The Monkey House

Scientists near Geneva recently announced they had broken the "speed of light". They did this by observing my sweet monkeys descend upon and destroy a previously clean room.

Unless children are napping, silence is always suspicious at Chez Laird. Load of squeals and maniacal laughter are also suspicious. Alternating between the two means an uprising is in the works and I should just open a beer now because I'm going to need it to handle what happens next.

An example:

There had been fighting. I intervened and the fighting stopped. But then the chasing began and the oldest four were shrieking like banshees, running laps over and over and over again through the kitchen. When the decibel level surpassed concert-status, I sent them upstairs. Ainsley generously offered up her room (a rarity so of course the trips jumped all over that), so I blah-blah-blahed the usual "if you play in Ainsley's room you have to listen to her or you'll have to leave".

Ahhh...silence in my kitchen. Silence upstairs...wait. Giggling? Laughing? Squealing? Pounding of feet? MORE squealing? More pounding of feet?

No. Please no.

I walked in my room to find this:




Folks, that's 3 loads of laundry strewn all over my room. It had been folded. Duvet and pillows thrown off my bed.

Commence beer-opening.

For My Children

Dear Ainsley, Johnny, Lizzy, Gracie, and Annie,

I've debated for days about whether or not I should write something about this day in history. My fear was being cliche' or impersonal or not respectful enough. Complete enough. Deep enough.

But then I felt it ought not to be ignored, if only at the very, very least, for its historical significance. My generation, born as Vietnam was raggedly coming to a close, thankfully hadn't experienced a major war, or at least one that deeply affected the nation as a whole. And that statement in itself doesn't acknowledge the soldiers involved in Desert Storm or the fear of the Cold War, but I will arguably state that neither of those created an instantaneous and intense emotional reaction as the symbolic representation of evil on September 11, 2001.

You will learn the details of the day from us and in school, so they would be redundant to repeat here. What you won't learn in school, but hopefully from us, is that this was not an event that stands in isolation. Because we are inherantly bad and are therefore capable of bad things, bad things will happen. Horrific and unspeakable events, such as what happened on that day in Pennsylvania, Virginia, and New York, will and currently take place, every minute of every day, because of the simple presence of humanity.

Your dad and I will fiercely try to protect you from the horrors that exist while you are children. We don't pretend the world and everyone in it is perfect and filled with gumdrops and lollipops, but we firmly believe children need to have a knowledge foundation built of the safety and beauty of God's perfect Love before they experience hatred. There will be too many years that Hatred will be a presence in your life, if even only on television and oh, let that be so.

We will point you to all that is perfect, He who is perfect. We will teach you that Evil exists but will not and can not prevail because already there is Victory.

For Thine is the Kingdom.

And the power.

And the glory forever.

Amen.

Once Upon A Time...

...there was a little girl. She was just a regular little girl; one who loved to read and play with friends, and just be outside. She was a better-than-average student, but a daydreamer, so she probably could have had a stronger academic performance. She didn't think about boys much. She always had close friends and boys were either stinky or weird, unless they were needed for a good game of kick-the-can or ghost-in-the-graveyard and then they were welcome into her little world.

That little girl grew up a bit and boys were noticed but still not necessary. She had very close friends who were girls and great friends who were boys and that was usually enough. She still loved to read and go to school. She also loved to run. Running created a pocket of time where she could allow her mind to drift along. It wasn't often she had the opportunity to be completely by herself and it forced her to think about her world more deeply than she would have cared, but knew it was necessary. Running forced introspection, at least as much as a teenage girl who wasn't a total flake could handle.

And then, one evening, the Girl was at a different church with her youth group and saw a Boy. He wasn't an ordinary boy, although she didn't know that at the time. All she thought was "Hmm. That boy is very, very cute." And she found out his name from one of those ridiculous "let's force ourselves to get over our introvertedness and talk to strangers" activities she still hates to this day (but in this ONE and ONLY instance appreciates). And she found out he had just moved to her town and went to her high school and was in her grade. Yay!

So they talked on the phone and at school and dated for oh, about 3 months. He always brought flowers and/or ice cream, so we know he was a smart boy. But then summer came and people go on vacations and hang out with other friends and somehow the Boy and the Girl weren't dating any longer. Such is life.

So the Boy and the Girl then proceeded to be ridiculous and ignore each other for a year or so. It was easy to do, especially since they never had classes together or mutual friends. But THEN came Senior Year and oh-my-stars the Boy had to sit right behind the Girl in math class because they were placed in alphabetical order. How annoying. Sill very cute. No. Annoying. But he was cute and there always had been those flowers and ice cream and conversation and a general nice-ness factor. Good penmanship, too. How incredibly frustrating.

And that was it for awhile. The physical distance and surreal experience of college change a person and the Girl certainly had a lot of growing up to do (she still does). It is good that the Boy and the Girl did not run in the same circles any longer. She still loved to run and read and be outside and study, but her world was changing and she wasn't changing along with it very well.

Then one summer, the Girl went to a party and the Boy was there. Drat? Hmm...lots of talking and catching up and it was very, very nice. But his parents were moving and since he was still in undergrad, that meant he was as well. In a couple weeks or days or something horrible like that. Great. Fabulous.

So they called occasionally and, since this was a few years before email, wrote letters occasionally, but that was it. Somewhere along that time the Boy finished college and started grad school and in that short in-between time the communication escalated to the point where the Girl thought about the Boy lots and lots and lots. She was still figuring out her world and where she belonged in it, and starting to realize she needed something more than herself and the activities around her to be complete. That's when Faith entered into her life and she took it and ran. God helped that silly Girl figure out loads and loads of things and helped her finally get her act and priorities (mostly) together. She'll be happy to share the details some other time if you ask.

Then one day, the Boy called while she was making an apple crisp (she is not sure why she remembers that part) and told her had bought a pair of running shoes. He had also found his heart loved God and, well, what else does an ordinary girl need in a boy? The Girl realized she really, really loved that Boy.

Two years ago, The Girl married The Boy and it was lovely.

Fifteen years later, it is still lovely.

Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Love,
The Girl

Don't Blink

I sold a small load of baby things a few weekends ago and it did not bring me joy. Oh okay, there was a little thrill because I do like to purge the house whenever I have time (it is so cathartic!), but I was mostly sad. We do NOT desire another body in this house and there isn't an inch for another car seat in the Super-Cool Minivan, but a chapter is starting to close in our life-story and I'm not quite ready to turn the page.

What is wrong with me???? Why did I get all verklempt when I put Annie's wee little baby newborn clothes in the bin and then the 0-3mo and now the 3-6? Why did my heart hurt when her first teeth came in? When she started eating baby food? Now that she is sitting independently? Why am I already dreading and getting misty about 1st grade because then Ainsley will be at school all day instead of a 1/2-day? Why was I a little sad when Johnny had his first drop-off play date? Or when the little girls were invited to their first birthday party? It's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous.

If I had my way, Ainsley would stay 6, the trips would turn and then stay 4, and Annie would get to the crawling stage and stay that way forever. I know it's selfish to think this way. I know it. But there are so many, many lovely times, even on the very roughest of days and those sweet moments make me want to stop time or at least slow it down.

I've mentioned this before, but someone told me a couple years ago I would turn around twice and the kids would be off to college. So no turning around for me, especially twice.

I won't even blink.

Eating frosting. I wish we had more room on the counters...

Sweet baby girl.

The Boy.

So.

Apparently when a boy:



has one of these in his chubby little boy-hands:



And one of these is close by:

(the car, not the people or hose)

This happens:



And then a sweet little boy is very, very sad because he realizes he has done something very, very wrong. Part of the reason why he knows this is because his oldest sister said "Johnny! You hit the car?!?!". But because he knew he had messed up, we were able to launch straight into Forgiveness because he felt so terribly burdened. It broke my heart to see him in so much misery, but it also made me rejoice because he came to us. He didn't run away. He didn't deny he had done it (we did not witness the act). He didn't lie about what happened. He told the truth and came to us for mercy and love, which we of course gave him with lots of holding close through his tears and explaining that John and I love him regardless of what he does. That we love him and we don't love the car. That we forgive him and adore him and he is ours.

This is what boys do. They take baseball bats to cars.

Pigs In A Blanket

The other night, after baths, John walked in to our room and yelled for me to come see the latest Ainsley-orchestrated activity.

And then the camera had to be searched for and dug out of the permanent piles of rubble scattered around our house.

First there was this:





Which quickly developed into this:



And then, of course, this:



But I really love this particular moment:

These two have a mutual adoration society and I can't wait to see the relationship develop. Annie practically breaks her neck, craning it about, when she hears Ainsley's voice (which the big sister LOVES). And Ains is beyond sweet to her, as you can see.

You Know You're Getting Older When...

1. The head coaches at The Dance look like adolescents.

2. The assistant coaches look like toddlers.

3. A 600mg ibuprofen is needed after a run to help the knees.

4. You think of a musical reference during a conversation with friends and don't use it because you realize they were in preschool when it was running.

5. Your heart dies a little when you realize you're having to hold fine print out a bit to read it better.

6. Your opthamologist suggests you could use some "cheater" glasses when sewing or reading in "dim light". (I refuse.)

7. Your heart dies again when someone at a party off-handedly mentions something about "40-year-olds" and it takes everything you have to not mention you are...well...sigh.

8. You take the kids to preschool and have to refrain from punting the moms who don't have grey hair because not only do they actually look cute in their work-out gear, they get to work out. Often.

Sheesh.

Snow Days

It snowed again yesterday. March 14th. I had glanced at the forecast the night before and blew off the prediction because well, it's the middle of March. Plus the meteorologists have grossly missed the mark so often this winter that I just didn't believe it.

Imagine my shock when I stumbled out of the triplets' room that morning, happened to glance out the window and was greeted by yet another world of snow. Ugh. Why was I in the trips' room? Because my sweet Lizzy Lou had a freak-out at 5 a.m. about some random thing and once that kiddo's huge brown eyes pop open she wants to play. Since I was NOT going to give her the privilege of running around the house that early in the morning I climbed in with her in the hopes she would go back to sleep. She did not. Neither did her brother, who would occasionally sit up in his bed and say "why isn't anyone talking to me?". I cried Uncle around 6:15, released them from their room, only to be confronted with the white stuff.

And what was the first thing I did? Go online and check the school closings....and Whew! School was still on. We've had loads and loads and loads of snow this winter and I was over it. Too many snow days and too many hours to kill with five kids.

But then I got to thinking about how much fun we had this winter. The kids were finally old enough to really play outside for more than 3 minutes. If they fell down, outfitted like Randy in A Christmas Story, they could get back on their feet instead of staying turtle-up. They were awesome, which means next year will be even better.

Miss Lizzy with the coveted red snow shovel.

Johnny. Happy as always.

Miss Gracie

My big girl.

Now I Get It

School is cramping my style. I can finally understand why some kids don't like to go back to school, because I'm beginning to not care for it myself. After a summer of total freedom with what we could do, where we could go, and whenever we wanted, our lives are now dictated by school bells. Or whatever they use these days. It just isn't cool.

Of course I get it. I'm a teacher by trade and I still get fired up when the school supplies start appearing in the stores and when I see the cross country kids beginning to get ready for the season (I'm biased). For crying out loud, I LOVED school growing up.

But when the really beautiful fall weather hits here, it's going to take every ounce of self control to not wake up and say to my little girl "You know, you're not going to school today. It's a play day". And then load everyone up for a leisurely day at the botanical gardens or zoo.

The Perfect Ending

When we found out we were pregnant with Cinco, a good friend commented that this event was like "the perfect end to a love story". She was right, even though our story would still have been perfect if there wasn't going to be a fifth Laird child, or any Laird children for that matter. No, Catherine was on target because Cinco is the final chapter of our 11 years of longing for and being granted children and this baby could not feel more...right.

This wee one is our bookend and the one that completes the family. The triplets, as much as we are madly in love with them, somehow did not bring closure. But this one...this one does.

Keepin' Busy

It has rained here the past few months - tons. Way too much because lots of rain = wet playgrounds and being unable to go places because you never know when the next storm is going to come = no fun for the Laird kids? Nope. Why? Because of rain boots, that's why. They have nearly worn theirs out of existence and splashing in puddles never gets old...does it?

They do this thing where they take turns racing down the puddle path. Obviously Johnny's up next - he's in the "set" position. When can they go to track camp??

My ducklings.

Lingering...

Trusting only in thy merit,
Would I seek thy face:
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by thy grace.

We sang this in church two Sundays ago and it is still with me.

Dress Up

It's very important to my oldest and she is trying (not always in vain) to expose her siblings to the joy. We hear "who wants to play dress up!??!?!?" often and you will see that her brother gets pretty fired up about it. Poor guy. I told someone the other day that he will have no sense of pride by the time his sisters get done with him.

The Queen, as herself.

Normal.

As "Tinkiebell" (as Tinkerbell is called in our home). "I'm flying! Look at me! I'm flying!" (what she was running around, saying)

A rare moment - catching Gracie with a smile on her face. The kid smiles (smirks, actually) a lot - it's nearly impossible to get on camera.

And then there's the pink bunny outfit. Poor guy. He was so excited to put it on, too. Buddy, at least I didn't put in the princess dress pics...

Yeah. That's It.

I was unglamorously trying to squeeze myself into some spanx this morning and, of course, had an audience. I always have an audience. For everything. At least Ainsley is finally at the age where if I say, "mommy needs some privacy for just a little bit", she gets it and is not offended. The other three get seriously frosted at the suggestion that I'd like to be by myself for 3 seconds.

Well, Lizzy was the lucky one intently watching me doing the deep knee bends necessary to don the "shapewear" (which doesn't work THAT well, trust me - now I'm questioning why I even bother with the stinkin' things). She was staring and staring until a huge smile took over her face and she announced "Mommy's doing ballet!!!!". Whereupon she started to do plie's and saying "I'm doing ballet, too!".

Ballet. That's exactly what I was doing.

Makes Me Proud

We were on vacation with some great friends a few years back when some comments were made concerning how loving I was to John (the sarcasm was not appreciated by this girl - I really am nice to my man. Just not in a public way. I have a reputation to protect.). The conversation started with one of the husbands said something along the lines of "Woman! Make me a sandwich!". And it was correctly suggested that if John said something like that to me the reply would be "Make your own dang sandwich!".

I confess I do not pray often to have a servant's heart...something to think about for tonight.

Now before this true story is told, I am VERY NICE to John when the kiddos are around (like, 98% of the time). Most ridiculousness is saved up all day for after all the midgets are in bed. Or not within earshot. There are many, many years ahead where they will experience The Mommy in my flawed nature. So keep in mind there has been NO EXTERNAL INFLUENCE as you read.

Fast-forward to tonight, 7ish years later. Ainsley and I are sitting down to eat some kickin' brownies and John is giving his baby girl some grief because she wasn't diving in right away to the mess of chocolate. And, after about 5 minutes of ribbing, this is what happened:

John: If you aren't going to eat that brownie, I'm going to eat it!

Ainsley: You can get your own brownie.

The delivery was perfectly blase'.

I'm so proud.

Her poor future husband.

John just reminded me I forgot to include my silent, double fist-pump, cheering that took place in the background. I did do that.

Happy Halloween!

Not a lot to say about Halloween this year, except that it was FUN!! The weather was perfect, the kids weren't terribly squirrely, and Ainsley thought everything was just the berries. Only panic of the evening: while I carried Johnny's epi-pen with me, just in case HE didn't grab some peanut-tainted candy-of-death, I completely forgot about people GIVING him death-candy. I mean, it's completely natural for us grown-ups to hand the sugar bombs directly to the kiddos - especially when they're holding out their meaty little hands and smiling so sweetly. But I was talking to a neighbor and turned around to see Johnny shoving something chocolate in his mouth (The Boy does not take bites of anything - all food is just jammed in). Fortunately it was a relatively benign Twix, but one of the girls had a Snickers. Lesson learned.

And some pics, of course:

I love this picture of Lizzy - from the day she was born, she has always had her feet up on something, just chillin'. We would go down to see her in the nicu and it was as if she was on vacay in the incubator. She does it in the stroller, in the grocery cart, anywhere.

Ainsley - who decided the girls should all match. A shout-out to Miss Kirby who loaned us the dress. It was perfect and she looked so darling. Thank you!

Four Snow Whites and two Handy Manny's. I deserved more candy than I received, but we did have someone take pity on us and delivered four ice-cold ones to the door. Very nice.

Joy

The first ride on a carousel.




Shockingly, the little girls weren't as fired up about the experience. Ainsley was thrilled of course, but she's a pro at carousel riding. Gracie was hungry and not with me (one of my friends was holding her), and Lizzy just didn't get what was going on until after the thing stopped spinning, and then she was all about NOT getting off.

Happy Anniversary Baby!

Thirteen years. It doesn't seem as though we've been married that long. The feeling is more like...five or six-ish. Maybe seven? I suppose that's what I get for marrying the only person who I can stand being around every single day. The only person who doesn't bug the fire out of me eventually. The only person I loved enough to entrust my heart to. (yes, yes, "to" is a preposition, but I'm too tired to worry about my grammar right now) Of course there are the hours/days/weeks where we drive each other crazy, but I really don't mind because it is you. If I'm really honest, you're probably the only person who can stand being around me for a significant amount of time. Regardless, Life moves too quickly when it isn't frustrating and I don't want to miss anything that's going on with you. I don't want to get the kids off to college and look at you and have to either reintroduce myself or say "so. Let's pick up where we left off, shall we? It was 2004 and our first kid was just born and how have you been?".

So I'm calling a Date Night. Front porch. Bring beer. Or ice cream. Both are perfect.

A Glimpse

Like lots of other children, all of our kidlets like to wear everyone else's shoes. Lizzy was clomping around in one of mine the other day and ended up standing at the door for a good while, looking out. My heart stumbled a bit, because I had a brief vision of her in 15 or so years. My little girl, dressed up in heels that actually fit, waiting for a boy. Please let this sweet and crazy time pass slowly.

Apples And Trees. Or Maybe It Should Be Nut And Tree

Usually we only like to see our positive, healthy character traits passed along to our children. You know, the ones you could not have possibly nurtured into them. I'm talking about the "nature" ones or whatever educators/researchers are calling them these days.

I normally attempt to deny my genetic influence on the bad or super-quirky stuff that is already pouring out of my kids, but sometimes, just sometimes, I have to take responsibility. The following event was one of those...

After the crumbgobblers go to bed (and they are STILL crumbgobbling), John and I get some time just with Ainsley and it is fun. Several evenings ago we were sidewalk-chalking and John started just rubbing the side of his chalk on the driveway - as if he was coloring the entire thing in. This is what it looked like (the pink rectangle part):



I was getting tense. You see, in my crazy-world he was unnecessarily using chalk and the pink chalk at that. Just throw it away if you're going to do something like that. I didn't say anything, though, because somewhere in my irrational mind I knew it was ridiculous of me to get fired up about...chalk. As I was inwardly talking myself down from the cliff of anxiety (about chalk), Ainsley said "Daddy, what are you doing?".
John: "I don't know. Just coloring."
Ainsley: "Daddy, you're wasting chalk."
John: Well, he just looked at me. And stopped wasting chalk.

That's my girl.