Y’all know I parent 24-7, in my sleep, awake, at all times, no matter what. It’s a high-intensity undertaking; demanding, taxing and challenging on every level.

As I was thumbing through a ladies magazine while standing in line in Wal-Mart, I saw an ad for this organization that fixes unrepaired clefts. My own hyperactivity eased up for a minute as I read through the text. I fixed the Smile Train in my pea brain that was over flowing with thoughts of groceries for the weekend, and I told myself I’d look it up online.

Driving and thinking about how I’d love to donate money to this organization. Obviously I can ill afford to dole out money, what with the demands of my own 39 children, but for a minute, in my mind, I thought about a life in which I’d go to work at some nice job, and I’d have loads of money to donate.

What if that was the road I’d chosen? What if I gave of myself only from a distance? From my wallet to someone’s project? To be a philanthropist rather than an emotional punching bag? I could just smile benevolently and write a check, the only noise would be the quiet, graceful rip from the checkbook versus the screaming I now hear from down the hall as Miriam and Vanessa yell at Mayra for crapping up the rainbow sandals.

Jolted out of my reverie, back into my wild existence, I though again about how nice some peace would be, wouldn’t I so love to simply give of my money, maybe even of some time, when I felt it would be convenient, instead of being virtually unable to have enough time to shut the door to the bathroom. Heck, I drink coffee in the shower to save time.

But we all know where this post will take me. I’ll talk myself back down into my rough and tumble life, where the kids change their moods many more times than their underwear, where a chunk of my living room ceiling inexplicably fell today in front of a relatively new son-in-law. Too bad it missed the son-in-law who decided to have a baby by another woman after he was newly married. There’s yet another blog post when I can calm down about Mr. Infidelity.

Emotions are messy, all the more so in a family like mine where a 20 year old son is whimpering and skulking around the fringes of family life like a two year old, or where both trampolines were totally covered by sidewalk chalk this afternoon necessitating 25 impromptu baths of chalk covered children.

If I were just giving of my money, rather than of my everything, I’d probably quickly grow bored, I’d certainly miss my always adorable grandchildren, and nine times out of ten I’d miss the rest of these darlings that give my life so much meaning, flavor and depth.