Five kids doesn't feel to me like the ridiculous excess that might be imagined by someone with fewer. They don't feel like five kids. They feel like MY kids: my tall girl and my fuzzy buddy and my tiny girl and my trouble guy and my baby dude. They are not a nameless, seething mass; they are individual persons. While I don't expect anyone who doesn't know them to see that, it is ludicrous to imagine that I don't. No, I cannot help every one of them at the same time, and sometimes someone--even a very small someone--has to wait while someone else gets zoomed to the bathroom or sponged off the sidewalk. But, golly, the zooming and the sponging are what I'm here for. And that someone who's waiting? Well, more and more often that's what the rest of them are here for.
No one needs to worry that my five kids aren't getting all the love and attention kids need simply because there are five of them. They are far more endangered by my sloth on an easy afternoon than by my inability to be in two places at once in a tense (not to say catastrophic) moment.