I have a 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 year old.
And some older kids. But at 8, 10, 15 and 20, not quite as mathematically interesting.
This stair-step age phenomenon only lasts from February to June, when Isabelle has another birthday and throws it all askew until the next February.
And I have to think a bit harder when curious folks ask my how old my kids are.
Yesterday, as I was checking out at Target, the cashier and I got to talking about the kids, their ages and my heavily laden shopping cart.
And she commented that I was remarkably serene, considering all the craziness that all my littles must generate. I smiled and thanked her, and said something aww-shucks like. Target, with a shopping cart full of children, makes me feel anything but serene.
But as I pushed my big ol’ cart away from the check out, I thought, “Wow! Maybe, just maybe, I really am getting it together! That Target lady thought I looked serene!”
Then she called out, as I was making my way to the sliding exit doors…
I stopped and turned around. Serenely, of course.
“You forgot your groceries.”