This post was originally written and posted on November 10, 2011.
I went to Subway for lunch, went through the process of creating my sandwich, and handed over my debit card to pay for it. The cashier, a lady who was a bit older than I am, took my card and stared at it.
Intently.
It has this picture on it:
"That would be my family," I reply.
She starts counting. I kid you not. Gets her finger out and starts ticking off the kids, one, two three, four...
"How old is your oldest?" She asks after counting off all six of the kids.
"Eleven."
"Wow, you work faster than I do. I had six in 14 years of each other."
I won't tell her that I have six within 5 years.
Here it is.
I have six kids.
They're all in elementary school.
I have my hands full.
As I'm repeatedly reminded of by strangers who feel it their duty to tell me so.
But they're amazing kids.
I can take them into public and I know they're not going to throw a tantrum. They're not going to run around and scream. (Though they may dance a little and giggle a whole lot). They're polite and they, for the most part, share with each other.
You say I have my hands full simply because of the mass of them?
Huh.
I would have said otherwise.
