One thing I love about having lots of children is seeing the things I buy for them get used again and again. I’ve mentioned (and mentioned, and mentioned) that I enjoy getting things on clearance at Target. Just imagine how much my bargain-hunting soul loves to use those items for several children. Buy a child’s shirt for $1.74, then bring it out for the third boy in a row, knowing a fourth boy is coming to wear it next, and right there’s a little slice of happiness.

I do buy some things new for each new child. Sometimes it’s necessary: my first two boys were born in the winter, and my next two are summer babies, so some of the seasonal stuff is the wrong size: the child needs size 12m shorts, and all we have is 12m sweaters. Sometimes it’s a matter of things starting to look dated: the things I bought for my first son eight years ago in the late ’90s don’t look as cute now. Sometimes things wear out: jeans get holes in the knees, onesies get stretched out and thin and grungy. And sometimes it’s just fun: fun to have new things, fun to buy things for the new baby.

I like to shop. I’m saying it right out, because I think people who like to shop are supposed to be embarrassed, like we’re Paris Hilton or something. I guess it’s supposed to be superficial to enjoy seeking out and purchasing material possessions, and I can see how it wouldn’t stack up against, say, working with orphans in an impoverished country. Nevertheless, I enjoy it. Not only do I enjoy it, I will go so far as to say I think it is a worthy pursuit. Shopping is seen as a rich woman’s activity, but I see it as a poor woman’s activity: Making good choices means you can have the good stuff for the price of the crappy stuff. You can have two of something instead of one. You can have this and that, instead of this or that.

When I shop, I’m looking for things we currently need, but I’m mostly looking for things we will need: the less pressured you are, the easier it is to get what you want for a good price. I don’t wait until our sheets are full of holes to look for new sheets, I’m always on the lookout for good sheets at 75% off. We don’t need them yet, so I can be picky and get ones I like. I buy clothes for the kids in the next size up, and even the next size after that. Not too far ahead, because fashions change and because it’s hard to predict who might need slims and who might need huskies, and because as kids get older they might want some say in what they wear, but I do buy enough ahead that I’m not scrambling to buy them a whole new wardrobe at full price because they’ve suddenly outgrown their old stuff. Basics like winter boots and snowpants, I buy several sizes in advance. I’m willing to handle a certain amount of storage and organization in exchange for paying $6 instead of $24.

When you save money in boring areas, you have more money for fun areas: save $18 on boring winter boots, and you have $18 more to spend on cute birth announcements, or a pretty green vase thing, or a new book. You also have more money in general: if you don’t buy the vase thing, the $18 is just extra in the checking account. When the utility bills come in, or when the car insurance is due, or when somebody needs to go to the dentist, it’s good to have those extra bits that wouldn’t have been there if you’d bought things full price.

New pair of boots bought in November for $24? Or new pair of boots bought in February for $6, plus new sheets bought for $18-down-from-$72? Shopping is not just the act of putting down a credit card, it’s the art of choosing. There isn’t a thing wrong with buying the boots for $24, but nor is there a thing wrong with enjoying trying to get them for $6.

I notice that if I eat something purely nutritious, such as a heap of carrots or a fruit smoothie, I feel a little queasy and “off” until I eat something like a Twix bar. I have wondered if, over the years, I have primed my body to expect junk, and so when I eat too much nutritious food I create a Junk Imbalance. It reminds me of when I read, years ago, that the reason carbon monoxide poisoning works is that even though your body can’t use carbon monoxide, it prefers it to oxygen. Your body will keep sucking in that carbon monoxide like it’s Twix bars, until there’s no room for the oxygen. This may not be the purely scientific explanation; it’s been a long time since I read anything about carbon monoxide. These days I’m more likely to be reading about Angelina Jolie.

I’m feeling a little yicky this morning. Nothing in particular is wrong, it’s more like a mixture of issues from the pregnancy grab-bag: a little short of breath, a little queasy, a little tired, a little crabby, a little sore. Plus, I had a smoothie for breakfast, so I have the aforementioned junk imbalance. I’m 26 weeks pregnant, and so this is the week my OB wants me to go do the gestational diabetes screening. I don’t really mind that sweet drink: it’s not delicious, but it doesn’t make me want to throw up. What I don’t like it sitting in the lab waiting room with all the people who look like they’re carrying mutant germs. I get restless and have to go walk around and put Germ-X on my hands for the tenth time in an hour. I’m sure this has nothing to do with the sugar in the drink.

I have a suggestion to add to yesterday’s sleep tips: have your husband tell you a long, boring story about a small, hard-to-find, complicated problem he encountered at work. Last night I was so wired I couldn’t even close my eyes, but then Paul told me just that sort of story and before I knew it I was asleep. Before you start worrying about Paul’s tender feelings, let me rush to say that he tells me these stories on purpose to help me sleep. He’ll see me lying there all wide-eyed and twitchy, and he’ll say sympathetically, “Do you need a long boring work story?”

Today’s 10-minute task was cleaning out the drain in our bathroom sink. It was draining very slowly, and all I can say after cleaning it out is NO WONDER. I’ve spared you the Before and After pictures. You’re welcome.

Today I thought I would tackle the twins’ closet. They were playing in their room anyway, and that way I could supervise them and also get the closet done. Oh, ha ha ha. Ha. That worked as great as you might imagine.

Here’s the closet Before. This is just the left half of it. As you can see, I have helpers.

Unlike my other clutter projects so far, this closet contains mostly items that really do belong there. However, clearly we have a “stuff it in and worry about the ‘where’ later” problem going on. We also have a “too much stuff” problem and a “time to put away the pink receiving blankets” problem.

This is a multi-day project, and today’s part was to see if I could do something about all the clothes I’ve been cramming onto the bottom two shelves. The twins are unfortunately blocking your view of one of those shelves, but it looks pretty much exactly like the one above it: completely full of disorganized fabric and plastic.

I like to buy clothes on clearance (have I mentioned I like Target clearance?), and put them aside for future sizes and seasons. “Aside” means, apparently, cramming them anywhere. All the sizes are mixed together, and what good does that do me? The twins will be entering college and I’ll still be finding 2T stuff in the back of this closet. Some of the stuff was still in store bags, some of it in some small boxes (an earlier attempt at inflicting order), most of it just stuffed anywhere it would fit (“fit”).

I got two boxes and put them on the changing table, labeling one of them “2T” and one “3T.” I put anything 4T or above in a pile nearby–I wasn’t sure what size box I’d need for that. By the time I had most of the stuff off of the two shelves and into boxes, I had this on my hands:

They were mad because I wouldn’t let them take down everything else off the shelves, nor would I let them put things into or take things out of the diaper pail even though I kept opening and shutting it enticingly as I got rid of plastic store bags and ancient receipts.

Time to wrap it up for the day. I put the three new boxes on the floor of the closet. The 2T box is overflowing, but the other two are about the right sizes, with room to add more things. You can only see two of the boxes in this photo; the third box is behind the sliding closet door, more onto the right half of the closet.

It doesn’t look a whole lot better, I realize. There’s no gasp factor here.

But there is some empty space on the bottom shelf, and the shelf above it looks fuller than it is because of a big winter coat and also because of me not doing any organizing yet: all I did today was take things off. Also, some bags of extra school supplies came tumbling down when I removed the wads-of-clothing support system they were leaning on.

It’s difficult not to get discouraged, comparing this project to the kitchen table and the bureau: those two projects, it made such a difference spending even 10 minutes on them—whereas I spent about half an hour on this closet and barely made a dent. But this closet has been driving me crazy, and I was worrying as the twins outgrew their 18-month and 18-24-month stuff, and I knew I’d need the 2T and what would I do then? So this is good work, and worth doing, and we will hold our applause until the end–which will probably be in about six weeks, at this rate.

For you: Today’s assignment, should you wish to follow me down this dark and dreary road, is to pick a closet or cupboard and spend at least 10 minutes on it. Tidy, purge, reorganize–whatever it needs. If you get to a point where you think, “But I need a set of matched organizing containers, or I can’t go on!,” don’t stop. Find something you can make do with for now (I found an old diapers box, a old moving box, and a Rubbermaid bin), and replace the containers later.

Sarah of No Whey, Mama has another question for us. She wants to know what we think of the idea of earning a little extra money by taking care of other people’s children in your own home, when you’re at home taking care of your own kids anyway. She’d like to know if anyone’s tried this, either as a full-time or part-time thing, and how it turned out. You can read the whole question over at her site.

I’ve considered this myself, from time to time. It seems like such a win-win thing: I’m here anyway, I’m watching children anyway, why not earn a little money? I always come down on the “no” side, mostly because I worry that I would get into it and then not want to do it anymore and have trouble getting out of it. Also, when we have playdates over here, I usually find I dislike other people’s children, even if they’re very nice children.

Put a vaporizer in your bedroom. I prefer the scalding-hazard (warm mist) kind over the mold-hazard (cool mist) kind, but either kind will work if it makes a gentle bubbling sound, the sound of someone taking care of you when you’re sick. Paul said last night, “Can’t we just use the sound machine?,” but I prefer the illusion that a magical sleeping mist is floating out into the room. Also, the moisture seems like it would be good for pregnancy congestion.

Do a Sudoku puzzle while lying in bed, just before turning out the light. I find they distract me from anything my mind might want to turn over and over and over and over, without being the kind of puzzle that might add to that churning mill–for example, the kind of puzzle Paul sometimes does, which can leave both of us lying awake thinking, “What the hell is a 5-letter word for ‘he ignited their hopes’?”

Turn pillow sideways from its usual orientation, then fold in half. I like to have the fold near my neck and the ends toward the top of my head, but it can also be nice to have the ends near your neck and the fold near the top of your head. This is good for pregnancy congestion and also for pregnancy heartburn.

Use lavender-vanilla “sleep” lotion from Bath & Body Works. Not lavender (too sharp), not vanilla (too sweet), but lavender-vanilla, from the aromatherapy section. Put it on your collarbone/breastbone area as if it were Vicks VapoRub, and tell yourself you’re inhaling something with magical sleep-inducing properties. Try not to lie there in the dark suddenly wondering whether this might be one of those dangerous herbal things.

If you are feeling icky in no particular way, just icky, especially if it’s “wake up in the middle of the night feeling icky,” do this: (1) pee, (2) chew two peppermint Tums, (3) drink a cup of water, (4) brush teeth, (5) pee again if you already need to, and (6) go back to bed.

If it’s on your medical provider’s approved list, take a Benadryl.

Window-shop online. I think these would make really cute birth announcements, don’t you?

Have sex. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! See? A good laugh can relax you, leaving you more ready for sleep.

Before bed, have a mug of hot milk. It sounds repulsive, but it’s yummy if you add a little vanilla and a little honey. Don’t overheat the milk or it really does get repulsive; heat it not to boiling, but just to “nice and hot.” Sip it down, then brush teeth and go right to bed.

Blog. At least you’re getting something done, since you’re not sleeping anyway. And it would be a shame to waste a quiet house.

I have a sleeper here (it’s William’s, not mine) with a zipper that has come un…threaded(?) on one side. That is, the zipper pull is sliding up and down freely on one of two zipper…ladders, but without being connected to the other ladder. The zipper doesn’t appear to be broken (no zipper teeth missing, no splits in the ladder), just disconnected. Can this be saved, or is it toast? I mean, I’m not going to replace the zipper; I’m wondering if it can be rethreaded so that both ladders are in the pull, and if so, how, or if I should toss it out. I tried to cram the disconnected ladder into the pull, but it looks like the ladder is too thick to go in like that. It’s a brand-new sleeper, and I don’t know if the zipper was like this when we bought it or if William unthreaded it the first time he was putting it on.

Today’s Digging Ourselves Out project is to go read Sundry’s post about hiring a housecleaning service and also read the comments, and then spend the rest of the ten minutes thinking about doing the same thing. If it isn’t something you can afford, just daydream. If you already have a housecleaning service, think about how awesome it is and how smart you are for having it.

Then, if you can, answer the question I left in Sundry’s comments: If you have a housecleaning service, do you feel weird having someone else in your house? Because for me, that’s one of the main problems. I’m not worried about someone stealing, I’m worried about someone, you know, being in my house. It makes me feel invaded just thinking about it. What I want to know is, is that something most people feel but you get used to it? or is it that if you feel it, you’re probably not going to get over it and should just scrub your own kitchen floor?

Also, a comment I didn’t leave but want answered: What does a cleaning service do if there is clutter coating every service? How can they dust the coffee table if they can’t get to it?

It’s Day One of school vacation week, and I was going to get you all to feel sorry for me about that–but then my parents came and took all four children out to lunch with them, and here I am alone in the house, and how am I supposed to make you feel sorry for me now? I’m going to go back to working the school vacation week angle. I can always delete this first paragraph, and you’d never even know I had this time By Myself In The House.

School vacation week makes me wonder why I ever had children in the first place. Of course, if I hadn’t had children, I’d be at work right now, probably doing twice the work because I’d be covering for all the people who had children out of school, and I’d be wondering why I hadn’t had any kids yet and oh my god I’m in my THIRTIES and TIME IS RUNNING OUT.

I took everybody to Target this morning. Smart move, dumbass. I was thinking it would be fun to let Rob and William each choose something they don’t usually get to have (fruit snacks shaped like Legos! thrilling and bound to disappoint!) to celebrate school vacation week, and also we were running low on diapers. I did get the diapers, and the gummy Legos, but I also felt like everyone was noticing how poorly I was controlling my roiling cloud of children. A clerk I didn’t recognize said, “Hey, you’ve got an extra kid today!,” which made me realize how often I use Target as an escape. They probably all know me there: the woman with twins, who can’t seem to keep it together and is always buying tons of clearance crap and candy, and is so distracted she never even looks at the clerks’ faces. “Did you see her today?,” they probably say to each other in the break room. “Does she not understand about birth control or what?”

We also bought a 10-pound bag of bird seed. I’d mentioned casually to Rob and William that you could put peanut butter on a pinecone and then roll it in birdseed and then hang it on a tree like an ornament, and that the birds would come and eat from it. To me, this was an interesting story about crafts that happen to other people. To them, this was the most amazing idea they ever heard and CAN WE DO IT RIGHT NOW?? So when I saw a sack of wild bird food at the store, I bought it. But now we have a problem, and it is pinecones. I am not even sure this is the right time of year to find them, or if we have pinecone-shedding trees in our area. Now we are going to have to go on a walk to find pinecones. Hey, can this craft be done with something other than pinecones?

Edited to add: I forgot to tell you about my gigantic find at Target! Simply Shabby Chic sheets, 75% off. I bought three sets of twin and one set of king. I would have bought more king, but it was the only set left.

The children have worn me out. William says everything ten times, and in a silly voice, and it seems as if he never ever stops talking. He follows me around the house, flopping. Rob keeps asking if we can talk about something, can we spend some time together, can you play with me now? It’s pitiful and annoying at the same time. Elizabeth hasn’t taken a nap in the last two days, and she won’t leave her shoes on, and she gives back almost everything I offer her to eat. Edward keeps getting into the diaper pail, the electronic equipment, the pencils–anything gross, delicate, or stabby. Lifting two heavy toddlers in and out of their high chairs overwhelms my tired body and my sore tum. Both twins are sick with colds that have turned into fevers and coughs. Their noses are double-double the disgusting.

Paul and Rob needed haircuts, so they went downtown and got it done. I started thinking about the cost of five boy haircuts every two months, plus Elizabeth’s and mine, and I started feeling like we can’t really afford all these children after all. We will have to donate several of them to Goodwill. I am not sure that will be tax-deductible.

The thought of haircuts led me to the thought of braces. Glasses. Car insurance for teenaged boys. What about our retirement? What were we thinking, having even ONE child? Oh, sure, “they’re worth it.” I’ll tell myself that when I’m living rough, eating out of dumpsters, having given all our worldly goods to pay for the needs of our throng of children. At least we won’t have to worry about the cost of extracurricular athletic programs: this morning William referred to something he saw in a book as a “hockey bat.” It was a golf club.

I don’t know why I thought this was a good day to balance the checkbook and work on the bills. Now I am agitating about our electric bill and our heating bill, and how much worse they will be when we have five children taking showers every day. What will we do about the bathroom situation? We have one small bathroom for seven people. This is not going to work out, and we are foolish to attempt it. The boys will need to start peeing in the shrubbery. I will give them showers in the driveway, with the garden hose.

Earlier, when the twins had been running free and the living room was trashed, and the twins were both crying because I’d taken them out of their mess, and I was cleaning it up even though most of it was on the floor and it’s uncomfortable to bend over like that now, I had this sudden vision of what it would be like to add a newborn to this. A fussing newborn who wanted to nurse for a leisurely hour while the twins were tantruming. Am I some kind of idiot, that I would allow this to happen? FIVE children? FIVE?? We can’t even come up with a name for this new child, because we have named too many children already.

Also, speaking of five, just five Reese’s miniature peanut butter cups (“serving,” my ass) have 210 calories. What kind of world do we live in, where this can be the case?