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Polyamory for the Practical

A Day in The Life of a Poly Family

This morning I wake up next to The Prince. This means I am waking up too early because of that unspeakable invention, the alarm clock. I open a bleary eye to see that he is getting ready for work, but don't really register anything coherent. The whole family was up late the night before no, not what you think. We were eating ice cream and heckling some TV show. I forget what.

The Prince, being the first up most weekdays, feeds the children some breakfast and turns on the electronic babysitter, calling out that he is leaving the house and that somebody better get his lazy butt up to keep an eye on the kids.

I do not in fact get up, but laze in bed keeping an ear out for the little monsters. (Yes, I love my children, but when sleep deprived, I am less than an angel about it). When I hear shouts of "Mine!" I know it is my cue to arise and administer justice.

I snatch the toy out of the hands of a child and say, without quite snarling, "If you can't play nicely with it, neither of you can have it."

I put the toy on a high shelf, ignore shrieks and go off to make my coffee. While grinding beans, I try to decide if this is an addiction I should kick, then defer the decision for another day as I inhale the lovely odor of freshly-brewed coffee.  I pour myself a cup, sweeten it with some genuine Vermont Maple syrup, and step carefully over the baby gate out of the kitchen.  I spill coffee and try not to curse aloud the fact that the confounded gate is exactly the height of my inseam.  Yes, I am a short woman.

The children beg me to sit down with them and watch The Wild Thornberrys .  I have to admit, I actually like the show.  So, with a little boy leaning on one knee and a little girl leaning on another, I sip coffee and enjoy my morning.

I hear a groan and see the dark head of the Goddess of Giggle.  I greet her, but do not ask how she is.  My wife is a charming, delightful woman.  But, she is not a morning person.  She grunts something I have come to interpret as "Good Morning" and pads to the kitchen to stare into the fridge.  She will do this until noon, when she wakes up enough to realize that she must break her fast.  Or, if The Beast takes pity on her and cooks her breakfast.

Since The Beast is a chef, he is usually home in the mornings.  This morning he has overslept enough that he is not feeling very artistic, so all he wants is coffee.  I pour him a cup.

"What's that?" he asks, after collecting a kiss.

He is pointing to four paper cups, a roll of string and a pair of scissors. 

"It's a telephone," I answer.

He grins.  We homeschool and the children are very small, so we find that informal games and crafts are most effective.  He sits down on the rug in the living room and calls to the children, informing them that Mama is going to give them a lesson in sound waves.

Not everything from books about educating children actually excites them.  However, this one was a winner.  We played Telephone for awhile, showing how the sound was only conducted over the tight string, but wouldn't work when the string was slack.

After that, it was on to play a phonics game with Baby Thor while The Bird worked on learning her colors.  The children have a sense of humor, so I have never been sure whether or not the mistakes they make with little grins are honest goofs in the learning process or attempts to tease.  Today, Baby Thor has been cooperative about things, but The Bird is insisting that purple is green.  The Goddess of Giggle, at hearing her favorite color maligned, shows admirable restraint -- especially for morning, and continues the lesson.

After lunch, The Bird goes down for a nap, my wife and I geek out and The Beast goes to practice guitar.  Baby Thor rushes outside, glad of the chance to rub sand in his hair and pretend to be demolishing cities in the sandbox.

It was The Beast's day off, which meant that he would cook. Our Little Quad lives for the nights when The Beast starts opening cupboards in the kitchen with a thoughtful look.  He did it that night, which meant I eagerly volunteered for sous-chef duties.  While I'm chopping onions, and The Beast is singing (His other nickname is The God of Voice.  You will never hear a more beautiful male voice -- ever), The Prince gets home, yells a hello to those of us slaving away in the kitchen and goes down to the office to "check his mail" (We allow The Prince this little fib.  What he's actually doing is reading the news.  You will rarely meet a worse news junkie). 

Suddenly, we hear footsteps thundering up the stairs. It's The Prince with The Goddess of Giggle, now fully alert, following close behind.  The Beast and I haven't the faintest clue what's up, but don't want to miss the fun. We vault the baby gate and chase into the upstairs Master bedroom where The Prince is struggling with The Goddess of Giggle on the bed. The Beast obligingly helps to hold him down, while I aid in the tickle department.  The children add their little fingers until we all collapse laughing.  We never did find out what the joke was.  The Prince graciously forgave us for ganging up on him, but he has a playful sense of humor.  I'm keeping an eye out.

That night, after we got the children in bed, we had a very special time -- ice cream and television.  Yeah, I know quads are supposed to be having constant orgies.  Kick us out of the Club, I suppose.  It ain't our thing. South Park and ice cream suits us just fine.

This was an actual day in my life and why I so treasure my family.

A portrait of the Goddess of Java rendered by the Goddess of Giggle

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