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.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Fellow Parents, I Apologize
"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.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The Monkey House
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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!
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?!?!?
This week will be better, right? Right?!?!?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Put It In The Toilet!!!
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.
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.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
For My Children
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.
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.
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