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I decided to try my hand at this whole vacation thing one more time. Or, as a very wise person once told me, when you’re taking your kids it’s a family trip, there’s nothing vacation-like about it. So true. We loaded up the four kids and hopped on a flight to Florida to see my parents. Today it called for rain ALL. DAY. So we did what any normal, sane parents would do. We loaded them up in the car and drove to the local flea market. Tons of shiny things for them to attempt to pilfer and us to yell at them not to touch. Perfect! We got there bright and early and then pulled a Walley World and made sure to park nearest the exit so we could be the first ones out! (This wasn’t our first rodeo.) We hauled all four kids inside and it started off pretty decent. We were enjoying ourselves, pretending to be a cordial, polite family. With every booth we passed our patience ran increasingly thin. “Quit jamming beads in your pockets!” “ The next person to steal something is going to prison!“ “No, we don’t need a set of six massaging chair covers for the plane ride home!“ (This one was directed at Alex.) We were about 3/4 of the way through the place when I think it became pretty obvious that it would be best for everyone if we just went home. The woman in stall 152 literally gave us free stuff just to leave her booth. And I happily took her up on it. And I don’t mean some little commemorative button. Each of the three girls got to pick out a matching shirt. When she saw that we also had a baby boy she told us to pick out a free leather bracelet for him too. He’s honestly not much for jewelry (he made us return the toe ring we got him for Christmas) but I was like ‘Heck, it’s free, why not?’ While the boy is admittedly huge, most of the bracelets were adult-sized so I had to rummage through them until I found one with palm trees that seemed large-baby-sized and tossed it to Alex to give to Grant. We thanked the woman profusely and headed on our merry way. The girls and I were about five stalls ahead of Alex while he was fumbling with the bracelet and Grant. He started yelling at me to come back. I turned around to see what all the ruckus was about. 

He’s very upset he couldn’t keep the weed one. “It was way cooler,” he says.

Matching (and free!) shirts

I didn’t let Grant go out to play in the snow this weekend because I’m a mean mom. And I hate the cold. And Grant being outside necessitates an adult being outside. The older three can fend for themselves. So, while the three girls went outside to fulfill all of their wondrous winter desires Grant was forced to stay inside in our dungeon of a home staring at them enviously out our dining room windows. He had the last laugh though. Today, upon entering my kitchen, he proceeded to create a blizzard of Cheerios. White out conditions. He was actually making a snow angel with his legs in them. I’m not kidding. There were drifts up underneath the cabinet doors. I didn’t want to waste a good box of Cheerios so I just brushed those things right back into the bag. Guests: Please don’t eat the Cheerios. Children: Please plan on pulling hair out of your mouth during breakfast. But hey, at least Rose came up with a good long-term permanent solution. She Scotch-Taped the pantry doors shut. What she lacked in implementation she made up for in resourcefulness. Problem solved. At least until I need the potato chips.

Another one bites the dust… (Insert DUH-DUH-DUH drumbeat from Queen’s famous song here)… Another one bites the dust… And of course the vomit came while she was lying on my chest. And Alex was gone to early Mass. We were literally on the wood floor in the kitchen 2 1/2 seconds prior to this photo op. Scarlett said her belly hurt and I was trying to be a good mom so I laid her on my chest just in time for The Bowels of Hell Volume 2 to come shooting out of her and all over me and our couch. I had to go into immediate emergency mode. Actually, if I’m being totally honest, I was so shocked I kinda just froze for a bit. Because I had vomit dripping off both me and my three year old, a crying baby strapped into a high chair, and not a soul that could help me (because the older two girls were still sleeping and, quite frankly, would have been largely useless anyways.) I carted her into the bathroom, vomit dripping along the way, while trying to decide if I wanted to clean her or the couch first. (It may seem like a no brainer that I should have cleaned the child first, but there could have been more vomit coming and I didn’t need to do double baths. So quit judging me.) Whilst in the bathroom, I decided the appropriate next step was removing our clothing because we didn’t want our vomit-soaked clothes to drag more mess throughout the house. It was only after I stripped both of us down that I remembered we actually had some overnight adult guests and I was walking around the house in my birthday suit because I had no other barf-free clothes near me. Thank God I remembered they were there and got some attire before they awoke from their slumber or this story could have taken a very weird turn. I was then off to scrub the couch. And did I mention this was a new couch? I use the term “new” loosely because we bought it about two years ago, but I think that still qualifies. “Let’s wait until our children are out of the toddler phase,” I told Alex when he suggested we needed a new couch. The old one was covered in a plethora of stains…from our young children. Since we still own said young children, this seemed to be a pretty strong case for waiting to buy a new one. Alex, however, persisted in making a case for why we still needed a new one…and I too wanted a new one so I caved pretty easily. And so, here we are. We made it two years largely stain free – that’s pretty darn good! So for all you lovely blog regulars…the next time you stop by the house – you know which side of the couch to avoid. If only I had been a worse mom and had taken my time getting around to the morning snuggles this entire mess would have been on the wood floor in the kitchen. You guys. We got four new fabric pieces of furniture in the living room. This is my second kid with this stomach bug and our second piece of furniture to reap the benefits. I think I see what God is doing here. 2 kids down. 2 pieces of furniture down. I have 2 kids left. Yeah…that math adds up. I’m going to be trying to get the smell out of this couch for months. I’m probably going to have to burn the thing. I hear MSU offers some nice facilities for doing that sort of thing. Maybe I should save it for March Madness?

My oh my, yesterday was just the day that kept on giving. After our horrendous fiasco with the vomit, we came home looking forward to a peaceful evening and putting the kids to bed early. The girls all got new Christmas flashlights for use at bedtime. I got a good deal on them, but I’m starting to think they must be very high-end. Because these are the brightest flashlights I have ever seen in my life. It’s like high noon in the dead of night when they have them on. Like, bright enough that I had to threaten to confiscate them if I ever saw one of the kids look directly into it. So, naturally, within five minutes of me handing it to Rose the other day she got grounded from it for 24 hours because she just couldn’t resist looking directly into the light. I think she still has a blind spot. I’m pretty sure these things could land a plane. Anyways, we really needed a relaxing evening after our ordeal with Grant being sick, and the girls were tickled pink about their new flashlights, so naturally I decided to threaten to take them away. In a typical night each of our three oldest children will leave their bedroom to make a heartfelt request of us somewhere between 37 and 462 times. Last night I told them if any of them left the room for any non-emergencies they were immediately having their flashlight taken away – no questions asked. They asked me to clarify if leaving for emergencies was OK. I told them they had to be throwing up to leave the room. Rose came up with and named this rule the “Barfing, Broken Bone, Bleeding Rule“ all on her own. Meaning one of those three terms had to apply in order for you to be able to leave the bedroom without getting punished. I was really impressed with the alliteration and accuracy of this rule. Roughly 30 minutes into bedtime Rose came out into the hallway. I was almost excited in a Mean Mom way that I was going to get to take the flashlight from her. Until she told me they had a qualifying emergency. It technically didn’t start with a B, but Scarlett had eaten half of a Crayon. I went up to check. Elle informed me that they were all sitting there reading books when all of a sudden Scarlett proclaimed “Mmm…I was really hungry for that crayon!” When Elle turned to look at her the below picture is what she saw. It was like she was turning into a Smurf from the inside out. It had gotten everywhere! Her sheets were stained. I’m pretty sure she’ll be peeing blue for awhile. Alex had to help her swish and spit more times than I can count. I ruined her brand new Christmas toothbrush getting it out of the grooves in her molars! We finally got her tucked back into bed and went about our night when Rose came out into the hallway yet again. “Finally, my chance to take away the flashlight!” I thought. But oh no, it was another qualifying emergency – Rose explained to me that Scarlett had found a pair of scissors in their bedroom and was threatening to cut off Elle’s fingers. When Alex rushed upstairs to de-escalate the situation and disarm Scarlett, Elle, genuinely excited, held up her fingers and exclaimed “Look! I still have all 10!” as she wiggled them back and forth. It’s sad that that’s how low our bar is, but apparently being able to go to bed with all 10 fingers is a win now. It was quite the day.

It’s Christmas Season! The most wonderful time of the year! Also the time of year when every person you have ever met in your life is in town at the same time. Which means I was blessed with having almost my entire pack of college friends in the same city at the same time today. It was decided we would all attempt to get together with our families in tow. (I have AT LEAST twice as many kids as everyone else there.) I apparently had delusions of grandeur before we left because I thought it would be fun and a good idea to take all four of mine even though Alex had offered to stay home with some. I said “No worries – let’s all go together!” (Famous last words.) Also, like any school reunion, I curled my hair, made sure I had showered at least once in the previous week, put on some bronzer, my favorite jeans, and a brand new and rather out-of-my-typical-price-range-expensive top from Christmas. And darn it if I wasn’t having a good hair day to top it all off! Things were really turning up roses! We had been in the door of my friend’s house 12 1/2 minutes when someone kindly informed me that Grant was having a diaper blowout. Not a problem! I can practically solve that with my eyes closed at this point. I pick him up and cart him off to the other room without thinking much of it. Apparently, this is also the time of year for sharing. Everything. Including viruses and light diseases. Some people bring a plate of cookies to pass around, I bring a bacteria-ridden-baby. Because before I was even able to fish a clean diaper out of the diaper bag something from the inner sanctum of hell forced itself projectile-fashion out of his mouth. And all over me. Almost exclusively all over me. And the brand new top that the scissors were still warm from cutting the tags off. As I tried to polite-yell for Alex so as not to raise too much alarm, Grant produced yet another round of projectile vomit, again all over me. Alex arrived in time to see him finishing this off and starting on his third round. This was bad. Real bad. And all over my friend’s newly remodeled (and also out of my price range) house. And don’t even get me started on the smell. I lost count of the amount of paper towels we went through cleaning this nightmare up. I was wiping it off shoes. Trying to wipe it out of cracks in the wood. (I have a hunch her house may have a bit of a funk to it come the warm summer months. My apologies!) My clothes were completely destroyed, so this very kind (and also tiny) friend loaned me some of hers. Which led to Elle pointing at my post-four-baby paunch of a belly and asking me if I was pregnant again. Hello baggy sweatshirt. Goodbye lovely day. I broke out the vodka shortly thereafter. And now we’re placing bets on whether the smell will come out of my new shirt. It’s really anyone’s guess. Also please let me point out, lest you prematurely divert your eyes from the heinous picture below, there is still a visible fecal explosion coming out the back end of his diaper that has yet to be dealt with. And there is vomit in my hair and dripping off my necklace as well. It was the Full Monty. (I don’t actually know what that means, so if it’s wildly out of place or inappropriate please just disregard.) 

Rose “Houdini” Jones decided that she was going to test out her new lock-braking magic tricks. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a lock of her own. But her sister’s diary does! She found the key and used it to steal Elle’s diary’s padlock. This key had a teeny tiny hole at the top. She then proceeded to thread the padlock through the hole of the key and then re-locked the padlock. Thereby rendering the entire padlock/key combo completely useless. She casually strolled into the bathroom and handed it to me asking me to fix it. That ship has sailed Sweetie. This is now between you, Jesus, and Elle. Godspeed my friend. Also, good luck explaining to Elle that you obviously broke into her diary. Sidenote: I know you’re only in Kinderstart, but were you able to read very much of it? Any love interests just yet?  I guess I’ll be sending her to Summer Camp for Magicians. Solely so she can learn how to get that key off that padlock before Elle finds out. Until then I think we’ll be having her hold off on the underwater stunt that she wants to attempt. Not sure she’s entirely qualified for that just yet. 

Three grown adults (myself, my husband, and my nanny) spent roughly 20 minutes yesterday morning looking for my car keys. I would have just taken the spare, but someone else lost that. You guys, I never lose stuff. Have you ever heard the saying “it isn’t lost until mom can’t find it.” They made that saying up after watching me for a day. I know where literally everything in my house is at all times. So, when I couldn’t find these keys, it obviously meant that somebody else had taken them and put them somewhere. Just like someone did with my spare. We overturned everything. We scoured the toy bins. I looked through random desk drawers. We looked in couch cushions. Every coat pocket was turned out. I resorted to blaming it on the baby, Grant. Because he couldn’t defend himself. Normally my keys are kept in my purse. I was in a rush when I got home yesterday because I was running late. I assumed that I must have accidentally put them elsewhere. However, Grant tends to get into my purse from time to time, so I decided he probably found my keys and crawled off somewhere with them and left them. I was looking underneath furniture. I’m talking serious hunting. I obviously took everything out of my purse and went through it more than once. Nothing. It has now become very clear to me that there is an elf living in our house. Because, lo and behold, Alex decided he would also check my purse and there they were. In my purse. Where they belong. This probably goes without saying, but obviously they were not there the first time or the second time that I dug through it. Someone, or some thing, must have put those keys in my purse right before Alex started looking. It was some sort of sick December-style April Fools day joke. Whoever you are it’s not funny! Actually… Now that I’m typing this out… I’m realizing that Alex may have just hidden the keys the whole time and then pretended to find them in my purse so he has something to gloat about for a few months. Yes. That’s probably what happened. This is all Alex’s fault.

My daughter decided to use up a roll of stamps thinking they were stickers. I explained to her that those were only for mailing letters. She looked at me very perplexed and explained that she intended to mail her picture, so it was fine. Apparently something got lost in translation. It’s OK though, having extra stamps around is such a nuisance. It’s always such a bummer when I’m able to immediately mail a letter when I need to and don’t have to make a special trip to the post office. Thanks for using them all up Rose! I hate keeping things around after I spend a fortune on them. I guess I know what she’s getting as her Christmas present this year. I’m going to buy her $2500 worth of stamps. With that kind of money she could fill out the rest of that piece of paper. (The only part of that anecdote that is an exaggeration is the idea that I spend that much on her for Christmas. Stamps are crazy expensive.)

Well somebody was in a crafty mood! During dinner the other evening I noticed Rose had taken it upon herself to “spruce up” her leggings. By writing her name and a variety of other scribbly nonsense all over them. (Rule #1 of Graffiti: If you don’t want to get caught, don’t autograph it with your name.) To say I was not impressed would be an understatement. Currently her and Elle share the same size leggings and are not fans of the more restrictive nature of denim. For those of you that have not raised young girls in the age of leggings…they are not overly durable. We destroy Way. Too. Many. So I was a bit angry. I decided that I was going to make her work off the price to buy new ones by doing chores until she went to bed that evening. I wanted her to learn the value of money and what it felt like to waste it. (I know, sometimes I impress me too.) Unfortunately, this grand scheme had no effect on her whatsoever. She did every chore I threw at her like a champ. By the time she was on chore number 64 I was just making stuff up. “Go tickle your piggy bank!” “Make sure all the faucets work!” “Figure out how to unravel the space-time continuum!” Every time I would tell her a chore, she would not grumble at all, she would just turn around and go do it. Then come right back and ask for another. This girl is impenetrable. I wanted her to break down crying begging to make it end. She never tired. She for sure has a future as an undercover CIA operative. If she gets captured, America’s secrets are safe with her. Ain’t nobody gonna break her down. In fact, the terrorists will probably pay us to take her back.

This is one of the many hazards of being shorter than your sister when you brush your teeth together. It’s the indoor equivalent of having a bird poop on your head. But I guess at least they were brushing their teeth? I’ll chalk that up to a win! I don’t think Scarlett even understood what had happened. I also don’t know why Rose decided to stand up on the counter to brush her teeth. As Rose explained: “She’s the one that leaned over while I was spitting!” Yes Rose. This is clearly Scarlett’s fault. She practically asked for it. At least her hair has that minty fresh smell now! You just can’t get that with shampoo…