This afternoon, I took Jack and Jane shopping and left my in-laws at home with the babies. (God bless them, they trek down here every Monday to help me out.) My mother-in-law and I had dinner prepped before I left, so it would be easy to get it on the table when I got home.

But it wasn’t.

You see, it took both my in-laws and Luke’s godfather just to get the twins fed, diapered, and dressed for bed. Forget dinner or dishes or anything not baby-related.

When I got home at 6:15, dinner was half-finished, the table was half-set, and both babies were still awake. My father-in-law was rocking Ben who was, and I quote, “completely wired.” My mother-in-law was patting Luke’s bum as he lay wailing in his crib.

It took me about half an hour to calm the boys down and get them to sleep (with bum-patting assistance from my father-in-law; it’s much harder to simultaneously bum-pat now that the boys are in separate cribs). Meanwhile, Doug and his mom finished dinner, Jack set the table, and Jane and Uncle Sprague played in the urban wilderness behind our house.

At dinner, Sprague said, “I have a whole new level of respect for you, Kimberlee. It took two of us just to get Ben’s pajamas on him.”

My mother-in-law seconded. “I don’t know how you get them to bed and get dinner when you’re here by yourself.”

To be fair, I’m never here by myself. Jack often helps with dinner and always sets the table. Jane sings to the babies and holds toys over them while I’m dressing them, which keeps them happy and on their backs so I don’t have to wrestle Ben to the bed.

And I’ve been doing this every day for nearly nine months now. It’s a lot easier when you have a routine, when you’re used to it.

Still, it was nice to hear their words of affirmation. It was better than nice. It made me feel like a rock star, like a full on domestic goddess. Just call me Vesta.


I invite you to come back later this week for some off-schedule posts: Thursday through Sunday I’ll have short reflections on the Triduum. Among the holiest of days in the Christian year, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday each deserve their own post. As, of course, does Easter. I hope you’ll join me.