A glimpse at my day

Thought one hour of solid exercise would carry me through the day with uplifted spirits.

And then:

Ellie: "You are a bad mother to me!"

Me: You kids get off the top of that thing (little tykes climbing toy that daddy brought home) before someone falls and gets hurt!" (insert crying because no one can get down on their own.)

Ellie: "Mommy, I'm hungry!"
Mom: I just need to get a few more of these weeds. Here, eat a bean...wait, (Robbie!) stop picking those peppers!"

Ellie: "Mommy, why are you sleeping? (to her mother, sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes to be folded with her head lolled back, sound asleep...)

Ellie: "Mommy, please, please, please can we get the Swan Lake dance music?" ($6 on iTunes will buy you 21 of Tchaikovsky's ballet suites from Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty and the Nutcracker, btw...)

Eleven kids at soccer practice all want to play on offense. I have the largest team, an even split between older kids learning to work together and little kids who like to sit and pick clover. We can play a mix of six kids at a time.
"Nate. Nate. Nate. Nate. Nate. NATE! go to the goal!" "Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. STEPHEN! go to the goal!" !#@$Q@#%@#$ (insert 9 other names, repeat.)

Jack becomes the chief whiner, mostly because he comes home with me.
"Mom, that was the most boring practice ever. I just want to kick the ball." Later, "Mom, you want to know what the problem is with defense? You just aren't in on the action." I swear if I hadn't heard him say it, I wouldn't have believed a 5-year-old was capable of coming up with that thought.

Bob took Jack fishing before soccer. They brought home a fish in a bucket, which the kittens, true to stereotype, tried to eat:

Bob: Amanda, where did you guys put that fish?
Amanda: In the back room on top of the washer.
Bob: Um, the fish isn't in the bucket.
Amanda: Could it have jumped out?
Bob: I guess so.
(we look, then suddenly...)
Amanda: Oh my gosh! Look, there he is! (points to the floor, far away from said bucket).
Bob, reaches down and picks up the dead fish, rinses him off and puts him in a baggie: "Poor guy. I'm going to put him in the fridge. Show this to Jack. Tell Jack he jumped and we can't eat him."

Then the kittens knocked my cucumbers (future pickles) onto the floor, busting two open. Growl.

The dishes are piled, I need to balance my checkbook. And finish folding the laundry. And go grocery shopping. Yet here I am.

Goodnight, folks!