This morning had a moment so madhouse, I wasn’t sure I could pull through it without crying or screaming. The twins were in the tub, and Henry started crying and I realized it was time to nurse him, so I started taking the twins out. It’s a little tricky to wrangle them both out by myself, but it’s possible. Henry was really working himself up, so I worked fast getting the twins dressed. Then I picked up Henry—and my hand sent me an urgent message that I was not holding a dry, clean baby. He had blown completely through his diaper and outfit, and was sitting in a puddle in his new bouncy seat. And he was screaming so hard, and the bathroom still had pjs and wet towels and bath toys all over it, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to clean that up or stain-treat Henry’s clothes before he needed to nurse, and I was worried the twins were going to get into the mess on the bouncy seat while I was cleaning up a screaming Henry, and I was still unshowered and wearing my baggy sloppy pajamas which had (1) milk, (2) bath water, and now (3) diaper on them. Not a good moment, is what I’m saying.

Part of my crisis this morning was that the house seemed to have crossed a subtle line between its usual Friendly Squalor and a new state of Unacceptable Horror. In fact, after I decided to see what I could do to improve things, I wandered hopelessly from room to room, near tears, thinking it wasn’t even possible to get started. And my mother-in-law is supposedly visiting in October (this is Day 26 of her not telling us she’s coming).

But! I got a grip. And I started with the kitchen table, which I have cleaned before on this blog. It doesn’t stay clean because we don’t eat at it and it’s such a handy place to put things. This must change. For one thing, we need to start eating at it. For another thing, I can’t stand it the way it is.

Here’s the before:

And here’s the after:

Hi, table! Long time no etc.!

The tablecloth was ripped in several places, so I threw it out.

Elizabeth in her Never Crabby shirt

Shelly’s Peanut
Jen’s L #1
Jen’s L #2< Lori’s Macy
Staci’s Emma
Marie’s Marin
Tessie’s AD

Did I miss your girl? Sorry—tell me again and I’ll add her!

So—yesterday’s post. What I meant to do was vent a little about how hard it is to keep my mouth shut in situations where it would be stupid for me to talk. What I did instead was:

1. Imply that one of you wrote a blog post that pissed me off
2. and that probably you do that all the time
3. and that maybe all the other commenters don’t like you either.
4. Imply that I don’t think blogs should be about controversial topics
5. and that I think people shouldn’t discuss things unless they agree
6. and that what you wrote about _______ was way too controversial.
7. Imply that we should all go around kissing up to each other all the time
8. and no one should ever say anything that isn’t positive
9. and that we should all be icky-sweet and no one should say anything bitchy or strong.
10. Imply that all conflict is bad
11. and that pleasant, intellectual debate between consenting adults is also bad
12. and that in a perfect world, all of us would act and think identically.
13. Imply that I never give my 2 cents’ worth on other people’s blogs
14. and that my silence means I disagree
15. and I’m quietly thinking bad things about you but you’ll never know because I won’t say it.
16. Imply that I don’t want you to give your 2 cents’ worth on my blog
17. and that if you have in the past, you’ve totally hurt my feelings and pissed me off
18. and that if you do it ever again I won’t be your best friend anymore.

I is such a awesome communicator! I rocks!

I do often comment if I disagree with something, and I want you to comment even if you’re not saying, “You’re totally right! I totally agree! Also, I like your shoes!” I think we can disagree and still be friendly. Good thing, too, since there are SO MANY THINGS to disagree about! Including my shoes.

There are some topics, though, that I don’t want to talk about anymore, and that’s generally when I choose my voluntary dose of STFU. The blog setting wouldn’t be right for me anyway: I’m a person who typically leaves a comment and doesn’t come back to see who commented after me, so it’s not a good place for me to get involved in a heavy debate.

Also–and this is harder to describe–there are certain times when I can FEEL that my reaction is not good and that I shouldn’t talk, that it would not be RIGHT for me to talk. Do you know what I mean? Because I’ve spent about 24 hours trying to think of how to put it, and that’s the best I’ve got. It’s just a FEELING that tells me I should shut up.

But, silly dears, I was not talking about any of YOU. You are all sweeties, and I’m sure I agree with every word you say. Also, I like your shoes.

It is so difficult to voluntarily take a dose of STFU. In general, my feeling is that if I don’t like what I’m reading on a blog, I should stop reading the blog rather than repeatedly venting my dislike in the comment section. I’m not chained to my computer, eyelids pried open while someone else chooses my reading matter: if I don’t like it, I should go away. But oh, sometimes it is so difficult.

There are so many hot issues (religion! politics! parenting!), so many things that make me feel like fighting. I can tell they make other people feel like fighting, too, because of all the comment sections that boil up and over the edge. What’s amazing is that any of us get along at all.

I read awhile back that humans are naturally contentious–that if peace were handed to us on a platter, we wouldn’t be able to accept it even if we wanted to. Our natural state is to live together in communities, and to fight constantly within that community and also with other communities. My experience with human nature backs this up so far.

This is discouraging. I think I’ll take another dose.

So it sounds to me like we pretty much all agree that my OB is hoping to get another big fat c-section fee out of me by telling me I’m safe for at least 12 weeks. I got a prescription for the mini-pill, which I’m going to try. I say “try” because from what I’ve read, a lot of women find it gives them a fast flying kick into the land of crazy–but I’m hoping I luck out and it doesn’t happen to me. We’ll see. I like how I have to wait four weeks before it renders me safe–and the four weeks doesn’t start until I actually fill the prescription, which, who knows when I’ll get to the store next, or if I’ll remember to fill it while I’m there?

Researchers need to do better on this birth control thing. Right now there are four kinds:

1. Options used in the heat of the moment.
2. Options used constantly, medicating the woman even when there isn’t a need for it.
3. Options in which something that looks like a sharp metal insect takes up residence in the woman’s uterus.
4. Options in which someone gets a crucial reproductive organ snipped.

All the options suck. Heat-of-the-moment options are messy and yucky and can cause allergic reactions, and it is difficult to make sensible birth control decisions during the time they need to be made. Constant-medication options can affect a woman’s mood, weight, and–hello, helpful!–sex drive, not to mention the crazy gland. Metal-in-the-uterus options make me uncomfortable just thinking about them. Permanent options make me sad just thinking about them.

Obviously it would be nice if, for the hot new birth control option, men could take a turn dealing with the expense and side effects, but I understand researchers are FAR too busy working to increase men’s sex drive and hair growth.

Apparently there is a down side of coffee, which is that I am wide! awake! when I should be sleeping. It isn’t as if I drank a whole lot of coffee: I have a 4-cup coffee pot, and I made “3” cups, and the 3 is in quotes because what they call 3 cups will fill a mug once with a little warm-up-your-cup slosh (or, depending on the morning, a little evaporate-into-a-sizzling-stain-on-the-bottom-of-the-pot slosh) left over for later, and that’s it. And I am not talking about a huge mega-mug, I am talking about a normal, even SMALLISH mug.

Do I have a mother-in-law story to tell here? Why, yes I do! She likes to talk about how her late husband used to “fib” to the doctor about how much coffee he drank. “He’d say, ‘3 cups,’ and I’d say, ‘Those must be MIGHTY BIG CUPS!’ He was filling it to the 6-cup mark on our coffee maker every single day!” She tells this anecdote once per visit, but then refers to it again almost daily when she sees me making coffee: “I just keep thinking about Lloyd saying he only drank 3 cups! Ha ha ha.” She, of course, is not a coffee drinker. Never could stand the stuff. Never saw the point, either. Why not just go to bed at a decent hour? She just doesn’t understand it at all—never has. And the taste! My stars.

I had my OB appointment today. Did you know there could be a POP QUIZ on Kegels? With GRADES? It was like that nightmare where you realize you forgot to attend classes all year and now that you’ve found the classroom you have to take a test.

The OB says that if I’m breastfeeding exclusively, I’m fine without any birth control at all for at least 12 weeks. But I have five children already, and there is the question of whether I want to bet the farm on a claim made by a guy who earns his money on a per-pregnancy basis.

If you know of any greater pleasure than sitting alone in a quiet house with a pint of Dove “Vanilla with a Chocolate Soul” ice cream, reading blogs and finding pictures of Erin’s and Sam’s new babies (congratulations, Erin! congratulations, Sam!), knowing that both the new Harry Potter book AND the next disc of Angel are standing by for the next nursing session, then don’t tell me—my heart can’t take it.

My August copy of Jane magazine (which, by the way, I hear is the last: the magazine has gone under) arrived this weekend, and in it was this:

Is that a sign or what? Oh, well, yes, it’s literally a sign. But I mean, is it, you know, a chorus-of-angels type sign? Answer: no. But! A neat coincidence.

I am gradually becoming resigned to the idea that we will be trying the running program. I remind you all that I am almost certain to ditch it, possibly the very first week, so if you’re looking for a bellwether (that’s the lead sheep; also, a good book by Connie Willis) you’d be better off finding someone else. But if you want someone who did the absolute minimum required to pass gym and after every session got a bag each of Doritos and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to restore precious, precious electrolytes, then join up with me, my friend! And lo, we will pant and curse together! And then partake of delicious restorative substances! And then quit! and hide the receipt for the running shoes! and partake of even more delicious restorative substances, now that our time is not being taken up by that pesky running program!

Speaking of delicious restorative substances, please note that there is NO DIET taking place at this time. I reserve the right to add one later if I start feeling all awesome, but “One horrible torture at a time,” that’s my philosophy. If I am running, I am also eating pints of Dove ice cream (also if I STOP running). The goal right now is only–ONLY–to get the buns off the recliner for a brief session per day. That’s IT. Then it’s back to the recliner.

I am drinking coffee again! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I was feeling so, so sleepy every day, and finally I got it together enough to get the coffee pot out. (I put it away when I got pregnant. Coffee makes me feel barfy when I’m pregnant, and “being pregnant” already makes me feel as much barfy as I want to feel.) I made some yesterday morning and felt good all day. I drank more this morning (note to self: teach children to make coffee and bring it to me in bed) and feel great again. Yay coffee!

Two questions I am not asking Paul this morning, because I don’t know how such a conversation would begin:

1) What were you planning to use for birth control, dumbass, if I hadn’t pushed you away? When people asked us if we “knew how this kept happening,” they were kidding–but now I’m wondering if I need to sit you down for The Talk.

2) Did you seriously think you were going to score in the middle of the night with a nursing mother? You’re lucky I didn’t leave for a hotel. And that all your parts are still attached.

I don’t know if it’s just my RSS thing or everybody’s, but this morning I thought I had 157 new posts to read when in fact there were about 6 and all the others were reposts. Eighteen of them were supposedly mine. Something is on the fritz.

Here is an idea I can get behind: caffeinated Jell-o shots. This leads me to wonder: could other things be caffeinated? Muffins, for example? I suppose it’s a little risky with non-liquid things: if the caffeine isn’t fully dissolved, one muffin could get a much-too-high dose. Actually, now that I think of it, the novelty value is the only good thing here: it would be way easier just to take the caffeine pill with a drink of water, instead of pulverizing it, dissolving it, and having to eat it in something. Still—it’s an appealing idea.

Speaking of–but not because of–caffeine, I was so wired last night. I’d be lying down feeling all buzzy and trapped and uncomfortable and eyelids-wide-open, so I’d get up and mess around for awhile but be too tired to focus on anything productive. So then I’d lie back down and hardly be able to BREATHE I was so oppressed by the sheets and the cats and the husband. Finally I tried going to sleep in the recliner and that did the trick, but then Henry woke me up early and I couldn’t go back to sleep because the mildew in the bathroom was so irritating to me I had to spritz the hell out of it with Tilex RIGHT! THIS! SECOND! Now everyone else is starting to wake up, just as I’m thinking it would be reeeeeeeeally nice to lie down and go back to sleep.

Those of you doing the Couch to 5K thing with me should check yesterday’s comment section for a couple of good ideas: one, to use a podcast specially designed for the program; and two, to sign up for an autumn 5K race as a motivator. My own good idea–not in the comments section but LIVE in this very post!–solves one of my biggest problems, which was: When do I DO this? I don’t want to run in the pitch dark, but I also would rather not leave Paul with all five kids the second he gets home from work. So here is my brilliant idea: I’m going to bring Rob and William with me. This plan:

• gives Paul time with just the twins (assuming Henry is either snoozing or doing his usual Fuss Time) without the older boys (or, um, ME) clamoring for his attention
• gets the older boys some badly-needed exercise, perhaps even tiring them out enough that dinner will not be the giddy ordeal it often is
• gives me some time with the older boys
• makes the whole thing seem like more of a fun project, because they don’t yet know that exercise sucks and they should hate it, and possibly I will catch some of their attitude
• makes it a little harder for me to fink out
• means I can fit exercise in where I would normally have to be taking care of children, rather than where I would normally be blogging or eating ice cream.

Hey, speaking of running, I have weak arches. When I stand, my feet are totally flat. No bounce. This gets me out of having to run, right?

Oh, wait….Are you actually taking me up on it? I was planning to just TALK about doing the Couch to 5K program, but then stay comfortably in my computer chair eating Raisinets until I gradually lost interest and forgot all about it. This reminds me of when I was talking with another mother about how we “should” try the Weight Watchers Core program, and she was like, “Great idea! Let’s start Monday!,” and then I was like, “Uhhhhhhhhhhh” with an alarmed facial expression and the intense look of someone who is about to take flight, or at least that’s what she told me later I looked like.

Well, fine. FINE. I remember with the Weight Watchers thing that after I got over my initial panic, I was glad to have had someone push me out of the plane like that. Let’s not start it this coming week, though; let’s start the week after. I need time to calm my inner deer; also, time to bitch and moan. July 29th, then: that’s the first day of the first week for anyone who wants to join in.

Do you have a photo of your dear girl in a Never Crabby shirt from The Children’s Place? Send me the link (swistle at gmail and then the dot com, or you can put the link in my comments section, or if you don’t have it posted you can email me the photo) and I’ll post a list. Here are two photos of Elizabeth modeling hers: