Zone Defense

This Is What I Hear

2012-01-30T19:42:00.000-08:00

Right now I have Fresh Beat Band's little melody "Here We Go" repeating itself in a deafening roar over and over and over in my already-overstimulated brain.

And I wonder why I've been having writer's block when catchy children's pop tunes have taken over what little wits I still possess.

I clearly need a break.

The Unmentionables

2012-01-13T09:22:00.000-08:00

It had been way too long since brand-new skivvies have been introduced to my dresser. As in, 8-10 years too long. As in, the rotation had dwindled to the low single-digits. So I finally took an opportunity and went to a random store in search of some undergarments. The whole process was nearly overwhelming and I wish someone at Kohl's would have been able to just show me where the normal stuff is that doesn't have pictures of unicorns or scratchy material. Somehow I feel help never would have come.

After poking around and wasting 20 minutes of my precious time, I grabbed some smallclothes that didn't appear atrocious and also might fit size-wise (and how does one know the right size after 10 years and 5 kids?).

Got home, opened up the package, and was surprised at how HUGE these babies were! I checked the box (I obviously spent loads of $$ here) and everything seemed fine. Maybe they'll shrink in the wash. Oh boy. John's going to make fun of me when he sees my enormous underwear. I'm going to be chastised for being cheap. Dang it!!! What a waste of time. I could have taken a serious nap and now I'm stuck with hideous granny-gear.

Wash, dry, grrr. I can't believe I'm wasting laundry detergent on these things.

So it was out of desperation the next morning that I grabbed a pair and...they fit. The enormous underwear I bought fit onto a bottom that I obviously believed was smaller than reality.

Depression. Ice-cream needing depression.

Daddy

2012-01-11T21:22:00.000-08:00

John wants me to document that Miss Annie has said his name first. To be accurate, she said Ainsley's name first and she did that weeks ago. What he really needs is for it to be known that she looked at him and said "DaDa" before she has even considered "MaMa".

It would have been nice for ONE of my children to have thrown me a bone or two. Turkeys.

Peeking Around The Corner

2011-12-30T22:13:00.000-08:00

I refuse to participate in Resolutions, mostly because I know I'll either forget about them by January 2nd or won't care by January 3rd. I have bigger fish to fry right now than whether or not I'll limit dessert to 1x/week (HAHAHAHAHA) or...well, I can't think of anything else. I'm so lame.

Nonetheless, I can hear the rumblings of 2012 on the other side of my little world and, as much as I would like, I can't run away fast enough. Instead, I'm choosing to squoosh my back against the wall of my life and taking quick peeks around the corner to see how much longer I have until the inevitable happens and I'm full-body-smacked with a new year.

And since I can't escape, I may as well put my purse down and man-up, and at least reflect on whether or not I should try to do something more than exist by successfully getting through the day without causing too much permanent harm.

Three minutes of reflection later, I came to the conclusion that I should work on my grumpiness this year - as in to be less grumpy. One of my main battles is that I kind of like to be grumpy. It feels comfortable to me and I come by it honestly as I have a long line of curmudgeonly ancestors to genetically inspire me and I have been a most excellent student at the craft.

What inspired me to this? A true story that goes like this:

One day, a wife noticed a storm was brewing in the house and she decided she was not only going to nip it in the bud (even though the urge to feed into it was so strong), but also make the day cheerier and filled with rainbows and bunnies and lollipops. Because it was THE HOLIDAYS, for crying out loud. So what did the wife do? She forced herself to smile - that really perky kind of smile that the really, truly, sweet people walk around with - and her husband said "What are you doing?". No lie. "I'm smiling" said the wife. "Why?" replied the husband. "Because it's almost Christmas and I'm going make sure everyone is HAPPY!".

The day did get a little bit merrier and bright, but the wife realized that perhaps she needed to occasionally alter her countenance a smidge so she wouldn't startle anyone if she decided to share a grin ever again.

And that is what's going to happen. I'm going to fight my nature and be in a less crappy mood.

My Harrier

2011-12-27T22:14:00.000-08:00

Ainsley's school has held a Turkey Trot for the last 12 years and, if you know me, you know I love it. I've been fired up for this event ever since I found out about it and wish, wish, wish I could have helped out. I just know my easy temperament would have made me the darling of the planning team. In retrospect, it's probably best I didn't want to shell out some coin for babysitting so I could help hand out water bottles. Things would have gotten serious.

Anyway, every student participates and they spend some time in PE training for their big run. I made the mistake of calling it a "race" one time and was corrected.

"Mommy. It is a Run. Not a Race. We are supposed to keep a steady pace so we don't get too tired and have to stop."

Okay, okay. Fine. I have many years to brainwash my oldest into wanting to show the rest of the school how it's done.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I showed up to cheer her on and was floored by what had been prepared. Every student had a race number, the roads (yes, they ran around the neighborhood where the school is located) were blocked by police cars, parent volunteers were everywhere along the course, there was a finish line chute, and bottled water and bananas had been donated by one of the local grocery stores for the athletes who, I'm certain, would be so exhausted from their 1/4 mile (for the first and second graders) and 1/2 mile (for the rest) respective runs.

The starting line. I was dying because they still had about 5 minutes until the PE teacher started the race and a couple kids held their starting stance the entire time. Classic.

Ainsley isn't in this picture, but I still love it. The kids are all so excited and serious and that's the way it's supposed to be. It was so sweet to see every single kid having a great time while they're running. I wish I had video because right after I took this picture a boy lost a shoe. Of course. So visualize a little kid running against the tide to retrieve lost shoe, then bending down to put it back on while 100+ kids ran past. I thought for sure there would be a pile-up of some sort, but miraculously no one got seriously injured.

And my girl? Well I got a little teary watching her run past, so stinkin' cute in her race number, the biggest smile ever, keeping a steady pace, just as she had been told. Her very first road run.

The finish. Check out that form. Relaxed, perfect arm swing and hand placement. Steady as she goes and she remembered to do exactly as she was told. A coach's dream.

The first of many ribbons, because of COURSE she'll run cross-country.

Are You Seriously?!?!?!

2011-12-27T22:10:00.000-08:00

I hear myself, my words, come from my children more often than I would like. The triplets, in particular, are known for parroting me more than Ainsley and Johnny more than any of them.

But tonight? Lizzy strung together, without a breath, this string of my little isms for no reason other than for her own entertainment:

Oh my goodness!

Oh my stars!

Are you kidding me?

Are you seriously?!?!? (This last is her interpretation.)

This, from the girl who wears three pair of underwear at the same time because "they're my favorites". Duh.

I love this girl.

Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree

2011-12-18T20:49:00.000-08:00

There are several Christmas-season songs I can't handle and the Amy Grant version of "Rockin'" is one of them (the Top 3 including "Little Drummer Boy" and "Santa Baby").

But that is not the point. The POINT is that we purchased our tree much later than usual and the kids were starting to freak out. Who am I kidding? I was starting to freak out. I barely decorate for Christmas, mostly because I'm too lazy and I hate having to undecorate from Christmas. So I don't. But the tree. The Tree! There must be a Christmas tree because just having the Nativity set out all by itself seems so...lonely.

The first weekend of December was consumed with family stuff, John was out of town the second weekend, and this past weekend was going to be crazy, what with Annie's first birthday (oh, I feel a little ill thinking about my baby getting older) and all. So John decided to leave work a bit early on Tuesday to get a tree. He and three of the kids drove off in the rain and returned not 40 minutes later with a beaut.

Were we all excited? Yes! So excited we (kidlets) decided to do a Christmas tree dance? Yes! John brought the tree in, set it in the tree stand, left to do...something...and we heard war whoops coming from the front. My spazzy kids were doing laps around our Tannenbaum, chanting "Running around the Christmas tree" over and over and over again.

They're crazy.

We obviously released this guy from the netting and were impressed with ourselves by only taking four days to get it decorated. I did say I was lazy, right?

Bedtime Ridiculousness

2011-11-30T18:00:00.000-08:00

It started this past summer.

We were in Ohio for our summer visit and the four oldest shared a room for the first time ever. Ainsley's been dying to have the girls move in with her, so we were curious about how this would play out.

The first night was typical. Giggling, more giggling, moving around, books/lovies/pillows "accidentally" falling from the bed and therefore needing to be retrieved by getting out of bed, over and over and over again.

Then it happened. Ainsley declared herself the Trips' Ambassador and started to personally escort them OUT OF THEIR ROOM to tell us something completely irrelevant or simply inform us they were going to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was one door from their sleeping quarters. They had to pass directly in front of it to find us downstairs. We couldn't believe it.

Until then, I can't remember any of the triplets coming out of their room. Occasionally we'd hear them jump out of bed, run to get something, then jump back in, but they NEVER left their room unless instructed and always called if they needed something.

And now? Now we have this:

Thump, thump, thump down the stairs.

"Mommy, I can't find my doggie" (It was in her bed. As.I.Had.Told.Her.) Or:

"Mommy, can you cover me up". Or:

"Mommy, Lizzy said poop". Or:

"Mommy, I...uh...umm...umm...is tomorrow Saturday?".

And on. And on. And on.

So now we're in retraining mode, which means the rules have to be told and repeated back every night; a miniature family catechism.

Me: "When is it okay to get out of bed or come out of your room?"

Trips: "Only in an emergency."

Me: "And what is an emergency?"

Trips: "If we have to go potty, if we have to throw up, if the house is on fire, or if you and Daddy say we can."

Me: "Just call if you really need something. We'll always come." Because we do and it's important they know that.

Of course they feel the need to question what exactly constitutes and "emergency" and try, in vain, to offer up extra options (what if it floods? no. or we hear tornado sirens? no. if we hear a loud noise? no.) We're three months out of the summer visit and I feel we're circling in on back-to-normal. I'm sure it will all go to pieces when the girls (+ Johnny as he has informed us "because I don't want to be alone") move into Ainsley's room.

Work in progress.

The Good, The Typical, And Just Gross

2011-11-26T20:59:00.000-08:00

Let's start with Just Gross. I abhor vomit. There isn't much else that gives me a violent case of the "ewwss" as vomit and with a truck load of kids in the house, the statistics are in favor of it presenting itself on a regular basis. Right now a minor bug of some sort has taken its time seeking out all little ones in my care, and this is one of the side effects. The problem with this particular bug is that the vomiting comes out of nowhere. No real warning (Lizzy excepted) and therefore no chance to act in preventing serious yuck in the house and therefore emotional damage to myself. You see, this virus-thingy is sneaky. Symptoms? A little whiny, low-grade fever, slight runny nose, that's it. Eating remains fairly normal, sleep habits are normal, etc. And then? WHAM!!!! Just Gross.

They Typical? Well. All of this nastiness started over a week ago with Ainsley and I was hoping, praying, it would either stop with her or race through the house quickly in order to have everyone finished with it by Thanksgiving. Yesterday afternoon (the day before Thanksgiving), I was ignorantly checking off who had thrown up so far and was pleased that the two left rarely do so (Gracie) or had never (Annie in her short life). Annie was a little goofy all day, clingy, but not entirely off her feed and was terribly impressed with herself at dinner for eating broccoli like a big kid. Typical bedtime behavior for about 20 minutes and then...totally atypical. I hate, hate, hate changing cribs from an episode and she did a thorough job. John was thankfully home for this one...but then he left to hang out with a friend and not 7 minutes after he left, Gracie started that weird cough. You know, the one where - if you have the level of vomit experience we do at Chez Laird - you just know it will not end well. I made it up the stairs in time to almost make it. Poor, poor Gracie. And oh, so typical of when I get a little over-confident when we have something licked. It always becomes so apparent we don't.

Where is The Good in all this mess?
1. We were finished with everything before Thanksgiving. Yay!
2. With this particular Yuck, the infected only throw up once. Yay!
3. No carpet was affected. Yay!
4. Lizzy's was outside on the patio (easy clean up - thank you Lizzy) and 15 seconds after a 40 minute car ride. It would have been disastrous. Double Yay!

And that's how it goes around here.

Fellow Parents, I Apologize

2011-11-11T22:25:00.000-08:00

We were putting the Trips to bed tonight when the question was asked:

"Hey Mommy. How do babies get out of Mommies' tummies?".

Ugh. I'm getting these already?

Sigh.

Of course I told them the truth (and not the way they arrived).

They thought it was absolutely hysterical. To be honest, I'd say I have to agree with them.

So apologies all around to everyone in my world who has children who associate with mine, because the odds of one of these little angels telling one of yours how babies arrive in this dear world are great.

Whoa.

2011-10-23T20:12:00.000-07:00

Lizzy got pushed at a playground this afternoon. She has an unmistakable cry, so I started to shimmy up a rickety wooden ladder to the top of a wooden fort of questionable engineering. On the way up-and-over, a little boy told me someone pushed her. Then a little girl said the same thing. Of course Lizzy, trying to find me, had cried down the slide just as I reached the top and I had to reverse-shimmy down the ladder to reach her.

Once I got her calmed down, the "That Boy pushed me, Mommy! He's naughty!" came out.

Now. With my kids, there is a loose interpretation of what a "push" is. They cry foul over true accidents, such when another kid trips and falls into them. I usually end up taking the a-snuggle-will-make-it-all-better approach and then blowing it off because 95% of the time it really was an accident.

But this time Lizzy had two witnesses who had ratted out the little punk before I had reached her, so I felt this was a credible accusation. Still, there wasn't a whole lot I was going to do with this since we were at a farmer's market pumpkin patch for crying out loud, there wasn't any blood, and the guilty party was out of my range of fire.

So to make her feel better (because she wouldn't stop with the "that boy is naughty Mommy! I'm going to be a crossing guard at the slide and let all the big kids down, but not That Boy! He's so naughty!"), I turned to Johnny and said:

"Johnny, when someone pushes one of your sisters down, your job is to yell right. at. that. kid "HEY! Don't push my sister! No one pushes my sister!".

I told him that's what brothers are supposed to do. They take care of their sisters.

Fast forward 5 minutes and Lizzy is much better. So much better that she has run off to play again. I sort of kept an eye on her and Punk Boy who caused the ruckus - fresh kettle corn was involved in my distraction - and...

....I saw her, hands on her hips, jawing at That Naughty Boy who was trying to climb the crappy ladder.

She stopped, turned on her heel, and marched back to us.

Me: "Lizzy. What were you doing?"

Lizzy: "I told That Boy he should not push! It is mean to push! And that's my job as a sister! To tell him! That's my job!"

Me: "Yes it is. That's your job. You take care of your sisters."

Lizzy, who by then was probably known as the "crazy girl on the playground" just stayed on top of that kid for the next 10 minutes, so much so that I had to call her off a couple times lest she became the bully.

Lessons learned?

1. Lizzy holds grudges.
2. Lizzy will greatly struggle with Forgive And Forget through the years.
3. Lizzy is not to be trifled with.
4. Lizzy doesn't need ANYONE to look out for her on the playground.

I can work with that.

The Monkey House

2011-10-04T21:42:00.001-07:00

Scientists near Geneva recently announced they had broken the "speed of light". They did this by observing my sweet monkeys descend upon and destroy a previously clean room.

Unless children are napping, silence is always suspicious at Chez Laird. Load of squeals and maniacal laughter are also suspicious. Alternating between the two means an uprising is in the works and I should just open a beer now because I'm going to need it to handle what happens next.

An example:

There had been fighting. I intervened and the fighting stopped. But then the chasing began and the oldest four were shrieking like banshees, running laps over and over and over again through the kitchen. When the decibel level surpassed concert-status, I sent them upstairs. Ainsley generously offered up her room (a rarity so of course the trips jumped all over that), so I blah-blah-blahed the usual "if you play in Ainsley's room you have to listen to her or you'll have to leave".

Ahhh...silence in my kitchen. Silence upstairs...wait. Giggling? Laughing? Squealing? Pounding of feet? MORE squealing? More pounding of feet?

No. Please no.

I walked in my room to find this:

Folks, that's 3 loads of laundry strewn all over my room. It had been folded. Duvet and pillows thrown off my bed.

Commence beer-opening.

Soccer Saturdays

2011-09-14T19:58:00.000-07:00

I swore to myself my kids would not play soccer until they were 8, 9, 10 years old. It's ridiculous to toss the little ones, many of whom can barely kick the ball much less have anything that resembles a skill set, out on a field and let them go at it.

Yessiree, we were going to do some backyard lessons/play time and if they liked it? We'd take them down to the city where they could get schooled in pick-up games, but learn some creative skills. My kids were going to learn the old-fashioned way so they wouldn't have to do the boring and time-wasting stand-around-and-wait-your turn-to-kick-a-ball practice that is the hallmark of soccer practice in this age group. And I know I've offended some people by now, but you must know I really don't care.

So what are we doing? We signed them up. Why? Because for Ainsley, her best friend from Kindergarten (oh how we truly LOVE Olivia!) did it last year and had fun. For the trips, because theirs is a non-competitive soccer camp (no games) and since Gracie could spend as much time as we'd let her kicking a ball into a goal, why not? And, let's be honest, it's practically free.

How did it go?

Well, most of the children at the camp had fun. Not mine, but most. Of the 30-odd kids with the Trips, mine were 3 of the 5 kids who did everything they could to NOT participate. It was so painfully obvious that we don't get out much. Highlights for The Three? Purple soccer socks for the girls and blue for Johnny. Oh, and new soccer balls which they carried around. At one point they were supposed to kick the ball to one of the coaches, who would then stop it set it up so they could have the thrill of kicking it into a goal. What did Johnny do? Kicked it to the coach, then ran up, picked up the ball, and threw it into the goal. Sigh. I should add that I had to keep folding Lizzy and Johnny's socks down b/c they preferred to wear them as thigh-highs. Very fashionable. And cool.

For Ainsley? Hanging with her sweet friend, water breaks, and snacks were pretty much the highlights. Oh, and the team jersey. And her purple socks. And her purple soccer shorts.

And I'm over it. I'm super-selfish with my time and after an entire Saturday morning being occupied with soccer...I wouldn't be devastated if everything was cancelled.

Since it won't, at least I'll have a week under my belt and will be better prepared. All these professional soccer parents showed up with chairs, drinks for themselves (I had some for the kids), blankets, the works. I did not. I had nothing except for a laden backpack filled with water and snacks for the kiddos, so I totally looked like a newbie, which was annoying.

Johnny, holding the ball. Socks pulled down around his ankles b/c he didn't like them the traditional way. At least they no longer looked like leggings.

Gracie, just before camp started. I had to walk with her out to her coaches, clinging to my leg.

Buddies. I'm loving the fancy socks!

Lizzy, carrying her ball around. Again. She kept putting it down, which meant another kids would innocently use it, and she would get pretty frosted.

This week will be better, right? Right?!?!?

Put It In The Toilet!!!

2011-09-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

Ranks in the top 10 of sentences every mother does not want to hear, especially when the four oldest have crammed themselves in the 1/2-bath, armed with glow-stick things, lights off, and the worst? The door was locked.

Happy shrieks, lots of the word "hiney" used (why are they sooo obsessed with hineys, and what in Creation were they doing that required the word?), and then the dreaded "put it in the toilet!!" was shouted. Oh My Stars. Put WHAT in the toilet??!??!?!?

Apparently, someone (Ainsley) thought it might be cool to see if the glow-axe in Johnny's possession lit up the toilet. Thankfully we never found out how cool it would have been because John started pounding on the door, telling our little urchins to open up and get out. Please.

For My Children

2011-09-11T19:14:00.001-07:00

Dear Ainsley, Johnny, Lizzy, Gracie, and Annie,

I've debated for days about whether or not I should write something about this day in history. My fear was being cliche' or impersonal or not respectful enough. Complete enough. Deep enough.

But then I felt it ought not to be ignored, if only at the very, very least, for its historical significance. My generation, born as Vietnam was raggedly coming to a close, thankfully hadn't experienced a major war, or at least one that deeply affected the nation as a whole. And that statement in itself doesn't acknowledge the soldiers involved in Desert Storm or the fear of the Cold War, but I will arguably state that neither of those created an instantaneous and intense emotional reaction as the symbolic representation of evil on September 11, 2001.

You will learn the details of the day from us and in school, so they would be redundant to repeat here. What you won't learn in school, but hopefully from us, is that this was not an event that stands in isolation. Because we are inherantly bad and are therefore capable of bad things, bad things will happen. Horrific and unspeakable events, such as what happened on that day in Pennsylvania, Virginia, and New York, will and currently take place, every minute of every day, because of the simple presence of humanity.

Your dad and I will fiercely try to protect you from the horrors that exist while you are children. We don't pretend the world and everyone in it is perfect and filled with gumdrops and lollipops, but we firmly believe children need to have a knowledge foundation built of the safety and beauty of God's perfect Love before they experience hatred. There will be too many years that Hatred will be a presence in your life, if even only on television and oh, let that be so.

We will point you to all that is perfect, He who is perfect. We will teach you that Evil exists but will not and can not prevail because already there is Victory.

For Thine is the Kingdom.

And the power.

And the glory forever.

Amen.

23 Minutes

2011-08-31T19:00:00.000-07:00

Ainsley's school starts promptly at 8:39 am

This morning she crossed the threshold of her school at 8:38 am and I consider it a minor miracle.

8:15 am is supposed to be Game Time around here (shoes on and exiting the house).

On this day, the clock hit 8:15 and...

1. Annie spit up on herself and the carpet and played in it because that's what babies do.
2. Toilet got clogged which is SO fascinating for SO many wee ones.
3. Annie then pooped.
4. We forgot Gracie hadn't gone potty yet (it'd only been 14 hours, folks).
5. Toilet still clogged b/c of other issues, so Gracie is sent somewhere else. Under protest.
6. Ainsley decided she needs to go potty, so she is sent somewhere else. Under protest.
7. Annie changed, dressed.
8. Backpack. Lunch box. Shoes. Check. Check. Check.
9. 5 kids in the car. Check. Strapped in (we have been known to forget someone). Check.

8:28 - drove away from the house

8:32 - arrived at school. Parked, unloaded the car, and made my little ducklings spit-spot it up to the door

8:38 - yell "I love you! and Have a good day!" to Ainsley as she raced onward and upward.

Mental double fist pump.

Home.

We were back for about 30 seconds when I heard Lizzy freaking. I looked over and Johnny had intentionally put a wind-up toy in her hair (which immediately became embedded). He made a second poor decision and laughed about it, which promptly landed him in some serious business.

It's all normal around here.

Oh So Painful

2011-08-29T20:47:00.000-07:00

I was out on a run tonight and felt absolutely wonderful until I was about 75 yards from my house and a little piece of me died.

On the way out I passed by a neighbor's house. She was having some people over and they were having fun, which reminded me of all the times I've sat on a friend's back porch/patio on a summer night, with no worries about the consequences of staying up too late.

So I was smiling and reminiscing on my jaunt, missing some dear friends who have moved away, and it was good.

But then I passed by again on the way back and, in the midst of their sweet and laughing conversation, someone loudly said "oh she's older, like in her 30's".

What!??!?!? WHAT??!?!?!

I wanted to stop running, curl up in the fetal position, and cry. Because folks, I no longer have the luxury of being in that "older" age group and do not want to know how my current decade would be described.

Sigh.

Someone's On The Move

2011-08-25T19:28:00.000-07:00

See this yummy little munchkin?

She is no longer interested in her toys or the exersaucer, or any form of confinement. She thinks it's hilarious to make a break for the stairs, the bathroom (try making 4 kids remember to keep that door closed - yuck), and the forbidden toys strewn all over. The pantry doors open and she makes a break for it, knowing the napkins and other playthings are there, just begging her to yank them out and stick in her mouth.

She's growing up way too quickly.

This Is A New One

2011-08-24T19:57:00.000-07:00

I was putting Annie down for a nap today when Johnny appeared. The kids know not to barge in when this is happening since they have the knack for popping in just as I'm oh-so-gently placing her in her crib. Their presence reminds her there's a party going on in the house she would not care to miss and it makes me crazy.

They know they are allowed in only if: someone is bleeding or unconscious, someone hit/kicked/smacked someone else, or was hit/kicked/smacked, or if the house is on fire.

So it was unusual for him to be there and even more unusual that he was cheery and persistent (to his credit he knew not to cross the threshold and was actually whispering, too). I couldn't understand anything he was saying, so I smiled and waved him on and told him I'd be right down.

The FIRST THING they all told me, and they were terribly pleased with themselves, was "Don't worry, Mommy! We cleaned everything up!".

I looked down, and there is the last remaining portable potty in the middle of the floor. With urine in it.

Me, in my calmest voice: What did you clean up?

Johnny: See! I used a towel and everything! :)

Lizzy: I tee-teed a little on the floor! :)

Gracie: We all used the Swiffer! :)

Johnny, Lizzy, Gracie: We all took turns with the Swiffer! We cleaned everything up! Don't worry! We did a great job! We didn't get any tee-tee on our feet!

It should be noted here that the Swiffer they used was the one that is used like a broom, where a disposable cloth is attached. There was no cloth attached, so they had basically spread urine around with hard plastic.

From what I good-cop pieced together, this is what took place: Lizzy had to go to the bathroom but was too busy playing (very nicely) with the others and didn't want to miss out on anything. So she missed out on something and went all the way upstairs to get a portable potty so she could be more efficient. She must have had some degree of an accident (hence the towel and swiffer) because I'm sure she waited until the last second, but who knows how much or little.

The angle I'm choosing to take on this is that this was a good event for three reasons:

1. There was no tattling.
2. They worked together (love Teamwork!!)
3. It was on the hardwood, so no carpet involved.

A good day.

So Embarrassing

2011-08-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

I got a little cocky on a run a couple weeks ago and paid for it in spades. My 3-milers had become slightly less painful, especially since I figured out to pop a couple ibuprofen the moment I stagger in the door to trick my knees into thinking they just went on a joy ride.

So one Sunday, when the heat index was past the point of flirting and was in a committed relationship with over 100 degrees, some time opened up in our schedule and John suggested I use it to go for a run. I went, mostly because there was this eensy yet influential part of me that needed to be a little hard-core; something I haven't experienced in awhile.

I was about 1/2-mile into this gig and decided I would try to go longer and do one of our 4-mile routes. That decision is an example of what happens when I allow siblings Silly and Irrational to drive.

Regardless of my misery starting around mile 3, what happened in that last mile was a classic Kitty move.

I was running down a favorite street in our area, comparing houses and wondering what some particularly well-done ones of the newer-construction-type were like inside, when I glanced backwards (why??), my right foot hit a surprise slope of a driveway and I had an immediate and painful investigation of some local concrete.

Three Thoughts on the Trip Down:

1. Aww Man! I am too old to fall publicly.
2. Protect the ring. I always sacrifice the hand for the sake of the engagement ring.
3. John always tells me to "roll into the fall", so maybe I should try that and put my shoulder into it. (this was not executed properly)

The result of my conceit in thinking I should crank out a run in nasty temps:

All kinds of ugly.

Like how the twig is in focus as opposed to my knee?

And so there I was, sprawled awkwardly out in some one's driveway. This was a bad one. My shoulder was killing me, my knees were killing me, I had to go to the bathroom, and I was still 3/4-mile from home.

What does one do in that situation? Pop up as quickly as possible and act like what just happened was not a big deal.

I tell you what though, the bairn were super impressed with my wounds. They asked if I cried (I did not). They asked why I did not get a Curious George or Cars band-aid (they don't make cool band aids big enough for this one). They asked over and over and over again why I fell (and I told them over and over and over again I did not know why). They asked why I was walking around the house with bags of ice bound to my knees with ace bandages (because I have 5 little crumbgobblers, that's why).

Won't be running that route again for awhile.

Once Upon A Time...

2011-07-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

...there was a little girl. She was just a regular little girl; one who loved to read and play with friends, and just be outside. She was a better-than-average student, but a daydreamer, so she probably could have had a stronger academic performance. She didn't think about boys much. She always had close friends and boys were either stinky or weird, unless they were needed for a good game of kick-the-can or ghost-in-the-graveyard and then they were welcome into her little world.

That little girl grew up a bit and boys were noticed but still not necessary. She had very close friends who were girls and great friends who were boys and that was usually enough. She still loved to read and go to school. She also loved to run. Running created a pocket of time where she could allow her mind to drift along. It wasn't often she had the opportunity to be completely by herself and it forced her to think about her world more deeply than she would have cared, but knew it was necessary. Running forced introspection, at least as much as a teenage girl who wasn't a total flake could handle.

And then, one evening, the Girl was at a different church with her youth group and saw a Boy. He wasn't an ordinary boy, although she didn't know that at the time. All she thought was "Hmm. That boy is very, very cute." And she found out his name from one of those ridiculous "let's force ourselves to get over our introvertedness and talk to strangers" activities she still hates to this day (but in this ONE and ONLY instance appreciates). And she found out he had just moved to her town and went to her high school and was in her grade. Yay!

So they talked on the phone and at school and dated for oh, about 3 months. He always brought flowers and/or ice cream, so we know he was a smart boy. But then summer came and people go on vacations and hang out with other friends and somehow the Boy and the Girl weren't dating any longer. Such is life.

So the Boy and the Girl then proceeded to be ridiculous and ignore each other for a year or so. It was easy to do, especially since they never had classes together or mutual friends. But THEN came Senior Year and oh-my-stars the Boy had to sit right behind the Girl in math class because they were placed in alphabetical order. How annoying. Sill very cute. No. Annoying. But he was cute and there always had been those flowers and ice cream and conversation and a general nice-ness factor. Good penmanship, too. How incredibly frustrating.

And that was it for awhile. The physical distance and surreal experience of college change a person and the Girl certainly had a lot of growing up to do (she still does). It is good that the Boy and the Girl did not run in the same circles any longer. She still loved to run and read and be outside and study, but her world was changing and she wasn't changing along with it very well.

Then one summer, the Girl went to a party and the Boy was there. Drat? Hmm...lots of talking and catching up and it was very, very nice. But his parents were moving and since he was still in undergrad, that meant he was as well. In a couple weeks or days or something horrible like that. Great. Fabulous.

So they called occasionally and, since this was a few years before email, wrote letters occasionally, but that was it. Somewhere along that time the Boy finished college and started grad school and in that short in-between time the communication escalated to the point where the Girl thought about the Boy lots and lots and lots. She was still figuring out her world and where she belonged in it, and starting to realize she needed something more than herself and the activities around her to be complete. That's when Faith entered into her life and she took it and ran. God helped that silly Girl figure out loads and loads of things and helped her finally get her act and priorities (mostly) together. She'll be happy to share the details some other time if you ask.

Then one day, the Boy called while she was making an apple crisp (she is not sure why she remembers that part) and told her had bought a pair of running shoes. He had also found his heart loved God and, well, what else does an ordinary girl need in a boy? The Girl realized she really, really loved that Boy.

Two years ago, The Girl married The Boy and it was lovely.

Fifteen years later, it is still lovely.

Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Love,
The Girl

Don't Blink

2011-07-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

I sold a small load of baby things a few weekends ago and it did not bring me joy. Oh okay, there was a little thrill because I do like to purge the house whenever I have time (it is so cathartic!), but I was mostly sad. We do NOT desire another body in this house and there isn't an inch for another car seat in the Super-Cool Minivan, but a chapter is starting to close in our life-story and I'm not quite ready to turn the page.

What is wrong with me???? Why did I get all verklempt when I put Annie's wee little baby newborn clothes in the bin and then the 0-3mo and now the 3-6? Why did my heart hurt when her first teeth came in? When she started eating baby food? Now that she is sitting independently? Why am I already dreading and getting misty about 1st grade because then Ainsley will be at school all day instead of a 1/2-day? Why was I a little sad when Johnny had his first drop-off play date? Or when the little girls were invited to their first birthday party? It's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous.

If I had my way, Ainsley would stay 6, the trips would turn and then stay 4, and Annie would get to the crawling stage and stay that way forever. I know it's selfish to think this way. I know it. But there are so many, many lovely times, even on the very roughest of days and those sweet moments make me want to stop time or at least slow it down.

I've mentioned this before, but someone told me a couple years ago I would turn around twice and the kids would be off to college. So no turning around for me, especially twice.

I won't even blink.

Eating frosting. I wish we had more room on the counters...

Sweet baby girl.

So Tempting

2011-07-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

I gave up soda, but that's old news.

But this is what faces me every time I open the fridge:

20 oz of loveliness. A real Coke. I'm not sure I can take it. I open the refrigerator no less than 40 times/day and this baby is begging me to twist the top and have that coveted first sip every single time.

No one who has come over drinks real soda and I'm too frugal to throw it away (that whole dollar, you know).

Oh my.

And now I'm taking a closer look at the picture and I also see: 3 gallons of milk, a few beers, 1/2 and 1/2 for my coffee, formula for Annie, and some eggs.

Yup. Seems like we have our priorities straight.

The Boy.

2011-07-14T21:30:00.000-07:00

So.

Apparently when a boy:

has one of these in his chubby little boy-hands:

And one of these is close by:

(the car, not the people or hose)

This happens:

And then a sweet little boy is very, very sad because he realizes he has done something very, very wrong. Part of the reason why he knows this is because his oldest sister said "Johnny! You hit the car?!?!". But because he knew he had messed up, we were able to launch straight into Forgiveness because he felt so terribly burdened. It broke my heart to see him in so much misery, but it also made me rejoice because he came to us. He didn't run away. He didn't deny he had done it (we did not witness the act). He didn't lie about what happened. He told the truth and came to us for mercy and love, which we of course gave him with lots of holding close through his tears and explaining that John and I love him regardless of what he does. That we love him and we don't love the car. That we forgive him and adore him and he is ours.

This is what boys do. They take baseball bats to cars.

Crazypants

2011-07-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

I did two stupid things a couple days ago.

The First Questionable Act:

I gave up soda.

I've done this before and my longest streak was 2 years (?). Give or take a month or two. It ended when I was coaching track. All coaches get meal tickets at the meets and dreamy items like non-diet sodas that have been in huge ice baths for hours are there to tempt. And one day when the girls were making me a little nutso because they probably did something like not practice hand-offs before a relay AGAIN or barely warmed up for their race AGAIN or forgot all/part of their uniform AGAIN, I needed a Coke. A real one. Not that diet nastiness. I caved and it was sooooo gooood. I fell of the wagon in a state of bliss.

But now I have all these kids and I should, I really should practice what I preach about being healthy. So when I realized I was up to 3 cups of coffee and 2 sodas/day (ahhh...no wonder Annie doesn't nap well!), I figured the soda - which truly is horrible for you - needed to go. I'm two days into it and Oh My Land do I want to drive through somewhere and get a Coke.

The Second:

I signed up for a 1/2. If you run, you know that means a 1/2 marathon and this is another oh-my-word what was I thinking!??!? I don't have time (or the inclination) to clean my house, let alone put in some training. But a friend I care about sent out an email and asked if we'd help her celebrate a birthday with this race.

I debated. I hemmed. I hawed. And John said I should. So I am. And he is right.

He's right because I love my friend but I also love to run. I haven't trained for anything in years and, while speed work is no longer an option for me, it will be wonderful to make running a necessity instead of "well, what day/s can I run this week". When I'm out on a run, even though what the observer sees me doing is plodding at best, I feel free. I feel normal.

I feel crazypants.

I Do Not Heart Great Clips

2011-07-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

We got a free hair cut the other day because my son's perfectly lovely locks were destroyed by Great Clips. We take the kids there because of one reason only: we don't need an appointment. In this house, appointments sometimes have to be last-minute cancelled because someone either: threw up, accidentally destroyed something or made an unholy mess, or I simply forget.

Now, I don't expect my children to look perfectly coiffed after their cut. I get it that they are kids and they tend to unpredictably whip their heads around (which is how Johnny lost his side-burns from the last disaster), can't hold their head steady long enough or at the right angle to get everything perfectly even, or the stylist is fresh out of school or is having a rough day. I get it.

What I don't get is why my son looks like someone took a weed whacker to his head and did a crappy job of it to boot. Johnny has (had) envious hair. It's crazy thick and has just the right amount of curl so it would turn out under a baseball cap if we allowed it to grow out. In fact, it's so thick it's hard to get completely wet to wash for baths...sort of like a Labrador.

And just because pics are necessary:

I don't get the front. And he is so sweet and happy and oblivious.

Ridiculous.

Not the best angle...

Ainsley was just in awe and kept rubbing her hand up the back.

A Good Day

2011-07-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

We were winging it this year and I'm not sure why. We have one established tradition and that's attending a parade in the neighboring city in the morning. Ainsley loves it (candy, candy, candy!), the triplets mostly love it (candy! but this thing takes for freakin-ever! I'm hungry!), and Annie didn't seem to care as long as she was being held which is fine with us.

Other than the parade, though, we had nothing on our dance card. But then the day just kept falling together. Friends ended up coming over for post-parade lunch. Naps happened. The kids mostly got along (big, big bonus). We quasi-spontaneously went to the local pool and that was bliss. I was waffling because I've been to the pool with our sweet chuckleheads and was not up for what could potentially happen, but John wanted to go and so we did and it was lovely. Hardly any people so we weren't constantly owling our necks to keep track of children, no one seemed to need to rush to the potty (figure out the logistics of gathering 5 children from the pool to take the one child who probably waited a wee bit too long to let me know), Annie was bliss, and Lizzy was feeling brave.

A and C, her very, very bestest friend.

Crappy Happy Meals for the kidlets for dinner because we closed down the pool. Then friends who understandably couldn't make it to the pool because I called on a whim as we were getting ready to go, brought us dessert and hung out because they are that nice.

What? No grilling? Not worth the effort today. No fireworks? A couple of ours would freak and so it would be painful. No putting the family through torturous over scheduling? Exactly. I didn't even try to pick up today. It was just lazy and wonderful and perfectly perfect.

Happy 4th of July!

two notes:
1. For some reason Johnny calls Happy Meals "Happy Males". I don't want to think about this, but it needs to be recorded for posterity.
2. Gracie seriously calls McDonald's "Old McDonald's" and we don't correct her. It's too funny.

She Made It

2011-06-20T21:03:00.000-07:00

Kindergarten was wonderful for Ainsley. My little girl grew up a lot this year and her teacher deserves loads of credit for keying in on Ainsley's personality and learning style at the very beginning of the year. Katie thankfully targeted her developmental strengths and weaknesses and did an excellent job bringing A as much out of her shell as possible. On top of that, she really went to bat for my daughter a couple times and I am grateful for those acts as much as anything else. We really, really loved Katie and the triplets are going to be devastated they won't have her as their kindergarten teacher. She was sort of a celebrity in our house.

The fabulous Katie B. AKA the Best First-Year-Teacher in the world.

Thank you for friends! Ainsley was blessed to have a small and close group of girls in her class. Two of them specifically sought her out from day 1 and I am so thankful for sweet Olivia and Hannah. It is impressive to me that these young girls helped make my very shy oldest feel cared for in an environment where her personality lends itself to be overlooked.

The girls. I thought they were mostly quiet and shy and then I had them over for a valentine's party before school one day. Holy Moly was it loud. Eardrums bleeding loud.

Her bestie, Olivia. We love, love, love Olivia and could not be more thankful for how darling she was to Ainsley.

Many thanks go out to Mr. Derek, the famous bus driver who cared for his kindergartners so much his autograph was coveted for their yearbooks. His and Miss B's were the ones A had to point out to me before we even got in the car on her last day. I hope the district keeps him on this route because he is the best.

Notice the wardrobe change? Only my child would wipe out on a soggy field the last day of school and get completely soaked. I'm just happy I was there because she would have been devastated to have to sit in wet clothes the rest of the day.

Thank you to the school and the district. Family is important in our district (as I'm sure it is in all districts) and we delighted in it. From the Halloween parade through the neighborhood, to the family nights with all the cheesy games, to the all-school-family picnic at the end of the year, we loved it all.

Baptism

2011-06-18T20:48:00.000-07:00

Annie has been baptized about 7 times now, but that number may not be completely accurate. Her real one was Mother's Day (which I secretly loved even though I am not a fan of the holiday) and it went as well as it could with 5 kids, ages 6 and under, standing in front of a congregation.

John and I tried to explain to the kidlets what baptism meant beforehand and I tried to explain to them what behavior would be appropriate during the ceremony. And for once I think they either listened or God quieted their hearts for 10 minutes because they did better than I expected. There weren't any loud questions or announcements, no crying or whining, no grabbing on to John or to me and begging to get out of there, no discernible bodily noises, etc.

Apparently they spent some of the time actually observing what was going on, including the details. How do I know this? Because they baptized Annie a few times in the weeks after, especially Lizzy. It always happened during bath time and it took me a few times to understand what in the world were they doing getting a handful of water and holding it on her head for a few seconds. To be honest, I didn't figure it out. Lizzy finally said "I baptize you" and it became obvious.

And so I can add "stop baptizing your sister" to the growing list of things I never thought would come out of my mouth.

Heartache Beyond Measure

2011-06-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

There are critical developmental milestones during pregnancy. Since multiples obviously arrive early and sometimes too early, those of us blessed with these particular pregnancies breathe enormous sighs of relief when each milestone is reached and then passed. Week 24 (threshold of viability) is the first. After that, the next goal is Week 28 (higher survival rate with less, but still possible, life long complications) , then 30, then 32 where there is an excellent chance for survival. After that, every 24 hours is bonus. John and I are acutely aware of how fortunate and blessed we were to make it to 34+ weeks with Johnny, Lizzy, and Gracie.

What is heartbreaking is that some stories don't end like ours. I've been following a triplet family for awhile and they just unexpectedly went into early labor at 22 weeks when Baby A's water broke. The mother delivered their three sweet boys a couple days ago and held them all too briefly because they were born 14 days too soon to even have a chance at life. Their story in its entirety is not mine to tell. It is too sad and personal. But their words in the telling are beautiful and filled with dignity and worth a read if you have the time.

I mentioned a couple posts ago that I pray for expectant triplet families as soon as I hear about them. This family brought me to my knees in a way I hadn't experienced in awhile and made me hold Annie longer before I placed her in her crib, even though she had been asleep for 20 minutes. It made me stand in the doorway of the triplets' room and watch them and pray over them as they slept as only small children can, arms and legs every-which-way. And it made me indulge Ainsley and read to her and snuggle with her longer than I have in months.

Read about the family and pray for them, if you will. I can not imagine their grief.

Summer

2011-05-03T21:40:00.000-07:00

School is almost out and I am antsy. I'm completely ready for this to happen and PLEASE can it come sooner??? Please?? I asked Ainsley if she wanted to get the calendar and start counting down the days till school gets out and it is generous to say she was mildly interested. I'm making her do it tomorrow.

I'm very tired of the monotony of the school week and how it cramps our style. Everything revolves around having to be at school at a certain time or waiting for the school day to end and it is not fun.

But Summer! We will rarely have to be on time for anything. We will be in control of our schedule and there won't be much of one. Want to stay in jammies until we need to put new ones on for bed time? Yes. Want to count a visit to a pool as a bath? Yes. Want to go to the zoo so we can each see our one favorite animal or just to pop in and get some fresh kettle corn? Yes. Become regulars at my favorite custard stand? Yes. Want to jack up our water bill because we play with the hoses so much? Yes and yes.

We have a couple commitments this summer and that is it. I've decided that, outside of one fun camp for Ainsley and VBS, we will not be accountable with our time to anyone.

It will be lovely.

An Every Day Thing

2011-04-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Like other young children, mine are interested/obsessed with body parts. THE body parts. To the point where we had to declare they are not to talk about other people's body parts. The conversations were starting to go:

Me: Hey guys! So-and-so is coming over to have dinner with us. Isn't that fun??

The Three: Is he a boy or a guwul? (They would already know the answer)

Me: He is a boy.

The Three: Does he have a p----?? (Again, they already know the answer)

Me: Yes, but we aren't going to talk about it with him. We don't do that.

The Three: Yes. We don't talk about other people's p------, but he does have a hiney! (Big Smiles)

Me: Yes, everyone has a hiney. But we don't talk to people about their hineys.

And on, and on.

So I've been trying to teach them for a few months that there are words we don't shout out, especially in public. But then baseball season arrived and their school had a fun Opening Day celebration where the kids dressed up in our team's colors and I'm not sure what all they did, but BOY! were they excited. We were talking about it all after school and I asked them if they sang "Take Me Out To The Ball Game". They said no (I'm sure they did). Horrified, I immediately felt called to stop the world from spinning and teach them something practical. Everything was going swimmingly until I reached the "buy me some peanuts and cracker jack" part and Lizzy flipped out. "Mommy! We don't say p----!". I had no idea what she was talking about. So I started singing it again. Same line, same reaction by Lizzy AND Johnny this time. They were freaking on me. What the...no_waaaay. "Guys! It's not p----! It's PEANUTS! PEANUTS!! Buy me some PEANUTS!!!!!" Even Ainsley was trying to help me out.

After a few more tries I gave up because even though Lizzy still knew in her sweet little heart I was saying something else and shouldn't, Johnny and Gracie had figured out I really was singing about peanuts and the conversation became obsessed with the fact he is allergic to peanuts and he would have to go to the hospital if he ate one.

And so it goes.

Great Joy and Great Hardship

2011-04-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

I started this post several months ago and never finished, mostly because I really do this for us and the kids and there are some things in our lives that just need to fade.

But lately I've had more than a few people ask if "it" is getting easier because the kids are getting older. My answer is always "a little easier, sometimes a lot easier, but mostly different". It isn't the logistics any more of how to clean and make 27 bottles/day or how to get everyone to and through the grocery store, or the unholy sleep deprivation...it's the parenting. The daily routine is certainly less challenging, but the mental and emotional exhaustion brought on by trying to lovingly parent 5 kids ages 6 and under can be overwhelming.

And so I remembered desiring to vaguely write about the early years and here it is (mostly composed pre-Annie):

Before I begin, I need to qualify everything with the fact that I desperately, desperately love and cherish my children. Even in our darkest days, weeks, months, after the triplets were born, I have never desired for any other plan for my life. I can't and won't imagine our world without one of my babies. I am NOT complaining, because that would mean I was dissatisfied and I am not. I know and am, beyond measure, thrilled with my family.

That said, I'm always shocked when someone tells me "I wish I had had triplets", which is usually followed by some reason such as "it would have been so nice to get all the pregnancies taken care of at once" or "I always thought it would be hilarious". Side note: this is not nearly as ridiculous as when I get the "Oh, they're triplets? I had Irish triplets, so that's the same". It is not the same, random stranger. Not at all.

I would never wish for someone to have triplets. They brought out the very, very best in me and in John and also the very, very worst. The triplet road is hard and long and sleep-deprived and, unless you have an extraordinary amount of help or are the most wonderful and perpetually cheeriest people in the world, the potential for serious collateral damage is great. I think we had more help than the average triplet-couple (from incredible and self-less friends, some of whom still want to just be with us and some of whom still aid us in raising our children) and I still would never want to repeat the first 1 1/2 years again. Ever.

Yes, there was great joy in those dark months. We rejoiced that they were born healthy. (In the triplet world, we were very, very fortunate in this aspect.) We rejoiced that we were given the privilege to have four children when at one point in our marriage we had to face the idea we may not be given a child at all. We rejoiced in their smiles and sweetness and sometimes silliness. We rejoiced in the quiet times because it was then we were gently reminded they were ours.

The great hardship details are unimportant and unnecessary and I hope I will completely forget them all someday. They were part of a time when John and I had nothing left to give to each other, let alone other people, even though we wanted to. When the urge to run away, just for an hour because it would make my heart hurt to be gone any longer, had to forcibly be suppressed. When I (very much a non-crier) had to cry in the shower because that was the only time I was alone. This "forgetting" process has already started, of course, because our home is wonderfully maxed-out with four children who make us laugh. There are times when John and I just look at each other and are happily incredulous at whatever event just happened x 4. And then happened again.

But then a couple months ago I was at the zoo and ran into another triplet family. The mom firmly had both feet in the "oh I wish we had so many more kids" la-la-land, but the dad circled back after the conversation was thankfully over and, very seriously and somberly said, "tell your husband it finally becomes easy when they turn 4. Tell him you will make it.". I almost hugged him and cried because sometimes it felt like we weren't going to make it.

And so I am thrilled when someone calls to tell me they're pregnant with triplets or a friend-of-a-friend has been blessed. But I also instantaneously pray for them and hope they are praying, too. Because there will be hours and days where they will need to cling to what they know is True and Perfect and Holy, just so they can get to the next hour.

I Still Have It

2011-04-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

My second and third runs (they're so pathetic; I'm not sure they deserve to be called "runs") were hardly better than the first.

But a discovery made me feel a bit better. I can still impressively spit while running. Maybe 7-8 feet, wind-aided.

This may not seem like a big deal, but spitting on a run is an art form and takes practice. It can also seal the deal or dissolve a relationship and I'll address that in a bit.

As any seasoned runner knows, spitting is an unattractive necessity. The act has great potential for nastiness with poor execution (I've been on the receiving end - grody), but good quality ones are admirable, memorable even, if only by the spitter.

Rules of the Road:
1. Look before you spit, and that includes tossing in a backward glance.
2. Take into consideration wind direction and speed.
3. Always use the grass or at least avoid the sidewalk. It's just rude to make others walk through your saliva.
4. Attempt to make as little sound as possible.
5. Try not to do it around people just out for a walk. You can wait another 20 yards.
6. Practice. Practice. Practice. It's embarrassing to be an ineffective spitter. They are easily spotted because they look like they drooled all over themselves. You don't want people to think you need a bib.
7. Never EVER spit on a track. Ever. Ever. Ever.

And now for the relationship section. I knew John was the man for me when, after going on a run together (a criteria for anyone I considered dating material), he still continued to call. Not many guys would see a girl do something sort of gross and not be a little repulsed. In fact, I just asked him to make sure. He's sitting right next to me and said he didn't care (or didn't notice). True love.

And so, even though my form is awkward and my knees are questioning my sanity, my heart is a little happy because there is one eensy weensy part of my run that still works.

Sigh.

Pigs In A Blanket

2011-03-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

The other night, after baths, John walked in to our room and yelled for me to come see the latest Ainsley-orchestrated activity.

And then the camera had to be searched for and dug out of the permanent piles of rubble scattered around our house.

First there was this:

Which quickly developed into this:

And then, of course, this:

But I really love this particular moment:

These two have a mutual adoration society and I can't wait to see the relationship develop. Annie practically breaks her neck, craning it about, when she hears Ainsley's voice (which the big sister LOVES). And Ains is beyond sweet to her, as you can see.

You Know You're Getting Older When...

2011-03-26T21:07:00.000-07:00

1. The head coaches at The Dance look like adolescents.

2. The assistant coaches look like toddlers.

3. A 600mg ibuprofen is needed after a run to help the knees.

4. You think of a musical reference during a conversation with friends and don't use it because you realize they were in preschool when it was running.

5. Your heart dies a little when you realize you're having to hold fine print out a bit to read it better.

6. Your opthamologist suggests you could use some "cheater" glasses when sewing or reading in "dim light". (I refuse.)

7. Your heart dies again when someone at a party off-handedly mentions something about "40-year-olds" and it takes everything you have to not mention you are...well...sigh.

8. You take the kids to preschool and have to refrain from punting the moms who don't have grey hair because not only do they actually look cute in their work-out gear, they get to work out. Often.

Sheesh.

Bedtime Shenanigans

2011-03-17T19:55:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to document the silliness that happens as soon as the door is closed for wubby time (nap) or bedtime for awhile now. I keep thinking the games and songs and insanity will stop, but they simply continue to create new ones that usually reflect what is happening in their world at the moment.

The early ones, when they were still in their cribs, were simple:

1. Motorcycle - one would straddle the front rails of their crib and hold on to the end in front, yelling "VROOM VROOM!!! I'm a motorcycle rider!!! VROOM!!!".

2. Carousel - similar to "Motorcycle", but they would each choose and animal and "ride it". This one was fun because they would discuss at length which animal they would ride. Then it became more complicated because the carousel at a zoo we visited in Ohio last summer was under construction "broken" when we visited. Before riding their crib carousels, they would have to "fix it". The conversation usually went like this:

Trip 1 - "Hey! Let's play Carousel!"
Trip 2 - "Yay! Okay!"
Trip 3 - "But it's bwoken!"
Then - "Oh NO!" and "Don't worry, I'll fix it!", followed by "Oh thank you!" and a "You're just like Handy Manny!", then a "Let's have Handy Manny fix it!". "Yay!!"

3. Birthday Party - this obviously started during the birthday months around here and this was the first year they really started LOVING birthdays, especially theirs. It went like this:

Trip 1 - "Hey guys! Let's play Birthday Party!"
Trip 2 - "Yay! Birthday Party!"
Trip 3 - "Hooray!"

Then there was usually a short discussion on who would go first. After a choice was made, the "Birthday Song" was sung. Then "presents" were given to the birthday girl/boy, who would ALWAYS say "For me??? Oh THANK YOU! I love it!" Then they would be instructed to blow out the candles but "don't spit on it!".

And then it was someone else's turn. Then sometimes it was a stuffed animal's birthday, etc.

It is understandable that John and I were hesitant to move our little chuckleheads to big-kid beds. What would happen once they were truly free?

Not that much; just more fun.

1. Sing-a-long: simple but darling. Someone chooses a song and then they all sing it together.

2. Let's Fling Something: mostly played by the girls because their beds run parallel to each other.
It is what it sounds like - they fling their stuffed animals back and forth across the chasm between their beds, laughing hysterically. It's a simplistic version of "Take Out The Trash".

3. True Play-Acting: now this covers the majority. What happens is that each child has a stuffed animal or some other random object they have stowed away. Then the production happens. One animal/toy may be the mommy (this is usually Gracie's b/c we can hear her go "Oh Honey, It's okay. You'll be okay" and that's how she talks), some one's usually needs to be rescued and the others do so, or they go to school (this one is pretty complex b/c they then do songs, projects, or go to the playground), and so forth.

I did catch them out of their beds once and only once because they were being so loud they didn't hear me coming. They had thrown everything out of their beds into a big pile in the middle of their room and were dancing around like crazy people.

Even though it usually takes them FOREVER to fall asleep, I actually love this. Every night is like the greatest_slumber_party_ever! and who doesn't like slumber parties?

Can't wait to see what happens when the girls move into Ainsley's room in a few months. Johnny has declared he will be part of the move (which is fine; the poor guy would be so lonely), which means the four oldest will be together.

It's going to be like the monkey house at the zoo.

Snow Days

2011-03-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

It snowed again yesterday. March 14th. I had glanced at the forecast the night before and blew off the prediction because well, it's the middle of March. Plus the meteorologists have grossly missed the mark so often this winter that I just didn't believe it.

Imagine my shock when I stumbled out of the triplets' room that morning, happened to glance out the window and was greeted by yet another world of snow. Ugh. Why was I in the trips' room? Because my sweet Lizzy Lou had a freak-out at 5 a.m. about some random thing and once that kiddo's huge brown eyes pop open she wants to play. Since I was NOT going to give her the privilege of running around the house that early in the morning I climbed in with her in the hopes she would go back to sleep. She did not. Neither did her brother, who would occasionally sit up in his bed and say "why isn't anyone talking to me?". I cried Uncle around 6:15, released them from their room, only to be confronted with the white stuff.

And what was the first thing I did? Go online and check the school closings....and Whew! School was still on. We've had loads and loads and loads of snow this winter and I was over it. Too many snow days and too many hours to kill with five kids.

But then I got to thinking about how much fun we had this winter. The kids were finally old enough to really play outside for more than 3 minutes. If they fell down, outfitted like Randy in A Christmas Story, they could get back on their feet instead of staying turtle-up. They were awesome, which means next year will be even better.

Miss Lizzy with the coveted red snow shovel.

Johnny. Happy as always.

Miss Gracie

My big girl.

The Heart Is Willing

2011-03-06T20:23:00.000-08:00

A week ago, I finally had a few minutes to go on my first run in 10 months. I knew it wasn't going to be easy-peasy, but I feel free when I run and freedom is something I haven't experienced a whole lot of lately.

So it was with joy that I lovingly tied my kicks and bounced out the door. I felt light and sort-of fast and fantastically normal. I did my usual left-turn at the bottom of the driveway, elated that this was finally happening! I had looked forward to this moment ever since Annie arrived (really, I thought about running while I was in the hospital), so I was thrilled I felt so great.

20 yards...fine and fancy. 40 yards...hmm. 50 yards...oh boy. 100 yards...good golly this is going to be horrible. So with my triplet apron flapping and my hiney-baby flopping I old-lady-shuffled through the next mile, praying that the cracks in the sidewalks wouldn't trip me up.

The maddening part is that my problem is purely muscular weakness, made worse by the 10+ lbs I need to shed. The heart and lungs are fine. The mind is still competitive and prideful enough that I refused to walk.

It's the rest of me that made my first run of 2011 so ghastly.

Baby steps. More like baby crawling. Without the spit-up and drool.

So Sweet And So...Boy

2011-02-20T21:40:00.000-08:00

The Scene:

It is bedtime. John has already had "snuggle time" with Johnny and has left to take care of Annie and Ainsley. I'm reading to Lizzy when I hear in the sweetest Little Boy voice...

"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree-top"

I peek over the top of "Clifford's First Autumn" and see my boy, cradling Christmas Bear (the stuffed bear Ainsley gave him for, of course, Christmas) and gently rocking it to sleep. It was so stinkin' cute and he just continued to stand there, serenading his beloved stuffed animal. *

"When the wind blows, the cradle will rock"

I smile and glance at Lizzy, who smiles back. I continue reading and peek again because it is so, so very sweet to watch.

"When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will...BWAAUURRRPPP!!!"

A belch so loud it could NOT have come from a 3-year-old exploded from my son. It obviously caught him off guard and I flat-out guffawed. Lizzy thought it was hilarious. Gracie hadn't been paying attention to Johnny's singing since it is common practice in their room, but heard the burp and squealed. Since we were all laughing so hard, Johnny thought it would be funny to continue the comedy by forcing burps (not funny, but he'll figure that out someday).

And so they got themselves all wound up and bounced around in their beds for another 45 minutes or so.

Just another day in the life...

*Did you know our zoo calls stuffed animals "plushes" instead? Makes sense. Think about it. Call me if you need some help with this one.

I Never Thought...

2011-01-31T20:13:00.000-08:00

...I'd be worried if 7 gallons of milk would get our family through 4-ish days of being holed up in the house. Supposedly we're in for a significant storm, which means no popping over to the grocery store for anything. Heck, they (I'm unsure as to who "they" are) have announced the storm to be so severe that people and friends are hauling out the generators.

We don't have a generator.

We do, however, have 7 gallons of milk.

Starting Early

2011-01-27T21:24:00.000-08:00

The Boy tried to work me over today and, while he didn't get what he wanted, the effort was appreciated and admired by The Mommy.

Background:

Johnny loves, loves, loves chocolate milk. Chocolate milk is something I crave during pregnancy, so he comes by this naturally. Lately he's had a lot of it, due to time spent with the beloved Fooz, Daddy, and junky winter weather that sometimes softens my heart.

Which leads us to today's conversation:

Johnny: Mommy, I don't like white milk. (Note - he had just drained a cup of milk.) White milk is for girls. I like chocolate milk. Chocolate milk is for boys. Boys like chocolate milk.

Me: I like chocolate milk and I'm a girl.

Johnny: No, girls like white milk and boys like chocolate milk. I want some chocolate milk. (It must be said that he wasn't being demanding, just factual.)

Me: Nope. You just had some milk and chocolate milk is for special times, like with Fooz or Daddy or weekends. Plus, you just had some milk.

Johnny: But I didn't like my milk (not true) and I'd like chocolate milk.

Me: Nope. Chocolate milk is for special times with Fooz and Daddy.

Johnny: But Mommy, you're special. I can have chocolate milk with you. (said with this enormous smile, as if he was trying to hold back a belly laugh. He knew what he was doing.)

Me: Nope. Sorry bud. You can have it tomorrow.

I'm so cold. But again, I'm pretty impressed with my 3-year-old boy. He'll quickly learn it's going to take more than words to sway me. It will take ice cream (that's how his dad won my heart) or chocolate, preferably lots of both.

I'll leave you with the very latest pic of my too-smart-for-his-britches son. Whom, I should add, I adore. Please excuse the quality; it was taken w/the phone.

He ran around the house like this...

Pics of the Fam

2011-01-10T20:27:00.000-08:00

And just because I haven't put any up in awhile and a friend wants some:

The Original.

Lizzy Lou. Who is getting into this baby-thing and "nursed" her Curious George via her belly button tonight. Oh, and according to her that is also how babies enter the world (from one's belly button).

Miss Gracie. Future President.

Johnny and Ellie (not our dog). But we need one because, well, look at The Boy's face.

Sweet Annie at 2 weeks.

And because this pic reminds me so much of Ainsley...

So Conceited

2011-01-10T20:03:00.000-08:00

That's me. I had convinced myself and announced to many that one more kid would not make that much of a difference in our household. If you knew us, who would think otherwise? After triplets, why would one_more_child really mess us up? Put me off my game?

Well, our sweet littlest ball of sugar has done just that. I feel like I'm having to reinvent the wheel of Managing Life here at Chez Laird and it's blowing my mind. Now, Annie is easy (at least for a newborn). She's sweet, she's mellow, and even though she truly believes Happy Time is for about 1 1/2 hours in the middle of the night, and we only exist to hold and feed her, she is wonderful.

But as delightful as she is, I am not functioning. I can't figure out how to get everyone to the grocery store without messing up breakfast/lunch/taking A to school/nap time/picking A up from school/etc. I can't figure out how to get anything done - like the dishes. Or putting the kids to bed within an hour of when they are supposed to be in delightful slumber.

Pure pride and conceit. That's all I can think of when I reflect on the words I spoke of how Number Five wasn't going to make that big of an impact on our schedule. They are words I am now humbly choking down without any sort of chaser.

Annie Bananie Pic!

2010-12-19T11:40:00.001-08:00

Sweet Annie. December 16th, 2010 and about 1 hour into this crazy world.

We think she holds a remarkable resemblance to her oldest sister, who thinks that is awesome. She was ~ 4 days??

Our Early Christmas Present

2010-12-17T19:21:00.000-08:00

Annie, formerly known as Cinco, safely arrived into this world!

As John would put it, here's the Tale of the Tape:

Arrival: December 16th
Length: 21"
Weight: 7 lb, 14 oz

It was completely surreal to not go into labor and just breeze into the hospital and have a baby. We had this c-section scheduled 5 days after our due date because we were attempting a v-back, but Annie would have nothing of it. She had only granted me a few Braxton-Hicks to get my hopes up, but we are supposing the kid simply had too much play space (thank you triplet sibs) and had no desire to exit the premises.

Pics to follow...

Quick Note To Cinco

2010-12-14T22:19:00.001-08:00

You are 4 days past due and do not appear to be in a hurry or concerned your mother is down to only a couple clothing choices, neither of which are flattering and make me feel as though I should walk around in fuzzy slippers with curlers in my hair and smoking a cig to make the outfit look complete.

I had an ultrasound today to make sure everything is okay with you and the only surprise is that you appear to be enormous (pushing 8 lbs), at least by this family's standards.

You have made me so big that your brother pointed to a picture of a whale yesterday and announced "Mommy, that is you!". Note: NO ONE in this house, including myself, has mentioned anything about my ginormous belly. The Boy, who is now firmly planted on my list, came up with it all on his own.

You are deeply loved.

Buddies?

2010-11-27T22:07:00.001-08:00

Who would have thought these two would form a friendship. My boy and my girly-girl princess play together more often any other combo and I can't figure it out. One would assume, knowing these two, that he would be ignored by her (at best). For some reason he thinks she's the berries and she is nicer to him than the girls. Not sure if it's the fact that the current littlest girls are so incredibly independent they don't need to play with anyone, or that they don't allow themselves to be directed by Ainsley like Johnny does (which does not endear them to her), or a combination of the two...

Regardless, it's fun to see Ainsley finally enjoying one of her siblings and to also have two of them in non-battle mode. Actually, it's sweet. Very, very sweet.

John had a meeting one night and Ainsley informed me I wouldn't have to put Johnny to bed - she would do it. And she did. Right down to the reading of books and snuggle time, which was a total surprise since A is one of my two cold-pricklies. What was even more of a surprise was that he cried when she left because he wanted her to snuggle longer.

He is also willing (please forgive me, Sweet Boy, for posting this!) to play "Beauty Shop" with her. Today she brought him down and he proudly showed off his new hairdo, which of course I don't have a picture of. He looked good, though. Trust me.

Typical beauty shop set-up.

Well, This Is Embarrassing

2010-11-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

So for the last few days I've been meaning to tell John something was wrong with the steering in the super-hot minivan. Every time I turned the wheel I would hear some sort of rasping sound and I was bummed every time because I was not looking forward to the logistics of how to handle life without the ability to cart all the kids around for the several hours/days it would take to have the thing fixed.

I diagnosed the problem on my way to pick up the littlest ones from preschool and was mortified. The sound? My steering wheel scraping against my ginormous belly every time I made a turn.

Four more weeks. I can do this.

I Love Cows

2010-11-04T13:11:00.000-07:00

Actually, I don't love cows that much - one summer afternoon I was chased by a few during my teen years as I cut across a field while training for an upcoming cross country season, which means I no longer think they belong in the "cute farm animal" category. I do love what they give us, though. I'm not sure what I would do if I was lactose intolerant. Why? Because throughout this pregnancy, all I want to eat (and what Cinco tolerates) are dairy products. Cinco violently rejects anything but comfort food, fruit, and sugar. Vegetables are unnecessary, which is fine by me. I've always had to force myself to eat them anyway. But slap a yukon gold on a plate, slather it with butter and cheese and sour cream, and she is super happy, which makes me super happy.

So thank you, cows. Thank you, dairy farmers. You have provided a significant proportion of my caloric intake for the past 34 weeks.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

2010-10-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

Sweet Ainsley,

It is shocking to me that you are now six. Part of me loves having you grow up and be older and a greater part of me is in mourning, especially as I look back at pictures of you when you were little. You are simultaneously very silly, very serious, and very smart. You are also kind and empathetic to others and I value that in you more than you know. I need to remember to praise you for that more often because as you hopefully will understand someday, your dad and I would choose an honorable character and wisdom over ACT scores every time (but don't believe for a skinny minute that means slacking off will be accepted :)).

You make my world so much easier sometimes and I pray, pray, pray you don't feel lost in the shuffle in our crazy house. I know it is hard sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely for me to play with you and I can't because I have to do something imperative with your siblings. But this phase will pass and there will be a day when everyone is more independent and I can hopefully say "yes" when you need me. Just hang on a little while longer and remember that I love you, not for the things you do, but because you are mine.

Age 1

Age 6

Bus Ride Shenanigans

2010-10-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Between another mom in A's class and I, we are able to piece together what really goes on at school. It's amazing what I am not told by my child (I do believe it is unintentional - if you knew Ains, you would get this). One of the reasons why I love to volunteer in her classroom is because it gives me significantly more insight into her daily world.

One area this mom and I have talked about that we have NO clue on is the bus ride. I do trust the bus driver and the aide (Mr. Eric and Mr. Derrick - Ainsley thinks it is HILARIOUS that their names rhyme) because they've known all the kids names from the beginning, they know the parents, it's only kindergartners, and the kids adore them. However, I don't know what goes on during that 20 minutes from the time they leave school until the bus stop. But I did get a glimpse last week...

The afore-mentioned mom's son told her the kids sometimes chant "Eat It! Eat It!" on the bus. Of course she asked why and he either feigned cluelessness or was too vague. This conversation happened after school on the playground and since we were also there, as A was eating her snack I asked her if the kids chant "Eat It! Eat It!" on the bus. Her response? "Why are you asking that question." Totally serious, as if I had discovered a State Secret. Hmm...further investigation obviously required. Eventually is comes out that our children sometimes bring Mr. Eric and Mr. Derrick candy, whereupon a big production is made to get the driver to "eat it" (opening his mouth really wide, pausing for dramatic effect, etc). Okay, I can handle that. The kids need some sense of independence and a coolness factor in their lives. And because I am not cool and am psycho about letting my children out of my sight, I'll happily give on this one.

Candy eating is much more tolerable than what happened when I rode the bus in elementary school. The naughty 5th and 6th graders would sing the latest Queen songs and direct us wee ones on our jobs. Example: it was the kindergartners - 2nd graders' responsibility to keep the rhythm for "We Will Rock You" (I realize I just dated myself) while the big kids sang. You know, the "stomp, stomp, clap" part. Of course we happily obliged.

So thank you, Misters Eric and Derrick for bringing my child some fun and the feeling of independence and grown-upness she otherwise wouldn't get from home. No wonder she thinks she's super-cool for riding the bus and won't allow me to pick her up from school any longer, no matter what.

Why I Am Late II. AKA Story Of The Day

2010-10-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

I was all fired up yesterday because we had everything together and organized to get Ainsley to school with more than a couple minutes to spare. Lunch was not rushed, hair was brushed, and everyone was cheery until...

...I noticed Johnny was doing the potty dance. Why I asked him the "do you have to go tee-tee?" question (because he had a diaper on so what difference would it have made), I don't know and regret because what happened next is a classic example of why we're always on the run.

Of course he said "yes!" and took off for the bathroom, ridding himself of pants/diaper along the way. Ainsley was being awesome and ran ahead to turn on the light and get the stool ready for Johnny to stand on, I was getting some pants on Lizzy, and then I heard shrieking. Shrieking followed by "MOMMY!!!!!! MOMMY HELP!!!! JOHNNY'S PEEING!". I race over to witness The Boy tee-teeing ON HIS SISTER and, of course, the floor. He was standing in the threshold and sweet A was trapped inside, utterly incapable to escape a few hours' worth of stored-up urine.

Shockingly, she was cool about it. "Well, I've thrown up on you lots. This kind of stuff happens I guess" was her rationale. I didn't want to point out that it's pretty disgusting to have pee running down your legs, soaking your socks.

Not shockingly, Johnny thought it was funny. I absolutely know the event started as an accident, but what brother wouldn't get a kick out of watching his sister dance around while trying to not get sprayed? I am hoping and praying this is an isolated incident. If not, he'll be sent to his dad for a conversation.

Shockingly, we still got Ainsley to school on time. I managed to clean up the small lake of tee-tee, get Ainsley washed up and new socks discovered, and all of us out the door in five minutes. Of course, two of the trips did not have pants on and Ainsley and I were the only ones wearing shoes, but we made it.

I don't think I'll ever be on time or early for anything in the next 18 years.

I Know.

2010-10-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

I am huge and we still have 9 more weeks until Cinco arrives. I look as though I should have delivered this sweet little girl (and she will be sweet) a couple weeks ago. I know this. I know this because I look like a redneck with a beer belly and have grown out of my maternity tops and now have to go shopping. I know this because I have to see myself in the mirror and in pictures. I know. I know.

That is why I am not in need of the comments, the shocked facial expressions I have to experience after I tell people when I am due, all the "wows", and the "oh my's", and the "are you sure there's just one in there's".

It is tiresome, especially because the general public believes it is okay to say these things in front of my children who are almost always with me.

Moral of the story? The next time you are in the parking lot at the grocery store and see a very preggers woman handling her four children and two grocery carts...well, perhaps instead of stating the obvious you could help her out instead of standing there, forcing her to call on every ounce of restraint and speak kindly to you as she's negotiating carts and kids and car seats on a warm day. Instead, say "let me help you" and maybe put a bag or two of produce in the car. Unless you're creepy. Then just keep walking.

Swim Lessons

2010-10-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

The Trips were generously given swim lessons for their birthdays and it was awful until the last two sessions. Awful in the crying-so-hard-they-vomit way. Well, only Lizzy and Johnny threw up. Gracie is way too cool for that. She just sobbed. And the thing about it was that they talked about "Mr. Mark" all_the_time. Every day.

"Mr. Mark is nice."

"Mr. Mark helps keep kids safe."

"Mr. Mark teaches us to swim and be safe."

And Mr. Mark is nice and fabulous and wonderful and if you live in our area, I'm not going to give you his number because the guy knows what he's doing and is difficult to book. And get this - we found out he donates his earnings to a local children's hospital and St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. He's a retired teacher and lives solely off his retirement income.

And, of course, some pics from Swim Lessons 2010:

Lizzy, all grins and charm before Mr. Mark shows up.

Lizzy's countenance as soon as she would see Mark appear. All kinds of serious.

Never got a pic of a Johnny freak-out swim lesson. This is obviously before or after his. The thing is that he is the best swimmer of the three...goofball.

Gracie would cry off and on, but generally never got 100% worked up.

My big girl. Between lessons with an old friend (who was amazing with her) and Mark, the kid turned into a little fish this summer.

The kids' fav time - Mr. Mark always had candy afterward. Johnny would be sobbing hysterically and then be Mark's best buddy as soon as the Twizzlers would break out.

Mark and the Backyard Swim Gang. We combined lessons with another family and now I miss our Saturday evenings together.

So Stinkin' Cool

2010-10-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

At least that's what her siblings think. I picked up Ainsley from school about 5 times before I changed my mind about making riding-the-bus-home an option. The decision was easier for me to handle emotionally because:
1. only kindergartners are on the bus (so no shenanigans from those hooligan 3rd-graders!)
2. she was shockingly game for it.

Of course I was a total nerd and brought my camera to document my baby's first-ever bus ride. Embarrassing, but not enough to keep me from doing it.

There are two great things about this:
1. Johnny, Lizzy, and Gracie seriously think Ainsley is the coolest sibling in the world because she rides the bus. They can't wait to go get her and they wave like crazy and jump around when it turns the corner. Johnny and Lizzy run right up to her and hug her and generally make her feel like a million bucks.
2. I no longer have to wake the kidlets up from their nap, throw them in the car sans shoes, scramble to find a parking space, jam the shoes I threw in the car after the kids on their feet, throw them out of the car and race to pick A up when her teacher brings the class out of the building (there is no organized carpool line since most of the students are supposed to walk). All of this = less crabbiness in the household = happier mommy.

Side note (and purely for my documentation):

The kids aren't allowed off the bus until the driver and his aide see the parent. After a few weeks, they obviously know me and John well enough that Ainsley does not have to point us out, but she still does and it cracks them up. Every day she stops when she gets to the driver and (very quietly in her Ainsley way) tells them I'm there, and every day they say "I know, Ainsley. Thank you." And then they laugh because the Three are jumping up and down and yelling "Hi Bus! Hi Mr. Bus Driver! Hi! Hi! Hi!".

Late

2010-10-01T19:59:00.000-07:00

I hate to be late. This may be shocking for those of you in my world because I am usually tardy for nearly everything, but my blood pressure starts racing for the roof every minute past an expected arrival.

But you see this?

It is a classic example of why I rarely make it somewhere on time. I know, I shouldn't have left my lipstick in an obvious place in the car. And part of me was impressed she kept it only to the lip area. But still. This sort of thing happens every_single_day in my house and always just as we're getting ready to leave.

So, apologies to everyone who has to deal with me and my family and our inability to be anywhere on time. I'm sure you understand.

Daddy Tax

2010-09-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

Ainsley attended a birthday party a couple weeks ago and is still making her way through the candy bag. Smarties were chosen as tonight's treat and as she started in, John informed her of the "Daddy Tax" (as in: all food is supposed to be shared with Daddy). Not sure if he was kidding, Ainsley glanced up at me to see what I thought. You see, the kids really is nicer than her mother and would have begrudgingly given her dad some of her candy. I nodded "no", because I don't willingly share food with anyone. It makes me nutso that the triplets eat 1/4 of anything I ever have.

John then told Ainsley that when Halloween comes, they get to go through her loot and the program would be "one for Daddy, one for Ainsley". With no pause, Ains replied "I'll just give you what I don't like".

Yup. Raising her right.

Now I Get It

2010-09-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

School is cramping my style. I can finally understand why some kids don't like to go back to school, because I'm beginning to not care for it myself. After a summer of total freedom with what we could do, where we could go, and whenever we wanted, our lives are now dictated by school bells. Or whatever they use these days. It just isn't cool.

Of course I get it. I'm a teacher by trade and I still get fired up when the school supplies start appearing in the stores and when I see the cross country kids beginning to get ready for the season (I'm biased). For crying out loud, I LOVED school growing up.

But when the really beautiful fall weather hits here, it's going to take every ounce of self control to not wake up and say to my little girl "You know, you're not going to school today. It's a play day". And then load everyone up for a leisurely day at the botanical gardens or zoo.

Sigh...

2010-08-29T20:38:00.000-07:00

See this little bundle of sweetness?

There's a rock in her nose.

Well, there was a rock in her nose at some point. A few at several different times, to be honest. But one got stuck. And by the time we got her home from the playground and I got the tweezers out to extract it, the dang thing had disappeared. So it's either still there and journeyed further up and out of flashlight range, or it has managed to...oh, I don't know. Let's just assume she sneezed it out.

Good grief.

First Day

2010-08-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

How did we get to this point? When did this happen? Someone at church warned me, after I'd had a horrible week with the triplets, that I would turn around twice and the kids would be off to college. I knew at the time this was true, but I didn't know the heartache would start so soon.

Ainsley was so ready and so excited for Kindergarten. It isn't her fault I still think of her in this stage:

The dreaded drop-off went as predicted. We walked back to the playground, milled around a bit with the other parents and kids, and then our babies were called to line up with their teachers to go inside. I didn't know we were allowed to go inside to their room, so I kissed her and then started crying. Regaining my composure to follow her class inside wasn't too difficult, but this was where the hard stuff started. You see, once the kids got to their classroom and found a spot to sit for circle time, there was this moment. A moment where, when all these little bitty wee ones were sitting there, cross-legged, so sweet with their huge backpacks and new shoes, all totally unsure of what was going to happen, that I had to fight every instinct to grab my girl and say "Okay, that's enough for this year. We'll see you in first grade!", and take her with me.

I wanted to bring her home and hold her and cuddle her and rock her and never let go.

I'm not sure I want to take her back tomorrow. One day is enough, right?

Why?

2010-08-15T20:50:00.000-07:00

Morning conversation with Johnny. Verbatim.

Context: I'm in the bathroom, trying to get contacts in so I can function properly.

Enter: The Boy

Johnny: "Hi Mommy!! Whatcha doin'?". Proceeds to open every_single_drawer and cabinet.

Me: "Shut the drawer please. Shut the drawer please. Close the door, please. Don't dig around in there. That's not for you"

Johnny: "What's this?" (after pulling open the 4th drawer and discovering my obviously rarely-used hairdryer)

Me: "It's a hairdryer. Please don't play with it."

Johnny: "Why?"

Me: "Because it isn't safe for you to play with cords."

Johnny: "Why is it a hay-uh-dwyer?" (the "w" is intentional)

Me: "Because it is used to dry peoples' hair."

Johnny: "Why?"

Me: "Because that's what it does. That's its job."

Johnny: "Why"

Me: "Go find Daddy."

Johnny: Exits room.

Me: Sigh.

I swear that kid talks to hear his head rattle. Most of me hopes he never stops...

Promises Kept

2010-08-08T20:49:00.000-07:00

I take the kids to the zoo as often as possible, which usually ends up being at least 1x/month. Problem: there is a train and a carousel and I can't do those things by myself. Even when we're with friends (which we usually are), they're usually needing to practice injury prevention with their own kids and aren't available to help - as much as they'd like. Every time we go I promise, promise, promise that John will come with us sometime and THEN we can do all the "fun stuff".

Finally, finally we had a free morning this past weekend. It was a last-second decision and we impressed ourselves with mobilizing in less than 15 minutes. It's unbelievable how quickly my kids can move when told they're going somewhere fun.

3 Notes:

1. I can't believe we didn't get any other pictures. The kids were beside themselves to FINALLY ride the train and carousel and were so good. So very, very patient and sweet. And so excited to be there with their Dad. He doesn't get to do the fun stuff very often.

2. I forget that people actually come to our town to vacation. I get used to visiting in the fall and winter months, when we practically have the entire place to ourselves and I can let the kids run wild-ish. The place was packed this weekend and, to be honest, I got a little indignant. I mean, this is MY zoo. Who ARE all these people?!?!!

3. Shout-out to War Eagle Family - the kids were dressed in their gear which elicited a friendly "Roll Tide!" from some other visitors. After a laugh from us and a "Please, you have got to be kidding, it's War Eagle all day, people!", and a word of explanation why our 4 children are decked out when the parental units have never stepped foot on Auburn grounds, we had a friendly conversation with the Bama folk who actually like Coach Chizik and what he wants from the team. Someday we'll get to a game...

Let's Think About This

2010-07-31T20:13:00.000-07:00

I don't want to hear any more "poor Johnny" malarkey.

The Boy will never have to share a room. The Boy will never have to share ANYTHING. The Boy will get to live in a house with loads of tween and teenage girls during slumber parties. Will there be an overabundance of estrogen? Yes. But The Boy will come out smelling like a rose because ultimately he will have no male competition sibling-wise.

He is the lone prince and the benefits, folks, definitely outweigh the cost.

Things To Fling And To NOT Fling

2010-07-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

First, the thing to definitely not fling is the arrival of my latest niece! Maggie took her sweet time into this world, much to the consternation of my sister, arriving over a week past the deadline.

Because she is so stinkin' cute, I think we'll forgive her. It's killing me I haven't seen her in a bit.

Thing to fling:

The first day I visited my sister in the hospital I witnessed a few splendid t-shirts. Now I wasn't dressed to the nines (my clothing is hardly fashionable, especially the maternity sort), but I think I would choose to wear something a little more presentable than a "Thank God I'm drunk" shirt to visit a loved one in the hospital. Truly. Or the overly-buxom woman with the too-short tank top that exposed her muffin-tops - among other things - and read: "I get frisky when I drink whisky!". At least she was walking with the guy wearing the shirt that said "Drunk chicks dig me!". So at least we know their relationship history.

I would punt my child if I caught them wearing something like that.

Arriving Sometime In December...

2010-07-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

A Girl!!! A girl. Wow. Let's see...that will make FOUR girls, one boy, and two very tired parents.

Oh my stars.

Mother Of The Year

2010-07-16T22:34:00.001-07:00

I was driving home today and was sitting at a stoplight when a sweet little hand touched my arm and a sweet little voice said "Hi Mommy! I come up here with you!".

WHAT????!!!! That is NOT supposed to happen when driving four little ones around town.

Freaked, I looked down and saw Lizzy standing right behind me. I must not have strapped her into her car seat and she decided a stoplight would be a good time to take a stroll from the back of the too-cool minivan to be close to The Mommy.

Me: "Lizzy! You scared the daylights out of me! Hold my hand, sweet girl. I'm going to pull over and get you back in your seat."

Lizzy: "Mommy! I want to sit in your lap!" (visions of Britney Spears appeared)

Light turned green, I held on tight. She still staggered back a bit.

Johnny: "Lizzy! Hold my hand! I keep you safe!" (such the gentleman)

Me: (silently) Please, please, please don't get pulled over. But I'm sure he would understand...right? I mean, look at this mess of car seats and with one on the way SURELY I would just get a warning.

Everything worked out, of course.

Good grief.

Trouble

2010-07-12T06:14:00.000-07:00

Morning Conversation:

John: "Johnny, you're looking ornery this morning."

The Boy: "Yes I am."

I'm in for it today.

Ignore the mess of our garage. Of course there's an excuse...

Potty Training

2010-07-09T11:27:00.000-07:00

I hate it. Ainsley wasn't potty trained until she was 3 1/2 and it is 100% my fault. I was preggers with the Three, we only had one bathroom and it was upstairs (there was NO WAY I was going to stagger up and down the stairs every 1/2-hour), and we were doing major construction on our house, which disrupted everything for 6 months. When she did decide, on her own, that she was done with diapers, she was trained in 2 days. She made it easy on me.

I've been dreading and putting off training for the crumbgobblers (which they still are - they'll eat anything they find...anywhere) forever and they're starting to call me on it. I'm fairly certain Lizzy and Johnny could experience the joy of a Target trip for big kid underpants if I encouraged them, which I don't. They voluntarily go 3-5 times/day and the ordeal is so lengthy it drives me crazy because if one has to go, then everyone wants to have a swing at it. Gracie is barely interested and she really doesn't get it. She'll sit there and just stare and stare at her loo-loo (which is what we call it - thanks Elizabeth for bringing that into our lives), waiting for something to come out, which it never does.

So I'm blase' about the whole thing and my 2 1/2-year-olds are still running around, everyone blissfully and unashamedly wearing diapers. I guess I need to do something about this before preschool starts in September, right? Ugh. Sigh. Dang it.

Maybe I'll put it off until they're 3...

Kindred Spirits

2010-06-30T21:23:00.000-07:00

One of the gifts in Ainsley's life is her friend, C. C is great because...well...she gets my sweet girl when I don't think everyone in her world does. C understands how important - necessary, even - it is to celebrate the favorite stuffed-animal's birthday (and half-birthday) with an impressive tea party. She understands that it is important to have a real tea party, every month, complete with invitations and a theme. She understood when Ainsley went through her 1 1/2-year phase of being a different character every day and preferred to be called by that name. C would come over and say "so who are you today?" without hesitating. Neither girl thinks it odd when my child says "C! Watch my arm movements when I jump!" and C says "Wow! That's really great!". And vice versa.

There is much more, and while these two don't embody Anne Shirley and Diana Barry in character, they do personify what it means to have and be a kindred spirit.

Sometimes I'll find them reading to each other...taking turns and just being content to sit.

The Perfect Ending

2010-06-17T21:17:00.000-07:00

When we found out we were pregnant with Cinco, a good friend commented that this event was like "the perfect end to a love story". She was right, even though our story would still have been perfect if there wasn't going to be a fifth Laird child, or any Laird children for that matter. No, Catherine was on target because Cinco is the final chapter of our 11 years of longing for and being granted children and this baby could not feel more...right.

This wee one is our bookend and the one that completes the family. The triplets, as much as we are madly in love with them, somehow did not bring closure. But this one...this one does.

Keepin' Busy

2010-06-14T19:50:00.000-07:00

It has rained here the past few months - tons. Way too much because lots of rain = wet playgrounds and being unable to go places because you never know when the next storm is going to come = no fun for the Laird kids? Nope. Why? Because of rain boots, that's why. They have nearly worn theirs out of existence and splashing in puddles never gets old...does it?

They do this thing where they take turns racing down the puddle path. Obviously Johnny's up next - he's in the "set" position. When can they go to track camp??

My ducklings.

All Aboard The Crazy Train!

2010-06-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

Meet the 5th Laird. If all goes well, the newest and wee-est one will arrive sometime mid-December and we are thrilled.

More info to come when I have some energy.

Choo Choo!

Thank You, Miss Christine!

2010-05-30T20:00:00.000-07:00

During the school year, one of my neighbors is kind enough to hang out with me and the kiddos during the mornings on Wednesdays. I try to use the time to go somewhere fun, but we generally end up running errands. Anyway, it's summer vacation and her son has the audacity to need his mother around, so we're without Mrs. Pookie (not her real name) for a few months. I hope she wants to come play with us again come September...

A rare photo w/Mrs. Pookie and a couple of the girlies on a non-errand day.

Oh No! Oh No!

2010-05-30T19:54:00.000-07:00

A couple nights ago, Johnny was walking across his room and he stepped on a book. This is not unusual - there are usually books scattered all over the place. The problem is, it was one of the kids' baby bibles (that almost always have a picture of Jesus with children on the cover). I heard him say "Oh no! Oh NO! I stepped on Jesus!".

I told him I thought Jesus would be okay, but we picked up the book so he wouldn't have to worry about doing it again.

Lingering...

2010-05-17T11:13:00.000-07:00

Trusting only in thy merit,
Would I seek thy face:
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by thy grace.

We sang this in church two Sundays ago and it is still with me.

How Do They Do It?

2010-05-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

I sort of single-parented this weekend. I say "sort of" because Fooz grabbed a couple kids Saturday morning and I blissfully only had two. Two toddlers in the grocery store and out-and-about is simply dreamy, by the way. Johnny and Gracie were divine. And another "sort of" is that my FRIEND, Joan, had all four at her house for more than several minutes while I ran home (we live across the street) and threw dinner in the oven. However, there were times this weekend when there was no back-up and it was not emotionally cool.

At one point Saturday night I had all of this happening at once, as we're going up to bed:

1. Lizzy putting on her very best throw-down-tantrum
2. Johnny dumping an entire box of tacks all over the middle of the floor (which meant I had to keep Gracie, Johnny, and Ainsley from running all over them)
3. Johnny crying because I yelled "JOHNNY. DO NOT MOVE!!!!" and freaked him out.
4. Ainsley crying because she managed to step on the lone tack that had skittered across the hardwood.

And I paused and wondered how people manage when it's just them and there isn't another adult around to help. Scenes like this are totally common in this house, multiple times/day. I would be an even worse mess than I am now if John wasn't around to share in managing the chaos.

So I tip my hat and throw out loads of respect to anyone who truly single-parents. I don't know how you do it without losing your mind or at least maintaining some semblance of dignity.

Pup-pee Dawoog!!!! (as miss gracie calls them)

2010-05-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

Oh, how I wish we had a video monitor for the triplets' room. The conversations I hear when they're supposed to be sleeping, the shrieking, the "One, Two, Three, GO!" followed by jumping and laughing...I would give anything to see what is actually going on. I'd like to know who really is the one who wakes everyone up, which ones staccato-kick their beds, the leader of my lil' packages of sweetness.

The other day I heard them chattering as they woke up from their nap. Then silence. Then laughter. Then...woofing? Seriously, they were all taking turns going "woof, woof" and then all three would bust their guts.

I lurked outside their room for a couple minutes and then entered to this:

The Boy.

Gracie with her classic smirk.

Lizzy, who is usually the one I hear laughing hysterically. If you ever need to feel funny, hang out with this kid - she'll laugh at just about anything.

And just because she followed me upstairs to see what the ruckus was about...

All of them had their stuffed dogs "woofing" at each other and, apparently, it is the funniest thing ever when one is 2-and-1/2.

I am not looking forward to the days when they are no longer confined to their cribs.

Dress Up

2010-05-05T19:57:00.000-07:00

It's very important to my oldest and she is trying (not always in vain) to expose her siblings to the joy. We hear "who wants to play dress up!??!?!?" often and you will see that her brother gets pretty fired up about it. Poor guy. I told someone the other day that he will have no sense of pride by the time his sisters get done with him.

The Queen, as herself.

Normal.

As "Tinkiebell" (as Tinkerbell is called in our home). "I'm flying! Look at me! I'm flying!" (what she was running around, saying)

A rare moment - catching Gracie with a smile on her face. The kid smiles (smirks, actually) a lot - it's nearly impossible to get on camera.

And then there's the pink bunny outfit. Poor guy. He was so excited to put it on, too. Buddy, at least I didn't put in the princess dress pics...

Yeah. That's It.

2010-04-26T21:21:00.000-07:00

I was unglamorously trying to squeeze myself into some spanx this morning and, of course, had an audience. I always have an audience. For everything. At least Ainsley is finally at the age where if I say, "mommy needs some privacy for just a little bit", she gets it and is not offended. The other three get seriously frosted at the suggestion that I'd like to be by myself for 3 seconds.

Well, Lizzy was the lucky one intently watching me doing the deep knee bends necessary to don the "shapewear" (which doesn't work THAT well, trust me - now I'm questioning why I even bother with the stinkin' things). She was staring and staring until a huge smile took over her face and she announced "Mommy's doing ballet!!!!". Whereupon she started to do plie's and saying "I'm doing ballet, too!".

Ballet. That's exactly what I was doing.

Things To Fling - April

2010-04-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

I've been in a fairly good mood lately, so I only have one thing to fling this month:
icky super-short running shorts. After a junky winter, the local runners are gleefully abandoning their treadmills and exposing their lily-white legs (and other body parts) to the rest of us.

The shorts are from the early 80's (you know, the ones that are REALLY short and aren't connected on the sides). They look like this:

Unless you are a true elite, you have no business wearing these shorts. I don't care if you consistently win in your age-group, you have no business wearing these shorts. And if you haven't seen your 20's in 20+ years, you have no business wearing these shorts. Too much of your body is exposed...way, way, too much. My children and I should never have to see old hineys on our way home from the playground.

But then there are the moments of my day that make me forget about flinging. One of them recently arrived in the form of a little boy who wears his heart on his sleeve.

I realize the photo quality isn't fab, but it's his transparent joy that makes my heart ache.

Panic.

2010-04-12T19:41:00.000-07:00

Johnny has escaped our yard twice now. The first time I completely freaked and ran faster than I have in ages yelling for him, feeling totally nauseous. The second time I knew immediately where to look. Why? He only has to negotiate a 4-foot fence to get to the only place he desires: the neighbors. Why does he love their yard? Because the two boys that live there are his heroes (they treat him like gold - they give him whatever he wants and carry him everywhere). There are toys over there that only boys love (my girls like them, but not on the same obsessive level as their brother). And there is one of those super-nice swing sets with a ladder to a fort. A fort with boy things in it - like a pretend snake and a firetruck and other...stuff.

One of his heroes (who had just lent my adoring child his shades - hence the big smile):

And how does he get there?? He easily climbs up the side of this play set and then somehow (since we haven't seen him do it) shimmies down the other side.

Yes, yes. I know. We should move the play set. The problem is, the space where we have it (plus the other gear) is narrow and slopes on the other side. And we can't just move it a couple feet from the fence b/c I know my child - he will try to scale the thing anyway and then a bigger accident may occur.

All I know is, and my boy knows it as well, there will be big, BIG trouble if it happens again.

Field Trips

2010-04-03T13:07:00.000-07:00

We have a really nice butterfly house in our area and there's talk about taking the kidlets. I'm not so sure. The main reason is that my sweet and very sensitive boy likes to stomp on things. This is what boys do. Plus, I'm always telling him to "Be my big, brave boy and stomp on that bug for Mommy". I didn't think for a skinny minute this could be a problem, because one of my kids needs to be taught how to kill things that freak me out - what would I do if John was out of the house and some spider was stalking the family? Someone has to squish the horrid thing and it certainly isn't going to be me.

So I was showing the girls some crocuses that were just popping up and they were appropriately ooh-ing and aah-ing over them. Then Johnny stopped by for a looksie and, after I repeated "look at the sweet little flowers!", he appropriately (in his mind) tried to stomp on them. As I said earlier, that's what boys do. But if his response to something pretty like these:

is to smoosh them, what's to keep the child from extinguishing an insect this beautiful?

Knowing my luck, he'd probably do it in front of some little school children...or start a chain reaction among his siblings and it would be like a horror-show grape-stomp and we would be forever banished from the butterfly house.

Decisions. Decisions.

Oh, How We Love The Zoo

2010-03-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

It was just warm enough a couple weeks ago to make a last-second decision to ditch any plans and field trip the morning. Fooz was available to herd the bairn, which is critical. Critical because none of them would be caught dead riding in a stroller or the wagon these days if they can help it - except Lizzy. But then it's only for a couple minutes to gnosh and then she wants to walk. I'd be thankful for this (because I'm tired of kid-related accessories) if I could guarantee no one would want to be held by the end of the tour. So we have gear.

The turkeys did end up walking most of the way and danced at the monkeys (it is SOOOO exciting to see MONKEYS!!!), shrieked with joy at the cheetahs, and actually were quietly awestruck at the elephants.

There was one thing that struck me: I hadn't been out in a random public place for awhile, and I'm always reminded of something when we are. We are loud. Shockingly and probably annoyingly-to-some kind of loud. The kids squealed and screeched and yelled each others' names and mine and the names of the animals so everyone in Creation could hear them. I'm busy doing head-counts every 5 seconds and then calling if I only get "three". Or two. But heads turn, and it isn't because of our freak show - it's because one or all of my kids have startled them by their voice. There were all these nice families at our zoo for their Spring Break (I know this because I am horribly nosy and listen in on every one's conversations), and they were being sweet and having fun and then my four would parade through with our happy-yelling. It's as if we have no couth.

Good grief.

I tried to take some pics, really. This is the only one with all four kidlets. We were at the penguins and there was a little cave they would have played in all day. They liked it much more than the stinky penguins.

Thank you, Fooz!

My Little Leprechauns

2010-03-18T20:57:00.000-07:00

The pics are presented in order taken. I'm not sure why I bother trying to get everyone in the same frame. Ever.

Lizzy is the only one looking at the camera. Gracie is completely frosted. Someone has offended her (probably me). Sweet lil' cherub.

Gracie is still hacked off. Ainsley is at least smiling, and Johnny is getting ready to bolt.

Johnny's gone. Gracie's thinking about joining him. Lizzy and Ainsley are wondering when my ridiculousness will be over, but are playing along.

"psst. how's about an escape?"

We've got runners!

And we're back. Ainsley busy organizing Johnny. Lizzy still performing well. Gracie has her classic smirk on her face.

Triplet Logistics

2010-03-13T21:09:00.000-08:00

It used to be so easy. Taking all four kids to a store - nearly any store - was a breeze. Really. From the time we were released from quarantine to avoid rsv, we were out the door. The system worked beautifully and efficiently: two in the double-stroller, two or one in the cart, depending on the cart situation. I had 18 months of breezy errand-running.

Then trouble happened. The trio discovered the "car carts" at the grocery. Totally uncool, especially if there is only one available. Two-year-olds have opinions, you see.

Then bigger trouble happened and she is called Miss Independent. Sweet Gracie decided one day that she would prefer to walk in stores. I didn't think much of it and allowed it to happen because she's a 100% mama's girl and usually sticks to me like glue. But why in the world did I not think that maybe, just maybe the other two would remain content hanging out in a cart while their sisters (remember, there's an older one in the mix) had freedom?

Well, now I have everyone walking at least 90% of the time and it is not cool. These are the days when I wish we could get away with putting eensy shock collars on our kids so if they run off we could give them a little jolt.

Double Sigh.

Honestly, People.

2010-03-10T21:00:00.000-08:00

Tonight, for the fourth time in as many months, I was asked a version of the question "When are you due?". This would be barely tolerable IF I WAS PREGNANT, but I'm not.

Listen. I don't care who asks the next time, or says (as in the case tonight) "Oh, so I see we're adding another one to your brood!". I will not laugh it off, or help make you feel better, or lightly toss out some silly remark that will make you laugh.

I will not be sweet. I will not help you out of the mess your mouth created. I will try to refrain from punting you as far as I can, but that is not a promise.

This is getting ridiculous.

I Don't Care If You're Cold!

2010-03-09T21:35:00.000-08:00

The Laird children were aching to have The Stink blown off them, so when the sun finally decided to prove its existence last week - I flung them outside. It was a brisk 40 degrees, but oh so worth it. The picnic table was dragged out of the garage, spots were claimed, and snacks distributed.

First there were two. Johnny couldn't be bothered - he had to re-orient himself to the yard he hadn't seen in months. Oh, and Lizzy did not have a head wound. She just likes having a band-aid on her forehead and Ainsley loves indulging her.

But then the desire for pretzels took over and he joined the table. Gracie was not happy and kept trying to push him off her side. You can see her pointing her finger as she said "NO Johnny! You sit over THERE!". My sweet little bossy thing.

Freak-out over. Heaven forbid Gracie ever has someone in her personal space. Just like her momma.

Trying To Stay Calm

2010-03-08T21:18:00.001-08:00

Two of my girls like the cool boys and I'm worried. Gracie has a crush on dread-locked Charlie on Clifford, and Ainsley thinks long-haired Imagination Mover Scott is the berries.

Lizzy doesn't discriminate.

I know it is WAY too early to freak out...but I'm freaking out.

Not really, of course, but you know what I mean. I have visions of weirdo boys (or any boys, for that matter) having the audacity to show up at our doorstep for any ridiculous reason and it will take everything I have to allow them the privilege to glance in my daughters' direction.

Conflicted

2010-03-05T20:54:00.000-08:00

Our sweet, sweet boy. He is surrounded by only girls and lots of girly things for the better part of his days. So, he knows all the princesses (Sleeping Beauty is his favorite), walks better in heels than any female in our family, and is as comfortable running around in a princess dress as he is a fireman's costume. On the other hand, he makes impressive vehicle and tiger noises, has a true need to tackle anything that breathes, and laughs like crazy when he forces out bodily noises. He told me the other day, very seriously, that John is "My buddy". He loves, loves, loves his Daddy.

John and I joke that he is conflicted, but I really just think he's going to be an amazing husband and dad. If he has girls, they'll be incredibly lucky.

A bus in one hand and a purse on the elbow. What to choose??

Love Marketing

2010-03-01T20:19:00.000-08:00

Wrap something in pink or make it smaller or put a heart on it, and my day is a little brighter. I'm every marketer's dream.

My newest favorite:

Because grown-up television viewing is abnormal around here, I missed out on all the advertising that went along with this new campaign. So when I pulled out a perfectly chilled can of near-delish (only real Coke is truly such) and saw that sweet little heart - my insides did a little happy dance.

I am not at all embarrassed, either. Because when the noise level is concert-level for the 4th hour in a row, something fun and unexpected really keeps me from going totally loco.

10 Things

2010-02-08T21:22:00.000-08:00

I'm bored. I should not be - if you saw my house you would give me the head-shake as you scan The Disaster. There's always something to do around here...

So I felt it would be a wise use of my time to come up with two lists that don't deserve the energy output I'm giving them.

10 Things I'm Enjoying These Days:

1. Listening to the kiddos talk to each other when they're supposed to be sleeping

2. Reading "chapter books" to Ainsley.

3. Being grumpy

4. An old friend's debut album. You can listen to bits and pieces here if you're feeling lazy right now. Ainsley requests "Emily's Songs" every time she's in the car.

5. Beverages. Not too many, mind you.

6. Caffeine. Lots and lots of yummy caffeine.

7. A bible study that is kicking my rear. Yes, I go to bible study and I like it. But it means I should do something about #3 and I really, really enjoy being grumpy sometimes.

8. John. We're finally staggering out of the low-budget flick Triplets: Pregnancy and The Early Years and it's nice to know he's still pretty awesome. And funny. The guy is really really funny.

I couldn't come up with 10. The next list flew off my fingertips.

10 Things I Want To Punt:

1. This woman in my area who runs with her long, long, long hair down so it's flopping all over the place. My blood pressure goes through the roof every time I see her. If you know who she is, please, please ask her to use a ponytail holder so I don't have to deal with my heart rate unnecessarily shooting into the 200's every other day.

2. My entire wardrobe that doesn't fit as nicely as it did 6 months ago

3. Germs. I think the nebulizer was turned on 5 or 6 times today and it will be more tomorrow.

4. Gray hair

5. Gray hair and zit combo - very, very unfair

6. Having to listen to the kiddos start screaming every morning between 5:30-5:45. Must. Stop.

7. The word "no". Usually expressed as "NO!!".

8. The people who ask me if we were "surprised" when we found out we were having triplets.
Listen, you may believe this a polite way to try to find out if we had medical intervention. It is not.

9. The person who discovered "fat grams". I would be better off blissfully ignorant. Now I have to battle guilt. And lose.

10. Warm diet soda.

She Is My Child, But...

2010-02-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

I don't know where she learned the phrase "get your brows done". I mean, she's seem me attempt to tame mine, but I'm 100% certain the girl has never heard those words cross my lips.

Ainsley occasionally plays "beauty parlor" with the triplets and her latest question to them is "Do you want to get your brows done?". First she takes a cotton ball and wipes it over each brow "to soften it up", and then she uses a Q-Tip to "shape it". A few days ago I walked into my room to see Gracie compliantly reclined on a bunch of pillows while Ainsley made her fabulous.

Where in the world?

Evidence:

The funny thing is, none of the three jerked away while she made them pretty. They just let her do it - and she had a vice grip on their little heads, too.

Can't Handle This

2010-01-29T21:26:00.000-08:00

Ainsley is officially signed up for Kindergarten. I'm holding it together, but my heart has a general malaise about it right now.

The kindergartners in our district have the option to ride a bus to school (if you live within a mile of school you are supposed to walk). I asked her if she wanted to ride or have me take her and she chose the latter. Phew! Relief, in part, because there is no way I wanted to be the crazy lady, sobbing uncontrollably on the corner the day my little baby steps onto a bus and out of my reach for the first time.

I would prefer to be the crazy lady who sits in my car in the school parking lot and cry, thank you very much.

A Rut

2010-01-27T21:28:00.001-08:00

I'm in one. The weather here has been lousy. There's been loads of junk going on. The kids are so, so fabulous and so, so not fabulous for weeks.

I love this town and most everyone in it, but I could leave here in January and February and not miss an angstrom of this place. Okay, the people. I would miss most of the people.

But then it started snowing today. You know, the big bunches of flakes. The ones that, if you try to catch them with your tongue, would cover your face from nose-to-chin. My very favorite.

And I was reading books to Gracie and Johnny and they weren't fighting over my lap. And Ainsley and Lizzy were playing nicely in my room (destroying it, but they were having fun jumping on the bed). And there were giggles and wrestling and swinging and dancing and it was perfectly lovely because I never dreamed I would be allowed a family like this.

So I peeked out of my rut for 30 minutes today and it wasn't so bad. I ducked back in, but maybe tomorrow I'll give another looksie.

Where Is My Brain??

2010-01-21T22:22:00.000-08:00

I started the dryer (clothes, of course. it would be silly to think it was a hair dryer - that would imply I have time for that) the other day and as I was heading up the stairs I heard the "whump, whump" that happens when a shoe gets in there or the load is unbalanced.

Hmm.

Stop the dryer, rummage around the clothes for a bit to see what could be making the noise, pray the dryer is not breaking.

Nothing is found, so I turn the thing back on and walk away.

Whump. Whump.

Whatever. I ignore it.

As I unloaded the dryer, I discovered pieces of this:

which was absolutely full when I must have somewhat intentionally tossed it in there. It was a load of the kids' clothes, which I meticulously scan for stains before I put them in the wash. The only thing I can think of is that I sprayed an item and then tossed both in. The clothes ended up all stiff and smell like Shout in a nauseating way.

Two-Year-Olds Talking

2010-01-17T21:44:00.001-08:00

Lizzy: *Coughs*

Johnny: "Izzy Ooo! You okay?"

Lizzy: "I okay, Nonny. Jus' coughin'. "

Johnny: "Okay, Izzy"

Darling. Would have been grade-A adorable if it hadn't been 5:30 in the morning and I wasn't in their room with Lizzy on my chest, hoping she would go back to sleep. She didn't.

These kiddos really, really, need to figure out how to wake up in the 6's. These 5-ish hours are completely unacceptable.

Mean, Mean Mommy

2010-01-14T20:47:00.000-08:00

Whenever I need to guarantee the Big Three stay out of my room, I put this Bad Boy in the middle of the floor:

Obviously we try to keep the door shut, but is that always going to happen?

Why do I do this? All four of my kids despise the vacuum cleaner. Ainsley barely tolerates it now and still makes sure she leaves the area; when she was little I'd find her in her bed, desperately sucking on her paci to keep her blood pressure down. But the Three, they go grade-A ballistic. If I even mention that I need to vacuum they start to cry. Lawd help us all when I actually roll the thing out of the closet...which is what happened today.

It had been an embarrassingly long time since the floor of my bedroom had been cleaned and I perceived it was a "safe" time. The kids were downstairs, happily playing, just had a snack, happy, happy, happy. "I'll just get this done speedy-quick. They'll hear it, but will be downstairs. I'll shut the door." Silly, silly Mommy.

Gracie followed me upstairs, then Lizzy. Gracie heard me tell my friend, Joan (I was on the phone), that I was getting ready to vacuum and started crying. Me: "Gracie, go get your lovies sweetie! (I rarely tell her she's allowed to get those nasty things out of her crib). " She retrieved them and then pronated herself in the middle of my bedroom floor, sobbing. Lizzy had already run away, screaming. I was pulling the vacuum out of the closet when Johnny strolled in, oblivious, carrying a princess tea party bowl, full of cereal and a spoon (why??). He took one look, literally threw the bowl and spoon in the air, turned tail and ran away. The look of terror on his face made me feel a little sorry for him, but GUYS!

They all left and I shut the door, fortunately spared from the freak-out-fest that then took place. Finally finished, I came downstairs to see all four kiddos on the couch watching Curious George (a fan favorite around here). You see, John works from home and had to come up from the basement to stop the madness. Three little faces red from crying. Big sigh from me.

We should start saving now for the counseling they're going to need because their mother didn't want them to live in filth.

Game ON!!!

2010-01-09T18:00:00.000-08:00

So John likes colored lights on the Christmas tree and since I don't have much of an opinion about it, colored lights it is. This year we had a problem: we could only find one strand of tree lights when we unpacked our tree decorations box. Obviously not enough. Easily solved - call Bob, friend and neighbor, (father of SuperBabysitter, husband of Friend Joan). Turns out that Bob is offended by colored Christmas lights, is a bigger Christmas snob than I ever was, and implied that the Laird clan is less than dignified (we aren't dignified, but a whole lot of Pride does reside in this house).

What to do? Take our single strand of colored lights and wind it into Friend Bob's perfectly placed white lights on his tree outside. He noticed immediately, of course.

What happens next? This pretty thing appeared one night in our yard:

There is a motion detector on the lollipop. It plays tinny Christmas tunes when set off and the candy canes flash.

I went on a run one evening and heard the music 4 houses down.

The kids love it.

Every animal, vegetable, or mineral that passes by the motion detector sets it off.

We got a bit distracted by some crazy stuff for a bit, otherwise retribution would have been swift and painful. With the holiday season closing it's a little too late, but plans are already in motion for next year.

Game on, friend Bob. Game on.

Not Ready For This

2010-01-07T20:52:00.000-08:00

I found out yesterday that kindergarten sign-ups for Ainsley's school are January 28th. How in the world am I going to allow this sweet-faced thing to start real school????

Thank you, Carrie, for the pic!