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.