Sometimes I'm Forced To Reflect. Not Sure I Like It.

Three babies were baptized this morning at our church, which means the odds of one of them crying were pretty good. One of them did and of course no one minded because it's such a wonderful thing to watch (we're water sprinklers, by the way, no dunking or pouring). It's wonderful to say "amen" when the congregation is asked to help raise these children.

Anyway, one of the babies did not enjoy the water part and, before the morning prayer which happened immediately after the baptism, one of our pastors commented and his words made me think. I don't especially like that; it's much simpler to breezily float through life. This is gist of what he said and apologies to Ben for the attempt (can't find the paper I wrote his words on).

We are like these infants here. They have no idea what just happened, just that water was just put on their heads for apparently no reason. Sometimes it is a thunderstorm and sometimes it is a sprinkle and sometimes we cry because we don't see the blessing that is in it.

I need to see the rainy blessing more often. The days are rare when I don't feel some sprinkling of water and there are a lot of thunderstorms, and my knee-jerk reaction is usually irritability. An example: Lizzy has a huge melon. Her pediatrician wanted to rule out anything (especially since her gross motor skills are behind the others), so we had an ultrasound on her head done a couple months ago. Several frustrating/rainy things happened:
1. It is not easy to find babysitting for 3 other kids during the day
2. The visit was, of course, during naptime = crabby child.
3. They were almost an hour behind schedule and they brought us back at the time I had told my sitter I would be home.
4. Lizzy screamed the entire time.
5. We were now VERY late to a birthday party for one of Ainsley's friends who did not live close by (we ended up being there for maybe 45 minutes and she loves, loves, loves going over there. It was not easy to leave.). I was on my second round of babysitting because I couldn't bring the crumbgobblers to a birthday party.

Everything was normal. The kid just has a big head and we hope she will grow into it someday.

So I was driving home, complaining to myself and God about what a waste of time it was, why did we have to go through a crappy day, why was it raining and cold, waah, waah, waah. Rain, rain, rain on my head. Then a brick smacked me broadside. I stopped. I felt sick because I realized I was whining about how my kid, my preemie, my sweet Lizzy (the biter), is healthy. All my kids are healthy. As far as we know, we're 4 for 4 and are crazy blessed (that word is so overused; I'm almost embarrassed to use it.). I had the audacity to be angry and I felt ill and ashamed because of it.

Solo deo gloria. Forever and ever.

Christmas Pics

Since it would have been a Sisyphean effort to get the crumbgobblers + Ainsley in one picture, we didn't even try. There's already too much self-inflicted frustration during the holidays and we weren't about to add more, at least not without several happy beverages. We did attempt individual pics though, and some turned out rather well. Too bad we can't photo shop everyone in together...maybe next year.

Ainsley

IV

Lizzy

Gracie

Merry Christmas!

Real Men Wear Princess Jewelry

You know your husband is one when he, with no coercion, agreed to play "Pretty, Pretty Princess" with Ainsley and me tonight. I did have to explain the rules a few times, though. It must have been too far into Girl-Land for his brain to compute. I wish I had a picture, but you will have to trust that he looked gorgeous in his necklace, earrings, ring, bracelet, and bejeweled crown. He did get to be the blue princess, therefore retaining an eensy-weensy bit of his masculinity.

Thank you, War Eagle Family, for the kids' presents. You are too generous with us.

Christmas Tree Solution/s

Remember our quandary? Success was achieved in two phases:

Phase One: Laird Circus style (makeshift)
Phase Two: What normal family whose young'uns are too small and numerous to police (and this one was suggested by an old friend).

The First Impenetrable Fortress (only because they couldn't figure it out - encouraging because it means we can still out-fox them).



The Second and More Aesthetic Line of Defense (I'm a little disappointed. Lizzy and IV only go up and give the cage and occasional shake. I thought for sure someone would climb it.)

You Know It's Time To...

...get rid of the exersaucer/bouncer thingy when you find your son doing this:



And then not two minutes later:


It was hard to loan it out. The little guy was so happy using it as some sort of newfangled gymnastics apparatus. Visions of ER visits successfully influenced our decision.

How 13 Month Olds Play Peek-A-Boo

It took us a bit to figure out what the girls were doing. We thought Lizzy was just tired or sad (sometimes she would even rest her head on her tray) and who knows about Gracie. The kid rarely covers her eyes during the game. If you're wondering about IV, he doesn't play. No worries, Ainsley was too cool for peek-a-boo, too.

Miss Lizzy. She would just randomly do this while they were eating...such a goofball.

Gracie. You can understand why it took a few days. It wasn't until she started flinging out her arms and occasionally getting one hand over an eye that we understood. Crazy girl.

A Helpful Hint

Please do not ask a parent of triplets if they:
a. used fertility
b. did in-vitro
c. had "help" (one of my favorites)
d. used medicine (what???)
e. did this "naturally" (another favorite)
f. were "surprised" (a back-door way to ask if fertility treatments were used)
g. there are more but I think the point has been made

I do not hide the fact that John and I did fertility treatments and I also do not mind if people automatically assume such. It just is not polite to ask. It requires me to provide a nice response to an invasive question, which goes against my horrible nature. It makes me want to ask about your sex life and your reproductive system so that you understand how incredibly rude you just were, even if you did not mean it and are just curious. It is okay to wonder if something as bizarre as triplets happened spontaneously (I do, too, when I see a set). It is not okay to open your mouth and have said wonder spew forth.

I would write more but then I would start sounding defensive and petty.

Deep breath...

Why Do Kids Notice This Stuff?

Warning - this post is highly uninteresting to anyone who:
a. does not know us personally
b. is not from our town
c. and...well...it just isn't that neat.

We live in an older part of our city. It was once a bedroom community and possesses all the stereotypes of such: huge trees, century homes mixed with cozy cottage houses and everyone LOVES LOVES LOVES to live here. They are know to be a bit kooky about it at times (no offense to SuperBabysitter or Joan - you know we are now brainwashed and will never move off our street). No one ever leaves and it seems (with the exception of us because we're newcomers) everyone either: went to your high school, dated your first, second, or third cousin, went to high school with your grandma/aunt/uncle/cousin, etc, etc. If you are forced to move away, your heart aches to get back and you do as soon as possible. There are always exceptions. It has been rumored that "some people" have left and actually enjoy living somewhere else.

Anywho, the majority of the homes have detached garages, so Ainsley thinks it is normal to have to unload groceries in the pouring rain and track lots of dirt into the house. The other day we were driving to my parents' house which is in a newer part of town (newer is relative - their home is nearly 40 years old) when all of a sudden she said:

"Why are all the garages out here attached to the houses??? That's silly! That doesn't make any sense!!! Why do they do that??"

I mean, heaven forbid. Someday she'll understand that we're the wierdos and we all secretly covet attached garages.

End Of An Era

For the last few months, the crumbgobblers were sucking dry 3x8 oz bottles/day. Every last drop is ingested and then I get all sorts of attitude when I refuse to give them more. The amount of formula we were plowing through was psycho. Gracie and Lizzy are officially on %100 milk now, however, and a couple nights ago we retired our mixin' pitcher we have used for 10 months. From the beginning, we felt it was easier to make all the formula at night and put bottles together so we could just grab out of the fridge (or "freeridgerator" as Ainsley would say).

I thought I'd add a photo of the whisk and pitcher we no longer need. At our peak, we were going through 3 1/2 cups dry formula per day (the water line is the black line at the top). It's a little crazy to think about and I hope I never, ever have to make that amount of formula at one time again.

Belated Thanksgiving Post

I wanted to do one of these before the holiday and did not because I wasn't able to clearly articulate my thoughts. You see, a lot about Thanksgiving as a national holiday is annoying to me. Those of you in my close circle of friends already know that many things annoy me (John - I know you used my fountain pen to write out a BAGEL list of all things the other night. Don't laugh, honey. It isn't funny. At least write some terrible haiku or something.) and, for some reason, Thanksgiving has been added to the list.

I am already aware this is not going to come across very well and I am going to look like a curmudgeon, but so be it. Those of you who know me well will thankfully just chalk it up as my general ridiculousness.* and **

Thanksgiving is personally frustrating because my conscience should not have to be seared by the federal government to be thankful for what I have whilst gorging on food. The cliche' Thanksgiving statements "I'm so thankful for my family, my friends, my health, blah, blah, blah" drive me insane. They make me feel more shallow than I already am. What I should be saying, not only to myself but to everyone around me, is that I am thankful I have been saved from myself. I am thankful someone like John decided to marry me in spite of my selfish and prideful nature. I am thankful that my sometimes wierdo family (not the kidlets or John) isn't as messed up as other people's wierdo families and we realize we are forever connected regardless of how much we send each other to the brink. I am thankful I am literally surrounded by friends who love me, my husband, and my kids so deeply they don't mind putting up with our shenanigans. I am thankful I was not born into poverty or abuse. I am thankful I have led a sheltered life full of privilege. I am thankful God loves me and my family and my friends even though we are all a mess.

Good grief. I need to chill out and just consider the holiday a fun vacation day with the fam.

That's the scoop and the post still is unsatisfactory for some reason. Happy Belated Thanksgiving!

*This is NOT meant to be a commentary on you. You all live and think more deeply than I.
**I still like all the stuff about the Pilgrims. Regardless of what the Revisionist Historians say about the feast, I'm still impressed of their bravery of abandoning everything they knew and going to a new world. Pretty amazing.

What The Heck??

I can only presume this is a bite mark. Lizzy, you need to either knock it off or start allowing me to catch you in the act. This is ridiculous, you sweet little ol' thing.

Feelin' Like A Grown-up

John and I went to a Christmas party last night! We were social! We laughed! We felt like talking to people we didn't know! It was wonderful. Thank you, Rachael and Frenchie for hosting a load of people. I confidently speak for everyone that it was awesome and necessary.



The picture is really only meant as a visual reference of our hosts. We have had the great fortune to vacation with them a few times, one of which when Rachael and I were pregnant with our first kidlets. We're slightly more svelte now. At least she is. :)

One of may favorite pics of Ainsley

in pink from head-to-toe, of course

Made My Day!

I am short. When I wake up, feelin' tall and stretched out, I am almost 5'1". By the end of the day I'm probably an even 5'. I can not count how many times I've had to ask for help at the grocery/target/whatnot to reach something on a shelf. I can not count how many times I have CLIMBED the shelves because there was no one to assist.

Today, however, was different. Today I was tall. Today I was an Amazon (sans rock-hard abs...sigh). Today I was a long, cool, drink of water. Today was AWESOME!!!

I was in the soup aisle at the grocery because the crumbgobblers inhale entire cans of Curly Chicken Noodle and we were out. Standing near me was a REALLY short lady. Call me a liar if she was over 4'9". And you know what happened?? SHE asked ME if I would kindly reach a can of Campbell's Beef Barley soup for her. "Oh! Of course!" I practically shouted at her in my mega-excitement. (In my mind I was yelling "OH MY GOSH! I CAN'T BELIEVE SOMEONE ASKED ME TO GET SOMETHING HIGH OFF A SHELF!!! AAAGGGHHHH! OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH!!!") I was so beside myself I couldn't even find the freaking soup, even though they are displayed alphabetically (as you know).

There has been an extra skip-de-do in my step today and my heart even beat a wee bit faster as I was writing this.

Holiday Logistics

How are we going to keep the crumbgobblers out of the Christmas tree???

Daily Scenario (in my head):
1. Lizzy will try to eat it because she eats everything.
2. IV will attack it and try to climb it because that is what he does.
3. Gracie will stand there in wonderment then take every ornament off and run (crawl) away with it clutched in her chubby little hands.
4. Ainsley will tattle all_day_long.

Suggestions, helpful or otherwise, are welcome.

Happy Birthday Baby!!!

1. Sorry some of the kids were sick.
2. Sorry lunch/dinner wasn't fabulous (but breakfast was okay, right?)
3. Sorry your gift didn't arrive (not sure when it will).
4. Sorry we didn't get to go out two nights ago for your surprise (see #1).
5. Sorry it was a wee bit more psycho than usual in the 4:30-7:00 hour.

However...

1. Wasn't it fun to go to the Farmer's Market and play hide-n-seek w/AC in the Christmas Tree "Forest"?
2. Wasn't it fun to see AC get 100% fired up about your cake? And giving you balloons? And making sure you sat in the correct chair with your balloons?
3. Wasn't it fun to watch the Big Three taunt each other with my cell phone?
4. Wasn't it fun to follow AC's 4-year-old logic about the Christmas elf?
5. Wasn't it fun to have a day full of the chaos of our big, crazy family?

It was a good day.

I love you, birthday boy!

Reality Check

I get a lot of these in my life and, believe it or not, I actually pray for them because I know my heart and all the pride, envy, and lack of thankfulness it holds. There's a blog I visit regularly (Multiple Baby Pileup), mostly because the writer is another triplet mom whose babies were born shortly before mine. There is a big difference, however, in that only two of her children survived. The third, sweet little Jack, died a few months later of a rare congenital disease called Mobius Syndrome.

We share similar stories until then, our age range, infertility, triplets, and a GGB pregnancy (that's Girl Girl Boy for the singleton parents) that held on for a long time. All of that ends, though, with the loss of her baby. Only she didn't "lose" him. I hate that "loss" business when we talk about death. Anyway, her grief is eloquently and honestly written and helps keep me in check when I take my 4 healthy children for granted.

I was complaining today because Lizzy is sick and we're making the 5th doctor's visit in 2 weeks. We are frequent fliers there and are recognized by the staff. We deserve our own waiting room. Because of my complaining to my husband, myself, and inadvertently to God, I checked on this mom's blog and was brought to tears and confessional prayer by her entry.

A Late Halloween Pic...

We only had a couple acceptable pictures from Halloween and this is the only one with the Big Three dressed up (together). Helping me hold are the Fabulous Fooz and Dord...notice that IV has a bib on and everyone is sans footwear? We are one class act.

Oh - and I am dressed as a princess (per AC's request). I had one Goofy look at me like I was nutso (and she didn't even know me yet) and archly comment "You must really like Halloween". My reply (said sweetly with a smile - really) was: "My 4-year-old wanted me to dress up and what sort of mother would I be to refuse something fun like that? And yes, I do like Halloween". I mean, honestly.

So Humbled

John and I bond over a couple of our/my t.v. shows most evenings while we're waiting for the dishwasher to finish (so tomorrow's bottles can be made). We were watching House Hunters last night and I was struck by how fortunate I am with what God has given us. You see, this couple had triplets and were needing more space than their current 1,100 square feet. They didn't even have room for a dining room table because there was NO dining room. Their kitchen was so small they didn't have a dishwasher, which is psycho. At one point in the crumbgobblers early months, we were making 27 bottles/day. Can you imagine washing 27 bottles by hand? Every freaking day? Plus your regular stuff?? Good Golly.

Anyway, they were looking for new houses and the one they bought was a whopping 1,800 square foot tri-level (= no storage space/basement). The 3 bedrooms are lilliputian. There is no way > 2 people could fit in the bathrooms. But there was a dishwasher in the tiny kitchen. And one would have thought they had bought a mansion.

I am such a jerk. Now, don't misunderstand that I think my house is too small. It was, but isn't after we put on the addition. With three bedrooms, though, we often voice how great it would be if we had 4 because the three girls will be sharing through those already-turbulent teen years. It's more that I take what we do have for granted.

There's nothing like a big piece of humble pie to satisfy one's hunger.

One Year Update

I'm nearly one month late on this, but still feel the documentation is necessary. Oh, and please ignore the snotty noses in the pics.




IV:
Unless you are hungry or see your Dad or Fooz, you are our smiley boy. Heaven forbid, though, if John or the Fabulous Fooz hold someone else because Jealousy is not cute. You are freakishly strong and flexible, requiring me to hold you down with crazy wrestling moves while changing your diaper or dressing you. You are the best at going boneless and turning into spaghetti when you're being carried off to an undesirable location. We're getting tired of the spitting-up and can't wait until we can let you on the furniture. I love your big, brown eyes and your bigger smile. You wish you could be held 24/7. You don't know a stranger. Sometimes when you're quiet I can tell what sort of person you'll be when you grow up and I know you will be kind.

Here are the things you find hilarious:

• the word "No"
• climbing into baskets of clean laundry (then spitting up in it - ewww)
• dropping food (peas, specifically) off the side of your booster chair)
• pulling your sisters' hair
• tackling your sisters and laying on top of them
• your Dad
• escaping through an accidentally-left-open gate
• crawling around nekkid (as all boys do)
• playing in your spit-up (again - ewww)
• books
  

Here are things you do NOT find hilarious:

• perceived hunger
• real hunger
  
• when your bottle is finished
• when your Dad or Fooz go away (Lawd help those of us left with you!)
  
• when Gracie steals your toys.
  
  
  

Lil' Lou-Lou (EL):
Even though you still like to bite, you're our sweetie. I worry about you sometimes because you are always way behind on your gross motor skills, but you spank the others with your fine motors. I need to let it go. You're an observer and, unless something is really wrong (hurt, hungry), you are content playing by yourself. You laugh easily and appreciate any attention you can get (because the other two tend to require more). You are mellow like jello and I am so thankful for that because I need it. You were the first to clap, play peek-a-boo, eat finger foods, and figure out a sippy cup. I love to hold you because you appreciate it so much and snuggle up.

What you love:

• books
• putting everything in your mouth - you even like to eat sand
  
• playing with AC's baby-dolls (when she isn't around, shh...)
• being tossed in the air
• being spun around
• hanging upside down (you are our surprise dare-devil)
• swimming, bath-time, anything with water
• talking to your brother when you guys wake up from naps
• hurling yourself into a pile of pillows and comforters
• going for walks (you clap and squeal most of the time)
  

What you do NOT love:

• when MG and IV steal your toys and they always do
• being given food you don't like - you really flip out
• having your bow ripped out of your hair by your siblings (which is why you don't wear one often)
• sharing my lap with a sibling (you push them off)
• people you do not know
  
  
  
  
  

MG:
Oh, MG. You crack us up all the time, even when you are being 100% naughty. I wish I could capture your facial expressions because they are indescribable. You give the appearance of independence and boldness because of your huge personality, but you're really a mama's girl and aren't very brave. You already exhibit dramatic tendencies with your crocodile tears and temper tantrums. It only takes one or two tries for you to figure something out and your sharp mind will rival your older sister's. You two will be either the very best of friends or absolutely not because you are so much alike. You are exponential in every way and we love you for it.

What you enjoy:

• stealing your siblings' toys
• performing
• chasing down your brother
• doing whatever your brother is doing
• books
• exploring
• sleeping in a pack-n-play
• your lovie

What you do NOT enjoy:

• getting dressed
• being told "no" (oh, how you "cry")
• when, heaven forbid, someone actually takes YOUR toy (D_R_A_M_A)
• when I leave the room and you notice
• having to wait for your food
• the vacuum cleaner
• some people, randomly chosen
• this list could go forever because you can be just so ridiculous, little munchie!

It's been a crazy, mixed-up year, my little crumbgobblers. On nights like tonight, when John and AC are out and you three are grade-A wigging, I think I just may lose my mind. But then, when I've calmed you down and I have all three of you snuggled in my lap, it's heaven.

When people ask me "Who gave you all those kids??", I always answer "God" and keep walking because He did. I still don't know why I've been given the opportunity to love you and take care of you, but I'm excited to find out. It's hard because sometimes I want you to stay my little wee ones and let me carry you around forever and ever, but I also can't wait to see what you're like when you grow up. I think those are normal thoughts for moms, though.

Happy 1st Birthday, sweet babies. Your dad and I desperately love you.

Buzzkill

For about 3 minutes, I actually thought today was Friday. It is not. Le Sigh...

AC Is A Classic 4-year-old

I took the kids to Target yesterday. Oh, how I heart Target - wide aisles so the cart monkeys (someone else's term, not mine) can't tear things off the shelves, nice and bright, rational lay-out. Everything is in order, just how I like it.

Well, we were loading up outside and AC was in the big part of the cart as I put two others in their stroller. All of a sudden, she yells and points "Mom! Look at that guy!". I turn around to see a mid-20's man, , 6 feet from us so you know he heard, dressed in a black skeleton t-shirt, lots of piercings, etc. (but as clean-cut as he could be for the stereotype you may be imagining...he looked nice-ish). Fortunately he was laughing and I started laughing, too. "Yeah, look at that guy!" was my response. I mean, what was I going to say? I'm just thankful he was a good sport and I'm still laughing about it. Hmm...probably need to expose her more to people outside our mostly homogeneous bubble.

This is not uncommon for her. She has a special fascination with bald people "Where's his/her hair?" (not quietly, of course). I have an acquaintance who is divorced which has her flummoxed "why doesn't your husband mow the lawn?". The list goes on.

She doesn't get fazed by wheelchairs, though, and I think it's because my dad is in one. It's normal for her to ride around with him and she doesn't seem to notice if she sees another.

I'm actually thankful she isn't quiet about these things or isn't a starer and I never try to hush her up because they are normal questions for a child. She needs to learn that there are normal answers for these normal people. That everyone just looks different and that's how God made us. When she starts doing the "why, why, why", she always accepts the position that the world would be less interesting if everyone looked the same, and we should be excited about it.

On A Bright Note

After the complaining in my previous post (it was just a bad day - most aren't like that), I feel I should share a couple of the bright moments:

1. I had all 4 at the grocery, which honestly isn't that bad. They like to go. Anyway, IV and MG are sitting together in the cart, facing me, cuddling. I wish I had a camera, b/c he had his arm around her and she just leaned in on him most of the time. It was insanely cute until he decided he wanted to eat her head, but for 5 minutes I had visions of them when they're older, just hanging out together.

2. After one of the most horrific mornings in recent history for AC, she was a dream the rest of the day and shockingly loving towards the trips. She built a fort for them (which EL tried to eat, of course) and had all sorts of toys, books, and pillows in there. They loved it and destroyed it and she didn't care. It gives me hope.

Those moments get me through the day and remind me of how thankful I should be to have such a big, healthy family.

Mondays Are Stinky...

...on so many levels. Mondays are NEVER good and if I could pay to have a nanny I think I'd only need her that day of the week. It's stereotypical "mom"- something that drives me a little crazy.

These are the reasons today was Grade-A Stinkarific:

1. 11 nasty diapers were changed today. Sick. I feel so sorry for our trashguys.
2. IV had to change his clothes 2x b/c of spit-up. I had to change once - top and bottom. Before I could, though, I had to put all 3 to bed and it's nasty to walk around with your cold, wet clothes sticking to you.
3. All 3 of the wee ones spit up a few times today on themselves (and me). I know it was planned.
3. I'm pretty sure AC sat in her bed most of the morning until she figured out how to be pleasant (and we had friends over - what little amount of pride I had is gone).
4. MG decided to be clingy today and flipped out if I wasn't in view. (baby freak-out = big sister freak-out...big sister freak-out = IV freak-out...etc. etc.)
5. Nearly bedtime, kidlets decide they need their bottles RIGHT NOW, and AC starts doing the tee-tee dance and races into the bathroom, Of COURSE she needs help. I comply to keep someone in the family happy, all the time trying to keep EL from licking everything in the bathroom. I slam my finger in the door on the way out.
6. Sprinkled here and there are several of these delicious moments: stepping in spit-up, stepping in carrots and green beans missed during meal clean-up, IV following me around clinging to my legs and I can't peel him off b/c I'm holding MG, the crumbgobblers SERIOUSLY FIGHTING over books (not sure how to handle this one - it's like keeping 3 monkeys away from 1 banana), blah, blah, blah.

There's much more, but it's tucked in my denial file. No worries. It will all come spilling out in the therapy I imagine I'll need in a few years.

Adios, Baby Jail!

Baby Jail has been getting on my nerves the past few weeks. John disassembled the pokey today and, as with all things in Life, there are positives and negatives:

Yay! Household traffic flow is now splendidly smooth. I don't have to take the scenic route to get to the changing table whilst carrying 2 crumbgobblers.

Oh Man! I lost IV a couple times because he would wander away from the girls. Can't imagine why he wouldn't want to be with us...

Yay! MG is no longer standing on the edge of the landing, crying, because she doesn't want to crawl down the 2 stairs she just crawled up.

Oh Man! They are free. I don't know where they are.

Yay! They are free. And happier. This makes me happier = everyone in the family unit is happy.

I feel as though it's 1989 and the Berlin Wall has just come down.

Halloween With Circus Laird

I had a Plan. If everyone and everything complied with the Plan, the evening would not be psycho. Why, on earth, did I think this would happen????? Honestly. Someday I will learn I am not in control of anything.

The Plan was this: I would have all kidlets dressed, snacked, and ready to go visit the Fabulous Fooz (have I mentioned her yet??) at 4:30. We would stay until 5:00ish, then be home by 5:15. John would get off work, we would take some sickeningly cute pics, and I would feed the crumbgobblers while he started round 1 of trick-or-treating w/AC. John would then bring her home, we would put the trips to bed, and I would take AC to a few more houses since I had promised to go with her this year. Our Dalmatian (AC), 2 Ladybugs (MG and EL), and a Frog (IV) would have a great Halloween.

This is what really happened: John surprisingly got off work early, but it didn't matter. The kids didn't get in their costumes until 5:00, which meant the trio wasn't going to Fooz's house because they would want to eat and I just wasn't going to deal with the disaster of feeding them there. John took AC over, I shoved food into the three, and waited. And waited. And waited. They finally got home at 6:00ish, we dressed everyone, took mediocre-to-fair pics, and then I took the triplets over to Fooz's. In the meantime, AC's understandably fired up about going trick-or-treating so I called SuperBabysitter (yay!!!!), who came over to take Patch-the-Dalmatian to a couple houses. I get home, the three are freaking out, Patch is back and already hyped up on sugar, trick-or-treaters are lurking, and I'm throwing handfuls of candy at them. Two neighbors stop by and one is not-so-subtly trying to invite himself in to see our addition (he's talking to our contractor). I tell him 3x we're trying to get the crying kids to bed, that he can absolutely come back in 10 minutes, and he finally gives up. The trick-or-treaters are confused. Where we live, you see, kids have to tell a joke or sing a song or do SOMETHING to get a treat. It's the rules. Everyone adheres to them. Last year, SuperBabysitter's mom took candy back from a kid who told an off-color joke. It's serious business. So, the kids had no idea what to do when we had a bowl of candy sitting on the front porch, they could see us running around inside, and I'm trying to wave at them to just grab-n-go. They just stood there. I would end up opening the door, with a kid in an arm, grab a few thousand calories of kid-crack and throw them in their bags. I felt sort of bad b/c they were all prepared to tell their joke and I didn't give them a chance. I digress. We finally got the wee ones to bed (not as late as I thought) and I finally got to take AC out for the first time. Not so bad.

Next year I'll have a different Plan.

AC, before she wanted the nose wiped off and the eye patch got smeared.

Daylight Savings

I do not care for it.

AC's Tattoo Experience

Some friends stopped over a couple nights ago to just hang out. We wish we could spend more time with them, but we don't. We wish we knew them better, but don't. I wish I was as bold and trusting as they are, but I'm not. They're leaving in two months to plant a church in literally-the-other-side-of-the-world New Zealand and I'm in awe that they are willing to leave everything and everyone they know and love (and who love them back) because they have such a fierce love for the Lord.

Anyway, Travis has a bunch of tattoos. I had told AC they were coming over as I was putting her to bed and, of course, the 1oo bajillion questions started up. I'm not sure how we got around to "you know what?? Travis has a bunch of tattoos!" (why, oh why did I tell her that??). That, of course, led to many other questions about tattoos, one of which was "why did he do that?" and since I didn't know the answer I thought she should ask him herself. She was fascinated. She was transfixed. She liked the Phoenix one the best. I was thinking all sorts of extreme thoughts about my idiocy and about now she's going to want a tat (over my dead body) and my mind is racing to Miami Ink, and my sweet little girly-girl is going to turn into Kat and etc. etc.

As I was carrying her upstairs I attempted to assess the damage and asked her: a. did you like Travis's tattoos?? "mmm, some", b. do you think Daddy should get a tattoo?? "no. Daddy should NOT get a tattoo". Whew. I can work with that.

*It must be said that, at times, 25% of me desires to add body art. The thoughts are fleeting and usually occur when I'm having a rough time with something like: the abundance of gray hair I'm developing, being on the downside to 40 (egads!), or something else that causes me to be in an irrational, reactionary mode.

I Figured Out Something Computery!

I'm pretty much a dork when venturing into the technical world. It is still astounding to me that this blog exists because, in my perfect world, all of this would be written with a fountain pen, with careful penmanship, and on real paper. Fountain pens are my choice of writing utensil and I get more than mildly anxious when someone else uses mine. Anywho, since it is not a perfect world and I am one of the most non-perfectist people I know, here we are. I'm simply too lazy to write in a journal.

I've digressed enough. All of two people have tried to leave comments anonymously and could not. I didn't understand because I've left anonymous comments on other people's blogs, so why couldn't they? Then, tonight, my husband said he had tried to leave a comment (even though he knows the password and everything) and he is one of the smartest techie people I know. Then, tonight, I remembered there are things called "settings" that everyone else in the world is aware of but me.

The settings have confidently been changed on my comment part...place where I can do that and now, my two friends (and husband) would would like to leave comments can do just that.

One Year Ago...

One year ago, I would have told you this day would come too quickly. The first year with AC flew by and I assumed it would with the wee ones, too. It did not.

One year ago, I thought I would only desire friends to stop in and help for a couple months and then I/we would be able to handle it. I could not and my friends rose to the occasion.

One year ago, I felt isolated and imprisoned in my home and thought it would never end (as an outdoor person - this was debilitating). After 6 months or so, the incarceration ended and we were free.

One year ago, I was wigging out and tired and didn't have an angstrom of knowledge of what I was doing. I'm still constantly improvising, but am not freaked out. There isn't time for such nonsense.*

One year ago, I had ridiculous crazy-person thoughts that there was no way I could love another child/ren as much as I love AC. I now know that was a ridiculous thought from a crazy-person.

One year ago, I had no idea how hard and frustrating and spiritually draining and easy and loving and perfectly wonderful life at Taigh Laird would be.

*Okay, I still wig sometimes...

So Cliche', But Necessary

I was up too late last night again, guestimating the damage:

Approximately 5,475 diapers (hello, Mr. Landfill and apologies to my great-grandchildren)
*this includes the 9 days when we tried cloth diapers, which pushed me close to the edge*

~31,500 oz of formula/pumped milk (or 246 gallons)

1,095 loads of laundry

547 loads of dishes

Read: 2 books (this is reprehensible)

Living in a house of chaos with a great husband and 4 crazy, healthy kids...priceless.

Breaking My Heart

AC attends preschool 2 days/week. It isn't the most fabulous program, but it is affordable, the teachers are sweet (albeit unimaginative), and it's less than 1 mile from our house. Ideal, right? Negatory. For the last 3 weeks she has been sobbing and begging to stay home.

AC: "I want to stay home with you." Sobbing.
Me: "I'm sure you do, but school is fun and your best friend goes there and"
AC: "School is boring. I don't have fun. I want to stay here with you and the babies." More sobbing. The fact that they drive her crazy must have been momentarily forgotten.

Now, what she said is probably true. Outside of music and a couple projects we've done, the curriculum is dull for her. She knows her colors, numbers, alphabet, shapes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I don't feel she's exceptional in this regard, but the main reason I have her in preschool is for social stuff. AC would prefer to hang out with one or two friends. The class ratio of boys to girls is 8:4. The boys have a wonderful time. The girls do not. Every time we walk in it's...well, it's stereotypically boyish: loud, lots of racing around, blah, blah, blah.

Today she just stood there, tears welling in her eyes, looking at me and saying "mommy".

Breaking my heart.

Happy Birthday!!!

I'd do a better post if I wasn't so tired...at least here's a picture of all of us. It's actually the only one we have of JUST us - how utterly pathetic is that??? Anyway, I like it because our friends' dog, Ellington, attended the party and decided she wanted to join the fun.

WHY????

Can't I get the words and pictures to look okay??!??!?! I go into HTML and change it and it turns out differently every_single_time! sheesh.

So Grody

MG doesn't use a formal pacifier (actually none of them do, in spite of dozens of attempts to shove those things in their mouths). She does, however, have this lovie she sucks on when she's sleeping. I don't know why and it's pretty gross. I usually don't let her have it out of her bed, but I needed to document this habit and she was THRILLED to have her bunny outside of nap/bedtime. My normally oh-so-cute daughter with the big blue eyes and dimples had this thing in her mouth until I managed to tear it away from her.

She actually has three of these, which I rotate in whenever one needs cleaning (every couple days). They are so nasty and I hope she doesn't contract some random freaky disease, even though they are washed so frequently.

2 Pics: 1 is how she usually has it and the second one demonstrates how brown the paws are. It's sickening.





Just had to share and if anyone you know has a trip to Canada sometime in the future, contact me immediately. I will pay handsomely for someone to go to Babies-R-Us up in the Frozen North to pick a couple extra of these freaking bunnies because OF COURSE THEY ARE ONLY SOLD UP THERE. for crying out loud

The Classic Triplet Pose

I think every triplet mama has this shot. Perhaps their kids aren't racing around in classy diapers, though...I especially like IV's belly (he's on the left) hanging over it. Beautiful.

UGH!!!!

I'm annoyed because:

Every_single_morning, IV and EL decide they prefer to nap only 45 minutes. Time lost is definitely NOT made up during afternoon siesta. They're up there squawking right now and it doesn't matter how long I let them do it - they don't go back to sleep. I wish I could separate them, but there isn't an inch of extra space in the house.

Not sure what to do and suggestions are welcome...

*This is not helping my potty mouth issue*

Potty Mouth

I need to get rid of mine. It's getting out of control. Several years ago I had completely beaten this vice. Someone could have gotten in my grill, said horrible things to me and afterward I would have said something like "well, he was sort of a jerk". I could have dropped an anvil on my little toe and would have said "by golly, oh wow, that hurts!!". Now...well, now that is absolutely NOT what I would say.

Rachael, KJ, Bean, keep me accountable for this.

Today

Today was not a good day. John told me I was going to need a beer after the three went to bed. I told John I needed the Happy Mommy Trifecta: a run, a beer, out for ice cream.

I didn't get the run in because it was dark by 7:30 and I am a freak-scardey-cat. The beer and ice cream did happen, though (thank you, Joan, friend o'mine and mom of SuperBabysitter!), and I am slowly recovering.

Babyjail

I had all of one person ask what Babyjail was, so here goes. In order for me to sort of have an idea of where the crumbgobblers are, we've created two zones on the first floor of our house. Zone 1 is our front room and there are two access points: a wide entry to the dining room and a second, narrower one with two steps that lead to a landing. It is perfect to play on and fall off of onto the hardwood on the other side. With AC, this wasn't that big of a deal because we taught her in an hour or so how to not go down the steps face-first and bust-up her melon. Additionally, I was with her all the time. This is obviously not possible with the three wee ones and I'm not in the mood right now to deal with them falling down on top of each other in a tangled mess of appendages, vertebrae, and noggins. They do that enough at ground level.

Anyway, we HAD two gates set up: one massive one across the wider entry and a normal one across the stairs. The stairs one was ripped off the walls by the wee ones so we have resorted to a tall barricade of whatever is on hand. They haven't climbed over it yet, but they try to wedge themselves in-between which always results in a head getting stuck and requiring extrication.

View from outside Babyjail. Usually the three youngest are all standing there, shaking the thing and crying. Today AC and John are there for moral support.

Barricade to the Stairs (from inside Baby Jail). Classy.

We're Grown-Ups

We've had a gravel driveway for 10 years and are finally pouring concrete. Hooray! The kids are fascinated with the Bobcat and the guys working on it, which means I'm happy because they stand in front of the windows for 10-15 minutes, staring.

Actually, the only reason I care is because I want a place for the kidlets to play all sorts of games: pickleball, 4-square, badminton, outdoor scooters (the kind you sit on), hockey...P.E. joy!!! I told John all I'm asking for Christmas the next few years is P.E. equipment. Another bonus is that the crumbgobblers won't be eating rocks anymore.

I'm so fired up.

There Are Witnesses

EL - you are officially a biter. Your dad saw you grab hold of MG's chubby little hand when she pushed you out of the way and set your chompers to her. I'm not sure what to do with you and I understand that, since IV and MG are ruthless toy thieves and you aren't as strong and don't move as quickly, you don't have many means of defending yourself. HOWEVER, you bit me yesterday in the shoulder and it hurt. Then, when I corrected you I received that sweet ol' smile you dole out so easily and I was pretty frosted.

So not cool, Lil' Lou-Lou.

4 Sick Kids

It's 9:00 a.m. and I'm on my third cup of coffee, the kidlets don't want to take their morning nap, and John has AC at Urgent Care. The Urgent Care part sounds more dramatic than it really is; the copay is only $25 and it's faster and cheaper than dealing with the weekend exchange at her pediatrician's office (no offense, Liz, if you're reading this). We so heart Urgent Care.

Just Driving And Talking With AC

I always wonder if AC actually listens to the important things I say and, if she does, what does it mean to her? I try to be clear, but who really knows how a 4-year-old interprets my words?

AC constantly talks and asks questions. Sometimes it's frustrating because you know she's doing it just to hear her head rattle, but mostly it makes my little world more interesting. Today, during our 40 minute drive to an utterly useless triplet resale sponsored by our local group, the conversation turned to what she was going to teach the crumbgobblers as she and they get older.

For example:
AC: "How old will the babies be when I'm 6?"
Me: "3"
AC: "What am I going to teach them when they're 3 and I'm 6?"
Me: "You'll teach them how to read, their numbers and how to count, how to ride a bike, how to use scissors..."
AC: "Okay, how old will the babies be when I'm 8?"

This continued on and on until she reached age 10, where she declared she would be old enough to walk to school by herself (everyone in our district walks if you live within one mile). I'm still trying to figure out how she segued into walking to school, but she's four and that means she doesn't need one.

Me: "No, you won't. You'll never walk to school by yourself."
AC: "What?? Why??!! Who will walk to school with me??"
Me: "You'll have your siblings. You will always walk to school together and take care of each other. That's what brothers and sisters do. They watch out for and take care of each other."

Silence.

More silence. I'm thinking she's annoyed,but...

AC: "Well, then. You'll have to pack some Band-Aids in my backpack because if one of the babies falls I'm going to have to take care of them and cover their cut. You'll have to put in everything I will need - a cold wash cloth, Band-Aids, something to wash their cuts with...you'll have to put it all together..."

She trailed off in her own reverie and I was happy. I should have skipped the ridiculous sale and gone to a park to play and have more 4-year-old conversations. I hope she never stops talking and asking questions.

Sorry

I haven't posted in a couple days because I'm a total idiot. I had one, all pretty and wonderfully written and somehow I managed to delete it. It hacked me off, especially since I know I can't possibly replicate it.

When Does The Grossness End??

We desperately love IV, but he is an infamous spitter-upper. Everyone has a story about how IV spit-up all over them and we're not talking about a teaspoon of stuff you delicately dab off his sweet little chin.

While his condition has steadily improved over the past 2 months, he still can indiscriminately, and without warning, blow chowder on you. These are maxi erps of spew which make a big "splat" sound when they hit our hardwood floors creating a puddle the size of a beach ball. When it hits you, say goodbye to that beautifully ironed shirt or blouse because you will need a change of clothes. There have been many occasions when our fearless helpers have left this house looking like they just finished playing paint ball. That's not what they signed up for!

The funny thing about his condition is that it doesn't bother IV in the least. It's like passing gas for him. He literally has no reaction when he does this. In fact, sometimes we find him sitting on the floor just after he has dropped off his lunch and what do we see? He (or sometime MG or EL) is just sitting there swirling the spew around with his hand like it is finger paint. They especially like to kick their legs back and forth in it and then crawl away, leaving a snail slime trail. The point is, for IV, it is a ho hum event. For us, it is "oh MAN! not again! where's a burp cloth?!?". Poor IV, his reputation is already set and we will never let him live this down.

11 Months!!

We're almost 1!!!

A Glimpse

6:40 - The trips are in babyjail, J gets his dinner (I just finished eating w/AC).
6:41 - I am in babyjail w/all 4 kidlets.
6:42 - MG starts to seriously flip out b/c IV is smashing her fingers in the cd player. Don't ask why it's on the floor and therefore accessible.
6:43 - Still consoling MG, have to call for J b/c IV is now playing w/a lamp cord.
6:43 - EL is fortunately oblivious to the chaos.
6:43 1/4 - IV pukes near the lamp we just removed him from.
6:43 1/2 - AC is starting to get annoyed MG is still being consoled and tells me "I think she wants to get down and crawl around". Right.
6:44 - Start the final diaper change (although never guaranteed to be final).
6:45 - IV is taken away from the fireplace.
6:46 - MG is taken away from the fireplace.
6:47 - AC attempts to build a barricade around something she doesn't want the trips to get. It is promptly taken down because she used OUR barricade for the stairs. Get your own, kid.
6:47 1/2 - Poor AC has to take her precious items and go to a baby-free zone to play. On the way she sweetly brings me the trips' bottles because I'm in babyjail.
6:50 - J and I attempt to wrestle the three bears into their jams
6:51 - EL comes to life and gives J all sorts of attitude.
6:52 - J has to stop dressing EL because IV is climbing over one of the barricades in an attempt to attain freedom and to pull a lamp on top of himself.
6:53 - EL is crawling around w/the legs of her jams trailing behind her.
6:53 - I'm giving MG her bottle
6:53 1/4 - I'm also giving EL her bottle and, in spite of my efforts, MG is kicking her in the head.
6:54 - IV is in hysterics because he does NOT want to put on jams and J has to employ the Figure 8 wrestling move to hold him down.
6:54 -Still giving the girls their respective bottles, but MG is bugging the tar out of EL, who finally gives up and decides to play with toys.
6:56 - IV's jams are on and he's getting his bottle, but if he could give J the finger...he would.
6:58 - A bright moment. MG shockingly gets jams on w/out a peep. J finished getting EL's jams on and gives her the rest of her bottle.
6:59 - I take MG to bed.
7:00 - J and I take EL and IV to bed.

7:01-8:00 - We spend quality time w/AC, who has been pretty patient for the last 20 minutes.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat tomorrow night.

There is Daylight...

Life is getting somewhat easier now that the crumbgobblers are approaching 1 year (although it still seems like it's been longer than that). The horribleness of the first 4 months and slightly less horribleness of the 5-7th months are still very real and I hope they'll fade away. I doubt it. They're branded on my brain. It was like I was a character in an awful horror story with no end in sight.

I was thinking about how psychotically tired I was those first few months and remembered a funny story that would help describe it: I was in church and it was a communion Sunday. I usually pray before I take the bread and the "wine" (grape juice for us and oh, how I wish we'd get a juice box or something - that teeny little cup just isn't enough). Well, I was so tired that when I closed my eyes to pray before I took the juice, I fell asleep. I was actually dreaming when, all of a sudden I felt this wet stuff running down my leg (No, I didn't urinate. That's gross.). The cup had spilled all down my leg, all over the pew, and onto the floor, startling me awake. I'm pretty sure "oh, s---" (again, with the cursing problem) popped out of my mouth, IN CHURCH, and I totally jumped. Then, of course, I started that silent shoulder laugh/shake that cannot be gotten rid of. Fortunately a friend was nearby and had tissues, so there I was, bending way over, cleaning up my legs and the floor which would now be assuredly sticky for the next service.

Oh well. Again, it's much better now.

Buddy, We're So Sorry

IV had developed a hint of a mullet so J took the clippers to him yesterday and this is the result. I'm a little sad for him and am thankful he isn't old enough to be embarrassed.



We're not quite sure what to do, but we did learn that clippers will not be used again on IV's melon.

Super Sleuth

So I was looking at MG's arm tonight because I had noticed a red mark on it. After a second glance, it dawned on me it was a bite mark. What?? The crumbgobblers are biting each other?!?!? WHAT!?!? This totally wierds me out - it's like they're animals or something. Are they cannibals?? Are they going to get kicked out of the nursery at church or preschool because they're eating other children? ugh.


Of course I got too fired up about it and spent too much time figuring out who chomped on MG. I initially blamed IV because he thinks it's HILARIOUS to tackle his sisters, pull their hair, and slobber all over their heads (so gross). He needs a brother and I can't believe that thought dared enter my head.



Anyway, here's the lousy pic of the bite:







And here's the original suspect - notice the shiner on his left cheek from a tumble down the stairs. Very nice.




Anyway, IV was reprieved because the biter had to have: three teeth up top with two on the bottom. I briefly went CSI and considered various positions MG's arm could have been in when the bite was delivered, but the set of two marks are from small teeth (bottom set) and two of the three marks are from big teeth (the top ones). IV only has two teeth upstairs and three down leaving only...





EL???!! My sweet EL?? She seems so incapable of such an act. I know she feels terrible.

A Visit From SuperBabysitter

AC's favoritist babysitter was in town from school a couple weekends ago and came over, of course. I thought I'd add a couple pics of M because, well, we miss her terribly and she deserves some press. We love you Ma-Ma!!

Had to include this one as an example of how awesome SuperBabysitter is; she let AC come over in her princess gown during prom pics. AC had been crazy fascinated that SuperBabysitter was going to a "ball" and just about died when she was invited over.

Hooray!!!

...for Bookclub!! My first one in a loonnnggg time is tonight and I am so fired up. Real conversation with friends about something other than kids is...is...treasured. Oh how I love the wee ones, but sometimes I need to remind myself that my brain is capable of other things besides singing nursery rhymes and keeping my little corner of the universe from falling apart.

So Freaking Annoying!!!!

I can't figure out how to put pics on the posts and make everything look pretty! I mean, look at the one for A's birthday party! It looks like total junk! Curses!!!!!!

Happy Birthday AC!

She turned 4 a couple days ago and sometimes I wish she was still 1. She grew up a lot this summer and it's definitely bittersweet.

Of course she had to wear her favorite dress-up outfit for the party, and even though there was all sorts of messy play she managed to keep it spotless.










We could not have pulled off the party without a LOT of help. A couple friends came over, cleaned, baked one of the two cakes, ran an errand for me, came back early to help some more, then stayed late to help clean up. They are the friends-I-can't-do-without and this small shin-dig would not have happened quite so smoothly if they hadn't stopped by. Thank you, Fooz and Aunt Joan!

We love you, sweet girl!!!

Crumbgobblers

I've been asked what a crumbgobbler is so here goes:

crumbgobbler - (n) a wee one who is still crawling. They tend to pick up everything on the floor (especially crumbs) and eat (gobble) it up.

First Day of School

Okay, it's preschool but it still means AC is growing up and I'm pretty sure I don't like it. There was the classic happy/sad moment because while it was so great she ran into the room w/out a glance back, it was not so great she ran into the room w/out a glance back. I personally don't think it's educationally necessary for a 3-year-old to attend preschool (seriously - they have too many years of schooling ahead of them) but know she needs the social time. She also needs to be away from the crumbgobblers because they've been driving her completely insane lately. I don't blame her.

I can't think of an interesting title for this post...

I was driving somewhere today (I actually can't remember where right now - how pathetic) and had a hopeful glimpse of what the future will look like for Chez Laird: the local high school girls' cross country team was on a training run and it was a short stride to envision one (or all 4 - dare I dream?) of my kidlets joyfully bounding along with teammates every day after school.


The high school our kids will attend has a great cc tradition and, while I know I can't make any of the crumbgobblers run, I have hope that one of them will. Please, oh, please. There's something magical about watching 100+ athletes, toes on the start line, anxiously waiting for the gun. It's silent. The trees are changing colors. The temperature is in that perfect range that allows for a long-sleeved t-shirt and shorts. Sometimes it's raining and that's even better.

Anyway, I was driving and saw the 30+ members of the girls' team, all chatting to each other on their 5-mile run, having the best time together, and I hope someone else in my family gets to experience that.

Oh, To Have A Nanny...

...to unload the kids on for days like today. AC was about one more mini-tantrum away from discovering her own mortality and the wee ones all ganged up on The Mommy in one big sobbing, drooling, spewing, clawing, scratching, hair-yanking-out-of-my-ponytail (can't STAND that!), mess. They're in cahoots.

Classic AC (the first kidlet)

AC packing for me

Our oldest is hilarious and quirky, as most people probably believe about their firstborn. She was the product of 6 years of prayer and way too much infertility treatment and she provides a whole lot of entertainment and stories. She also provides a lot of frustration and that is because she is 3 going on 30. Anyhow, there will be occasional posts about something goofy she has done and this is one...mostly to stick in my memory and for those who know her well.

AC decided to pack for me for my trip to Nashville. She likes to pack suitcases, mostly because it's a great way to express her need for organization. She LOVES to organize things and she actually does it well. I let her pack for me (after I got what I really needed in there) because it kept her busy for 45 minutes while I fed the trips lunch. It seemed heavy when I carried it downstairs, but I didn't have time to go through it to take everything out. She would have noticed me doing this anyway and then the world would have ended. It just wasn't worth it.

When I opened up my suitcase that night, I laughed so hard and would have taken a picture right then if I had remembered my camera (curses!!). Each compartment held something different and "necessary": all my brushes, 4 different lotions, q-tips, tampons and pads, notecards, about $1.25 in change, fingernail polish, saline solution, dental floss, one of those mardi-gras-type necklaces from St. Patrick's day, nursing bra pads, an extra shirt, lots of extra underwear, pj's (which I don't wear anyway...that sounds bad...it's just that I'm the classic t-shirt/shorts sort of girl), and some winter socks which also did not match. I kept the pile of stuff and took a pic when I returned (minus the couple things most guys don't care to see):

That's my girl. She'll be one of those people you want with you when you travel because she will pack for every possible situation...even if you need nursing bra pads.

Brace Yourself For Some Whining...

I'm tired of:

1. Not having time to go for a run
2. Eating the same amount of food all the time even though I'm NOT running
3. My clothes not fitting properly because I'm NOT RUNNING
4. Actually having time to run last night, but it was raining
5. Summer is ending and Darkness is arriving earlier and earlier = less opportunity to go for a run because I'm a huge chicken and afraid of the crazies who lurk the dark, even though we live in the safest city in our area and nothing would happen
6. Feeling junky and gross because I'm not running

I don't really enjoy any other form of exercise. I've been running for 23 years now and it is one of my main forms of stress relief. I get a lot of life sorted out while running (I refuse to listen to music) and it's probably one of the reasons why I've managed to stay out of therapy for so many years. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my children, but I would be a better mother if I had time to escape a bit.

*KJ - I know you'll read this and get all over my case about how I need to make more effort to get out...I'm doing my best and thanks for caring about me. :)

Road meanderings

As previously mentioned, my husband surprised me with a mini-break from life here with a trip to Nashville to visit a friend. It was wonderful and definitely helped fill my empty spiritual well which had been dry for months. I think I've tried to keep in touch with my friend, KJ, because she is the kind of person who challenges me to rethink the aspects of my life where I don't feel change is necessary. I don't feel any walls with her (I could be wrong, but that's my perception) and that isn't terribly common in my life. It isn't absent in my world here, but how often do I have time to spend, alone in conversation, with these friends?
The actual point of this post, however, is that I was forced to be alone with my thoughts for 10 hours in the car (especially when the cd player quit working on the way back. grrr...). It was awful and fabulous and has definitely helped with my attitude. Those close to me may disagree with this, but I willingly came to accept some things which had been upsetting to me these last few months. Issues that had actually hurt (this is hard to do to me) and still do, sort of. But the hurt is less because, in most cases, I haven't had time to give to others. Yes, yes, 4 kids ages 3 and under do not make giving simple, blah, blah, blah. Some people, even though they understand this, still don't really get it. They're great, but damage has been done and it's up to me to fix it. It's a long, bumpy road ahead, so pray for me as I slowly, slowly come out of the
kidlet cocoon and restart life. The story goes on.

Melancholy

I used to coach high school track and cross-country. I managed to do this when I had AC and it was so fun to bring her to practice - she thought she owned the high school where I coached. I wish I could bring all the kidlets, but nothing would get done and it wouldn't be fair to the athletes.

Anyway, practice for Fall sports started this past Monday and I really miss coaching. I miss my girls (even the ones that drove me bananas). I miss practice. I miss the anxiety/excitement/hope of the meets. I miss seeing my girls at the starting line, so proud of them for working so hard to get there, and I miss watching them finish the race, so proud of them for taking the risk of running harder than they ever had in their lives.

I'm a bit sad this week and can't wait until I coach again.

Olympic Fever

You know your husband has it when he's calling you in to see a replay of men's gymnastics (which he stays up late to watch the team finals) and he also stays up to watch the women's team. I would never hide my love for the Games, but this is cracking me up. I love you, baby!!

Viva Nashvegas

For our anniversary, J surprised me with a mini break - NO KIDS - to see a friend in Nashville. We had planned to come here this weekend as a family, but cancelled the trip after spending 11 1/2 hours in the car with the crumbgobblers to see family last month. With IV and MG crawling, climbing, opening drawers and generally leaving a house looking like a crime scene that would dupe even the best CSI agent, we realized we just can't subject non-family members to the Circus that is us. KJ (the friend) and her husband are 100% gracious and would have tolerated us, but J and I would have been stressed out the entire trip. Not worth it.

So, with a wee bit of separation anxiety, I set off a couple nights ago for a weekend of sleep and sunburn. It was fabulous to drive something besides the mini-van and there is nothing like driving down the highway and singing as loudly to whatever you want, sometimes talking out loud like a crazy person to God, sorting out some of the crudiness of your life. It's wonderful.

Wonderful until, when you are SO CLOSE to your destination, there are flashing highway signs telling you the exit you need to access the interstate you need to THE CITY YOU ARE TRYING TO ENTER is closed and there is a detour. Well, okay. Hmmm...no detour signs. Where the frick am I?? (only it's not frick - cursing under stress is an issue I have) Ummm...that doesn't look like a safe place to exit...neither does that...calling KJ...no one knows where I am. Exit on a reasonably safe part of who-knows-where to a Cracker Barrel with a chain-link fence around it. Great. After a painful conversation w/some randoms in Cracker Barrel, a customer finally helps out and tells me what road I'm on and sort of directs me towards the city. KJ's parents then come to the rescue and take me on the tour-de-Nashvegas on a route that was surely used by bootleggers during Prohibition and I safely arrive, over an hour later than planned.

Since then, all has been bliss and I've felt normal for the first time in over a year. I've slept in past 7-ish, eaten breakfast before 9:30 a.m., had lunch when I was hungry, and haven't had to change my clothes because one of the kidlets spit up all over me. I have started a book (I wasn't even sure I was still literate). I used a hairdryer for the first time in, oh I don't know. I went out for lunch. I haven't been able to stop thinking about the family and want to call every hour. I know they're okay, but they have consumed my life for so long now that I don't know what to do with myself when they aren't around. I am relaxed and loving this time away, but I miss home and all that is psycho with it. I miss the circus.