The True Story of a Really Big Family

I’m starting a T-shirt company. I have no desire to break into the fashion industry; I have simply exhausted my bandwidth for those seemingly innocuous commentators who can’t help themselves when they run across our family of ten. Yes, Chad, I do, in fact, know how this happens. And to help you, I’ll proudly proclaim the following in a trendy font printed across my chest:

1. Yes, I know how this happens.
2. No, we are not a blended family.
3. Yes, they all came out of me.
4. No, we are not Catholic, Mormon, or Amish.
5. Yes, it was on purpose.
6. No, none are multiples.
7. Yes, very expensive.
8. No, I’m not crazy.
9. No, we do not want our own TV show.
10. No, we aren’t having any more.

And I get it. In modern society, exceptionally large families are a Yeti sighting. We are a bit of a freak show, and interest is a natural reaction. For those who are too polite to say something crass in the check-out line, thank you for withholding judgment. I want to assuage your curiosity and reward your restraint with the true deets of our really big family.

First, let me reassure you. We do know how this happens… I pause to insert my husband’s favorite joke: “Don’t worry. We have cable now. This won’t happen again.” (He finds that way funnier than I do.) I’m well-educated, well-read, and well-equipped, and these eight miracles, as well as the one we lost to miscarriage, are all intentional choices and blessings.(See #5) I knowingly entered into two decades of pregnancy, nursing, and diapering. I haven’t slept through the night since 1999. Taylor Swift was in elementary school the last time I could cough without nearly peeing my pants. It has been hard. It has been messy. It has been glorious. And I would not change a thing. If not for a necessary hysterectomy, we would have had more (#10 above).

To be real, the logistics are complicated. We chose this so we embrace the crazy. I don’t know how. We just do. It is a lot of divide and conquer and delegate. The key is not holding too tightly to what the world proclaims as good parenting. We just do what is right for us. As former teachers, we know all the important child development milestones, and yet, I’m 100% certain some of my kids don’t get their teeth brushed on the weekends. I am okay with the occasional chocolate cake for breakfast (it has eggs in it). There are days (lots of them) when we fall asleep before our kids. On an average morning, our living room looks like a herd of nomads made camp on our floor. Vegetables are suggestions. We’re more of the rub-some-dirt-on-it variety when it comes to minor injury. And, on at least two occasions, we’ve forgotten someone. (In our defense, we never got on a plane for a Christmas holiday without someone. KEVIN!) We don’t get everyone to their yearly check-ups on time; I give myself a six-month grace period. Our kids have heard bad words. They’ve seen me cry. We can never justify new carpet, and retirement is likely a pipe dream. Yes, bystander, our hands are quite full, but so are our hearts. If you’re looking to judge, we’ll give you a million reasons to look down your nose.

BUT…

Even though we don’t fit into a restaurant booth, hotel room, or vehicle, our fast food orders usually come from the catering menu, and we are dangerously close to needing a valet to keep the car Tetris running smoothly in the driveway, our kids are all loved and cared for – not just by their parents, but by their fellow siblings. They are all good students and even better people, and I wholeheartedly believe our big family is the reason why. It has taught our children independence, self-sufficiency, compassion, and a sense of responsibility. There is little entitlement or selfishness. With a nineteen-year span, our children have organically developed a system of self-regulation and mentoring. We are our own village. We have our squabbles, but our kids love one another fiercely. They cheer for each other and take care of each other. They share. They are kind. They are never alone.

I spend most days counting to eight in my head ad nauseam. Keeping tabs on this small army is a full-time job. I dread newsletter Fridays and book bag dumps after school, and yet, we systematically keep it all going because, yes, I am super organized, thanks! So, whether you’re disgusted by our prolific procreation, in awe of our wherewithal, or you simply can’t help staring, it’s okay. I won’t make unfounded assumptions about your life choices from the checkout lane… or anywhere for that matter. Because #11 on my shirt will say: “Yes, whatever you need, friend – there’s no one less judgy than a mom of eight.”