Potty Words, Part III

Golly, we're obsessed with these lately!

Annie was repeating "p" over and over and over again, mostly because she was getting a reaction out of Lizzy (shocker).  Of course Lizzy tattled, blah, blah, blah.  This happens every day.

But then the conversation got interesting because Lizzy, very seriously said:

"Mommy.  Aunt Trish said a potty word."

I confess.  I have a problem with swearing and yes, it is unattractive and ugly and we are not supposed to do it and I really do feel terrible about it but - to my credit - it is now mostly kept in my head.  Mostly.  95% of the time.  Okay, 90% of the time, but never in front of the kids. Not even "crap".  I don't allow them to say "butt" and I don't even like "bootie".  I feel guilty if I say "dang it!", even when it's 100% legitimate. Example: I think it's okay to say "dang it!"  when the dog has squeezed through the fence for the 300th time in 10 minutes.  And I'm trying to teach Lizzy how to ride a bike.  And Annie, who is terribly impressed with herself now that she can ride a tricycle, wants to try on everyone else's helmets (which requires help), and Gracie accidentally has dirt flung on her and is freaking, and there are 68 other emergencies going on simultaneously.  And there goes the dang dog again! But I said it, loudly, and felt badly because I don't let my children say it.

I digress.

My sister, "Aunt Trish", is pretty much the same.  Tries very, very hard not to swear in front of the kids, but sometimes children sneak up on conversations and, well, there you have it.

So I was inwardly laughing because who knows what Lizzy was talking about, and we had just seen my sister + crew a few days earlier.

Me: "Soooo...what did Aunt Trish say? Exactly?"

Lizzy: "Mommy, she said 'pee'.  She said 'peed in my pants'".

Me: "Lizzy, did she say 'I was laughing so hard I peed in my pants'"?  (this is a Trish-ism)

Lizzy: Yes.

Me:  "It's okay that Aunt Trish said that.  She didn't do anything wrong.  I just don't want to hear you say that to someone, or find out you said that to someone. Okay?"

Lizzy: Okay.

And This Is Lizzy

Every once-in-awhile the kids sniff that Mama's Losin' It and they take a gamble and make requests they know in their sweet-little-hearts I generally don't grant.   This time they asked to take pictures with my phone and since I was on my fourth attempt at starting dinner and needed 8 minutes of no one to trip over in my kitchen, I said Yes.

Cue: lots and lots of giggling, whispers, guffaws, and running around the house.  Was it worth the 8 minutes of uninterrupted food prep? Absolutely. 

A couple days later I was flipping through my phone pics, looking for what I now don't remember, and discovered a series of shots that Lizzy claimed were hers (verified by her siblings).  They are as follows:

Nice, eh?

Because, when one is four years old, taking pictures while getting closer and closer to the toilet is hilarious.

And if I'm honest, I think it's hilarious too.

We did have a conversation about phones and water and how they don't work well together.

Situation Under Control

Sweet Lizzy Lou does not care for most loud noises, specifically vacuum cleaners and thunder. And hand dryers in public restrooms. And the anticipation of hand dryers in public restrooms. "Does not care for" generally  means running and hiding somewhere until it is all over, all the while holding her fingers in her ears. Her freak-outs lessen in intensity every year, but she can hear a thunder clap from 1 Billion miles away.

Tonight we had a two-fer with tornado sirens, always popular at Chez Laird, followed by a mediocre thunderstorm. Annie was the only kid who didn't give a rip as we hung out in the hallway in the basement, but I think she was mostly excited because - after yelling at Ainsley, who had heard the sirens but didn't make the connection that action was therefore required - she had her chubby, nakie self scooped out of the bathtub and bounced down the stairs with a brief stop to grab a diaper on the way. Pretty fun in her book.

So Lizzy was already unhappy by the time the tornado issue was over and just as we were supposed to sit down to dinner, the storm arrived.  Ugh.  Suddenly she wasn't hungry and, fingers in her ears, skedaddled from the table to the couch were she snuggled under a blanket...fingers in her ears.

Then. Then!!! John, brilliant John, came up with the AHa! solution we should have figured out two years ago: earmuffs!!  The ones John is supposed to use when he's working outside to help stem the tide of hearing loss.  I don't think they're really called earmuffs...noise reducer things maybe? Well, Super Dad planted those babies on Lizzy's hyper-sensitive ears and..voila!  The pic above is a now-happy child who cheerfully left the couch and ate her dinner.

Sam's Club Part II

After my annoying encounter at the check-out, I made it all the way to the car and had the kids in (but not buckled) when I realized I couldn't find my phone.  I could. not. find. my. phone.  I had a crap load of hungry kids who had just been very patient on an excursion and now I was going to have to unload them from the car to head back inside to retrace our cat-herding steps, and then certainly stand in a hysterically dull line at the service counter.

Enter Becky K from The Blue Hutch!  I spied her in the parking lot, started shouting and waving my arms like the lunatic that I am, and caught her attention.  She was absolutely LOVELY and stayed with the kiddos at the car so I could race in for a fruitless search for my phone.  Yes.  Fruitless.  I thought I was going to throw up.

I returned, shoulders slumped, to the car.  After thanking Miss Becky who had delighted my kids (they talked about her incessantly for the next hour), I resigned myself to buckling them in and starting the drive home. 

But then. Then!  As I was wrangling with the five-point on Lizzy and digging out some of the junk she manages to store in her seat during a regular car ride, I felt something plastic-y and familiar.  No.  No Stinkin' WAY!  My lovely child with the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen had been SITTING on my phone for the better part of 20 minutes - her little tushie encountering "silent mode" over and over again as I called and called it - and didn't say a single word.  I almost crumbled.  Any of the other kids would have told me.  Even Annie would have looked up, then wriggled around trying to figure out what causing the rumble in her trunk.

But Lizzy?  No way.  In fact, she said "Your phone was making my hiney jiggle!". And laughed. 

Sweet Lizzy Lou.

Are You Seriously?!?!?!

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.

Whoa.

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.

Soccer Saturdays

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?!?!?

23 Minutes

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.

Sigh...

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.

Yeah. That's It.

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.

Going Insane

Two of my sweet little cherubs believe that proper sleep is a waste of my time and energy. I've been to tired to post (even though there are about 8 that are in the "draft" phase of existence). I've been too tired to do: laundry, shop for Christmas, exercise, blah, blah, blah.

And that takes care of most of my whining for today. I'm going upstairs to let them out of their cribs since they've now had 1 1/2 hours of Happy Dance Party in there.

A Little Pick-Me-Up

Last Thursday was one of those "I would love to crawl back into bed and sleep all day" days. It would have been so lovely. So near the very end of my bummer-day, when I'm checking my watch every 30 seconds to see if the time is even CLOSE to when John gets off work, I noticed I hadn't seen Lizzy in 2.5 minutes. No. Oh no.

Now, if Gracie and Ainsley are not in view I am not concerned. (Not because they are angels or anything, but they tend to make non-life-threatening or house-damaging choices). When I don't see or hear Johnny or Lizzy for a bit I start to panic.

I flew down the stairs only to startle Lizzy Lou, who was rummaging around a kitchen drawer, and when I startled her she stood up and cracked her head on the corner of the drawer. Instant and justifiable tears. She was only in a diaper and when she turned toward me for hugs I noticed this:



Just that day she had learned to open Ainsley's marker container and my eyes raced to the table where A had been coloring and...the container was closed. Hmm...thinking, thinking, thinking...no. No she did NOT! You see, Lizzy also recently discovered our junk drawer - home of a couple PERMANENT MARKERS. I felt sick and gave my house a glance-over to see any evidence of artistry. Hmph. Nothing but her tummy. Well, Good Job Lizzy! Way to contain the damage! Or so I thought until I opened the drawer where I noticed the marker she had used (and impressively replaced the cap upon when she put it back in the drawer - good girl!). It was then that Ainsley delightedly pointed out this:




Oh my stars, I laughed. It broke my mood and made my day bright enough that I didn't want to go to bed anymore. I wanted to stay with my crazy kids and chase them around the house and love on my life. And so I did. Thank-you, Sweet Lizzy.

Another Sigh (but it has all worked out).

We had joked about taping The Boy's diaper together for some time because he was constantly ripping it off and then going free willy throughout the house. Lizzy is the same way and neither can be trusted to run nakie because fresh air on those two tends to encourage spontaneous urination. The whole thing really wasn't that big of a deal until a couple weeks ago when I went in to get the three out of their beds after a nap and there was The Boy, face down and snuggled on his very wet blankie. There was a diaper in the corner of the bed. There was what can only be described as a large turd next to the diaper. It was so gross and my immediate thought was how thankful I was that there wasn't any feces on the walls or the bumper pads. I would have totally freaked about that. Inspired by another triplet mom, we brought out the duct tape.

So, The Boy is only allowed the privilege of regular (non-snap) t-shirts if there aren't any clean onesies left. He is rarely allowed to wear two-piece jams and we're in the waiting period until he figures out how to unzip his regular pj's. Since Lizzy is of the same mindset as her brother, she has also lost normal-diaper rights as well. Sigh.

Johnny. You can't tell, but he has two barrettes in his hair, per request.

Sweet Lizzy Lou.

We have to wrap the tape all the way around because my little Houdini's can still rip it off if there's only a strip in the front.

When does potty training begin?

Why?

The triplets are weirdly attached to the sippy cups they use for milk. They could care less about what color or brand is used for water, although fights have been known to break out if one is more coveted that minute. Milk, though, is apparently supposed to arrive in the same color and style of cup every_single_day. For a long time with Lizzy, she would only drink out of this bad boy:




For a long time, that cup was lost in my house. Lizzy begrudgingly accepted a pink version of the same make and model. When I finally found it under the train table, five days had passed with the precious purple vessel filled 1/2-way with milk. I didn't even bother to open it up and attempt a cleaning, but unfortunately decided to take a picture of the thing before I threw it away. I had obsessed about it and had torn my house apart looking for it and for some ridiculous reason I felt the need to document the object that caused my latest insane behavior. Sweet Lizzy Lou happened to wander into the kitchen at that time, spied it, and started freaking out. Oh man. I threw it in the trash. She went after it. No amount of "yucky", "grody", or "nasty" worked. She was inconsolable:



I finally managed to get the cup out of the house so when she foraged in the garbage for it she would not find the thing. Here's the kicker, though. When the pink one was missing for a few hours I figured I had better try and find some sort of back-up. My brilliant mind thought I could get a purple one because I knew she liked it and so I did. The next morning, Lizzy was given a new purple sippy and she eagerly accepted it, took one sip, and FLIPPED OUT. Why? Because the lid was new and not chewed up and nasty and broken in. That's why. I give up.

Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy

I've been asked several times over the past few weeks about Lizzy (don't feel badly if you are one who has). I quit reporting on her progress or what's going on because:

1. My kids deserve some privacy, especially about the highly personal things
2. It is sometimes too complicated and tedious to explain in the written word

I will say that she is great (except for that dang biting!) and very "Lizzy", meaning she progresses on her own time and in the manner she sees fit. The kid continues to surprise us and we are beyond thankful for our state's Early Intervention program. It has brought a lot of relief and answers and support, and our therapist's enthusiasm for Lizzy Lou's advancement keeps us going.

Thank you all for asking and I apologize that I have left you hanging, especially since so many people are praying or have prayed for her. You deserve some level of information. :) Feel free to inquire, even if it's via email - I love to talk about her and brag about what she is doing. It just won't be in a public way.

A Glimpse

Like lots of other children, all of our kidlets like to wear everyone else's shoes. Lizzy was clomping around in one of mine the other day and ended up standing at the door for a good while, looking out. My heart stumbled a bit, because I had a brief vision of her in 15 or so years. My little girl, dressed up in heels that actually fit, waiting for a boy. Please let this sweet and crazy time pass slowly.

Early Intervention - Lizzy Update

Wow. A lot has happened since Lizzy's MRI and I realize how delinquent I've been in sharing the results. It's hard to decide which parts of the story to tell, mostly for Lizzy's sake. Her blood tests did come back normal - that was a long 2 weeks of waiting, but a huge relief and I was oddly more emotional about it than I would have predicted. We are just very, very thankful.

Fortunately, we have ended up qualifying for our state's Early Intervention program. How did that happen? Not from the neurologist's "pervasive developmental delay" diagnosis. That would make sense. It was from the "macrocephaly" part. What?!? All we needed to be accepted was get an official "my kid has a big head" report? Hmmm. Ah, well.

All is forgiven because our lead therapist came last Friday and I love her. I love that Lizzy did some of her goofy things so I didn't look like a paranoid mom. I love that she saw them start to go completely psycho and she didn't flinch. I love that the wee ones all adored her and she was on the floor, rolling around with them like John and I do. I really love the fact that she got to witness a couple of Lizzy's attempts to bite a sibling and helped me through managing the situation.

Mostly, it was wonderful to have a non-biased opinion of why Lizzy is "Lizzy" and it is hopeful. She was able to get my little girl to engage and perform and this will happen every week for the next couple years. It is good.

Thank you all for praying for us and our family.

I Love...

MRI - Hooray!

I posted earlier about Lizzy's MRI and we received great news! Her melon, while still large, does not demonstrate any abnormalities. Hopefully she'll grow into it...

The morning itself turned out better than expected. My biggest and only concern was how she would handle not eating for 12 hours and if we were going to have the meltdown of the year at the hospital. Thankfully she was so excited to be an only child for a couple hours and was also so enthralled at the newness of her surroundings that we didn't have a hint of tears.

The procedure itself was remarkably smooth. At least at our hospital, the infants are given a "coctail" of meds that essentially make the kid drunk. Not that we hope Lizzy would ever get inebriated, but at least we know she's a happy drinker...not sure if I should bother with thinking about that. Ah, well. Anywho, she was hysterical. Everything was HILARIOUS for her and she giggled so much she got the hiccups forever. She thought we were funny. The nurses were funny. The sink and mirror were funny. The ride in the gurney was SUPER-fun. The meds are given to them to minimize the trauma of being in a scary place and being separated from the parents. Also, because she was going under anesthesia, the placing of the i.v. was not awful or even painful for her. Easy peasie.

The only stress we had to deal with was when she came out of the anesthesia. We could hear her screaming all the way down the hall and it is because she was confused and still groggy about where she was (or at least that's what we were told). She was fired up. It took 20-30 minutes to calm her down, but she was definitely a trooper throughout the experience.

Thanks for any prayers that were said on her behalf. John and I covet them.

Heartache and Hope

I've held off with this post for a couple weeks because I wasn't quite sure what I wanted it to be. I do know that I do not want to appear dramatic or in despair. I am accutely aware that John and I are very, very fortunate and that many friends have bigger issues. But it is what is happening in our lives right now and I feel as though it is false to document only the lighthearted goings-on in our little world. Those are important and I love them, of course, but they are not the whole story and someday I want to look back and remember all the pieces of our history.

Anyway, I've mentioned Lizzy's developmental delays a couple times in passing, but in reality we've always been a bit concerned. Maybe more than "a bit". She has some obvious speech/language/gross motor delays and we had her evaluated by our state's early intervention program to see if she would qualify. She barely missed (still not sure if that is good or not).

Results in hand, we consulted our pediatrician who recommended we take her to see a pediatric neurologist. This happened two weeks ago and we were taken aback by his initial diagnosis. You see, I've always harbored the hope that Lizzy is just, well, Lizzy. She does things her own way at her own pace and that her pace is WAY behind her siblings. The neurologist feels there is something bigger going on, that her delays are not the result of: being a triplet, a preemie, a mellower personality, getting "lost" in a family of 4 kids. He feels there is something "biological" with her.

The result from our appointment is that she has an MRI and blood test for chromosomal disorders this Friday and I feel a little sick about it.

My feelings aren't because I care if Lizzy's "bar" may be set lower than her siblings (I don't care). It isn't that I won't go all crazy-mama-bear about getting her as much help as necessary (because I will). It isn't that we will most likely be in limbo for a few years until we know what really might be going on with her. It is that I am sad for her. No mom rejoices that her child may struggle with something they can not help having their entire life. There is enough junk we have to go through without any added help. Heartache.

But (and there is always a but), I have hope. Hope that nothing of consequence will show up on her MRI. Hope that there are no chromosomal disorders shown on her blood test. Hope that the scary words "autism spectrum disorder" will not be used in finality. Hope that she really is "just Lizzy" and will always do her own thing on her own time and all we need to do is get her the extra help she needs to set her bar a little higher.

I have this Hope because God created Lizzy beautifully in his image and especially for us. I have this Hope because I believe we are here for a purpose and not to just take up space. She is here and ours for a reason and it is for something wonderful.

The choir at our church did a rendition of the hymn "It is Well With My Soul" the Sunday after our neurology appointment and it is not only appropriate but it is my all-time favorite. I tried to find something on youtube to post, but all the renditions were stereotypically obnoxiously christian and were annoying to me. It doesn't matter, though, because it's really the first stanza that I love the most and aptly describes how I'm feeling:

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.



It is well.