Because

I'm going to regret this decision in the morning. The kids are going to come bouncing into my bedroom asking for chocolate milk, and I'm going to feel like a train hit me, but I'll get up and make their milk and help them find their morning cartoon just before dutifully making lunches and tying the laces to my running shoes.

Because that's motherhood. And that is my current, beautiful reality.

Tim and I were canoodling in bed, talking about nothing really, and I just kept feeling like I needed to write something down--actually many somethings down. Not all will be written tonight, but I did start a list of topics that I feel compelled to write about.

Because the truth is that I haven't have much to say for some time now, and I've wondered what to do with this empty space that has been collecting so much dust lately.

So I hope you'll indulge me as I endeavor to write in perhaps small snippets, attempting to collect real and raw moments of my life. My life is constantly moving. It has been nearly impossible to write anything of real value (and if you know me...I hate writing crap) because Timmy is a tornado, and Birdie is just behind him, tattling her way through life. And well, I have to actually be very present with them not just because they're my last two babies and I want to, I actually have to be present out of necessity because if I don't, someone is jumping off tables and slamming into someone else or someone is finding my hidden sharpies and writing on the walls. Of course, my fourth and fifth kids would be the ones to test all the limits not previously approached.

Because that's what babies do. They remind you that they need just as much parenting as the first three babies, and you must step up your A-game.

And so I try each day. I try to rein them in bit by bit, only bridling their crazy when absolutely necessary while allowing them room to explore. I am a different mom than I was when Mya and Genevieve were 3 and 2, respectively. I feel different. The world feels different. So I parent different, but I try to maintain some consistency so the older ones don't feel so slighted.

Because older children generally feel slighted--at least that's my experience from children who will remain unnamed at the moment.

So here I am, writing close to midnight because I just can't seem to carve out time during the day like I used to. And my nights are dedicated to work so that my kids can ride horses, play soccer and dance ballet. My work may seem small and relatively insignificant, but it is of great importance in these walls, even though no one but Tim and me really knows that.

Because parenting is supposed to be about sacrifice. Giving without receiving. Loving without seeking anything--not even gratitude--in return.

My kids may not shower me with thanks, but their smiles after a horseback riding training, soccer practice or ballet rehearsal do enough for me. I know they are finding themselves in their own ways, and it gives me all the satisfaction I need.

Because satisfaction comes each day in little ways, but especially within the walls of this home I'm creating with Tim.