A Million LIttle Kisses

Not A Million Little Pieces.
Not A Million Little Fridges.
I'm just going to blog about what's happening ...
... about right now.
My sister has 4 boys and a husband. Fortunately her husband doesn't offer kisses (That would be WAY too weird) but he did get me two Krispy Kreme donuts recently - and that demonstrates his love for me.
I am Aunt Moses. I can whistle like a first-baseman and order everyone to help with chores. When I do, nobody argues with me. I can put 'em in Time Out and they cry quietly instead of screaming. I can explain all the finer details of chores and not even get so much as an eye ball rolling.
I'm gearing up for a Family Meeting wherein I tell ALL the boys in this house that they have to help their mama more. The big boys are old enough to do just about anything, and the babies need good role models. Meagan is about to take job number three and is going to need some serious cooperation with NO flack.
Ferrreal. NO flack.
I love this chaos. I love kids and dogs and the smell of home-made stuff in the oven. I love folding laundry and doing dishes.
Meagan just now told me and Julie (our most recently adopted family member) that this environment will make you appreciate your "Me Time."
For the last two years, I've said that this is where I'd film the indie called "Birth Control".
I'm pretty sure my sister does about 200 pounds of laundry every week. She touches and cooks up roughly 20 pounds of meat and more veggies than I've even considered. She is up at the crack of dawn and doesn't even get to drink her coffee in peace. She has to go to the bathroom with the door open because she knows that some shit IS absolutely going to hit the fan during the three minutes it takes to go.
The million little kisses that I get here in Colorado can't be beat by anything anywhere. And, in spite of this being Chaos Central - I would gladly take this any day.