I like the misty mornings.

The way the fog is starting to cling in the fields behind our property. The way it is darker in the mornings so my kids are less interested in waking up early.

I like how puffy our long haired cat is getting out in the humidity that clings to everything. I like how bouncy my only really curly haired child gets in this weather.

I don’t care for the boob sweat. For feeling like sweat just clings to me and doesn’t go away. I don’t care for the fact that I still haven’t set up a light in my office yet, I really do need to get on that soon.

I prefer the mist and fog to burn off by 10 am so my kids will have plenty of time to go outside and play. That it isn’t always a rainy day. We need rain so having it sometimes be a rainy day is good, but a constant string of days soon gets tiring on my ears and my kids ability to speak nicely to each other.

It is still pretty warm, just misty and the air is heavy rather than it being cold and miserable or just plain hot. Perfect cup of tea and a good book or an audiobook and something to knit or sew weather. Not good hanging the clothes outside weather. Not that we have hung a clothes line yet anyway. Soon we will get there soon, or do it next spring one or the other.

This should be a quiet week, there are are only two events outside the house for library programs. We may go camping with friends overnight Saturday providing we can find someone willing to put our ducks to bed and let them out again in the morning. If the weather gets better I might set up some play dates. Or I might not. Having a quiet week at home can feel good too.

I am still working on unpacking and organizing, just not at the feverish pace of before. And in chunks rather than trying to get a whole room done in a day. Now it’s about maintaining and reminding the kids that they still have to sweep and put away dishes and clothes and all that fun stuff. That bathrooms still need to be cleaned regularly and maybe I will get one of them to run the vacuum later today. It certainly needs it.

I haven’t gotten all the laundry picked up and put away in the adult bedroom yet. Why is it that, that always seems to be the last place to get cleaned up? Part of the issue is that my hubby got gifted some clothes a while back and now he has more than he currently needs right now, but will need later as things wear out. But figuring out what to do with them in the meantime can be difficult. However I got a lot of it started and picked up yesterday.

I am going easier on myself this week. Not pushing so hard. Taking breaks and time to sit with cats, read my book or play games on my tablet while listening to an audio book. I need to start moving the plants out of the sun room and into other parts of the house so they can do their job of cleaning the air.

I need to find my sewing machine cord. I need to plug the printer in so I can print the update to my sweater I am knitting instructions. I need to be able to occasionally watch a video without all my kids showing up and talking over the instructor.

I need to go on a date with my hubby. I think he is organizing it this time around. Something about seeing a friend of his in a musical. Not his usual cup of tea but if he is offering to take me to a live musical I am there in a dress and a grin. We don’t have enough time or money to go to all the theater we have the ability to take part in here in Maine. It’s just not possible.

I need a few sleep in days, a few days to just be. Not sure when I am going to get those as right now I need to write and get some of my work done before my kids wake up and have all their needs. One is already up and lying on my office floor. It is officially only ten minutes after 7. Which I know for some families is late and for others, like mine, it is early.

Why don’t kids help clean up? Is this just an American thing? Because I know that my friend who son is half German that she has shown pictures of him neatly lining everything up, even his shoes under his bed. So some kids must want to live in a clean house where they put their toys away right?

Not any of my kids though. Not if they are left to their own devices. I know I have watched, I have purposely not cleaned up after them or put away all their detritus and it has just stayed there for as long as I can stand it, weeks, months or until they have completely forgotten that the thing even existed.

My eldest is currently sharing a room with my youngest and there is about a 7 ½ years age difference. For personality and need to snuggle at night, they are perfectly matched, but of course their skills at being able to put things away are not at all matched.

We have just moved. We are having an open house in a couple of days. So every afternoon I have been after I am done working and shuttling kids to their activities I have been organizing and cleaning up one room. Putting things away, dusting, making sure it looks like a room we would like our friends to visit. The artwork and photographs haven’t gotten hung yet (mainly because I haven’t found our hangers) but otherwise, it is all good. All that is left is the kitchen at this point and the outside and I have a friend coming to help me with the kitchen tonight.

My kids are done with me and the cleaning/unpacking/organizing though. They complain bitterly that I am doing it and not doing whatever it is they want me to do. They complain when I ask them to take more things upstairs, or down to the basement or get me the broom etc.

They do however love the room when it’s finished and talk about how pretty it is and how much better it looks. They then proceed to play in said room and not pick up after themselves.

And I wouldn’t mind if they took the reminders to clean up well. I get it, it’s not a lot of fun to put your stuff away. It is even less fun when you have to put someone else’s stuff away! Believe me!

Some days I am just too tired. Like I literally have nothing left, no energy to do any sewing or knitting, or mending, absolutely nothing left and it’s hard to pick up after my own self let alone them. But most of the time I do pick up after me.

I wish I had a magic wand that would help convince them to pick up and put their stuff away. To put all the ingredients back in the fridge when they are done constructing their sandwich. To put all there dishes in the sink or dishwasher and put the serving dishes away too.

Some of my daughters have gotten really good at walking all the way downstairs at night to put their laundry down the shoot into the basement. Other of my girls leave their laundry in the upstairs bathroom for days…

Once we get caught up on the laundry backlog they are going to get to start washing their own laundry, because maybe that will stop them from constantly losing their laundry in the process as well. And maybe it will feel more fair all the way around.

But we have to get caught up on that laundry monster and with the party coming, it is going to get to wait until after the party before I have the big push to clean all the clothes and get them sorted and put away. We will just have to wait and see.

Are you one of those lucky moms whose kids naturally pick up after themselves? If you are can you share your secret recipe or magic wand? Is there a special vitamin I need to feed them? Is there a possibility that someday they might clean up after themselves?

Or are they doomed to be gross roommates in the future? I know they say creative people tend to live in chaos, but I can never tell if that’s just because their brains got used to it or if they really are happier that way. I think I am happiest with a maid. We aren’t quite at the point where we want to pay for one yet. But maybe I should look into one. They at least don’t complain.

I’m a mom of four. Yep, four. More than double the U.S… statistical average of 1.67 children (maybe it’s changed, I’m a mom of four and too tired to even ask Siri). I moved beyond the ‘Oh isn’t that nice, you’re all set now you have a boy and a girl,’ to the ‘Your kids are so cute, but you must be exhausted,’ to the point where I’ve rendered them speechless, ‘Wow, four.’

Yep, wow. You’d think by now, I’d be an expert. Certainly, things are (sometimes) easier, knowing what to expect, what products work best for me, but life is messy and we’re always given a chance to learn. Best learned facts children 1-4: always bring two spare outfits and one for yourself, you don’t need a diaper bag that would stretch the carry-on limits of major airlines, hydrogen peroxide works great at getting fresh fluids out of clothing, natural nursing balms work better than diaper cream and don’t stink! This time is easier because I have a ten year old girl who likes to play at mothering, a seven year old boy who can read stories and (mostly) entertain himself and the four year old boy, who likes to help by fetching things for me. Really, the little Mommy’s helper stage is great (when they’re willing); they haven’t quite reached that awareness that ‘helping’ is work, and acceptable payment is still a hug, a smile, and a thank you, not money or toys or special treats.

Regardless of the help, and ‘wow, 4!’ it turns out I’m not an expert. I ‘know’ all these things, and if I could sleep enough I might remember them. Top of the list of things I should know is how to hold a conversation without adding in all this private information about me and my baby’s body fluids. But I don’t, because life is messy, and wow, I’m obsessively in love with my little boy. For instance, as a mom of four, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me that boys sometimes go off like ill-timed sprinklers, that projectile puke nearly always happens when you’re late for an appointment, that neon orange nursing baby poop stains everything. Yet, as a mom of newborn number four, I’ve realized I’m once again suffering from New Mom-itus, or perhaps Newbornesia, or Baby-opoly. However you describe it, it’s the condition that mixes being tired (that advice of sleep when your baby sleeps sounds great, but see above note on being obsessed with the baby, and in my case having three others to love) with a mess of hormones while keeping a new life alive. The symptoms are being deeply focused on your baby to the point that you think everyone needs to know everything, and you are unable to find the on button for your brain’s censorship function. Because of this, you find yourself telling everyone about your most personal experiences regarding your body and your baby.

It’s verbal, and sometimes visual, diarrhea… about poop, or pee, or blood, or milk, or vomit; it won’t be contained, no matter how private a person you were before baby. I swore I’d never be one of those new moms we all know, ‘You should see how far he pees!,’ ‘She puked all over her car seat, it took me an hour to get her clean, there was curdled milk coming out her nose,’ ‘He pooped so much it soaked his onesie, his outfit, and his sheet, I gave up after a dozen wipies and gave him a tubby.’ Or better, with social media, the pictures! Being pro-breastfeeding, and a pro at it, nursing my littlest one now, does great things for my dresses… hello milk cleavage!, I’m always sharing pictures bragging how my babies are growing chunky and happy. Then there’s the pictures of ‘OMG, look how gross dried up week-old belly button stumps are.’

When random old ladies come up to comment ‘oooh, a little one,’ I just can’t help myself in replying, ‘yep, I grew this little life, only took three minutes to push him out, and he nurses like Cookie Monster at a Mrs. Fields, but wow, does he go through a lot of diapers, it’s like hunter’s orange, I’ll never eat kraft mac and cheese again.’

If it’s not about my baby, it’s about me, and I know my friends who have all had at least two babies understand, but there I was at my baby’s baptism party, lifting my t-shirt in the kitchen to show off my new slimming tank top with built-in lightly foam-lined wireless support bra. My stomach muscles had a bit of separation, (things they don’t warn you about, that and massive post-partum hair loss) and this little miracle tank does all the work of a belly band but look, it’s great for nursing too, I don’t even fall out when I bend over which for my milk-filled breasts is amazing, and it’s super comfy, and only $22 at Target.

Then there’s the how did everything go question, and really, why would people ask, because shhhbloooop, there comes another fifteen-minute explosion from me about all the gore and beauty of a new life coming out of my nether regions, highlighted with words like clot, gush, skid marks, poop, and worse.

But you know what moms? It’s okay. You did grow this new life, and life is messy, and you’re at the center of the best and messiest. I swore I would keep the details to myself this time, because four, Wow, but it’s okay to share, though I admit if you can, it’s better kept with friends and family not random grocery clerks who are still in high school (or maybe it will serve to support them once they become mothers, or maybe it will scare them into remaining chaste. As a mom of a pre-pubescent girl, I’m okay with that!), because moms need to be there for each other. It’s not easy, it’s not perfect, it’s okay to doubt and worry and wonder, and that’s why when a mom flings out random verbal poo about the mess of life, you can share your own mess to let her know she’s not alone. New moms, you’re right to be obsessed with maintaining this new helpless bundle of prolific fluid-producing love, so go on, let loose, complain about the mess that got so bad you needed to shower with your baby, or how you were so tired you gave up and threw out the outfit even though you’re normally a strict recycler, or how bad the rash is, or how many nursing pads you’ve gone through in a day. You deserve a pass on meeting social expectations, because life is messy and we all live it, and at least babies are cute (even when they puke on your face).

Rachel Vallance is a mother to four exuberant children and has dedicated herself to stay home with them, sharing her love of gardening, baking, and crafting. She holds a degree in social sciences and frequently travels with her family to explore the crazy wondrous variety of cultures, especially those found near tropical beaches.

She is the author of Sun Catcher, an apocalyptic tale of surrealism and optimism, and has recently released the second novel in the series, Sun Struck. Her novels are available on Amazon, under her pen name R.M. Vallance. Check them out HERE.