Katelynn: “Mommy, when was Emma’s birthday?”
Me: “About two months ago.”
Katelynn: “Oh. How old is she?”
Me: “Seven.”
Katelynn: “Oh. When is my birthday?”
Me: “In about one month.”
Katelynn: “Oh. How old will I be?”
Me: “Five.”
Katelynn: “Five? I don’t want to be five. I want to be seven.”
Me: “Sorry. You’re two years younger than Emma so on your birthday you will be five.”
Katelynn: “SEVEN. SEVEN. I WANT TO BE SEVEN.”
Me: “In two years you can be seven. This year you have to be five.”
Katelynn: “You can’t tell me what to do.”

When I think back to the writing I’ve done on this website, I realize that the descriptions of my life as the mother of four children (boy, girl, girl, girl) are often written through the filter of a harried, hurried, busy, frustrated, exasperated, exhausted woman on the edge of a meltdown or a breakdown. And on some days (the really, really bad days) I AM that woman living that life, and putting a funny spin on my life’s stories and publishing them for others to read, laugh at, and learn from is not only my schtick, it’s my coping mechanism.

But the problem with nearly almost always writing in that persona is that I rarely give a glimpse into my true feelings that I am so lucky to be sharing this thing we call life (electric word life) with four amazing human beings for whom I had part ownership in coding some wicked-awesome DNA.

So I thought I would fill some web space with all the wonderful truths I want the world to know about the four people whose very existence awards me the privilege of calling myself “Mother.”

MY OLDEST CHILD AND ONLY SON, JAKE
Jake is probably the most interesting sixteen-year-old a person could have the pleasure to know. And that is to say, he is simply so very interesting with which to converse, to debate, and to hear speak his mind. He has a clear set of likes and dislikes founded on his own processes of trial and error and research and he is not afraid to express his opinions. And he is also funny. Very, very funny. He is my little boy. He is my young man.

JENNA: MY FIRST GIRL
Fourteen-year-old Jenna, for her many clueless moments, is our straight-A National Honor Society student. So smart, that one. She is also kind and generous to a fault. She truly cares about other people’s feelings and goes out of her way to make everyone around her feel included and important. She always has. She is charismatic and outgoing and witty and snarky and is the best and worst of me all rolled up in one wonderful girl. I have a feeling someday when she’s all grown up we’ll be best friends.

EMMA, THIEF OF HEARTS
Emma, now seven, was a highly anticipated addition to what was our family of four, and she did not disappoint. From day one, she has been sweetness and light. She is our sensitive, shy girl who prefers best friends to big crowds, books to television, and pancakes to waffles. She is thoughtful and loyal and warm and empathetic. Plus that child has some seriously soft China doll cheeks.

MINI-ME: KATELYNN
Katelynn. Katelynn, Katelynn, Katelynn. My spitting image by looks, acts, likes, dislikes, attitude and disposition, even at four-and-a-half, Katelynn still manages to be her very own person. Cheeky and charming on the one hand, she is unafraid, unabashed, unedited, and unapologetic on the other. Of the three girls, she is the lone tomboy and proud of it. Other children are mesmerized by and drawn to her. She wants to be Batman when she grows up. She will probably be President instead.

I know (I hope) that one day these four human beings, my beloved children, Jake, Jenna, Emma, and Katelynn, will each in his and her own time be sitting in front of a glowing computer screen reading my words regarding our lives together during these years. I want them to know the whole truth about how deeply I love and care about each of them. I want them to know that I have felt so lucky to have been given the task of raising them. I want them to know that EVERY SINGLE DAY I think they are terrific.

Even on the really, really bad days.

Rob: You know, Jenna, you’re going to be a freshman next year. That means you need to really concentrate on studying and keeping your grades up.

Jenna: I know.

Rob: If you want to go to college anywhere but the community college the first two years, you need to think SCHOLARSHIP. Which means GOOD GRADES.

Jenna: Yeah, but I might be able to get a soccer scholarship somewhere too.

Rob: Right . . . I think TU and ORU both have women’s soccer programs that award scholarships.

Jenna: YEAH! And just think, if I got a scholarship at TU or ORU I could still live at home.

Rob: That may be the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.

I’ve been playing a really aggravating fun new game with the four-year-old since she got home from school this afternoon. It starts out with her asking for something, like maybe another snack when she’s already had two string cheeses and a Key Lime Yoplait, or asking to do something, like ride her bike around our cul-de-sac without supervision or a helmet. Anyway, she asks for these things in a calm, rational, matter-of-fact tone, all smiles and using her best indoor voice and run-on sentences and she finishes off each query with a disclaimer that it’s okay with her if I say no, which ends up being a total lie because it’s so obviously only okay to say no as long as I DO NOT ACTUALLY SAY NO, lest she be instantly transformed into the supervillian known as Mini Screaming Mimi.

Take about ten minutes ago for example. She comes to me and she says, “Mommy can I have some microwave popcorn and it’s okay if you say no because I already had two string cheeses and a yogurt but I’m still hungry and I know you’ll probably say no and it’s okay if you say no but can I?”

Being a Good Mother, I gave it about twopointsix seconds thought before I replied, “No.”

So then she, in WAY LESS THAN TWOPOINTSIX SECONDS starts screaming and jumping up and down like I doused her with kerosene and lit a match to her, “BUT WHY!!!!????? WHHHHHHYYYYYYYYY???!!!! ALL I HAD WAS TWO STRING CHEESES AND A YOGURT AND I’M SOOOOOOO HUNGRY!!!!!!! MOMMY PLEEEEEASE!!!!???? PLEEEEEASE!!!!???? PRETTY PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!!!!!???????”

I was a little in shock from the Jekyll and Hyde-ness of her, but I held my ground and repeated my answer, only louder and through gritted teeth for effect. She took the hint and bansheed up to her room.

But then, not five microwave popcorn-less minutes later, she returns and, again with the calmness of a thousand Tibetan monks, says, “Mommy is it okay if I go ride my bike by myself not in the driveway or the garage but in the street but not past the end of the street and if I can is it okay if I don’t wear my helmet because it makes my head all itchy and it’s okay if you say no since it’s almost dinner time but I just want to ride it for thirty minutes but you’ll probably say no but can I?” (Okay, maybe like a thousand Tibetan monks on The Crack.)

And once again, I gave her a quick “no.”

And once again she came UN-GLUED.

She howled “AWWWWW!!! WHYYYYY NOOOOOOTTTT????!!!”  while dancing around with much flailing of the arms and such intensity that my first instinct was to call for an old priest and a young priest, but before I could, I got distracted by trying to wrap my brain around the sheer quantum energy it must be taking her to dissociate so rapidly like that. Her shift was mesmerizing to witness.

Then I did the only thing I could reasonably do at a moment like that.

I laughed out loud at her.

She took off screeching down the hall at eighty miles an hour, but so far no head spinning or projectile vomiting so we should be good.