There's no place like home

My children are playing some wild variation of the princess and the pea, only, instead of a princess feeling a pea under 20 mattresses, it's a dozen or so children trying to find a red marble under, um, each other. I keep suggesting it might be time to stop, and they keep asking to continue.

Today I took my 6 year old daughter to what I thought was a pediatric dermatologist. My phone thinks it's in a different time zone, so I keep realizing I have an appointment in 10 minutes that is 20 or more minutes away. That was the case today, so I went blazing out of the garage at 2:21 in a blaze of minivan glory, hoping the police wouldn't notice me flying over (through) the park with its 20 mph speed limit. They didn't, although I did have to pause briefly to close the hatch.

I tried calling a few times, but the message I heard said they're closed and will open tomorrow at noon. Hmmn. Do I keep going? Decided to show up late to an office that was probably closed because my daughter is desperate to get rid of a couple warts on her knee. Wart remover stings and we can't get duct tape to stay on. So off we go.

Turns out, it's not a pediatric dermatologist. Just a regular one. And they have two workers doing the job of four so that's why they're not answering the phone. The gal at the window is defensive, and I'm trying to apologize for being late, and it wasn't that pleasant, until she saw my daughter.

The kid has curly blond hair, huge blue eyes, a scrumptious smile and stunningly bright countenence, and is wearing her ruby slippers. The staff at the doctor's office have obviously not seen anything this cute in way too long. They were falling all over themselves trying to make her comfortable. (Oh, and the doctor was so congratulatory over us having a 13th child - came from a big family.)

Then I took the same child to Aldi, and she was the belle of the rent-your-cart-for-a-quarter ball. Fifteen people oogled over Mommy's Helper. It was delightful. (so different from going to the same store with my two littlest, looking like I've shacked up with 2 or 3 different men in the last 2.5 years, trying to populate the earth personally, since #11 looks like she's at least 10 months older than #12 and obviously has a different father, and I look at least 10 months pregnant with #13)

So those were good times. So was my devotional set at the local house of prayer the day before (despite my constant yawning into the mike). And the party we attended the day before that (the one with 7 families and 47 children - 1/4th of which were ours), and the church picnic the day before that.

The truth is, I'm glad to have done most of the things I leave my house to do. But I am not glad to go. I do not want to go. I do not want to do anything. I want to stay home. I want to do laundry and dishes and organize the linen closet. I want to paint the bathrooms and hang up toothbrush holders on the wall. I want to clean out the mountain of crap in the basement my mom created during her post partem visit about 3 kids ago.

I'm nesting and I want to be left alone, for the most part. I feel so vulnerable and small and fat and ugly (yes it is possible to feel small AND fat). And leaving the house is a huge act of will.

So my dilemna is this: how much do I honor that instinct, and how much do I force myself to suck it up and get my butt out there to whatever it is, knowing it will be good for me, or my children, or both?