Did I mention my husband is one of seven children? His parents took the memo from God very seriously:

“Be fruitful and multiply; populate the earth abundantly and multiply in it. Peace out, mutha fuckas. God.”

A few of their fruit turned out a little rotten, but for the most part the Murphys make a lovely basket.

Yesterday, the usual onslaught of the humble Murphy nest ensued: Nanny and Poppy bombarded by six of their seven offspring and six of their nine grandchildren. Half a dozen wee ones underfoot, all under the age of five, all under four feet tall. We have to walk around with our eyes toward the floor to avoid giving the kids shiners with our knees. I am Dorothy in Munchkin Country. (And no, my mother-in-law is not the Wicked Witch. Although she does wield a broom from time to time.)

For supper we devoured two chickens, 20 carrots, two turnips and a truckload of potatoes, followed by a box of cookies, half a gallon of ice cream and a pot of tea. And then it was time for the sugar-induced pre-bedtime chaos that makes me kinda understand why Kate Gosselin is a crazy bitch.

Did I mention that three of the kids were all born within the span of two months? So many children! No wonder the family can only afford to clothe a third of them: monkeys.

These family gatherings are an absolute joy, but they require patience… and eyes in the back of our heads! Thank God Uncle Chris was sober enough after supper to see Max slip something into the baby’s mouth. (Six-month-old Liam is the youngest grandchild.) Daddy Bruce flew toward the exersaucer at lightning speed and did a quick sweep of the youngster’s yapper. Out came a red, plastic Barbie shoe. Max had been playing with a Barbie just moments before. This is a photo taken of him just after the close-call…

Well at least Andrew now has a valid reason for preventing Max from playing with dolls. Not because dolls are gay, but because they’re lethal.

Damn Barbie. Girls who look that good are always trouble.

And remember kids…