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.

Crazypants

I did two stupid things a couple days ago.

The First Questionable Act:

I gave up soda.

I've done this before and my longest streak was 2 years (?). Give or take a month or two. It ended when I was coaching track. All coaches get meal tickets at the meets and dreamy items like non-diet sodas that have been in huge ice baths for hours are there to tempt. And one day when the girls were making me a little nutso because they probably did something like not practice hand-offs before a relay AGAIN or barely warmed up for their race AGAIN or forgot all/part of their uniform AGAIN, I needed a Coke. A real one. Not that diet nastiness. I caved and it was sooooo gooood. I fell of the wagon in a state of bliss.

But now I have all these kids and I should, I really should practice what I preach about being healthy. So when I realized I was up to 3 cups of coffee and 2 sodas/day (ahhh...no wonder Annie doesn't nap well!), I figured the soda - which truly is horrible for you - needed to go. I'm two days into it and Oh My Land do I want to drive through somewhere and get a Coke.

The Second:

I signed up for a 1/2. If you run, you know that means a 1/2 marathon and this is another oh-my-word what was I thinking!??!? I don't have time (or the inclination) to clean my house, let alone put in some training. But a friend I care about sent out an email and asked if we'd help her celebrate a birthday with this race.

I debated. I hemmed. I hawed. And John said I should. So I am. And he is right.

He's right because I love my friend but I also love to run. I haven't trained for anything in years and, while speed work is no longer an option for me, it will be wonderful to make running a necessity instead of "well, what day/s can I run this week". When I'm out on a run, even though what the observer sees me doing is plodding at best, I feel free. I feel normal.

I feel crazypants.

I Do Not Heart Great Clips

We got a free hair cut the other day because my son's perfectly lovely locks were destroyed by Great Clips. We take the kids there because of one reason only: we don't need an appointment. In this house, appointments sometimes have to be last-minute cancelled because someone either: threw up, accidentally destroyed something or made an unholy mess, or I simply forget.

Now, I don't expect my children to look perfectly coiffed after their cut. I get it that they are kids and they tend to unpredictably whip their heads around (which is how Johnny lost his side-burns from the last disaster), can't hold their head steady long enough or at the right angle to get everything perfectly even, or the stylist is fresh out of school or is having a rough day. I get it.


What I don't get is why my son looks like someone took a weed whacker to his head and did a crappy job of it to boot. Johnny has (had) envious hair. It's crazy thick and has just the right amount of curl so it would turn out under a baseball cap if we allowed it to grow out. In fact, it's so thick it's hard to get completely wet to wash for baths...sort of like a Labrador.

And just because pics are necessary:

I don't get the front. And he is so sweet and happy and oblivious.

Ridiculous.

Not the best angle...

Ainsley was just in awe and kept rubbing her hand up the back.

A Good Day

We were winging it this year and I'm not sure why. We have one established tradition and that's attending a parade in the neighboring city in the morning. Ainsley loves it (candy, candy, candy!), the triplets mostly love it (candy! but this thing takes for freakin-ever! I'm hungry!), and Annie didn't seem to care as long as she was being held which is fine with us.



Other than the parade, though, we had nothing on our dance card. But then the day just kept falling together. Friends ended up coming over for post-parade lunch. Naps happened. The kids mostly got along (big, big bonus). We quasi-spontaneously went to the local pool and that was bliss. I was waffling because I've been to the pool with our sweet chuckleheads and was not up for what could potentially happen, but John wanted to go and so we did and it was lovely. Hardly any people so we weren't constantly owling our necks to keep track of children, no one seemed to need to rush to the potty (figure out the logistics of gathering 5 children from the pool to take the one child who probably waited a wee bit too long to let me know), Annie was bliss, and Lizzy was feeling brave.

A and C, her very, very bestest friend.

Crappy Happy Meals for the kidlets for dinner because we closed down the pool. Then friends who understandably couldn't make it to the pool because I called on a whim as we were getting ready to go, brought us dessert and hung out because they are that nice.



What? No grilling? Not worth the effort today. No fireworks? A couple of ours would freak and so it would be painful. No putting the family through torturous over scheduling? Exactly. I didn't even try to pick up today. It was just lazy and wonderful and perfectly perfect.

Happy 4th of July!

two notes:
1. For some reason Johnny calls Happy Meals "Happy Males". I don't want to think about this, but it needs to be recorded for posterity.
2. Gracie seriously calls McDonald's "Old McDonald's" and we don't correct her. It's too funny.

She Made It

Kindergarten was wonderful for Ainsley. My little girl grew up a lot this year and her teacher deserves loads of credit for keying in on Ainsley's personality and learning style at the very beginning of the year. Katie thankfully targeted her developmental strengths and weaknesses and did an excellent job bringing A as much out of her shell as possible. On top of that, she really went to bat for my daughter a couple times and I am grateful for those acts as much as anything else. We really, really loved Katie and the triplets are going to be devastated they won't have her as their kindergarten teacher. She was sort of a celebrity in our house.

The fabulous Katie B. AKA the Best First-Year-Teacher in the world.

Thank you for friends! Ainsley was blessed to have a small and close group of girls in her class. Two of them specifically sought her out from day 1 and I am so thankful for sweet Olivia and Hannah. It is impressive to me that these young girls helped make my very shy oldest feel cared for in an environment where her personality lends itself to be overlooked.

The girls. I thought they were mostly quiet and shy and then I had them over for a valentine's party before school one day. Holy Moly was it loud. Eardrums bleeding loud.

Her bestie, Olivia. We love, love, love Olivia and could not be more thankful for how darling she was to Ainsley.

Many thanks go out to Mr. Derek, the famous bus driver who cared for his kindergartners so much his autograph was coveted for their yearbooks. His and Miss B's were the ones A had to point out to me before we even got in the car on her last day. I hope the district keeps him on this route because he is the best.

Notice the wardrobe change? Only my child would wipe out on a soggy field the last day of school and get completely soaked. I'm just happy I was there because she would have been devastated to have to sit in wet clothes the rest of the day.

Thank you to the school and the district. Family is important in our district (as I'm sure it is in all districts) and we delighted in it. From the Halloween parade through the neighborhood, to the family nights with all the cheesy games, to the all-school-family picnic at the end of the year, we loved it all.

Baptism

Annie has been baptized about 7 times now, but that number may not be completely accurate. Her real one was Mother's Day (which I secretly loved even though I am not a fan of the holiday) and it went as well as it could with 5 kids, ages 6 and under, standing in front of a congregation.

John and I tried to explain to the kidlets what baptism meant beforehand and I tried to explain to them what behavior would be appropriate during the ceremony. And for once I think they either listened or God quieted their hearts for 10 minutes because they did better than I expected. There weren't any loud questions or announcements, no crying or whining, no grabbing on to John or to me and begging to get out of there, no discernible bodily noises, etc.

Apparently they spent some of the time actually observing what was going on, including the details. How do I know this? Because they baptized Annie a few times in the weeks after, especially Lizzy. It always happened during bath time and it took me a few times to understand what in the world were they doing getting a handful of water and holding it on her head for a few seconds. To be honest, I didn't figure it out. Lizzy finally said "I baptize you" and it became obvious.

And so I can add "stop baptizing your sister" to the growing list of things I never thought would come out of my mouth.

Heartache Beyond Measure

There are critical developmental milestones during pregnancy. Since multiples obviously arrive early and sometimes too early, those of us blessed with these particular pregnancies breathe enormous sighs of relief when each milestone is reached and then passed. Week 24 (threshold of viability) is the first. After that, the next goal is Week 28 (higher survival rate with less, but still possible, life long complications) , then 30, then 32 where there is an excellent chance for survival. After that, every 24 hours is bonus. John and I are acutely aware of how fortunate and blessed we were to make it to 34+ weeks with Johnny, Lizzy, and Gracie.

What is heartbreaking is that some stories don't end like ours. I've been following a triplet family for awhile and they just unexpectedly went into early labor at 22 weeks when Baby A's water broke. The mother delivered their three sweet boys a couple days ago and held them all too briefly because they were born 14 days too soon to even have a chance at life. Their story in its entirety is not mine to tell. It is too sad and personal. But their words in the telling are beautiful and filled with dignity and worth a read if you have the time.

I mentioned a couple posts ago that I pray for expectant triplet families as soon as I hear about them. This family brought me to my knees in a way I hadn't experienced in awhile and made me hold Annie longer before I placed her in her crib, even though she had been asleep for 20 minutes. It made me stand in the doorway of the triplets' room and watch them and pray over them as they slept as only small children can, arms and legs every-which-way. And it made me indulge Ainsley and read to her and snuggle with her longer than I have in months.

Read about the family and pray for them, if you will. I can not imagine their grief.