I love my kids.

You never know when they might not come home.  I am trying to remember that the little things don't matter.  That if Shea uses my towel and it is wet when I get out of the shower, is it really a big deal?  Or when I spend seven hours on a photo book for Grandma and because of crappy Internet and broken computers I lose everything, does it matter?  In the big scheme of things, no.  I really do love them and I really can't imagine what kind of person I would be without them.  But sometimes I wish they would set the table, or clear the table, or at least offer to help.  Sometimes I wish Zach could go five minutes without kicking his soccer ball in the house.  But he is getting so good...I find myself not caring about the dirty, round marks on my walls.  I really don't want to wash sheets and make beds every day.  But it does remind me that they are still little.  And who cares that I have to remind my 12 year old that he really does have to shower more than just Sunday mornings?  I just hold my breath.  All of these things remind me that there is still six of us.  And that is perfect.