OhNoOhNoOhNo!

Heard from the basement tonight:

Gracie yelling (assuming it was her because she has the loudest voice ever): "Are you ready to ROCK?!??!?"

The Rest: "YEAH!!!"

Gracie (louder, if that's possible): "I SAID, ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!?!??!"

The Rest: "OH YEAH!!!!!"

Oh my stars.  I can hear the murmurings now: "She has no control over those kids.  It's a shame; they seem so nice.  They must be utterly clueless about what their children do when they aren't looking."

I'm going to spend the next few years praying about how to channel this...enthusiasm about life so I don't have to be unpleasantly surprised one evening while watching an episode of COPS - Campus PD.

This Is Not A Joke

This snapshot of my world actually started the night before when I told the kidlets that Johnny had a doc appointment the next morning.

Johnny: "For WHAT??? Am I getting a SHOT???"

The Chorus:  "WE HAVE TO GO TO THE DOCTOR??  DO I NEED A SHOT? IS HE SICK? IS THIS LIKE WHEN WE HAD SHOTS (flu) LAST YEAR??"

I explained that it was just a checkup with his allergist.  No big deal.

Johnny: "OKAY.  So NO shot.  Right?  Just Dr. S?"

The Chorus: "Wait! He IS getting a shot? Why is he getting a shot?  He didn't last time!!!"  Etc for another 30 seconds or so.

I turned around and finished prepping dinner.


We were driving in the car the next morning - on our way to said appointent - when this conversation happened, all in about 2 1/2 exhausting minutes.  Keep in mind, we had been in the car for 5 blocks.

Everyone: "WHY ARE WE DRIVING IN THIS DIRECTION? WHERE ARE WE GOING? THIS ISN'T THE WAY TO THE GROCERY STORE!!" (I had not mentioned a syllable about the grocery store)

Me: "Remember?  Johnny has an appointment this morning with Dr. S"

Johnny: "It isn't a Drs. Appointment.  It's a check-up.  You don't get shots at check-ups."

Me: "Johnny.  I called the Doctor to make an appointment to see the Doctor.  It's the same thing."

Oldest Child: "So where are we going?"

Me: "To Dr. S. Johnny has a check up."

Oldest: "So no shot, right?  Ok."

20 seconds later:

Female Triplet: "Hey! Where are we going now?"

Me: "Still driving to Johnny's check up."

Same Triplet: "Why?"

I didn't answer.

10 seconds later:

Fourth-Born Child:  "Why are we driving this way?"

Me: "Because this is the way to the doctor's office."

Same Child: "Why is this the way?"

Me: "Because this is the way we go."

Same maddening, yet delightful child: "Why?"

Me: "It just IS!  This is the direction in which we need to drive in order to get to Dr. S's office, so we are taking this road."

Same child: "Ok. But this isn't the way to the grocery store.  Are we going to the grocery store?"

Silence.  I could not physically respond because my brain was starting to shut down.

10 seconds later:

The smallest of the bairn: "Why is Johnny getting a shot?"

Johnny: "WAIT! Did she say I was getting a shot???  You said I wasn't getting a SHOT!!"

No lie.  Only there was more of it.  I can't remember it all because it's 12:30 in the morning and I'm just too tired.

Part of me sort of hoped they would all get shots, just because I had promised they wouldn't and it would have been sort of fun to see the nurses and Dr. run for the hills when 5 kids flipped out on them in unison. Delightful.

If You're Smart, Son...

Johnny and I were jawing about something completely inane tonight when he said "How do YOU know that?".  Of course my reply was:

"Because I'm the smartest woman you'll ever meet." (not true, of course, but he is thankfully only 6 and therefore clueless about such matters)

Johnny: "But, how do you know?!"

Me: "Because I know all about these things and if you know what's good for you, you'll agree with me."

John then entered the conversation and, because he is super-wise and super-smart, started explaining to his son that it was in Johnny's best interest to agree with me and to understand that his mother truly is the smartest woman he knows.  That, if he believes this to be true, only good things will happen.

By this time Johnny is grinning like crazy because he absolutely loves to talk and it brings him great joy to have both of us, in dialogue, all to himself.

But then I decided to take this teaching moment even further and offered up a piece of valuable advice.  He was then informed that I would be the most intelligent woman he knows until he meets the girl he is going to marry and then SHE will be the smartest woman he knows and ever will know.  I will vacate my post, but only to become second on the list. 

For the record, Johnny had asked some question about dinosaurs or something and I actually didn't make up an answer this time because I really did know what I was talking about.

Spring 2014 in Review

Four words:

Vomit

Lice

More vomit.

Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner

As we sat around the dinner table tonight, the talk was about the most important part of the school day: recess.  Gracie's been playing soccer lately and I had assumed she was actually doing the running around, kicking the ball part.  Not so.  Apparently, these little turkeys she's playing with are "making" her be goalie every time and she is understandably getting a little tired of it.  Her story was corroborated by Johnny, who would be the very first to shout out any inaccuracies.

I asked who was making her be goalie and it's some boys from her class.  I'm sure they aren't being mean about it (I've met a few and they are mostly sweet), but someone has to be goalie and they don't want to, so they tell Gracie - who really, really wants to play - it's her job.

Mama hit the roof.  In a big, big way.

I'm going to have to talk to her about it again before she goes back to school because my reaction and advice was disorganized and generally unsound.  Looking back on what I said, it probably would not be a great idea for my eensy little girl to get in their grill and give these boys the impression that a can of something was about to be opened up and that she was NOT going to play goalie anymore.

I mean, she wants to play and she needs to come up with an answer that gets her what she wants - to not play goalie all the time - but doesn't infuriate these boys so much that they don't let her play at all.  A don't-argue-with-me-just-do-it "no". 

What I really want to do, more than anything, is to march up there during recess on Monday and start directing traffic so these little kindergarten lovelies figure out how to take turns and not tell my daughter what to do.

That would be unacceptable.  Effective, but unacceptable.  

Blegh

Ainsley's going to her first real slumber party soon.  To help keep myself from an anxiety attack, I felt compelled to have a mostly one-sided discussion with her about what sometimes happens conversation-wise with giggling girls when it's way past bedtime and they've been on a sugar bender for hours.  They're still pretty young and maybe Ainsley isn't as naive as I believe or want her to be, but who knows what they might talk about and my child - who has yet to watch a show with real actors (well, Fresh Beat Band and Imagination Movers) - really hasn't had a lot of exposure to the outside world.  

So I cornered her when there was absolutely no potential for younger sibs to interrupt and we (I) talked about the fact that sometimes girls talk about things that might make you feel uncomfortable and all you have to say is "I don't know" or "Yeah...no".  She doesn't have to give a reason.  She doesn't have to change the conversation, just bow out.    So she just looked at me like I was a weirdo and I felt bizarrely compelled to give her a sample conversation:

"Okay. So some of the girls might talk about boys and they might ask you if you like one.  You don't have to answer.  Even if there is a boy you like you don't have to answer.  Got it? And if they bug you about it and it makes you feel awkward, just keep saying you don't know. Okay?!"

There had better not be a cute boy.  I'm not ready for that.

I See London, I See France...

We all know the rest of the playground taunt, don't we?  Well, The Three had thankfully yet to be exposed to this sweet poetry until tonight when I was reading Meet Molly, an American Girl doll book.  I had barely finished the rhyme when they started cracking up. This was immediately followed by all three saying it over and over and over and over again.  There's only so much a human can handle when three six-year-olds are non-stop chanting anything, much less something supremely annoying.

Of course I instantly became the big buzz-kill and lectured that they will NOT say that to anyone at school, even if they can see their underwear, that it will hurt someone's feelings, that it's ok to do it at home, in-house, blah, blah, blah.  Which brought the conversation to:

"Yeah! You'll go to the principal's office!"
"Yeah!  You'll get in BIG trouble at school!"
"Yeah!  Our teachers will be really mad!  They'll email you and tell you what we did!  Or call!"

And then they proceeded to chant again.

Why I said the following is still beyond me, because it took the ridiculousness to the next level:

"Okay okay okay!!  You may NOT say I can see your underpants!  But you can say I can see my underpants!  Got it??!!?!"

Oh my stars, the room erupted.

I SEE LONDON, I SEE FRANCE!  I CAN SEE MY UNDERPANTS!" Whereupon they would drop their pj pants and expose their drawers.  And laugh hysterically.  And do it again.

I eventually just left.  I had lost control.

"Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?" - Pink

I know the girls did not throw glitter in the air today.  I know this because I would have heard hysterical laughter and squealing if they had.  Unfortunately, the aftermath of this sweet little glue/glitter/bead craft project, of which I was unaware, was profound.  To quote a friend, it was like "a fairy exploded" in my house (thank you, L).  Actually, it was more like a troupe of fairies.

The craft table, already covered in paper, crayons, beads, markers, etc, was the point of detonation and therefore suffered the most damage.  After that, the sparkly stuff that runs through the veins of many little girls followed the classic shock wave pattern and moved throughout the not-small play room filled with Barbies, Legos and even more Legos, pretend food for the kitchen, and Hot Wheels.  Plastic is a magnet for glitter and I can't imagine how I'll ever get it all off.  To be honest, I won't even try.  I have better and less maddening things to do.

I don't even know where they found it.  I'm pretty mellow about craft projects and the kids are generally free to do whatever they want with whatever they find.  Glue, play doh, scissors, recyclables, paint.  None of them faze me, but the stuff is usually hidden away somewhere. Actually, I like glitter. Most of the reason why I like it is because the kids get so excited when I bring it out, as if I'm presenting them with the keys to the candy factory and an all-you-can-eat pass. 

I'm not even upset with the girls.  Truly.  They were so proud of the work they brought up from the basement, down the hall, to the kitchen.  They left a trail of gold, red, and blue sparkles wherever their sweet little feet trod.  Across carpet.  Across hardwood (there will be glitter in the cracks of the wood FOREVER).  In the bathrooms. On the stairs.  In their bedrooms. In their hair.  Wherever my gaze fell, lay a piece of glorious glitter.  They handed me their shimmering, drippy creations with their hands covered in Elmer's and I felt a little sick.  After the washing-of-the-hands and feet, I forced myself to inspect the crime scene.  Every step closer produced more and more evidence until I felt I was literally walking on a path of gold.  Lovely.  Absolutely lovely.

So I vacuumed and threw the things away I did not want to try and salvage, and vacuumed some more.   It will never go completely away and I'm okay with that.  Maybe tomorrow I'll create a glitter clean-up game with the crumbgobblers where victory means you don't have to brush your teeth for one night.  For some reason they get all wound up if they don't have to participate in good dental  hygiene.   It's a powerful motivator.




True.  So very true.

Classic

"Mommeeee!!! GRACIE HIT ME!! SHE HIT ME FOR NO REASON!!!!"   - Johnny

"THAT'S NOT TRUE! I DID HIT HIM FOR A REASON!  HE WOULDN'T TELL ME WHERE THE BALL WAS!!!"  - Gracie, totally indignant that she would be accused of senseless hitting.