This is a great time of year to consider delicious dinner building blocks that save time and money. With just a little forethought, it is possible to have homemade dinners on the table whether you're eating around races with your kids, meetings, studies, work, after-school or community activities.

'What's the big deal about poison ivy? Except for when folks get a secondary infection from it and have to take medicine, I don't understand why they dwell on it so much. Why can't they buck up and deal with it? It's just a little itch." That's what I thought until last week when, for the first time in my life, I experienced my own poison ivy reaction.

All of my boys are unique individuals. Ty, my third born, is undoubtedly my quietest child. Ty behaves like an angel in public. He eats politely at restaurants and doesn't wiggle in his seat. He is slightly built, blonde-haired, porcelain-skinned, blue-eyed and soft-spoken; and he's totally, 100 percent wacky. You see, his quiet presence is really just a ruse.

Three of our beautiful egg-laying chickens were stolen from our coop by some nefarious wildlife type critter within 24 hours. So while my husband and I went to work shoring up the defenses of our chicken coop, our five sons launched a large-scale paramilitary operation on our backwoods 20 acres. Upon discovering that the third hen had been stolen, the boys descended into a huddle. With occasional furtive glances toward the coop, they spent a solid five minutes whispering, planning and gesticulating wildly.

My sister suggested two weeks ago that my saying of the year should be, "It's not working right now." After a winter full of near constant catastrophic vehicle problems, a broken washing machine, a broken water heater, a case of identity (and actual) theft, a dead chicken, and a few other inconveniences -- both large and small -- it would appear that my conversations have been peppered with, "Well, I'd love to ____ but my ____ isn't working right now."

Our first mistake was probably agreeing to the "complimentary in-home, no-obligation water test." Frustrated by years of various and sundry water-related complaints, we uncharacteristically agreed to let a "water technician" (read: tenacious salesman) come into our house and test our water.

Right now three of my five children are walking around with one or more teeth that appear to be ready to leap from their rightful places in their mouths. Every time I look at those teeth quivering in the breeze, it leaves me with tingly knees and a fuzzy brain and the children with the certain knowledge that until those teeth fall out they have a weapon of monstrous power at their disposal. They give me the heebie-jeebies.

Following hot on the heels of birthday season for us (October-January) is my annual hair-shirt penitent moment. It is the same thing year after year and you would think I'd learn my lesson. Every single year, I schedule all the kids' appointments to happen at the same time in the name of multitasking.

I've heard it said that to be a good conversationalist you should listen 80 percent of the time and only talk 20 percent of the time. If that is true then I am the best conversationalist in the whole world courtesy of my children. The only time one of those boys isn't talking is when they're sick. I mean really sick.

Because we live in the middle of nowhere I can only make it to the grocery store once a week in good weather and every other week in bad weather. I always tell my husband that I'd be able to grocery shop more efficiently and spend less money if I could go shopping without taking all five of my boys with me. This was my story and I was sticking to it. Until last week.

I don't try to eavesdrop on my children but I can't always help it. I'd have to lose all my hearing to give them the privacy that they want. They are, simply put, loud. Just last week I was in the kitchen and heard the following exchange from the boys who were in the dining room.

Last spring marked our first foray into the area of "keeping" animals. We have had a dog or two, a cat and a few various and sundry fish but that had always been enough. We decided to follow the example of a few friends and ordered day-old chicks from a reputable hatchery and combined orders with those friends to save on shipping.

Every single time I think I might be getting a handle on how little boys think, they go and prove that I'll never figure them out. I could fill every column that I write with the ridiculous things I say and do in my attempts to be a competent parent. It's much more valuable, in the interest of later blackmail material, to have a chronicle of the silly things my children do in the course of simply living.

We have a long-standing birthday feast policy in our house wherein the birthday boy designs the menu for his special day. I did not think this needed clarification until earlier this week. A glance at the calendar informed me that I needed to get my fourth born (and almost 5-year-old) thinking about his birthday dinner. I asked him to consider what he wanted for his special day. He squinched his eyes, bit the side of his lip and descended deep into thought.

My household is starting to buzz with the excitement that is autumn. My husband is thrilled that football season has started and it's time for some gonzo October baseball. The boys are waiting with bated breath for the first piles of fallen leaves into which they can throw their bodies while screaming for joy. And me? More than anything else in fall, I adore the food.

I am totally flabbergasted that we are already into another school year. I'm not sure how it happened, but the summer flew by without me accomplishing more than one or two of the several things I intended to do. I never got that flower patch planted or put up the curtains. Nor did I paint the living room, dining room and porch. And what did I do?

My whole family loves bread. Since I also enjoy baking, most of our bread is homemade. Our daily bread is a whole-wheat sourdough. On special occasions, the family really enjoys artisan breads: baguettes, boules, Tuscan breads, and others like them.

I have a serious appreciation for the absurd. With five kids under the age of 10 this is a big blessing. I keep an ever-growing file of ridiculous things the kids say and do on my computer. I started the file for three main reasons.

The boys recently cornered me in the kitchen and explained to me very seriously that they have decided to start rating the quality of a day according to a system they created. "There are criteria that are incredibly important," I was told by my eldest, the Rules Guy. The second-in-line, the Explainer, expounded, "The worst is Supreme Bad, then Just Bad, then Okay, then Just Good, then Supreme Good and finally, Awesome!"

Whilst preparing dinner couple days ago my 8-year-old, Aidan, and my 6-year-old, Ty, flew into the kitchen through the side door. They were holding two plastic cups with the open ends together -- obviously guarding a precious treasure -- and were breathless with excitement. Aidan exclaimed, "Mom! Ty had the best idea for dessert in the whole wide world."

Lately the boys have decided they hate all things girl-related. I suppose this is common, but when five boys team up, things can get rather dramatic and reactionary. They scream bloody murder when a Barbie commercial is on during their favorite testosterone-fueled cartoon. They poke each other in the ribs and say "You want one of those" in snotty tones while pointing at Bratz dolls at the store. They make grotesque faces and moan as if they're in pain while passing the lingerie section at the department store.

I woke up out of a deep sleep in the wee hours of the morning two weeks ago. I had felt something brush against my shoulder near my neck. It was pitch black and the glasses that alleviate my extreme near-sightedness weren't within reach so I sat up and squinted around to see what it had been. I saw a large, dark spot on the short sleeve of my pajama shirt.

If you want to impress someone but are low on cool tricks I recommend these homemade chips and dip. They are not only delicious but they're simple to make and they're good for you, too. I tested these out on a large gathering of 20 or so families and came home with empty bowls.

Spring has officially sprung! The peepers are out in force and singing along with the once-again babbling creek. My young men are not content just to climb every tree in which they can gain a foothold. They stand back with arms folded and examine the trees in the yard, of which there are a multitude, and debate their chances of success with assorted limbs and branches.

My husband and sons have a strange chromosomal bond with the remote control. They have even given said remote control a name: "The weapon of honor." This is a mystery to me. I certainly don't care even half as much as them about having the thing in my hands. They, on the other hand, find it odd that I don't mind standing up to change the channel by hand.

We are still under construction at our house. That means that, for the moment, all seven of us are sleeping in the same bedroom. We've also taken turns having the flu. There is never a convenient time to be ill. You can help lessen the inconvenience by having a well-stocked pantry and fridge and some easy foods to prepare on hand.

As a home-schooling parent, I am always looking for ways to turn everything that happens during the day into lessons. My efforts usually end up reinforcing my theory that I will never really get what goes on in my kids' heads. One day last week, Aidan yelped and tore into the kitchen, squeezing the daylights out of a bleeding finger. He had been on the baby's rocking chair -- a chair that is sized so small that an 8-year-old boy could sit on top of it while rocking simultaneously. This is what Aidan had done.

Is anyone else totally flabbergasted that we've already reached Christmas Eve and another year is all but gone?

I'd like to offer snapshot of this evening's dinner table.

It's hard to believe that another year is almost done. With all five kids having birthdays in the same three-month span as Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's, we're in full party and costume mode around here.

I daily wonder whether I'm speaking the same language as my children. And I'm not speaking strictly metaphorically. Last week, Aidan flew through the front door and breathlessly informed me, "We're not doing what you told not. We're on a small hill. We're in a pocket place where we're smash rocking. I LOVE that place."

I spent hours upon hours on the phone both before and after my move trying to get all my address and utility changes made. My kids inevitably crave my attention when I'm on the phone. Having all five of them using me as a maypole or trampoline while trying to make all these phone calls was rather trying.