We are up to consuming 2+ gallons of milk every week. I no longer freeze large shredded cheese bags because we use them up quickly enough. I seem unable to keep enough cereal and bananas and Morningstar chik patties in the house. I have not set a table for a while.
There is no spit-up on my shoulders. I have been rocking dresses for a straight year, enjoying the freedom of not nursing. I loved nursing my children. It went well: everyone made it to at least a year. It was nice and sweet and close and bonding, but I cannot deny that it is over and I do not look back at those five cumulative years of wardrobe manipulation with sadness.
My three oldest could bike anywhere. 5 year old is working hard at keeping up with his training wheels. I have four out of five swimmers. Pool time this summer might even be enjoyable.
There never seem to be enough clean socks. Most socks are wadded up into little black balls, shedding dirt. When I unravel them before their trip to the washing machine, huge heel holes gape at me. The socks are the casualty of the trampoline, of the deck, of the hammock, of active play, of engagement where a cartwheel practice takes precedence over order and appearance.
Life is crazy and good and unpredictable and whirlwind with five kids. It is like being inside a covered water slide: you can fight the current, but it will pull you along through dark and light patches, not caring one whit whether you are ready, whether you are afraid. You might as well surrender, throw your head back, and enjoy the ride.