Never stop never stopping…

I’ve always known that life with seven children is a little loco.

But next month, we will enter a phase that is a special kind of crazy.

We will have five teenagers living in the house at the same time. And a 2-year-old.

(Also a 9-year-old, but she’s in the golden years where she’s still trustworthy, sweet, helpful, over-the-moon about her parents, and toilet-trained.)

One day recently while I was doing laundry upstairs, Baby Girl toddled into my room carrying a semi-frozen chicken breast the size of her head that she had swiped from the defrosting drawer, announcing, “Raw chicky?”

She had marched past all six older siblings holding the hunk of meat, leaving a slimy trail behind her like a slug, and no one stopped her or apparently even noticed her hijinx.

With three kids in school and two taking classes at ASU Mid-South, the responsibility of raising my own toddler falls squarely on me, the mother–who would have thought? In her infant years, Baby Girl spent much more time with her teenage siblings than her mother because of my impending back surgery which left me unable to lift her nor even to be left alone with the child.

Now that the girls both can legally drive and have permission to drive to their various classes, activities, work, and social life, it seems I never see them.

The eldest works at Shake Shack, so I hit the restaurant much more often than ever before to watch the whirlwind behind the counter on a Friday night. One night, I marvelled with some jealousy over her youthful flexibility as she contorted her entire body inside the interior of an undercounter refrigerator to clean out the remains of a leaking carton of milk with vigor and intensity.

Why can’t she do that at home?

I actually pay her to clean the kitchen every week. Two weeks in a row I have reminded her to clean the interior of the microwave.

But no. It’s still covered in butter splatters. And whose fault is that? It’s… mine… I

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Dorothy Wilson The Marion Mom MOM

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sheepishly admit.

You know those recipes you want to make that call for softened butter, but you don’t have time to pull the butter out of the cold fridge and thaw it on the counter until it reaches room temperature? (And in our house, room temperature is rarely soft enough because we like the air conditioner set to BRRRR.)

So I use the microwave.

You have to be careful trying to soften butter in the microwave. Just a few seconds too long, and you’ve got melted butter, which doesn’t make great cookies. They just run out all over the cookie sheet. (Ask me how I know… sigh.)

So I’ve perfected the art of softening butter in the microwave. I take the stick straight from the refrigerator and set the microwave for seven seconds.

Just seven.

Well my Kenmore Elite inwall convection oven/microwave went out three times over the past ten years, and the final time, the warranty company informed me that they couldn’t repair it, but here’s $500 to replace your $2000 unit.

Sigh again.

So I replaced it with a $500 countertop unit and built out the cabinet to fake a built-in.

It’s not so bad, honestly. If I had known you could do that when I remodeled, I probably would have started with that!

The luck we have with appliances, even the expensive brands go bad, so I’ve decided I’d rather replace three hundred-dollar units over a decade than three thousand-dollar units.

But this model features a “time-saving program”you can press the seven button alone, without pressing start immediately afterward, and it will start up for seven MINUTES.

(Side note: aren’t we lazy?!)

You see where this is going now, eh?

Have you ever melted butter for seven minutes?

It’s not good.

Maybe this is why my microwaves keep going bad.

So judge if you want, but a girl gets distracted trying to fix a meal for nine while also fielding questions and dodging said nine in the kitchen.

The back of my brain eventually said, “Why is the microwave running?” and before the brain could finish the thought, my eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

The stick of butter had melted into a pool of rich, bubbly liquid. In fact, now that I think about it, the spattering pops are what finally triggered the recognition of my foible.

Butter. Everywhere.

Should I have cleaned it up? Possibly.

Should Daughter have

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cleaned it up? Probably.

Am I ignoring it in order to write this column?

Definitely.

We set our teenager’s curfews to 9:30 pm on school nights, primarily because we are tired people and want them home by the time we collapse into our bed. Last night, Hubs remarked that he appreciates the opportunity to assess their state of mind when they return from a night with the friends.

So far, no intoxication.

(Yay, us! Ten points on the good parents scale!)

Many nights: sweet tea overdose. (I don’t think we should lose too many points for late-night caffeine. After all, it’s not alcohol.)

The child comes in chattering with glee like a squirrel and then can’t sleep for ages. She knows why, too, but she just can’t resist the Southern Treat.

Last weekend, my husband’s company provided Diet Coke at an event. My two youngest almostteenaged twins each approached me sipping a Diet Coke at 6:30 pm, asking, “Does diet mean caffeine- free?” “Well, if you’re concerned about the caffeine, it’s a little late to ask now, isn’t it?” I thought.

As expected, the next morning, they both complained that they had trouble sleeping. Well, duh.

I’m sure it won’t decrease their soda consumption in the slightest.

Five teenagers, coming soon.

We will have five kids in college at the same time, too.

So that’s a fun financial thought.

But children are really a blessing from the Lord.

Just think, when I need someone to take care of my aging self, I get my pick of seven.

And that’s when payback begins!

Dorothy Wilson lives in Marion with her husband Chris as they enjoy all of the adventures life with their seven children brings.

Since this column originally ran in the September 2020 edition of the Marion Ledger, two of those teenagers have indeed gone on to college ( only five mor to go, Mom!).