P & J, plus 8.

This morning started with my final 5 AM wake-up call for my beating at the gym by our very own Annie Rench.  I did it!!!  6 weeks (minus the strep-throat-with-a-flu-chaser week, that was a bummer :()

Anyway, I'm still super-proud of the work I completed there (and yes, I'm the kind of person who regularly needs to pat her own back.)  And by final wake-up call, I mean I will never ever ever ever again get up that early unless I'm catching a plane to somewhere super-exotic and sunny, or I'm hitting the ski slopes for a perfectly sunny day of powder hopping.  I can think of absolutely no other justification for it.  I really admire the people that do it on a regular basis.  Especially the chipper ones. 

I thought it might be like my distaste for running.  Like someday I would hit my stride and 5 AM would not feel like the very gate of death.  But I'll be honest, squat thrusts even come second to the actual alarm clock that got me there.  Today I decided if I was not able to work out sometime between the hours of 8 am and 9 pm, it simply would not get done.  You've seen the posts on pinterest.  "Get it done", "Just carve out time", "It's worth it".  Whatever.  I wouldn't do it.  I'd stay home and eat a box of pop tarts every night instead.  (I know this without a doubt, simply because it is exactly what I do when I get pregnant.  Yes, a whole box.  Every night.)

Anyway, from the gym I headed home at 7 AM to the 8 Driskill kids.  Now, anytime that they arrive sans the parents, it is such a flurry of excitement I actually feel like I've gone from 0 children and a quiet pristine house, straight up to 8 kids and total chaos in 60 seconds flat.  So from then on they are all just a mass of Driskills.  Heaps of lunches and clothes and belts and hair-dos later, and with Joe's help, the 5 oldest are delivered at school and I head home to clean the house.  The deep-clean kind that must be done on a regular basis to maintain sanity.  My theory here is that by the time the naps are done and the basketball game is over, I'd be dropping all 8 kids back at their own house with a trusty babysitter, and I'd come home to quiet and pristine again.  (This is an important part of the story, so remember my game plan here.)

By the time I get Henry down for his morning nap, I'm eager for that shower.  At this point, all I can think about is food-shower-sleep.  I can't decide which I want more.  Three seconds into the shower, I decide that that is my least fav.  My arms are worthless from my gym-beating, and washing my hair is almost torture.  That rules out any food intake as well, any arm-lifting of any kind is completely out of the question, so now all my energy beams in on the clock, and I watch each minute click by until 2 when I get to put them down for naps.  (My 0 kids nap at 12:30, so this is extreme discipline on my part.) 

I pick up the kindergarteners and head to Mickey D's for food and easy clean up, plus a little exercise for the kiddos.  (Yes, at this point my standards hit rock-bottom).  Each minute lasts five and then finally finally finally, it is almost time.  Everything is moving on schedule now.  The olders get home from school, we do a little homework, we head to the basketball game, we scream and yell and WIN! 

We head to the Driskills to drop their 8 kids with a babysitter. . .and the door is locked.  Joe does his best to break in, he seems so confident that he can do it, I almost believe him.  The neighborhood dogs root loudly for him.

Needless to say, we end up home, with 8 tired and hungry Driskill kids to my quiet and pristine house.  Two hours till bedtime.  Eternity.

All the guilt I may have had for ditching town in the middle of their move last weekend is now absolved.  It's semi-quiet in my house.  I have a glass of wine.  Not only do I admire early-risers, I submit all my respect to those with 8 kids.  How on earth is it done?