Thats your lot mate

Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip; What was that?
Thats your life, mate
Oh, that was quick, do I get another?
Sorry mate, thats your lot*

*Basil Fawlty - Fawlty Towers.


That's how it feels sometimes - when I sit here staring at the screen with my kids in front of me, 1 asleep, 1 putting in a DVD and 1 wandering around like a drunk sailor because he's A) tired, and B) just not very good at walking yet.
Then I think - Thats my lot. And it makes me smile.

Yesterday I went upstairs and noticed that one of the boys had put a band-aid over the plug outlet. It made me smirk. Both older boys have felt the zap and jolt of electricity that results when fingers are stuck in the outlets - despite my cautionary advice and my best efforts at babyproofing with those little plastic plug holders. I guess one of them thought that they would take the lesson they learned and take steps to protect their baby brother; (and believe me, that's one lesson they both learned thoroughly the first time) and I thought how wonderful that they've learned that kind of compassion. It's my job to make sure they keep that. That's my lot.

My kitchen; my immaculate kitchen with it's beautiful stainless steel appliances and oak cupboards and lovely clean countertops can be turned into a den of filth, simply by letting the boys "Help" make a birthday cake for grandma. Still, they love to cook, and I've resigned myself to looking at clutter, and messy floors and little boys covered in cake batter licking the bowl because that's my lot.

I've resigned myself to looking at a mountain of toys, and fingerprints on my fridge, and more laundry than anyone cares to imagine. I know I can't have real flowers or plants in the house - little fingers would pick off the leaves and eat the dirt.
I know I can't have pretty candles around the house, because Matthew must put teethmarks in every single one.
I know we can't go out to dinner at anything other than a kid-friendly restaurant, and even that is a rarity. But I know that it won't last forever. Thats just my lot. For now.

15 years from now, when all my kids are driving, and independent, they won't want me to make them chocolate milk to fix any problem in the world.
They won't want to be cuddled upon waking up.
They won't want me to kiss their boo-boos
They won't want to come to Walmart with me to pick up milk.
They won't want to swing in the backyard with me and eat popsicles
They will probably keep their clothes on all day, and not forget where they left drinks
They will not find the vacuum, the feather duster and the flyswatter to be very fun 'toys' anymore.
They will likely not be so eager to please.
My lot is looking pretty good right now.