I refuse to participate in Resolutions, mostly because I know I'll either forget about them by January 2nd or won't care by January 3rd. I have bigger fish to fry right now than whether or not I'll limit dessert to 1x/week (HAHAHAHAHA) or...well, I can't think of anything else. I'm so lame.
Nonetheless, I can hear the rumblings of 2012 on the other side of my little world and, as much as I would like, I can't run away fast enough. Instead, I'm choosing to squoosh my back against the wall of my life and taking quick peeks around the corner to see how much longer I have until the inevitable happens and I'm full-body-smacked with a new year.
And since I can't escape, I may as well put my purse down and man-up, and at least reflect on whether or not I should try to do something more than exist by successfully getting through the day without causing too much permanent harm.
Three minutes of reflection later, I came to the conclusion that I should work on my grumpiness this year - as in to be less grumpy. One of my main battles is that I kind of like to be grumpy. It feels comfortable to me and I come by it honestly as I have a long line of curmudgeonly ancestors to genetically inspire me and I have been a most excellent student at the craft.
What inspired me to this? A true story that goes like this:
One day, a wife noticed a storm was brewing in the house and she decided she was not only going to nip it in the bud (even though the urge to feed into it was so strong), but also make the day cheerier and filled with rainbows and bunnies and lollipops. Because it was THE HOLIDAYS, for crying out loud. So what did the wife do? She forced herself to smile - that really perky kind of smile that the really, truly, sweet people walk around with - and her husband said "What are you doing?". No lie. "I'm smiling" said the wife. "Why?" replied the husband. "Because it's almost Christmas and I'm going make sure everyone is HAPPY!".
The day did get a little bit merrier and bright, but the wife realized that perhaps she needed to occasionally alter her countenance a smidge so she wouldn't startle anyone if she decided to share a grin ever again.
And that is what's going to happen. I'm going to fight my nature and be in a less crappy mood.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
My Harrier
Ainsley's school has held a Turkey Trot for the last 12 years and, if you know me, you know I love it. I've been fired up for this event ever since I found out about it and wish, wish, wish I could have helped out. I just know my easy temperament would have made me the darling of the planning team. In retrospect, it's probably best I didn't want to shell out some coin for babysitting so I could help hand out water bottles. Things would have gotten serious.
Anyway, every student participates and they spend some time in PE training for their big run. I made the mistake of calling it a "race" one time and was corrected.
"Mommy. It is a Run. Not a Race. We are supposed to keep a steady pace so we don't get too tired and have to stop."
Okay, okay. Fine. I have many years to brainwash my oldest into wanting to show the rest of the school how it's done.
I wasn't sure what to expect when I showed up to cheer her on and was floored by what had been prepared. Every student had a race number, the roads (yes, they ran around the neighborhood where the school is located) were blocked by police cars, parent volunteers were everywhere along the course, there was a finish line chute, and bottled water and bananas had been donated by one of the local grocery stores for the athletes who, I'm certain, would be so exhausted from their 1/4 mile (for the first and second graders) and 1/2 mile (for the rest) respective runs.
The starting line. I was dying because they still had about 5 minutes until the PE teacher started the race and a couple kids held their starting stance the entire time. Classic.
Ainsley isn't in this picture, but I still love it. The kids are all so excited and serious and that's the way it's supposed to be. It was so sweet to see every single kid having a great time while they're running. I wish I had video because right after I took this picture a boy lost a shoe. Of course. So visualize a little kid running against the tide to retrieve lost shoe, then bending down to put it back on while 100+ kids ran past. I thought for sure there would be a pile-up of some sort, but miraculously no one got seriously injured.
The finish. Check out that form. Relaxed, perfect arm swing and hand placement. Steady as she goes and she remembered to do exactly as she was told. A coach's dream.
The first of many ribbons, because of COURSE she'll run cross-country.
Are You Seriously?!?!?!
I hear myself, my words, come from my children more often than I would like. The triplets, in particular, are known for parroting me more than Ainsley and Johnny more than any of them.
But tonight? Lizzy strung together, without a breath, this string of my little isms for no reason other than for her own entertainment:
Oh my goodness!
Oh my stars!
Are you kidding me?
Are you seriously?!?!? (This last is her interpretation.)
This, from the girl who wears three pair of underwear at the same time because "they're my favorites". Duh.
But tonight? Lizzy strung together, without a breath, this string of my little isms for no reason other than for her own entertainment:
Oh my goodness!
Oh my stars!
Are you kidding me?
Are you seriously?!?!? (This last is her interpretation.)
This, from the girl who wears three pair of underwear at the same time because "they're my favorites". Duh.
I love this girl.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree
There are several Christmas-season songs I can't handle and the Amy Grant version of "Rockin'" is one of them (the Top 3 including "Little Drummer Boy" and "Santa Baby").
But that is not the point. The POINT is that we purchased our tree much later than usual and the kids were starting to freak out. Who am I kidding? I was starting to freak out. I barely decorate for Christmas, mostly because I'm too lazy and I hate having to undecorate from Christmas. So I don't. But the tree. The Tree! There must be a Christmas tree because just having the Nativity set out all by itself seems so...lonely.
The first weekend of December was consumed with family stuff, John was out of town the second weekend, and this past weekend was going to be crazy, what with Annie's first birthday (oh, I feel a little ill thinking about my baby getting older) and all. So John decided to leave work a bit early on Tuesday to get a tree. He and three of the kids drove off in the rain and returned not 40 minutes later with a beaut.
Were we all excited? Yes! So excited we (kidlets) decided to do a Christmas tree dance? Yes! John brought the tree in, set it in the tree stand, left to do...something...and we heard war whoops coming from the front. My spazzy kids were doing laps around our Tannenbaum, chanting "Running around the Christmas tree" over and over and over again.
They're crazy.
We obviously released this guy from the netting and were impressed with ourselves by only taking four days to get it decorated. I did say I was lazy, right?
But that is not the point. The POINT is that we purchased our tree much later than usual and the kids were starting to freak out. Who am I kidding? I was starting to freak out. I barely decorate for Christmas, mostly because I'm too lazy and I hate having to undecorate from Christmas. So I don't. But the tree. The Tree! There must be a Christmas tree because just having the Nativity set out all by itself seems so...lonely.
The first weekend of December was consumed with family stuff, John was out of town the second weekend, and this past weekend was going to be crazy, what with Annie's first birthday (oh, I feel a little ill thinking about my baby getting older) and all. So John decided to leave work a bit early on Tuesday to get a tree. He and three of the kids drove off in the rain and returned not 40 minutes later with a beaut.
Were we all excited? Yes! So excited we (kidlets) decided to do a Christmas tree dance? Yes! John brought the tree in, set it in the tree stand, left to do...something...and we heard war whoops coming from the front. My spazzy kids were doing laps around our Tannenbaum, chanting "Running around the Christmas tree" over and over and over again.
They're crazy.
We obviously released this guy from the netting and were impressed with ourselves by only taking four days to get it decorated. I did say I was lazy, right?
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Bedtime Ridiculousness
It started this past summer.
We were in Ohio for our summer visit and the four oldest shared a room for the first time ever. Ainsley's been dying to have the girls move in with her, so we were curious about how this would play out.
The first night was typical. Giggling, more giggling, moving around, books/lovies/pillows "accidentally" falling from the bed and therefore needing to be retrieved by getting out of bed, over and over and over again.
Then it happened. Ainsley declared herself the Trips' Ambassador and started to personally escort them OUT OF THEIR ROOM to tell us something completely irrelevant or simply inform us they were going to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was one door from their sleeping quarters. They had to pass directly in front of it to find us downstairs. We couldn't believe it.
Until then, I can't remember any of the triplets coming out of their room. Occasionally we'd hear them jump out of bed, run to get something, then jump back in, but they NEVER left their room unless instructed and always called if they needed something.
And now? Now we have this:
Thump, thump, thump down the stairs.
"Mommy, I can't find my doggie" (It was in her bed. As.I.Had.Told.Her.) Or:
"Mommy, can you cover me up". Or:
"Mommy, Lizzy said poop". Or:
"Mommy, I...uh...umm...umm...is tomorrow Saturday?".
And on. And on. And on.
So now we're in retraining mode, which means the rules have to be told and repeated back every night; a miniature family catechism.
Me: "When is it okay to get out of bed or come out of your room?"
Trips: "Only in an emergency."
Me: "And what is an emergency?"
Trips: "If we have to go potty, if we have to throw up, if the house is on fire, or if you and Daddy say we can."
Me: "Just call if you really need something. We'll always come." Because we do and it's important they know that.
Of course they feel the need to question what exactly constitutes and "emergency" and try, in vain, to offer up extra options (what if it floods? no. or we hear tornado sirens? no. if we hear a loud noise? no.) We're three months out of the summer visit and I feel we're circling in on back-to-normal. I'm sure it will all go to pieces when the girls (+ Johnny as he has informed us "because I don't want to be alone") move into Ainsley's room.
Work in progress.
We were in Ohio for our summer visit and the four oldest shared a room for the first time ever. Ainsley's been dying to have the girls move in with her, so we were curious about how this would play out.
The first night was typical. Giggling, more giggling, moving around, books/lovies/pillows "accidentally" falling from the bed and therefore needing to be retrieved by getting out of bed, over and over and over again.
Then it happened. Ainsley declared herself the Trips' Ambassador and started to personally escort them OUT OF THEIR ROOM to tell us something completely irrelevant or simply inform us they were going to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was one door from their sleeping quarters. They had to pass directly in front of it to find us downstairs. We couldn't believe it.
Until then, I can't remember any of the triplets coming out of their room. Occasionally we'd hear them jump out of bed, run to get something, then jump back in, but they NEVER left their room unless instructed and always called if they needed something.
And now? Now we have this:
Thump, thump, thump down the stairs.
"Mommy, I can't find my doggie" (It was in her bed. As.I.Had.Told.Her.) Or:
"Mommy, can you cover me up". Or:
"Mommy, Lizzy said poop". Or:
"Mommy, I...uh...umm...umm...is tomorrow Saturday?".
And on. And on. And on.
So now we're in retraining mode, which means the rules have to be told and repeated back every night; a miniature family catechism.
Me: "When is it okay to get out of bed or come out of your room?"
Trips: "Only in an emergency."
Me: "And what is an emergency?"
Trips: "If we have to go potty, if we have to throw up, if the house is on fire, or if you and Daddy say we can."
Me: "Just call if you really need something. We'll always come." Because we do and it's important they know that.
Of course they feel the need to question what exactly constitutes and "emergency" and try, in vain, to offer up extra options (what if it floods? no. or we hear tornado sirens? no. if we hear a loud noise? no.) We're three months out of the summer visit and I feel we're circling in on back-to-normal. I'm sure it will all go to pieces when the girls (+ Johnny as he has informed us "because I don't want to be alone") move into Ainsley's room.
Work in progress.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The Good, The Typical, And Just Gross
Let's start with Just Gross. I abhor vomit. There isn't much else that gives me a violent case of the "ewwss" as vomit and with a truck load of kids in the house, the statistics are in favor of it presenting itself on a regular basis. Right now a minor bug of some sort has taken its time seeking out all little ones in my care, and this is one of the side effects. The problem with this particular bug is that the vomiting comes out of nowhere. No real warning (Lizzy excepted) and therefore no chance to act in preventing serious yuck in the house and therefore emotional damage to myself. You see, this virus-thingy is sneaky. Symptoms? A little whiny, low-grade fever, slight runny nose, that's it. Eating remains fairly normal, sleep habits are normal, etc. And then? WHAM!!!! Just Gross.
They Typical? Well. All of this nastiness started over a week ago with Ainsley and I was hoping, praying, it would either stop with her or race through the house quickly in order to have everyone finished with it by Thanksgiving. Yesterday afternoon (the day before Thanksgiving), I was ignorantly checking off who had thrown up so far and was pleased that the two left rarely do so (Gracie) or had never (Annie in her short life). Annie was a little goofy all day, clingy, but not entirely off her feed and was terribly impressed with herself at dinner for eating broccoli like a big kid. Typical bedtime behavior for about 20 minutes and then...totally atypical. I hate, hate, hate changing cribs from an episode and she did a thorough job. John was thankfully home for this one...but then he left to hang out with a friend and not 7 minutes after he left, Gracie started that weird cough. You know, the one where - if you have the level of vomit experience we do at Chez Laird - you just know it will not end well. I made it up the stairs in time to almost make it. Poor, poor Gracie. And oh, so typical of when I get a little over-confident when we have something licked. It always becomes so apparent we don't.
Where is The Good in all this mess?
1. We were finished with everything before Thanksgiving. Yay!
2. With this particular Yuck, the infected only throw up once. Yay!
3. No carpet was affected. Yay!
4. Lizzy's was outside on the patio (easy clean up - thank you Lizzy) and 15 seconds after a 40 minute car ride. It would have been disastrous. Double Yay!
And that's how it goes around here.
They Typical? Well. All of this nastiness started over a week ago with Ainsley and I was hoping, praying, it would either stop with her or race through the house quickly in order to have everyone finished with it by Thanksgiving. Yesterday afternoon (the day before Thanksgiving), I was ignorantly checking off who had thrown up so far and was pleased that the two left rarely do so (Gracie) or had never (Annie in her short life). Annie was a little goofy all day, clingy, but not entirely off her feed and was terribly impressed with herself at dinner for eating broccoli like a big kid. Typical bedtime behavior for about 20 minutes and then...totally atypical. I hate, hate, hate changing cribs from an episode and she did a thorough job. John was thankfully home for this one...but then he left to hang out with a friend and not 7 minutes after he left, Gracie started that weird cough. You know, the one where - if you have the level of vomit experience we do at Chez Laird - you just know it will not end well. I made it up the stairs in time to almost make it. Poor, poor Gracie. And oh, so typical of when I get a little over-confident when we have something licked. It always becomes so apparent we don't.
Where is The Good in all this mess?
1. We were finished with everything before Thanksgiving. Yay!
2. With this particular Yuck, the infected only throw up once. Yay!
3. No carpet was affected. Yay!
4. Lizzy's was outside on the patio (easy clean up - thank you Lizzy) and 15 seconds after a 40 minute car ride. It would have been disastrous. Double Yay!
And that's how it goes around here.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Fellow Parents, I Apologize
"Hey Mommy. How do babies get out of Mommies' tummies?".
Ugh. I'm getting these already?
Sigh.
Of course I told them the truth (and not the way they arrived).
They thought it was absolutely hysterical. To be honest, I'd say I have to agree with them.
So apologies all around to everyone in my world who has children who associate with mine, because the odds of one of these little angels telling one of yours how babies arrive in this dear world are great.
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