Introduction

Every day, people ask me how I do it - how do I manage to raise 3 boys who are 2 1/2 years and younger? They jokingly call me a saint, super mom and tell me I'm amazing. I want to laugh yet I understand what they're saying - my life is a bit insane. Each time a stranger makes a comment, I say my usual remarks to make a joke about it all and try to move on to whatever it was I was trying to do. It's weird standing out in a crowd any time I take my babies out of the house. It's probably a good thing that I'm somewhat comfortable with attention - public speaking doesn't phase me and, hell, I used to jump around flashing my bum as a cheerleader in high school. The difference is I used to choose when I stood out. Now, I stand out every single time I go out - to the store, the doctor, wherever. I'm (we're) a spectacle to behold, a curiosity.

The problem for me is that I am not a saint. I'm not super mom. I'm just a chic that has 3 boys. I'm doing the best I can and that's it. There are days that I suck. There are days that I kick ass. It doesn't matter how good or bad I'm doing, though, I can't convince people that I am just a chic with 3 boys.

This chic needs to vent. This chic has things to say. I'm choosing now to say what it's like to raise 3 boys under 2 1/2. I'll leave my silly remarks for casual conversations but here is the deep stuff - the real story. I also choose to talk about things that don't have to do with the dudes because, as hard as it is to believe sometimes, there are still parts of me that aren't wrapped up in their worlds. I need to convince myself of this even if I don't convince anyone else.

So, here I am. Read or not. It's your choice but I'm writing nevertheless.