.

I suppose doing this in just their underwear was their nod toward Speedos.

We finally had to stop them when Andy and Brady decided to race and start off the “blocks” at the same time. Being older and wiser, Mom and Dad knew that their couch cushions  pool wasn’t wide enough to catch both of them!

Thankfully, they never tried it from opposite ends of the couch.

FYI, I really wanted to post photos of this Olympic event, but the aforementioned team “uniform” prevented me from doing so.  

This story did it for me.

One lady… seven babies… all at once! Amazing. To top it off, each of the septuplets weighed more than my preemie daughter Evan, who weighed just two pounds, twelve ounces!

That’s what you call multiple blessings.

We have a big copy of the Disney book “101 Dalmations.” (This will relate to the intro. I’m getting there.) Inside, there’s an brightly colored illustration of Roger smoking a pipe.

Connor was looking through the book while I washed dishes the other day. He paused on that photo, pointed at the pipe and said, “Mommy, what’s this?”

Inside, I cringed. Who wants to explain that to a two-year-old?

“That’s a pipe,” I said honestly. “It’s gross and yucky. It’s just nasty, buddy. Don’t ever use one.”

He seemed content with this answer. He picked up the book and carried it out of the kitchen.  I was relieved…

Until he came back.

He held up the book and looked at me and said, “Mommy, I punch the guy and say, ‘That’s NASTY!’”

He seemd so pleased with his solution. Maybe he’ll be the Surgeon General one day.

You know, with relays like the 4×100 quadruplet diaper change? The triathlon of making dinner, extracting the popcorn kernel from your toddlers nose, and bouncing the colic-y baby one your hip? I’d surely be a contender for the decathlon of juggling too many projects and so many kids all at once.

In high school, one of my favorite teachers wanted to know what event we’d like to take gold in if we were Olympians. For me then, it was a tie between the gymnastics all-around (It always has been my favorite. I was a tumbler as a kid.) and the individual medley in swimming. Either way, you’re the best of your sport, having mastered all aspects of it.

Looking back now, I’d never be caught dead on global TV in either a leotard or a swimsuit. (That would cause an instant drop in ratings. )

Thankfully, my quest for Mommy gold allows me to wear my pajamas  whatever is clean — and not skin tight.

In what event (dream or real) would you take gold?

I must confess that though Italy’s Andrea Minguzzi
earned his medal, the mom in me
wants the shout, “Get that out of your mouth!”

He came bounding out of VBS last night and said, “Mommy, I got saved!” He was grinning from ear-to-ear as he told me the story about how he and Daddy prayed together in the church library. What a sweet time for him!

I kept hugging him and told him that a year from now, we’d have a birthday party at home for him. “Cause you’ll be one in God’s eyes then!”

“A birthday party? Will I get presents?” he asked.

I laughed. “Um, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Can I get shin guards?!”

Leave it to my five-year-old to capitalize on a life-changing decision… apparently his new-found faith still has room for baseball.

And I’m so glad.

Case in point, last night’s conversation with two-year-old Connor:

Connor: “Mommy, can I have a drink of you’ pop?” He grinned sweetly.

Me: “Nope. Mommy poured you juice, remember? It’s on the table.”

Connor:“No! I can’t drink it. It has daiwy in it!!”

Valiant effort, but he didn’t get a drink.

Yesterday he said, “Mommy, I sooo ‘cited for Spaykation Bible Skewl!”

“Good,” I said.

“I said it, Mommy!!” He squealed. “I say ‘Spaykation Bible Skewl!”

I didn’t have it in me to correct him. He sure tries.

Just curious.

He used to be so cute.

The other day, he ran into our room where I was folding laundry. He said, “Mommy, do ‘mail’ and ‘fail’ rhyme?”

“Yup!” I said.

“Goody,” he giggled. “I’ve been talking to myself about that.”

Then he skipped away. Now we know what four-year-olds are discussing when they talk to themselves.

Today I found a new, bright red scratch on his cheek. I asked, “Hey, Bo, what happened to your cheek?”

“Um,” he explained. “It died.”

He asked, “Mommy, is this the bank that gives us Tootsie Rolls?”

“Usually,” I said.

Brady piped up from the second back seat: “I can’t have Tootsie Rolls, remember, Andy?”

“Oh,” said Andy. “Well, you can have Skittles.”

I’m laughing to myself in the front seat, wondering how Andy plans to resolve this dilemma.

“OK, Mommy,” Andy continued. “Tell them Connor wants Tootsie Rolls, Brady will take Skittles, and I’ll have… um… M&M’s!”

Oh, my… Next time I’m ordering a cheeseburger and fries with my deposit.

We officially start homeschooling our oldest child this fall. I have to admit, I’m overwhelmed and scared. I suppose that’s good. It makes me lean on God that much more for His wisdom, patience and creativity!

Even so, I realize that this is the first in a loooong line of back-to-schools for us. Daunting, isn’t it?

People up here speak strangely. Not all of them… just some of them.

You know those little clips used to hold hair out of your face? Are those called buh-rettes or bar-rettes?

Settle the score for me, please.  Just curious.

My husband had an hour at home between jobs. I thought this would be just long enough to jaunt out to the local discount store all alone to hoard all the back-to-school sale-priced Fruit of the Looms. (Sad, but true.)

Since I was attempting it alone, I took my husband’s new (but used) car.

It died.

In the middle of the busiest road in town.

People are so rude. There was honking and shouting, and not from me.

No, I was the one near tears on the phone. Thankfully, I wasn’t far from home. My faithful husband threw all five kids into my van and pulled up behind me and shouted for me to switch cars with him.

His car has a manual transmission, so during the red light, he pushed it into a strong right turn across four lanes of traffic and was able to “pop the clutch” and get it started.

Apparently there’s a trick to the ignition. (The trick is that it does not like me, and after sitting still and freaking out in the car in crazy traffic, I no longer am fond of it, either.)

Anyway, while I was driving back home from the luxury of my enormous-but-faithful van filled with shoeless kids, I heard Connor shouting from two rows back.

“Mommy, we come to save you!”

I nearly cried. Sweet, sweet boy.

Nate told me that the whole time he was driving the van to come get me, Connor kept shouting that they were coming to save me. I have a whole troop of little heroes.

I’m so thankful for my family who comes to my rescue when I need it… which is far more often than I care to admit.