Husband: Jeff

     Age: 1 year, three weeks, and one day younger than me.

     What he does that drives me crazy: He is such a piddler. And a procrastinator.

     Why I love him anyway: I believe without a doubt that he is the other pea meant for my pod.

     Inquiring minds want to know: I’m lucky to have married a husband who is blessed in both the looks and brains department. He was born and raised in Texas and for that I have lovingly dubbed him my cowboy, though a cowboy he most certainly is not. In fact the only remnant of any Texas-isms I’ve noticed in him is the occasional inclination to include the term “ya’ll” in his speech as though it’s a legitimate plural pronoun. He likes to say that he “went to school in New York” but what he really means by that is that he spent four long years at West Point before serving five more as an officer in the Army. When that sixtieth month of service rolled around he was more than ready to bid the military life adieu and move on to bigger and better things. Nowadays he works as a rocket scientist (and how many people can honestly say that) here in sunny Arizona. He makes me laugh on a daily basis. He’s lighthearted, yet ambitious. He’s creative, giving, and arguably the best giver of back massages on the planet.

Daughter 13 going on 30: Torri

     Age: see above

     What she does that drives me crazy: Leaves dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

     Why I love her anyway: I admire her sense of self (commendable for anyone, but especially a teenager).

     Inquiring minds want to know: This is God’s answer to my mother’s prayers that I eventually have a daughter who turns out just like me. I suppose Torri is my mini-me. In part, I’m thankful for that because I think I turned out okay, but in part she leaves me banging my head against the wall for some degree of stress relief. She is, by all accounts, a great kid for whom I am thankful. It’s just that the whole teenage thing leaves me scratching my head sometimes wondering who abducted my sweet girl and replaced her with this imposter who second guesses every move I make and rolls her eyes so frequently that I am beginning to wonder if she needs to see an ophthalmologist. Raging hormones aside, Torri is both beautiful and smart. So smart, in fact, that her spot-on humor and writing ability take me by surprise. She is an avid reader and a lover of iPods. She is capable and confident (rightfully so). While I truly miss the nuances of her childhood, I look forward with eager anticipation to seeing the brilliant big picture she paints upon her blank canvas.

Daughter stereotypical redhead: Kennedy

     Age: 10

     What she does that drives me crazy: Mumbles.

     Why I love her anyway: She makes me smile when I need it most.

     Inquiring minds want to know: It’s not unusual for a conversation with this child to leave me wondering how on Earth I ever made it this far in life without an ounce of knowledge on anything. Typically I’m not a big believer in stereotypes but in her case, I have to blame her stubbornness on the hue of her hair. The kid honestly can’t be coerced. It will be 112 degrees outside and she’ll insist that the ensemble she has chosen to wear to school simply wouldn’t be complete without a fur coat. Then, just to spite me, she’ll suffer through and wear the coat all day long to prove she was right after all: she didn’t get hot. Luckily, her teachers and friends aren’t privy to that side of her. She has always been an excellent student, even winning the 3rd grade spelling bee only to be brought down at the district level by the word “aspen”. I mean c’mon. Who knew trees would be on the list? Second only to her brains is her wit. She is a crack up. I carry a little notebook around with me in my purse for the sole purpose of quoting the crazy things that come from the mouths of my babes. Kennedy’s comments top the list. I’m sure I’ll be sharing plenty of them with you all in the weeks and months to come.

Daughter who talks entirely too much: Cassidy

     Age: 8

     What she does that drives me crazy: Says “what” every time I speak to her even though she heard me perfectly well the first time.

     Why I love her anyway: She has taught me patience. And to look at things through different eyes.

     Inquiring minds want to know: Sheesh. What can I say about Cassidy? The doctors told me she was born with an extra chromosome and that it would result in her being a slow learner among other things. What they neglected to tell me was that her 47th chromosome was encoded with super sonic genetic material that would eventually render her the most popular kid on the planet. Going to the grocery store with Cass is like traveling with Brangelina. While I’m checking apples for bruises in produce some kid yells out from the dairy case, “Hey Mom, look! It’s Cassidy.” I swear she’s the Pied Piper reincarnate. You got to love a kid who has her own cult following, but even without that she is pretty darn special. She is fearless and forgiving, energetic and curious. She possesses a degree of innocence unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.

Son running chipmunk: Jayce

     Age: not even two just yet!

     What he does that drives me crazy: dumps the contents of my purse in search of my cell phone.

     Why I love him anyway: He is too adorable to stay mad at.

     Inquiring minds want to know: Jayce is a solid boy. He was born big, and with the exception of a brief time when the whole breastfeeding thing went awry, he has stayed big. And though I may be a tad partial, I must say that is a good-looking kid. We can’t take him anywhere without someone commenting on his big blue eyes. Jeff and I were really hoping for brown, but it appears blue will have to suffice. It’s all good though; all the girls have blue eyes so now we have a matching set. Jayce is a relatively quiet baby, though he adores all the attention his sisters give him. Since I’ve picked on everybody else in their mini-bio’s it wouldn’t be right to let Jayce escape the tirade. There is really only one thing I can think of to share though. He does this part-cute, part-annoying thing. He frequently wants to be held and the fact that I’ve got my hands full with laundry or dishes, or whatever doesn’t seem to persuade him to play on his own. So he does what any red-blooded boy would do when it comes to getting exactly what he wants: he chases me down. He’ll run from room to room in the house looking for me and as he runs his chipmunk cheeks vibrate with every step. His cries, too, pulse to the beat of his footsteps and he ends up sounding like one of those Indian chiefs who hit their hand intermittently over their mouths as they cry out some pow wow song. Hmmm. I guess I have the perfect Halloween costume for him this year.