23 Minutes

Ainsley's school starts promptly at 8:39 am

This morning she crossed the threshold of her school at 8:38 am and I consider it a minor miracle.

8:15 am is supposed to be Game Time around here (shoes on and exiting the house).

On this day, the clock hit 8:15 and...

1. Annie spit up on herself and the carpet and played in it because that's what babies do.
2. Toilet got clogged which is SO fascinating for SO many wee ones.
3. Annie then pooped.
4. We forgot Gracie hadn't gone potty yet (it'd only been 14 hours, folks).
5. Toilet still clogged b/c of other issues, so Gracie is sent somewhere else. Under protest.
6. Ainsley decided she needs to go potty, so she is sent somewhere else. Under protest.
7. Annie changed, dressed.
8. Backpack. Lunch box. Shoes. Check. Check. Check.
9. 5 kids in the car. Check. Strapped in (we have been known to forget someone). Check.

8:28 - drove away from the house

8:32 - arrived at school. Parked, unloaded the car, and made my little ducklings spit-spot it up to the door

8:38 - yell "I love you! and Have a good day!" to Ainsley as she raced onward and upward.

Mental double fist pump.

Home.

We were back for about 30 seconds when I heard Lizzy freaking. I looked over and Johnny had intentionally put a wind-up toy in her hair (which immediately became embedded). He made a second poor decision and laughed about it, which promptly landed him in some serious business.

It's all normal around here.

Oh So Painful

I was out on a run tonight and felt absolutely wonderful until I was about 75 yards from my house and a little piece of me died.

On the way out I passed by a neighbor's house. She was having some people over and they were having fun, which reminded me of all the times I've sat on a friend's back porch/patio on a summer night, with no worries about the consequences of staying up too late.

So I was smiling and reminiscing on my jaunt, missing some dear friends who have moved away, and it was good.

But then I passed by again on the way back and, in the midst of their sweet and laughing conversation, someone loudly said "oh she's older, like in her 30's".

What!??!?!? WHAT??!?!?!

I wanted to stop running, curl up in the fetal position, and cry. Because folks, I no longer have the luxury of being in that "older" age group and do not want to know how my current decade would be described.

Sigh.

Someone's On The Move

See this yummy little munchkin?



She is no longer interested in her toys or the exersaucer, or any form of confinement. She thinks it's hilarious to make a break for the stairs, the bathroom (try making 4 kids remember to keep that door closed - yuck), and the forbidden toys strewn all over. The pantry doors open and she makes a break for it, knowing the napkins and other playthings are there, just begging her to yank them out and stick in her mouth.




She's growing up way too quickly.

This Is A New One

I was putting Annie down for a nap today when Johnny appeared. The kids know not to barge in when this is happening since they have the knack for popping in just as I'm oh-so-gently placing her in her crib. Their presence reminds her there's a party going on in the house she would not care to miss and it makes me crazy.

They know they are allowed in only if: someone is bleeding or unconscious, someone hit/kicked/smacked someone else, or was hit/kicked/smacked, or if the house is on fire.

So it was unusual for him to be there and even more unusual that he was cheery and persistent (to his credit he knew not to cross the threshold and was actually whispering, too). I couldn't understand anything he was saying, so I smiled and waved him on and told him I'd be right down.

The FIRST THING they all told me, and they were terribly pleased with themselves, was "Don't worry, Mommy! We cleaned everything up!".

I looked down, and there is the last remaining portable potty in the middle of the floor. With urine in it.

Me, in my calmest voice: What did you clean up?

Johnny: See! I used a towel and everything! :)

Lizzy: I tee-teed a little on the floor! :)

Gracie: We all used the Swiffer! :)

Johnny, Lizzy, Gracie: We all took turns with the Swiffer! We cleaned everything up! Don't worry! We did a great job! We didn't get any tee-tee on our feet!

It should be noted here that the Swiffer they used was the one that is used like a broom, where a disposable cloth is attached. There was no cloth attached, so they had basically spread urine around with hard plastic.

From what I good-cop pieced together, this is what took place: Lizzy had to go to the bathroom but was too busy playing (very nicely) with the others and didn't want to miss out on anything. So she missed out on something and went all the way upstairs to get a portable potty so she could be more efficient. She must have had some degree of an accident (hence the towel and swiffer) because I'm sure she waited until the last second, but who knows how much or little.

The angle I'm choosing to take on this is that this was a good event for three reasons:

1. There was no tattling.
2. They worked together (love Teamwork!!)
3. It was on the hardwood, so no carpet involved.

A good day.

So Embarrassing

I got a little cocky on a run a couple weeks ago and paid for it in spades. My 3-milers had become slightly less painful, especially since I figured out to pop a couple ibuprofen the moment I stagger in the door to trick my knees into thinking they just went on a joy ride.

So one Sunday, when the heat index was past the point of flirting and was in a committed relationship with over 100 degrees, some time opened up in our schedule and John suggested I use it to go for a run. I went, mostly because there was this eensy yet influential part of me that needed to be a little hard-core; something I haven't experienced in awhile.

I was about 1/2-mile into this gig and decided I would try to go longer and do one of our 4-mile routes. That decision is an example of what happens when I allow siblings Silly and Irrational to drive.

Regardless of my misery starting around mile 3, what happened in that last mile was a classic Kitty move.

I was running down a favorite street in our area, comparing houses and wondering what some particularly well-done ones of the newer-construction-type were like inside, when I glanced backwards (why??), my right foot hit a surprise slope of a driveway and I had an immediate and painful investigation of some local concrete.

Three Thoughts on the Trip Down:

1. Aww Man! I am too old to fall publicly.
2. Protect the ring. I always sacrifice the hand for the sake of the engagement ring.
3. John always tells me to "roll into the fall", so maybe I should try that and put my shoulder into it. (this was not executed properly)

The result of my conceit in thinking I should crank out a run in nasty temps:

All kinds of ugly.

Like how the twig is in focus as opposed to my knee?

And so there I was, sprawled awkwardly out in some one's driveway. This was a bad one. My shoulder was killing me, my knees were killing me, I had to go to the bathroom, and I was still 3/4-mile from home.

What does one do in that situation? Pop up as quickly as possible and act like what just happened was not a big deal.

I tell you what though, the bairn were super impressed with my wounds. They asked if I cried (I did not). They asked why I did not get a Curious George or Cars band-aid (they don't make cool band aids big enough for this one). They asked over and over and over again why I fell (and I told them over and over and over again I did not know why). They asked why I was walking around the house with bags of ice bound to my knees with ace bandages (because I have 5 little crumbgobblers, that's why).

Won't be running that route again for awhile.