Lucky Me

There comes a time, shortly after you have a fourth child, when you suddenly realize many people think four kids is a lot of kids-- maybe too many. Maybe, Reader, you are one of them. I, however, was unaware of this phenomenon, mostly because I had never given it much thought.

After Caroline's birth I slowly started to become acquainted with this mindset as I realized I would get a lot of lingering looks when I was out with all four kids and then The Question. The one that once surprised me has now become all too common: Are they all yours?

I am certain that every parent with four children has heard this question eighteen hundred million bazillion times. Maybe more. The question is asked in a variety of tones: curiosity, astonishment, fear and judgement among them. And after answering in the affirmative that the four little darlings in question, are in fact, all mine, comes this little gem: Wow, you must have your hands full!



The statement befuddles my ability to make polite small talk because I do, in fact, have my hands full. If the comment is made with a smile and a friendly tone (rare) I am apt to respond cheerfully and agree that I do, in fact, have my hands full, but if the statement is accompanied by that look, that wild-eyed, astonished look, the one that says What the f*&% is wrong with you?!(common), I am flummoxed, and left without a response. I am a polite person; I have trouble responding to rudeness and so, usually, I respond with some affirmative mumble and a hurried exit.



The other day I rushed the four kids into our local grocery. It was lunchtime and we were hungry, a bit tired from our library trip and in a rush to grab odds and ends and to get home. I began my ritual of loading the younger girls into the grocery cart while the older kids twirled around the vestibule and, as I hoisted Elisabeth in the back of the cart, I tensed as I heard the all too familiar question: Are they all yours?

I looked up at the questioner's-- a woman-- face. She was short. Probably in her fifites. She was decked out for grocery shopping as many do in our town: high heels, expertly applied make-up and perfectly coiffed hair. She looked put together; certainly no toddlers had spilled their milk on her lovely shirt earlier that same morning. I glanced at down and my jeans and sneakers, ran my hand self-consciously over my ponytail and silently told myself I was not going to respond politely to the impolite remark I was certain was coming.

Yes, I said, clearly. They're all mine.

The woman appraised the four children. Two were sitting peacefully in the cart and the other two were, by now, at my side, staring curiously at this woman. After a long look a smile broke over her face. You are so lucky! she remarked warmly and, with that, off she walked.



I don't know if that woman could have possibly known how thankful I would be, still, even a few days later, to hear her words.

Yes, they're all mine, I definitely have my hands full and I can't imagine having it any other way. How lucky I am. Indeed.