Blankets, Naps, Fights and Freshly Washed Sheets

Albert and Brandon are away at a safety class that they need to take in order to get a hunting license. The class runs most of the day Saturday and then most of the day tomorrow. So I'm at home with the other nine darlings on a college football Saturday, full of great games. I'm not alone (besides the nine kids). Our good friend Jeni is here with me. Her parents are out of town, so she stayed with us last night. It's been so nice having another grown-up to talk to .
The kids are always a little out of sorts when Albert isn't home. This weekend is no exception. They are loud, argue frequently and about any little thing too, make big messes and generally are being hard to handle. Alexandria is currently crying for about the 7th time today. This time it's because Isaiah took a blanket off of her. Even though he has his own. On his lap. She's whining and crying and yelling "He messed up it," over and over. It's seriously time for a nap.
At lunch, after I passed out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I poured glasses of milk for everyone and handed them out. As I turned around to put the peanut butter back in the pantry, I heard the dreaded slosh of spilled milk. I quickly grabbed a rag and wiped it up reminding Bree to be more careful. As I rounded the corner to the sink, I heard it again. The slosh and splat of a spill. This time on the floor. This time from Sydney. I looked up in exasperation just in time to see Mia flinging milk from her sippy cup as well. Apparently the spill proof valve isn't doing it's job. Shortly after, it became nap time for all little kids.
Jackson and Brice have fought all day. Fought over Jackson's book order form. Fought over each other's spelling lists. Fought over the Swedish goldfish from last night's movie night candy. Fought over toys. Fought over who touched who's peanut butter sandwich. They are now too the proud recipients of a couple hours worth of nap. That leaves only the twins awake (and of course Drew and Manny, one of whom has locked himself in his room with his Ipod touch and the other of which has disappeared to the school volleyball game). The twins are now fighting over blankets. If I had a spare place to send them, I'd do it. Since I don't they can rest on the couches by me.
Just this morning I was talking on the phone with Anna and Lisa about the negative consequences for the entire family of moms relying solely on dads to discipline the kids. More specifically, the dangers of moms always telling the kids "wait until your dad gets home" and then pawning the responsibility of discipline for the things they kids did on mom's watch, off on dad. And yet, I find myself in exactly that situation, as it seems the kids are immune to my words of caution, reproach, or corrective measure. The only authority I seem to have today is that of sending them to their rooms for a rest. They wouldn't act like this for their dad, oh no. He'd have to give them a single look and they'd straighten right up. Isaiah wouldn't be hanging sideways off the couch right now, and Brice wouldn't be appearing at the bottom of the steps asking for "one more chance" for the tenth time, seemingly forgetful of the 10,000 chances I've already given him today before sentencing him to the nap. I am at the very brink of having to use that awful phrase "Wait till your dad gets home."
Off to wash sheets. My favorite Saturday chore. No really, it is. I love the smell of freshly washed sheets.