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A lifelong dream of mine was finally able to come true today. You are all looking at the most recent St. Edward’s Preschool 3’s Program graduate. I need to thank everyone that was there to support me along the way including the good Lord above, my husband, and my five beautiful children. I couldn’t have done it without you all!

And how fortunate for me I was able to graduate alongside my son! Something many people aren’t blessed enough to be able to do. I’ll admit my attendance in the class itself was spotty at best… so I really hated to steal Grant’s thunder… but I just couldn’t miss out on this historic event!

It was about 10 minutes after showing up to GRANT’S preschool graduation that I realized things were not going to go well. The teachers marched them out in front of the intimidating audience to start singing their choreographed nursery rhymes and he made it about 30 seconds in before the tears started rolling. I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice it. The other SUPER HELPFUL parents around me made sure to bring it to my attention. I acted oblivious. “What’s that!? Oh I hadn’t noticed the screaming child up on stage. Oh that’s my kid? Yeah I guess I should address that.” I figured if I ignored it it might stop. I was wrong. The solution that everyone else so lovingly handed to me was that I needed to go up on stage with my three-year-old son. What a treat! It was awkward at first, but I was pretty into it by the time they got around to singing The Itsy-Bitsy Spider. Those hand motions are harder than they look! And freaking Mia was WAY out of tune… but don’t worry I had a chat with her mom afterwards. They’re gonna work on it over the summer. I don’t want that junk repeated at next year’s 4’s program graduation.

Now that enough time has passed so as not to offend Alex…I feel that I can post this blog update. Alex decided to get me a Valentines present this year. We don’t get each other Valentines present. Haven’t for years! So to say I was surprised when he handed me a package to open on Valentine’s Day would be an understatement. Honestly I’m not much on gifts in general so I was quite perplexed as to why I was getting an extra one. I opened the gift and out comes a Nike sweatshirt. Or should I say…half of a Nike sweatshirt. As with many apparel presents it was folded when I pulled it out of the packaging, or so I thought. I shook it to get it to unfold the rest of the way and realized that I was actually mistaken… that 6 inches of fabric was, in fact, the entire shirt. I looked blankly at Alex while trying to compose my thoughts. My head kept asking “Where is the rest of the shirt?” but I didn’t want to offend him by speaking this out loud. So I said it with my eyes. He looked at the shirt…then looked back at me. He knew exactly where he had gone wrong, but wasn’t sure how best to handle this situation. He simply responded, “It was hard to tell the size from the photos online.” Smart man. He inadvertently bought me a SUPER short crop top sweatshirt. Y’all I’m 36 years old. I JUST gave birth to our FIFTH child. To say I’m not in crop top shape would be a kind way of putting it. (And please do not take this as an opportunity to try to make me feel better about anything … I am truly not trying to complain or act sad about this… I’ll happily take my 5 babies over a flat stomach any day of the week…But the reality of the situation is that I will not be leaving my house baring my entire midriff anytime in the next decade or so.) AND, as though that weren’t bad enough, he then handed me not one, but TWO additional presents to open. You guessed it! I am now the proud owner of THREE Nike crop top sweatshirts. Not only did he double down on this being a great gift for me… he TRIPLED down on it! He had heard through the grapevine that I saw a Nike sweatshirt I liked at a store and decided that he would really come through for me. I’m not sure when the “crop top” portion of the description got mistakenly added. And when I say crop top I am not just referring to a sweatshirt that hits close to the top of your jeans. I mean you could practically see the underside of a bra if you put this shirt on. EXTREME crop top. I thanked him for my THREE crop tops and excused myself from the dinner table to go hide them in my closet until I could think of a way to kindly dispose of them. When I got into my bedroom I decided it would be VERY funny to try one on and pretend like I was going to wear it. So naturally that’s what I did. When I saw myself in the mirror I literally COULD NOT stop giggling. I was nearly crying it was so hysterical to see me try to be serious wearing a shirt like that. I casually walked through the living room in front of Alex and you could see the wheels spinning as his mind almost exploded with the inability to compute what the proper response would be. If he laughed alongside me it could be conceived as insulting. But if he encouraged me to wear that and that it looked OK I would be the laughing stock of our entire community. Of course it was at this moment that my nine-year-old daughter happened to walk into the room and proceeded to tell me “Mom! You look like a cool person!” Which apparently means my preferred style must no longer be keeping up with the little whipper snappers these days. If you don’t see me in public for the next three months it’s because I’ll be hiding in my basement doing 37,539 crunches. It’s time to get in crop top shape baby!

Have you ever seen a post-apocalyptic movie where the family is slowly emerging from a bomb shelter after a year long lockdown. They’re squinting as their eyes experience sunlight for the first time in 12 months. Everyone is dazed. No one knows quite what to do. They all look around confused. That was my family today. As we all slowly rose from the dead after the GI Bug from the bowels of hell took our family by storm. One by one it picked us off like fish in a barrel. First Veronica. Then Scarlett. Then Grant. Then yours truly. Then Elle. Then the nanny (Yes…she definitely counts.) Then Alex. Rose has thus far remained unscathed. Which makes me seriously question her status as a human being – or Alex and I somehow accidentally created a super human. And of course, rather than being grateful for not having to lie on her deathbed for a day…she was mad…because she “didn’t get any Gatorade” (said in a very whiny voice for dramatic effect). In the last handful of days Alex or I have cleaned up puke roughly 13 times. Not an exaggeration. Our house will likely permanently smell like vomit. Especially after Grant was insistent that he turn the lights on as his 3-year-old self ran to the bathroom to upchuck, but was then caught by surprise while looking at the light switch and spewed all over the wall. The freshly painted wall. It ran behind the trim. There’s no getting back there to get it out. It lives there now. We will just own that smell as the personal fragrance of the Jones Crew. And this week alone there were 4 swim lessons, 4 dentist appointments, 3 gymnastics lessons, 2 snow days, and 1 doctor’s appointment, to say nothing of our jobs, that also had to be factored in and manipulated and cancelled around quarantine schedules and how-long-has-that-one-been-fever-free and which-parent-is-strong-enough-to-get-in-the-car-and-drive. Elle spent one entire day raising the next three siblings in line. It wasn’t until my head hit the pillow at 11:15 that night that I realized she literally had to make all 4 of them breakfast, lunch, and dinner on her own. (And she did great! Even tried her hand at charcuterie.) Yes there was chocolate milk spilled all over the rug that had JUST been shampooed. And yes 2 kids were covered in fiberglass slivers after they took apart a toy that was apparently made from that dastardly material on the inside. (WHO puts fiberglass in a kid’s toy!? Is that even legal?) So, I found myself at 9:30 at night, while Alex was sick in bed, dealing with a crying baby with one hand while looking up YouTube videos for how to deal with fiberglass slivers with the other. Fun fact: Apple Cider vinegar dissolves them. But apparently it stings quite badly first. Hard lesson to learn. Especially when you’re 5 and 7. (Rose, as she stood in the sink with apple cider vinegar dripping down her legs, was gripping the top of the cabinets so tightly, arching her back, and wailing in such a way that it legitimately reminded me of Jesus being whipped before being crucified. And I am not saying that to be sacrilegious. The girl has a flair for the dramatic.) They also don’t fully understand what fiberglass is (then again no one really does, Am I Right??) so now they are literally scared to touch anything made of glass for fear of having to repeat that vinegar bath of horrors. I guess you could say Jesus is teaching me to rely on Him…because there was no way I would have survived this week without help from above. Oh, and I think the heater is going out in my van.

Otherwise I’d way the week went pretty well.

My kids have decided to start a dog sitting business. They are born naturals. The only requirement is the dog has be less than 6 inches tall and never barks. It’s also best if the dog is very slow and doesn’t make any sudden movements. Like maybe if you have a stuffed animal… or a very very old animal with four broken legs… maybe cataracts? Something along those lines. If a dog like THAT needs care my girls are IN! Hit me up and my kids would be happy to babysit your sweet puppy child. Also you have to be within walking distance of our house because Alex and I will have to check the kids’ work to make sure the animal is still alive. It’s like canine care is in their blood really! They only charge a little bit extra to place boot prints on your dining room table. And leaving the back door wide open in the middle of winter while they flee the house from the marauding predator comes free of charge!

This just further confirms my suspicion that we are not ready to be a dog family just yet. Unfortunately, my children did not see it the same way. They blame our LACK of dog for their fear and have decided that because they are currently scared of puppies that means we NEED to get one so they can get used to it. I remain unconvinced. However, watching them try to care for this poor little puppy had me laughing so hard I was nearly in tears. I have never seen my kids move so fast in my life. Maybe we DO need a dog! One of those herding breeds that can keep my kids in the kitchen until the table is cleared after dinner. It can get them all into the bathroom during bath time. And get them all out the door to get on the bus in the morning. I may be able to use this fear to my advantage! But seriously my kids were over there at the neighbor’s house hood-sliding like Bo Duke across the kitchen table trying to get out of the way of this puppy that was jovially prancing across the dining room (or clearly trying to eat them… it depends on who you ask.) At one point the nine-year-old fled the house barefoot in the middle of winter in a kamikaze-style mission to save her sisters at great risk of personal peril to run all the way back to our house panting and telling us that the dog had the two younger children trapped on the kitchen table and they couldn’t get down. It was amazing. Sure enough. The seven and five year old were stranded in the middle of the dining room table terrified to get down. So I opened the door to let the puppy run around outside while I gathered my children. Only to look outside, where my nine-year-old was, to see her running across the yard screaming bloody murder because a puppy was in her vicinity. I’m talking true-terror screaming. Thank God this was day one. The neighbors, much to my children’s delight, pay them in treats. This served to be quite the learning experience. When I took all of the treats for myself they seemed very confused. I explained to them that if I was going to be taking care of the puppy, I was keeping the treats for myself. They spent the next 24 hours teaching themselves to face their fear of dogs. They started going over in pairs and learning to run faster than the puppy when they took him outside in order to get him to burn some energy and stay out of his way. The other person would stay in the house changing out dog treats and water and getting everything ready to get him right back in the kennel when the other person came back in the house. They had an entire system devised and I’m happy to report back that they had largely overcome their fear by the end of the weekend. They then got to celebrate with gummy bears and Jones Soda. I’m a big believer that if kids are receiving payment of any sort in exchange for doing a task, they actually have to complete the task in order to receive the payment. (There’s a part of me that wanted them to fail just so I could keep the treats for myself.) And they don’t know this yet, but I am planning on exacting a large handful-of-gummy-bears fee for my role on day one. It only seems fair. If they subbed out some of the work they’re darn well going to pay their subcontractor.

Dude… five kids is hard. (For those that aren’t in the know I gave birth to Baby Number 5 two weeks ago. Quite the adjustment. We, as parents, are now VERY outnumbered.) I know I’ve said this before…but this time I think I really mean it…I may have hit a new low in my parenting career today. This morning I had to drop four kids off at school. I loaded them up, drove them to their respective schools in a variety of different towns, then drove home. When I walked back into the house Alex was rocking the baby and asked me how I got home so fast. I had no idea what he was talking about. Until it hit me. And my jaw hit the floor. I had forgotten to take a child…and that child was still upstairs in bed sleeping. (This was completely unbeknownst to Alex, who didn’t see me loading the kids into the car and had NO idea I had forgotten one.) Let me say that again: I. Left. One. Of. My. Kids. At. Home. AND…I never actually even realized it. It wasn’t like I was backing out of the driveway when it hit me that I was a kid short. I did a 45 minute school shuttle run and it still never hit me. When I walked back into the house it still didn’t hit me. Most Moms are able to redeem themselves at least a little bit when they eventually remember their oversight all on their own. Not me! It was only when Alex pointed out that I got back early that it occurred to me that there must be a reason for that. Namely, my still-slumbering child. That’s bad. That’s real bad.

But therein lies the perks of having many children. Three out of four successfully dropped off at school is still a success rate of 75%. And that’s a passing grade in my books! Usually I shoot for a 100% success rate with my children… but if we average this out over the course of the semester I think I can still manage an A! Though I once again will likely not be Mother of the Year material.

We finally decided to take our kids to Lake Michigan a couple of weeks ago. Because when you live in Michigan and you have children it’s pretty much mandatory every summer. I think they might actually take your kids away at the end of the summer if you don’t take them there at some point. (Might be a strategy for a future year.) It started off as an incredibly joyful day. It’s a mere hour and 15 minute drive-o-bliss from our house. I’m pretty sure I was shedding tears before we got loaded in the vehicle. That’s likely partially pregnancy-hormone related and partially related to trying to get four kids and a husband that pretty much counts as a fifth child out the door by 8:30 in the morning. 

And in today’s installment of what the heck is wrong with my children… I have three girls so someone begging for their room to get painted pink is pretty much a weekly occurrence. Or covered in glitter. Or to receive a unicorn mural with candy raining from the skies. You know – something subtle like that. And my answer has always been a resounding no. Pink’s not really my color. And paintings not really my game. We painted these walls 11 years ago and they’ll probably be this color when I die. Our Little Miss Independent Scarlett decided to take matters into her own hands. She’s not quite old enough to drive to the hardware store to pick up her own paint, so being the very resourceful kid that she is, she modified and made the necessary adjustments to her game plan. A bottle of pink nail polish would have to suffice. She didn’t have enough to do the whole wall so she did what she could. In an effort to veil who the culprit may have been she wisely chose to paint the bathroom that gets far more foot traffic in lieu of her bedroom. Smart kid. It was on the mirror. It was on the walls (in multiple spots). It was on the switch plate covers. It was EVERYWHERE. And I’m talking hot pink nail polish. And if I’m being honest I had already removed some of it before taking the below photo. I assume the wisest thing to do would be to remove it with nail polish remover. Not a good idea. While it came off the mirror and switch plate cover just fine, the point of nail polish remover is to remove PAINT. Apparently we have not had enough advancements in nail polish remover for it to be able to distinguish between nail-polish-specific type paint and the paint that goes on your walls. As I used the nail polish remover to takeoff the nail polish it also removed the layers of paint from the wall that was underneath it. Which only unearthed the heinous memory of the original color this bathroom was painted in. Lime green. Not a great choice. It looked really great in the magazine that I saw it in and a professional painter put it up for us. It wasn’t until a friend commented that he felt like he was walking into a Toys “R” Us that it shook me awake enough to realize what a horrendous mistake I had made. Much to Alex’s dismay he then had to repaint over the professional painter’s job in a more subtle color. We now have a strip of that lime green paint exposed underneath where the pink nail polish was. Maybe I should have just left it bright pink. Now every time Alex uses this restroom he will be reminded of the terrible mistake I made 10 years ago that cost him a few days of his life. Just what I need. Thanks a lot Scarlett!

Grant, our 2 year old, is starting to spread his wings. And not in a super useful way. Does anybody know the exact limitations of a toilet and the surrounding plumbing system? I’m asking for a friend. Living with a family of six has certainly tested our plumbing in a number of unique ways… but we may have taken it to new heights lately. The other night, during our beloved bedtime routine, Grant informed us that he had washed his favorite pair of underwear as well as the only toothbrush he is willing to use. In the toilet. I was immediately completely disgusted… I also wondered if I could throw that toothbrush in the dishwasher and get it clean enough to keep using. He refuses to use any toothbrush that doesn’t have Thomas the Train on it. Driving to the store to get a new one seems like too much work. However, it became quickly apparent that I did not need to do an analytical deep dive on the sanitizing capabilities of our dishwasher. Because both the toothbrush and his underwear were nowhere to be found. Like, anywhere. After beginning the inquisition he informed me in his choppy two-year-old voice that he “flush-ed them.” I had serious doubts at first. But after a six-person search party came back empty-handed I started considering the feasibility of this. Can a toothbrush get flushed down the toilet!? Along with a pair of husky boys Dino underwear!? Is that even possible!? I truly don’t know. However this was two days ago now and still no underwear… still no toothbrush…  And yes, that means Grant hasn’t brushed his teeth in days. Shhh…please don’t tell my dentist. Maybe I can just rub a little toothpaste on his Thomas the Train toy and call it a day. Anything to save me a trip to the store. If you have any recommendations for a dentist that does a great Toddler Denture I may need the number. 

Well this is perfect. Last night I strolled in to tuck Rose into bed and immediately noticed the wry smile on her face. I knew quickly something was amiss. I asked her what was going on. She continued to give me her sheepish grin. Finally she slyly pulled up a Berenstain Bears book as though that meant something to me. We have 47 of these books and they are the longest children’s books known to mankind so I basically refuse to ever read them to the kids… even though they were some of my childhood favorites. I’m not perfect. She could tell I was still confused so she offered up a meek explanation: “I forgot to give this back to the school.”  Oh how swell. An overdue library book is certainly not a new thing in our house. (I found one on Alex’s nightstand this morning that got checked out in early April. I’m just proud of him for reading.) The whammy in Rose’s particular case is that unfortunately school ended for my children last Friday; they are officially on summer break. And Rose will be going to a new school when she goes back in the fall. Which means I think we now own 48 Berenstain Bears books. She tried to solve the problem by telling me she’ll just send it back with Scarlett, who will be going to that school next year. There is no way that turns out well. I’ll be lucky if Scarlett remembers to wear shoes… a three-month-overdue library book that needs to get returned under her sister’s name is a moonshot for her. Which means I now have to store this book for the entire summer and set it aside so I can remember to return it myself when the educational system resumes this fall. Considering how little I have going on in Autumn of 2021 (Baby Number 5 is due in September) I don’t foresee any problems with this actually happening. I am basically guaranteed a $1617 overdue fine that I will have to pay before Rose is allowed to receive her high school diploma at this point. It would have been cheaper to hire Stan and Jan Berenstain personally to read the bedtime stories to my kids.   Sorry Rose. It was a good run. Maybe try the GED route?

With three daughters I try to tread lightly around any body image conversations. It’s important to me that they are raised with a healthy respect for their bodies and a sense of what’s actually important in their lives. This is sometimes easier said than done. I want to teach them modesty while at the same time try not to teach them to be ashamed of their bodies. I want to teach them that they are beautiful just the way they are. Unfortunately, the world is screaming every other viewpoint at them on a daily basis. Makeup has been a point of particular contention for us. Partially because I enjoy wearing makeup myself, but I don’t want my children to think it’s important. I have found this is a very difficult line to walk with them. They think it looks fun and constantly want to try some on. For years it has worked well for me to simply pretend to brush some on them. The older ones are starting to catch on now though. Anyways… true to form… when you deny your kids something they’ll often just go somewhere else try to find it! I was doing the drive to school drop off pretty quickly this morning all on my own as Alex had left quite early. I had three girls I was dropping off at three different schools with staggered start times. If I hustle I can usually get them all there mostly on time. Of course our morning started off nothing like I had planned in my mind though. The Tooth Fairy forgot to come, again, last night. So Rose was in a tizzy and woke me up 40 minutes early to voice her concerns about the Tooth Fairy’s unexplained absence. Rose had also got her ant farm set up the night before and Elle decided it would be fun to take the lid off bright and early this morning. Scarlett decided she is now anti-pants. And this was all pretty much by 7 AM. Needless to say we were rushing by the time we finally got into the van to takeoff. It was only when I was pulling into Scarlett’s preschool on two wheels that I heard the snickering coming from the backseat. I turned around to find all three of my girls looking like a version of Batman’s Joker.  They had used a tube of maroon lipstick sometime during the drive. And you could tell that they lacked application practice. Or we hit A LOT of chatter bumps on the way. They also haven’t learned that lipstick often has a bit of a staining factor… meaning you can’t just wipe it off and be fine. I looked like I was dropping children straight from a brothel into all of the local elementary schools this morning. The lipstick has now been confiscated. Apparently it belonged to a friend at school…   My standards are so low at this point that I kind of like the shade and might keep it myself. I call that a win. If I have a cold sore the next time you see me, it’s probably the 47 other elementary students that tried this lipstick before I did.