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We’re small town people. And I don’t know if that has ever been more clear than it was tonight when my six-year-old was terrified to ride an escalator. (Which she also referred to as an “elevator”…only a slight improvement from the four-year-old version of herself that called it an “excavator” for years. We’ll get it figured out eventually.) I’m talking tear-inducing level of terror. Unfortunately, I didn’t anticipate this fear properly, so I hopped on first thinking she’d jump on behind me. Not so. She sat at the bottom screaming at me “What do I do!?” As tears streamed down her face. “Just jump on!” “I can’t!” “Just jump on!” “I can’t!” More tears. Since I was carrying my 24 pound 6-month-old at the same time, (I should really start incorporating a stroller into my outings) I didn’t have the option of simply bounding back down the steps to help her. I had to ride it ALL of the way to the top. All the while having a shouting conversation with her. Longest escalator ride of my life. Pretty sure I went up what felt like about 24 stories before I finally made it to the top and had to go right back down to fetch her. At least you don’t draw any attention when you’re yelling from that sort of distance/height across a store. All in an effort to try to prevent a child panic attack. (There was a part of me that wanted to ask the person behind her just to give her a little nudge/push. Even if she fell she would have at least fallen on the escalator and been on her way up to me.) Once holding her hand I was able to cajole her aboard. It was like someone born in the 1800s riding an automobile for the first time. A completely foreign experience that must lead to certain death. White-knuckled terror the entire way up. I took this picture from the back, but rest assured those cheeks are tear-stained…I’m not even sure if this means we need to get out more or less. Society in general would probably vote for less.

Today was a Kids-Get-Themselves-Ready-For-Church-On-Their-Own kind of day. You know, independence and stuff. We were about T-5 minutes from departure when I looked at Scarlett and realized this was her idea of getting ready for church. So close. She obviously still needs a little work. After I wiped the smudge off her cheek she was good to go! …What? Your church doesn’t do topless second Sundays? Everyone’s a critic… If it makes you feel any better, my other two girls picked out lightly coordinating maxi dresses and looked like they were heading to a modeling gig at J Crew afterwards. I’m allowed to brag about this because I’m also sharing the awkward photo of Scarlett at the same time. I’m back to even. I think that’s what the “Law of Averages” is referring to. Once we arrive at church I just make my well dressed children sit towards the outside of the pew so they are more public facing. Then maybe we can fool a few parishioners that might just assume the siblings that are blocked from view must naturally be dressed well and clean too.

I used to be a no-nonsense no-sugar-cereal for breakfast kind of Mom. That ship has sailed. Very, very far away. My kids now enjoy a hearty bowl of Fruit Loops before heading out for a day full of learning. (I mean, at least the word “Fruit” is in the name…counts as one food pyramid serving in my book.) And then, on some Saturday mornings like today, they decide to skip all pretenses of cereal being the vehicle by which the sugar gets into their mouths and instead go right for the canister of the sweet nectar itself. It’s basically the same thing, but for some reason, eating sugar straight up seems SIGNIFICANTLY worse. I came into the kitchen this morning to find my three oldest in the middle of their morning routine. Scarlett, however, had climbed up onto the counter and was eating sugar by the fistful. Elle made sure to immediately tell me unprompted that it was “only Scarlett doing it!” (Instant red flag.) Elle came back in the room later to tell me that “Scarlett might tell me that other kids were doing it too, but it was definitely just Scarlett.” This happened about three times with a variety of sentence structures. In other words, Elle basically tattled on herself. When I confronted Rose she caved surprisingly quick and admitted she had taken a taste as well. When I turned my pointed glare on Elle she gave me the most sheepish look I’ve ever seen on one of my children, then fessed up. (She got to spend the rest of the day learning valuable lessons about lying – and the best way to clean our toy closet.) Scarlett had been elbow-deep in the sugar long enough by the time that I walked in that some of the sugar had started to dry onto her skin. She was like a walking gum drop. The palms of her hands and feet were totally covered, so I couldn’t put her onto another surface. She had to be carried directly to the bath. Also, you can’t tell this from the picture, but apparently they were planning on whipping up something sweet for dinner because that Crock Pot is full of sugar too. As a reward for their bad behavior I decided to take them to the library after this. (Yes I know…the library trip was poorly timed.) Once there, Scarlett decided to urinate all over the place like a drunk homeless man. It was a good morning. We have fun.

My children are very independent. They don’t have a choice. With four little ones running around they either take care of themselves or starve. (Just kidding…kind of.) They’re so independent in fact, that when I am left alone to get four kids ready for church on a Sunday morning, I send the six-year-old, four-year-old, and two-year-old downstairs to get ready on their own while I get ready upstairs. They’re very responsible. Nothing ever goes wrong. This morning, while I was upstairs getting ready, Rose, the four-year-old, ran up to tell me that Scarlett (whom I’m pretty sure will be two forever) decided that she wanted her nails painted before church. I sprinted downstairs as visions of nail polish bathroom wall murals danced in my head. I was praying that JUST MAYBE she hadn’t been able to finagle the lid off just yet. No such luck. I arrived in the main floor bathroom to roughly 7 painted two-year-old fingernails. And, if I’m being honest, she didn’t do half bad. It was almost like she had done it before. There wasn’t even any on the walls, counter, or her hands! I did still have to wash the polish off her nails because she didn’t allow for adequate drying time; otherwise it might have worked out! I will now be cancelling my monthly salon appointment in favor of weekly manicures from my two-year-old. (Jk – I’m not fancy enough for a monthly salon appointment. As I’m writing this it’s been, like, three days since I’ve even showered. Considering that Grant is now six months old, I may officially be overusing that “Mothers of Newborns Aren’t Expected to Shower Regularly” rule.)

You guys, I was out of the room for, like, 30 seconds. When I walked back in, Scarlett was perched precariously on the edge of her highchair munching away on her lunch without a care in the world. Apparently, she likes her feet to dangle freely when she’s eating week-old chicken strips. What do I do with her!? How do I even monitor this!? You can almost see the tray starting to buckle under all of that weight! And the worst part is, when I got after her, she seemed genuinely confused as to why she was getting into trouble. (Also, we had a ‘pants-optional’ day today. Scarlett chose ‘No’.)

We took the hooligans sledding last weekend. And I had a bad mom moment that secretly brought me great glee. It was Scarlett’s first time sledding down a real sledding hill. She may never go back. It was a beautiful, cold, windless, sunny day. The sledding hill was blindingly white. We parked at the top and, being the good parents that we are, Alex and I scanned the entire hill for any potential signs of danger before sending our three girls down. We found a couple. We couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like maybe some delinquents had made a couple of ramps out of snow near the bottom of the hill. Alex wanted to go to a different hill just to be safe. I, on the other hand, like to live life on the edge and said no. It was time for our kids to learn the meaning of ‘thread the needle’. It seemed easy at the time. Just point the sled in between the two ramps and what could possibly go wrong!? Rose and Elle jumped on a sled together and we sent them down. They went right in between the ramps no problem. I figured Scarlett, on her own sled, would be even easier. I was very wrong. Her very first time ever down a sledding hill a small bump sent her slightly off course. She was in all her glory as she hit the ramp and soared through the air. It was amazing. Glorious even. I’m pretty sure it happened in slow motion; her long blonde hair flowing behind her. She actually stuck the landing and didn’t even cry. Although I felt a smidge bad, I still giggle every time I think about it. I sent my two-year-old over a ramp on her first time down a sledding hill. Apparently, this girl is unbreakable. Oh, and obviously karma is real. And don’t worry, she wasn’t alone. Rose later hit the same ramp and did NOT stick the landing. And Alex caught it on film. I’ve probably watched it 462 times. I love my kids, but that’s some funny stuff.

I took the day off work today – dreaming of a lovely day at home with the chittlins. Ugh. You guys. Scarlett super glued her fingers together. Naturally, it was while I was nursing Grant. I heard a small whimper coming from the kitchen unlike her usual wreaking-havoc-terror-scream so I knew something was wrong. As soon as she walked in the living room and held up her hand I knew what had happened. I didn’t even know we had super glue in the kitchen. Who keeps super glue within reach of a two-year-old!? Especially when that two-year-old is the infamous Scarlett! Apparently, she thought it was some sort of lotion and proceeded to rub it all over the back of her hand, which basically resulted in a webbed finger. When I called Alex to confront him about this, his response: “At least she’ll be able to swim faster now.” Thanks for the support. I did my best to calm her while simultaneously trying to look up super glue removal solutions (acetone nail polish remover). I was also trying to keep Grant content while dealing with this fiasco so I buckled him in the stroller and made Rose, the four-year-old, push him around the house. This seemed like a good idea at the time. While still in the super glue mess, I heard Rose suddenly yell and Grant start crying. I looked up to see Rose had somehow managed to tip over his stroller with him still buckled into it. He was dangling and yelling. And Rose felt so bad for doing it she started bawling. It would’ve been bad enough if those two events had happened in the same week. They literally happened on the same day and concurrently. Is this even real life!? Welcome to the Jones household. Going forward you’ll have to sign a waiver before walking in the front door. (Also of note: I called Alex while in the middle of this mess so he could talk me off the ledge. He thought that that would be a good time to remind me he had to work on Saturday this week and therefore wouldn’t be home to help tomorrow and I’d be on my own for another day. He was wrong. That was not a good time. Read the room Alex…read the room.)

Dang. Elle’s Valentines Day was more exciting than mine. And she’s six. I don’t know who you are Braden, but I’m pretty sure Alex is not your biggest fan. This enormous painted heart showed up at our house recently. Apparently, this Braden character made it for her AND included a lovely Valentine (“To Elle From Braden, Dere Elle you are the best fend. Love Braden” To be fair, I’m not entirely sure what a “fend” is, but I bet it’s nice.) This is not stick-figure level stuff. There were multiple colors of layered paint! The teacher probably intended it for his mother. When I asked Elle if they were friends she said “Yeah Mom, I gave him some of my gummy bears, so he shared some of his nuts with me. So then I gave him some of my peaches.” And this is basically romance boiled down to its purest form. I guess that’s all it takes folks. Share a little bit of your favorite food and you’re destined for an eternity of happily ever after. Needless to say, Alex was not thrilled when I hung the heart on our fridge. Fridge-front real estate is a hot commodity in a house with four children. I don’t know who you are Braden, but you better watch out. Alex is coming for you.

This face is beaming with pure pride. In our family, when you poop out a piece of money, you get your picture taken with it (after it gets scrubbed). We like to commemorate big life events like that. Oh, to imagine the unthinkable trials this poor piece of copper went through! The things it had to see, smell…sit in. It also traveled quite some distance; exploring places never before seen with the human eye. Over the course of four days it descended the length of the esophagus, simmered in stomach acid, and traversed the delicate contours of the small intestine before finally passing through the colon and resurfacing into the light. Yes, I had to sift through every poopy diaper for four days looking for this prize. On day number four, Alex finally drew the short straw and had to take his first diaper-sift shift. (I was holding a sleeping baby.) Naturally, that was the diaper that finally held the golden ticket. I’m not sure why this bummed me out. I should have been happy the ordeal was over. I guess I was just disappointed that Alex never got to experience what it was like to sift through a fecal-filled diaper and have nothing to show for it. At the end of the day though, it’s not all bad – because apparently one of our children is a bit of a golden goose. If only it didn’t require her swallowing the coin first, we might have just found a way to put her through college!

Goodbye maternity leave, hello career. And along with that: hello working-Mom guilt. I was an hour into my work day on my very first day out of the house when I remembered it was spirit week for Elle. And I had done nothing for it. You know Spirit Week. That dreaded week where you have to come up with a unique themed outfit for your child/children every day and pretend like you’re having fun with it, when, in actuality, you’re just terrified your child will be the only kid that shows up without a properly themed outfit. So…like any good guilty mom…I immediately texted my new nanny, on her first day, to ask her to change Elle’s outfit 10 minutes before she needed to catch the bus. It was a risk. I took it. She might as well know now how hopeless I am. No sense in pulling the wool over her eyes. My new nanny is great and took care of business fast! Thank God it was only Class Color Day so Elle just needed to change into green. (Not dress like her favorite historical figure from a Russian novel…we’ll save that for Friday.) And I didn’t have the heart to tell the sitter it was bright green. That seemed like I might have been asking just barely too much. At least on day one. So Elle went off to school in her green shirt, even if it was slightly the wrong hue, and she was none the wiser. (God bless ignorant kindergartners.) So, thank you to all of the nannies, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, daycare providers, etc out there working hard behind each of us working Moms to make us look good. We need you and would be a complete train wreck without you.

Also of note: for Elle’s “Wacky Wednesday” outfit (where they wear the most mismatched and crazy outfit they can find) she chose an outfit that pretty much completely coordinated. But then put a jacket over it that was *gasp* unzipped! She literally giggled when she told me she was adding an unzipped jacket as though that was just TOO much. I think we need to get her out more.