Scary Math

We had the Missionaries over last night which is always fun. There aren't always a lot of things I love, but I LOVE the missionaries. I feel bad for the guys, so we feed them on a regular basis. No friends. No family. No music? And then there's the whole not dating thing. That's rough. I have a HUGE amount of respect for the missionaries and I love all of them for doing what they do. Plus one of our current missionaries is from Korea and I love Korean food so I selfishly used it as a way for me to get a great dinner by promising him I'd go to the Korean Market. That is always interesting because this is an authentic place, and I'm not exactly...umm... Korean. So I kind of stick out pushing my shopping cart and hauling my daughter (complete with giant bow) through the place.

Anyway, back to the missionaries...the other missionary is a new transfer so of course we are playing twenty questions. And lo and behold the dude comes from a family of eleven kids. Holy Crap! That's what I said, actually sort of shouted. Now five, six, even seven kids- whatever, but ELEVEN!?!?! I love to make up baby names for future kids I'll probably never have, but I don't even have that many names I like. And by make up, I don't mean make up as in things like 'Renesmee.' No I didn't read it, but I heard about it.

Anyway, back to my story... again...Props to his mother is all I can say. I figure it took me five years to get one, so I figure that if we keep up the pace and we have four, it's still going to take me twenty years.

The missionaries leave and I ask Husband- Can you imagine having eleven kids?
Husband- Sure. Why not?
Me- No thank you.
Husband- How about eight?
Me- Again, I point out it took us five years to have one.
So he (and I don't know how he calculated this as fast as he did) says- Well... if we have eight, even at our current pace we'll be seventy-eight when the last one leaves the house.
Me- No dear. YOU'LL be seventy-eight. I'LL be seventy-four.

Those four years might make a difference.