...the kids will play.
All seven of them.
While my roomie and I were living it up at our church women's retreat, our hubbies were busy planning and executing a morning of fun that kicked off with feeding breakfast to seven children under the age of six, included a very chilly hike through the woods and the creek, and culminated with bologna sandwiches and naptime.
Maybe the dads were thinking that with the moms gone, there was safety in numbers. But seven kids to two adults? I just thought they were nuts.
But then again, maybe after all that time we've spent taking this rowdy bunch on field trips and mudfests, we moms just make it look easy.
The patriarch of the Wilson clan sent us this picture at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning. The boys' mom and I glanced at it, and admired that no one in the picture was still in their pajamas. (This is more than either of us could say for 9 a.m. on most mornings.) We were impressed, to say the least. Later I noticed that the kids all had fruit on their plates, and there was a warm pot of grits on the table.
Perhaps I should go away for the weekend more often.