Soup: Midwestern Mama Cooking Up Life in the Heartland

Playing Catch-Up

2012-01-27T14:50:00.000-06:00

So, several people have asked me why on earth I would be doing a photo shoot and what is it for? I don't think they asked me using such bad grammar, but I don't know how to end that question in a conversational tone without ending it with a preposition, so that is why I did if for/to/on/in/beside.

I can't quite tell you yet. I know, I'm a tease. Considering I haven't a clue how to flirt in real life, nor would I have reason to flirt in real life as I'm happily married, I have to be able to lead someone on somewhere, right?

I can say that it involves me doing something I love and that I am very excited about it. The opportunity sort of fell into my lap and, given that I'm starting to branch out a bit and put myself out there as a writer... oops! Did I say too much? Hmmm...

Speaking of branching out, I've done a lousy job (again) of keeping you updated with my postings on the Iowa City Patch.com site. So here they are!

It Was Always Burning Since My World's Been Turning (Jan 11, 2012): My burning desire is revealed... It might just surprise you. Likely it won't. What desire is your downfall?

Sing About Martin (Jan 18, 2012): How do you talk about difficult subjects with your children? How do you explain things that you yourself don't quite understand?

Tackling Legacy (Jan 26, 2012): How does a former resident of State College, Pennsylvania, process the death of former head football coach, Joe Paterno?

I Survived!!

2012-01-26T21:23:00.000-06:00

The photo shoot, that is.

Not only that, but my children managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the photographer and the two other people there by behaving. All four of them. At the same time. Well, Willa wouldn't smile, but that was the only glitch. Who is SuperMom now?

I got a quick peek at the shots and my children are just plain gorgeous -- and not in the "I'll pretend your babies are pretty so I don't hurt your feelings" kind of way. It is impossible to even notice me in the shots, I am just a fancy piece of furniture wearing a smile. It's just as well, I sort of look like Dwight Schrute's fatter sister, minus the glasses, all pasty and moon-faced.

The organizers asked me if I was excited, I answered honestly, "Yes. About the super-cool opportunity, but not so crazy about the photo shoot." Apparently, that is common among all of the talent involved. Good to know that, like middle school, everyone is scared and insecure.

At least, unlike middle school, I didn't have to have my picture taken with a mouthful of metal. That's a bonus, right?

Vanity from a Fat Chick

2012-01-26T12:06:00.000-06:00

I generally think of myself as not a terribly vain person. Most days, if my clothes are clean and I've bathed, I feel OK to go out in public.

So why in the world is the photo shoot scheduled in an hour or so causing me so much stress?

Because I kinda hate the way I look right now. OK, not my hair -- I now have a super-cute haircut, thanks to a friend who doesn't care what I look like as long as I get to see her. Thank you!!

But the rest of me? Gah... I hope that the kids are so distractingly cute that you don't notice me behind all of my fat. I am too fat and frumpy to pull off glam right now, and it's weighing on me CONSTANTLY for the last two weeks.

I know I should eat better. I know I should exercise. But in between work, feeding my children healthy, home-cooked food, and caring for said children when Scott is working, I cannot find the time, nor energy to exercise. Whine, whine, rant... I know that once I get started, I'll feel OK.

And my vanity is sort of odd -- I don't feel bad about myself when I'm "in real life," per se, but when I see photos of myself I think, "I didn't look THAT fat this morning when I get dressed, did I?" Am I deluding myself when I see my reflection? I dunno...

But it just feels rotten to be ashamed of how I look. I don't know what the other women/kids being photographed look like, but I just know I'm going to be the fattest one, the one with the worst wardrobe, and the one with three zits and a scratch (courtesy Juliet) on my chin.

It's like middle school all over again... Sigh...

OK. Now it's time for me to put on my big (fat-ass) girl pants and suck it up. Hopefully by releasing this insecurity into the universe, I can get past it in time to smile for my pictures. Please??

Dancing the Night Away

2012-01-17T21:30:00.000-06:00

You may not know it, but a long time ago, in a city not that far away, I was a dancer. I know, I know... now I'm a fat mom in need of a new hairdo and free liposuction.

I spent hours upon hours at the dance studio, bending and leaping, stretching and posing. Alas, genetics were not doing me any favors, and I was far too curvy to pursue a career in dance.

But that didn't stop me from dancing all the way through high school. I was lucky enough to snag choice roles in dance recitals/ballet performances: Captain Hook in "Peter Pan," the Wicked Witch of the West in "The Wizard of Oz," and one of Cinderella's stepsisters in "Cinderella." I pretty much cornered the market on the whole bad guy thing.

Since then I have done some dance work in a few musicals, choreographed a few more, and held my tongue as I watched some really, really bad dancing on Dancing With the Stars. Oh, who am I kidding? It's fun to snipe at really poor dancers on TV, so I absolutely did not hold my tongue.

I was very excited to enroll Violet in dance lessons as soon as she was age-eligible. I dreamed of my darling in her little pink leotard and tights, stepping daintily across the stage.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that Milo's kindergarten teacher was taking over the ballet lessons at one of the dance studios here in town. She and I got to talking and the next thing I know, I'm volunteering as a sub for the tap classes for this month.

So, yeah... I've been tapping my feet off on Monday nights. I sat in on a couple of classes in December to get a feel for what the instructor (a willowy young lay) was teaching. I felt pretty confident in the classes with younger kids, but was honestly quite surprised to keep up with the teens. I had no idea that pickups and wings and time steps were retained in deep muscle memory. It's been 20 years and I am blown away that I can still toss of a combo like I'd never missed a lesson.

Go me!!

Yargh! Panic!!

2012-01-12T13:58:00.000-06:00

You remember when I mentioned a photo shoot in regards to my almost-ready-to-announce exciting news? Yeah, I'm in a panic.

I haven't lost the baby weight from the twins. In fact, I have gained ten pounds from my lowest post-partum weight (three weeks after the twins were born I weighed 5 pounds lighter than when they were conceived). I blame sheer exhaustion for eating up my will to exercise and my willpower with food. If you body isn't refueled by sleep, it wants to eat more food to keep you going, right?

Anyway, because I haven't gotten back down to a respectable weight, I also haven't bothered to update my wardrobe. I have some tops that fit, some sweaters that fit, two pairs of jeans, a bunch of summery skirts, a dress my Mom gave me for Christmas, and one pair of work pants that I sheepishly rotate during the week. Some days I'm glad no one sees me at work, because then I can wear the same pants for two or three days in a row without feeling gross.

So I have nothing to wear for the photo shoot, scheduled on January 26th. I'm supposed to bring two outfits. Sigh... I don't have two outfits that are camera ready. Ugh... I hate shopping, especially when I'm trying on clothes in sizes I'm embarrassed to wear.

And I need a haircut. Preferably, a cheap one as we're not being spendy right now (read: gotta pay the bills first). Blah! I get my hair trimmed twice a year, maybe, because I'm... well... if it takes me longer than 5 minutes to do my hair, I don't have the time for it. So I need a new 'do pronto! One that will allow me to scrunch some curl-boosting mousse in and let it air dry, because the only workout my hair dryer has seen in the last seven years is applying plastic window sealer to our ancient windows.

Help me!!!

I'm So Excited!

2012-01-10T21:52:00.000-06:00

I'm about bursting with excitement over the news I hinted at last week. I'll be able to tell you soon... Soon...

But I can give you the clues that I signed a contract and returned it today. And that I'll need to get my hair cut because I'll be involved in a photo shoot. And that I'm going to have to learn to use our new video camera.

No, I'm not a plus-sized model.

Yes, this is something truly exciting! And real! Which is still a bit unbelievable to me...

In the mean time, here is my post from last week's Patch.com. I didn't get a chance to link it because I was in California with Scott and the twins to visit dear friends and their twins that I nannied. Did I mention that their twins are learning to drive? Yep...

More stories on flying the twins to come. Here's a hint: Juliet had a diaper issue that impacted Scott's pants. And Willa freakin' loves turbulence -- seriously -- she pealed with laughter as we did our best tossed salad impression.

The Great Mail Fire of 2011

2012-01-06T15:39:00.000-06:00

The most exciting thing to happen at the end of 2011 (besides having a daycare explode with infant toys in our middle room) was the Great Mail Fire.

The house was smelling a little too much like urine for my liking (cloth diapers, 2 cats whose litter boxes don't get the attention they need, and one old dog who sometimes forgets that the foyer isn't outside), so I lit a couple of candles before waiting for Milo to bounce off the bus and meet Violet and me at the mailbox.

The babies were napping upstairs as we all battled some strong winds to get back into the house, Violet snatched the newspaper's weekly flyer from my hands so she could "read" it. She settled into a little blue wooden chair and looked positively grown up with her legs crossed as she pored over the classifieds.

I heard Willa over the monitor, so I went upstairs to get her, smothering her sweet smiling face with a billion kisses. As I was headed down the hallway to the stairs, I heard a commotion downstairs.

Both Milo and Violet were yelling, but I could tell they weren't yelling at each other. Their voices sounded panicked as they called, "Mom!! Mom!! MOM!!"

Something's not right...

I rush down the stairs to be greeted by to terrified and incoherent children, eyes wide, tears flowing. The only word I could understand was "Fire!" Milo dragged me by the hand to the dining room where a lovely blaze was glowing. On top of my table.

Without realizing that there was a lit candle on the table, Violet had flipped the newspaper up there, where it instantly caught fire in a "poof!" kind of way. She screamed, Milo came running, then they both started calling for me.

I handed Willa to Milo and told him to take her into the other room. I urged Violet that direction, too. She managed to get out of my way, hopping from foot to foot in fear.

I looked over what was burning and realized that one thing on fire was the parchment paper between layers of frosted Christmas cookies. In a metal pan, the metal lid lying on the table next to it. I flipped the lid on the pan and put out that portion of the fire.

About that time, the smoke detector went off, screaming "Beep! Beep! Beep! Fire! Exit the house! Beep! Beep! Beep! Fire! Exit the house!"

The kids wailed and Milo started begging me to leave the house.

"Just a minute!" I said as I picked up a lovely thick bath towel, which I laid carefully over the rest of the blaze, smothering the flames.

"Please, mom! We have to go!" Milo clutched my hand, yanking me toward the door.

"It's OK, buddy -- I got it, see? No more fire."

By this time, Willa had joined the crying, though she was crying because she was hungry, not because she thought the house was going to burn down.

With one eye out for smoldering embers, I scooped Milo and Violet close and told them that the fire was out and we were OK and it was all over now. And that I needed to clean up.

What did we lose in this blaze? A placemat, a three-ring-binder (but not the paper inside), a red tablecloth with white snowflakes (amazingly, a duplicate), the Christmas cookies in the pan, and the nice, thick bath towel I used to put out the final flames.

I opened the front and back door to blow out the smoke, the wind rushed through the house, sending up a swirling cloud of burned newspaper ash. I closed the door and cleared off the table, noting a scorched spot about the size of a silver dollar.

I texted Scott that we'd had a fire, but were fine. He called back instantly for clarification. I fed Willa.

And then I had a talk about fire safety with Milo and Violet. It went something like this:

Me: That was scary, huh?
Them: (Sniffling with still-wide eyes) Uh-huh.
Me: Makes you think twice about playing with fire, doesn't it?
Them: Uh-huh.
Me: Do you think you'll ever want to play with matches or with candles?
Them: Nu-uh.
Me: I'm glad you didn't try to put out the fire. You did the right thing by getting Mommy right away.
Them: Uh-huh.
Me: Are you still scared?
Them: Uh-huh.
Me: It's OK now -- we're all fine.
Them: Uh-huh.
Me: Do you need hugs?
Them: Uh-huh!

I think that was the first conversation I've ever had with them where they agreed with each other the whole time. Now I know I just need to scare the pants off them by putting them in mortal danger and they'll get along perfectly!

Happy New Year! A Couple Days Late, As Always...

2012-01-04T12:20:00.000-06:00

Hey, there, everybody! I'm guessing you're all back into the swing of things after the holiday break. My kids ran into school yesterday morning, Violet was excited to show off her new "bow dress" and Milo was glad to see someone other than his family, I think. Violet was disappointed this morning when I told her she couldn't wear her "bow dress" two days in a row, so she settled for a glittery ruffled skirt and a sweater poncho. With sparkly leggings underneath, naturally.

Milo and I have been reading the "Percy Jackson" series together (I'm four books ahead of him, I'm refusing to crack open the last one while I still have so much to do because I get sucked into a book like I'm bathwater going down the drain). We spent quite a bit of time talking about the gorgon myth. He didn't understand why Athena was ticked off that Poseidon and Medusa had a date in her temple. "That doesn't make sense, mom. Why didn't she just ask them to leave? She didn't have to turn her into a gorgon..." It's probably a good thing he's less vengeful than those Greek gods, eh?

The twins are both sitting very well. For hours on end, playing with all sorts of new toys. Which means that I'm spending time matching all the pieces to said toys so that they aren't lost or stepped upon in the middle of the night. They've each had ear infections -- poor Jude is currently queen of the kingdom of snot. She and I have spent a couple of nights sleeping in the chair so that she can breathe a little. Along with the cold and ear infection, she's started doing a goofy Pop-eye smile where she winks her right eye. I'm not kidding! She scrunches her face up in a lopsided smile and winks. She also has a normal smile, so I'm not worried about it, but I hope I can get a picture of it before she stops doing it.

Wee Willa's hair is starting to lay down. Waaah! I love baby mohawks -- and, at two inches long, hers rocked the house! Her latest thing is nodding her head "yes" when you smile at her. She giggles and nods and bounces all around -- too sweet! She also bounces in time to music already, so I think she might have some musical talent there. Not that you can predict those things in infants, but Milo's got great rhythm and even he wasn't bouncing in time to music this young. He's also got perfect pitch -- I'm so amazed by this. Violet, who sings all day, has been working on adding vibrato to her songs. Yeah, some of them sound like the old ladies at church, but I think she's on her way to some voice lessons in the future.

And me? Well... I've got something fun and interesting in the works. Something I never thought I'd ever be doing professionally. No, I'm not talking about hanging out on a corner somewhere. Or selling product. Or designing Ponzi schemes. Or appearing on Broadway or anything like that. But probably by next month I'll be able to let you know what I've got up my sleeve! I'm excited about it and can't wait for you to find out what it is!

When Christmas Eve Attacks!

2011-12-26T21:10:00.000-06:00

Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring...

Except a six-year-old with an intermittent anxiety problem that becomes an insomnia problem pretty fast. Yes, as we were all bedding down for the night, one little elf awakened suddenly with the thought that Santa Claus was not going to be able to stop at our house if the twins were awake.

Umm... Yeah. In truth, the old SC had already been to our house, his reindeer had licked up all the reindeer food from the driveway, the old fella had drunk half a glass of milk and gnoshed on a cookie, and crammed an assortment of trinkets and sugar plums into the stockings. He had even tiptoed up to the kids' bedrooms and left decorated four-foot tall trees for a morning surprise.

As I tried desperately to plug the holes in the good ol' anxiety dike, I started spinning an intricate web of tiny little silken white lies. Well, first I copped to the tree. And then I said that Santa was still east of here, like over Pennsylvania. That it would probably be at least two hours and the babies would definitely be asleep then. And, besides, babies can't tell anyone that they saw Santa, so they couldn't possibly stop him from coming.

That worked.

At least until 4am. Then our excited little elf couldn't contain it any longer, so he came into our bed to flop around for an hour and a half until I gave up and slept in his bed.

Santa did, in fact, bring three-quarters of mommy's wish as all three of my darling daughters slept all night -- for the first time in months. Sigh..

Merry Christmas everyone! Oh -- this post was truly a labor of love as I was testing out the web capabilities of my new Kindle Fire. It wasn't too bad, but a real keyboard is better. Cheers!!

Last Week

2011-12-21T14:40:00.001-06:00

So last week over on Patch.com I blogged my response to Stephen G. Bloom's article from The Atlantic, entitled "Observations from 20 Years of Iowa Life."

Here is my Patch.com blog post: In Defense of Native Iowans. Actually, here's a link to all of the stuff on Bloom in the Iowa City Patch.com. And here's a link to a pretty comprehensive list of stuff from the Cedar Rapid Gazette, too. Here's a link to a list of reactions from the Iowa City Press Citizen. Finally, here's a link to an article in the Des Moines Register about what Bloom is up to now.

Why am I still going on about this? Actually, I'm not. But in everything I've read, I haven't come across an opinion similar to mine. Either I'm off my rocker or just plain brilliant... you decide!

U2: From the Sky Down

2011-12-09T21:11:00.000-06:00

In November of 1991 I was halfway through my first semester as a college freshman. I was still a pink-cheeked lass of moderate intelligence and talent, barely stepping beyond my comfort zone as I timidly tested the waters in my university's theatre department. In November of 1991, U2 released Achtung Baby.

My life was never the same.

I had arrived at the school in some sort of paralyzed non-choice; I wasn't sure what I really wanted from my education and knew that my high school drama director was an alum an that I learned much from him, my parents were both alumni and I was operating under the belief that my education couldn't cost too much or my siblings wouldn't get the chance to go to college. So I shrugged when it came time to pick a school, deciding that UNI would be just fine. I planned to become a high school drama teacher, but really wanted to just be an actress.

But college theatre was a completely different scene than high school theatre. If I had been a standout in high school, so had half of my freshman class. And half of the sophomore class. And half of the junior class. And half of the senior class. I knew it was a bigger pond. I knew that I was going to be a smaller fish. Much smaller.

I was completely unprepared when I walked into auditions for the first semester's shows. I wore a bright orange silk blouse because I'd heard the advice to wear something memorable to stand out at an audition. I think I was the only person in the room that could have looked good in an orange silk blouse, so I'm pretty sure I was memorable. The auditions were cold readings, and I felt that I had done all right. I got a callback for one show, but was not cast. I thought that was pretty good for a freshman.

I don't remember when I stepped through the looking glass -- when the other students in their flannel shirts and Doc Martens suddenly became less intimidating, when I didn't startle at the sheer force of their boisterous and animated interplay. But one day, it just seemed less odd. One day, I started feeling like I belonged there instead of hanging out on my dorm floor, playing Hearts with the guys that lived upstairs.

I was never a trend setter. I wasn't a trend follower, either. When everyone started coloring their hair black and smoking, I passed. I wasn't blessed with brilliance, but had a good work ethic and the ability to get along with most of my peers, bridging the gap between performers and the backstage set fairly easily.

In the second semester of my freshman year, I was cast in an unconventional show set in an art gallery. And it was performed in an art gallery. The cast was huge, nearly forty people. I was the one who had the long monologue, the climax of the show. Rehearsing that show was at once terrifying and fabulous. I found myself in the middle of things, creating new friendships, exploring new relationships, and discovering the album that I completely equate with my coming-of-age: U2's Actung Baby.

Sense memory is a wonderful thing, triggering emotion in primal way. The smell of a school on the first day of classes always gets my heart racing. Tasting Little Smokies takes me back to the last time my family was together before my parents split, yes, they nearly make me vomit now. And hearing U2's "One" picks me up and drops me, heart and soul wide open, back in my dorm room on the last day of classes of my freshman year, to the moment when I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "This is it! You're not a kid anymore and life is there, waiting for you! Go out and create, go out and blaze your path, go out and live!"

That moment of youth crept up on me again tonight as I was rocking Juliet. Scott had flipped on the documentary From the Sky Down about the genesis of Achtung Baby. I listened as the band members and their producers talked about the difficulties and conflict surrounding the stifling writer's block under which the band was suffering, when they started playing a rehearsal tape of a song called "Sick Puppy," later retitled "Mysterious Ways." They were carefully describing how the song had one bridge, then another while the taped rehearsal played underneath the narration. As the band approached the second bridge of the song, the chords came to life. Next thing I know, I sitting there, open-mouthed, tears welling because those chords were the seed that became the song, "One."

Who gets the chance to hear the birth of their coming-of-age anthem? In an instant I was at a party in a park, dancing under a full-moon, baying, "One love..." with thirty college friends, most of whom I see fairly regularly on Facebook. Twenty years had fallen away, just like that. Wow...

Now, before you roll your eyes and sigh over my band-worshipping, I can completely admit that "One" isn't even my favorite U2 song. I prefer "With or Without You," "Love is Blindness," "Elevation," and "Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of." I don't even own Zooropa. And I couldn't tell you much about No Line on the Horizon other than I have it. I'm not a super fan.

But Actung Baby? That will forever be the soundtrack of my early adulthood and the place I go when I am stuck in a moment that I can't get out of. There's just something special about it, a little piece of mystery wrapped inside myself, kept close and rarely shared. When all things align and I'm in the zone creatively, that album is whispering in my ear. When I take a risk and step outside of myself artistically, that album is y backdrop. When I need to recharge, to build my reserve, that album is my reservoir. When I want to bring it, to lay it all out on the table and walk away completely spent, that album is the one blaring in my car, on my Shuffle, in my bones.

Thank you.

My Secret Other Life

2011-12-07T20:54:00.000-06:00

I'm leading a double life right now. I could tell you that I was a dashing super-hero, decked out in spandex and wearing platform stiletto boots... but I'd be wrong. I could tell you that I'm actually a spy, gleaning bits of information about... about... umm... whatever top secret stuff there is here in Iowa. I could tell you that I'm an undercover billionaire, slummin' it just for the experience.

But the reality is that I'm just moonlighting as a blogger over on Iowa City's Patch.com site and have forgotten to link my last several blog posts. So, in order from oldest to newest, here are the Patch.com blog posts that I've been hiding from you. Please check 'em out if you have time!

Pretty, Pretty Please? Do kids today really have bad manners? How do you teach your kids to be polite?

Negative Nelson: A Facebook Fable TMI. Inside jokes. Political rants. These are just a few of my Facebook pet peeves. What are yours?

Thankful for More than Turkey Yes, I'm drowning in gratitude like potatoes under gravy. For what am I thankful? Optimism.

My Fairy Tale Life This is the post in which I wax romantic about life with four kids. Wait... is that romantic? Hmmm...

I Confess: I Am Not a Perfect Mom Sometimes, I need to teach myself a lesson: I'm not a good mom, I only play one on TV.

I'd Suck as a Single Mom

2011-12-06T21:32:00.000-06:00

I am so glad that I am not a single mom. I have to tell myself this every couple of months, after a long stretch where Scott is busy, busy, busy and life threatens to swallow me whole.

Like the last month or so.

The black-hole-of-suckiness always centers around Scott being gone in the evenings for productions, but this fall's tough patch seems a bit worse than most, probably due to the high diaper-change-to-adult ratio in the house right now. Scott designed scenery for a local theatre's musical while teaching a course. Then he was supposed to have a block where he wasn't teaching while he was designing the set and lighs for the college's musical.

And then our nephews asked for help with old age make-up for their fall musical, so he was gone a couple of extra nights at bedtime helping there.

And then one of his colleagues died suddenly, leaving the whole theatre department raw and scrambling as the colleague was teaching a directing course. And Scott pitched in to help teach the course, which required additional time from home we hadn't been planning. Of course, this isn't anywhere near as devastating as losing a family member suddenly, so I feel kind of icky complaining about how it forced my husband to disappear into work.

And now he's in tech week for the musical, which is, naturally, far behind schedule and not coming together the way either he or the director wanted. I don't know where the issue lies, but I do know that Scott can, by himself, build and paint a three-act opera in about 80 man hours... not sure why this set isn't done...

And last week was deer hunting. Scott did get one of the two deer his party bagged. Yay for some real free-range meat! I hope that when the whole party splits it there's enough for a couple of taco nights and maybe some stew.

And he's back in tech rehearsals again this week, leaving us alone at bedtime for what feels like a month straight. And, of course, bedtime is the hardest part of the day because every single one of us is exhausted.

Oh yeah! Let's add in what the rest of us have been up to!
-- Milo broke his foot and had to wear a boot for about a week (it healed fast, whew!)
-- The two doctor visits associated with the broken foot
-- Milo had a dentist appointment
-- Violet had a dentist appointment the next week (the day Milo broke his foot)
-- Babies had their 6-month well baby check-ups
-- Violet had a dance recital for the local holiday festival
-- Parent/Teacher conferences (both kids are awesome!)
-- All four kids had a cold consecutively
-- I had a mild version of that cold
-- Jude had a tummy bug over the weekend -- gotta love sick babies as they want to be held constantly
-- Willa cut her first tooth
-- Milo lost another tooth
-- Mommy worked
-- Violet has dance lessons
-- Grandma D had back surgery
-- Scott's brother is building a house and Scott helps out when he can

I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting something. But much of the "kid" list above has been dealt with by me because Scott's been so busy. Plus all of those tough bedtimes. Sigh... Mama is ready for a break... Who wants to give me an all-expenses-paid trip to a spa in Hawaii? I'm sure someone does, right?

I Promise I'm Not Trying to Poison You!

2011-11-29T21:18:00.004-06:00

Well, the twins are now in the second half of their first year, which means milestones like crazy! Babies this age are so much fun. They’re starting to look outward (as opposed to being shocked by bodily functions we take for granted – like sneezes, burps, and hiccups). They’re purposely moving their limbs (instead of accidentally whacking themselves in the head when flailing and arm) and exploring, exploring, exploring.

Juliet really needs to learn to crawl. She is currently frustrated by her lack of motion, but has yet to figure out a better way of getting around than pushing herself backwards on her tummy in what can only be described as a really creative way to dust my hardwood floors. She’s super-duper good at letting us know when she’s bored somewhere by using her power of whine to get out attention over and over and over again.

Willa waved at Grandma Sue today an again at me, so I don’t think it’s a fluke. She’s a poor red-cheeked snot farmer at the moment (why CAN’T you get rich farming snot? Surely it’s good for something…). Yes, we’re all sharing a cold at the moment. At least all the girls are, the boys had it two weeks ago.

They have finally decided that food from a spoon just might be OK, so I have actually fed them real food three days in a row now, woot! It was so much easier to do this when feeding only one… And when we didn’t have to run to dance lessons and do book-in-a-bag homework and other big kid stuff. Neither of them really care for rice cereal, so we’re on to oatmeal. Both liked applesauce and tonight’s sweet potatoes, which were courtesy of mom and the Baby Bullet. Even though she was pretty tired and puny for most of the day, Willa was smacking her lips, grinning, and asking for more. Juliet always gives me a look that screams, “I know you’re trying to poison me!” when she takes the first few bites, but she smiles after she swallows, so I think she likes it. Or at least decides that I’m not trying to poison her.

Both girls had their 6 month appointment two weeks ago, three days before turning seven months old.
Juliet’s stats: 25.5 inches tall and 15lbs 2oz heavy
Willa’s stats: 26.25 inches tall and 16lbs 12oz heavy

Both are right on their own growth curve and doing well, meeting all appropriate milestones, proclaimed, “Perfect!” by the doc. I just happen to agree.

How to Wreck a Schedule

2011-11-22T22:03:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was going to be insane, no matter what the circumstances. I'm talking running from one place to another all day, babies napping in the car seat kind of crazy. This is what it was supposed to look like:

7:50 -- I drop the kids off at school and go to work
11:00 -- Scott picks Violet up, drops all three girls with a sitter
12:00 -- I pick all three girls up, head into town for Violet's dental appointment
1:00 -- dental appointment (feed babies during appointment)
3:35 -- Milo home from school
3:55 -- load up for Violet's dance class
4:15 -- dance class (feed babies during dance class)
4:45 -- load kids up and drive to campus to meet daddy
5:00 -- drop older kids with a sitter
5:20 -- Violet's parent/teacher conference
5:40 -- Milo's parent/teacher conference
6:00 -- pick up big kids form sitter, go home, eat, and get to bed

What actually happened:

7:50 -- I drop the kids off at school and go to work
11:00 -- Scott picks Violet up, drops all three girls with a sitter
12:00 -- I pick all three girls up, head into town for Violet's dental appointment
12:05 -- while loading girls into the van, get a call from the school nurse that Milo has hurt his foot and won't calm down and could I please stop by to calm him down?
12:15 -- get to school and realize I can't calm him down, grab his stuff from his locker, help him hop to the van
1:00 -- dental appointment (feed babies during appointment)
1:05 -- kind dentist offers to take a look at Milo's injured foot -- I agree because he's got kids, medical training, and has been a coach so he's likely seen a couple of injuries. Dentist thinks it's a sprain, advises us to wait overnight to see how it is tomorrow (today). Sounds good, as it was what I was going to do, anyway.
3:35 -- Milo home from school -- scratch that one.
3:55 -- load up for Violet's dance class (this means carrying two infant car seats and Milo to the van)
4:15 -- dance class (this means unloading two infant car seats and Milo from the van in two trips into the building) (feed babies during dance class)
4:45 -- load kids up (with help from another mom, it was only one trip to the van with Milo on my back) and drive to campus to meet daddy
5:00 -- drop older kids with a sitter (daddy carried Milo inside)
5:20 -- Violet's parent/teacher conference SHE ROCKS!
5:40 -- Milo's parent/teacher conference HE ROCKS!
6:00 -- pick up big kids form sitter (daddy carried Milo to the van and into our house), go home, eat (I cook real fast), and get to bed (I carry Milo up stairs)
8:00 -- I collapse on the couch with a margarita and watch Dexter
9:00 -- still collapsed on the couch watching Castle
11:00 -- finally drift off to sleep
1:00 -- Willa wakes, hungry. I carry her downstairs and feed her, then take her back upstairs to bed.
1:30 -- Juliet wakes, hungry. I carry her downstairs and feed her, then take her back upstairs to bed.
3:00 -- A voice next to the bed starts calling, "Mom! Mom!" I sit up and look around, but not down. I look down and find Milo, who has crawled from his room with something in his hand. "Mom! I lost my tooth!" (OK -- as an aside, how many of you have kids who routinely lose teeth while sleeping? This is his second...)
3:01 -- I carry Milo back to bed and crawl in with him to "settle him for a minute"
4:00 -- I wake up and realize that when I said "minute" I really meant "hour"
6:00 -- Milo up for the day, I poke Mr. Ambien and say, "Please, can you take this one? This is the fourth time I;ve been up..."
6:01 -- I roll over and sleep for 29 minutes.
6:30 -- I'm up for the day. We determine that Milo needs to see the doctor.
8:00 -- Scott calls for an appointment with the doctor. He mouths, "What do I tell them?" I say, "Tell them we suspect that he broke his first metatarsal." Scott rolls his eyes because I remembered the name of the bone. Either that or he thought I was showing off. Which maybe I was.

2:20 -- doctor's appointment, x-ray and confirmation that Milo did, indeed, break his first metatarsal.

And that's how to wreck a schedule.

The Lucky Mama

2011-11-16T21:56:00.000-06:00

I was a lucky mama last night. And I'm saying that in a completely non-ironic way. I did feel truly lucky last night. Perhaps it was the glow of the prematurely erected Christmas tree (sans ornaments -- I'm insisting that they wait until Thanksgiving weekend). Perhaps it was merely beyond-overtired giddiness. Or maybe it was that I was completely under the influence of love.

You see, just as I was getting ready to write a the conclusion to an uninspired blog post for Patch.com (I submitted something else because it was so... blech...), Scott and I heard Willa's cry pealing over the baby monitor.

He snuck upstairs to retrieve her and attempted to comfort her as he continued to draft the set for the opera he's designing. She was having none of it, screaming louder and louder. He tried to feed her. She got about halfway through the bottle before shrieking and shoving it away. I abandoned my putrid writing and gathered her into my arms, where she continued to wail. We dosed her with Tylenol, thinking that maybe those sore, sore baby gums were ready to erupt teeth. And still she cried. I changed her diaper. She still cried. I burped her (again). She still cried. Finally, she settled into a whimpering half-sleep in my arms.

It was midnight by then. Scott went to bed, kissing my forehead as he stumbled drowsily up the stairs. I decided to stay downstairs with her to keep her siren from waking the rest of the family. Each time I moved, she moaned and rubbed her face into my shoulder.

Finally, she began snoring lightly into m neck. I gently laid her into the infant swing and rushed to take out my contact lenses and get my pajamas and a pair of thick socks on. Just as I crept back into the room, she woke again, angry and hurting somewhere.

I held her close, rhythmically rocking her in the silence of the house. She struggled fitfully against sleep, cursing in baby-cry with eyes clenched shut, legs kicking emphatically to punctuate her thoughts.

I smelled her baby scent, burying my nose in her mohawk, her fine hair tickling my cheek. I kissed her softly, laying my face close to hers, her breath finally relaxing into a shallow song. For three hours I comforted her alone in the night until she woke fully, ready to eat. I fed her, then she dropped off peacefully from exhaustion, plunging into a deep sleep, limbs liquid with relaxation. I finally laid her in her bed at 3:30, crawling under my own covers with a leaden thump, my pillow catching my head as it landed, already asleep.

I suppose I could have been frustrated that I had comforted this child for five hours with only brief respite to change clothes. I suppose I could have resented the rest of my soundly sleeping family. I suppose that I could have cried along with her, keening my sadness for not being able to help her.

But I knew that I was comforting her. I knew that she felt safe and loved in my arms. I knew that there was no place she would have rather been than held close to me, my pulse and breathing calmly guiding her to sleep. And I didn't want to put her down. I wanted to smell her scent, feel her movements as close to me as I could. It's been nearly seven months since she was born and my babies are rapidly growing and changing. I felt the preciousness of that moment stretching into a small lifetime.

I needed last night with my Willa. I needed to watch her blink in amazement at all of the lights on the Christmas tree, just the two of us, swaying in front of it, dancing to an unheard tune. I need to hold on to her babyhood for as long as she lets me, because she is the baby of my babies.

This morning as I groggily shuffled through my closet in the nursery, both girls were waking in their cribs. Juliet started chattering, as she always does, and Willa began to coo. I peered over the rail at her, my sleepy morning smile meeting hers. She raised her arms, saying "Ah-la-loo" as she crinkled her fathoms-deep eyes. It's possible that I misheard, but I believe that warm coo sounded like, "I love you."

"Ah-la-loo," too.

Blue and White is NOT Blue and Right, Part II

2011-11-10T08:54:00.000-06:00

Yeah... I couldn't leave this at just one post. Remember point 2 from the previous entry? Yep, stewing all night.

There are a lot of Nittany Lions feeling very betrayed out there today -- betrayed by the University, betrayed by the Board of Regents, betrayed by a beloved coach.

But you know what? Our bruised feelings are nothing compared to the betrayal experienced by all of Jerry Sandusky's victims. They win this contest, hands down.

The two men who apparently witnessed these assaults had a choice. Neither of them seemed to consider it a viable option to even shout, "What are you DOING???" to interrupt a rape.

The people to whom these men reported the incident had a choice. They chose to pass on diluted information to higher-ups.

The higher-ups had a choice. They chose to turn a blind eye and merely shove a deviant monster of a so-called-man out the door.

Who didn't have a choice?
Victim 1
Victim 2
Victim 3
Victim 4
Victim 5
Victim 6
Victim 7
Victim 8
And the other victims still coming forward

What should Penn State have done? The instant any allegation popped up they should have dealt with it faster than a defensive player sacking a weak quarterback. You place the perpetrator on administrative leave, investigate thoroughly and in the public eye, file criminal charges, get the victims into treatment, and clean up the mess instead of sweeping it under a rug. You say to yourself, "This situation is abominable. Yes, taking care of it immediately is painful, but dealing with it fifteen years and a complicated cover-up later is far, far worse for the University and all involved."

JoePa held his players to a standard. He put the value of the team ahead of the individual. If he cared enough to bench a first-string player for failing a test, why didn't he care enough about these children? If he's insisting his players live up to a strict honor code, where is his honor? Would he have let his own grandchildren spend the night at Sandusky's house? If he wouldn't have, then he saw the monster and let him prey on innocent children.

Doing nothing, saying nothing is reprehensible. Too many people failed these boys.

So go ahead and feel betrayed that the Board of Regents fired your man. Go ahead and feel betrayed that the actions of a pervert tarnished the record of the best coach in college football.

You are lucky to have that choice.

Blue and White is NOT Blue and Right, Part I

2011-11-09T21:12:00.004-06:00

I am not one who usually comments on current events in my parenting blog, but sometimes the current events overlap with my life in such a way that I can’t hold back. You see, Scott is an alumnus of Penn State. And we were living in Happy Valley from 1996-2000, around the same time that the predatory Jerry Sandusky was ruining the lives of at least eight young men – no, eight boys who have deserved better than the load of crap life has given them.

I made a serious error in judgment when I read the paperwork handed down from the grand jury investigation. One: reading accounts like that make me never want to let my children leave my sight. Two: I get so angry when I hear of children being victimized that I don’t sleep for days on end. And three: I know that the behavior of Penn State officials is not congruent with the behavior of the Penn Staters I met, know, and have come to love.

Shame on you Timothy Curley and Gary Schultz for treating sexual abuse like a parking ticket. Shame on you, Graham Spanier, for not recognizing the seriousness of the issue. And shame on you, JoePa, for playing defense with your reputation instead of offense to save these children.

The Happy Valley I know and love is full of arts, culture, and history. Even without the Almighty Penn State Football Team, State College is teeming with scientific exploration, artistic genius, and scholars producing important works. There are caring people and a tremendous faculty. This behavior is an aberration of mighty proportions.

As a parent, the lesson I learn is that it is NOT normal for a middle-aged man to lavish attention on a pre-teen child that is not his own. That if I were to have caught a naked adult in a shower with a naked child, you can bet my first call is to 911 – that I wouldn’t sleep on it a night and report it to the naked adult’s friend and co-worker. Oh, and that I would stop whatever was happening to the child right then and there, my own safety an afterthought. That if I did report such an act and didn’t hear about an investigation or an arrest, my next step is the media, rights to privacy be damned.

You don’t get to hurt children. If you do, you do not deserve to have it covered up by officials more concerned with record-breaking football than with the safety of children. You don’t deserve cheers and accolades from generations of fans.

And you don’t deserve to call yourself a Nittany Lion.

Liebster

2011-11-06T14:50:00.000-06:00

It's quiet in my house -- and not in a "something's wrong" kind of way. Milo is occupied with Legos, Jude is snoozing in the swing, Willa is playing on the floor, Violet is at a birthday party, and Scott is seeing a play.

So I'm going to write for as long as I can before I need to be Mom.

A new online friend (with quite a sense of humor) has gifted me with a blog award. I met Nerdmama in an online parenting forum as her adorable son was due the same month as the twins. She is the ONLY woman from that forum who really was more uncomfortable carrying one baby than most of us twin moms were carrying two. I will not call her a weenie... some of the other ones? Yeah... you know my feelings on whiny pregnant women...

Anyway, here is the nifty award!

As it works with most of these things, I need to pass the award on to other deserving blogs, in this case, they all must have fewer than 200 followers. Those of you I have awarded must do the following (or shame and ruin will come to your blog):

1. Copy the award to your blog.
2. Thank the giver and link back to their blog.
3. Reveal your top five up-and-coming blogs, and let the bloggers know.
4. Spread the love!

So, in no particular order, please come accept your kudos, dear bloggers!

1. It Is What It Is (written by a former sort-of-student turned former colleague turned mama right around the time Violet entered the world)
2. in bloom (written by another Iowa mom who can take the most GORGEOUS photos)
3. Funny on the Internet (written buy a woman who shares my brain on most days and who needs.to.write.more. 'nuff said)
4. Sincerely Jenni (written by another Iowa mom who has a knack for writing about Important Things in a way that Makes You Think.)
5. Waiting for Our Girl (written by a dear friend who has added to her family by international adoption and continues to advocate for adoption because she just loves kids!)

And now the babies are howling... so away I go!

This Is the End

2011-11-02T13:04:00.000-05:00

I had my "yearly fun" exam yesterday. You know, the one that makes women nod their heads knowingly and men shudder and fling up walls faster than an Amish barn-raising.

And I was a little sad, because I realized as I walked into the doctor's office that I will never again see my OB-GYN as an OB. And GYN visits aren't nearly as fun as OB visits.

Yep, we're officially done having kids, unless some miracle of vascular regeneration happens and Scott's vasectomy reverses itself. I am really OK with this, though, because I am happy with the children I have and do not wish to add to our brood. I'm old and we work in higher education (as in we don't make a ton of moolah).

I am, however, very relieved to know that there isn't going to be an "Oops!" baby in our golden years -- Scott went back for his post-op pop quiz and scored a zero, so we're in the clear.

One would think that once we got the "all clear" from the urologist, we'd have celebrated the end of our child-bearing years in grandiose style, but, alas, our children have been doing their best to thwart any sense of adult time we could arrange by way of picking up every germ known to mankind and sharing them with each other. This mama's on a three-week-long stint of nearly all-nighters and, let me tell you, I am not a college student any more. I actually found two grey hairs spooning each other near my temple this morning.

Yeah, that's a pretty good indication that I won't be regretting permanent birth control... That and the thought that there are some women who are grandparents at my age. Yikes!

And, on another note, here is my latest on Patch.com. It's about figuring out holiday travel schedules.

The Star of the World

2011-10-25T13:22:00.000-05:00

So in this autumn full of craziness, I have neglected to make a true birthday post about my vivacious Violet, who is a newly-minted four-year-old. And she is awesome! Seriously, this child is amazing...

First of all, who couldn't love this face?

Secondly, Miss Violet has begun preschool. And her preschool experience has been so different than Milo's. For instance, she has never once cried when I dropped her off. In fact, she strides confidently into her classroom, ready to go each morning, often forgetting to even say "Goodbye!" to me. She is excited to be at school, loves her teacher and all of her new friends and is well on her way to making herself a very popular little lady.

Thirdly, my darling has inherited her mama's love of dance. Her ballet class meets on Monday and she is always skipping her way into class, grinning and ready for fun. Last week was parent observation week and, if I can crow a bit, she has the prettiest legs and feet in the class. Her little toes point naturally and she extends all the way through her limbs effortlessly. The fat mama-ballerina couldn't be more proud. Her one substandard skill is the balance beam, but she more than makes up for it with her attention to detail in her tendu (or tom-doo) as she says it. She grinned all the way through the observation class, smiling and flirting with the other moms in the audience. Yes, my sweet pea is a bit of a ham.

Fourthly, I think this darling has the potential to be a good leader and organizer. When playing with her cousins one day this fall, she had them all participating in a dance that they were going to do on stage for all of us to watch. Grandpa had turned up the polka music when Violet came to find me, asking for a paper and pencil so that she could "make a list for the dance." Her little list included several shapes and a code that seemed to make sense to her, but was actually the patterns she was using to choreograph the dance for her cousins. There was the "line part," represented by a line on the page. The "circle part," which was a circle on the page. And the "hops" that looked like a dotted line on the paper. And that is what they did. Grandpa watched them, chuckling, and told me that Violet did her best to keep her slightly older cousin and slightly younger cousin on task and teach them the dance she drew. When the others' attention waned, she patiently tried to bring them back, saying, "OK. Guys, we're working on the dance and this is the next part. Did you see that? Let's try that now!"

Fifthly, this Violet will never be accused of being a shrinking Violet. Nope, not one bit. I overheard her in the bathroom yesterday, singing at the top of her lungs (immature vibrato included), "When I was bo-o-o-o-o-o-orn, I was the star of the wo-o-o-o-o-o-o-orld. When I was bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-orn..."

When I was talking with Milo about the kinds of extra-curricular activities he could do as he got older, every suggestion I made was met with resistance:

Me: You could play an instrument, wouldn't that be fun?
Milo: Nope.
Me: You could play a sport.
Milo: No.
Me: You could be in a play.
Milo: Are you kidding me? No way.
Me: You could work backstage on a play.
Milo: Nuh-uh.
Me: You could sing in the choir.
Milo: I don't want anyone to hear me sing.
Me: You could learn a foreign language.
Milo: Yuck.
Me: You could play in the marching band.
Milo: No, mom. I don't want to do anything.

Violet: I want to do all of that. And dance. And be a cheerleader!

You know what? I'm pretty sure she will do all of that, and do it with flair. Because she is definitely the star of my world.

Half a Birthday

2011-10-18T22:41:00.000-05:00

Half a birthday to you,
Half a birthday to you,
Half a birthday, dear Juliet and Willa,
Half a birthday to you!

That's right -- they're six months old today!

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day

2011-10-15T16:34:00.000-05:00

In the spring of 2004 I lost my first pregnancy.

I had only known about that wee tiny baby for about a week, but that week was a wondrous week, full of joy and love and hope and potential. I floated through the days, thrilled and full.

And then I crashed harder than I have ever crashed in my life.

I had known the OB/GYN who followed me through the rest of my pregnancies for a whole ten minutes when she confirmed that I was miscarrying with a gentle, "I am sorry..." She didn't need to say more. Scott bravely held my hand as I wondered what I had done... how I had messed this up... how in space of those three words, "I am sorry" our hopes had been blown out as quietly as a whisper.

I know now that, because of that loss, I have Milo. He was conceived before the due date of our first baby. I can't imagine a life without him and realize that HE was the child who was supposed to start our family.

But every now and then, as I look through my nightstand, I come across the pregnancy journal I had started for our first child. The handful of entries illustrate a mother who desperately wanted the little life she carried, a father who was over the moon in love with a baby who was still an idea, a song, a dream.

I know that I am lucky. I have Milo and I have the twins because of the losses I suffered. I also know that some of my sisters in losses are not as lucky -- that they grieve with empty arms and full hearts, waiting yet for a child to touch and see and smell and hold. It is because of them that I cherished every moment of pregnancy, that I held my complaints silent. Because I can remember those moments when a friend would complain of morning sickness or swelling feet and I would die a bit inside, willing to trade all the morning sickness and swollen feet just to know that I was carrying a healthy baby.

Please take a moment to remember them today...

Too Cool for Parents.com

2011-10-14T14:49:00.000-05:00

OK. I had nearly completely forgotten about this, but remembered when an Outlook reminder beeped to tell me that the Parents.com blog contest is concluding today. D'oh! I've got a measly 22 votes... Sad, sad showing, folks...

But considering it took me nearly three weeks to vote for my own blog, I can see how the registration process could make anyone decide to note vote.

So, instead of asking for your votes, I'm gonna play it cool... I don't think you win anything as cool as a profile in a magazine/website... Hey, did you know that Scholastic also asked me to be one of the featured blogs on their IPad app? I don't have an IPad, so I don't know if that ever happened, but yeah, that's much cooler...

Besides, I currently have more votes than Dooce (who has a ba-zillion followers) and if she can play it cool and not care, then so can I. And you can read me on Patch.com where I write about sleep deprivation in parents of young kids. One of my favorite topics!

I'm just cool like that...

More Guest Appearances!

2011-10-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

Well, it seems that I am appearing all over the area in nearly every form of media OTHER than my very own blog, oops!

Here's an article about the twins -- it includes pics of the other kids, too. Yay for my darn cute kids!! This was mailed to every household in the surrounding area, so my mailbox at work has been overflowing with copies given to me by co-workers and people across campus. Thank you!

And here's my most recent post over on Patch.com. I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to add to my list in the comments over there :)

In other news, shhh! Don't tell anyone, but I think we're all healthy... don't jinx it by asking about us, though. Milo scored a goal at his soccer game last night and Violet perched on the edge of the cornfield surrounding the soccer fields. She collected about 300 kernels of seed corn which she intends to use to "make art, Mom!" Both twins are rolling over and had their first taste of rice cereal (homemade organic whole grain brown rice). Willa loved it, but Juliet wasn't so sure.

And last night, Juliet rolled over on her tummy to sleep -- a feat which still manages to send poor Scott into a panic. Every time one of our kids starts sleeping on their tummies, he's a disaster. He'll check on them several times through the night. I asked him, "Are you going to roll her back every time she rolls over? I'm not. I'm going to sleep!"

I Shoulda Been a Doctor...

2011-09-28T13:29:00.000-05:00

I don't know if y'all remember, but Milo had strep after the first week of school. Just as he was finishing his antibiotics, I got it. On the same day that Scott had his vasectomy. Which was also Violet's birthday.

Milo got it again. And just as he was finishing his antibiotics, I got it again, too.

Scott was on antibiotics the first time Milo got it because he had a sinus infection.

So, if you count this all up, Scott, Mama and Milo have all been on antibiotics. Who hasn't?

Violet.

When I saw my doc on Sunday, I floated the idea past her that maybe Violet was a silent carrier -- that she had strep, but was asymptomatic. My doc blinked and said, "That could be. You should probably have her tested."

We called the pediatrician on Monday and waited all day for a call-back, which we got yesterday. They told us to go ahead and have a strep test run. Scott was dubious, but took her in for the test yesterday afternoon.

Got a call this morning that Violet does, indeed have strep. Strephoid Violet.

She doesn't look evil enough to be spreading the plague, does she?

Guest Appearances!

2011-09-26T18:33:00.001-05:00

Say, I'm making a couple of guest appearances on the web right now!

The first is for the post sponsored by Riverside Theatre. My review is on their homepage right now!

And the second is on Anna Deskin's page. She interviewed me for her Mommy Bloggers series of interviews. Check it out here!

And, in other news, I have strep AGAIN. This makes twice for Milo in a month and twice for me in the same month. What is going on? I'm not tongue kissing my son or anything...

Misfit Mothers Unite!!

2011-09-23T14:53:00.001-05:00

I say that as if there is such a thing as a misfit mom. But some days, you just feel like whatever that is happening in your life-with-small-children at that moment is so isolating, so far removed from civilization that you are alone and don't belong anywhere.

And that's how Megan Gogerty was feeling after the birth of her son, affectionately nicknamed "Turk" in her one-woman comedy, Feet First in the Water with a Baby in My Teeth. Spooling out story after story of mommy madness, she takes us through the identity crisis that accompanied her journey into motherhood.

I was starring in my own mommy moment as I arrived at Riverside Theatre after shooing the hubster and the kids out the door to soccer practice. As soon as I parked, I realized that I had left my notebook at home. And that the only paper I had on hand was a receipt from the dentist's office, and that the receipt had been covered in some odd goo, which had solidified into an even odder crust. What kind of reviewer am I? Apparently, the mommy kind... I borrowed a clipboard and some scratch paper form the box office (thank you!) for my notes, which, as it turns out, were almost illegible.

I sketched a quick, off-kilter drawing of Gogerty as she stood when the lights came up, her posture reflecting the innocence of that mommy who realizes as she comes home from the hospital with her newborn that the baby is hers. Forever. And ever. I drew funny arrows between Dolly Parton and chicken butchering. This is a quote from my notes (not the show), "Change in marital relationship -- bwah-ha-ha-ha!" All this will make sense when you see the show. Or it won't -- it did to me.

As I sat and watched the show, I was struck by the sheer relatability of the material. (Spell check is telling me that relatability isn't a word, but I'm going to use it anyway). What parent hasn't been overwhelmed by parenthood? Judging by the comments I heard during intermission, it was every parent in the audience. Each one began with, "I remember when my kid..."

What an experience for a community! I heartily recommend that all of my Eastern Iowa mommy friends see the show as a "Mommy's Night Out" activity. Call a sitter. Grab a margarita with your girlfriends. See the show with the peace of mind that no one will comment on the baby food on your shoulder or your almost-brushed hair. Since you're in a theatre, you'll have to turn your cell phone off, so for all you know, the sitter could supply your kids with red licorice and PG-13 movies. What you don't know doesn't hurt you, right? Laugh along with the audience and know that you aren't alone as you stumble blindly through parenthood. Or make it a date night! I find that parents of young kids kinda clump together because, yes, it does seem reasonable to discuss naps and poop and temper tantrums at the dinner table with other parents in the trenches.

To me, that was the key take-away -- at some point, every parent gets it mostly figured out because you just have to. When you look around the room and you're the only adult in a sea of diapers, Legos, and Strawberry Shortcake dolls, and those little faces look up at you expecting you to know the answers, you've got to do something...

This post was sponsored by Riverside Theatre. That means that they let me come to the final dress rehearsal with their clipboard and scratch paper so that I could enjoy a night away from my own parenting duties. Many thanks and congratulations to all involved!!

Again, this isn't me, but it is the hilarious and blonde Megan Gogerty.

Tonight! Tonight! (Video of the twins' birth!)

2011-09-15T08:42:00.003-05:00

That's right, we're on TV tonight! For local peeps, that's KCRG (Channel 9) at 6:30 p.m.

If, however, you are not local...

Click here to watch!

Eek! I'm so excited...

Also, I posted over at Patch.com yesterday about becoming a parent in the age of the internet.

A Blogging Milestone! My 300th post!

2011-09-08T18:31:00.000-05:00

That's right... You are reading my 300th post.

I quietly celebrated another milestone last month -- so quitely that I plumb forgot about it: my three-year blogging anniversary. I started my blog with the intent to focus my writing, to keep a journal for my children, and, eventually, to reach out to other people -- to friends both old and new.

Here are some of the stats from the last three years (thank you Google Analytics)-- well, I didn't install Analytics until halfway through my blogging journey, but that was about the time I went public and shared my blog with more than just a handful of close friends.

Anyway, in the last three-ish years:

-- There have been 15,409 visits to my page. Many hit counters are innacurate and inflate totals wildly, but Analytics is generally considered to be accurate.

-- 5,347 of those visitors are unique, meaning that 5,347 different IP addresses have clicked through to my blog.

-- There have been 22,032 pageviews. This total is different than the visit total because it means that readers have clicked onto more than one page during a visit. That's a good sign because it means they care enough to read more than half of the first entry displayed.

-- 65.38% are returning visitors. That number blows me away. 65% of my readers come back for additional helpings of Soup. THANK YOU!!!

-- My visitors represent all 50 states, plus the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico.

-- My visitors have come from 71 countries on 6 continents. (What's up with Antarctica?) People in Zimbabwe, Russia, Chile, and Singapore have clicked on this blog. Yeah, it's a small world after all...

While I'm no MckMama or Dooce or Pioneer Woman, I think that's pretty good for a busy mama from Iowa. Thank you for coming along with me as my life goes up and down and round and round, as we celebrate and grieve and rant and (mostly) laugh and laugh and laugh.

And so, to celebrate this amazing milestone on the eve of Violet's fourth birthday (and the night before Scott's vasectomy), I'm going to a play. Well, the final dress rehearsal of a play. It's called Feet First in the Water with a Baby in My Teeth and it's about, naturally, a woman becoming a mother and how she reconciles the changes in her identity. I was invited down specifically because of my blog so that I could use my words to help build an audience for the autobiographical words of another mother.

Ah... serendipity...

Hint: This is a picture of Megan Gogerty, NOT me :)

It Just Occurred to Me

2011-09-07T17:41:00.000-05:00

that I haven't posted a single thing about my solo overnight with the kids last week.

Long story short?

I totally rocked it.

All four were in bed on time with no meltdowns. That meant that all four were fed on time (Parmesean crusted tilapia, baked red potatoes from our garden, strawberries and wild rice for supper for those of us who eat food), bathed on time, and asleep on time.

And all four of us were out of the house to get the big kids to school on time. That means we were all dressed, breakfasted, loaded up, and arriving to school just as if I had a whole staff of helpers. Which I don't.

What happened in between bedtime and wake-up time was less perfect, but not unmanageable. You see, the twins, bathed in the germs of back-to-school-itis, have come down with their first colds. Which led to snuffle-y babies overnight. Juliet tolerated the stuffiness better than Willa, who woke several times royally ticked off at her nose. She was so disturbed and annoyed by not being able to breathe that I took advantage of the half-empty bed and brought her in with me so that her frustrated yelps didn't wake the sleeping and snuffle-ing Juliet.

What happened after dropping the big kids at school? I decided to take the twins grocery shopping. By myself. Since I had a whole week's worth of food to purchase, plus dog food, I wasn't going to be able to cram my purchases in the bottom of the stroller.

So I punted.

I ended up pushing a cart with my right hand and dragging the stroller behind me with my left. Let me just say that people got out of my way very quicky. Very. And I got lots of comments about being brave and other gobbledy gook. As if no one has ever taken twins shopping before. I might be a little odd, but I really didn't think I was that much of a spectacle... Sheesh!

Here's a pic of the big kids on Violet's first day of school. Ever...

And one of the babies (Jude on the left and Willa on the right).

School Board, School Board...

2011-09-07T17:15:00.000-05:00

Hop on over to IowaCityPatch.com to read my entry on the importance of voting in school board elections. Please leave a comment so I know someone (other than my dad) is reading me over there!

On Patch.com: Confessions of the Naturally Weird

2011-08-31T13:55:00.000-05:00

Here's the link to my latest post at Patch.com. It's about parenting, surprise!

Squeee!!!

2011-08-24T12:05:00.001-05:00

Yeah, that's me squealing. Loud and long!

Why? Because I am the newest Local Voice on the Iowa City Patch.com site! This was my big surprise...

Here's my intro post: Motherhood Ate My Brrrainns.

Scott thought it was "a little dark," which it may be, but he doesn't read my blog anyway, so he just might have missed the fact that I sort of do that whole dark humor thing. Even though he's been married to me for the last 15 years... So, who's the zombie now, I ask?

Almost a Real Post

2011-08-24T09:09:00.001-05:00

OK -- so this is almost a real post. Well, more like a list of stuff that's happening around here.

First of all, the publicity material has been released for the TV thing we did! Yay! Here's a link to the stuff online.

And here's a close up of the pic used for the posters. Juliet is grinning and Willa, um... isn't.

Milo started first grade yesterday. He didn't want me to take his picture at school.

Violet started preschool today. She is beyond excited and will, I'm certain, have a lovely day. And she didn't want me to take her picture at school, either.

I have completely given up on the Parents magazine blog contest. After being a loyal reader for seven years and a frequent user of their community message boards for six years, I still cannot vote for my own blog. Boo! I suppose it's ok, though -- I was in their print magazine once. If you still want to vote for me, please do!

It really is OK, though -- I've got something new in the works that I can't wait to share!

And, no, I'm, NOT pregnant again. I cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die promise.

I Bring Home the Bacon

2011-08-18T12:13:00.000-05:00

I am sporting some impressive road rash today.

Let's be clear, though. I didn't get this from doing something sexy like laying down a Harley in slow-motion or pushing a baby carriage out of the way of a speeding car.

No -- I got this from chasing my bacon. Yes, bacon. Well, actually from chasing the dog that was running away with my bacon. Not my dog, the neighbor's dog. She climbed into the back of my van while I was carrying a load of groceries inside.

I came out of the house and noticed her springing happily down the road with a tell-tale flat package in her mouth, looking to and fro to make sure she wasn't going to lose her prize to a more aggressive animal -- which would, in this case, be me.

I called to her, "Hey! Nyx! C'mere! Come on! Drop it!"

She tucked her tail and put on some speed. I tried to flank her, but she darted and took off for her safe spot, her base (her front porch). I cut a tight corner to try and beat her to the end zone and that's when it happened -- I tripped, crashing onto my right knee, right elbow, and left palm. I rolled out of the fall and laid there on my back, cursing. The calamitous fall startled the dog into dropping her prize within my reach. She and I both stared at it, her expression confused and mine shocked.

I was completely dazed, but I performed a quick mental checklist:
Did I bite my tongue? Nope.
Did I break my teeth? Nope.
Did I sprain something? Nope.
Did I hit my head? Nope.

Satisfied that my injuries were largely cosmetic and bruises, I flopped over in the gravel and half crawled to grab the bacon, which was still lying there between the two of us. She panted. I moaned. I couldn't quite figure out how to get up off the ground without using one of my injured appendages, so I paused. And that's when it happened -- I suddenly found myself thinking, "I bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan... 'cuz I'm a wo-man... w-o-m-a-n..."

Yeah, I'm guessing that the image the song was going for wasn't a chubby chick with a bloody knee rolling around in her neighbor's gravel driveway, defending her five-dollar-a-pound bacon from a chocolate Lab.

Say, if you liked this entry, why not give me a vote in the Parent's magazine contest? I know it's kinda a pain in the rear to register to vote, but as of yesterday I had a whopping 15 votes and had *gasp* fallen off the landing page for the category. How do I know it's a pain to register? Because I still can't vote for my own blog...

p.s. I was tagging this post and have apparently had so many other klutzy moments that I have an entire category for clumsiness. D'oh!

Only a Few Ounces Short of a 40

2011-08-17T12:24:00.000-05:00

I'm getting older. No duh? Really? And just by saying "no duh" I have pretty much dated myself as a child of the '80s.

Well, I'm starting to look it now. I just caught a glance of myself in the mirror and I look exhausted. There are two horizontal lines carved into my forehead, wrinkles that weren't there when I was in high school. Which, as it turns out, was 20-some years ago. I swear it was yesterday...

I feel very fortunate that my hair is still the same red color it has been my whole life -- I have three or four gray hairs hidden in there, one discovered on the same day I got the positive pregnancy test for the twins. Talk about surreal -- hey, you! Yeah, the newly pregnant one, here's a gray hair to justify the "geriatric" patient classification! Woot!

I don't feel that old, but the reality is that I am much, much closer to 40 than I am to 30. If I had blown out candles for my birthday, there would have been 38 of them, or enough to light a room or maybe grill a steak. And I'm still not sure yet what I should do when I grow up.

Oh, I showed a lot of potential and drive when I was younger. I excelled in the classroom (except for math once I hit trigonometry) and was ambitious enough and competitive enough to succeed in the activities I chose.

But now? I haven't a clue what I want to do. I want to contribute in some way to my community. I want to be a good role model for my kids. I want to do something with my life that is intellectually challenging. I want to be creative and collaborative. And I want to enjoy it while I'm doing it.

Do I go back to school? I'm interested in so many things that deciding what to study might be hard. Do I start a business? Doing what? Do I quit everything and take up roller derby? Pierce my nose and dye my hair and go punk? Button up and join the corporate world? Run for elected office? Write a book? Train for a marathon? Join a cult?

Oh, the decisions one must make when rounding the corner on 40...

I Am Catwoman

2011-08-16T06:51:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not a whip-lashing super-villain from the DC comic series Batman. Trust me -- you don't wanna see me in a catsuit. I'm actually shuddering at the thought; I have goosebumps and all.

What happened? Scott and I became those parents. The ones that stop at the "Free Kittens" sign on the road. Not on a whim from our kids, but because the simple fact of the matter is that even though I am allergic to cats, I am far more allergic to having mice in my house. I don't have an actual allergy to mice, but the sight of them sends me over the edge. And the evidence they leave behind when I don't see them makes me vomit a bit in my mouth. Yes, I'm talking about mouse droppings.

Anyway, we adopted the small gray puffballs in mid-July with the intent that they would become the garage cats that prowl our property, picking off dimwitted field mice before they get into our home. And all was going well until the heat index climbed to 115 degrees and we felt terrible about the poor kittens outside in the crate (they were too young to go it alone out there). So we brought them into the basement.

The kittens were much happier in their crate in the basement. I went down there a couple of times a day to check on them and socialize them. The kids went down a couple of times a day to get them out and play with them. And suddenly, we realized that the heat index had come back down to reasonable from the tire-melting Hades vacation spot temperatures and the cats were still in the basement.

I looked at Scott and said, "I feel kinda bad keeping them in the crate if we're not going to move them outside." He agreed and the Great Kitten Experiment began.

We opened the crate door and did not close it, wondering what these little fellas would do. It turns out, they do what most cats do, I think. They find the warm sunny spot, curl up together like a yin-yang symbol and sleep. Unless I'm around -- then they jockey for my attention like, well, like my kids. And like my husband. And my dog.

And suddenly the mama with the allergies has wee tiny kittens trying to seduce her into hugs and pets and nuzzles. Damn cats! It never fails that they always pick the most allergic person in the room to befriend. I know this because I am a cat magnet everywhere I go. Cat owners drop their jaws in amazement and say, "He never likes strangers, but he sure loves you!" I exit these encounters with itchy red eyes, wheezing like a geezer. Every time.

But who can resist this?

I Did a Bad, Bad Thing

2011-08-14T20:02:00.000-05:00

I did a very bad thing this weekend. In front of several people I love. A lot.

It was so bad that asmitting it is making my toes curl and my nose hairs itch.

What did I do?

I tried to hide the Dora the Explorer backpack my almost-preschooler Violet wanted to purchase as her official school backpack. Why? Because next to Caillou, Dora is my least favorite preschool cartoon character ever. I even like the DoodleBops better than Dora.

We were on our second store looking for the perfect backpack. Her school supply list said "simple backpack with two pockets." We showed her all varieties of these, my favorites being the ones that trended a bit toward punk and away from little girl marketing saccharine. None of them were just right.

Until she spied the only Dora bag. It was hanging there like the Holy Grail, only putrid sherbert pink and lavender. With sparkles, naturally. I swear that as soon as she saw it the tinny Musak bumped up with the Hallelujah Chorus.

I tried to dissuade her. I told her how cool the one with the rainbow peace sign was. How the purple abstract patterned one would match her winter coat and snowpants. She was having none of it.

Then, when Scott walked her around the other side of the display, I reached up and swapped the Dora bag with a Hello Kitty One. My mother laughed. I crossed my fingers.

Violet came back around, declaring, "No. I still like Dora best. Where... where is it?"

I smoothly replied, "Some other little girl decided to buy it."

I expected her to be disappointed, or even a little crestfallen, but no, not my Violet. She furrowed her brow a smidge, the reached up and shifted the Hello Kitty backpack and said, triumphantly, "Look, mom! There's another one!"

Drat... foiled by her underestimated logic. My mother chuckled knowingly. And my hubby mouthed, "You bitch!" at me, knowing full well that I had hidden the backpack in an attempt to get her to pick something I liked better.

I relented. My daughter will, indeed, be coming to and from school with a Dora the Explorer lump of cotton candy backpack for the entire academic year. Gag... barf...

At least she picked the Tony Hawk freestyle bike over Dora, Tinkerbell, Hello Kitty, and the Princess Mafia. Maybe there is hope for her after all.

Twin Grins!

2011-08-12T17:39:00.000-05:00

Here's some cuteness to start your weekend! And, though I didn't get to film it, the girls spent quite a bit of time yesterday smiling at each other and aughing at each other -- way two cute!

Well, It's Happened Again!

2011-08-12T11:58:00.000-05:00

Much to my absolute and complete surprise, Soup has been nominated for a Best Blog Award from a national parenting magazine, this time for Parents magazine.

I was completely unaware until I noticed a friend asking people to vote for my blog. So I checked it out and, sure enough, someone out there thinks I'm funny. What??

Voting runs until October 15 and I have no idea if one can submit more than one vote (some contests run by those vote early, vote often) rules. Right now, using my typical luck, I can't log into my account to even vote for myself. I've forgotten the darn password and my cookies got erased... D'oh!

By Funniest Mom Blog

Clearly I need all the help I can get since I can't even vote for myself... Maybe this was the universe's way to get me to write more frequently, huh?

Oh! I almost forgot my Oscar speech! "Thank you all so much for the honor of this nomination -- just being included with this group of funny parent bloggers is honor enough for this frazzled, scattered, overwhelmed mama..."

No, really... it is!

How to Freak Out, Kid Style

2011-08-01T15:16:00.000-05:00

My darling Milo is, shall we say, less than subtle when it comes to a freak out moment. He springs instantly to tears, his face scrunched up and red, as the words gush from his mouth, "No! I don't want to _________!" or "No! It can't ____________!" or "No! You said I could ____________!" The blanks could be anything -- from holding a baby to brushing his teeth. He has absolutely no issue expressing his opinion.

Knowing this, we have developed a way of breaking bad news to him. Who am I kidding -- no, we haven't. We've been lucky several times that he wasn't paying careful attention when we got news from the doctor or dentist. And that the grandest of his freak-outs take place at home, where we can stare at him in bewilderment and avoid the judge-y eyes of the people who think that a kid isn't allowed to react when you say "two cavities."

Milo has a weekend-long freak out last month. Sure, he wasn't crying or having panic attacks all weekend, but clearly the issue was on his mind all weekend long as he asked question after question about it. What's the issue? He needed to have his eyes re-tested at an ophthalmologist because he flagged the routine screening at the doctor's during his 6-year-old physical. Personally, I thought he misunderstood the test.

"NO! I don't want to wear glasses!"

"Honey, we don't know that you'll need to wear glasses. Would you like to try daddy's on? Or mommy's?"

I have worn glasses since I was 8 years old and really need them to see. Scott has reading glasses, prescribed when he was coming home with frequent headaches after staring at a computer monitor all day drafting. They are the lowest prescription possible and, therefore, the most expensive because they aren't mass-produced like most reading glasses are.

Milo tried them on and was actually wearing Scott's almost-not-glasses reading glasses at night while he read stories to Violet at bedtime.

Soon his protests became softer, he even said, "If I need glasses, I want to get them right away and not wait for them."

The day of his eye appointment approached. Scott suggested that I go with him because I'm more familiar with an eye doctor's office, so I did. His hand clutched mine in the parking lot, he was clearly nervous as he whispered, "Mom, I still don't want glasses. Why do I have to see the eye doctor? I can see just fine. See, I see those bricks across the street and the sign says 'For Sale' and I can see just fine, Mom!"

One exam and two dilated eyes later, he can, indeed see just fine. The eye doctor came in and proclaimed, "His eyes are perfect. He just didn't understand the directions of the test at the pediatrician. I don't even need to see him for a follow up unless he shows signs that he's not seeing well."

Whaddya know? We were both right.

No, I Didn't

2011-07-29T15:24:00.000-05:00

"No, I didn't."

"Honey, I was with you when you petted the kittens. It was after I cam home from work. And then you and Milo played with them in the yard while daddy watered the new trees."

"No, I didn't."

I think that phrase is going to be the death of my sense of humor. Especially when it slips from my darling Violet's cherubic mouth any time she disagrees with my perception of how events have unfolded. I don't think it's age inappropriate by any means, but it doesn't make it any less maddening to argue with her over what she has or has not done while I've watched her do whatever it is that she has or has not done. Multiple times a day. Sometimes, multiple times during a conversation.

The other gem she's dropped recently is a very appropriate use of an inappropriate word -- "Damnit!" Because you just know I'm raising sailors, right?

I'd rather talk about the cuter stuff she says:
flunderstorm = thunderstorm
Almost gosh! = Oh my gosh!
Lusually = usually
skeloscope = telescope
Bride fing = veil
Wedding ghoul = bride

She's also been very good about giving me very detailed instructions about how to do things -- like warming bottles for the babies. Or cutting a peanut butter and jelly (no jelly!) sandwich. Or debating with me that she really doesn't need to wash her hands after using the toilet because she didn't use the toilet. Or wipe.

Here's the one comment that really made my eyes fall out, spoken to Milo as I overheard an argument: "Milo, mom loves me more because she only nursed you for ten days and she nursed me for a long, long time."

Which was immediately followed by, "Mom! Violet said..."

and

"No, I didn't."

Gotta Dance!

2011-07-28T07:18:00.000-05:00

What is it with my kids and staying in hotels?

When we were back in my hometown for my grandmother's funeral, poor Milo came down with strep and was miserable with a high fever, headache, screaming-mad sore throat, and chills.

When we were at my brother's wedding the past weekend, Violet woke with a fever, crying about her throat the night before the wedding. At 1am. After spending three hours in a Minneapolis insta-care, she got a shot in the bum and some antibiotics, which seemed to do the trick ASAP and my darling little trooper was able to perform her duties as a flower girl and managed to stay on her feet dancing at the reception until 11:00pm.

The twins fell into the Bermuda triangle of naps. As in who knew when the next one was coming, nor how long it would last.

With both the big kids and me in the wedding, the weekend was cram-jam-packed with ceremonial duties, but we managed to squeeze in some swimming and spilled some wine (not nearly enough on my part) with family. My kids played with their cousins and my cousins' kids and had a tremendous time being crazy cute. I danced the reception away, as I always do -- mama's gotta get her groove on when the music's playin'! Someone at the reception suggested that I was a "dancy drunk," but I corrected them to say that I was just "dancy" as the single glass of wine I had during dinner did not lead to my dance floor antics. What can I say? I just like to dance...

I have more thoughts about the weekend, but they're going to have to wait until I can get my frothy green bridesmaid's (bridesmatron's) dress unpacked. Yes, I was the bridesmaid of last resort -- first one up the aisle, last one down. And, yes, contrary to the foot-in-mouth opinion of one of the groomsmen, I am a singular person now, not pregnant any more. And, yes, I am sure.

I Don't Know

2011-07-27T19:39:00.000-05:00

"Nuffin'"

That's what Violet will answer if you ask her what she's doing.

"I don't know."

That's what Violet will answer if you ask her what she did.

Funny thing is, she does know what she's doing and what she did, she's just not gonna tell anyone. Sigh...

I am at such a loss about what to do with my daughter. She starts preschool this year and I am suddenly paralyzed when I think about buying her school clothes. Her preschool is at the elementary school, so she will be interacting with students her age, Milo's age, and older. And she's likely to be the youngest and smallest kid on campus.

Everything that is currently hanging in her closet has been chosen by me. I think I will be able to go school-clothes shopping without her this one last late summer. But she is growing bolder about expressing her opinions. And she likes clothes. I can see that I could go shopping and bring back an entire rack full of clothing that she will, inexplicably, refuse to wear in November. Perhaps because I don't want to dress her like a hoochie-mama. Perhaps because she decides that "lellow" isn't her favorite color anymore.

Next weekend is the tax-free holiday in Iowa. I have until then to determine what she needs to have replaced to fill out her wardrobe and make it school-appropriate. To make matters worse, she's growing into a size 4. That's the point where girls' sizes start, but there's an overlap with 4T and 5T. Some of it is a fit issue, but Violet isn't wearing diapers, so she doesn't really need the extra seat room of a toddler size. But do I want her dressing older in the 4-6x size range?

Why is this such a conundrum for me? What about moving into girls' clothes is giving me panic attacks? I didn't flip out when Milo moved up to boys' clothes from the cuteness of toddler clothes, carefully reading imprinted shirts to make sure they are appropriate for school.

Maybe this is playing into my larger anxiety of sending her to 4-year-old preschool as a 3-year-old. And to college as a 17 year-old. Yeah... that has my insides as rattled as Jello cubes during an earthquake.

I'm guessing that if she were to ask me what I was doing in this situation, I'd answer, "I don't know...", too.

Time Out! or Out of Time

2011-07-26T12:08:00.000-05:00

Well... Hello there, blog... Long time, no type!

So, here I am, without a lunch hour. Which means this blog goes on neglected unless I update on the rare occasion that all four of my children give me time to sit at the computer or I update in the middle of the night (like now). And this leaves me feeling not so good about my future as a blogger. At least thirteen times a day I think of something I want to post, but I lack the time to get it done. Sigh... I have the feeling that this will go on indefinitely.

When you don't make regular blog posts, people forget that you're writing. They don't leave comments. They lose interest and you fall out of their rotation. I get that. Who wants to read a blogger you can't count on? Not me...

And then there's the other part of blogging -- keeping up with other people's blogs, cultivating relationships, commenting and showing support for other writers. I have failed more than miserable with this task. Yeah...

I'm not sure what the solution is. To be honest, when I started writing it was to keep an ongoing journal that I would someday share with my kids so that they could get a really good glimpse into the choices I've made as a parent, the reasons that I have for raising them they way I do. You know -- ammunition for the coming-of-age "You're the worst parent ever!" tirade.

Is it enough that I only post when I can? If I'm only posting "for me," do I care that no one reads or comments? Well, the actual answer is that I don't think it's quite enough to only post when I can. And that I DO care about people reading my blog and commenting. But I don't want to be selfish and have that function as a one-way street -- I need to return the favor and spread the love around.

But when on earth can I do it? I am so open to suggestions, please give me some tips if you can spare a moment!

Excess Affection

2011-07-12T12:19:00.000-05:00

Hey! The babies are 12 weeks old! And I've been back to work for a month. And Milo had a birthday. And I had a birthday. And Mocha would have had a birthday. And life is busy, full, and good.

Our garden is overflowing with peas, beans, and squashes. The potatoes look fabulous and I saw 10 tomatoes on my tomato plant. We have counted a couple of dozen ears of corn by their soft, flowing cornsilk. And the onions look to be holding their own against the encroaching grass. Yes, there is weeding, weeding, and more weeding. This is the by=-product of going organic. Going organic is a choice that has my father-in-law shaking his head -- I remember the day he suggested a chemical to get rid of the dandelions in the yard and Scott thanked him for the advice, but insisted that we weren't putting chemicals into our well water and that we'd just enjoy the pretty yellow weeds. His dad just blinked and shrugged. So our veggies won't win beauty contests and we're just fine with that.

The kids have both finished a session of swimming lessons. They liked it so much, they both opted to take another. So Miss Violet moved out of Tadpoles and into Level 1, where, at almost-four, she is the smallest in her group. And Mr. Milo moved from Level 2 to Level 3 where he is the shortest in his group, too. He actually laughed about it, saying, "Mom! I did everything, but I am the slowest kid. THE sloooooowest!!" At least he finds it funny...

The twins had their 2-month check-up and, I'm pleased to report, that they have both gained FIVE pounds since birth. Well, more than that if you count weight loss and re-gain. But they were each up five pounds from their birth weights. That puts Willa at 11lbs 7oz and in the 57th percentile for weight and Juliet at 10lbs 8oz and in the 41st percentile for weight. Both are smiling and cooing and telling us stories with their tongues and eyebrows. They have started having much more awake time and love interacting, for the most part, with their older siblings.

The weather has been hot, hot, hot and we've been using the pool passes as a way to keep cool. The hot, hot, hot weather has led to some pretty raucous storms. In fact, the corn in the fields is standing at a 45 degree angle, knocked down by the furious winds of Sunday night's storm. Our corn is already righting itself, but the field corn is taking a little longer.

Our days have kind of hit a rhythm, though by bedtime, both Scott and I are completely used up. Milo and Violet have figured out how to play our keys like a piano and they have been practicing Rachmaninoff this summer. I love them like mad, which is good, because they've been driving me mad! I swear that they wait until I start nursing or pumping to need a billion things. When the babies fall asleep, the big kids are drawn like moths to a flame, wanting to place slurpy kisses on their heads. Somehow, a baby's cry has become the song of the Pied Piper, beckoning Milo and Violet to smoosh the baby with attempts to settle them. Then I get grumpy as I try to pry the older child off the frustrated baby, which hurts the older child's feelings and we all end up ruffled and annoyed.

No one has ever died of excess affection, right? Right?

Independence

2011-07-04T08:01:00.000-05:00

Happy Fourth of July, aka Independence Day! If you're an American, that is. I don't presume that all of the readers who have managed to stick around after the steep drop-off in the quality and quantity of my posts since the twins are, in fact, American. Actually, I know you aren't, thanks to Google Analytics.

One of the things I loved most about living in Pennsylvania was being in the proximity of many, many historical sites. Here in Iowa, we're making modern history by being the fist state to allow gay marriage, but we're not steeped in the history of the beginnings of our country.

It makes me wish that I could get to places in the world where the history of humanity started. If those paces weren't torn asunder by war, financial ruin, and natural disaster.

So, in honor of Independence Day, here are my Independence Day Wishes. Yes, I'm aware that there is no such tradition as making a wish and blowing out a sparkler, but here are my wishes nonetheless:

1. That the weeds in my flower beds and garden would declare independence, flee, and form their own colony somewhere. Just not in my yard.

2. That the clutter in my house would declare itself free from my tyranny, flee, and form its own colony somewhere. They could call it "West Cluttterland" or something.

3. That our laundry would protest stain removal without representation and flee to the safety of the colonies also known as closets.

It should be written into the constitution of the United States of America that if you have four children aged 6 and under, you should be exempt from functioning as a proper adult and should never be ridiculed for any incoherent babblings you choose to post online, like in your blog. Nor should anyone laugh when you accidentally inhale a smidge of the rather large swig of coffee you just took, especially when the aspiration causes you to choke and spray said mouthful of coffee all over your bathroom mirror, counter top and sink. Bonus points for cleaning it up while gasping for breath...

Vive la independence!

Sound and Fury

2011-07-01T10:04:00.000-05:00

I am seething.

Absolutely enraged.

Yet another one of my dear friends has been invaded by that ruthless monster cancer. Yet another generous soul. Yet another mother who refuses to give up and leave her children. Yet another wife whose husband will be forced to carry a family through treatment. Yet another daughter whose parents will stand by, helpless to help their baby. Yet another family devastated by the possibility, the dread and fury of senseless illness.

Ironically, yesterday was my birthday and as I was driving home from work I was listening to a story on NPR about the optimistic bias most people have when faced with a diagnosis of a vile disease. My gracious and grateful friend is one of these optimists -- the announcement she made regarding her ovarian cancer is graceful and full of light and full of fight.

Me?

I'm just royally pissed. I think that's OK, though -- if she is positive and optimistic, I'll get my hands dirty and fight the fight in any way she needs. She's got the game plan and I'll take whatever orders she gives. Let me be the angry one, let me be the one to take the punches. Let me take this so that she can focus on getting well.

I do not make friends easily. I am friendly, but I'm really just a blustery introvert who can fake it when she needs to, but in her I feel that I've found a kindred spirit. Of course, she is so open and loving that I am probably one of dozens who feels this way about her, but this is MY friend we're talking about here. I lay claim to that friendship. Once again I find myself screaming at the cosmos for trying to steal MY FRIEND.

Dammit, you're not getting this one, either.

Stationery card

2011-06-30T15:02:00.001-05:00

Script Twins Pink Birth Announcement

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View the entire collection of cards.

The Diaper that Ate Cleveland

2011-06-29T22:17:00.000-05:00

I just giggled. And giggled and giggled and giggled.

What else could I do? The whole situation was so absurd -- there we were, rather experienced parents, faced with the diapering situation that proved we had somehow sinned against nature.

And I giggled.

Y'all have read my disclaimer to the right, right? This is one of those bodily fluid posts. Actually, it's really a comedy of errors post which uses a dirty diaper as the antagonist. Scott and I are the protagonists, though our actions were less-than-heroic.

Here's the setting: a small lobby in an academic building at a large local institution where we have brought our older two children to be experimented upon. Cue maniacal evil laugh. No, really, they were taking part in a non-invasive psychological experiment where they looked at images on a computer and touched the screen -- nothing painful, nor scary, though they were ensconced in a sound-proof booth.

Milo was first up and after he was whisked away, Scott and I decided to change Willa's poopy diaper. Willa is a power pooper -- she only goes every 3-4 days and when she does, she can fill a diaper like none other. We knew this was going to be a two-person job as there wasn't an adequate place for us to lay her for the change, so she was on her diaper pad on a low vinyl loveseat. Violet was sitting by her feet, Scott was prepped to grab her legs, and I was ready with the wipes.

First error: Not picking the floor. For reasons that will become obvious at some point in this growing narrative.

Second error: Not assembling all of the diapering needs before starting. Also for reasons soon to become apparent.

So I unsnap the diaper cover (we're cloth diapering) and discover poop of the normal amount and consistency. Scott holds Willa's legs, probably higher than she'd like because she starts making yowl-y discontent sounds. At this time, the diaper mess is contained in the diaper and I am working systematically to get the poo off of her. For an unknown reason, Scott lets go of her right leg and she immediately puts her tiny sock right into the diaper. He grabs her leg and peels off the sock as I chide him for letting go.

Good-naturedly he replies, "Yeah... that was a bonehead rookie error. I was pulling down my shirt." OK, I get not wanting to show your back hair to the world, but we were the only ones there. If only we'd stopped there...

As I'm about to get the last of the poo, Willa suddenly decides she wants to check out what's going on down there, flailing her arms towards the mess. I grab her hand before it comes in contact with the poo, but her shirt became an unfortunate casualty. Finally, I wipe the last of the poo from her bum -- it was a five wipe diaper (to this point). Scott gently peels her poopy shirt over her head as I turn my back for a second to grab a new diaper cover (I already had the diaper in hand).

Third Error: Turning our backs for just a moment.

As I turn back around, I notice a growing wet spot under my babe. She was peeing. And the diaper mat is not absorbant. I stood there, frozen, thinking, "She's not going to pee THAT much, is she?"

Right? Wrong.
RIGHT?? WRONG!!

Fourth Error: Freezing up like a popsicle in Antarctica.

Fifth Error: Not watching where your feet are going when you're moving.

Scott notices my statue impression and dives into the fray to soak up the pee with the poopy shirt he's holding (instead of the absorbent diaper I was holding like a white flag, surrendering to the situation). As he lunges past me, he catches his toenail on something, breaking it and crying, "Ow!"

He folds the diaper mat around Willa like a taco shell to stem the flood of pee from soaking the couch, all the while sucking air through his teeth and exhaling "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

And that's when I lost it. I fell into a giggle fit that lasted at least ten minutes.

In a matter of moments, I had Willa re-diapered and had shown Scott where the spare onesies were. We wiped up the pee, dressed the baby, crammed every soiled thing into my wet bag, and then looked over to see the absolutely horrified look on Violet's little face.

What was running through her mind? Was she appalled by the bodily functions of her infant sister? Fearing for her life at being left in the hands of us as parents? Wondering how she managed to make it to the ripe old age of 3 and 3/4 without suffering physical harm? All of the above?

So, anyway... Just when you think you've got the whole parenting thing figured out, Revenge of the Diaper will strike and put you right back in your place.

Two Turn Signals Down, Pixar

2011-06-26T20:00:00.000-05:00

John Lasseter and Pixar Films, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

I have no idea WHAT that was that we just took our kids to this afternoon. It was supposed to be Cars 2, but seemed like love child of Disney merchandising and Mission: Impossible 27 - The One with the Dippy Sidekick.

Scott and I have, for the last decade, chosen to see Pixar films reviews unread due to the tremendous quality of writing and the depth of heart in the painstakingly realized characters.

But this? No... this, your 25th anniversary film, was essentially one big freakin' commercial. I get that cars (and Cars) are easy merchandise to move. What parent or grandparent feels guilty about dropping $5-6 on a measly Car? Heck, we have an entire tubful of them from the first movie. My favorite is Doc Hudson with his Hudson Hornet racing stickers on -- hubba hubba! However, a mere ten minutes into this film and I was rolling my eyes. Sumo cars. Flight attendant cars. Italian villager cars. British royal cars. The cast list goes on and on and on and on... Not to mention all of the playsets: fancy hotels, oil rigs, Japanese/Italian/British racetracks... Where was Radiator Stinks? Oh, yeah... in the background.

For a company that prided itself on pushing the boundaries of technology and the notion that animated films could just be GOOD MOVIES, this one was a huge letdown. Had any other studio released it, my comment would have been, "Oh, it was fun, but it was no Pixar movie."

Where were the layers in the storytelling? There was nothing so unexpected as Dory, so breathtaking as Wall-E and Eve dancing in the starts, so heartwarming as Andy jumping into the box of toys going to Bonnie's house. No one went on an emotional journey like both Lightning McQueen and Doc Hudson did in the original. Mater is, was, and always will be Mater -- he's a character who is comfortable being who he is and to put him in the position where he doubts himself rings a sour note. There's a reason he's drawn like a second-grader just growing into his adult teeth -- his innocence is so pervasive, his naivete so genuine that he has to look like a child. No second grader goes on a journey of self-realization where he suddenly sees himself from the perspective of others and thinks what he sees is bad. Mater just doesn't have the insecurity to do that.

And the friendship lesson? Lightning learned that one when Sally tipped his hand into getting him to follow through with the whole helicopter ride thing. He's got that one down. Even the attempt to make him grow exasperated with Mater seems like a stretch.

This movie feels like the writers sat around and tried to make a full-length film out of one of the Mater shorts on the Disney Channel. There just wasn't enough there for a feature film. The race sequences are built for a video game -- the rainbow bridge was straight our of Mario Kart. How disappointing.

I guess that maybe, after 25 years, you aren't the new kids on the block anymore. You aren't the maverick, the visionary, the one with "it." You have become the establishment. And we're the unfortunate parents who you're trying to get to pay for it. Two turn signals down, Pixar.

Lend Me Your Ear

2011-06-23T15:54:00.000-05:00

My brain is leaking out of my ear.

Well, not really my brain, but my eardrum ruptured this morning and it just sounds funnier to say it's my brain evacuating me than ear fluid, right? Especially since I had a doozy of a day yesterday and took to the interwebs before I had a chance to gather myself together and process my day like the adult I'm supposed to be. D'oh!

Today?

Much better all around. 1. My ear doesn't hurt anymore -- it's just drippy and gross and I can't hear with it, but it's not painful. 2. I got more sleep last night than I did the night before.

Number 2 is the biggest reason I'm feeling more like myself again. I think it's a foregone conclusion that every post I make where I sound like a whiny-assed baby was preceded by a Night of Little Sleep. I really don't even need that much more sleep to make a difference -- last night I crashed from 11 - 2 and 3:30 - 5 and 5:40 - 6:30 and feel oh-so-much better than I did yesterday.

Heck, I even peered silently at my sleeping children (all of them) before I left for work and thought "I'm gonna miss you guys...". Not "Oh, good gravy, WHY did I think I needed more than zero children?" like I thought yesterday.

So here are some witty musings on a ruptured eardrum:

a) My kids will be able to get away with a ton of stuff today, provided they do it all to my left side since I can't hear.

b) People freak the freak out when you say you've ruptured an eardrum. It actually feels better than the ear pain (I promise), though the yellow gunk I keep dabbing away is pretty icky. At least it's not blood!

c) I'm going to the doctor as soon as Scott gets home from work today. And I'm looking forward to it! Think about it -- when you're at the doctor, you get to talk about yourself, you are the center of attention, and they have to make you feel better. Plus, I'll totally get to wander around Target all.by.myself as I wait for my prescription to be filled. What could be better than a solo trip where I'm guaranteed to have to walk around for at least 20 minutes as they process my prescription?

d) I have a built in excuse for ignoring whomever and whatever I want -- what was that? Did you say something to me? You sounded a bit like Charlie Brown's teacher. Wah-wah. Wah wah wah-wah wah wah.

Hey -- why don't you all send me some more ideas on why it's a super thing that my eardrum ruptured? Go ahead and be as goofy as you dare...

But mostly I'm looking forward to that trip to Target. It's gonna be my light at the end of the ear canal today. Pretty pathetic, huh?

Some Days...

2011-06-22T20:22:00.000-05:00

I am having a bad mommy day today. A ba-a-a-a-a-ad mommy day.

I simply have no patience for poor Milo and Violet. To be fair, they have found every way to exploit the fact that my hands have been full of babies, bottles, diapers, and pumping. Prime example? Just now they splashed gallons of water out of the tub during their bath. Something they have done a thousand times and have been reprimanded for a thousand times and yet here I am, shaking with rage and bawling so that I don't say something awful to them.

Why is this so darn hard some days? Why can't the kids see they've pushed me past my breaking point and step back? Why do I feel like such a failure at this day after day after day? OK -- I don't feel like a failure every day. But my current sleep deprived state has me feeling like a failure more days than not.

And I feel like I'm failing at everything. I'm far too impatient with the big kids. I can't get the babies to want to nurse except for once in a blue moon. I'm stressed enough that my pumping totals are dwindling. I don't have time for an adult relationship with my husband, and when the poor fella does get lucky, I fume all night because I lost precious sleep for sex. My house is falling apart -- I can't keep up on anything but the kitchen, bathrooms, diapers, cooking, and laundry.

I suppose I might be a bit of a control freak because if someone offers to help, all I can think is "It would take me more time to explain than it would to just do it." And so I'm washing bottles and doing diapers at 1:00 am and 4:00 am on a regular basis. And fretting because my hard-working husband continues to fold the towels wrong after 15 years of marriage.

To top it all off, my left ear has gone from plugged up to completely blocked to starting to hurt. I should probably go to the doctor tomorrow, but I'm working in the morning and Scott's working in the afternoon and I don't want to drag the kids out. Plus, I'd actually like to touch base with my regular physician to get my asthma inhaler refilled so that I can maybe get out and get some exercise in this allergy-inducing season.

And now I feel like a total putz for whining. Yay! Pity party for me!

Victim of Brutality

2011-06-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

Right now, things are quiet in my house. And it's pretty darn eerie.

Milo and Violet are munching on a snack of Frosted Flakes and the babies are napping -- one in the swing and one hanging in the Intellitainer (a non-rocking Exersaucer). I'm not sure why she's comfy like that, but I'm just gonna go with it for now.

And I am a zombie. A complete and total useless waste of flesh today. I can't stay awake long enough to feed a baby or pump -- just the act of sitting still is enough to knock me out today.

Why?

Night times are just plain brutal.

We're both on call for most of the night -- it takes both of us to feed the babes and I'm not exaggerating this one. I can't imagine how single parents do this...

Milo wasn't too bad at night. Once we decided not to breastfeed him, we were able to split his nighttime feedings. I'd take the early one and Scott the later one and we'd both only have to be awake once at night,

With Violet, I nursed her mostly in my sleep. All night long, yes, but I was asleep in a chair so I barely noticed.

But this time? It's just monumental. For the most part, the girls are still on a 3 hour rotation. So we feed them at about 9, taking about 40 minutes. Then we put them to bed. Scott does the getting them to sleep part while I pump. Then I wash bottles and start the load of diapers, get ready for bed and take a shower since I've discovered that I really don't have time to shower in the morning before work. I get to bed around 11:00.

One hour of sleep.

The girls wake at 12ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, run the diapers through the hot wash, wash bottles and come back to bed around 1:30 - 1:45.

One hour and fifteen minutes to one and a half hours of sleep.

The girls wake at 3ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, put the diapers in the dryer, wash bottles and come back to bed around 4:30 - 4:45.

One hour and fifteen minutes to one and a half hours of sleep.

The girls wake at 6ish for their next feeding, again taking about 40 minutes. Then I pump, make my coffee and breakfast and get ready for the day.

Now some days we get an extra half an hour to an hour of sleep between one of the feedings, but never between more than one. So that means on the best day where we get an extra hour and my housework takes less time than expected, I will get 5 hours of sleep. On a normal day it's closer to three and a half hours.

Could I go to bed right after the 9 o'clock feeding? Not really -- Milo and Violet are rarely settled by then and some nights we're eating after a t-ball game or at the pool or visiting Grandma and Grandpa and time slips away so very quickly. And now that I'm back to work I can't go back to sleep after the 6 o'clock feeding. I had been able to do that until last week and Scott still does (lucky bastard).

And weekends? Well, because I'm generally still up at 7 o'clock after pumping and washing bottles, I nearly always greet one or two of the walking children on the way down the stairs as I head back up to join Scott for another hour of sleep, so no chance for more sleep once they're awake. I've gone so far as to try and convince them that I am completely capable of snuggling them on the couch while I'm sound asleep. It's true, you know... But they don't buy it and start talking to me anyway, frequently pleading "Mommy! Open your eyes!"

Well, Mommy doesn't want to open her eyes. Mommy needs a darn nap! But that's not really going to happen, either, because as soon as Mommy gets home from work, Daddy heads out to the garden or to his parents to mow or to a meeting or to care for the chickens. And Mommy doesn't get a chance to deliberately close her eyes.

I just wish for one day where all I did was nurse, feed, and pump then roll over and go back to sleep. But that would require another adult to assist Scott and if there's another adult around, he's back out to work on out poor overgrown garden, to mow, or to meet with people and I get suckered back into the fray no matter what.

I seriously don't know why it isn't standard issue for moms of infant multiples to get free maid/cook/garden service. If I ruled the world, that is what would happen.

In the mean time, I'll just watch the rest of my family sleep as I play dairy cow, dishwasher, and diaper service. Or, in other words, Mom.

Myth Bustin'

2011-06-16T14:30:00.000-05:00

Have you heard this one? Early walker, late talker.

Or this one? Boys talk later than girls.

While either or both of those might be true for some kids, I'd like to challenge these statements and assure you that they are, at least for my family, not factual.

Early walker, late talker...

What I really hate about this platitude is that it implies that it implies that your early walker is somehow showing a tendency towards stupidity. Or that your early talker is so patently uncoordinated that he or she will never learn to run in a straight line or something. If that were the case, wouldn't half of the population be stumbling drunkenly across the room while debating particle physics and the rest sprinting around gracefully while extolling the virtues of Michael Bay films?

I get that sometimes a child will focus on developing in one area and hit a certain milestone before another milestone. And that is completely normal. But so is the kid who learns to walk and talk at about the same time. So down with that platitude!

Boys blah blah slower than girls blah blah...

Again, I really think you need to take this on a case by case basis. My daughter developed speech ahead of her scheduled milestones, that's true. But my son? He blew her out of the water. In fact, he was so verbal so early Scott actually asked me if Violet was slow. (Ha!) One his first birthday, mILO used an actual sentence -- signing the word "more", saying "turkey" and signing "please." More turkey, please. Heck it wasn't just that he used a sentence, he use proper manners. All right, that was a sentence fragment, but you get the picture.

OK -- before I sound like one of those moms who brags all over her kids, he also can't remember from one day to the next where he's left his shoes. Hint: in the same place they always go.

But, yeah -- give your boys a chance! They aren't Neanderthals simply because they have that Y chromosome -- nah, caveman behavior takes some practice! It takes some talent to become a big ol' Weiner, you know...

This post is part of the Multiples and More Question of the Week Link-Up. Brought to you by frazzled parents of multiples everywhere. Or anywhere. Or nowhere. Or here.

Back to Work!

2011-06-14T12:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my first day back to work since I was placed on bedrest on April 8th.

For some working moms, the transition back to work is tough. I can't say that it is terribly difficult for me because each time I've gone back to work, Scott has had an additional week or so of paternity leave during which he cares for the new baby. And, given that I love and trust the man enough to want to have a gaggle of children with him, I have absolutely no qualms about leaving him alone with our kids, even as itty-bitty infants.

I just deleted a Judgy McJudgerson paragraph about choosing to have kids with someone you don't trust. It's too early in the morning (4 a.m.) for snark.

And this is how the summer will go: mommy works until noon, then comes home. Not a bad gig, let me tell you -- I get to come to work where I can choose whether or not to have music playing and definitely don't have children fighting all around me all day and then, about the time that I start to miss everyone, I get to come home and take over house mama duties so that Scott can work int he yard or go to meetings or whatever. And then we all get to hang in the evenings. Well, if hanging out includes t-ball games and swimming lessons, which it does this month.

Anyway, I came home from my easy first day back to pull into our driveway and be greeted by raucous giggling. And two blonde children who came dancing out from their hiding place behind Daddy's truck wearing nothing but swim diapers. Keep in mind that neither of these children have worn diapers for eons and that the diapers they had on were for babied up to 24 pounds. It made me pretty glad that we live out in the middle of nowhere...

Oh, and the babies were just fine, too.

School's Out for Summer!

2011-06-08T01:10:00.000-05:00

The twins are seven weeks old and we're still eating every 3 hours. Mama is still pumping about half of what babies need to eat. The weather has been hotter than hot the last few days.

And school is out for the summer.

While the twins are getting the hang of being on the outside, my older two kidlets are just wanting to be outside. Which is great when it's not 90 in the shade. We're blowing through sunscreen like we have stock in Coppertone. And drinking gallons of water. And using gallons of water for the Slip'n'Slide, which is stationed right outside the kitchen window because I'm not sitting outside with wee tiny infants when the heat index is 100 degrees.

So Milo and Violet have been enjoying the kind of summer that I did when I was a kid. you know the one -- where your exasperated and annoyed mother, tired of hearing yet another "But she blah, blah, blah" or "Mom! He blah, blah, blah," sends you outside largely unsupervised to discover the wonders of your own backyard.

Activities my children have discovered:

1. Running around (duh)
2. Driving the battery operated Gator
3. Riding bikes on the corn crib pad
4. Slip'n'Slide
5. Climbing all over the play set
6. Heaping tons of flowering weeds on Mocha's grave
7. Sidewalk chalk
8. Weeding the strawberries
9. Blowing bubbles
10. Flying a kite

They have also done the following:

1. Left every pair of shows they own outside to get rained upon
2. Pulled up flowers I kinda wanted to keep and strewn them on Mocha's grave
3. Semi-washed the van -- now it looks like someone puked road dust on the side of the van away from the hose connection
4. Gotten more invisible scrapes, cuts, and bruises than I could imagine
5. Lost juice pouches to the prairie
6. Left their bikes out all night, thankfully there's been no rain
7. Squashed the carrots and radishes we planted along our sidewalk instead of landscaping with perennials that I would likely kill
8. Left sunscreen-y footprints all over my wood floors
9. Tried to fly said kite under the only power lines on our acre and balked when I sent them away from the power lines
10. Made their dear mother insane during the heat of the last few days by bouncing balls in the house, whining, begging for snacks all day long, changing clothes thirteen times a day, leaving Legos on the floor like landmines, leaving half-drunk cups of water all over, insisting on watching the most inane cartoons on Netflix, fighting constantly over nothing, and hopping up and down in tears any time she asks them to quiet down, put something which they had gotten out away, or wait ten minutes for a meal instead of having a snack.

And school's only been out for a week...

Heaven Has Never Gotten a Better Dog

2011-06-02T20:55:00.001-05:00

She was my first baby, her eyes so bright and intelligent. Her little paws velvet soft, used only for a few weeks before she came home with us.

I remember her sweet, milky breath and that warm puppy smell.

I remember how excited she was, that I needed to sit by her food bowl in order for her to pay attention to her food long enough to eat it.

I remember the first time she barfed up stuff that wasn't food. I couldn't imagine why lint, a small scrap of wire, mulch, and part of something plastic seemed appetizing to her, yet the evidence was clear that she'd eaten all of that.

I remember her surprise when she discovered frogs and they jumped.

I remember long walks in the cool of night. And later, walks with two dogs hitched to the front of the jogging stroller like a team of horses.

I remember her constant affection.

I remember using her for a pillow while napping when I was pregnant with Milo.

I remember that she knew I was pregnant before I did each time I was pregnant. And that she also knew when I wasn't pregnant any more and was mourning losses.

She had a scent -- musky, musty and wise. It was all her own and it comforted me whenever I felt life was too hectic, too spastic, too much.

I miss you, Mo. I miss you when you begged for food (pizza and pork were your favorites). You were never so beautiful as when you begged for food.

You were so smart, so sweet, so very, very kind and patient. You knew who loved you and you loved them back, amply. My children loved and love you. They bore the news of your death with large, sad eyes. Milo's tears spilled into my shirt and Violet watched your body, soaking up the details of your fur as if she was taking a photo.

I have cried for you every night as I sit in the quiet dark, listening to Tessie's melancholy snore and the whirring of my pump. I think of all of the joy you brought me and hope that you will forgive me that the last six weeks of your life were a blur of newborn twins for us. I am so sorry that I just didn't have enough of me to go around and that you and Tess were the ones who got the least.

Oh, my Mo... I hope that you are somewhere dreaming a wonderful dream, chasing pheasants or splashing in a pond or playing fetch with a sweet-faced blond boy in the waning evening sunlight. I miss you, MoMo, and always will.

Mocha Latte
7/9/00 - 5/31/11

What?? Four Weeks Old? Nope, Five and a Half...

2011-05-26T10:23:00.000-05:00

Can it really be that the girls are four weeks old? Well, they were when I started this post. Now they're five and a half weeks old. Wowzers!

I know... time flies at warp speed around here.

Last week marks another fun milestone: the girls are big enough to wear the cloth diapers that I have been so darn eager to use! So they are wearing some organic cotton pre-folds (Green Mountain Diapers) fastened with Snappis and a lavender Thirsties Snap-Wrap covers. To match the lavender trim on their sleep and plays, of course!

Both girls are getting chubby little thighs, finally. All of the eating they've been doing is really paying off. I was worried that all of the weight they have been gaining would end up on their cheeks, but they seem to be spreading it around and are filling out most adorably.

In news of the really odd, they both make this bizarre grunting sound as they wake up -- sort of like a 300lb trucker trying to give birth to a moose. They start with this noise about half an hour before a feeding. It is amusing during the day and disconcerting at night as it does, in fact, wake me wide awake. Scott? Not so much.

And, finally, some news of our poor forgotten older children. Well, they're not really forgotten -- we're all just currently preoccupied with the babies. Including the older kids -- I can't walk across a room holding one of them without Violet begging to "see the baby," which usually involves her sing-songing "Hi, cutie pie!" and kissing their cheeks. Milo is currently banned from cheek-kissing for the second time in the last month because he has had not one, but two fever-inducing colds. Yesterday's was brief, as in he woke up this morning running a 97.5, but he spent the Monday and Tuesday the week right after the babies' births home from school sick with a sinus infection. Sigh... Poor guy can't miss a germ, I swear.

Kid funnies: Milo has taken to throwing disco parties in his room. Which means that he turns on all of the fancy and flashing lights he can find and cranks "Do the Bartman" as loud as I can stand and we all dance.

And Scott relayed the following conversation he overheard Milo having with his best friend at the grocery store as Milo was deciding which fruit snacks to bring to his class party:

Milo's friend, as he points to a box of John Deere fruit snacks: Hey, this box says "Made with real fruit!"

Milo, as he gestures to a box of My Little Pony fruit snacks: Hey, these are made with real ponies!

Yesterday, we gave Violet her first ball glove and ball. It is, of course, pink and black. And she was ever so excited to use it. After dinner, Scott took the kids out to toss the ball around while I pumped (my second job, I swear). Three minutes later, Violet came back into the house, bawling so hard she was incoherent. Something about "Daddy" and "ball" and "my nose!"

Moments later, a hang-dog daddy came around the corner, sighing, "The first ball I tossed to her and I was only two feet away from her. She didn't move her glove at all..."

I'm not sure who felt worse.

A Promise to My Children

2011-05-18T08:02:00.001-05:00

I promise that I will always love you, no matter what you do. There is nothing you can do that is unforgivable, nor that would make me stop loving you.

I promise that there really is nothing in the world more important to me than the health and safety of my family. You can test this as many times as you like, but I will always be your advocate.

I promise that you do not have to go into battle unarmed. I will teach you every way I know to defend yourself, and if that fails, I will be your shield.

I promise that no matter the problem, I want you to know that I will help you figure it out. Two heads and two hearts are far better than one.

I promise that if you think your heart is breaking, mine is already broken.

I promise that in your journey through life, you are not alone and never will be. Please be braced by my encouragement and never-ending support.

I promise that I will help you to understand the world so that when you need to make choices, you might be able to see the larger picture.

I promise that no matter how old you are and no matter where you live, I am only a step or a phone call away. Please wear out your dial pad calling me.

I promise that when things seem most scary, it is because you simply understand the consequences of actions and that the fear has to be there so that you stop and think.

I promise that every time I look at you, I see both the infant I carried and your future all wrapped up in more love than you could possibly imagine.

I promise that if you tell me you can't handle it, I will be there to carry you.

I promise that I will always love you. Always.

Pump It Up

2011-05-13T21:54:00.000-05:00

So, the twins are almost four weeks old. Does that seem just insane to you? It does to me. I swear it was just yesterday we were buckling them into their car seats to bring them home from the hospital, grateful that they both passed the car seat check and that they actually fit in their seats. And now?

Well, the days seem endless, but the weeks are flying by -- if that makes any sense.

Before I explain, though, please let me take care of some bloggy business here. On April 18, likely as I was delivering the twins, Sanders over at Just a Dash of Sanders gave me a blog award. She is the mom of twin girls from near our old Penn State stomping grounds. Her gorgeous girls are a wee bit older than mine, so I'll be keeping an eye on her blog so that I can learn what's yet to come...

Also, while editing blog comments, it came to my attention that I was getting some substantial traffic from another blog, Multiples and More. I had joined the site several months ago and check it frequently because there are so many "been there, done that" multiple parents there it has some really great advice. Well, lo and behold, they had my blog featured on their front page under the "Expectant Parents" category. So here's my shout out and thanks for the highlight!

Back to the twin updates: Life is consumed by feeding them, whether it be actually feeding them, preparing to feed them, cleaning up from feeding them, planning feeding them, or pumping to feed them. They eat 7-8 times a day and it is currently taking an hour to prepare, feed, clean up, and pump. It is a full-time job.

I had hoped to nurse the twins as I was very successful nursing Violet (hello, the child weaned at 29 months!). But, according to the lactation consultants, they are true 37-weekers. Which means that they were just young enough that at first, nursing was such an effort that they tuckered out quickly. When coupled with high bili levels (especially Juliet's) and higher-than-preferred weight loss (Willa), we decided that they needed a bit of supplementation until my milk came in reliably. So, under the guidance of a lactation consultant, we started a tube-at-breast (TAB) feeding protocol on the day after they were born (Tuesday).

We were discharged on Wednesday from the hospital with borderline bili levels and borderline weight loss, both were to be checked on Thursday by the home visit nurse. We were still TAB feeding and learned that it was likely that we would need to supplement that way until the girls hit their due date. On Thursday, Juliet's weight loss had stabilized, but Willa's had not. On the other hand, Willa's bili levels were out of the range of concern, but Juliet's were not. In fact, the doctor prescribed a night on the bili bed, which was delivered to our house within the hour.

On Friday, after Juliet's night on the bili bed, we were back to the hospital for another bili level check for her and another weight check for both. Saturday was another weight check for both. Sunday was a doctor's appointment with bili levels (all OK) and a weight check (both girls gaining, finally).

At our Saturday weight check, I told the lactation consultant that I was pretty sure that both girls were sucking on the TAB and not nursing. This was confirmed when the LC did a weight before and after a feeding and the only thing in the baby was the supplement. Sigh... So we changed our game plan again and are offering the breast for as long as baby wants, then bottle feeding pumped milk or formula.

We've been sticking to that since then and both girls have surpassed their birth weights and are doing well. Juliet will attempt to nurse 80% of the time, with one or two feedings where she nurses for 6-8 minutes. Willa will nurse for 1-3 minutes at 1 or 2 feedings a day.

I am frustrated that I haven't been able to get them back to just my breast -- not frustrated with the babies or myself, but at the circumstances that got them off my breast in the first place. Willa's weight loss was rounding 11.5%, which is the starting-to-get-scary point. And Juliet spent one night on the bili bed, but if her levels hadn't improved, she likely would have been admitted to the hospital for more intensive therapy. I get that they both needed to eat and that they weren't quite equipped to nurse like champs from the beginning. But I'm still pretty sad about it because I really, really loved the bond that nursing created between me and Violet. I'm not sure that I'll be able to get either of them back to the breast full-time... sigh...

And then there's the pumping. I don't know how women who only pump can do it. By the time we get both babies fed, it's a 40 minute commitment. Then I pump for about 20 minutes. If I were producing enough to sustain both babies, I wouldn't begrudge a minute of that time. But right now, I'm only pumping enough to feed one baby. I'm trying everything I can think of to increase my supply: power pumps (ten minutes on, fifteen off three times in an hour), staying hydrated, drinking Mother's Milk tea (gives me diarrhea), and extra pumping sessions. And it is not reflecting at all in my pumping totals. In fact, the only thing it is doing is making my nipples crazy sore.

As much as I wish the feeding thing was different, I'll go on this way until I'm so tired I can't function. Or until I fall asleep and suck my nipples right off with the pump. I am feeling a little helpless about this situation, but really am doing my best.

Oooh! Lookie! Pictures... of Cute Kids!

2011-05-09T17:12:00.001-05:00

Here are some photos of the babies' births and the first couple of days afterward.

A Birth Story for Mother's Day

2011-05-08T07:00:00.003-05:00

Go time...

If being wheeled into the OR wasn't strange enough, arriving there was akin to an out-of-body experience. There were a dozen people in there, not counting me or the on-call doc who was still stitching another mom who had given birth.

There were nurses for me, nurses for the baby, the anesthesiologist, a doc from the NICU whose name I didn't catch, me, Scott, the cameraman, and Scott's mom with a camera. Everyone was in gowns and masks except for me -- I was still in a hospital nightie with a bare bum which was resting in a swap of amniotic fluid.

Thankfully, though I could feel the increasing pressure with the contractions, I was not feeling the urge to push. I think that had I not gotten the epidural, Baby A might have been born in the hallway because the urge to push is pretty undeniable. Super Nurse asked if I was comfortable and could hang on until the doc got there. I said, "Yes. As long as he's not going to be an hour."

Then she asked if I wanted to do a practice push. I laughed and responded, "Not until there's someone here to catch!"

About that time, the someone to catch came in and introduced himself. If you recall, he met Scott earlier while I was sleeping. This time, I was very awake. He also asked for a practice push, so I did. About .5 seconds into the push he asked me to stop (which I could do, thanks to the epidural -- if I hadn't had the meds, Baby A would have hit the floor) and he quickly suited up.

Two pushes later at 11:47 a.m., Juliet Diana came into the world weighing 5lbs 8oz and measuring 19 inches long. Scott cut the cord and she was held aloft so that I could get a quick peek at her before getting to work to deliver Baby B.

First, the doctor needed to break Baby B's water. Well, she was hiding way up at the top of my uterus, starting to come down head first. But way up there. Not that Juliet had really come down too far -- apparently I accomplished the amazing feat of dilating to 10cm before she dropped, but this is common for my deliveries -- both Milo and Violet stayed high until I started pushing, then they were delivered quickly, managing to keep their little (ha!) heads nice and round.

So little miss hiding-way-up-there necessitated the doc getting his hand way up there, too, in order to hook her bag of water. The first attempt led to a trickle, so he made a second attempt, which led to a river which flowed so fast I involuntarily gasped, "Woah!"

According to Scott's mom (the OB nurse of some 30 years), once they know that Baby B is coming down the right direction, the OR relaxes. We certainly found that to be the case. The doctor and Super Nurse did a little bit of external repositioning and asked me to start pushing like mad, contractions or not. As she was crowing, they let me take a moment's rest before the final pushes.

Nine minutes after her sister (11:57 a.m.), Willa Caroline came into the world weighing 6lbs 6oz and measuring 20 inches long, completely covered with cheesy vernex. I was surprised that there was so much difference in their weights -- generally, the docs won't let you deliver vaginally if they think that Baby B is more than half a pound heavier than Baby A. Maybe it's a good thing we hadn't had that last growth ultrasound after all?

The nurses worked on the babies as I delivered the placentas and was repaired -- it's very odd to feel the tugging of stitches and have no associated pain. My tear was a second degree tear, but I didn't really feel it during recovery, thank goodness. Given that my first two babies were nearly 3 pounds bigger than Juliet, I'm guessing my tear had more to do with Dr. Large Hands than it did the actual births, but I'm not going to complain at all because I was able to deliver them the way I had so very much wanted.

Both babies did great -- Juliet had APGARs of 9/9 and Willa's were 8/9. Neither needed NICU time, both came back to the suite with me. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect twin delivery and am so very thankful and appreciative of the doctors and nurses who trusted me and my body to do it.

And that's my birth story for Mother's Day. I continue to be amazed by the four (FOUR!) little people Scott and I have brought into our lives. Every day fills me with more joy than I thought possible; I am continually humbled by the sheer force of their spirits. I feel pretty certain that I am the luckiest mama in the world.

Happy Mother's Day to all!

Watching the Lights Go By

2011-05-07T06:31:00.000-05:00

At around 6:00 a.m., the Evil Pitocin was started. I call it Evil Pitocin because I needed it to go into labor with Milo and can't say enough about how much I disliked how quickly the contractions settled in -- from 0 to 90mph in 30 minutes. Aware that using the Evil Pit caused my uterus to hyperstimulate with him (have contractions with two peaks), I had discussed the timing of my epidural very carefully with the night nurse.

I had decided that I only wanted to labor until just after the shift change without the epidural, since it was going to be necessary when Dr. Frying-Pan-Hands delivered the twins. I figured that any great anesthesiologist would love to come in on call on Monday morning and administer my epidural, right? Actually, I was mostly interested in having a "fresh" doctor because getting my epidural with Milo was rather, ummm... difficult. As in it took eleven tries.

Shift change rolls around and I still can't call my contractions any more painful than a 3 on the pain scale. And they aren't assembling into any ordered pattern at all. They were coming every 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 2 minutes, 7 minutes... You get the picture -- like a middle school orchestra plays through a piece of music for the first time -- not paying any attention to the conductor.

At shift change, we were given a treat -- a nurse whom Scott has known since he was a child and who also staffed Violet's birth came in as our nurse for the labor and delivery. We were thrilled!

The anesthesiologist come in, introducing himself and surveying my back. He proclaims it acceptable, saying, "We'll get this one on the first try!" And he did. Whew!!! I was honestly more worried about the epidural than the delivery. Not only that, but it appears to be a perfect epidural -- I can move and sense the pressure of the contractions, but feel none of the ouchies. After this experience, I can now understand why a woman would want an epidural. Don't get me wrong -- I still preferred my un-medicated birth with Violet, but this was a thousand times better than the way I felt with Milo.

Of course, as soon as the epidural was effective, I was overcome with nausea. Super Nurse put something into my IV that got rid o the nausea, but also put me to sleep for a couple of hours. Poor Scott had yet to close his eyes, but I was out deeply enough that I didn't even know that the on-call OB came in to chat with us about what was up. I surely hope Scott told him what I wanted. I think he did, though, as everything was pitch perfect all day.

At some point, S and the cameraman popped back in, wondering if there was a timeline for the day as no one really knew how long it would take. Super Nurse said, "Well, this isn't her first, so she could go from 2-10 pretty quickly. It doesn't usually happen that way and she's about 4 right now, but you never know."

I did rouse when Scott's mom came in to see how we were doing, mostly because I wanted to know how Milo and Violet were after their adventure of the previous night. About that time, I began to notice that the head lead on Baby A was moving. I could feel it twisting and turning and it occurred to me that A's head night be turning to get into place for delivery, so I said something to Super Nurse. She decided to check my progress and very quickly said, "Yep. She's complete."

Scott's mom decided to postpone the meeting she was about to attend and stuck her head out the door to let S and the cameraman know it was time to gown up. Scott climbed into the surgical jumpsuit, claiming that he looked "like a garbage man."

I was given an attractive shower cap, too, just before the bed went mobile and I was pushed into the OR. You always see shots in movies as a patient is being wheeled into surgery, dramatic music rising, weeping spouses begging the character to, "Hang on! I can't lose you!" and the camera pans to a shot of the lights whirring by overhead, clearly the patient's view. Aside from the melodramatics, the view of the lights is accurate, I can now vouch. I had that thought as I watched the lights go by...

So We Waited...

2011-05-06T11:37:00.000-05:00

The words that slipped from my mouth to the receptionist at the birth care center seemed utterly surreal, "Hi. I'm 37 weeks pregnant with twins and my water has broken. I'm not in labor yet. Oh, by the way, I have called S. from the hospital and she will be here with a camera person shortly. They are completely OK to come in to triage or our room, wherever we are when they get here. And there should be a note in my file that my OB is planning to deliver me, even though she's not on call. And I'm Courtenay..."

I'm not sure which part was more crazy -- that the twins were on their way or that the little flighty introduction I gave the poor receptionist made me sound like I was Mariah Carey and we were checking into the celebrity wing of the hospital in L.A. whilst surrounded by paparazzi. In any case, I felt a wee bit self-conscious giving that whole self-important blah, blah, blah...

We were shown back to Room 2, the site of many of our non-stress tests. The tech asked a few questions, gave me a hospital gown and scooted out of the room to let me change. I made Scott take one last belly shot for the sake of weird science, and used the toilet. When I was attempting to stand up without dribbling amniotic fluid down my leg, our nurse arrived, escorted by a newly-minted charge nurse who just happened to be the daughter of a friend and who had staffed Violet's birth. I'm not sure who was more excited -- us or her.

I apologized profusely for leaking on the floor.

After going through the admission paperwork, I was hooked up to the old familiar monitors. Baby A was in the same spot as always, Baby B was sliding up and down the right side of my belly, naturally. I was not contracting in any pattern, commenting that the contractions I was having were less painful than the Braxton-Hicks I'd been having all week.

About this time, S and M (the cameraman) showed up for a quick interview, both looking tired and excited. I apologized for calling them out of bed, but neither seemed put out by it. M decided that he was going to shoot clocks throughout the piece, so, though I have no clue how long I was actually in triage, the video has the proof!

After confirming that my water had indeed broken, the nurses helped us organize our stuff and head to the suite where I would labor. Because I was having twins, the delivery would take place in an operating room in case we needed swift medical intervention, but I was able to labor in the comfort of a birthing suite, followed always by the swoosh-swoosh of the monitors.

I was still not contracting with any urgency, still only dilated to about 2cm. They started an IV with my antibiotics and fluids. My OB arrived on the scene, also looking sleepy. She explained that as luck would have it, the next morning was the only morning that she had surgery scheduled all week and, due to that, the on-call doc was going to have to do the delivery. I blinked and asked who the doc was...

Fortunately for us, the on-call doc was an OB who had been practicing longer than I've been alive -- so back in the day when they delivered breech babies vaginally instead of automatically checking the box for a c-section. I sighed with relief knowing that my body could deliver both babies vaginally if the doc was amenable and that the on-call doc was amenable. As she placed a scalp lead on Baby A, I mused that my OB has tiny delicate hands and the on-call doc towered over Scott and had hands the size of polar bear paws. I shuddered a little and decided that I was glad that I was going to have an epidural.

And then the waiting began. My doc decided not to start the pitocin right away to see if my body would get into a good labor pattern on my own. I didn't think that it would and had a deja vu moment as I remembered back to Milo's birth. My water broke then, too, and labor didn't start. Pretty much like it was going so far with the twins.

And so we waited. Scott and I were far too awake to relax, he was bouncy with anticipation. My contractions weren't painful, strong, nor long. So we waited...

Into the Unknown

2011-05-04T17:07:00.000-05:00

Instantly life sped up. Scott flew out of the bed, thanking his intuition for not taking the Ambien, and we started planning what our next steps were.

"We've got to call someone to watch the kids. Should we have someone come here? Should we take them somewhere?"

"What about the dogs? They're going to have to stay outside for the night."

"Must call S. from the hospital so she can alert the camera crew. Yikes! We'll be waking them in the middle of the night..."

"I'm going to be a little vain and take five minutes to put on some make-up. I think we're going to be up all night and I just don't want to look like Frankenstein's monster on TV."

I got myself ready and Scott bustled about dressing himself, loading the few things that needed to be loaded in the van, and finally carrying each of our children through the cold rain to their car seats.

By the time I got to the van, they were both wide awake and grinning from ear to ear. In unison, they squealed, "I love you, mommy!" as I ungracefully climbed into my seat and onto the thick beach towel Scott had laid out to soak up the amniotic fluid.

"Do you know what we're doing up in the middle of the night?"

"Daddy says we're having the babies!!" Violet pealed, her smile shining in the darkness like a beacon. Milo shouted, "Yay for babies"

And we were off in the night to meet Scott's mom at the birth care center so that she could take the kids and we could get admitted. i still was not contracting.

I placed the call to S. from the hospital, she answered sleepily, but became quickly excited when I told her that my water had broken. She said she'd get the ball rolling with the film crew and wished us good luck for a safe drive through the downpour. I called my mom and told her what was up, asking her not to drive out in the middle of the night because I wasn't actually in labor yet, so I anticipated a lunchtime arrival of the babes.

We pulled up under the awning of the birth care center and Scott's mom came out, looking both sleepy and excited. I kissed each of the kids good night, feeling very sad to send them along, even though they were bursting at the seams with pride and excitement. I was remembering how hard it was for me to miss Milo for the few days I was in the hospital with Violet's birth.

It was cold out, and in the whirlwind to get to the hospital, I had not grabbed a jacket, so I shivered in the cold wind as Scott closed the van doors on our family of four for the last time.

We made our way into the darkened lobby of the birth care center, taking deep breaths as we stepped off the edge into the unknown.

Yes, I'm Fine... Actually, My Water Broke

2011-05-03T14:40:00.000-05:00

Sunday, April 17 dawned like any other muddy spring day here in Iowa. The mischievous sparkle of a spring snow that had dusted the previous morning was long gone, but the whine of the spring wind wrapped itself around the house, making a melancholy song.

I was restless. And very uncomfortable, perhaps more uncomfortable than I had been during the entire twin pregnancy. Uncomfortable enough to need a shower, breaking my one-ness with the couch for long enough to actually shave my legs. That is, by the way, a real feat for a beyond hugely pregnant mama in a smallish shower. Yes, I felt absolutely compelled to shave my legs.

My pelvic bone felt like it was breaking in two and I was actually flopping around on the couch like a turtle on it's back. I chanted silently every time I moved, "One more week. Hang on for just a little longer..."

Scott's parents brought dinner that night. I think they were missing my lovely Milo and Violet, but it was nice to eat something not frozen, then warmed or carried out from who-knows-where. I commented to his mother that I was feeling about done with being pregnant, that 37 weeks was tomorrow.

TMI alert (sorry, Dad): Shortly after they left, I discovered I was losing my mucous plug. I laughed loudly from the bathroom. Scott misheard and thought I was calling for help, so he came bounding through the house like a herd of elephants to see what was up. I said, "I'm losing my plug here. That just means I'm moving closer to labor, but it could be hours or weeks. Not a hard sign of anything."

Still, even though I was approaching labor and delivery for the third time in my life, the excitement began welling. It may sound naive, but I felt pretty certain at that moment that I wasn't going to make it to 38 weeks. Scott seemed to sense my restlessness and decided that it was the night for him to stop taking the Ambien -- just in case.

Neither of us fell into a deep sleep. The girls were having a dance party, using my bladder for a trampoline, so I was up four times to use the bathroom before 1:00.

At 1:20, as I was laying there in the darkness, listening to Scott's breathing become rhythmic and deep, I felt the telltale POP and a small gush. I quickly rolled out of bed, not wanting to flood the mattress. Scott stirred slightly. I made my way to the bathroom in a trance. Sat down, could tell that the trickle of liquid was not coming from my bladder. Sleepwalked back to the bedroom, where I stood poised at the foot of the bed, not quite sure how to wake Scott.

He roused slightly, and asked a perfunctory, "You OK?"

I stammered, "Yes, I'm fine... Actually, my water broke..."

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (Give or Take)

2011-05-02T13:19:00.000-05:00

With eight little feet
Our family is complete!

We welcomed to our family Juliet Diana (5lbs 8oz and 19 inches) on April 18 at 11:47 a.m. and Willa Caroline (6lbs 6oz and 20 inches) at 11:56 a.m. Mommy was so glad to not have a c-section!

Pictured above in Violet's arms is Willa and Milo is holding Juliet.

More details to come when I'm a bit more awake. This is definitely NOT anything like bringing home one baby...

36 Weeks and What Am I Doing?

2011-04-11T10:12:00.000-05:00

Hanging out on the couch during the day on modified bedrest. Yep, I got the order on Thursday because my blood pressure has been elevated for a couple of weeks -- not really any higher than it went when in the last weeks of pregnancy with Milo and Violet, but wasn't carrying around a 54cm belly those pregnancies and I am now.

54cm. That's sort of crazy -- that's like being a year + 2 weeks pregnant with a singleton. Even on the message board for multiples and twins I have a huge belly -- for twins. Kinda right on for triplets, though.

How big is my belly? So big that my doc couldn't use the drop down choices on her charting software because it only goes to 50cm. So she had to put my measurement in the notes section instead. D'oh!

So, what have I learned about modified bedrest?

1. My dogs are dang gassy all day.
2. Daytime TV stinks, too.
3. My own ankles have returned!
4. It is exhausting trying to relax all day. Yeah, that seems like an oxymoron, but it's not.
5. I adore my hubby, who has been doing it all since Thursday. Including getting stuff done that I simply couldn't get to. He is clearly more efficient than I am... Yay, Scottie! You rock, my love!
6. My kids think this is a great opportunity to have me play with them since I'm essentially a hostage of the couch. Yes, I had to institute a rule that mommy is not to be covered in toys. Or cracker crumbs.
7. These same children also believe that they need to sit so closely to me that I'm not exactly sure where they end and I begin. This also leads to much belly squashing and an occasional war for what's left of my lap (there's not much there).
8. I'm kinda having to force myself to eat because I'm just not too hungry since I'm expending the energy of a sleepy sloth.
9. I am actually considering playing Milo's DS. Of course, then my excuse of "I don't know how to use a DS, so I can't help you" is out the window, but only if he catches me. He has Lego Harry Potter and that seems way more interesting than solitaire on my phone.
10. I can't seem to think of a 10th thing I've learned while confined to my couch... Perhaps my brain is already turning to mush?

Suck It Up, Sister!

2011-04-04T19:39:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I do this... it frustrates me to no end, but yet, every pregnancy I end up doing it anyway. And I get darn frustrated every time. Sigh... Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment (in more ways than one).

What is my issue?

Those darn pregnancy message boards. Inevitably as I draw closer to my due date, I find myself stopping by a message board for women due about the same time I am during my afternoons home alone. And every day there is another woman *begging* to go into labor. At 34 weeks, 35 weeks, 36 weeks... You get the picture. It's not the same woman, either. Apparently, the idea that a 40 week pregnancy is average doesn't make sense to them. That if 40 weeks is average, some women will be 2 weeks early and some will be 2 weeks late and still be considered a "normal" gestational age.

Who on earth would want a baby that will go straight from her body to the NICU? When asked that question, most backpedal and say, "Well, I don't WANT a sick baby... but I do want to be done being pregnant." Because the extra three or four weeks to get to term will be unbearable? Right?

Simple fact: no woman is comfortable at the end of pregnancy, even if she has had a textbook pregnancy. She's slow and sore and can't sleep and has heartburn and might be swelling and, well, you get the picture. But we're ALL that way. A wise friend once told me that you go through the last month of pregnancy feeling so uncomfortable that you're ready to do anything, including delivering a baby through your ear, to get comfortable again.

I'm sort of on the fence about being induced at 38 weeks with the twins. Logically, I understand that it is usually safer for babies and mother for twins to come then, but on the other hand, if my placentas are still functioning well and my blood pressure isn't skyrocketing, I kind of have a hard time thinking it's OK to evict them before they say they're ready to come out.

I sympathize with the women who are just over being pregnant, really, I do. I can't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a shot before waking up in searing hip pain, then spending 30 seconds climbing out of bed to use the bathroom and another 30 seconds lowering myself back into the bed on my other side, only to repeat the cycle in another 45 minutes. I am winded to the point of needing to sit for 5 minutes upon arrival at my office -- the walk is uphill no matter from which direction I approach it. And right now, my daughters are in a race to see which will get their head down into my pelvis first, but both have miserable aim, so they are grinding their heads on the insides of my hipbones. And the heartburn? ATOMIC. So I get wanting to be done.

On the other hand, this is the last time I get to do this and, most of the time, I am in complete amazement at the crazy dance in mt belly. Which, I'm guessing will measure a full year pregnant at my next appointment. A FULL YEAR. So suck it up, sister, and imagine carrying my belly around for a while.

Yep, it is a good thing it's me and not you...

Belly Love

2011-04-02T09:07:00.000-05:00

"Mama, I love your belly," Milo crooned as he wrapped his arms as far around me as they could get, which, considering my girth, wasn't very far.

"Me,too! And I love the babies!" Violet piped up, her cold little hands on my belly, one over each baby's back.

I love my belly, too. I love feeling full of life, even with all of the discomfort that comes along with an extreme pregnancy. I'm calling it that because the skin over my uterus is stretched to shiny, the stretch marks now climbing higher toward my cheat like tree limbs reaching for the sky. 50.5cm is what the doc told me on Thursday, chuckling and smiling. "You look cute!" Maybe it was because we were somehow wearing matching lime green shirts, though I guarantee that her trim figure is far cuter than mine.

We did not set an induction date yet, but that 38 week mark hits the day after Easter. I'm sort of in shock, though -- I made it to April! And I have no restrictions, other than the normal no alcohol, drugs, or banned foods.

We did get to see a very crowded ultrasound. I imagine that if there were only one in there, it would be really cool to see, but with two? It was hard to get measurements because someone was always moving or getting a limb in the way. We could only get a fuzzy shot of Baby A's little face because she was so low the tech had to shoot diagonally across my belly. Baby B would only reveal the bottom half of her face, but those shot show a generous pout -- clearly she has Violet's full lips. She also started the ultrasound in a race to the bottom with her sister, then slid up transverse, then slid back down vertex.

And their weights? Well, I'm sorry to say that anyone who has guessed Baby B to be smaller or under 5lbs is already wrong -- Baby A was 4lbs, 13oz and Baby B was 5lbs, 2oz. So I'm carrying nearly 10lbs of baby already.

No wonder it takes me forever to walk anywhere...

It's Time!

2011-03-29T14:48:00.000-05:00

Well, I've reached that all-important 34 week point. Why is that such a huge deal? Because if I go into labor now, they won't stop it. Chances are that the babes would need only minimal NICU time.

That being said, I do not feel like I'll be going into labor any time soon. I'm still relatively comfortable (except at nighttime) and haven't had any more episodes of contractions. Both girls are head down and active and I am growing exponentially. Probably because I've been hittin' the ice cream. My next non-stress test, ultrasound, and appointment are on Thursday and I can't wait to see how big the girls are now.

So I think it's time to start a baby arrival pool! I will deliver at 38 weeks (April 25th or so) because my doc won't let the twins cook any longer than that. I think her normal call day is a Tuesday, which would be April 26th, so let's call that the last eligible day for this little wager, shall we?

Give me your best guesses! How about answering the following:
1. Birth date
2. Birth time
3. Length of labor (Milo's was 12 hours -- 6 active, Violet's was 7 hours -- 3 active)
4. Baby A's weight
5. Baby B's weight

If you are normally an anonymous commenter, leave me a clue in your comment so I can figure out who you are. Like, "Your cousin from Russia" or something. Or your name, if you aren't afraid -- that would make it much easier. Like, "Jana K." or whatever.

I don't have any prizes for y'all (my prizes are the baby girls I'll get to meet), but if you are the closest predictor, I'll make sure to pimp out your psychic ability to anyone who cares!

The Stressful Non-Stress Test

2011-03-25T11:11:00.000-05:00

It is the third time that the nurse has been in the triage room, frowning at the monitor. She chats for a moment, then says she's going to find the on-call doc to see how to proceed.

I turn to the monitor, watching the double tracings of my babies' heart rates. Baby A's line is yellow and it dances all over the monitor as she kicks and swishes away in there. Baby B's line is green and it holds steady, varying between the same 10 beats per minute a non-reactive stress test.

I am thoroughly convinced that this is just what Baby B does. All three times she's been on the monitor, her strip shows less reactivity, yet I can feel her moving, listen to her hiccups amplified by the monitor, and know that she really is fine.

But she's not giving them the data they need on the strip, so the doc orders a biophysical profile, which is an ultrasound that looks for certain things: practice breathing, movement, muscle tone, etc.

I am still relaxed, for the most part, but had made the mistake of texting back to Scott when he asked, "How do they look?"

I texted, "Baby A looks gorgeous. Baby B is being a stinker and avoiding the monitor."

Seconds later, "Is she in distress?"

"No, too calm. Might be sleeping."

We text back and forth and I can hear his anxiety in his keystrokes. He's not with me because he's going to pick Milo up from school and I can tell that he is very concerned that he isn't by my side. It doesn't seem to matter that I tell him that I think everything is fine, he interprets this as cavalier and calls his mother, the OB nurse of 35+ years, (who has seen the strips and agrees with me) for a more expert opinion. So my darling worried hubby is causing me more stress than the non-stress test was.

Finally the ultrasound tech arrives and she starts looking around to see what's up in there. The best news is that both babies are vertex (head-down). I was pretty sure that they were, based upon the placement of their hiccups over the last week or so. This is a huge relief to me -- as long as A stays head down, I'll be able to deliver vaginally, yay! There is nothing wrong with delivering by c-section, but I'd really like to avoid having surgery if at all possible. I am intimidated by the recovery, particularly when I have two other children at home who will need a mom.

As we watch the screen, it is clearly apparent why Baby B was difficult to monitor -- she had pretty much folded herself in half and turned so that her back was away from the probe, hiding and playing with her foot. Side note: cutest thing on ultrasound ever to watch her reach for her foot and play with her toes...

Both babies passed the biophysical profile 100%, so I was finally released to my OB appointment, after three and a half long hours. I joked that I was at the hospital for less time when I delivered Violet.

The OB appointment? Well, my regular doc was on vacation, so I saw another doc from the practice who was very complimentary on my history with this pregnancy. She asked, "Did you go full-term with your first two?"

"They were both born at 39 weeks, plus a few days, so yep!"

"You'll be going full-term this time around, too. Great job, mama!"

So now two out of two doctors think that the girls won't arrive until their time to be evicted. I'm guessing that at next week's appointment (34 weeks + 3 days), I'll be setting an induction date for just after Easter. That date is coming both too quickly and far too slowly for my liking...

Master Manipulator

2011-03-24T12:20:00.000-05:00

My darling little Violet is swiftly on her way to becoming a master manipulator. I don't know if that is the function of a second child, or what, but she is getting darn good about worming her way into getting exactly what she wants. most of the time.

First of all, she plays up the extra sweet card. If Milo is having a rough moment, she pours on the charm, asking us, "Am I listening, Mommy?" or "Look, Mommy, I washed my hands." Stinker. Poor Milo has no chance because she is remarkably adept at figuring out what he's doing and making a 180 on us, doing the exact opposite.

As in he says, "I don't LIKE this rice with my taco."

She says, "I just love it -- it's yummy!" and then she takes a big bite to prove it.

I don't like the idea of having to compare and contrast my children. I don't think it is an effective way to discipline, nor do I like the way it puts one sibling in the negative role. In this case, it always seems to be Milo who is getting chided and chastised.

If I praise him, she's right there with a "I did it, too, Mommy! See, I was good, too!" so trying to compensate and help him out isn't working too well, either. Sigh...

On the whole, Milo really is a good kid and he doesn't deserve to feel like we prefer his sister or get after him constantly. I just don't quite know what to do here... I try to carve out some time with him each day, but he's a busy kid with his own agenda of stuff to do. This is good, I prefer it when my kids can keep themselves entertained and aren't constantly whining about being bored, but he's needing me less and less each day, I swear. As his reading ability grows, his need for me will dwindle -- except for feeding, clothing, and cleaning up after him. He's not a baby any more and is a very confident and successful schoolchild now. His capabilities are limited only by his imagination, which is quite large.

And, I guess, by his little sister's one-upmanship. Maybe it's a good thing that he's thrilled to be "the only kid boy" in the family, 'cuz he's about to be awash in a sea of girl...

The Nine-Month Marathon

2011-03-22T15:15:00.000-05:00

I sort of suddenly occurred to me that within the next five weeks I'm going to have four children.

Four.

And two of them are going to be stuck on my boobs for months. How lame is it that I'm totally excited that I got a script from my OB for a new breast pump? My old one was purchased when Milo was born and used approximately 600 times during Violet's first year. It's looking a little sad... But I get to go pick out a new one, yay!!

We're busy prepping our cloth diapers. I just ordered wet bags, diaper pail liners, and cloth diaper-safe diaper cream. The only diaper supplies left to order are the all-in-ones for daycare, and those won't be really necessary until daycare time this fall.

So, up until now my focus had really been on making this a healthy pregnancy and on keeping the wee lasses inside as long as possible. With a negative fetal fibronectin test, I'm pretty much assured to get to 34 weeks without pre-term labor. Since the ruckus of early last week, my contractions have subsided tremendously, to the point where I'm not tracking them by the hour anymore, but by larger chunks of time -- like three in four hours. Boy am I glad for that!!

But now? Well, we're past the concern of having micro-premies. We're getting ever closer to having babies that would need minimal NICU time. They're busy putting on weight and practicing breathing right now. In fact, all the practice breathing leads to hiccups on one or both sides of my belly most of the day, which cracks me up!

I'm not going to officially say that we're in the home stretch, but I can definitely see that finish line up ahead. I won't wish the babies out for amything because this is really and truly my last pregnancy and, knowing that, this last month is bittersweet.

I have developed one new symptom: my ankles have been swelling a bit. It might not be apparent to someone who rarely sees them, but I've got crazy narrow ankles normally and they're swollen for me. I didn't really retain water with Milo or Violet, so this is new for me. I've been boosting my fluid intake to try and flush it out, but it could just be that I'll have to deal with this until the end. Oh, well, one can't expect to measure 47 weeks pregnant with no water retention, huh? It probably means my weight gain at Thursday's OB appointment will be a little shocking, but, again, my weight gain total will be less than it was with my other kids, so I'm not really going to complain. I might be limping over that finish line, but I'm going to get there!

Hey, Look! It's a Freakishly Huge Pregnant Lady!

2011-03-20T08:50:00.000-05:00

Hey! It's Sunday. I don't normally post on a Sunday, but after a series of unfortunate events (none of them mine, naturally), I ended up sleeping up on the couch through a loud, loud thunderstorm. Which apparently scared the poop out of Tess. And onto my toy room floor, grrr... So after cleaning that up, I'm wide awake for the day.

I thought I'd show y'all what one might look like if one were 47 weeks pregnant with one baby. Or what I look like 32 weeks and 5 days pregnant with two. Since my doc seems pretty convinced I'll carry to term, I have decided that my ultimate goal is to beat her previous "biggest belly" record of 56cm. Which I will do if I continue to grow at a rate of 2cm per week -- I'll hit 57cm at 38 weeks, or eviction time.

I hope I don't spoil your brunch by posting this pic...

Barbie Lipstick

2011-03-16T20:56:00.000-05:00

There is a book out there that I am dying to read. So, I guess if my doc puts me on bed rest tomorrow (not likely, despite the weekend contractions) I know for which book I'll be sending Scott to the bookstore:

Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Frontlines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture by Peggy Orenstein.

Why? I listened to a fabulous interview on NPR the other day and, given the recent girly-girl transformation Miss Violet has undergone, it seems like the book would speak to me, particularly since I'm shortly to become the mother of two more daughters.

I don't know that I am terribly concerned with Violet's princess/Polly Pocket/Barbie/My Little Pony/Lalaloopsie/Strawberry Shortcake fascination -- after all, I, too, owned Barbies and Strawberry Shortcakes and Cabbage Patch Dolls as a child and I'm not really an uber-girly girl. Yeah, I prefer to look put together over looking disheveled and homeless, but I've never had a mani or a pedi and my hair color (all of it) is *gasp* my own. How can I help it that auburn with blonde highlights is hot? That's the way it grows out of my head.

The small part of me that is concerned is mostly concerned about the future. Right now, Violet still lets me buy her clothes and generally doesn't have a fit about what she wears. Of course, I'm a total square and can't stand the prosti-tot look, so she does not own belly shirts, Daisy Dukes, or sassy little wedge sandals. Not gonna happen. She does have canvas Mary Janes with lavender rhinestones and flowers on them. She does have a pair of black fake Uggs. She does have chapstick, but it's colorless ad not shiny and she wears it to bed and when playing outside to prevent chapped lips. For the record, so does Milo -- well, the chapstick part. I think he might balk at rhinestoned shoes.

I don't dress like a hoochie-mama and my daughters are not going to dress like mini-hoochie-mamas. For me, it's not a body image thing -- I spent countless hours as a teen in front of a big ol' mirror watching myself dance in ballet class while wearing a leotard and tights. I know what my body looked like then and what it looks like now. Yeah, when I was in high school, I probably would have been cute in a micro-mini and baby T, but I had absolutely no interest in wearing that. I guess I preferred my brain and my personality to do my talking.

I can't say that I am a terribly modest person, either. Years of fast changes in the wings and group dressing rooms have pretty much stripped that from me (har, har). If everything that should be covered by undergarments is covered, I'm good to go. You might be scarred for life by seeing my web of stretch marks, but I'm not scared of them being seen.

It is going to be a tough road to navigate, I'm sure. I want my daughters to feel confident and empowered by the strength of their bodies without feeling the need to let their bodies do all of the talking for them. How do I teach that?

Given their genetics, none of my kids are going to be runway model-material. That was never a dream of mine, yet I surely do remember my sister and cousin having modeling aspirations. And as I was waiting outside Milo's classroom for his parent/teacher conference, I flipped through the class's "What I Want to Be When I Grow Up" book and at least four of the girls listed and drew fashion models as their choice career. *Thunk* (that was my jaw hitting the ground) Seriously?? These girls are a mere two years, or maybe three, older than Violet and ViVi has no clue what a fashion model is. Or what she wears -- and doesn't wear.

So, yeah. Be aware that one of these days, I will be reading Ms. Orenstein's book. I hope it doesn't depress me... But, if it does, I'll remember how Violet bid me goodnight last night:

Mom, you're so pretty! You're fashion style! You're Barbie lipstick with lots of shoes!

Really? I guess if Barbie lipstick needs a crane to get off the couch, wears nine-year-old loafers most days, and is happy to find a shirt that covers all of her belly...

Guess Where I Spent the Night Last Night?

2011-03-14T15:05:00.000-05:00

Labor and Delivery...

Don't worry -- the girls are still in here!

I started contracting (painless) around 6:30 last night and was contracting every 20-25 minutes. Called Scott's mom (the OB nurse) for advice around 9:00, she suggested calling L & D, which I did. They had me page the on-call doc, who didn't get back to me. D'oh! By this time, I'd drunk nearly a gallon of water and was falling asleep on the couch and it seemed like the contractions had stopped, so we went to bed.

Woke up at 2:30 to pee (hello, gallon of water) and noticed I was contracting again. Laid there timing them and realized they hit every 10 minutes, which was way closer than I was comfortable with, so we called the kids' college-aged sitter to see if she'd come over. Sweetheart that she is, she was at our house in 15 minutes in the middle of the night.

Went in and got registered for the hospital (hadn't done that quite yet, oops!) and got hooked up to the monitors, where they could see contractions every 7-8 minutes. And two very lovely, reactive babies, which was great -- nurse (who was very pregnant and darn adorable) said they were both doing very well. Then, naturally, they went on the run and both flipped head down during the monitoring, LOL, so she had to chase them for a while.

They did the group B strep test, a fetal fibronectin test, and checked for amniotic rupture. My water had not broken (yay), my cervix was only .5cm dilated and not effaced at all (yay), the fetal fibronectin test was negative (yay!) and they sent me home.

I knew I wasn't in labor, bur preterm labor can be sneaky, so that's why I went in -- neither the doc nor the nurse thought I'd made a bad decision, especially because the chances for pre-term labor go up when carrying multiples.

I have my regular NST and appointment with my OB on Thursday and part of me is wondering if she's going to take me out of work. If she does, she does -- my supervisor is fine with that. With 6 weeks till full-term, 4 weeks till no likely NICU time, if I'm pulled from work I feel pretty good about what I've been able to do to this point.

I was running a low-grade fever part of the evening, pretty sure I caught whatever the kids had last week. Plus, with Scott gone all last week, it was darn stressful -- even with my mom helping out.

I had jokingly told the girls that they weren't allowed to come until Daddy got back, perhaps I should have been more specific...

Motivation

2011-03-10T12:36:00.001-06:00

Alex Trebek: Motivation?

IASoupMama: What is that which I am lacking.

I am really struggling this week with the urge to just sit on the couch and snooze. I really am -- that's all I want to do right now.

I don't know why. I'm actually more comfortable this week than I was two weeks ago. Yeah, I'm slooo-o-o-o-ow and even slower, but I don't really hurt and am not waddling or anything. I'm just wiped.

Could be because I'm still taking antibiotics for the walking pneumonia. Although, I've had enough doses that one would think my nasal congestion should have cleared by now, but nope! I'm still mouth-breathing and snoring when I sleep because the only thing my nose can do right now is smell things that make me want to gag. Like pork roast. Blech!

Could be that, once again, my kids are sick. They've been running low-grade fevers this week. Milo was diagnosed with an ear infection, but they haven't had any new symptoms other than the fever.

Could be that it seems to be easier for me to tank up on fluids when at home, so I drink lots of water at the end of the day, which equals lots of bathroom trips over night.

Could be that Scott's out of town this week, naturally, so even with help from my mom I am still the only parent in the house. And, of course, my darling short people save their bestest whining and demanding for mom.

Could be that I'm lugging around a 42cm belly. I'm actually pretty happy to be lugging it around because the alternative is babies born too early. Although, watch out all of you moms of singletons who are due in May and whose posts I read on an online forum -- if one more of you complains about how huge you are, I just might come through my computer monitor and deck you. Heaven forbid you be 31 weeks pregnant and measure 31 weeks pregnant... No one is comfy by the end of pregnancy, that's why we're all so ready to face labor. But you don't know uncomfortable until you get to carry a full-term belly for three months...

Could be that my office is so warm it puts me to sleep. Well, I probably wouldn't be falling asleep if I was getting enough sleep at other times in the day, but since I'm not, the tropical warmth of my office is doze-inducing. And damp-inducing as I notice when I wipe sweat from my upper lip.

Anyway... Perhaps I'll find that magic that is motivation again. Although, I might need to really search through napping to get there...

The Plague... The Plague...

2011-03-04T21:35:00.000-06:00

Here's a riddle for you:

How many doctor's visits/calls in two weeks does it take to get a family of four (soon to be six) on the road to health and well being?

Answer: Four doctor's visits and two calls.

For some reason unbeknown to me, the plague of walking pneumonia has descended upon our mud-moated white farmhouse. Yes, all four of us are on antibiotics for this.

What??

It started Sunday when Violet started coughing. The poor girl sounded like a squeak toy, but insisted that she felt fine. Scott thought his throat might have been a little sore, but he was just going to keep an eye on it, so we went about our normal Monday stuff, had a normal Monday supper and a normal Monday bedtime.

My pregnant self got up to use the toilet at about 11:15, I had been barely dozing since laying down for the night and figure that before I fell into a hard sleep, I'd use the bathroom one more time. On my way back to bed, I decided to check on the the Squeaker to see how she was.

Not good. Poor babe was burning up. I made a trip downstairs for the thermometer. Checked her temp and it was just below 101. Made another trip down the stairs for some ibuprofen, which she took like a champ, but requested a drink. Made a third trip down the stairs for some cool water. And then a fourth when she asked for something to eat (crackers).

I rocked her for a while, but she was a squirmy mess who wanted to smile at me and say, "I love you, mommy!" and not rest. Then she asked to sleep in my bed. Given that I hadn't really been to sleep yet and it was 12:30, I assented and we climbed into the big bed, where poor little fever girl proceeded to flop all over, to sit up and lay down repeatedly, and to finally ask to go downstairs.

Knowing that Scott (Mr. Ambien) would be useless for a while and would likely get grumpy by Miss Wiggly, I reluctantly bid farewell to my pillow and brought her downstairs, where we watched Netflix over the Wii until 3:30, at which point I decided that Mr. Ambien's medicine had been in his system long enough that he was past the point of uselessness and would now be able to take care of Miss Wiggly so I could sleep until the alarm rang out at 6:30. At 4:30, he brought her back to our bed, where she crashed and we all slept like sardines until I got up for work.

Fast forward a few hours and daddy took Miss Wiggly to the doctor, where she was the first diagnosed with the walking pneumonia. Then he went to an appointment for himself, where he was the second diagnosed with it. Apparently, though I wasn't at the doctor, I was diagnosed, too simply because the bug is so dang contagious and my darling daughter had spent a crazy amount of time breathing her sick breath all over me during the days preceding the doctor's visit. Milo was retroactively diagnosed after a call to his pediatrician, too, since his strep (diagnosed the week before by doctor #1) was gone and the wet cough he'd had before the strep was still lingering, despite a full course of antibiotics.

So that takes us to three doctor's visits and one call. Well, two, as the pediatrician's assistant had written our phone number down incorrectly and I had to call back the next day, confused when they said, "It rang busy three times last night and once this morning." What? We have caller ID. But when you read a 9 and a 1, you dial a number that doesn't exist...

The fourth doctor's visit? That would be my 30 week appointment. Where we had an ultrasound that revealed that Baby A is now 3lbs 6oz and breech and Baby B is 3lbs 12oz and transverse. I have gained another 2 pounds (11 total) and my blood pressure was ok -- not super, but considering the stress of the plague, I'll take it.

So, anyway, I'm ready to see some healthy people around here!

The Pregnant Elephant, aka Me

2011-02-25T12:07:00.000-06:00

Well, it finally happened. Within the last week I have gone from comfy pregnant lady to feeling like a pregnant elephant. I am sore, tired, and just plain worn out. I am looking into pregnancy support belts - the more straps and elastics, the better. My belly was measuring 41cm last week, so I'm not exaggerating when I say I'm huge.

I have never been one to complain through pregnancy -- aches and pains are just part of the process. But, man, do I feel like I've taken a whiny pill in the last three days.

I've started plotting my errands so that I have the least amount of walking to do. And definitely the least amount of carrying, stooping, and crouching to do. I actually got groceries this week and refused to get dog food because I just didn't want to pick up the bag of food. I knew that Scott would be running to town at some point this week and could pick some up if needed. And we've resorted to giving the dogs Cheerios when we're REALLY out of food, so I was pretty sure they wouldn't starve. Turns out, they had plenty of food anyway, whew!

I've been walking by the laundry and pretending it doesn't exist. I don't mind folding and putting it away, but the last time I tried to carry a basket up from the basement to our bedroom, I felt like I'd run a mile. While carrying a manatee.

Forget scrubbing the bathtub. Or the floor -- I've been wiping up muddy dog prints by skating around on towel shoes. If it can get done from a standing position and requires lifting fewer than 10 pounds, I'm your gal. If not... well... I'm not your gal...

I kinda hate feeling like a weenie. But I hate feeling like a worried mama even more. I had a spell of Braxton-Hicks contractions on Wednesday evening that actually had me concerned. As in, concerned enough to chug 30 ounces of water and lay down to monitor them concerned. Thankfully, even though it felt like I'd had 5 contractions in the hour previous to monitoring, there were only two in the first hour of me lying down and one in the hour after that.

I assume that I just completely overdid it on Wednesday. As in, I worked, then got groceries and unloaded them, then picked up the kids, then came home and cleaned up dog barf while trying to give snacks to two very demanding children who must have worn their hollow legs. When I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes into something more comfy, I was followed by a daughter who insisted on picking out my shirt and socks, which made a three-minute clothing change into a 15 minute dose of frustration. At the end of which, a bawling boy-child came upstairs because he'd been asking me for more cheese crackers the whole time I was upstairs. Could I hear him? No. Did that matter to him? No. Did he like it when I reminded him that he was already holding a bowl and that he knew where the crackers were, so he could have gotten himself more crackers? No. More tears, and not just his.

By the time Scott came home, I was at my wit's end. And, apparently, my uterus agreed with me. I swear that every time Milo started moaning, I contracted. So I really didn't mind it when I banished myself to my bed to do some monitoring.

OK... 8.5 weeks to go... I can do this! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Worst. Weekend. Ever.

2011-02-23T12:42:00.000-06:00

Forgive me, dear blog, for I have been ignoring you. Not intentionally, but those big forces that are LIFE have been pulling me in many other directions and it has been a lo-o-o-ong week 'round these parts.

My loving and wonderful grandmother passed away at the age of 86 on Sunday, February 13. She was adored by her children and grandchildren and will be missed for a very long time. Her health had been deteriorating rapidly since Christmas, so I had made several unplanned trips to my hometown to visit her in the last two months. To be sure, I will miss her very much, but I know that the relationship I had with her was always positive and that there are absolutely no unresolved issues, so i am at peace with her passing. Love you, Grandma!

After much back and forth about a eulogy, my brother volunteered to read it, but only if no one else wanted to. Knowing what a tenderheart my brother is, I quickly said that I would do it because, even hugely pregnant, I was pretty sure that I could do it without falling apart. I accepted contributions from my brother, sister, and a cousin and started writing, just hoping that I would represent everyone and touch on all of the relationships my grandma had in her life. I knew it would be impossible to put in every memory and thought, but I hoped to give a good picture of someone so loved. And, I did not fall apart reading it, though I was nervous and nearly knocked the podium over with my belly.

Speaking of the belly, the girls had a growth spurt between weeks 26 and 28. I gained 3 pounds (for an overall gain of 9 pounds) and my belly went from 36cm to 41cm. My doctor joked, "You're due!" While at our appointment, we discussed a tubal ligation if I was already open and on the table for a c-section. If not, I think that Scott should have to take one for the team here since I'll have been pregnant five times and carried and delivered four children. We're definitely done.

Then, to top off the not-so-fun trip to my hometown for the funeral this weekend, my darling Milo came down with a case of strep throat. Poor kid was out of his mind with the fever, deliriously crying and saying things that made no sense -- like, "I need to clean the trees, they're such a mess!" Seems that my son runs a fever like I do. That means it doesn't need to get that high for him to be really out of it, poor baby. I slept next to him for two nights because we were in a hotel and he was confused.

He begged me to take a bath with him, so I did. Scott and Violet had run to Target to escape the hotel room, and when he returned, he came upon us in the tub -- Milo's sweaty little head resting on my huge belly as he snored and drooled all over me for approximately two hours. I think it took me almost that long to climb out of the tub...

So, yeah... I'll chalk that one up to Worst.Weekend.Ever. and hope that this week continues to improve.

The Classics

2011-02-15T12:42:00.000-06:00

Lots of life happening right now -- I suppose I could post about some or all of it, but I'm wiped, so I'll get around to it sometime.

First of all, the short blonde ones are fine, though they have yet another cold. Snot for everyone!! They have also been pleading to play outside in the mud (February thaw in Iowa), but I am refusing to let them on the grounds that I can't really get down to scrub the floor right now. I am also finding it difficult to sit on the floor to help Violet put together puzzles, to get off the couch an infinite number of times to help a child, and to tie my snow boots. Please, oh, please let the snowy weather be closer to done...

Valentine's Day has come and gone. We celebrated by having the popcorn party with the kids that didn't happen either Saturday or Sunday as planned. So, yes, we all had the oh-so-nutritious supper of popcorn, PB&J, string cheese, and applesauce. Followed by Wild Berry Skittles for dessert. To top off the romantic evening, Scott and I watched an episode of Phinease and Ferb in our pajamas before bed. Yeah, the kids were already asleep...

We took the opportunity to expose the kids to some classics this weekend. First up was "Annie." Violet was captivated any time the girls sang or danced. Milo said, "Why aren't there any boys?"

So we made up for the estrogen of "Annie" by watching "Peter Pan" with Kathy Rigby. Violet was uninterested because Tinkerbell didn't look like the cartoon and Milo offered the Lost Boys the following advice as they were tied up on the deck of the Jolly Roger watching Captain Hook prance about, "If it were me, I'd stab Captain hook right in the heart. If I knew where the heart was."

And yesterday morning, Milo was the first to the remote. I came upon him watching, of all things, the battle scene from the ancient filmed version of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Because every five-year-old kid needs a dose of iambic pentameter to start off Valentine's Day...

Miss Violet has been making up stories to tell us. They usually involve at least one princess, a castle, and either a horse or a prince, depending on her mood. She vividly describes the princess's dress and hair, but is sketchy on the remainder of the plot. All of them start with "Once upon a time..." and conclude with the crazy-cute "bee end!"

And there's a stinger for ya...

They Have Names!!

2011-02-09T14:12:00.000-06:00

So Scott and I have decided on names for the twins. You might have thought it would be an agonizing decision, one we spun round and round like a pebble in a rock polisher, but somehow it wasn't.

When naming Milo, we hadn't made up our minds until about an hour after he was born. With Violet, I had told Scott how much I loved Violet and he said he loved Genevieve. At the 20 week ultrasound, as soon as the tech announced "Grandma will be happy -- it's a girl!" Scott, with tears in his eyes, touched my rounded belly and said, "Hello, Violet..."

And this time?

Well, after the initial shock of knowing that there are not one, but two girls on the way wore off (OK -- who am I kidding? That shock really hasn't quite worn off yet), we sat in the waiting room as the ultrasound tech burned a copy of our ultrasound to DVD. Scott sighed, "Two girls..."

He is one of those daddies who really stalls on discussing a name until he knows the gender of his progeny, but I don't function that way, so I had been making suggestions all along, "How about Nmn Kkl? or do you like Kkl Wsd better?"

Anyway, back in the waiting room he looked at me and asked, "So I guess we'll be having a Nmn and a Kkl, then?"

"Well, actually I thought about Nmn Kkl and Hgf Bvm." Hgf is a name Scott has loved for years and, while not my most exactest favorite, I do like it and how it flows with Milo, Violet, and Nmn.

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that... I like Nmn Kkl a lot and love Hgf, but I don't really like Bvm."

"How about Nmn Kkl and Hgf Thq?"

"I love it!"

And that, dear friends, is how we named the girls. In three minutes after my 18 week ultrasound. About 9 weeks ago.

Oh, did you think I was actually going to tell you what their names are? HA-hahahahaha... Nope -- that will have to be a surprise to you. Sorry! Feel free to submit your guesses -- unless you are one of my online mommy friends to whom I have already spilled the secret -- that's cheating! You're also not allowed to tell anyone I know in real life...

Here are some hints:
1. Both are girls names, no unisex
2. They aren't rhyme-y or match-y, but sound nice with Milo and Violet
3. I love them and Scott loves them, so even if you don't, keep yer trap shut!

27 Weeks Down, 11 to Go!

2011-02-07T16:23:00.000-06:00

So I didn't post anything last week. Not sure why -- I think I was busy and there were snow days and I was adjusting to my part-time schedule and there were OB appointments and other stuff that filled in all of the cracks of the week like the snow that crept under my kitchen door and climbed into a little pyramid next to my dishwasher during last week's blizzard.

But I had a 27 week appointment for the twinlets! It consisted of me gulping the orange glucose drink, having an ultrasound, heading upstairs for an OB appointment, and back down for a blood draw.

And I was followed by a TV camera for most of it.

What?

Yeah, you read that right. The hospital where I give birth buys local TV time a couple of times a year and airs a special devoted to one of their departments. The next one is going to be aired in May or June and will feature the Birth Care Center. And, as a loyal and respected employee at the Birth Care Center, my mother-in-law asked if they would be interested in following a family expecting twins for the special. And then suggested they contact us. After talking through the expectations of the piece, we agreed to do it, mostly as a fun keepsake for all of our kids. We'll be one of three families featured in the half-hour special.

So, anyway, I check into my appointment as per normal. Then I paused and said, "Umm... So X from the hospital and a cameraman are going to be showing up here any minute. They're here to film my ultrasound."

I have to admit that I felt a little goofy saying this, because I'm not a terribly important person in the grand scheme of all the things in the world, except maybe to my family. But even then, once I give the kids whatever they're asking for, my relative importance drops pretty fast.

I gestured over my shoulder to Scott, "Yeah, he's really Tom Cruise. We're just ducking in here to avoid the paparazzi."

The receptionist laughed and we headed to the waiting room, keeping a watchful eye on the door for our guests. I drank the orange stuff. It's not that bad -- personally, I'd do whatever I could to avoid throwing it up, because then you have to do the test all over again. Why do it twice if you don't have to?

Anyway, the crew shows up with a large cart of equipment. I notice them and guide them back to the ultrasound area, where our tech is pleasantly waiting. The other patients looked at me like I was an alien. Heck, who knows? Maybe I am.

They were filming documentary style, so all we did was have a normal ultrasound with a camera in the room for most of it. Thankfully, they stepped out shortly before the tech did the trans-vaginal portion to check my cervical length.

The results: Baby A was measuring 1 day behind, weighing 1lb 15oz. Baby B was measuring 4 days ahead, weighing 2lbs 4oz. My cervix is long (4cm) and showing no sign of funneling, which means that my physical structure is supporting the weight of my belly and the babies very well.

Upstairs for the OB appointment! My blood pressure was, once again, great. Even with the excitement of the camera crew and ultrasound, it was 122/76. Urine dip just fine, too. I lost a pound after the sinus infection, so my weight gain has been very modest -- 6-7 pounds. Considering that there's already 4 pounds of baby in there, plus two placentas and two amniotic sacs, I think I've lost weight. D'oh! It's not cause for worry unless the babies aren't growing, but that's so not the case, so no worries yet.

My doctor went over the ultrasound results and my physical results. Everything is currently perfect, so it was a typically fast and pleasant appointment.

This is where the film crew bid adieu, though they asked us to get in touch with them soon so they could do some filming in our nursery. Yeah, the one that isn't a nursery yet? There. This led us to a whirlwind of baby shopping and painting, with still more painting, sewing, and picture hanging to come.

I headed back down to the lab for my blood test. The poor phlebotomist couldn't get a vein in my left arm, so she drew from my right. Unfortunately, I did not pass the one-hour glucose tolerance test. So, on to the three-hour! Did that this morning and will let you know how it went down soon... Stop back for more!

So, Scott Was Out of Town...

2011-01-31T13:00:00.000-06:00

So I had about a billion ideas for posts that I was going to make this weekend after the kids went to bed and before I curled up on my Snoogle for a pregnant night's sleep, but they never materialized.

Why?

Scott was out of town.

Most people who know me understand those words and sympathize with me the instant they see them. You see, when Scott is out of town, the Bermuda Triangle of Weirdness descends upon our house. It never fails. This happened even before we had kids -- I'd come home from work to find an appliance broken or that the dogs had gotten into the garage and shredded a crazy amount of paper all over the yard or who knows what.

The strange events did very definitely take a turn for the worse once kids came into the picture. One of them would get sick or I'd be invaded by rodents or something insane would happen.

This time? I got sick. Well, sicker. I came down with the cold the short people had on Tuesday, stayed home from work all day Wednesday and felt much better on Thursday, though I was still producing enough snot that if I were a snot miner, I'd have hit the mother lode. All in all, it was a pretty typical cold.

Until Friday.

About the time that Scott was headed out of town, my left sinus started to ache. By the time I picked the kids up from school, the ache had become a throb. By the time I got the kids fed dinner, the throb had become a vise. By the time I got the kids to bed, the vise had tightened down so far that I felt as if something roughly the size of a football was wedged in my face.

I was blinded by the pain -- and Tylenol (a pregnant woman's only pain reliever) wasn't touching it. I tried my neti pot and discovered that I was so congested the rinse wouldn't even go into that sinus. I gagged and spluttered as I spit it out, frustrated that nothing was helping.

After some welcome assistance from Scott's mom, who watched the kiddos when I went to the doctor, I managed to get a script for antibiotics. Which I began taking immediately.

Since you cannot take crazy high-powered antibiotics while pregnant, the third-string Amoxicillin was pretty much our option. So, no instant relief like I might get after the first dose of a Z-Pack. Nope, I was near tears all day Sunday and ready to melt into bed when Scott finally made it home last night.

I don't know if just having him in the house was enough for me to relax and actually sleep last night or if my poor body decided that it was going to pass out cold from exhaustion (the pain had kept me awake much of Friday and Saturday nights), but I slept HARD last night, getting up only once to use the bathroom and take another dose of Tylenol. I didn't even feel the normal pregnancy-related sleep discomforts, if my hips hurt last night, I didn't notice.

And this morning?

I woke up and blew a copious wad of fluorescent green booger out of my left sinus and feel merely sick, not feral with pain.

Of course, I also woke up to a sneezing hubby...

The Ten Commandments of Pregnancy

2011-01-24T12:24:00.000-06:00

I'm old. Really, I am. I'm old to be the mom of such young kids, and I'm OK with that. I'm pretty sure that it is written in purple and red ink in my file at the OB "Advanced Maternal Age." I'm a geriatric pregnancy, but I wouldn't really have it any other way.

Why am I commenting on this?

Because in some of my spare time on the weekends I stop by a couple of pregnancy message boards online and find myself shaking my head like a stuffy old librarian shusshing some giggling teenage patrons.

Never in my life would I try to pass myself off as a pregnancy or parenting expert -- I'm certainly not that. But, most of the time, I do feel like I got my fair share of common sense.

So, inspired by message board insanity, here are my commandments for pregnant women, written by an old-as-Moses mama:

1. While your pregnancy might consume your every waking (and sleeping) thought, it isn't going to be the most important thing to everyone you know. Please do not feel hurt because people in the grocery store didn't bow to your fertility and hand you the case of Diet Mt. Dew from the bottom shelf.

2. No one else will remember what you can and cannot eat. It is not appropriate to throw a fit because your brother-in-law had a cookout and served hot dogs. You might have to quietly fill up on potato salad and baked beans instead.

3. If you are a first-time mom, you will get lots of advice. Some of it will be great, some of it will be ludicrous, but you should smile, nod, and say, "Thank you! I'll keep that in mind" no matter how looney the advice is. It shows the advice-giver that you are listening and appreciate that they have thought of you at all, when it could so easily be the case that they wouldn't.

4. Every pregnant woman is tired and uncomfortable. Some more than others, but most of the symptoms most pregnant women have are totally normal. Getting into a "my symptoms are worse than yours" duel only shows that neither of you really feel that badly -- the ones who are so sick they can't complain get my sympathy.

5. If you say you're feeling "more uncomfortable" than you've "felt in my whole life" at 24 weeks pregnant, I just *might* think you're a bit of a weenie. You've still got 16 weeks to go, sweetie... and baby ain't gonna get smaller...

6. Your husband/spouse/co-parent is a human. And your friend and life partner. Please keep that in mind. Yeah, you may not be able to control your every emotion, but think before you speak and breathe before you think. You'll both be happier if you do.

7. Along those same lines, don't expect him/her to be able to read your mind. And then get mad at them for not doing it well. Talk about unfair expectations...

8. Your husband/spouse/co-parent absolutely does get a say in how you raise your child, unless he/she is unfit (and then I question why you're having a child with him/her). One parent does something one way, the other parent does it a different way. Does it really matter which way is "right" if both ways result in a healthy kid or completed task? Yeah, Scott unloads the dishwasher and I have to play "find the hidden measuring cup" the next time I cook, but he just unloaded the dishwasher so that I didn't have to -- how could that possible be a bad thing?

9. If you know you're going to get pouty when someone doesn't love the baby name you've been saving since you were 12, don't share it until your baby has arrived and been named Princessa le Pinque or whatever. It's much harder for people to make comments on a name once it is attached to a baby. On the other hand, if you pick a name that is out there (like it is orbiting Pluto), you know not everyone is going to like it. Toughen up and name your kid something you love and tell the rest of the solar system to take a hike.

10. Even if you are miserable, please remember to enjoy something about your pregnancy every day. You don't have to dwell on it, but take the time to think, "I am so glad to be carrying a healthy baby" each day. There are too many people who know the pain of loss, there are too many people who know the pain of infertility, there are too many people who know the pain of disability for you to not care and to wish your pregnancy done so that you can lose the baby weight, have a drink, or whatever.

Experienced mamas out there -- do you have anything to add to the list?

24 weeks and 3 days

2011-01-20T16:33:00.000-06:00

That's how far along the twins and I are. They are both doing beautifully -- decided to be very active when doc was trying to find their heart rates this morning, kicking the Doppler and making us all laugh.

The stats for this week's appointment: mama has gained about 3 pounds in two weeks. That's the way it should be with twins -- about a pound and a half a week, so yay for finally gaining! I'm up a whopping 8 pounds from my start weight, so my belly is getting larger and my pants are still falling off. Said belly is measuring 33 weeks, so 9-ish weeks ahead. BP was lovely -- 122/68 and my urine dip was fine, too.

Next appointment, I have the glucose tolerance test, an ultrasound, and an OB appointment all in about 1 1/2 hours. We hope. Otherwise there will be some very confused little boys standing outside the school when we fail to pick them up on time.

We've been doing some window shopping, too, for gear for the babies (and some for me). I'd really like to get a new breastfeeding pillow -- My Breast Friend makes one designed for twins, but first up will be a Snoogle pillow as my poor hips are screaming at me every night, no matter what I do and, though I am toting an almost-done belly, I'm not really almost done. There are still 13ish weeks left and that's a pretty long time to sleep like poo, if you ask me.

For the twins, we're looking at this stuff:

Bouncy seats -- we had one for Milo and Violet, but a nephew who weighed about three times the weight limit sort of sat on it when it was at Grandma and Grandpa's for a baby cousin to use and the result is that it's pretty much flattened. So we're in the market for a couple of new bouncy seats. I don't know that they have to match -- might be more fun if they each have different bells and whistles.

High chairs -- we have a nice big one on wheels that we used for both Milo and Violet, but were eyeballing a couple of high chairs that strap to existing chairs, simply because they would take up less room. And, two of them is about the price of a big rolly one, anyway. Plus, they convert to boosters, so we wouldn't need buy upgrades for when the girls get bigger.

Jumparoo -- we skipped this one when our kids were little since there was one at daycare, but the twins will be spending half of the time at daycare, at least compared to Milo and Violet, and I'll want to have options to keep two of them entertained, so I think I'd like to add a Jumparoo to our inventory.

We're debating a couple of other things for now, but I'm drawing a blank about what (for now). Maybe I'll remember tomorrow. Then again, maybe I won't -- I did show up on Wednesday for a prenatal appointment that was actually scheduled for Thursday. D'oh!

Minivan Nation

2011-01-17T16:27:00.000-06:00

So, how does a family with a surprise fourth on the way handle transportation?

Well, by buying a fourth vehicle.

Oh, just as we were planning on three kids, we were planning on three vehicles: a kid-hauler, a car for Scott, and a weekend-project truck. And we still have all of that, plus a 2001 yellow Saturn SC2 with 144,000 miles and needing a clutch. Why? because the trade in value was next to nothing on it and we thought that we might be able to sell it for something on Craigslist. Seriously -- there's gotta be some U of I student wanting to drive around a bitchin' yellow coupe with a Homer Simpson decal on it, right?

Oh, yeah -- this means we're joining the minivan nation. Our purchase was a 2010 Kia Sedona with 30 miles on it. The most brand-new car we could afford right now. It has few bells and whistles, but we don't really need those things -- we need a vehicle that can hold four kids in four car seats for the next five years or so. Once all of the kids are in school, we'll junk my Jetta and I'll hand down the Kia to Scott for a more luxurious model of minivan-ness. Like a Toyota Sienna or Honda Odyssey. But for right now, a shiny black Kia it is.

Our intention was to check out the selection at the local Kia dealer, but they were offering a $2500 Kia rebate, doubled by the dealer, plus 1/2 off the extended 10 year or 100,000 mile warranty. So we ended up buying. Our salesman didn't tell us, but the sales manager did, but we were his first sale ever. And we were so easy -- all he had to do was get the payment where we wanted it and we were going to sign. We need the space,plain and simple.

It was funny, though, when he brought back the first financing option with a 10% apr. I looked at it and said, "You haven't run this with our real credit scores, have you?"

When he did, it came back with a 3.69% apr. Much better.

So far, the kids love it because the windows are tinted (no more squinting because of the sun) and they are both sitting up higher, so they can see more. Neither is too thrilled about sitting in the third row, but, as the "big kids," they're gonna have to do it. We might have to get them a walkie-talkie to keep back there so we can hear them, though, LOL! For some reason, the voices that seem so loud when you're trying to be quiet are barely audible in a car. Why is that?

So now we've got a minivan, two infant car seats, and a bunch of cloth diapers and covers. And I just ordered 40 pounds of Rockin' Green detergent to get them prepped. Next up: I really have to start sewing the crib bedding I've partially cut. And then we'll need to figure out what to do with the futon so that we can get to painting in the nursery. Oh, yeah -- I'll need to buy the paint. And a lamp. And a mirror (I like mirrors in all bedrooms). And Scott will have to bring down all of the baby clothes from the attic so I can start washing and sorting and hanging. So more baby hangers, too. And I need new breast pump tubes as mine are all gunky.

Oh, yeah -- I'll also need to be pregnant for another 14 weeks... Can't forget that part!

Lemons

2011-01-14T16:36:00.000-06:00

I love being pregnant. Really, I do.

Mostly.

But I have to admit that this time is different. I am still completely wiped -- I feel like someone sucked all of my energy like I was a sour wedge of lemon before a shot of tequila and now I'm sitting here all rind and pulp and missing my juice.

I think I was completely spoiled having the 22nd - 3rd off for winter break. I spent far more time in my jammies than I did in clothing and far more time on the couch, snuggling and playing with blonde cuties than working. And I loved it. And, other than the totally annoying cough, I felt great.

And now I'm back to the harsh reality of working full-time and raising kids. Thank goodness that Scott's done with work-week evenings for a while. At the end of the month, he's done with working weekends for a while, too. And I can't wait.

Last night, I found myself crawling into bed, aching absolutely everywhere, sore hips, sore back, sore pelvis, sore everything. And I couldn't get comfortable. And my poor, snuggly missing-his-family-because-he's-been-working-too-hard hubby simply draped his arm over my hip to cuddle me as he drifted off to sleep.

And I nearly cried. Because the weight of that arm felt like just too much. After working all day and going out to dinner with his parents last night, I just couldn't bear the weight of something else on my worn out body. But I adore him and surely didn't want to hurt his feelings since I know he would have felt bad for making me feel worse and felt bad because of hurt feelings. So I waited until he was asleep and shimmied out from underneath his arm.

I hate feeling like a whiner, especially since I know that this will be my last pregnancy, these babies my final ones and that makes every little kick and poke precious to me -- I'll never again get to feel life growing inside me. I am sentimental and a bit wistful about that. As I'm typing this paragraph, Baby B is kicking the desk where my belly rests and I love it.

But good gravy, it's getting cramped in there and I still have 14.5 weeks left. I'm already measuring 11 weeks ahead and that's before the babies start packing on the ounces in that third trimester. I have no idea what I'll be able to wear at the end, nor how one can even walk when that big.

I am repeatedly grateful that, aside from general exhaustion and discomfort, I am a healthy mom. I don't barf endlessly, nor do I swell up like a water balloon. My complaints are small and I know it. But on days like today, I am just so unbelievably tired I can't stand it. And thinking about my bed gives my hips phantom pain, so while napping sounds mega-appealing, I haven't a clue how to do it comfortably right now.

So, anyway, before you take that shot of tequila, please check to make sure I'm not the lemon you're squeezing -- I'd like to keep what's left of my juice for the upcoming stretch, please?

My Little Girly-Girl

2011-01-10T12:40:00.001-06:00

My funny daughter is going through a very girly stage right now. It totally cracks me up! I am so NOT a girly-girl. Yeah, I like to wear nice clothes and make-up, but my top speed from stepping in the shower to out the door can be fifteen minutes if it has to be. I also like power tools and think Salma Hayek is hot.

I don't do nail polish. I've never had a pedicure. I don't like to spend hours on the phone, never have. I detest chick flicks and consider them a waste of time. I'm not big on cut flowers as a gift -- I'd rather have something I could eat or use. I prefer online shopping to real-life shopping. And I get my hair cut once a year or so.

But along comes my daughter. When she hit the ripe old age of two and received clothes and shoes for birthday gifts and was THRILLED. She has very definite opinions on which boots/shoes she wears with which outfits. She also has a shoe-addicted grandma who enables her growing collection. She brings me the phone regularly to call someone, anyone who will listen to her babble about what she's doing.

Recently, she has finally decided that she'll let us brush her hair -- or, better yet, she'll do it. Naturally, she'll do this as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, turning her head, preening, and flipping her hair over her shoulder so that it is "soft and pretty, mama!"

Four months ago she would run away shrieking if she saw the hairbrush, but now? Now she'll take off running to brush her hair as I try to get her winter coat on her, then she'll chastise me for putting the coat over her hair and "messing it all up!" Sigh...

One of the most humorous outcomes of her girly-girl phase is that she's not remotely interested in playing with boy things. OK, she wasn't really into trucks or trains to begin with, but now all of her doll families are Amazons or something, not a male in sight. We gave her Cinderella's prince for Christmas and he is still in the packaging, watching the other dolls enjoy the doll mansion because she refuses to let us open him. The doll family she got from my sister? Dad, Grandpa, and big brother are all in the bottom of the dollhouse accessories, forlornly huddled together for warmth.

And now she's insisting that she will marry a girl, too. Which is fine, if she really wants to do that. Lesbians rock. But her reason? "Boys are icky." Also fine for a three-year-old. And "Girls wear prettier dresses, so I wanna marry another princess. But I'll still be the best princess."

Why is it that I can see yards upon yards of organza and tulle in my future? Bottles upon bottles of lotion, perfume, and nail polish? Eighty-seven varieties of pink lip gloss? And a cell phone bill whose total rivals the GDP of a small nation?

Alec Baldwin, The Man of My Dreams?!? What??

2011-01-06T12:19:00.000-06:00

Alec Baldwin, get outta my dreams.

Seriously.

The last few nights I have had dreams that I can barely remember, except for a few small details. And all of the dreams have one thing in common: Alec Baldwin.

These aren't sex dreams. Nope, not at all. They aren't really any kind of dream, I think. But in each one, I'll turn a corner or something and there he'll be -- Alec Baldwin, doing something normal.

In one dream, just before my new supervisor started, I was working in my office when the Associate Dean of the College brought around my new supervisor, Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock. Played by Alec Baldwin. Does that make me Tina Fey? I'd be OK with that, she seems bright and funny.

In the next dream, I was outside weeding my front flower bed, Milo and Violet were running all over and the twins were snoozing on a blanket in the shade. Scott was doing something with the chickens, when Alec Baldwin biked up and asked to buy a dozen eggs. Yes, he was biking on a gravel road. Wearing a tuxedo. And no helmet.

In the last dream, I was at the grocery store all by myself (whee! a mother's escape!) and as I was reaching for a carton of yogurt, Alec Baldwin asked me to recommend a flavor: strawberry or peach. Strawberry, of course. He still wasn't wearing a helmet.

I don't get celebrity crushes. Especially when the celebrity seems to be a bit of a, ahem, flake. I think this is mostly because Scott and I have been streaming 30 Rock on Netflix through the Wii and watching it after the kids go to bed. At least I hope that's the case. I told Scott about it and he nearly fell out of our bed laughing about the yogurt dream. Then again, he once told me about a dream where he walked in on me in a compromising position with Ted McGinley from Married With Children. I think I laughed equally as hard at that one. Thank goodness neither of us gets jealous of our spouse's insane dreams...

Stay tuned to see what else I dream about Alec Baldwin... I know you're as befuddled as I am about it. It's kinda like watching a really fat chick waddle by with a whale tail -- you want to look away, but the rippling buttocks are mesmerizing...

22 Weeks Down, 16 to Go

2011-01-05T18:40:00.000-06:00

I had my week 22 OB appointment today. It started with an ultrasound (#5). Both girls look great -- both growing and gaining and, currently, both head down. Let's hope they stay that way!!

Baby A's stats: measuring 22 weeks, 1 day and 1 pound 1 ounce
Baby B's stats: measuring 22 weeks, 3 days and 1 pound, 2 ounces

My stats: up 5lbs -- thank you holiday eating. This is the only weight gain I've posted so far, so I think that's OK -- 5 pounds in 22 weeks...
Blood pressure 122/78 using the fat lady cuff. Skinny young nurse didn't believe me that I needed it, but I do.
Cervical length is still right around 5cm. Anything over 3 is considered normal for just one baby, let alone two.

I didn't see my regular doctor, but the one I did see said, "You look perfect for carrying just one and even more perfect for carrying two! Great job, mama!"

And I simply cannot believe that there are less than 16 weeks until I hit 38 weeks - that's the point of induction/c-section/twin eviction. Wow...

In fun news, the babies' car seats will be here tomorrow, along with a twin stroller frame for the car seats and 10 Thirsties Snap Wrap cloth diaper covers, size 1. I figure they can get size 2 covers as a Christmas present next year, as I doubt either will hit 18 pounds by 9 months. 18 pounds is the upper limit of the size 1 covers and Violet didn't hit that weight until 1 year.

OHholycowisthispregnancyflyingby!!!

My Hubby's Thing

2011-01-04T16:36:00.000-06:00

My hubby has a thing. Well, I think most men have a thing, but I'm talking about a thing.

What I mean is that he gets on these food jags where he'll eat the same thing over and over and over, day after day for weeks on end, then he'll suddenly stop and not want to eat it for months. Usually after I have stocked up on said item.

Right now his thing is fake crab nachos. Except they're really not nachos -- they're tortilla chips with melted shredded cheese and fake crab. He's eaten them every night since Christmas Eve, I think.

Other things he's eaten:
Red Vines
Seafood subs from Subway with pickles
Trail mix, but nothing store bought because it might have something that isn't M & Ms, raisins, dry roasted peanuts or peanut butter chips in it. You'd have thought I bought him poison when I got him a mix that had all of that, plus almonds. Almonds = bad, I guess.
Popcorn, but not air popped with real butter and salt. Nope, he likes microwave popcorn with this unnaturally orange butter-flavored popcorn salt on it (and lots of it).
Peanut M & Ms
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (but not the minis)
Instant apples & cinnamon oatmeal
Honey Nut Cheerios
Frosted Flakes
Starburst
Jelly Belly Jelly beans, but only ever the tangerine and cherry flavors
Sunkist strawberry soda (blech)

And here I am, the pregnant one, whose only cravings are for sushi, a margarita, and a nap -- none of which I can have right now.

Mama-MIA

2011-01-03T16:39:00.000-06:00

So you may have noticed I went MIA over the holidays.

Yeah.

I was busy.

The kids wanted to use the computer every time I sat down and thought about typing.

And I was lazy.

Yep, I'm admitting it. I laid around in my pajamas, snuggled my kids. Helped them try out their new toys. Did some laundry. And that's about it.

Honestly? I'm OK with it. I felt like I just needed to relax a bit. The upcoming month will be a tough one as Scott is working or traveling or both every weekend and I am winding down my full-time employment. Yep, I finally have a new supervisor and will transition back to half-time on February first. Which seems like not a moment too soon.

I'm huge -- the girls are both growing and moving and have the ability to pull a neat trick that leaves me breathless as they consecutively flip head-for toe. I'm guessing they both dislike being head-down at the same time, so if one switches to head down, the other dislikes it and switches to breech. If you've ever been pregnant, you know the odd sensation that is "baby rolling" or "baby flipping." When it happens one baby after another, I start poking around to see if I'm having a contraction. Thankfully, I haven't been, at least as far as I know.

Naturally, the other kids pick "baby flipping" time to ram their heads/elbows/feet/hips into my uncomfy on the inside belly so that it is uncomfy on the outside, too. I can foresee many a lap battle in my future... Right now, I still have enough lap for both kids big kids to fit at the same time, so that's good. But I fear that my lap space will dwindle rapidly. I'm already experiencing some of that third trimester discomfort -- my pubic bone aches if I walk to much and Tums are my new best friend. but, all in all, i have very little about which to complain.

Although, I could really use a great night's sleep...

Oh, here's us on Christmas Eve!

Baby Love

2010-12-21T12:00:00.000-06:00

I am loopy today. Not sure if it's because this is my last day of work in 2010 and the holidays are rapidly approaching, if it's because I'm planning holiday menus and plotting to wrap kids' gifts, or if I just need some more sleep. Probably all of the above. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's all of the above.

But I can't stop thinking about babies. About the sweet coos they make as newborns, the wobbly way they hold their heads up as they peer over your shoulder, the soft fringe of hair at the nape of their necks...

I am such a loon. Really, I am. I just have the overwhelming urge to snuggle a newborn right now, to meet a brand new person, showering them with crazy love.

MMMmmm...

Baby toes
Baby ears
Baby necks
Baby thighs
Baby bellies
Baby cheeks

Baby love.
Sigh...

I guess it's a good thing I've got two on the way, eh?

Wiggle Room

2010-12-17T12:45:00.000-06:00

Well, Milo is back to school today and no signs of illness from Violet. I say that as I knock very loudly and very hard on everything I can reach that is made of wood. And, after two nights of hardly any sleep, I finally crashed last night. Oh, I still got up to pee three times, but I was sufficiently tired enough to actually get back to sleep when I came back.

Milo delivered Christmas cards to his teacher and her aides this morning, they were all glad to see him back. He was pretty excited to be there because it's party day and the last day of school for him in 2010. No snow days so far, so school is out at 3:05 this afternoon and won't resume until Monday, January 3, 2011. Yay!

Scott was out running errands last night when I fed the kids. After eating, the twins were crazy active, so I beckoned the kids over and put their hands on my huge belly to feel their sisters for the first time. Violet's eyes were huge as she squealed, "I felt it! I felt the baby!" and Milo said, "I think I felt something, but I'm not sure..."

I said, "I am sure, buddy, and you did feel her!"

Then they wanted to call daddy, who sounded a wee bit jealous as he's not felt the babies just yet, though not for lack of trying. They were just in a great position last night, kicking right around my belly button and not playing around under my belly fat as they generally prefer to do. It must be warmer under that insulation.

Milo tried to hear them, even though I told him the babies don't make noise from inside. He insisted he heard something, but I explained that he did, in fact, likely hear me digesting my supper, but not the babies since you need air to make a sound with your vocal cords.

It was a very sweet moment -- both of my blonde beauties with their pink fingers gently resting on my big belly...

I think Violet is getting used to the idea of two baby sisters. She's been a little skeptical, and concerned about her place in the family, but we keep reminding her that she is our one and only Violet and will always be very loved. I think she's coming around, though, because when she told Scott about the feeling the babies, she sang, "I feeled my baby sisters moving in Mommy's tummy, Daddy!"

So, for now all is well. In the mean time, before all three girls hit their teens, Scott and I continue to try to figure out how to squeeze another bathroom into the house...

Overreact Much? Who, Me?

2010-12-16T16:34:00.000-06:00

What is it about kid puke that sends me into anxiety over-drive? Seriously -- every time one of my kids has a tummy bug I am a wreck. Just a disaster. I'm far too stressed to eat, have to remind myself to drink, and can't sleep for more than an hour at a time without getting up to check on a both kids, in case someone has vomited in bed and I somehow missed it.

On Tuesday night, the kids had been sleeping, Scott was sound asleep, and I was trying to fall back asleep after a trip to the bathroom. I had already gotten up to pee twice and thought I heard one of the kids moan, so I got up yet again to check on them. Violet was out like a light, but Milo was tossing a bit and woke when I opened his door. He said, "I'm dizzy, mom, can I go downstairs?"

I said, "No, baby, it's the middle of the night. But if you're sick, you've got your bowl, right?"

There has been a tummy bug going around, and I leave big bowls next to the kids' beds "just in case."

He settled back in and I went back to bed, only to hear him coming out of his room five minutes later. I jump up and meet him and his bowl in the hallway as he starts emptying his stomach. Then Scott wakes up and he and I realize that the house smells like poop. Thank you so much, dogs...

Anyway, Milo wasn't even that ill -- he vomited about four times in 8 hours, took a three hour nap and never ran a fever. He wasn't ever in danger of dehydration, nor was he terribly uncomfortable.

But I was still completely unhinged when it came time for bed last night. I woke every hour to check both kids, tossed, turned, used the bathroom four times myself, and was generally awake all.night.long. Some of it was worry that it was snowing and that I'd be driving Scott's little Saturn Coupe to work today, but most of it was that I just didn't want to be changing sheets overnight. Or sitting up all night -- as I had with Milo. So, instead, I freaked out all night long.

I glared at Scott in the dark, beyond annoyed that he slumbered away in his Ambien-induced peace. I listened to Milo snore softly from his room, counted the number of times Violet rolled into the rails of her toddler bed (fourteen times, if you were curious), and heard the dogs sneeze occasionally from downstairs. I watched the fan spin, tried to breathe in synch with Violet's white noise ocean, and started doing random math problems in an attempt to bore myself to sleep.

None of it worked. Sigh...

It's so silly -- I didn't get this freaked out when Milo broke his arm. No, I was a calm, collected, rational mama then. I didn't suffer such angst when they catheterized Violet at 9 weeks to check for a UTI (negative, by the way). I don't get too concerned by coughs, runny noses, ear infections, or strange rashes.

But puke? It gets me every time. And my kids are now able to recognize the "I'm-gonna-throw-up!" feeling and ask for or grab a bowl. Even Violet can wake from a dead sleep and call, "I need a bowl!" I don't get this insanity.

And, mostly, I hope that I'm so darn tired from two less-than-satisfying nights of sleep that I really conk out tonight. Although, Violet's not out of the window of exposure yet. Argh...

Digesting (But not Disgusting)

2010-12-13T16:30:00.000-06:00

Well, I am 19 weeks with the twins today. That puts me halfway to the induction/section point as my doc will deliver at 38 weeks. Does anyone else think this pregnancy is just flying by? Wow...

I had an 18 week appointment last Thursday and an anatomy ultrasound. Both babies are looking very healthy, both are measuring big. Baby A is measuring 1 day big and weighs 8oz and Baby B is measuring 3 days big and 9oz. They each had two halves of their brain, two kidneys, a bladder, and a four-chambered heart, so all of the parts and pieces are looking good, too.

Even more surprising, neither of them had a penis.

Why is this such a surprise? Well, in my Scott's family, girls are a rarity. My mother-in-law has four sons, her sister has two sons, and her brother had only boys, too. Scott's brothers have produced five sons, plus Milo. The only girls are Violet and R, who is seven months older than Violet -- both born in 2007.

And that, I think, is the reason that we're having two girls. Apparently, in this family, you only get girls if they are born in the same calendar year. In fact, as soon as we announced that we were expecting this time, we told Scott's youngest brother (the only one still wanting more kids) that if he wanted to get a girl, they'd better get busy and plan a 2011 baby. When we found out that we were expecting twins, I made the off-hand comment, "Oh, they're probably girls since girls only come two at a time around here."

And I was right. Which is still a shock to me. I really thought that one was a boy. I was looking forward to having another son -- the balance seemed right: two boys and two girls in our not-so-small family.

Please don't get me wrong -- I am beyond thrilled that the babies are healthy and growing and that I am healthy and growing with them. But I am a little sad in that my son won't get the experience of having a brother and that I won't have another little man to dote upon and raise into a fantastic man like his daddy. I love mothering my son. There's just something in his smile...

I'm pretty sure that I might be the only one feeling this way -- everyone else keeps joking about "Wow -- three weddings, huh?" and Scott's aunts have been calling and emailing their infinite congratulations -- it seems to be a big hullabaloo. And I'm not sad about having two more daughters, not at all. I can't wait to see them and watch them grow and learn about the women they will become. I think I just need some more time to digest that I won't have another little boy.

I did remind Scott that a time will come when Milo heads off to college and leaves Scott alone in the house with a sixteen-year-old Violet and thirteen-year-old twin girls and a menopausal wife. He volunteered to go with Milo.