The Baby's Baby

With the exception of Kid 5, none of my children expressed an interest in having a younger sibling.  It's ironic since she's my only child who isn't going to have one.  She's consistently asked for a baby brother or sister for about the last year and a half. Last year, around Christmastime, she said, "Do you know what I want for Christmas?"  Due to the plethora of toy commercials on television I envisioned her asking for a remote control helicopter or Playfoam.  Without hesitation, she said, "I just want - A PONY!  And a baby brother."  

When I told her no and to pick something else, she, of course, asked why.  I told her we didn't have room for either.  She responded that babies don't take up that much room and they aren't hard to take care of.  I told her that her opinion will surely change upon the birth of her first child.  

Because Kid 5 has been denied the one thing she truly wants, she is obsessed with baby dolls.  I swear, they multiply by the hour.  She has all types; big ones, small ones, white ones, black ones, Asian ones, bald ones and ones with hair that look like a rat lives somewhere on their head.  She has one that has eyes that are far to big for it's head that I refused to buy her because it was so creepy.  She conned Daddy into buying it for her.  I forgot to send him the memo.  

There is one doll in particular that is by far her favorite.  It's about the size of a three month old baby and is fairly realistic. Kid 5 found some old baby clothes that are size 0-3 months and they fit the doll perfectly.  She does not have a name for the doll, but simply calls her "Baby."  Baby goes everywhere with us; Walmart, Chi Chi's, Five Guys, Trader Joe's, and Kohls.  She sits in shopping carts and in highchairs albeit a bit wonky.  Kid 5 never wants to leave Baby in the car and there are times when I really wish she would.  

Baby looks so realistic that people think she's real.  I get dirty looks from moms, dads, grandmas, grandpas, and store employees.  There was a lady at Trader Joe's who began to yell at me because Baby wasn't wearing a hat and socks and wasn't wrapped in a blanket before she realized the doll wasn't real. I've almost gotten accustomed to the narrowed eyes and shake of the head as people eye the bald pink little almost-person slumped in my shopping cart.  I've lost count of how many times I've heard, "Oh my god, I thought that doll was real.  I couldn't believe you'd let your little girl carry your baby like that."  I'm just waiting for the day that someone calls the cops.  

For now, Kid 5 totes Baby around everywhere.  I wait patiently while she wraps her in a blanket and puts her to bed or buckles her into a seat belt in the car.  And I take pictures. Because I have to remind her when she has her own baby how easy it was back then.  

Ready for bed

 

Grandpa with Baby and Jacob

             

A day in the life with Kid 5: Faces and Feelings

A day in the life with Kid 5: Faces and Feelings: The ability to express oneself is supposedly a sign of emotional maturity.  Or maybe it's actually the ability to express oneself appropriat...

Faces and Feelings

The ability to express oneself is supposedly a sign of emotional maturity.  Or maybe it's actually the ability to express oneself appropriately that is the sign of emotional maturity.  At any rate, when it comes to expressing herself, Kid 5 takes the cake.  Long before she could speak, Kid 5 would tell us exactly how she felt, and fortunately due to digital technology, I can share it with all of you.  

This picture was taken when Kid 5 was about three months old.  I was trying to make her smile, and was actually successful.  Then the flash went off and this picture was the result how exactly how she felt about it.  

As time went by I have captured many of Kid 5's expressive moments, and thought I would share a few  of my favorites.  When Kid 5 is happy, her smile is infectious and reaches all the way to her toes.

Her annoyance is just as apparent, albeit much more entertaining.  I assume by this picture she didn't not think much of the photographer, or he had really bad breath.  

In this picture, Kid 5 must have seen another girl in the same costume.  Either that or she decided she didn't like the wig.

  

My favorite Kid 5 expression is one I get quite often.  I call it her "Don't make me smile because I really want to stay mad" look.  This is what sassy looks like.

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, and at times that is true, but Kid 5's face is priceless.  

If you like it then you should've put a lock on it....

I was in the store not too long ago when I noticed a young woman call out a boy's name with a not-quite panicked tone. She did not receive a reply and she called out again, a pitch higher and slightly louder.  The third time she called out, she was in an all out panic.  When the store employees put out an alert and found her four-year-old playing with the electronics nearby, my heart went out to her and the memories of my own bad-mommy moments came flooding back.

I've lost Kid 5 twice - in our house.  The first time she was not quite two.  She was being a good little girl taking a nap in her crib, in her bedroom, with the door closed.  At some point I quietly opened the door to check on her since she had been asleep longer than usual.  I was shocked to find she wasn't in her crib.  My head swiveled quickly as glanced around the room where I saw nothing amiss and no child anywhere.  I looked in the closet, under the crib, and behind the rocking chair to no avail.  I ran out of the room and searched the house.  She was nowhere to be found.  I called to her over and over, and didn't hear a single peep, which was highly unusual for Kid 5.  I went back into her bedroom and considered where she could have disappeared to and how.  Then I saw the curtains quiver.  Kid 5 had climbed up on to her dresser that was against the window, pushed aside the curtains, somehow slipped through the blinds, and wedged herself between the top of the dresser and the window where she sat on the window sill, completely out of view.  At least from inside of the room.  The dresser was moved a nano-second after pulling her out. 

Nothing however, compares to the Second Great Escape of Kid 5.  It was a nice Saturday afternoon when Kid 5 was about three years old.  Kid 2, Kid 5, and I were the only ones home.  I was watching television with Kid 5 in the office at the front of the house.  Kid 2 was at the kitchen table eating and watching television.  I have to point out that from the doorway of the office you can see the kitchen table immediately ahead.  We're talking a straight shot - if you were golfing and your drive put you here, we're talking birdie; it's that close.

When Kid 5 asked for something to drink, I sent her to the kitchen and asked Kid 2 to get her some milk.  I continued to watch television as I awaited Kid 5's return that never came.  

A few minutes later, I got up and looked toward the kitchen.  I saw Kid 2 still at the kitchen table.  I asked him where Kid 5 was and he said he thought she was in the office with me.  He said he gave her some milk and she walked back toward the office.  It never crossed my mind that the front door was between the kitchen table and the office.  I checked the bathroom as Kid 2 went upstairs to look for her.  We both called out to her and got no response.  Kid 2 checked every room upstairs and when he yelled she wasn't up there, I was out the front door at a dead run into the cul-de-sac yelling Kid 5's name.  Not a soul was out and I ran down the street to check the little park on the corner.  There were no kids at the park, much less Kid 5.  As I ran back toward the house, Kid 2 was already knocking on the neighbors' doors and a couple of neighbor kids were looking for her too.  

Kid 5 was found a couple of houses down, sitting on a porch swing, drinking her milk.  I guess I should have bolted and latched the front door.  Locks are supposed to keep people out, but I guess in our case locks are necessary to keep Kid 5 in.       
                  

Fish Are Friends, Not Food

To say that we are multi-cultural family would be an understatement.  I am Mexican, but raised very Americana - 4th of July barbecues, Labor Day camping trips, Veterans Day parades; hot dogs, hamburgers, pork and beans, chicken broccoli casserole, with the occasional beans, rice and enchiladas to keep it real.  My husband is a mix of Lebanese, Italian, Irish, and German.  He was raised in an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn where he went to The Feast every year and ate sausage and pepper sandwiches.  He grew up on pizza, chicken parmesean, spaghetti and meatballs, lasagna, and fresh mozzarella.  Family barbecues consisted of hummus, kefta, Syrian cheese, labne, and pita bread.  

With the immense food experience between the two of us and my love of cooking, we've concluded that Italian is our dish of choice with Middle Eastern following a close second.  At least when my husband isn't eating egg whites and protein shakes, being the gym rat that he is.  

Since Kid 5 has had such an exposure to various types of food, her taste is rather eclectic.  Some of her favorites: cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives, garbanzo beans, mozzarella cheese, kefta, chicken lula, and lamb kabobs.  She loves pita but doesn't care for sandwich bread, preferring to eat the meat from the sandwich by itself, which is pretty funny when she eats a chili dog.  There on the plate lies the hot dog and chili, sans bun.  She loves "white cheese" and sometimes "yellow cheese" but never ever mixed together.  She also does not like cheese on burgers or sandwiches, and does not like melted cheese unless it's pizza, macaroni and cheese, or lasagna.  

I once caught Kid 5 watching television eating a snack she made her herself: a tub of turkey slices, a jar of  kalamata olives, and a stick of butter that she was eating like and ice cream cone.  She is nothing if not resourceful.  

Because of our love of food, we love watching food channels as a family.  Our favorites are Man vs. Food and Drive Ins, Diners, and Dives.  The kids love it, and I sometimes get some good cooking tips.  We were watching Drive Ins, Diners, and Dives the other night and the show was filmed in Hawaii.  The cook was demonstrating how to make a dish with an octopus that he caught himself with a Hawaiian sling while freediving.  We got to see the octopus from the sea to serving dish.  After "Gross!" and "Ewww!" Kid 5 looked at us with contempt and said, "I think all animals should be freed, not dead."  My husband responded, "Really?  Then what should we eat?"

Without missing a beat, Kid 5 said quite emphatically, "chicken."  


   

Getting kicked out?

Kid 5 does not miss not a thing.  Most kids don't.  But since Kid 1 and Kid 2 no longer live with us, Kid 5 has been asking questions about growing up.  Mainly, she's curious about being a grown up and getting "kicked out."  I had to explain (a few times) that moving out of your parents house is a normal part of life and does not necessarily mean you get "kicked out."

The other night, Kid 5 once again broached the subject of being a grown up.  She asked, "So when I'm a grown up, am I going to get kicked out?"  I told her that I would hope that we wouldn't have to kick her out and that she would not want to live with us forever.  

"When you're grown up, don't you want have your own house?  I asked her.  Maybe live by yourself, or with a friend, or a husband?"   She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "Yeah.  I want to live with my friend."  Then she pointed her finger at me and said quite vehemently, "But she's having the babies cause I don't want to go to the hospital!!!" 


After I composed myself from laughing, I said, "Okay!  So you don't want to have a husband?"  She considered this and said, "Yeah, I want to have a husband.  But I still want my friend to have the babies!"


Okay Sister Wives, whatever you say!

Chicken Run

Where I grew up, in Sylmar, California, I was exposed to suburban living mixed with rural living.  What do I mean by that?  Well, I grew up in a tract home built in 1965, but around both corners there were small ranches where the residents raised various animals; horses, cows, sheep, ducks, chickens, and even a llama.  As an adult, I bought a house in that same neighborhood, and it was not unusual to wake up and find ducks or chickens in my front yard.  It was common to see people riding their horses, and training their colts to walk with a lead.  

It was an experience I took for granted, and did not realize how different my childhood was from that of Kids 4 and 5.  Kids 1, 2, and 3 lived in my old neighborhood for a while, and would walk down the street to feed the horses and cows, and see the ducks and chickens in our front yard.  But before Kids 4 and 5 were born, we moved to "true suburbia" where you don't see packs of homeless dogs roaming the streets, the police helicopter doesn't orbit the block every other night, and neighbors don't have livestock right across the street. 

The difference was glaringly apparent when I was driving Kid 5 to school one morning.  Her preschool is a five-minute drive from the house I grew up in, where my parents still live.  I chose that location because it was on my way to work and close to my dad who often picks her up from school.  The long street that leads to her school is a mixture of auto-body/vehicle repair shops, new track homes, and old large properties.  It is a landscape that I hardly notice as I am familiar thus uninterested.  In addition, I'm too busy navigating my way down a narrow street with other drivers whom traffic laws seem to be only a suggestion.  Kid 5 however, has the pleasure of taking in the sights without worry or concern.   

We passed the auto-body shops and the new track homes and Kid 5 was uncharacteristically silent.  She made up for her silence as we passed the old properties where she discovered that some of the residence have animals she'd never seen in a front yard.  

"MOMMY!" She shouted.  "I JUST SAW A CHICKEN!"  There was a thoughtful pause.  "It was a walking chicken, not an eating chicken."

It's good to know she can tell the difference between a live chicken and a McNugget.   

They don't have a cleaning product for this stuff!

I have always had hair gel, moisturizer, shampoo, toothpaste and various hygiene products in my house, just as I'm sure they are in households around the world.  The difference is, households around the world don't have Kid 5.  There are not enough child locks to contain the products that Kid 5 has gotten into.  A straight jacket would be a better bet.
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Let's see...there was the time that Kid 5 came downstairs as I was cooking dinner.  She sauntered in asking what what we were having for dinner as if she didn't have hair that was plastered to her head.  "What is on your hair?  I asked.  She shrugged as she checked out the contents on the cutting board.  I touched her hair cautiously and leaned down to smell it.  It smelled familiar but I couldn't quite place it.  It wasn't until the following morning when I applied my face moisturizer that I realized what she had used to generously saturate her hair.  Then there was the Vaseline. 

My hubby is quite old-fashioned and likes Vaseline as opposed to Chapstick when he has chapped lips.  I personally like Carmex, in part because it is less of a mess when Kid 5 gets her grubby little hands on it.  We came home from dinner one night when Kid 2 was watching her.  He had thought she fell asleep in our room because she was so quite.  Oh, how wrong he was.  She had found the tub of Vaseline and smeared it on the entire foot board of the our bed.  Of course, it was all over her too.  

Aspercreme is another Kid 5 favorite, where, when found, caused quite a bit of fun.  I had just bought a tube because although I wanted the pain relief, I dislike the smell of Ben Gay.  I was downstairs in the kitchen when Hubby called me upstairs, motioning me to be quiet.  As we peeked through the curtains that separate our bedroom from our bathroom, we watched Kid 5 in a t-shirt, sans pants or underwear, sliding around on the tile floor.  She was dancing to music only she could hear, as she slid this way on feet slick with Aspercreme that she had spread in about a four by four foot area.  She placed her hands on the floor so she could slide around on all fours when she saw us watching her.  She simply looked up and grinned.  

Because Hubby is old-fashioned, he loves the smell of Ben Gay, as it reminds him of his college football days.  He uses it to rub down his knees before going to the gym in the morning.  Unfortunately, he doesn't always remember to put it up out of reach when he's done.  It was evident that he forgotten as I came down stairs one morning to the stench of Ben Gay so strong I swear it burned the inside of my nose.  I could see little bitty footprints across the wood floor that led me to believe that Kid 5 had done it again.  I followed the trail backwards to find Hubby's office reeking of the stuff.  On the floor was a a huge smear of Ben Gay; it was even under the office chair mat.  Although I washed Kid 5, mopped the floor, and washed the mat, our house smelled like a training room for days.  Hubby never left it out after that.  

The lasted adventure was the sunscreen.  "Sprays on clear! No residue!  SPF 30 UVA/UVB protection!"  All over the living room floor.  Suncreen is expensive.  She basically sprayed about $8.98 on the floor to protect it from sun it will never see.  And talk about clean up!  I tried mopping and the sunscreen turned into a white sticky goop.  I ended up using dish soap and water and tossed the empty bottle of sunscreen in the garbage.  I was glad to take her to preschool that day.  

     

Polish On, Polish Off.....

It was a Thursday night and everyone was doing his or her own thing.  Kid 4 was watching Star Wars Clone Wars in his room, getting ready for sleep.  I was in the downstairs office catching up on my DVR'd TV shows.  Daddy was in bed, watching football, of course. 

I heard the quick thumping of little feet upstairs, then the master bedroom door open and Daddy yelling, "What do you have?  What do you have?"  He had seen Kid 5 walk into our bathroom, then walk out holding what looked like a bundled up t-shirt tucked underneath her arm that was furthest away from him, apparently hoping he would not notice she was sneaking something out.  When he asked her what she had in her hand, she bolted down the hall to her room.  I ran upstairs to find out what the shouting was about. 

We simultaneously made it to her doorway as she began to cry.  As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, Daddy yanked a bottle of nail polish remover off of the floor where Kid 5 had dropped it wrapped in the t-shirt.  We both saw the dark purple nail polish on the stairs of her bunk bed, smeared on the rail, and on her feet.  As Kid 5 cried, I tried to decide on where to start cleaning up, and decided the feet come first.  

Daddy hauled her back to our bathroom where I scolded her while wiping her feet with nail polish remover.  After getting all of the nail polish off that I could, I washed her feet, still scolding her and sent her back to her room where Daddy tried to clean what he could on the bed.  

I thought all was resolved until a while later when I went to the kitchen for a snack.  I heard Kid 5 crying hysterically, and wondered what calamity had befallen her this time.  I called to her, and was met with silence.  As I listened and called to her again, I heard her whimper, but in closer proximity than from upstairs.  As I walked around the downstairs, trying to pinpoint her muffled sniffles, I realized she was underneath the dining room table and using the chairs to stay out of sight.  

I called her gently, trying to coax her out, because I was not inclined to climb under the table to fetch her.  When she realized I knew where she was, she began to wail as if she lost a limb.  As I continued to coax her out, she moved around out of my reach.  I finally got a hold of one of her newly clean feet, and pulled her out.  She stood there with her hands behind her back and hysterical tears pouring down her face.  

"Let me see your hands,"  I told her and I tried to pull her hands from behind her back.  The volume of her wails went up as she resisted.  I pulled her hands from behind her back to discover that both hands were covered in the dark purple nail polish.  When I had been cleaning her feet, in my frustration and focus on scolding her, I did not notice she had hidden her hands from me by keeping them behind her back.  With a huge sigh and a feeling of resignation, I led Kid 5 back upstairs to the nail polish remover.       

A Little Hair, A Little There

On the day of her birth, Kid 5 actually had hair.  It was black and soft, and the top of her head looked like a little black chick.  Then of course, her head grew much faster than her hair, so she was relatively hairless for a little while.  Her hair was worth the wait, and grew into glossy, long, dark ringlets, and was just beautiful.  She was accustomed to the brushing and braiding, and general maintenance of long hair and never complained during any of it.  

It happened on a Saturday night, when the hubby and I went out on a date.  We left Kids 3, 4, and 5 with Kid 2, and we weren't gone long but it was just enough time for Kid 5 to have an adventure.  As I walked upstairs into my master bathroom, I noticed long, dark clumps of hair on the bathroom floor.  I stopped walking (I think I stopped breathing) and just stared.  Next to the hair was a pair of scissors.  I ran out of the room calling for Kid 5, because who else could it possibly be?  Kid 3 wouldn't cut her own hair off, or cut Kid 5's hair for that matter.  I found Kid 5 and saw the damage.  

One side was about four inches shorter than the other, and there was a chunk missing from her bangs.  As silly as it may sound, I wanted to cry.  I wasn't really sure what the final outcome of her experiment with scissors would be.  I called my friend Kat and asked her to come and try to fix her hair.  I hoped that she could just "even it out" or layer it until it grew out again.  As Kat combed through Kid 5's hair, she gave me the bad news.  Not only did she cut one side of her hair, she managed to cut chunks out of the back, underneath the top layer.  Kat did a great job and gave Kid 5 a little bob, but I was beside myself.  I tried to convince myself that it would grow back soon.  

After Kid 5's "fix cut," I had convinced myself that there would not be a recurrence. Oh, how wrong I was.  Kid 5 decided that she did not like her bangs with a chunk missing right in the middle of her forehead, so she decided to even them out.

Although I've never seen bangs so short on a girl, I have to say, I think they go well with the vampire fangs. 

After the first hair experiment, I made an attempt to hide the scissors but the problem was, I could never find scissors when I needed them.  I wonder to this day if Kid 5 had them hidden away, waiting for an opportunity to indulge in a little self-styling.  Despite my best attempts, Kid 5 located yet another pair of scissors, and this time attempted give herself a mullet.  Either that or she ran out of time and couldn't finish the job.

Unfortunately for Kid 5 and for me, Kat had moved to Hawaii and so Kid 5 was left to the talent of an anonymous hair stylist.  The poor woman did the best she could, but Kid 5 had really hacked her hair so it was the shortest I hope it ever will be, even though she did look kind of cute. 

More than a year has gone by, and Kid 5 has not cut her hair again, although she has given haircuts to many of her dolls.  She hasn't quite lost her desire to be a stylist, and just this morning she asked to comb my hair.  As she brushed my hair, she asked where my bangs were.  I showed her that the front of my hair was long, so my "bangs" were actually there but were so long you couldn't see them.  She looked at me for a second, then said, "I'll be right back."  As she ran from the room I yelled, "You are NOT cutting my hair!"  She came back in the room, gave me a look that said I was dense, and said, "I'm not going to cut your hair, I'm just going to cut your bangs." 

The Sistine Chapel, Upside-down

Prior the the birth of Kid 5, we replaced the carpet on the bottom floor with laminate flooring.  It's a nice dark faux wood that we were told would be better than real wood for a household with cats, dogs, and kids.  Apparently, laminate can take a beating better than real wood.  Kid 5 has definitely put that theory to the test.

You name it, she's spilled it, or smashed it, or plopped it on the floor and shoved it under the couch.  So far, the theory has held up, and so has the floor.  The downside to the laminate is that Dog 1, who is a white Labrador, sheds something awful, and his white hairs are highly visible on the dark floor.  Of course that means a lot sweeping, and you if you've never tried a Swiffer to sweep up pet hair, put that on your to do list.

So there I was, working on some endless sweeping, when I noticed something odd on the living room floor, right in front of the television.  Closer inspection revealed it was a family of five, drawn in stick figure, with a black marker.  My first thought was, "I hope it's not permanent," and my second thought was, "Kid 5."  With fingers crossed, I swiped at it with a damp paper towel, and thankfully the marker was dry erase.  I cleaned up the drawing and continued sweeping.  It was a few minutes later that I discovered the Sistine Chapel, Upside-down.  

It was in the open space near the front door.  There, on the floor were drawings.  All done with a black marker, spaced here and there taking up about six by eight feet of space which was exactly the type of space I was contemplating putting Kid 5 in.

The sun, flowers, people, grass, more people, and more flowers.  There was about six to eight different "pictures."  It was one of the moments when I was not only speechless, but having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that Kid 5 drew all over the floor.  I don't think I will ever understand why she does the things that she does.  I don't think she will either!

I didn't have the presence of mind to capture Kid 5's artwork with high-resolution, digital technology prior to mopping up the evidence of her artistic abilities, but she gave me another opportunity and also ensured the original would last forever.  This time, she drew a girl, in permanent marker, on the fitted sheet on my bed so I could see it every night and every morning to remind me that I should probably put the markers in safe.  One with a retinal scanner that will open only me.  On second thought, I may find myself one day missing an eye. 

        

Give her just five minutes...

Making dinner can be a difficult time in my house.  I love to cook and find it to be one of the most enjoyable parts of my day.  I either watch television or listen to music on my iPod while I chop, mince, and fillet.  The smells of onion, garlic, and tomato sauce are common in my kitchen.  Today it was a brown rice medley with garlic, Middle Eastern grilled chicken, sauteed spinach with roasted garlic, and oatmeal raisin cookies for dessert.  Really, it wasn't nearly as complicated as it sounds.

Keeping Kid 5 interested and entertained while I'm cooking dinner is somewhat of a challenge.  Sometimes she's great and will watch TV or play on the computer, or monkey around outside on the swing set.  Her activities should be monitored at all times, but when I'm cooking it isn't always possible.   All it takes is five minutes.

I know it was five minutes because she was in the kitchen with me, sitting precariously on the kitchen counter near the sliding glass door.  The chicken was almost done, so I put the spinach on, knowing it would only take about five minutes.  Just as I placed the spinach in the wok, I told Kid 5 to get off of my kitchen counter, that it wasn't a place to sit; that's why we had dining room chairs.  

As she slid off of the counter, she must have slipped out of the sliding glass door into the backyard.  Little did I know she took something with her.  

Just as the spinach was finishing, I told my hubby that dinner was ready and he walked into the kitchen.  He looked out into the backyard and asked, "Jackie, what is that all over you?  Is that mud?"  It wasn't mud.  Kid 5 had found a bottle of black Kiwi edge dressing - the stuff you put around the bottom of a dress shoe to make it shiny - and took it outside with her.  We aren't really sure what she was trying to do, but she ended up with black edge dressing from her neck to her feet.  There was a moment of silence, and two big sighs.    

If anyone is curious, edge dressing is not like dye.  It doesn't stain, it is more like a coating, so when I tossed Kid 5 into the bath, it peeled off easily with a washcloth.  I really wish my child locks still worked. 
      

Kid 5 the Laundress

What mom doesn't love a Girls Night Out?  Most of us moms who enjoy a girls night have some food, drinks, and enjoy the company of our girlfriends.  There is a reason I prefer to have a Girls Night In - meaning I prefer to have my girlfriends come to my house to enjoy the aforementioned activities.  Whenever I leave Kid 5 in the house without my supervision, it is cause for worry.  Yes, even if Daddy is home. 

A few weeks back, it was Friday night and I was invited to a friend's house for some grown-up girl time.  I took my neighbor with me, and we met my friends and had a great time.  It was somewhat of an early night, and I wasn't ready to face whatever adventures might be awaiting me at home, so I went to my neighbor's house for a margarita.  It was about 11:30 pm when I decided it was time to face the music, wondering what was in store for me at home.  I was hoping that the kids were asleep and that my hubby was awake and waiting for me.  Yes, it was a margarita induced fantasy. 

As soon as I walked into the house, I could feel the sneaky energy that Kid 5 emits when she thinks no one is watching.  I didn't see her downstairs, and it was quiet and fairly dark.  I started walking quietly up the stairs when I realized that there were clothes hanging on the length of the entire banister.  My hubby's gym clothes, some towels, and various other pieces of clothing that constitute a load of laundry in our house. 

As I stared in awe, my first thought was, "Holy crap, the dryer's broken."  That's when Kid 5 popped out into the hallway and said, "Hi Mommy!"  I responded somewhat desperately, "Who put these clothes here?"  Indicating the load of laundry hanging over the stairs. 


Looking proud of herself, she told me that she did it.  "But why?" I asked, still not making sense of what I was seeing.  "Because, I was doing laundry.  See?"  And she pointed to the laundry that was down the hall, next to her room.  I walked into the laundry room to find that she had emptied the dryer and hung all of the clothes in a fairly orderly fashion.  The dryer was stuffed with dirty clothes that she took from her room.  After laughing, I explained to her that dirty clothes went into the washer and started a load for her. 

I have to admit, the brilliance of her hanging the clean clothes from the dryer over the banister didn't strike home until a week later until Kid 3, who is 12, wanted to put her clothes ifrom the washer into the dryer and was at a loss when she found the dryer full.  She took out the clean clothes and deposited the whole load on the floor - and then left it there.  At least Kid 5 knew to keep the clothes off of the ground!   

Klepto Kid

I have said before that Kid 5 loves jewelry.  Specifically, my jewelry.  I have a set of seven stretchy pearl bracelets with silver accents.  One of the seven has a tiny silver triangle with the Silpada log dangling from the bracelet.  I rarely wear all seven at once.  I usually wear between one and three, and when I wear just one, I like to wear the one with the tiny dangling triangle.  Surprisingly (or not), I have not seen my favorite pearl bracelet in a while.  But as as always, I assumed that it my own lack of organization that it was not where it belonged - in my jewelry box.  

I have to admit, I haven't looked for it or asked about it, figuring it would turn up eventually.  It turned out I was right, but where it turned up was unexpected. 

I picked up Kid 5 from pre-school yesterday, and as always she was happy to see me.  After a big smile and a bigger hug, we walked to her cubby to get her things.  I picked up her backpack and lunch bag, and she asked if she could take home the extra clothes that were a little tub in her cubby.  A brief argument ensued as I convinced her to agre that the clothes would stay.  

"I just need to get something," Kid 5 explained as she reached into the tub that contained her clothes.  She pulled out a few barrettes, reached in a again, and pulled out her rubber band.  She reached in a third time and pulled out two of my pearl bracelets.  She had the grace to look a little embarrassed.  I asked her how she got the bracelets to school.  She said, "I brought them."  No kidding, I thought.  I didn't think they walked there.  "But when did you bring them," I asked.  Bear in mind that I have been taking her to school for the last few weeks, and would noticed if she was wearing my bracelets.

"When Grandpa brought me to school," said Kid 5.  "I had them in my pocket."   

Kid 5 the raccoon

In some parts of the world, theft is punishable by loosing a hand.  Kid 5 is fortunate it doesn't apply in our house.  Well, I guess technically in her case it isn't theft, it's "borrowing without permission," since the definition of the theft is taking property with the intent to permanently deprive.  Kid 5 never intends to take things forever, but she sometimes forgets where she puts things.

I love Silpada jewelry.  I like to have a Silpada party when the new jewelry comes out, because I always end up with some free jewelry and it's always fun to get my girlfriends together.  Kid 5 loves Silpada too, and loves trying on the jewelry during the parties.  I have to watch her though, because I'm afraid she will loose something. 

I asked my husband for a Silpada ring for Christmas, and gave him the information in the hopes he would buy it for me.  I was excited when a package came in the mail for him from Silpada.  I told him that I thought my ring was in the pile of mail and that he should do something with it before it gets lost in the junk mail and advertisements.  Well, on Christmas eve, he was unable to find the package.  Christmas came and went with no ring.  We figured it ended up in the garbage with the huge pile of advertisements that is in my mailbox every week.  I was upset and disappointed, but since I was having another party in a few weeks, I could get some more stuff to make up for it.  

My party was successful, and I got some beautiful jewelry.  I love bracelets and earrings and got some of both.  One of my favorites was a set of three stretchy bracelets that have lovely brown and orange stones with silver accents.  They are beautiful and I love the sound they make as they slide around on my wrist.  Apparently so does Kid 5. 

I can't keep Kid 5 out of my jewelry.  There isn't a shelf in my bathroom high enough.  She wears it all, my bracelets, earrings, and rings.  She's like a raccoon, she see something shiny and she can't help herself.  I always get my jewelry back, but I try to keep a close eye on her anyway.

I do make my jewelry a little to accessible.  I have a bad habit of coming home from work, taking off my jewelry, and putting it in a little dish on the kitchen counter as a begin to prepare dinner.  Occasionally, my bracelets will disappear temporarily, but I always find them either on Kid 5's wrist, in her purse, or on her dolls. 

I realized at some point that I hadn't seen my brown and orange bracelets in a while.  I looked for them, but they were nowhere to be found.  I figured they would turn up eventually, but I was not happy.  When I asked Kid 5 about the whereabouts of my bracelets, she just looked at me and shrugged.  

The last weekend in March, my husband packing for a trip to New York.  He asked where I stashed the suitcases, and I told him they were in the downstairs closet.  He pulled out the largest one and I told him there were two smaller ones in there.  I took one of the smaller ones out and guess what was inside - my bracelets!  I looked at Kid 5 and said, "Why are these in here?"  She just looked at me and shrugged, and said she didn't know.  I was too happy to have my stuff back to be too mad.  I took out the second suitcase to decide which one would be better for my husband to take, when lo and behold, in that suitcase was the package that contained my Christmas ring! 

It never occurred to me to ask Kid 5 about that package during Christmas, since it was a plain white package I didn't think it would hold any interest for her.  Apparently it did.  

Kid 5 may not have a ringed tail and black mask, but I think she may have some raccoon DNA somewhere in her little sticky fingers.   

Rain or shine....

We live in Southern California.  We get a lot more sunshine than rain, and Kid 5 loves the rain.  Of course, that's probably because it doesn't rain often. 

I bought Kid 5 a pair of Hello Kitty rain boots.  She saw them and fell instantly in love.  This is a kid who would rather be barefoot than wear shoes, so I was hesitant at first to buy the boots, but her toothy smile won me over. 

She loves those boots.  She wears them everywhere.  She said she really loves her boots because "I don't even have to wear socks."  I can't believe that would be comfortable, and imagine her sweaty little feet in them, but hey, it makes her happy.  I told her they were not hiking boots, but what do I know? 



This morning I walked out to get the mail and announced that I was going to do so.  Kid 5 yelled for me to wait.  I sighed impatiently, wondering if this was going to turn into a longer excursion than I had anticipated.  Kid 5 then ran towards the front door, wearing what else?  Her boots.

I look at her and shook my head.  I didn't say a word, but Kid 5's response to my head shake was, "What?  I'm de-ddicted to my boots!  I just love them!"  Where she got the word "addicted" I have no idea!

The cat's MEOW!

It has been said we learn our love of animals from our parents.  I suppose in my case it is true; I grew up with cats and a dog, a hamster, a bird, and even a couple of chickens at one point.  It seemed inevitable that I would have pets when I had my own children.  My husband grew up with cats, so cats and dogs seemed the way to go.  

Cat 1, Christopher, is the oldest pet in the house.  Age has nothing to do with his personality however.  He is slow and sweet, and seems to be missing the cat survival instict that says "RUN!"  This is good for Kid 5, not so good for Cat 1.  Cat 2, Sandy, is about a year and a half old, and still full of kitten mischief.  She's also sassy and smart, and runs like hell when necessary.  This however, does not prevent Kid 5 from torturing her. 

Kid 5 has said out of the blue to anyone who will listen, "I love cats.  I love dogs too, but I really love cats."  Cat 1 loved Kid 5 when she was a baby, as evident by this photo.

Cat 1 and Kid 5 continued to love each other through the toddler years when she continued to be gentle and he continued to be patient.  I don't know where it all went wrong.  

 
These days, Cat 1 has taken to sleeping with me underneath the covers in the hopes that Kid 5 won't know he's there. Cat 2 simply runs and hides under the bed. Kid 5 will never stop trying because she loves them so much. When she manages to catch them, she drags them around as if they were stuffed animals.  She once tied Cat 2 to a door handle because she didn't want to run away.  Yeah, that could've been ugly.



Recently, Kid 5 has been encouraging the playful hostility between the cats and dogs, but only so she can be a cheerleader for the cats.  Of course, Dog 2 loves to chase the cats for fun, but since Cat 1 won't run, he chases Cat 2.  Kid 5 loves this, and encourages the activity as much as possible.  She will point to Cat 2 and call to Dog 2 at which point Cat 2 takes off running, usually up the stairs.

This occured the other day, and much to my amazment - and amusement, Cat 2 took off running up the stairs with Dog 2 in hot pursuit, and Kid 5 stood at the bottom of the stairs pumping both fists in the air yelling, "GO SANDY GO!  GO SANDY GO!"  I felt like I was at the horse races. 

Though the cats may feel tortured, and I feel the need to protect them at times, Kid 5 truly loves her cats.  It's just too bad she doesn't understand that silence speaks volumes, and that cats like gentle, just like when you're asleep. 

Do I have a screw loose?

There are some things in life with kids that are unexpected.  I think we all accept that, and roll with it, at least I try to.  Then there are those events that not only take me completely by surprise, but days and weeks later, I find myself still trying to wrap my mind around the reason why; to no avail.  The one person who can explain it and help me to understand is Kid 5, and she isn't talking; at least about what I am asking - she talks about everything else.

It went down on a Monday night.  Daddy had a late softball game, so after dinner everyone got ready for bed as Daddy left for softball.  Kid 4 wanted to watch TV with me in bed for a while as Kid 5 bounced around the bedroom.  Kid 4 accidentally spilled water on the bed just as we settled down.  

With a huge sigh of exasperation, I got out of bed to strip the sheets from the bed so I could put them in the dryer.  As I began to pull the comforter from the bed, which is a white quilt, I noticed a bunch of tiny screws on the foot of the bed.  I had an errant thought that Daddy had bough a new piece of softball equipment that screwed into the packaging  and that he had left the screws on the bed.  I absently gathered the screws and placed them on the dresser, more concerned about the fact I now have to wait for the sheets to dry before I can get back into bed.  

As I dragged the sheets down the hall to the laundry room, which is next to Kid 4 and 5's bedroom, I am tired and annoyed.  I stuffed the sheets into the dryer and turned it on.  As I left the laundry room I reached to turn the hall lights off.  As I did this, I noticed that the screws had been removed from the light-switch plate.  All six screws.  

I realized that the screws I had found on my bed belonged to this light-switch plate.  Shaking my head in disbelief, I walked to my bedroom, gathered the screws, and found a screwdriver after a bit of a search.  I walked back to the light-switch plate and began to put the screws back in.  

As I began to place the second screw into the plate, to my frustration, I dropped it onto the carpet - where I found six more screws.  At first I did not understand what I was seeing.  I was confused.  If the screws to this light-switch were on the floor, where did the screws in my hand come from?  I turned around and checked the light-switch plate across the room.  Lo and behold, there were six empty screw holes, and on the ground below were six more screws.  So I had 18 screws and 12 screw holes.  After placing  12 of the screws back where they belonged, I went on a search to find the light-switch plate to which the last six screws belonged.  I found it in the hallway next to my bedroom.  

As I placed those last six screws back where they belonged, my only thought was that Kid 5 did it.  Who else would?  Certainly not I.  Daddy wouldn't know which type of screwdriver to use.  It would never occur to Kid 4 to do something like that - he's too busy building Legos and watching Star Wars.  Kid 3 was not home, so there you have it.  Kid 5 must be the culprit.  

I asked Kid 4 and 5 who took the screws out of the light-switch plate.  Both denied it, surprise surprise.  But Kid 5's denial was not genuine.  It was an attempt to stay out of trouble.  Too tired for confrontation, I took my sheets out of the dryer, fixed the bed, and waited for Daddy to come home

It wasn't until the next morning I realized that there were more screws missing in a light-switch plate downstairs by the kitchen...to date, I still haven't found those screws.  

   

    

Say Cheese!

Whoever believes a camera steals your soul should be glad to have never met Kid 5.  She loves cameras.  She loves being the subject of a lens, and will never turn down a photo opportunity.  Although no one would ever call her camera shy, she much prefers to be behind that magical lens that captures precious moments in time.  Still or video, it matters not to Kid 5, for she loves both and has tremendous skills with any camera she manages to get her grubby little hands on. 

Kid 5's favorite activity with the camera, since she loves having her picture taken and loves taking pictures, is of course, taking pictures and videos of herself.  This can be pretty entertaining, considering she knows how to use the camera on my smartphone.  I periodically purge my photo gallery of all the pictures she takes of her eyebrow or a part of her mouth.  Occasionally she hits it out of the park, like the video she took of herself walking on my treadmill at the maximum incline level, hanging onto the handbar and grunting. 

My favorite photo taken by Kid 5 is one I will cherish forever and just thinking about it never fails to cause an almost hysterical giggle.  How I found it was almost as priceless.

It was evening and I was visiting my neighbor, sans kids.  I was telling her about my frustration with a problem in our backyard.  It had been flooded the night before by a broken pipe and I had taken video and pictures to send to the landscape company so they would know where to look for the problem since they couldn't find previously.  Kids 4 and 5 were both at home with Daddy.  I wanted him to have some peace and quiet, so I left my phone with Kid 5 so she could play games and hopefully not be upset when I left. 

As I am telling my neighbor about my flooding issue, I waanted to show her the photos I had taken when I realized Kid 5 had my phone.  About 15 minutes later, Kid 5 shows up at my neighbor's house in pajamas, with wet hair and bare feet.  Nice.  I asked her where Daddy was and she said he was in the shower.  Sigh. 

Kid 5 sat on the couch and handed me the phone.  I opened my photo gallery to show my neighbor the photos I had been talking about and started laughing so hard I could feel tears forming in my eyes.  

Kid 5 had decided to take some pictures, and because her favorite subject is herself, she figured out she could photograph herself taking a picture using the large mirror in my bathroom.  This would have been typical and unexciting except for one major detail.  Daddy was in the bathroom, getting ready to take a shower and the photo captured his reflection - completely naked.  I had a funny feeling he had absolutely no idea that Kid 5 was taking pictures.  He was so embarrassed when I showed him the picture. I rarely see him blush but he did that day - and Kid 5 has been banned from the bathroom with any device that could take a picture.  I guess I should be glad she hasn't figured out how to post pictures to facebook. 

And no, I'm not posting the photo here. :)

How Kid 5 came to be

After being told time and time again that I should write a book about Jacqueline, otherwise known as "Kid 5," I decided to do the next best thing and write a blog.  I believe that this will give everyone a better picture of what it is really like to live a day in the life with Kid 5! 

Let me tell you a little bit about how Kid 5  came to be so you can get a clear picture of her personality.  I had recently had a miscarriage when I found out I was pregnant with Kid 5 and I was beside myself with happiness while scared to death at the same time.  I knew this was going to be my last child, so I savored every moment.  After a rough time with Kid 4, every precaution was being taken and every little thing was being monitored.  Things were going relatively well until approximately 26 weeks.  As I was trying to catch my bus to get home from work, I suddenly felt something not quite right.  Fortunatley I had a doctor's appoinment the following day.

"The baby has dropped," was my doctor's pronouncement.  Holy cow.  Strict bed rest was the prescription.  "Can I sit in my rocker?"  The answer, of course, was no - in bed; flat, on my back or side.  I could go to the bathroom and that was the extent of my allowed excursions.  To make matters worse, I was put on a pump of medication to stop contractions that started soon after.  And, I had to home monitor any contractions twice daily and send the results to some nurse in cyberspace.  This was before smartphones, and I did not have wireless internet, so it was me, my books, yarn and a crochet hook, and the Food Network.  I must have watched every Rachel Ray episode known to cable.

At 35 weeks, the insurance company pulled the plug on the pump and home monitoring.  Subsequently, I ended up in Labor and Delivery seven times in the next three weeks, during which each time they stopped the contractions and sent me home. I was told I could not deliver until 38 weeks.  Thirty-eight weeks came, and Kid 5 decided, that after all of my effort at keeping her in, she was happy where she was and did not want leave the warm, cozy, comforts of my uterus after all.  No contractions, no labor - nothing.  I cried and begged my doctor to induce.  He gave me one more week.  I could not believe that after all we did to keep her in, now she didn't want to come out.

Well, she changed her mind and in a big way.  I finally went into real labor, one in which they did not stop.  In typical Kid 5 fashion, once she decided to come out, come out she did.  I was at the hospital for one hour before she made her appearance.  My doctor did not even get there in time.  I had no time for an epidural, and because we all thought I was going to get one, no pain medication either.  I remember when I pushed, I thought, "Oh my god, I have to get her out NOW!" 

So now I have a girl who was in hurry to get out, decided to stay, then changed her mind again and came out in hurry.  This is the story of Kid 5 - in a hurry, making her own rules, doing what she wants, and too sweet for words.