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."
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.
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.
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!
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."
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.
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!
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.
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.
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. :)
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.
