It's When They're in Cahoots that Scares Me

My kids are not gigantic mischief-makers as a general rule.  Yes, they get into trouble. And yes, they occasionally think up wild ways to make messes, but not too often.  (THANK GOODNESS)

At least... when they're working alone. 

I've noticed a trend lately. When two or more of them are together, the mischief making compounds exponentially.  (Do you like that math talk that I'm throwing around?  Because I remember all sorts of stuff from 12th grade calculus. Or not).

The other night, Zoen was freaking out due to a combination of teething, tiredness, and over stimulation.  He needed to be jammied and put to sleep, but keeping him somewhat calm was proving to be difficult, so I asked Caly to go into my room and get his pj's.

Now, awhile back, we inherited a large wooden bookcase and placed it in our room.  Because Z still bunks with us and because there's limited storage in the boys' room, I decided to put Z's blankets, clothes and the like on the shelves. It's turned out to be a nice little system.

So, I sent her in there with the instructions as to where the jammies were, (shelf on the bottom closest to the door).  She was gone for a long time. 

Then she came back empty handed.  "I can't find them!"  She's my finder kid, so I tried describing the shelf again.  And she trotted off saying, "I'll get them now!"  Of course, Sayer heard her and started yelling, "NO! I WILL FIND DEM!" and the two raced into my room.

I focused my attention on the 4 legged octopus that was still fussing in my arms.  I finally got him settled and realized that the two middle kids had been gone... and quiet... for way, way too long.

I asked Lexi... "Hey, so um, where are your sister and brother?"

She cheerily responded, "They're in your room!"

Uh oh. 

She ran off to investigate.  Thirty seconds later, "Mooooooooooooooooooom!  They took all of the clothes off the shelf!"

I sighed, knowing that I'd have reorganize the shelf they took apart.  But no biggie.

Then I got up and walked into the room. 

And this is what I found:

Of course, that meant the floor looked like this:

Every shelf emptied.  They were even innovative enough to get a stool for the top few shelves.  And it included dumping a bag full of recently outgrown clothes into the pile and MIXING THEM UP.  "We stirred them!  It's like soup!"

I dug through the pile, found some jammies, and got everyone in bed.

Then I collapsed on the couch and turned a movie on.  And my gaze traveled downward and landed on this:

 Those would be the pj's I sent C in to find.  The ones I put aside earlier in the evening.  The ones that were totally not on the shelf.  Any of the shelves, for that matter.

Of course.  (Murphey's Law of Parenting: Episode 1289)

Zoen - The Fourth at Four Months

Hey, remember how I used to do monthly updates from pregnancy onward of my first born?  Then remember how it was almost as frequent with my second?  And then, remember how I periodically did it with my third?

Oh, and remember how I have a fourth kid? 

And he's four months old?  Well, better late than never, I'm thinking.

Zoen is 4.5 months old.  So far in his short life he has:

- Rolled over front to back and back to front.
- Erupted in belly laughs, (and does so often)

- Smiled at me, daddy, his sisters.... um, everyone.
- Sprouted a tooth, (I know, RIGHT?!)
- Gotten a cold, (at 2 weeks old, sad baby).

- Grown to 17.5 pounds, (oy)
- Developed a preference for being held under my chin
- Sucked his thumb... then a pacifier... then both
- Been sat on by his brother

- Been dressed up by his sisters

- Progressed to a nap longer than 45 minutes
- Learned to grab and eat anything within reach, (including my face)

Busy, right?

He's a lovable, squishable, easy-going little monkey.  He prefers to be carried on my left side or in a sling. He gets excited and all four limbs start kicking and flailing. He can squeal when happy and does the best pouty lip ever when he's sad. He still looks perpetually surprised and often reminds me of a little old man.

I love him. Of course! But could he stop growing up so fast? Geez!

Bedtime Prayers

Our usual bedtime routine with the kids goes something like this:

1. Girls in bed.
2. One of us (and sometimes Sayer too), will go in there to sing and chat with them for a few minutes. Then we leave them to chat together until they fall asleep.
3. One of us, (and the baby too if Shaun isn't home), heads to Sayer's room to hang with him til he drifts off.
4. Baby either put to sleep or put down if he's sleeping.

This only takes about 6 hours.

Not really.

Most nights.

Anyway, the other night, Sayer had finally nodded off as did Z, so I slipped out of his room to put Z down and snuggle up with my gigantic bowl of ice cream. But walking by the girls' room, I still heard talking. No one was screaming and it sounded remarkably amicable, so I decided to eavesdrop via the baby monitor.

They were chattering about baby dolls and the next day's plans.  Finally, Lex said, "Ok Caly, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep."

Of course, Contrary Mary Caly wasn't having much of that so she started to sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Loudly.  I started to head in to tell them to pipe down when Lex said excitedly, "Oh! Caly, let's PRAY!"

Caly said OK and immediately launched into the sing-song "Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus... for our FOOOD... for our FOOOOOOOD. And our many blessings, and our many blessings... AAAAAAH-MEN. Ahhhhhh-MEN!" that they learned in church.  Lex waited patiently for her to finish and then said, "Ok, my turn!"

I turned the monitor up to catch her words, thinking she'd probably have something sweet to pray about.

"Dear God... Please make Caly be quiet. Amen."

There was actually a beat of silence.

And then, inevitably, a small voice started again, "Thank you Jesus..." and was quickly followed by, "Oh, CALY!"

(Sometimes I wonder if even God has the power to quiet that small ball of mischief).

A Battle of Wits, Won

Sayer has finally reached the level of verbal communication which allows him to argue somewhat effectively.  Combine that with two older sisters who, at times, delight in the ability to needle their brother and you often have some hilarious arguments taking place between the almost-2-year-old and his siblings.

I gave him a spoon this morning with the words "Animal Baby" on it.  I have no idea where we got it, but it tends to be a highly requested spoon, probably because it was requested once by one kid, and thus, it MUST be an amazing spoon that all must fight over. Of course.

Anyway, I tossed that spoon into his cereal bowl and served the other kids. Inevitably, the conversation turned to what spoons each kid had chosen or were given. Lex turned to Sayer and said, "Look buddy, you have the animal baby one!"

Sayer looked at his spoon, frowned and quickly said back,

"IT NOT ANIMAL BABY!"

And of course, because she's my kid and she's never one to shy away from an argument when she knows she's right, Lex had to engage,

"Yes it is, Sayer, it's the animal baby one!"

"IT. NOT. ANIMAL BABY!"

"It is the animal baby one!" I shot her a warning glance.  She looked at me and whispered, "But is IS, Mama!"

Sayer still wasn't buying it. "NO! IT. NOT!"  At this point, he was standing in his chair with the spoon hoisted into the air.

"Yes it is, it says "animal baby!"

"NOOOOOO.  IT. NOT. ANIMAL BABY...  IT A SPOON!"  He poked it towards his sister as if to say, "SEEEE?"

Ah.  He had her there.

(He totally gets those brains from his Mama... hehe)

Silly Sayer

Yesterday, Sayer fell asleep at nap time wearing:

1.  Backwards shorts (having insisted "do it mah-sef!"
2.  A flowered rain boot
3.  A white girls' dress shoe, size 12

He was holding

1. A small rainbow bouncy ball
2. His beloved Mickey Mouse phone.

And he slept for 2 hours.

Whatever works!  (Love this silly kid)

Don't Mess With Us or We'll Mess With You

Generally, when Zoen wakes up to nurse in the middle of the night, it's a quiet affair... usually wrapped up within 10 minutes or so.  If I bring him in to bed, it's as fast as it takes me to close my eyes again.

So, when I blearily glanced at the clock the other night and saw that it said 4:02am, I was even more confused at the weird flapping, grinding, scraping sound coming from outside. I rocked in the glider for a minute, feeding the baby.  Then, I carefully walked with him over to the window.  I balanced his bottom on my knee and used my free hand to slowly lift the shade. 

I was temporarily blinded by the bright light shining in my window.

What the heck?!

My first thought was whether or not the aliens would have dr. pepper... because, man, it was early.

But then my eyes adjusted and I saw that the light, (which had moved to sweeping our yard), was coming from a police helicopter.  You know, the police helicopter that was shining its spotlight all over our yard. Searching for something. Or SOMEONE.

I slammed the shade down and froze. I listened for a minute, convinced that someone was sneaking around our house.  Then I looked at the dogs, both sound asleep... one had her paws in the air and was snoring.  Worthless creatures.  Didn't they know a killer was on the loose?!

So I followed the next logical step and put my face near Shaun's, "HONEY!  HONEY! WAKE UP!" I whispered.

You all know how he reacts when he's woken out of a sound sleep.  (See here and here).

I shook him again and whispered, "SHAUN YOU HAVE TO GET UP RIGHT NOW! THERE'S A HELICOPTER AND I THINK IT'S SEARCHING FOR A FELON IN OUR YARD!"

He opened his eyes and stared at me.  "What?" Then he closed his eyes again.  I repeated my frantic whispers and told him to go and make sure that the doors were locked.  Especially since our two furry security systems were kind of ineffective at the moment. 

So, Shaun tiptoed out of the bedroom and made his rounds.  After he had been gone for a few seconds, I started to worry that the killer had gotten him and started to prepare the roux to saute his brains. (I used to watch way too many gruesome crime shows).

Then I heard something dragging across the floor.  The killer had gotten my husband!  I looked frantically around for some sort of weapon and found my kid's twirling baton on the floor.  (Because I'd be a fearsome enemy with that!  BACK, INTRUDER, or I'll beat you with a plastic stick full of glitter water!)

But before I could pick it up, Shaun walked back through the door.  "Did anyone get you?!"  He looked at me weirdly and then told me the doors were securely locked and the house was good.  

Phew.

I looked outside to see the helicopter searchlight still panning over our street and a new addition: squad cars driving slowly up and down our road... sirens off, lights on.  Creeeeeeepy, y'all.

I sat down on the floor.  Because that's obviously going to protect me from sinister people intent on harm.

Shaun figured he should place a call to the local police to make sure there wasn't anything we could do or needed to know.  Their helpful advice?

"Stay inside and lock the doors. Do not go outside."  Nothing like vague instructions to avoid the outdoors in your own yard to reassure.  No further information eased our minds even further.  

Or not. 

The helicopter and squad cars eventually moved onto the neighboring roads and I drifted off into a restless sleep, peppered with dreams of large shady characters holding pom poms and trying to rob my house.  

The next morning arrived without incident and Shaun called the police again.  This time, they had this to say, "The issue has been resolved."  No more.  

So we went on our merry way, wondering how the killer was captured and what the story surrounding the late night chase was.  

Two days later, the local online paper posted details.  I clicked on the article eagerly, glad for some impending closure.  

Turns out, there was more than one criminal at large that night. There were TWO.  And they were on a hellbent mission to...

Vandalize.  

Yes.  Our county called a search helicopter out to hunt for two vandals who went on a destructive streak on some neighborhood cars.  

So watch out.  If we catch wind of you starting mischief with a can of spray paint, we'll call a helicopter on your ass.

What?  We're totally hardcore... with our cows and horses and hay bales.  

HARDCORE.

Fuzzy Tacos... And Uh... Hi?

Hey there, remember me? Yup, I'm still alive.

And despite my absence in the blog world, my kids have still been doing ridiculous and funny things, so I've got my work cut out for me in catching up.

Most recently, we traveled to the LARGE state of Texas for a little family reunion action, long overdue friend time, and of course, copious amounts of good food. 

Towards the end of our trip, we visted a place called Fuzzy's Tacos.  The kids, being taco fans, were excited.  I, being a food fan, was elated.  Shaun, being a Mexican food fan, was hungry.

Caly (3), ususally our picky kid, was being oddly enthusiastic about this outing, "Mommy! Mommy! Are we at the fuzzy taco place?  Are we at Fuzzy's?" Over and over.

She asked to use the bathroom when we got there, (a habit that drives me bananas... what is it with kids needing to see every public restroom we visit?  Because she sure as heck didn't need to pee that bad).  While she was stalling, (haha, no pun intended.  I crack myself up), I said, "Ok Caly, we need to hurry up so you can eat your dinner."

"Yeah!  I'm gonna eat my taco!  And then I'm going to pet it!"

"What?"  Yes, I know I talk to my food and my kids occassionally follow suit, but we never um, pet it...  Caly looked up and said,

"My fuzzy taco!"

Ohhhhh...

"Er, Caly... the tacos aren't going to BE fuzzy... they're regular (delicious) tacos. Fuzzy's is just the name of the place."

She stared at me for a second while hiking up her drawers... then she said, "OHHHHHHHHHH!" rolled her eyes to the ceiling, grinned, shook her head and exclaimed, "Oh Mama, that's SO silly!"

Yes... yes it is.  But oh my, so is she.

By the way... Fuzzy's Tacos?  DELICIOUS. Feta cheese on a taco! Best idea ever.