I like to think that I have a handle on the 3-year-old language. "Doesn't your three-year-old speak English?" you ask. Well yes, but she uses the toddler dialect. Here's an example.

Earlier today, we were at the grocery store picking up a pack of diapers and some milk. On the way home, Grace announced that she wants to play with "...that toy" when we got home. "Which toy is that?" I ask her. "That toy you put on your knee," she answered.

Hmm. That toy you put on your knee. My mind set to work on the problem. "Grace," I said, "What is the toy that you put on your knee?" "You know that toy," she said, laughing dismissively at what must have been a joke on my part. "Oh, no, I sure don't," I thought.

After 3 glorious months on maternity leave, I am back at work — I am officially a pumping, working Mommy, again. And I have to admit, I spent a great deal of time before my leave ended dreaming about being a Stay At Home Mom (SAHM), something I felt so strongly against when Lucas was born. I love working, and I have a graduate degree. How could I be a SAHM?

When Lucas was born, it wasn't even a thought that I would return to work. And I did so when Lucas was 6 weeks old, albeit working from home. I started going back into the office when Lucas was 11 weeks old, a feat I was able to accomplish because I could leave the house with peace of mind knowing my mom was watching over him.

And when I not only successfully returned to work, pumping 3 times a day, but also changed jobs when Lucas was 4½-months-old, I scorned other women who gave up their professions to be SAHM. How could they set women's lib back 40 years? No wonder women are still behind men on the corporate ladder. And more women are seemingly choosing to stay home with their kids instead of going back to work. Two of my best friends are guilty as charged, and both have advanced degrees (JD and PhD).

But then came Justin and I was thrown for a loop. I knew I needed more than 6 weeks to adjust to 2 kids, so I decided to take a full 3 months of leave. I found that I actually enjoyed spending my days with my boys, shuttling Lucas to and from school, making lunches, going to the zoo and aquarium, running errands. And as my leave flew by, I found myself fantasizing about being a SAHM.

Summer is my favorite season. I love the hot night time air and I can stand the 100 degree heat combined with humidity reaching 104 degrees or higher. I long to go swimming with the kids until everyone is so tired that they don't even it make it home without passing out in the car. The summer is the season of family in our house, but last summer, I learned a lesson I won't soon forget.

My life is pretty hectic as a homeschooling parent and I would like to tell you that I am super organized and I have my activities planned down to the minute weeks in advance, but it's simply not true. I'm pretty much flying by the seat of my pants and the only person that knows it is me. Well, my kids are slowly figuring it out too. But I do try.

This day was a day of trying hard. I started our extracurricular activities a little early in August. Piano was at 10 a.m. and sewing was on the other side of town at 1 p.m. I wouldn't be able to get home, make lunch and make it to sewing, so I think "Let's pack lunch!" My oldest son is the master sandwich maker and while he made the sandwiches, my younger son was busy putting the chips, cookies, grapes and juice boxes in little bags in the cooler. My oldest daughter was doing my youngest daughter's hair while I was feeding the baby. Today was starting out to be a great day. Once the lunch was packed, we were off to piano and arrived there five minutes early with all of their materials. Yes, a great day is forming.

Grandpa forgot his machete so he's taken to putting on work gloves and attacking the bamboo jungle by hand whenever he gets the chance to sneak away from the millions of house-chores we've bombarded him with. The bamboo patch that ate my new backyard is rustic, beautiful, shady, and more than a little frightening. Why would you plant bamboo in a backyard in Washington? Were the previous owners breeding Pandas? How does it continue to grow so fast when it's packed in so tightly? What on earth could be hiding back there?

I see 5 possibilities:

Earlier this week, I took the kids to the YMCA for Gracie's swimming lesson. In preparation, I packed my small travel bag with the usual accouterment, including a small Tupperware of Goldfish crackers and a modest selection of toys, all intended to occupy William while he and I waited for Grace.

Everything was going well until we walked in the door. As soon as we broke the threshold, William freaked. I'm talking about the red-faced, fist-clenched, curled-toes howl that makes onlookers think "Oh, look, here comes the world's worst father, evidenced by his own son's five-alarm wail."

I've got a theory about William's odd reaction. It seems he only does this when we're in commercial buildings that have a receptionist area. Call me crazy, but I'm sure he believes were at the pediatrician's office.

Allow me to introduce myself.  As my bio says, I am one of those annoying, fanatical women who constantly thinks (and is always ready to talk) about her boys, Lucas (3/28/04) and Justin (4/3/06). I am proud to be ranting about the frustrations of nursing, childrearing struggles and adjusting to life as a working mom.  And I have found quickly over the past 27 months, that discussing kids can bridge almost any divide, even race, religion, economics and locale.  That being said, discussing kids can also create a cataclysmic crater between two people, if, for example, they don't subscribe to the same parenting philosophies.

My mom lives with hubby and me, and we do not see eye to eye on a number of parenting issues.  And while my mom, who will hereafter be referred to as Nonna, is wonderful with my boys, our differences in parenting opinions can sometimes cause tension among us.  For example, she does not agree with our ideas of demand parenting, co-sleeping past 1 month, no (or limited) crying policy and enrolling infants in "educational" classes.  And we don't agree with her laissez faire attitude when Lucas gets upset, telling Lucas not to cry, crying it out or how she threatens the naughty corner without explaining why.

It was 6:00 a.m. and I gracefully awoke from a full eight hours of rest and relaxation. I gingerly strolled to my computer to write a great and inspiring blog for mothers of  large families. Prior to my blogging, I had a brief but meaningful devotion in which I thanked God for my wonderful husband and my five beautiful and bright children. After I completed devotion, I snacked on a cup of yogurt, along with granola bar, while sipping an ice cold drink of orange juice. Oh, the peace and quiet. And then I was awakened.

"Mommy, I think I have doctor's appointment at 9 a.m. for my physical and this is the third time we had to reschedule."

The groggy, half-conscious look must have caused her to kick in a little scare tactic. "And it's already 5 after 8 and the boys aren't even up yet."

That did it. My 11-year-old daughter knows exactly what to say.

When I buy clothes for my kids, it's all about "grow-room." They're too big to be worn for several months, sometimes years. I purchase these clothes when I find them on sale and cross my fingers that the kids will be the right size during the right season to wear them. Some things, like shoes, I buy big and have Laylee and Magoo start wearing them right away. We wear shoes so infrequently around here that if I bought shoes that actually fit, they'd probably only be worn a handful of times.

Magoo, for one, can only wear Robeez at this point in his life, due to the fact that his feet are as tall as they are long. I think I could make bank if I designed a line of cartoonish baby shoes for the short and fat among us, shoes for small people with feet shaped like a sphere, or at the very least a tallish sort of ham.

For myself, I usually end up buying things with "shrink-room," too small to be worn right away because, although it's never happened in the past, I always intend to weigh less in a few months.