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While Facetiming with my brother and sister-in-law several weeks ago, J and I were doing out typical bantering. My sister-in-law said we were like watching a sitcom. And I said that we would make for great reality TV. We really would. I laugh at us and our crazy life all the time. Maybe it’s just that I have to laugh to keep from crying or I’m legitimately going crazy now. But our life. Well. It’s just so dang funny sometimes.

I have always seemed to attract crazy and chaotic happenings. Like when I fell down the stairs in my apartment building in college. In nothing but a towel. With a completely glass door at the bottom. And can’t forget the construction workers right outside. Yes. That really happened. Or when I was on a sort of date and almost hung myself on the coat hanger in the car. Long story. Whatever. My point is: crazy, funny stuff happens in my life. Especially since we have a lot of kids. Like my friend and I being asked if we run a daycare. Because we have 7 kids between us and only one of those is white. I’m pretty sure if I had the right connections to pitch my family’s reality show to, I could score us a sweet gig. Forget the Kardashians and the Robertsons. They have nothing on the Samplers. And the best part? We aren’t scripted. Let me tell you about my morning. And if any of you have awesome reality TV connections, you’ll want to pass it along.

I was standing in my kitchen making breakfast (read: heating up cream of wheat) for the 2 babymen, making a bottle for baby girl, and making myself another cup of coffee when I heard a knock on the door. Not a nice, polite knock. No. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. It immediately freaked me out. I went into the laundry room and there was a big, burly looking man standing outside the door. I barely opened it with Tilly by my side, my hair unkempt (combine serious bedhead with not being washed since Sunday), my eyes wild, braless and said, “hello?” He told me he was here to install fiberglass. I had no clue what he was talking about. And then he explained it was the internet. Well dude. Why didn’t you just lead with, “I’m the internet guy.” That would have lowered my blood pressure significantly and maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t have looked as crazy. I’m pretty sure I looked like what you picture an escaped mental person looks like. So he comes in and starts doing his thing. And I start getting babies out of their cribs. He walks away, comes back, and there’s a giant babyman sitting at the table. He walks away again, comes back, and there’s a second babyman sitting at the table (both screaming at this point bc they don’t have food in front of them). He looks at me and just smiles at my wild eyed self. He walks away, comes back again, and there’s baby girl. How I wish my super power was reading minds in that moment. Judging by the look on his face, it would have been so worth it. I finished feeding the kids, got about 2 sips of my coffee, and ran to my bedroom to put on a bra all while kids are chasing me and Jud is asking me (very loudly) what I’m doing in there. Burly, internet guy was in and out setting everything up and the tribe went wild. Seriously. Words cannot possibly do it justice. The babymen were throwing the world’s finest tantrums for anything and everything. Giant babyman threw himself on the ground once bc big, burly internet guy couldn’t pick him up. Big, burly internet guy kept asking, “does someone need a hug?” I wanted to raise my hand and say, “me.” But since I’m married and barely know this dude, I thought it might be a little inappropriate. Jud kept talking and asking questions at a decibel that a deaf person could hear in an attempt to be heard over the massive tantrums. And babygirl just wanted to be held. Big, burly internet guy looks at me and says, “You’ve got your hands full, huh?” No joke, Sherlock. Then J calls and wants to speak to the guy. I hand my phone over, he talks, and as he is handing my phone back to me, he looks down to see that the contact says “Baby Daddy.” As if this guy wasn’t already wondering how I had so many kids that don’t look a thing like me. Just whatever, dude. Your opinion of me was probably already less than spectacular. So whatever. He finally left, 2 ½ hours later. And I literally locked myself in my bathroom for 5 whole minutes. While the babymen screamed and kicked on the floor, babygirl cried in her exersaucer, and Jud screamed in desperation wondering where I was.

One morning at my house and you have enough for an hour-long reality show. Or enough material to write several sitcoms. And I work cheap, dear TV producers.

Anyone else think their lives would make for great television?

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