I. Am. Joyce.

Baby Q has been on the outside for nearly six weeks. What a blur. Wasn't it just yesterday when I was uncomfortably pregnant and stationed on my heating pad eating eating pickle guacamole and girl scout cookies all day? Although I admittedly still eat plenty of Do-si-do's for breakfast, I jumped head first back into the fray of frantic pace of life with five, and remembering permission slips/ school lunches/ making dinner/ musical instruments/ sports gear/ feeding the baby while attempting to maintain a human appearance. These days, I don't sleep a lot, but probably more than when I was pregnant.

These days, I simultaneously want to burst into tears because my perfect, beautiful LAST baby is growing up too quickly, and also because taking care of five kids is plain f-ing HARD. I didn't' think it was possible to go through the whole spectrum of emotions every single day while simultaneously being bored out of my mind by the monotony of the newborn routine and seemingly endless housework.

These days, I walk around for hours with at least one boob of my nursing bra unbuckled (why does no one ever tell me!?) and the same grey maternity sweatshirt I have been wearing since September.

These days, I walk around with spit up matted hair (yesterday i thought i lost an earring- luckily, it was just stuck in one of my dreadlocks) and skin as broken out as a fifteen year old's.

Is that leave-in conditioner? Nope.

These days, I have resorted to wearing those horrible LuLa Roe leggings that look like an acid trip Magic Eye book from the 90s because nothing else fits right now. Seriously, no grown woman should wear this, even if they are a size 2 and HATE Do-si-dos. Definitely not too good for the ol' postpartum self esteem.

If your friend asks you to go to one of these parties, JUST SAY NO.

These days, I find myself not caring at all about any of these things. Especially not about this basket of 400 single socks I have been meaning to match for weeks, but just shove back into the front closet every night. Do people without five kids actually care about socks? I'll never know.

every day is crazy sock day!

Since the Fall, my kids have been really into the Netflix series, Stranger Things. They paint pictures of the Shadow Monster and demogorgons in art class. They made Steve Harrington valentines for their classmates last month (I think their teachers were mostly amused). They ask Alexa to play "Waiting for a Girl Like You" by Foreigner and reenact Barb's disappearance into the Upside Down. It's as hilarious as it is appropriate, and it's one of the many reasons why I love being their mom. 

Whenever I play Stranger Things with my kids, I am always Joyce, of course, as she is obviously my homemaking role model. I haven't strung up any Christmas lights in my living room (yet), and I'm pretty sure none of my children are lost in an alternate dimension, but I admit that I am more than a little similar to scatterbrained, unpredictable, lovable Joyce., who gives zero fucks about what people think of her and her homemaking skills. 

The truth is, I like having an excuse for giving fewer fucks than usual, so I might just continue to milk this whole "I have a newborn" thing for as long as I can. Getting the kids to school (or anywhere) on time isn't my strong suit anyway, but these days, if we can get there by 9:15 or so with dunkin donuts  it's good enough! Because now I have a newborn! Arrange and host play dates for all the older kids every snow day? Volunteer for the stupid classroom celebration/ bake sale? Drive the carpool? Nope!!!!! Because I have a newborn. Yesssss.

But just when I decide to embrace my archetypal Joyce-ness and go easy on myself for not always having it "together", something like this happens: I was walking my kids in to school late (again) one morning, and as I was attempting to stuff my son's snow pants, boots, and winter crap into his locker I was approached by one of his buddies, who asked me if he could play over after school. Of course I said yes, and offered to reciprocate some time soon. The boy answered, "Yeah, I told my mom I would rather play at your house, but she said you had too many kids, so we should go to mine instead."  !!

In situations like this, I feel bad and sort of guilty for being so Joyce-y, but despite my lack of organizational skills and scatterbrained tenancies, I am by no means negligent. No, I wont' hover over your kid with organic snacks and Pinterest-worthy craft ideas on playdates, but I promise I will keep them safe, and they'll have fun.


Sure, my kids don't always wear socks to school or remember their homework, but they are very aware of the love that exists within their loud, messy, crowded home. Our lives right now are chaotic, we are still finding a rhythm as a family of seven and that's okay. Some days I nail it and go to three grocery stores and cook an amazing meal, other days, my kids dig into the 72 count box of granola bars from Costco and call it dinner. Win some, lose some.

Until then, I don't care if I'm the Joyce of the mom crowd. I am not afraid of being a bra-less hot mess mom with yesterdays makeup and unbrushed hair at school drop off. I am not afraid of not having an Instagram- worthy home full of white furniture and no fingerprints. I am not afraid to admit that I have gained weight, have horrible skin and haven't had a haircut since July.

What I am afraid of is having these precious newborn days slip by amid the chaos, breaking up fights, keeping schedules, and driving, driving driving my kids around town. This time is short and I plan to drink it up with my chapped un-lipsticked mouth. Someday I know I will care about things like being on time, and putting on makeup, and wearing appropriate clothes purchased from an actual store rather than a direct marketing stay at home mom pyramid scheme (or Target).

But right now, my life is crazy and loud and nuts, and every night ends with a fight between at least two kids followed by a raucous Hamilton/Taylor Swift dance party. I love it so much my heart might explode, and I am in the center of it all because I. Am. Joyce.

So feel free to send your kids over any time. I will be sure to serve them some Do-si do's in my flamboyant pants.