Two Steps Forward, One Giant Step Back

One of the kids was clearly not using her sweet little head tonight and "asked" me to be quiet.  To give her a wee bit of credit she did ask in a polite voice and she did say "please".  However, this is obviously a question that is not to be tolerated.  A question a child should never, unless in an emergency situation, ask an adult, at least in this house. 

This incident falls into the "giant step forward" category because everyone else but Annie had an "Oh, Snap!" moment, stopped what they were doing, whipped their heads around, eyes and ears wide open to see how badly Mommy was going to lose it.  It's nice to know that somewhere, tucked away in their internal files, they know that some comments are disrespectful to adults. So...hooray?

But then, within 5 minutes of a little victory, I stumbled across this:

Apparently, it is excruciatingly difficult to toss dirty clothes in a basket I positioned in the un-classiest yet most-convenient location. They almost had to put more effort in order to miss.

We'll get there.

I Know This Happens To Almost Everyone, But...

There are 930 pics on my phone and over 150 of them are of this little chucklehead.

Another 80 are of a kitchen cabinet. And then another 100 of the sofa:

The movies are fabulous as well, but I'll spare everyone a sampling of the 3 second mini-clips of rude noises that are scattered about my camera roll.

Two Thoughts

1. Class lists came for Ainsley and The Trips today.  Looking at their sweet names on the lists, in different classrooms, made me a little weepy.  This is for real, folks, and I'm not liking the thought that this chapter of our life is closing in just a few weeks.  They make me completely insane sometimes and I love watching them grow up, but...you know.

2. Along with the class lists was the "supply list" and we may have to take out a loan to cover this mess.  Plus, they all need new backpacks this year.  And probably lunch boxes. And shoes. And underwear.

Good grief.

Quote Of The Day

Setting:  In the car, on the way home from the zoo.

Johnny: "MOMMMEEEE!  Lizzy won't talk to me!"

Me: "What are you talking to her about?"

Johnny: "I'm trying to ask her a question!"

Lizzy: "I'm ignoring him."

This is exactly what I've been trying to tell them to do when a sibling is bugging the tar out of them (which is what was happening).  At least someone is listening.

Dear Laird Kidlets

I am tired.  You are funny and insightful and silly and I love you.  You are also children and behave like children (as you are supposed to do) and it can be exhausting to be your Mommy.  It's a good exhaustion and I'm thankful to have the opportunity to experience it, but there isn't a whole lot of physical or emotional energy left in my tank and this is why the house looks the way it does and grilled cheese and pasta and rice are the Big Three in the meal rotation.  It is also why you all know what "crazypants" and "Mommy's going koo-koo" means and when those words come out I'm about 8 more seconds of you all fighting/whining/crying away from losing it.

So I crash at night instead of cleaning or writing or sorting through clothes you've outgrown in the last two weeks.

And then I think of something funny one of you said today, like how Gracie still says "mind" instead of "mine", even though she has been told 457 times that isn't how it's supposed to be said, only to reply "I KNOW!  That's how I like to say it!" and stomp off indignantly. And I laugh and shake my head and fall asleep on the couch.

I love you all very much.  I really do. I'm just tired.

When Our Best Attempts Turn To Crap And Back Again

I fanatically love, love, love my little part of the universe, but the January-March/April weather is horrible.  It makes me want to homeschool my kids for those three months and take them on some random RV tour around the country, just to get out of here. But then I remember the "school" part of homeschool and laugh like a maniac because I am not a go-getter and those three months would simply be a first Summer break.

So when we woke up and the forecast was Potential For Lovely, I said we were going to a playground.  The field trip was necessary since the level of teasing, arguing, and general ugliness between the sibs was escalating and someone would have found themselves flying to the stratosphere if we had not left the house.

By the way, when planning a playground visit with four kids, ages 5 and under, just any random park won't do.  In order to keep it as easy as possible, the bathroom must be close, a drinking fountain that works (but not so much that they can have a spontaneous water fight - this does happen), and there is ideally only one play area, etc, etc.  So the one I chose fit a couple requirements and we were off.

It did not go well.

Within 3 minutes (golly, I wish I was exaggerating), someone had to go potty.  No real surprise here because someone always has to go to the bathroom, but I was caught off guard when the bathrooms were locked.  As in the "not yet opened for spring" locked. Totally and completely uncool and there was NO WAY I had time to load everyone up and haul them 1 mile down the road to a grocery store to unload them, take them in, herd them around the restroom, load them back up, drive the the park, and then unload them so someone else could tell me 4 minutes later that they needed to go potty even though they had vehemently insisted to the point of tears that they didn't have to while we were crammed in one stall at the grocery.  No way.

So, dag-nabbit, we hiked to the furthest point at the park where only a couple neighbors and playground families could tell what we were up to (it's hard to be discreet with four kids running like crazypants for the trees shouting "Is she going to tee-tee in the trees, Mommy??  IS SHE GOING TO TEE-TEE IN THE TREES?!!?!?  HAHAHAHA!!  YAY!!! REALLY??  FOR REAL??".  They had turned almost maniacal with how thrilled they were. It is most definitely a walk of shame.  But I held my head up and readied my "Well, what do you expect me to do" face if some random dared question my decision to allow public urination. 

So we're there and I was pretty confident I had perfected the art of girls urinating in the outdoors a couple years ago, but I had never managed this while one was wearing a skirt.  Because of that, it did not occur to me that the skirt would hang down and therefore be covered with tee-tee to the point of saturation.  And then the girl (and the mom and the girl's sibs) freak for different reasons.  And then the family re-emerges from the trees with one child wearing different clothing (thankfully it was one of those times she was wearing pants underneath), but sobbing because she really loves skirts and wanted to wear that particular one that day, and other children whining because they wanted to pee in the trees as well and why won't you let me, Mommy?  And I'm trying to look nonchalant as I hold the dry corner of a drippy skirt.

Part II

The kids didn't want to play on the fun, new playground, opting instead for the old-school, wood chip and pea gravel, metal variety artfully decorated with bird poop.  Fine, and I actually don't mind this and I sort of understand.  The rubberized playground is boorrriinng because there is nothing to pick up and throw at siblings or shove in one's nose or ear.  Or get stuck in a shoe so that "Mom, I had to take my shoes off to get the wood chips out and then I haven't had the chance to put them back on". And the plastic slides and stuff don't hurt our melons as badly as the metal bars.

This means that, within 8 minutes of playing on the preferred, older play area, three heads rung the monkey-bar-climby-thing, 5 shoes were tossed and I think Annie performed a taste test on the pea gravel, dirt, and wood chips.  Those which did not pass her exam were sprinkled on her head.

Part III

All's well that end's well.  Everyone eventually chilled out, had some fun, myself included, and I witnessed several other parents more crazed than I.  As we left, still holding what was now only a damp skirt, I did a mental pat-on-the-back.

Success.

 Three of them got their bell rung on this contraption. And one of them managed to do it by simply standing there. I have no idea how it happened.

"My heart is hurting"

One of the girls had a rough morning this Easter.  She is the one who wears the title-mentioned heart on her sleeve, the one who seems incapable of any degree of stoicism, and of maintaining some semblance of control over her emotions and behavior when feelings are running high. She is the one whose personality lives at the apex of the pendulum swing, rarely resting in equilibrium. As I say this it is important to note that we desperately love her in spite of that and we even more desperately love her because of that.

So when it's hard and there's more drama than usual, and on a day like today when we are in the middle of celebrating the joy of Easter, that the struggle becomes even more difficult when passions are escalating.  And after a challenging exchange of words when I'm trying in vain to find an angstrom of patience in my well, when she tells me her heart is hurting and broken, that my heart hurts and breaks too.  My heart breaks because I can't fix hers.  I try and try and as much as I desire, I will never be able to perfectly heal her. Don't misunderstand me, she is at the age where she needs me (and John) to make her feel unconditionally loved and to take away her hurt . It is one of the things we are commissioned to do, and it is a great blessing and privilege to make her feel loved.  Beauty results from the trying.

So I pray. I pray that one day she will discover that Mommy and Daddy do our best and have loved and still love with all we that we have. I pray that one day all the pieces will come together and she will know with absolute certainty that God is the only one who can heal her brokenness.  I pray that one day her healed heart will know Joy on Easter morning.