Ann slowly improves. The need for a wheelchair on long excursions starts to go away, as much because Ann doesn't want it as because she doesn't need it. Aunt Bonnie and Aunt Kim and everyone else gives her encouragement.

But it takes a while. On my 33rd birthday, Ann manages to go the whole day without limping or needing the chair, and tells me that she wanted to show me she could do it and wouldn't quit.

That wasn't the physical gift, but that was the biggest gift of the day. So big that mommy had to go to the ladies room to wash some cake off her face. That's it. Got some in her eyes too. That's why she didn't come back for a few minutes.

David's growing like a weed, but he's a bit more…scholarly than Ann, which surprises both Ron and I, because neither one of us was what you'd call the book learning type. He's working at a 4th grade level in the fields he doesn't like…a lot more in the fields he does like.

This leads to some problems. Number one, the Tweebs (hey, I'm evil, and I can steal Kimmie's names), Dr. D, and Dr. Dementor have a very loose grasp of the concept of "Age appropriate toys and activities". Normally I wouldn't care, but Mommy does not want to be woken up at 2:30 AM finding out that, no, Dr. D wasn't joking and yes, our child did clone the mini-Tyrannosaurus Rex that is rampaging downstairs.

Not only would it wreck the house, it would wake Sharon and Clair. It's hard enough to get them both asleep at once. So we have very serious discussions with all concerned, about the idea of clearing any potentially world destroying toys with mom and dad.

I can hear you asked, "Dr. Dementor?" Well, he's nuts like the whole breed, but you'll notice they tend to sabatoge themselves a lot. I think he also considers our kids honorary villains. Sometimes I do too…when they're playing, but the house is quiet…too quiet.

More seriously sometimes Ann gets scared—nightmares of screeching tires and darkness, and she comes into our room at night. David's rarer, but he sometimes does to. This quickly causes us to realize why most parents wear bedclothesand mom needs to keep a robe handy…and why sometimes the bedroom Olympics get curtailed a little. Nothing brings the activities to a crashing halt like a confused: "Mommy?"

Not to mention the fact that one should always be ready to handle the younger twins, who have built in "mommy and daddy would prefer not to be disturbed" sensors.

But we continue—and on their 5th anniversary, Kim and Bonnie inform us that Bonnie is expecting. How? It's an artificial process, and ask Kim's mom if you want more detail than I really needed. Bonnie's glowing, Kim is veering between happy and terrified. Kim's also getting her job with the Middleton NetDaily, as a news reporter. Well, she's had it for a while, but when she broke the textbook scandal, they gave her her lead with investigative reporting—which makes Bonnie happy, because Kim can do the crusading thing without having to deal with the slings and arrows of outrageous laser cannons.

Now I'm going to tell you something.

The exciting—the incredibly exciting events of a family are often boring as dirt to anyone not there. The jokes about slide shows of our trip to Yellowstone aren't jokes—they're true. You don't have the context. It wasn't your kid feeding the deer at the petting zoo and getting huge eyes.

It's sad to say, but Ann in the hospital was a lot more interesting for people who weren't her parents—A blow by blow of Ann's first talent show would make you want to drive red hot spikes through your eyes even when Ron and I are either giggling or getting misty eyes about the memory. When you have children you'll understand.

So, there's going to be a lot of…dead air over the next several years.

Ann gets older and doesn't have much to show for her injury. She'll always have to work a little harder than her friends to get to the same place, but she understands that. She's really, really attached to Aunt Bonnie. More so than Kim, who David seems to glom on to more.

At nine years of age, when I'm 34, the kids get a new funny show—Mom has to get glasses. Remember the comet power? Yeah, it helps me heal, and may have partially helped Ann to heal, we can't be certain. But it has a down side.

See, it'll heal trauma…but equally, it also heals trauma we don't want it to…like laser eye surgery. Three wasted attempts and I realize that my far sightedness is now a companion I'd better get used to. So I get a pair of reading glasses.

Yes.

Me.

Shego. Reading Glasses. Little glasses I have to take out of my pocket (and I am not putting them around my neck like some grand mother), when I want to do a lot of reading. I can do a little without them, but too much and my eyeballs want to jump out and run for the hills.

Ron is very supportive. He doesn't laugh. The potential maiming has nothing to do with it, because he's my husband and he loves me, even when Shego is really getting pissy in an illogical way about the perfectly natural process of aging.

Glasses.

Bleh.

I also finish my college work and now have to figure out what to do with my brand new BA. Can't be full time, since the twins are still only two, but I want to do something.

So I find myself getting a job at Middleton High.

Yes, that school. Seems they've been having some problems with students, and the last few VP's in charge of student relations have dropped the ball. Steve Barkin thinks I may be the one.

OK, I can do this part time, and I'll even promise not to blast some smart mouth through the wall. Then I find out I'm having to read so many papers that it makes sense to put the eyeglasses on a lanyard.

Tanj. And I can't get contact lenses, because of the nature of my farsightedness. Double Tanj.

Ron, the Rat, is 26 and just getting better. He's also regional director for Bueno Nacho now, which most of his friends expected. He's happy as anything, and is working on getting more market penetration. No glasses there… He's also just as good as he ever was in some other areas, but ahem, that's none of your business.

Of course, happy day, the older pair of kids are now old enough for chores. Mostly weeding and cleaning the house, but I explain to them, with a big smile, that right now is when they get to pay mommy back for that little traffic jam on the way out nearly ten years ago.

They point out it wasn't their fault, but magnanimously agree to do chores… for an allowance. The point out that willing workers get a lot more done.

Ohhhh…sneaky. I knew they were my kids.

At school, I establish some proper ground rules.

1. Shego is right.

2. Shego is always right.

3. Do not even think of trying to out sneaky Shego.

First thing I do is scrap the last VP's, "Sunshine program"—yes, she was giving happy face stickers to 17 year olds on their way to college, or the USMC. These ain't five year olds. I manage to get the lunch period increased to one hour and let Barkin know what I'm going to do.

Those kids with no discipline problems get off campus permits and the full lunch period. The others get 40 minutes and a 20 minute mini-study hall. You work with me, I can make your life much easier. Wanna play screw-up, we can play that game too.

I also stomp on our little incipient drug problem too. Show up at a locker, open it (and yes, school officials can), find the baggie idiot stashed in said locker and wait for him to drop by. I do this on lunch break. I tell him that I'm not on duty, so as a concerned citizen, I can give him some good advice—which is walk right into the office, call mom and dad, with me listening, and let them know he needs some help.

If he doesn't like plan "A", I can wait until lunch is over, call in Barkin, the cops, and flush his college career down the toilet, because at that point it'll be in school records.

I also tell him this is a one time only deal—don't count on such an offer if I ever see him bringing something like this to school again… and I've dealt with pro's so don't think he can figure a way to fool me. He's a junky and the definition of junkystupid, which is why I noticed him nearly walking into walls today.

He, and a few others, take the deal. The off campus fellow who was dealing doesn't get a deal. He falls down a flight of stairs and breaks several bones, in addition to having his stock laying around him when the cops showed up.

Ron gives me the eye that night, and I just point out that the stairs are slippery there, and it wasn't on campus, and why is he looking at me like that. I would never do such a thing, I say.

Then I see the kids looking at me over their dinner. Even the little ones are looking at me. Ron tells the children that he believes his wife. They look at him like "are you an idiot?" and he smiles back at them.

That night he mentions that a flight of stairs was pretty clichéd to whoever did it, and I point out that sometimes the old ways are best….and as of now, Middleton High is, if not drug free, very close to it.

Now, Ann and David are 10, Clair and Sharon are five going on six, and I discover Ron's mutant power.

Alright, this was our idea again. One last kid. The high school has a day care center next to it, so yes, we can do this.

One more kid.

No. Ron's mutant power kicks in.

Yep, you guessed it. His mutant power is that when he gets Shego pregnant, it'll be twins. Just in time for Ann and David's 10th birthday, we have two more kids.

OK. That's it. I love my husband dearly, I love our children…but I think that now is the time to quit while we're ahead. He points out we are ahead—of everyone he knows, in fact. I grab him by the ear and convince him that we have enough of a lead that we can stay ahead.

Six kids. At least we've spaced them out properly.

And the scary thing is I'm so used to twins I'm not even bothered by it.

To be continued.