Primarily written by Adrienne, a homeschooling mother of seven, ages 10 and under. She chronicles life, laughs, struggles, and lessons learned as she raises a larger-than-most sized family and tries to figure out what she's doing day by day.

With occasional posts, Alexandra, Adrienne's older sister, writes of her ranch life in Nevada and raising four sons, ages 5 and under. Life is never dull and her boys have given her some pretty awesome stories to tell.

Stick around awhile, and you're sure to laugh, nod, smile, be encouraged, and see what life is like with a big (little) family.


My morning, in short form. Because it was a really long morning.

We had to be at the dentist at 8:00 this morning – 45 minutes away. They seem to like giving me (more specifically, my three oldest children) the first appointments of the day. Six months ago, it sounded like a good idea. We’ll be in, and out, early in the day. And we were. 9:36am we were back in the van. But six months ago, we did not have four goats that need attention, feed, and two that need to be milked twice a day. We and our dentist are members of church together, and yesterday, I was extended grace in not having to be there right on time. So I got up at 6:00am instead of earlier. After last night with Charlotte, that was an early enough hour for me anyhow.

So 6:10am, while my pj’s lay cooling on the floor, I headed for the goats. Blackie, sweetie that she usually is, is apparently not a morning person goat. She kicked and balked and tried to step into the milk. When that landed her a fist gently placed in her gut, she laid down. On the milking stand. She’s played this game before, and I wasn’t amused. Tying her high and tight, she had the choice to stand and be milked or lay and choke.

She chose choke. Fine. I was almost done anyway and I did not have the time or frame of mind to deal with her any longer. I pulled her off the stand, she balked at not having finished her grain up there, and, long story slightly shorter, the back of my hand bore the brunt of her anger. I’m pretty sure it’s just horribly bruised, but still not completely convinced that it’s not broken. Dumb goat. Milking Roany with my left hand was interesting. Slowly interesting. I gave in, endured the pain, and finished with my right hand. She’s never been so well behaved – ever. And three kids were anxiously waiting to go to the dentist.

Yep, strange kids, they like to get their teeth cleaned. And those tiny tubes of toothpaste? We’ll have three of them opened and fought over whose is whose in the drawer if I don’t intervene. They love each other so much.

We all had a granola bar in the car, the kids brushed their teeth in the dentist’s bathroom, and we were there at 8am on the dot. Still not sure how that happened.

Six months from now, they have a return visit scheduled. For 9am. A splurge to be sure, but in all fairness, I’ll have six kids then – one about a month old. And maybe, just maybe, the goats will be better behaved by then. As Mr. Roosevelt said, “Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

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