Snow Days

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

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

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...

...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

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

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

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.