I've discovered that there is a very distinctive succession of events that lead to tears.
It usually goes like this: Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming.
This doesn't happen just anytime, it happens when my hubby is with the boys. They love to play with daddy and daddy loves to play with them. The problem is that they get so wound up they lose the ability to control their movements and he doesn't always know when to stop.
The perfect example of this happened yesterday while I was well...shall we say, indisposed?
The master bath is located directly above the family room and the sound carries right through the floor! I could hear the boys - all three of them - giggling away then heard Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming, followed by, "Oh my God!"
Oy Vey! OMG means blood!
Unless it's his own, hubby doesn't handle the sight of blood well. Anyone else's, especially one of the kids, and all bets are off. Composure goes out the window and panic sets in.
He began to scream for me and I foolishly tried to yell a response.
I then heard him wrestling with the gate at the bottom of the stairs while I desperately tried to finish my "business."
He yanked the bathroom door open just as I pulled my pants up and stood there, with a bleeding stuntman in his arms, looking shocked to see me by the toilet. Not sure what he thought I was doing but, "I have to go to the bathroom," usually means one of two things.
I grabbed the first aid box (not kit, we've learned that the small kits just don't cut it for us) out from under the sink and got to work.
Stuntman had bitten his tongue.
Saliva made it look like he was going to bleed to death, but as far as actual blood goes there wasn't much and it stopped bleeding very quickly.
Hubby announced that he had to go back downstairs because, in his state of panic, he'd left the Engineer on the sofa!
Seriously?!
His panicked states are pretty much the same regardless of the circumstances. His ability to think or act rationally just goes right out the window!
The other day while changing the Stuntman's diaper, the stuntman decided to poop. I had the Kitchen Aid whirling away and didn't hear him screaming for me. Suddenly there was loud banging followed by louder, "HELLO!!!"
I sprinted up the stairs to find hubby with a screaming stuntman on the table, legs up in the air as daddy desperately cleaned up the poop. The Engineer was on the floor screaming because daddy's screaming had frightened him.
Ummmm.....Yeah... really?! You were screaming because of poop?!
OMG!
Despite his panic and gagging, there really wasn't much I could do. So I picked up the hysterical Engineer and tried to calm him while trying desperately not to yell at my hubby and upset the babies even more.
Most of the time he's a really laid back guy. Evidently, poop and blood are his kryptonite.
He's one of the handiest hubbies on the world. Need recessed lighting installed? How about hardwood floors? Sheetrock? He's the guy. He really can do anything except walk through a room without hitting a toy.
He. Never. Looks. Down.
We are 13 months into this parenting thing. He has tripped over countless toys. He has fallen down, stubbed his toes, and made things squeak in the dark and yet he has not adjusted his walk.
It's weird. I noticed early on that, while in the house, I had developed a gate that allows me to move forward, without scuffing my feet, by barely lifting my foot off the floor. This way if I do contact something I don't step on it or trip over it, I push it out of the way. Sort of along the same lines as the old trains with the cow catcher on the front.
We have a play-mat that we keep upstairs for the boys. We use the mat more as a home-base for the upstairs toys because we can move it from room to room as needed. At night we usually put it in the hallway out of the line of traffic so we don't trip over it in the dark.
Hubby decided the other night that he would leave it on the floor in the bedroom, precisely placed so as to not trip over it if he had to get one of the kids.
It didn't work.
He tripped.
And tripped.
And tripped.
The mat has these tube things that arch up and connect diagonally at the corners. Once in, it's like trying to get out of a crab trap.
The toys rattled, the one set to come on with motion began to play music and he even stepped on the praying Angel, "Now I lay me down..."
"Shit!"
Snark.
"Shut up," he said with a laugh.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Flat Surface Disease
I am referring to last week as the Week of Death.
No, really...In addition to being the anniversary of my father's passing we had a friend lose his father, another friend lose her husband and a client of mine lost his wife.
The week was bookended with funerals and had a wake in the middle. It was terrible. Not as bad for me as it was for the families but just such an unhappy week all the way around.
As if the "week of death" wasn't enough to contend with, our little stuntman botched a backward dismount off the sofa and split his head open on the foot of the coffee table!
We're making him practice that dismount until he can stick it!
Ugh!
And as if taking your one year old son to the ER for stitches isn't stressful enough, I called my mom and ended up hearing, "It's not to late to put those bumper things on the coffee table."
Yeah, um...thanks!
Here's the kicker...He hit the foot of the coffee table, not the top. No one, not a single well-meaning, over-protective friend or family member has been concerned about the feet on anything...until now.
Even so, we couldn't put those bumpers on them, the kids would peel them off in about five minutes or we'd be yelling "Aah, aah, aah!" at them to leave them alone.
C'mon!
I already say "NO" enough. I just don't need to add a temptation for them or anymore stress for me!
As soon as the kids began crawling we bought a used center armoire entertainment unit so the kids couldn't play with the electronics. It works great until we open the doors to watch TV!
They are like moths to a flame!
They can be across the house and the moment the doors are open they come as fast as they can. We now have the doors open all the time and an indoor fence around the entertainment center to keep them away from it. This is the fence I was going to use to put around the Christmas tree.
Thank God for friends with slightly older children!
We borrowed another indoor fence and now have the tree enclosed in it.
The stuntman hasn't been interested in the tree since the day it went up - wait until he figures out that trees can be climbed! The engineer likes to pet the branches. We purposely hung the unbreakable stuff where they could reach it in case they tried. They haven't gone for the ornaments just like to touch the actual branches.
We cut down our own tree this year. It was a pretty Norman Rockwell-esque experience with the boys in the double-wide stroller walking thru the tree farm until we found just the right one! Hubby hit his knees and cut it down while I ran around snapping pictures from every direction. I had hubby stand next to the stroller with the tree while I took pictures and the children looked at him like, "Why the heck is dad holding that big green thing?!" (They don't really know what trees are yet.)
It was all fun and games until it was time to head back and pay for the tree...hubby had to drag the thing all the way back. It was quite a distance. Of course, the tree we found was about as far from the car as we could get...hubby is very picky when it comes to the Christmas tree.
We really do have a beautiful tree - minus the fence of course.
Neither one of us is a "ball" person.
What I mean by this is that we don't use ball ornaments to decorate the tree. We have themes for our ornaments: fishing and sailing (hubby), cows and angels (me) and baby's first Christmas - from last year. At roughly six weeks old they had no idea that there was anything more than feeding and sleep but we have the ornaments to prove it!
Hubby usually leaves decorating the tree up to me - he's picky about the tree, I'm picky about the lights and ornaments. This year that was not the case. As with many tasks these days, we knocked it out in two hours because the boys were napping. There just wasn't time to be picky!
What one can accomplish in that two-hour timeframe is nothing short of amazing.
This was the case on Thanksgiving.
While I cooked hubby cleaned the entire house, including bathrooms, in two hours!
Although we have our usual chores hubby does trash, car washing, lawn mowing, guys things etc. and I do most household things like laundry and cooking, the cleaning usually falls into the "whoever has the time" category.
I am not OCD about the way things are cleaned. I just care that they are clean. I don't keep a spotless household - my kids have great immune systems - but it's neat and somewhat tidy.
I used to get all freaked out by the idea of my parents coming to visit and would spend days and days cleaning. I don't know why. Growing up we had a magnet on the refrigerator that said, "Dust: The protective covering of fine furniture!"
Needless to say, my mom is not a neat freak. Things are clean but she suffers from "Flat Surface Disease" and an unfortunate affinity for catalogs.
If there is a flat surface in her house, you will find a pile of catalogs, some of which are years old.
It seems I inherited the FSD gene and have to stay ever vigilant to keep things from piling up. The worst part is that the hubby has FSD too. Right now treatment comes in the form of the "office." We try to keep the piles contained and once a quarter I go in and file everything that needs to be and discard the rest.
In the meantime, we keep the door closed.
We call it the "office" because it has office furniture and the printers in it but it's really become the catch-all for things we're not sure what to do with but know that they don't go in the basement - a name that is really too long so "office" it is.
Sometimes, I wish that my parents had been a little more strict when it came to keeping a tidier house but then I think that in the end it really doesn't matter. No one really cares unless it's really disgusting to the point of being life-threatening and I know that having my parents at sporting events and concerts was much more important than whether or not the dining room had been dusted!
No, really...In addition to being the anniversary of my father's passing we had a friend lose his father, another friend lose her husband and a client of mine lost his wife.
The week was bookended with funerals and had a wake in the middle. It was terrible. Not as bad for me as it was for the families but just such an unhappy week all the way around.
As if the "week of death" wasn't enough to contend with, our little stuntman botched a backward dismount off the sofa and split his head open on the foot of the coffee table!
We're making him practice that dismount until he can stick it!
Ugh!
And as if taking your one year old son to the ER for stitches isn't stressful enough, I called my mom and ended up hearing, "It's not to late to put those bumper things on the coffee table."
Yeah, um...thanks!
Here's the kicker...He hit the foot of the coffee table, not the top. No one, not a single well-meaning, over-protective friend or family member has been concerned about the feet on anything...until now.
Even so, we couldn't put those bumpers on them, the kids would peel them off in about five minutes or we'd be yelling "Aah, aah, aah!" at them to leave them alone.
C'mon!
I already say "NO" enough. I just don't need to add a temptation for them or anymore stress for me!
As soon as the kids began crawling we bought a used center armoire entertainment unit so the kids couldn't play with the electronics. It works great until we open the doors to watch TV!
They are like moths to a flame!
They can be across the house and the moment the doors are open they come as fast as they can. We now have the doors open all the time and an indoor fence around the entertainment center to keep them away from it. This is the fence I was going to use to put around the Christmas tree.
Thank God for friends with slightly older children!
We borrowed another indoor fence and now have the tree enclosed in it.
The stuntman hasn't been interested in the tree since the day it went up - wait until he figures out that trees can be climbed! The engineer likes to pet the branches. We purposely hung the unbreakable stuff where they could reach it in case they tried. They haven't gone for the ornaments just like to touch the actual branches.
We cut down our own tree this year. It was a pretty Norman Rockwell-esque experience with the boys in the double-wide stroller walking thru the tree farm until we found just the right one! Hubby hit his knees and cut it down while I ran around snapping pictures from every direction. I had hubby stand next to the stroller with the tree while I took pictures and the children looked at him like, "Why the heck is dad holding that big green thing?!" (They don't really know what trees are yet.)
It was all fun and games until it was time to head back and pay for the tree...hubby had to drag the thing all the way back. It was quite a distance. Of course, the tree we found was about as far from the car as we could get...hubby is very picky when it comes to the Christmas tree.
We really do have a beautiful tree - minus the fence of course.
Neither one of us is a "ball" person.
What I mean by this is that we don't use ball ornaments to decorate the tree. We have themes for our ornaments: fishing and sailing (hubby), cows and angels (me) and baby's first Christmas - from last year. At roughly six weeks old they had no idea that there was anything more than feeding and sleep but we have the ornaments to prove it!
Hubby usually leaves decorating the tree up to me - he's picky about the tree, I'm picky about the lights and ornaments. This year that was not the case. As with many tasks these days, we knocked it out in two hours because the boys were napping. There just wasn't time to be picky!
What one can accomplish in that two-hour timeframe is nothing short of amazing.
This was the case on Thanksgiving.
While I cooked hubby cleaned the entire house, including bathrooms, in two hours!
Although we have our usual chores hubby does trash, car washing, lawn mowing, guys things etc. and I do most household things like laundry and cooking, the cleaning usually falls into the "whoever has the time" category.
I am not OCD about the way things are cleaned. I just care that they are clean. I don't keep a spotless household - my kids have great immune systems - but it's neat and somewhat tidy.
I used to get all freaked out by the idea of my parents coming to visit and would spend days and days cleaning. I don't know why. Growing up we had a magnet on the refrigerator that said, "Dust: The protective covering of fine furniture!"
Needless to say, my mom is not a neat freak. Things are clean but she suffers from "Flat Surface Disease" and an unfortunate affinity for catalogs.
If there is a flat surface in her house, you will find a pile of catalogs, some of which are years old.
It seems I inherited the FSD gene and have to stay ever vigilant to keep things from piling up. The worst part is that the hubby has FSD too. Right now treatment comes in the form of the "office." We try to keep the piles contained and once a quarter I go in and file everything that needs to be and discard the rest.
In the meantime, we keep the door closed.
We call it the "office" because it has office furniture and the printers in it but it's really become the catch-all for things we're not sure what to do with but know that they don't go in the basement - a name that is really too long so "office" it is.
Sometimes, I wish that my parents had been a little more strict when it came to keeping a tidier house but then I think that in the end it really doesn't matter. No one really cares unless it's really disgusting to the point of being life-threatening and I know that having my parents at sporting events and concerts was much more important than whether or not the dining room had been dusted!
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
His Legacy
Three years ago this morning I sat with my hand on my father's shoulder as he took his last raspy breath of life. My mother said it was fitting that I was the last one with him as he was the first one to touch me when I came into this word.
My dad was my buddy and not a day goes by that I don't miss him.
We talked about everything and he was the first person that I would call for anything but especially when had a new joke. Sometimes I would tell him the same ones just because his memory for jokes really sucked! He would laugh the same each time.
I miss his laugh.
He had a great sense of humor and was as quick with a laugh as he was with his temper.
Man, did dad have a temper.
He mellowed in his older years but he was fierce when we were younger.
He could yell louder than any other human on the face of the earth and could get whatever attention was needed, when it was needed. Sometimes you didn't want the attention but when you pissed him off you knew it and sometimes, unfortunately, the entire neighborhood knew it too!
We were raised during the "corporal punishment is ok years." Although we are not an enormously religious family "spare the rod, spoil the child" was certainly a philosophy that was practiced in our house. Dad used to use his fraternity paddle to spank us.
As if being hit with a piece of wood wasn't bad enough, the guilty party would be dispatched to retrieve the "the paddle," an act, I always felt, was akin to sharpening the blade on the guillotine before your own execution!
One morning my brother and I were rough-housing and we broke something - I don't remember exactly what it was - but I was sent to get "the paddle." I crocodile-teared all the way up the stairs into my room where I pulled on every pair of underpants and shorts I owned under my nightgown before proceeding to my dad's closet the get "the paddle" and return downstairs.
When dad hit me it sounded (and felt) like he hit a pillow!
I could cry at the drop of a hat - a skill I developed solely to get my brother in trouble - so I let the tears flow freely while desperately trying not to smile because it didn't hurt AT ALL!!!
I really thought I was "one up" and that the old man was a dunce.
I was 19 before he told me that he knew what I had done but didn't want to say anything! He told me that I was the only one of us three kids that had the guts to even try to get away with such a thing and he wasn't going to take that away from me!
He was a strict disciplinarian but he was also a dedicated husband and father who did whatever it took to provide for his family and be involved in our lives. He was a soccer coach, hockey coach and timer at the swim meets. He knew nothing of soccer and hockey but read every book he could find on the topic to be a good coach - he was that dedicated.
He was at every game we played and every meet we competed in and he had a whistle you could hear over the rest of the crowd and through a bathing cap in the water.
Looking back at my childhood I remember him always being there; didn't matter if it was a school concert or a swim meet my parents were always there.
One of my favorite memories of my elementary years is the Annual Girl Scout Father Daughter Square Dance. I looked forward to that event every year. Dad was my date! We'd get all dressed up and spend the night following the calls to "do-si-do" and "swing your partner." It was heaven! Being on his arm made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world!
Oh to have that feeling today.
In the past three years, I have had moments where memories come flooding back to me. There are so many things that we did with my dad. When we were very young, summers revolved around swimming lessons at the lake and vacations in Maryland at my grandparent's farm. As we got older, we sailed.
Dad was a sailor at heart.
He loved to be on the water and loved sailing but what he loved the most, was racing. So much so that he founded the Sailing Team at his alma mater Colgate University.
When he wasn't sailing he was fixing. He had an amazing skill with wood and there was always a boat in some stage of repair in our garage.
At some point fixing turned into building.
I don't remember the details but, somehow a guy in Michigan got a hold of my dad, sent him some blueprints for a boat he had designed and next thing I know dad was building the thing.
Now this would be an amazing feat for just about anyone, never mind the guy who had a full-time job, three young kids with crazy sports schedules and a wife at home.
He built a 24' wood and epoxy boat in the garage from blueprints!
I remember watching him pace out the garage to see if it would fit and watched him literally jump with excitement when he realized that it would.
In order to build this thing, it had to be constructed upside down. Once the hull was ready it had to be flipped over so he could build the deck. I can still see the scene in my mind today of all of the mattresses in the driveway and a huge number of people helping to roll this thing over. There might have been a keg involved but I'm not sure.
Our friends and neighbors must have thought we were insane.
In the middle of construction dad was transferred from north Jersey to south Jersey. In addition to moving us and the contents of the house, we had to move the boat! Next thing I know dad was modifying a trailer to tow this thing south.
I know that for a while he rented space in some sort of business complex but eventually moved the boat to my grandmother's carriage house. Once it was finished he launched the boat in Island Heights, NJ and christened it GARDYLOO.
The '80s were spent on the water in Island Heights, New Jersey. Some of my greatest memories are from those summers. He wasn't just my dad, he took on a fatherly role with everyone younger than he was. He didn't do this consciously, it was his nature. He was wise if you were willing to listen - I was a teenager in the '80s so I often argued more than I listened - but he was always willing to offer some tidbit of wisdom.
A few weeks before he passed away he told me that one thing he would really like to do was to go sailing again. I knew that I had to find a way to make this wish come true.
I called a friend and found out that his brother's boat was still in the water and that they'd be more than happy to make this happen. Before I knew it we had assembled the old crew from Island Heights, including one of the guys that was now a surgeon living in Florida, and headed for a sail.
Unfortunately a key crew member was unable to make it: my brother was stuck at a conference in California and couldn't get back. We arranged for my dad to talk to him on the phone while we were sailing. It certainly wasn't the same but at least they got to talk. We also had two additions to the crew that day. My husband, my dad introduced the two of us, and his oldest grandson who my dad had also taught to sail and was dad's right arm at the Sailing School.
The fact that we were able to assemble everyone on such short notice was nothing shy of a miracle but the day itself was truly touched by God.
It was mid November in Maryland and it was nearly 70 degrees. The sun was shining and there was a light wind blowing. An hour north in Philadelphia that same day and same time, there was sleet and snow!
It took some maneuvering but we finally managed to get dad loaded onto the boat and headed out from the dock. When it was time to set the sails each of the crew members jumped to action as if no time at all had passed since we last crewed together despite the fact that it had been more than 20 years!
It was magical.
Dad was settled in the cockpit and we took turns sitting next to him to keep him from falling over each time we were on starboard tack. We also took turns imitating him and spouting his Chuck-isms. He no longer had the strength or desire to yell at us but he certainly got a kick out of our impersonations.
We sailed for a little more than an hour before dad said that he was tired.
It was time to turn around.
The return trip might have been sunny, but my mood was beginning to cloud over. I stayed by my dad's side as much as possible as I knew that this would be the last time I would sail with him and I didn't want it to end.
In the years since my dad has passed I do not look at, or think about, a sailboat without missing him.
All I have to do is be near the water with wind in my hair and my dad comes to life.
He loved sailing so much that when he retired he joined a yacht club and started the Rock Hall Yacht Club Sailing School that thrives today. Two of his grandchildren as well as a few of the kids from his inaugural class have become sailing instructors.
His legacy lives on. The children who were once students, will one day teach our boys.
We just celebrated the twins' first birthday. I have thought of my dad countless times this past year and am saddened by the fact that they will never know him. They will however, learn to sail and when the wind blows through their hair and the sun kisses their cheeks, they will feel his touch and know his love.
My dad was my buddy and not a day goes by that I don't miss him.
We talked about everything and he was the first person that I would call for anything but especially when had a new joke. Sometimes I would tell him the same ones just because his memory for jokes really sucked! He would laugh the same each time.
I miss his laugh.
He had a great sense of humor and was as quick with a laugh as he was with his temper.
Man, did dad have a temper.
He mellowed in his older years but he was fierce when we were younger.
He could yell louder than any other human on the face of the earth and could get whatever attention was needed, when it was needed. Sometimes you didn't want the attention but when you pissed him off you knew it and sometimes, unfortunately, the entire neighborhood knew it too!
We were raised during the "corporal punishment is ok years." Although we are not an enormously religious family "spare the rod, spoil the child" was certainly a philosophy that was practiced in our house. Dad used to use his fraternity paddle to spank us.
As if being hit with a piece of wood wasn't bad enough, the guilty party would be dispatched to retrieve the "the paddle," an act, I always felt, was akin to sharpening the blade on the guillotine before your own execution!
One morning my brother and I were rough-housing and we broke something - I don't remember exactly what it was - but I was sent to get "the paddle." I crocodile-teared all the way up the stairs into my room where I pulled on every pair of underpants and shorts I owned under my nightgown before proceeding to my dad's closet the get "the paddle" and return downstairs.
When dad hit me it sounded (and felt) like he hit a pillow!
I could cry at the drop of a hat - a skill I developed solely to get my brother in trouble - so I let the tears flow freely while desperately trying not to smile because it didn't hurt AT ALL!!!
I really thought I was "one up" and that the old man was a dunce.
I was 19 before he told me that he knew what I had done but didn't want to say anything! He told me that I was the only one of us three kids that had the guts to even try to get away with such a thing and he wasn't going to take that away from me!
He was a strict disciplinarian but he was also a dedicated husband and father who did whatever it took to provide for his family and be involved in our lives. He was a soccer coach, hockey coach and timer at the swim meets. He knew nothing of soccer and hockey but read every book he could find on the topic to be a good coach - he was that dedicated.
He was at every game we played and every meet we competed in and he had a whistle you could hear over the rest of the crowd and through a bathing cap in the water.
Looking back at my childhood I remember him always being there; didn't matter if it was a school concert or a swim meet my parents were always there.
One of my favorite memories of my elementary years is the Annual Girl Scout Father Daughter Square Dance. I looked forward to that event every year. Dad was my date! We'd get all dressed up and spend the night following the calls to "do-si-do" and "swing your partner." It was heaven! Being on his arm made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world!
Oh to have that feeling today.
In the past three years, I have had moments where memories come flooding back to me. There are so many things that we did with my dad. When we were very young, summers revolved around swimming lessons at the lake and vacations in Maryland at my grandparent's farm. As we got older, we sailed.
Dad was a sailor at heart.
He loved to be on the water and loved sailing but what he loved the most, was racing. So much so that he founded the Sailing Team at his alma mater Colgate University.
When he wasn't sailing he was fixing. He had an amazing skill with wood and there was always a boat in some stage of repair in our garage.
At some point fixing turned into building.
I don't remember the details but, somehow a guy in Michigan got a hold of my dad, sent him some blueprints for a boat he had designed and next thing I know dad was building the thing.
Now this would be an amazing feat for just about anyone, never mind the guy who had a full-time job, three young kids with crazy sports schedules and a wife at home.
He built a 24' wood and epoxy boat in the garage from blueprints!
I remember watching him pace out the garage to see if it would fit and watched him literally jump with excitement when he realized that it would.
In order to build this thing, it had to be constructed upside down. Once the hull was ready it had to be flipped over so he could build the deck. I can still see the scene in my mind today of all of the mattresses in the driveway and a huge number of people helping to roll this thing over. There might have been a keg involved but I'm not sure.
Our friends and neighbors must have thought we were insane.
In the middle of construction dad was transferred from north Jersey to south Jersey. In addition to moving us and the contents of the house, we had to move the boat! Next thing I know dad was modifying a trailer to tow this thing south.
I know that for a while he rented space in some sort of business complex but eventually moved the boat to my grandmother's carriage house. Once it was finished he launched the boat in Island Heights, NJ and christened it GARDYLOO.
The '80s were spent on the water in Island Heights, New Jersey. Some of my greatest memories are from those summers. He wasn't just my dad, he took on a fatherly role with everyone younger than he was. He didn't do this consciously, it was his nature. He was wise if you were willing to listen - I was a teenager in the '80s so I often argued more than I listened - but he was always willing to offer some tidbit of wisdom.
A few weeks before he passed away he told me that one thing he would really like to do was to go sailing again. I knew that I had to find a way to make this wish come true.
I called a friend and found out that his brother's boat was still in the water and that they'd be more than happy to make this happen. Before I knew it we had assembled the old crew from Island Heights, including one of the guys that was now a surgeon living in Florida, and headed for a sail.
Unfortunately a key crew member was unable to make it: my brother was stuck at a conference in California and couldn't get back. We arranged for my dad to talk to him on the phone while we were sailing. It certainly wasn't the same but at least they got to talk. We also had two additions to the crew that day. My husband, my dad introduced the two of us, and his oldest grandson who my dad had also taught to sail and was dad's right arm at the Sailing School.
The fact that we were able to assemble everyone on such short notice was nothing shy of a miracle but the day itself was truly touched by God.
It was mid November in Maryland and it was nearly 70 degrees. The sun was shining and there was a light wind blowing. An hour north in Philadelphia that same day and same time, there was sleet and snow!
It took some maneuvering but we finally managed to get dad loaded onto the boat and headed out from the dock. When it was time to set the sails each of the crew members jumped to action as if no time at all had passed since we last crewed together despite the fact that it had been more than 20 years!
It was magical.
Dad was settled in the cockpit and we took turns sitting next to him to keep him from falling over each time we were on starboard tack. We also took turns imitating him and spouting his Chuck-isms. He no longer had the strength or desire to yell at us but he certainly got a kick out of our impersonations.
We sailed for a little more than an hour before dad said that he was tired.
It was time to turn around.
The return trip might have been sunny, but my mood was beginning to cloud over. I stayed by my dad's side as much as possible as I knew that this would be the last time I would sail with him and I didn't want it to end.
In the years since my dad has passed I do not look at, or think about, a sailboat without missing him.
All I have to do is be near the water with wind in my hair and my dad comes to life.
He loved sailing so much that when he retired he joined a yacht club and started the Rock Hall Yacht Club Sailing School that thrives today. Two of his grandchildren as well as a few of the kids from his inaugural class have become sailing instructors.
His legacy lives on. The children who were once students, will one day teach our boys.
We just celebrated the twins' first birthday. I have thought of my dad countless times this past year and am saddened by the fact that they will never know him. They will however, learn to sail and when the wind blows through their hair and the sun kisses their cheeks, they will feel his touch and know his love.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Aah, Aah, Aah!
They are only a year old and I am already sick of saying, "No."
They like to play with the fireplace screen. I can't tell them it's hot when it's not or the word "hot" will mean nothing. When we do have a fire in the fireplace, they don't go anywhere near it. We don't even need to tell them it's hot.
They love to play with the fireplace tools. Both the hubby and I make this, "Aah, aah, aah" sound followed by the word "No." If they are looking at us we shake our heads when we say no. They now shake their heads no...and then do whatever we told them "no" about in the first place.
It's really hard not to giggle when they do that.
They love to be on the sofa and crawl from one end to the other but it's a constant battle to keep them from playing with things on the end tables. Especially the brass lamps. They are heavy and could hurt one of the kids if they fell over and hit them.
"Aah, aah, ash," is a frequent noise in the house!
Aah, aah, aah...no, fireplace tools.
Aah, aah, aah...no, fireplace screen.
Aah, aah, aah...no, end tables.
Aah, aah, aah...no, television.
Etc, etc. etc. And that's only the first floor!
Until recently, they have not been able to climb up onto the sofa by themselves but they are bigger and stronger now and, the smart little buggers, have figured out that if they pile up the pillows can climb onto the sofa without parental assistance. They've gotten really good at going up and down so we don't really need to worry about them falling off and getting hurt...the battle is really about the stuff on the end tables.
Some things just have to be learned the hard way.
The other day, while I was in the kitchen, processing 400 lbs of home-grown pumpkins, (not really 400 but it certainly felt that way) one of the boys was sitting on the sofa and I heard him start to whine. I looked up and discovered that he had pulled the lamp off the table and onto his head.
Yeah, it left a mark.
I put the lamp back on the table, kissed his boo-boo, put him on the floor and said, "That's why we said no." - the mom equivalent of I told you so!
The lesson seems to have stuck. He has not tried to play with the lamp since. Everything else on the table yes, but not the lamp.
I'm beginning to believe that the fireplace tools are a lost cause!
Previously, I have written about the differences in the boys (see Mornings, Midnights and Mayhem). At the time I deemed them the Engineer and the Head of Marketing. Well Mr. Marketing had decided to change careers and become a stuntman.
Seriously, this kid has no fear.
The Engineer, on the other hand, is much more methodical about his endeavors. Just like the fable The Tortoise and the Hare, slow and steady wins the race, he is consistent in all that he does.
Our Stuntman likes to climb up the stairs and when he reaches the top, stays on his stomach, straightens his legs and slides all the way back down to the bottom! The only time he stays at the top is when the water is running in the bathtub.
They LOVE the bath.
I know some people use baths as a means of calming their children...not us.
Remember these kids took swimming lessons at six-months of age.
They love the pool, the tub, water in general. We want them too. We want them capable of falling in the water and not freaking out. We want them to swim and most importantly we want them safe.
Part of being safe is teaching them to understand the word No.
Ugh! Here we are again.
"Aah, aah, aah! No, don't put that in your mouth. Aah, aah, aah! No, don't put your fingers in your brother's nose. Aah, aah, aah! No, don't play with the power cords. Aaaaaaaaaaah! No, don't bite my toes!"
The Engineer has a thing for my big toes.
I truly hope this is not a sign of a budding foot fetish.
I was on the phone with my mother one day, discussing the importance of tempered glass, when all of a sudden I got this searing pain shooting up my leg from my foot. I look down to find The Engineer latched onto my big toe with his newly sprouted teeth.
O! M! G! It hurt like hell!
You can believe he heard the word NO on that one. However, he has bitten my big toes three times now. Once barefoot, another time was through a sock and the last time I had my slipper on...Thank God! Even with the slipper it still hurt. I consider myself lucky as he has not drawn blood.
Hubby was not so lucky.
While sitting on the floor, The Engineer crawled into his lap, snuggled into his shoulder and promptly bit it. The scream brought the bite to an end but he did break the skin. It's hard not to take something like that personally; I did have to remind hubby that it was nothing done out of malice.
They are teething...they bite everything.
No is said A LOT!
I was very relieved that, despite the frequent utterance of the word "No" around here, The Engineer's first word was, "cracker." Funny that the first word was food-related as he is four pounds heavier than his twin!
I know that the word "No" will be a staple of my vocabulary for years to come. I just wish it didn't start so soon.
They like to play with the fireplace screen. I can't tell them it's hot when it's not or the word "hot" will mean nothing. When we do have a fire in the fireplace, they don't go anywhere near it. We don't even need to tell them it's hot.
They love to play with the fireplace tools. Both the hubby and I make this, "Aah, aah, aah" sound followed by the word "No." If they are looking at us we shake our heads when we say no. They now shake their heads no...and then do whatever we told them "no" about in the first place.
It's really hard not to giggle when they do that.
They love to be on the sofa and crawl from one end to the other but it's a constant battle to keep them from playing with things on the end tables. Especially the brass lamps. They are heavy and could hurt one of the kids if they fell over and hit them.
"Aah, aah, ash," is a frequent noise in the house!
Aah, aah, aah...no, fireplace tools.
Aah, aah, aah...no, fireplace screen.
Aah, aah, aah...no, end tables.
Aah, aah, aah...no, television.
Etc, etc. etc. And that's only the first floor!
Until recently, they have not been able to climb up onto the sofa by themselves but they are bigger and stronger now and, the smart little buggers, have figured out that if they pile up the pillows can climb onto the sofa without parental assistance. They've gotten really good at going up and down so we don't really need to worry about them falling off and getting hurt...the battle is really about the stuff on the end tables.
Some things just have to be learned the hard way.
The other day, while I was in the kitchen, processing 400 lbs of home-grown pumpkins, (not really 400 but it certainly felt that way) one of the boys was sitting on the sofa and I heard him start to whine. I looked up and discovered that he had pulled the lamp off the table and onto his head.
Yeah, it left a mark.
I put the lamp back on the table, kissed his boo-boo, put him on the floor and said, "That's why we said no." - the mom equivalent of I told you so!
The lesson seems to have stuck. He has not tried to play with the lamp since. Everything else on the table yes, but not the lamp.
I'm beginning to believe that the fireplace tools are a lost cause!
Previously, I have written about the differences in the boys (see Mornings, Midnights and Mayhem). At the time I deemed them the Engineer and the Head of Marketing. Well Mr. Marketing had decided to change careers and become a stuntman.
Seriously, this kid has no fear.
The Engineer, on the other hand, is much more methodical about his endeavors. Just like the fable The Tortoise and the Hare, slow and steady wins the race, he is consistent in all that he does.
Our Stuntman likes to climb up the stairs and when he reaches the top, stays on his stomach, straightens his legs and slides all the way back down to the bottom! The only time he stays at the top is when the water is running in the bathtub.
They LOVE the bath.
I know some people use baths as a means of calming their children...not us.
Remember these kids took swimming lessons at six-months of age.
They love the pool, the tub, water in general. We want them too. We want them capable of falling in the water and not freaking out. We want them to swim and most importantly we want them safe.
Part of being safe is teaching them to understand the word No.
Ugh! Here we are again.
"Aah, aah, aah! No, don't put that in your mouth. Aah, aah, aah! No, don't put your fingers in your brother's nose. Aah, aah, aah! No, don't play with the power cords. Aaaaaaaaaaah! No, don't bite my toes!"
The Engineer has a thing for my big toes.
I truly hope this is not a sign of a budding foot fetish.
I was on the phone with my mother one day, discussing the importance of tempered glass, when all of a sudden I got this searing pain shooting up my leg from my foot. I look down to find The Engineer latched onto my big toe with his newly sprouted teeth.
O! M! G! It hurt like hell!
You can believe he heard the word NO on that one. However, he has bitten my big toes three times now. Once barefoot, another time was through a sock and the last time I had my slipper on...Thank God! Even with the slipper it still hurt. I consider myself lucky as he has not drawn blood.
Hubby was not so lucky.
While sitting on the floor, The Engineer crawled into his lap, snuggled into his shoulder and promptly bit it. The scream brought the bite to an end but he did break the skin. It's hard not to take something like that personally; I did have to remind hubby that it was nothing done out of malice.
They are teething...they bite everything.
No is said A LOT!
I was very relieved that, despite the frequent utterance of the word "No" around here, The Engineer's first word was, "cracker." Funny that the first word was food-related as he is four pounds heavier than his twin!
I know that the word "No" will be a staple of my vocabulary for years to come. I just wish it didn't start so soon.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Not Just A Mom
When I was younger the only thing I could ever picture myself being was a mom.
Friends and family members would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up and I'm sure I gave the usual responses for girls like a nurse, a teacher, and at one point I even thought I wanted to be a physical therapist. Honestly though, the only thing I ever really saw myself "being" was a mom.
Friends and family members would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up and I'm sure I gave the usual responses for girls like a nurse, a teacher, and at one point I even thought I wanted to be a physical therapist. Honestly though, the only thing I ever really saw myself "being" was a mom.
I had almost given up on this dream. In fact, for many years that's all it felt like: a dream. My marriage dissolved and I really thought that it just wasn't going to happen...ever.
Then along came this wonderful, patient, sweet, loving guy who was not the least bit concerned that I had been married before - more than once - and, although I saw myself as such, did not see me as damaged goods.
Before I knew it my resolve to "never get married again" had melted away and I found myself professing my love and devotion to him until death do we part surrounded by our families on a blustery January morning in 2010.
One friend still calls me a liar to this day, because I got married again.
It's ok...He's worth the teasing.
Since we knew that we both wanted to be parents, we began trying right away.
The odds were against us.
Forty might be the new thirty but my eggs had no idea about the rule change. Women are not supposed to be having babies in their forties.
Nearly a year of disappointment went by before we decided that it was time to look into medical intervention.
This is where it gets really interesting...
We opted to do IVF. IVF stands for In Vitro Fertilization which is a process where an egg is fertilized outside the body. The clinic we went to had a "Shared Risk" program that gives you your money back if you don't have a baby after six tries. What an incredible opportunity!
There was a catch.
We had to use donor eggs to qualify for the program because I am old...reproductively speaking of course.
Cool!!!
Most women would be a little bummed about this but let me tell you that I was not in the least upset about stopping my genetic line.
At the time, I had just buried my father, the latest in a long line of male cancer victims in my family, (someone with my genetic history would have been excluded from the donor program had I been younger) and if we used my eggs there was a five percent chance of success with an 80%+ chance of birth defect!
Bring on the donor eggs baby!
We signed up, signed our lives away financially and got busy reading bios of egg donors.
Not only did we get to see baby pictures of the donors but we even got to see teenager and adult pics as well. The donors fill out medical history forms and write an essay about why they are making the donation. It was a very cool experience...the first time.
I'll cut to the chase here. The twins were the result of our fourth round of IVF.
IVF is not just swirling the eggs and sperm around in a test tube it is a huge science that involves timing, injections, restrictions on what I could and couldn't eat and even whether or not I could wear deodorant the day of the transfer!
Cycles one and three resulted in nothing. Try number two started out as a pregnancy and ended in a miscarriage.
A devastating experience I would not even wish on my greatest enemy.
I'd waited my entire life to be a mom and there I was six weeks into my first pregnancy and it was over. To make it even worse I bled so badly that I required surgery and nearly needed a transfusion.
People don't talk about miscarriage.
To this day I will always wonder who that baby would have become. Despite the love for my two beautiful boys, I will always mourn the loss. It was devastating in ways that I could never describe. If you've been through it you know how horrifying it is. If not, you'll never fully comprehend the immeasurable sadness that accompanies the loss.
It literally took weeks for me to bounce back emotionally.
Once I was ready we began to look at bios again and prep for round number three. Despite all the stars aligning and everything being perfect, it didn't work.
To make matters worse, it seemed that everywhere I went there was an entire army of pregnant women. One of my friends, who hadn't wanted children, called to say that she was pregnant.
Well...now...how unfair could life possibly get!
Don't get me wrong here, I was and am insanely happy for her, but I was jealous as hell!
Heading into round four everything went wrong! There was one donor but three recipients for the eggs. One of the recipients didn't like the birth control pills that she was supposed to be taking so she didn't take them and postponed all of us for a month.
I swear to you that if that woman had been standing in front of me at the time, I would have punched her in the head. I was livid!
Then the donor got pregnant! Seriously?! WTF!! Could things get any worse?
Back to the bio database we go. Lo and behold there was a donor that already had two recipients signed up. We were the third and all systems were go. Things moved so fast from that point on that it is nearly a blur - or it could be that the children have destroyed that much of my memory - I can't be sure. Before I knew it we had eggs being fertilized and a transfer date was set.
I distinctly remember the doctor saying to me, "Since you've had such a difficult time, I think we should transfer two embryos and see if one sticks." Ha! We agreed, signed the necessary paperwork and I assumed the position on the table.
They tell you not to do home pregnancy tests but I don't know anyone that can resist that temptation...I still have all of mine. Needless to say, that when I went in for the blood pregnancy test I was not surprised that it came back positive but I was surprised at the number.
Whether you pee on a stick or you have a pregnancy test by blood draw the hormone that they look for is HCG (Human Chorionic Gandotropin - which is made up of cells that form the placenta). The HCG hormone is measured in milli-international units per milliliter or mlU/ml. In a blood test anything above 25mlU/ml is considered positive for pregnancy.
My nurse called me the afternoon of my blood test to say that it was positive and that my number was over 3000!!!! My response was, "Oh my God, they both took!"
Three days later I went back for my second and this time my number was over 10K. My nurse giggled as she suggested that maybe one of them split and I was carrying twins. Yeah, um...not funny!
Everything was confirmed with an ultrasound and we could see two little heartbeats at 14 days after conception.
Because of the previous miscarriage, we were cautiously optimistic and told no one what we were doing! Should this pregnancy fail too, I didn't want to have to tell everyone like I did the other time. The thought alone was painful.
Six weeks in I started to bleed.
The trip to the local emergency room is 8 minutes but it felt like an eternity!
I told the intake counselor what was going on, they triaged me immediately and put me in an exam room. The doctor came in so quickly I wasn't even finished changing into my gown!
After I was examined he declared that all was fine but was sending me down to ultrasound just to double check. The ultrasound showed no abnormalities and we were sent home.
I remember thinking that I wanted my mom. She had no idea that we had even begun another round of IVF. I wasn't about to call her from the ER and tell her but I knew that the conversation was going to happen very soon.
Six and a half weeks later I started bleeding again.
This time they didn't even triage me. They just brought me right to an exam room and the doctor was waiting for me. After a full exam and ultrasound I was once again declared fine and sent home to rest.
The good news was that that was the end of the ER visits.
The IVF process doesn't end with the transfer of the embyo(s). I endured shots of Progesterone for three months and shots of Estrogen for two. Prior to the transfer there were other shots. The easy ones were the belly shots which use insulin needles, are very, very tiny and barely pinch. The others hurt like hell. The progesterone comes suspended in an oil. The progesterone gets absorbed right away but it takes longer for the oil to get absorbed in the skin. In the meantime, I had oil lumps on my butt. Every night before the shot, I would have to find a location without a lump that my hubby could stick the needle.
Pretty much nothing made this any easier or less painful. It is what it is and if IVF was the only option for having a child then this was what I had to endure. Besides it will be a great guilt trip when the kids are older.
In all, pregnancy sucked.
The only thing good about pregnancy was the end result: our boys.
Would I do it again? Hell yes!
We have just celebrated the boys' first birthday. The house was packed with friends and family and the cake smash was epic. I look back the pictures from this past year and can't believe that these two beautiful baby boys are mine.
I have dreamt my entire life what it would like to be a mommy. My dream has come true. I've been a mommy for a year now and reality doesn't disappoint.
Yes it's tough sometimes, especially the teething. I mean seriously, teething has been a nightmare but I'm sure it's no picnic for the boys either.
That they are not my DNA doesn't matter. I carried them. I felt them wiggle in my belly. They are mine. I am not just a mom, I am their mommy.
One friend still calls me a liar to this day, because I got married again.
It's ok...He's worth the teasing.
Since we knew that we both wanted to be parents, we began trying right away.
The odds were against us.
Forty might be the new thirty but my eggs had no idea about the rule change. Women are not supposed to be having babies in their forties.
Nearly a year of disappointment went by before we decided that it was time to look into medical intervention.
This is where it gets really interesting...
We opted to do IVF. IVF stands for In Vitro Fertilization which is a process where an egg is fertilized outside the body. The clinic we went to had a "Shared Risk" program that gives you your money back if you don't have a baby after six tries. What an incredible opportunity!
There was a catch.
We had to use donor eggs to qualify for the program because I am old...reproductively speaking of course.
Cool!!!
Most women would be a little bummed about this but let me tell you that I was not in the least upset about stopping my genetic line.
At the time, I had just buried my father, the latest in a long line of male cancer victims in my family, (someone with my genetic history would have been excluded from the donor program had I been younger) and if we used my eggs there was a five percent chance of success with an 80%+ chance of birth defect!
Bring on the donor eggs baby!
We signed up, signed our lives away financially and got busy reading bios of egg donors.
Not only did we get to see baby pictures of the donors but we even got to see teenager and adult pics as well. The donors fill out medical history forms and write an essay about why they are making the donation. It was a very cool experience...the first time.
I'll cut to the chase here. The twins were the result of our fourth round of IVF.
IVF is not just swirling the eggs and sperm around in a test tube it is a huge science that involves timing, injections, restrictions on what I could and couldn't eat and even whether or not I could wear deodorant the day of the transfer!
Cycles one and three resulted in nothing. Try number two started out as a pregnancy and ended in a miscarriage.
A devastating experience I would not even wish on my greatest enemy.
I'd waited my entire life to be a mom and there I was six weeks into my first pregnancy and it was over. To make it even worse I bled so badly that I required surgery and nearly needed a transfusion.
People don't talk about miscarriage.
To this day I will always wonder who that baby would have become. Despite the love for my two beautiful boys, I will always mourn the loss. It was devastating in ways that I could never describe. If you've been through it you know how horrifying it is. If not, you'll never fully comprehend the immeasurable sadness that accompanies the loss.
It literally took weeks for me to bounce back emotionally.
Once I was ready we began to look at bios again and prep for round number three. Despite all the stars aligning and everything being perfect, it didn't work.
To make matters worse, it seemed that everywhere I went there was an entire army of pregnant women. One of my friends, who hadn't wanted children, called to say that she was pregnant.
Well...now...how unfair could life possibly get!
Don't get me wrong here, I was and am insanely happy for her, but I was jealous as hell!
Heading into round four everything went wrong! There was one donor but three recipients for the eggs. One of the recipients didn't like the birth control pills that she was supposed to be taking so she didn't take them and postponed all of us for a month.
I swear to you that if that woman had been standing in front of me at the time, I would have punched her in the head. I was livid!
Then the donor got pregnant! Seriously?! WTF!! Could things get any worse?
Back to the bio database we go. Lo and behold there was a donor that already had two recipients signed up. We were the third and all systems were go. Things moved so fast from that point on that it is nearly a blur - or it could be that the children have destroyed that much of my memory - I can't be sure. Before I knew it we had eggs being fertilized and a transfer date was set.
I distinctly remember the doctor saying to me, "Since you've had such a difficult time, I think we should transfer two embryos and see if one sticks." Ha! We agreed, signed the necessary paperwork and I assumed the position on the table.
They tell you not to do home pregnancy tests but I don't know anyone that can resist that temptation...I still have all of mine. Needless to say, that when I went in for the blood pregnancy test I was not surprised that it came back positive but I was surprised at the number.
Whether you pee on a stick or you have a pregnancy test by blood draw the hormone that they look for is HCG (Human Chorionic Gandotropin - which is made up of cells that form the placenta). The HCG hormone is measured in milli-international units per milliliter or mlU/ml. In a blood test anything above 25mlU/ml is considered positive for pregnancy.
My nurse called me the afternoon of my blood test to say that it was positive and that my number was over 3000!!!! My response was, "Oh my God, they both took!"
Three days later I went back for my second and this time my number was over 10K. My nurse giggled as she suggested that maybe one of them split and I was carrying twins. Yeah, um...not funny!
Everything was confirmed with an ultrasound and we could see two little heartbeats at 14 days after conception.
Because of the previous miscarriage, we were cautiously optimistic and told no one what we were doing! Should this pregnancy fail too, I didn't want to have to tell everyone like I did the other time. The thought alone was painful.
Six weeks in I started to bleed.
The trip to the local emergency room is 8 minutes but it felt like an eternity!
I told the intake counselor what was going on, they triaged me immediately and put me in an exam room. The doctor came in so quickly I wasn't even finished changing into my gown!
After I was examined he declared that all was fine but was sending me down to ultrasound just to double check. The ultrasound showed no abnormalities and we were sent home.
I remember thinking that I wanted my mom. She had no idea that we had even begun another round of IVF. I wasn't about to call her from the ER and tell her but I knew that the conversation was going to happen very soon.
Six and a half weeks later I started bleeding again.
This time they didn't even triage me. They just brought me right to an exam room and the doctor was waiting for me. After a full exam and ultrasound I was once again declared fine and sent home to rest.
The good news was that that was the end of the ER visits.
The IVF process doesn't end with the transfer of the embyo(s). I endured shots of Progesterone for three months and shots of Estrogen for two. Prior to the transfer there were other shots. The easy ones were the belly shots which use insulin needles, are very, very tiny and barely pinch. The others hurt like hell. The progesterone comes suspended in an oil. The progesterone gets absorbed right away but it takes longer for the oil to get absorbed in the skin. In the meantime, I had oil lumps on my butt. Every night before the shot, I would have to find a location without a lump that my hubby could stick the needle.
Pretty much nothing made this any easier or less painful. It is what it is and if IVF was the only option for having a child then this was what I had to endure. Besides it will be a great guilt trip when the kids are older.
In all, pregnancy sucked.
The only thing good about pregnancy was the end result: our boys.
Would I do it again? Hell yes!
We have just celebrated the boys' first birthday. The house was packed with friends and family and the cake smash was epic. I look back the pictures from this past year and can't believe that these two beautiful baby boys are mine.
I have dreamt my entire life what it would like to be a mommy. My dream has come true. I've been a mommy for a year now and reality doesn't disappoint.
Yes it's tough sometimes, especially the teething. I mean seriously, teething has been a nightmare but I'm sure it's no picnic for the boys either.
That they are not my DNA doesn't matter. I carried them. I felt them wiggle in my belly. They are mine. I am not just a mom, I am their mommy.
Monday, November 4, 2013
You Call It Teething, I Call It Hell!
When I was pregnant women reveled in telling me their horror stories about pregnancy and birth. I was extremely sick when I was pregnant and while it was nice to hear that other women didn't enjoy the experience either I would have preferred to have talked about anything other than being pregnant like, I don't know...like...the migratory pattern of the swallow or anything else that would have taken my mind off of my misery.
After the boys were born, I was given a reprieve from the "my pregnancy was worse than yours" stories but was then bombarded with annoying "just wait until" stories that primarily revolved around poop: color, texture and smell. And, while I appreciate a good laugh, the stories did little to offer any advice or assistance.
We have received some really good advice such as using mini frozen pancakes as teethers. They numb their gums and give them a snack at the same time.
Some of the bad advice has been to put the coffee table in the basement and basically bubble wrap the entire house, if not the children. My mother is strangely obsessed with tempered glass. Every time the boys press their faces to the windows, which they love to do, she says, "I hope that glass is tempered." I get the impression that even if it was bullet-proof glass she would say the same thing.
We take necessary precautions and have removed thing that can kill them, inserted outlet covers, bought a new (to us) entertainment center that closes so they won't be inclined to play with the cable box and installed gates at the top and bottom of the stairs.
There will be no bubble wrapping of the house.
It's amazing how many lessons we have learned in the first year of their lives.
First and foremost on the list is that the biggest oxymoron in the history of mankind is term "childproof."
"Child-resistant" would be more accurate. And even then, it should be prefaced with the word hopefully.
We try but seriously, we can't be with the kids 24/7 and don't want to be either. In fact, you can tell the kids whose parents hover around them. They are whiny, demanding and incapable of entertaining themselves.
The boys are pretty good at entertaining themselves for a couple of hours each day. They do fight over toys and access to them but for the most part, once redirected, do a great job.
There are days, and nights, that are endless hours of hell that can be attributed to one thing and one thing only...Teething!
This began at four months when one of the boys teethed non-stop for an entire day.
Since then we've had days and weeks of reprieve but lately both of the boys have been teething incessantly. Most of the time we can settle them down with a coating of Orajel (on their gums) and when needed baby Tylenol or baby Motrin. Most of the time...
The past week has been horrible!
They have been teething worse than ever and all I can hope is that they will cut a whole mouthful and get this over with!
The drool, runny noses and crying aside, the worst of it is the whining!
I HATE WHINING!
I really do. I despised it before having children. I despise it in other children and I despise it in my own children. When they whine, I usually say something like, "Nobody wants to hear that." I thought I was making that statement up but according to my Aunts, my grandmother was known for saying this as well. Evidently, I'd heard it years ago and filed it away for future use.
The boys' used to sleep through the night. Now they are awake multiple times. One has night terrors and is teething, the other is just teething. Either way, I'm pretty sure I got more sleep when they were two months old than I do now.
If you've known me for any period of time, you know that I am a high-energy person who is capable of operating very well on very few hours of sleep. However, I don't really do well in the middle of the night when my REM sleep is interrupted by a screaming child...or two...in need of another coating of Orajel or some pain medication.
Most of the time I am very patient with the kids but in the middle of the night, when woken from a dead sleep, I am neither patient nor thinking rationally. I try to get up and get to them as quickly as possible but there are times that I pretend to be sleeping hoping my hubby will get to them first.
Why I do this, I don't know. It rarely ever works and even if he does get up, he can't get them to settle like I can and I end up getting up anyway.
We have all of the over-the-counter teething meds, some of the newest and greatest teething toys but what works best? Frozen sweet potato fries and frozen pancakes if they are crying but if just in need of something to chew on they love their spoons. They have two types of spoons. One is all plastic and the other is metal with the rubber coated bowl. Those are actually their favorites which is cause for more lecturing from my well-intentioned family and friends.
I understand their concern but when they are hurting and nothing else works, they get the metal spoons...end of discussion.
I'm sure that something will come along soon enough that I will deem worse than this but the teething experience is terrible and the doctor assures me that this can be a two year long process...Oh goody!
In the big scheme of things two years is really a drop in a pond and crying, colic, poopie diapers, boo-boos, etc. are all things that can be fairly easily overcome. But, it is pretty evident to me that Dante was not a parent. Otherwise he would have created a level of hell filled with teething infants preventing individuals from sleeping by whining and screaming at all hours of the day and night as penance for evils committed during their lifetimes.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Dark Grilled Cheese
If you ask any of my friends and my hubby, they will tell you that I am a pretty good cook and I make a mean cake. So why is it that three times this month I have managed to burn my soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?
The grilled cheese, I must confess, is my culinary Achilles heel. I'm just not patient enough to wait for it to brown up properly and tend to have the heat turned up too far. Thankfully, my hubby says he likes them "dark." Honestly, I think he's just taking pity on me. Either way, I don't care, he eats them and I don't have to throw them out and start over!
The soup...well, I just forget!
I put it on a back burner with the heat turned down and walk away to take care of the boys lunch. Between 1-2 HOURS later I will be at the sink making the boys their afternoon bottles and I will hear the distinct bubbling sound that only boiled down soup can make and then rush to take it off the burner. Like that last half-second is miraculously going to save it right? Sort of like leaving the lights on in your car at the mall and running the last 10 feet through the parking lot to shut them off and magically saving the battery. Anyway, I digress....
Burning things is not a norm for me. I like to be in the kitchen. My center island is a commercial prep table because I spend that much time in the kitchen (it was thousands cheaper than an actual island) and I am a good cook. I have traded recipes with professional chefs!
It's the kids!
I get so distracted with the boys that I completely forget what I am doing.
Imagine my horror! I have been told by multiple professional chefs that I am an "excellent cook" and am now reduced to burning canned soup?!
I used to make gourmet meals like shitake mushroom risotto and chicken marsala. My friends used to call me for cooking advice...now I burn soup.
Now that it's cooling off, we're in comfort food season. On a good night, I'll get the chicken in the oven and rice in the cooker in time to put something on the table that resembles a balanced meal.
Bad nights we're eating "dark" grilled cheese sandwiches and burnt soup.
The grilled cheese, I must confess, is my culinary Achilles heel. I'm just not patient enough to wait for it to brown up properly and tend to have the heat turned up too far. Thankfully, my hubby says he likes them "dark." Honestly, I think he's just taking pity on me. Either way, I don't care, he eats them and I don't have to throw them out and start over!
The soup...well, I just forget!
I put it on a back burner with the heat turned down and walk away to take care of the boys lunch. Between 1-2 HOURS later I will be at the sink making the boys their afternoon bottles and I will hear the distinct bubbling sound that only boiled down soup can make and then rush to take it off the burner. Like that last half-second is miraculously going to save it right? Sort of like leaving the lights on in your car at the mall and running the last 10 feet through the parking lot to shut them off and magically saving the battery. Anyway, I digress....
Burning things is not a norm for me. I like to be in the kitchen. My center island is a commercial prep table because I spend that much time in the kitchen (it was thousands cheaper than an actual island) and I am a good cook. I have traded recipes with professional chefs!
It's the kids!
I get so distracted with the boys that I completely forget what I am doing.
Imagine my horror! I have been told by multiple professional chefs that I am an "excellent cook" and am now reduced to burning canned soup?!
I used to make gourmet meals like shitake mushroom risotto and chicken marsala. My friends used to call me for cooking advice...now I burn soup.
Now that it's cooling off, we're in comfort food season. On a good night, I'll get the chicken in the oven and rice in the cooker in time to put something on the table that resembles a balanced meal.
Bad nights we're eating "dark" grilled cheese sandwiches and burnt soup.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Rolling with the Punches vs. Panic
About a month ago three of my BFFs flew in from across the country and Canada to spend the weekend, play with the babies and get in some much needed "girl time." They had coordinated their flights to land within a half-hour of each other which made picking them up at the airport insanely easy.
We left the airport and headed to out for Sushi.
I haven't had Sushi since the weekend we closed on this house two years ago November. When I was pregnant nothing looked appetizing except turkey subs and Sushi was an especially nauseating thought never mind the fact that I was not allowed to have it. I have been craving Sushi for months now, so I made sure that everyone was on board with it and found a highly recommended place in Baltimore.
It did not disappoint.
Two of us LOVE Sushi, one likes it and the other, at the end of the meal, declared it good...except for the fish. Ha! It's a good thing that I wasn't drinking anything when that line was uttered or I would have had iced tea shoot out my nose!
Some of the pieces were extremely large. I don't cut my sushi I just dive in and stuff the roll into my mouth. One of the girls figured out how to pull the seaweed apart so that she could divide it in half. One of them tried to copy that technique and used her chopsticks...like a knife and fork...as if she were cutting filet mignon. I tried to not make fun of her but after watching her do this, seemingly endlessly with no visible result, I and the other two girls just burst out laughing. She might as well have been trying to cut down a tree with a herring. (note the Monty Python and the Holy Grail reference).
We laughed hysterically, jumped from topic to topic and left with our bellies full but our wallets not ridiculously light. I even ordered some sushi rolls to take home to hubby who was being daddy extraordinaire with the boys for the afternoon and evening.
The next day hit the Amish Market and got pretzel wrap sandwiches which are AMAZING and just for good measure picked up some pretzel wrapped cheddar wurst and some pretzel cinnamon sticks. As if that wasn't enough we cleaned out the day old table at the bakery and grabbed some pumpkin bars just in case anyone got hungry!
On the way back from the market we went around two cars that were stopped on a back road and three young ladies standing on the side of the road looking beyond confused. As I backed up to their cars to check on them I noticed that one of their cars had a flat tire.
I know my way around a car pretty well so we parked our car and gave the girls a hand. None of them had any idea how to change and flat and the car with the flat didn't even have a jack in it! The rim with the flat tire on it only had three lug nuts holding the wheel in place. There are supposed to be four. She said her mechanic said she didn't need the fourth. Um...yeah...I'm pretty sure the fourth one isn't just there for looks.
I hate mechanics like that.
How would he feel if someone told his daughter some crap like that. She was driving up and down the turnpike on that thing!
While removing the lug nuts, one of them broke in half. Apparently, the know-it-all mechanic put them on too tight and in the process of trying to loosen it, it just snapped off.
And then there were two.
She asked if I thought she could make the 50+ mile trip to Baltimore for the weekend. I'm not 100% sure but I think we all shouted, "NO!"
While all of this was going on my twins were just hanging out in their infant seats on the embankment. They love to be outside and watching all the action was plenty to keep them entertained.
The girls that we helped were really excited to have learned how to change a flat tire and I explained that as single girls traveling alone there are certain things that they should know...that is one of them.
I love these weekends with the girls. We stay up entirely too late, eat horrible foods and laugh...a lot!
The weekend was a weird comedy of errors that had us running in odd directions dealing with things that most people never have to deal with much less all in one weekend. But, it's par for the course when we get together and we always weather whatever comes.
Most of my friends, if not all, can pretty much roll with the punches. We seem to be able to adjust to whatever comes without much fanfare. I can't say as much for my hubby.
My hubby is a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, understanding, good hearted, fun loving guy...until the babies are crying or he is behind the wheel of a car. Those are truly his major weaknesses. Well, that and he is a horrible multi-tasker. Give him a task and he will knock it out of the park. Try to have a conversation with him while he is doing it and he will completely stress out. Throw a crying baby into the mix and...well...all bets are off!
When the girls were planning their trip they not only coordinated their arrivals but they coordinated their departures too. This made pick up and drop off very easy! The one difference was that one of the girls has a friend who lives in Virginia and she had made arrangements to have that friend pick her up at the airport at the same time I was dropping everyone off.
Great idea until the friend was almost an hour late!
For the most part the kids are pretty easy. Their fussiness is usually short-lived and they giggle at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, my hubby is not all that easy to distract and once the kids start crying his ability to think goes out the window.
I understand that crying or fussy babies can get on your nerves; they get on mine too. What I don’t understand is the panicked response to it.
My mother assures me that this is just a normal male reaction to crying babies.
Unfortunately, I don't think this is a stage that my hubby is going to grow out of!
We left the airport and headed to out for Sushi.
I haven't had Sushi since the weekend we closed on this house two years ago November. When I was pregnant nothing looked appetizing except turkey subs and Sushi was an especially nauseating thought never mind the fact that I was not allowed to have it. I have been craving Sushi for months now, so I made sure that everyone was on board with it and found a highly recommended place in Baltimore.
It did not disappoint.
Two of us LOVE Sushi, one likes it and the other, at the end of the meal, declared it good...except for the fish. Ha! It's a good thing that I wasn't drinking anything when that line was uttered or I would have had iced tea shoot out my nose!
Some of the pieces were extremely large. I don't cut my sushi I just dive in and stuff the roll into my mouth. One of the girls figured out how to pull the seaweed apart so that she could divide it in half. One of them tried to copy that technique and used her chopsticks...like a knife and fork...as if she were cutting filet mignon. I tried to not make fun of her but after watching her do this, seemingly endlessly with no visible result, I and the other two girls just burst out laughing. She might as well have been trying to cut down a tree with a herring. (note the Monty Python and the Holy Grail reference).
We laughed hysterically, jumped from topic to topic and left with our bellies full but our wallets not ridiculously light. I even ordered some sushi rolls to take home to hubby who was being daddy extraordinaire with the boys for the afternoon and evening.
The next day hit the Amish Market and got pretzel wrap sandwiches which are AMAZING and just for good measure picked up some pretzel wrapped cheddar wurst and some pretzel cinnamon sticks. As if that wasn't enough we cleaned out the day old table at the bakery and grabbed some pumpkin bars just in case anyone got hungry!
On the way back from the market we went around two cars that were stopped on a back road and three young ladies standing on the side of the road looking beyond confused. As I backed up to their cars to check on them I noticed that one of their cars had a flat tire.
I know my way around a car pretty well so we parked our car and gave the girls a hand. None of them had any idea how to change and flat and the car with the flat didn't even have a jack in it! The rim with the flat tire on it only had three lug nuts holding the wheel in place. There are supposed to be four. She said her mechanic said she didn't need the fourth. Um...yeah...I'm pretty sure the fourth one isn't just there for looks.
I hate mechanics like that.
How would he feel if someone told his daughter some crap like that. She was driving up and down the turnpike on that thing!
While removing the lug nuts, one of them broke in half. Apparently, the know-it-all mechanic put them on too tight and in the process of trying to loosen it, it just snapped off.
And then there were two.
She asked if I thought she could make the 50+ mile trip to Baltimore for the weekend. I'm not 100% sure but I think we all shouted, "NO!"
While all of this was going on my twins were just hanging out in their infant seats on the embankment. They love to be outside and watching all the action was plenty to keep them entertained.
The girls that we helped were really excited to have learned how to change a flat tire and I explained that as single girls traveling alone there are certain things that they should know...that is one of them.
I love these weekends with the girls. We stay up entirely too late, eat horrible foods and laugh...a lot!
The weekend was a weird comedy of errors that had us running in odd directions dealing with things that most people never have to deal with much less all in one weekend. But, it's par for the course when we get together and we always weather whatever comes.
Most of my friends, if not all, can pretty much roll with the punches. We seem to be able to adjust to whatever comes without much fanfare. I can't say as much for my hubby.
My hubby is a wonderful, loving, patient, kind, understanding, good hearted, fun loving guy...until the babies are crying or he is behind the wheel of a car. Those are truly his major weaknesses. Well, that and he is a horrible multi-tasker. Give him a task and he will knock it out of the park. Try to have a conversation with him while he is doing it and he will completely stress out. Throw a crying baby into the mix and...well...all bets are off!
When the girls were planning their trip they not only coordinated their arrivals but they coordinated their departures too. This made pick up and drop off very easy! The one difference was that one of the girls has a friend who lives in Virginia and she had made arrangements to have that friend pick her up at the airport at the same time I was dropping everyone off.
Great idea until the friend was almost an hour late!
I was not really concerned
because this gave me some really good one-on-one time with her that I would not
have had otherwise.
Hubby was home with the
kids who were evidently fussy and my cell phone started blowing up! So much for
“quality time” with a friend that I get to see once a year!
Rather than being able to
enjoy our extra time together, I was peppered with phone calls from a stressed out hubby
who had evidently lost the ability to think on his own and despite my telling
him otherwise, and our repeated conversations about the drop off schedule, thought I was
going to drop them at the curb and head right back home.
I sent text messages to
both of my mother’s helpers begging assistance and discovered that neither was
home and therefore unavailable!
I contacted a friend and
told her what was going on and she said she’d go right over. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!
I understand that crying or fussy babies can get on your nerves; they get on mine too. What I don’t understand is the panicked response to it.
My mother assures me that this is just a normal male reaction to crying babies.
Unfortunately, I don't think this is a stage that my hubby is going to grow out of!
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Climb to the Top
As I have mentioned in previous posts, we have a fireplace with a raised hearth. Many people, mostly well meaning family members, have questioned our decision to not put padding around the edge of the hearth. We refuse the bubble wrap the house! They all fear that the boys will crash into it and hurt themselves. This may in fact be a concern but it's hasn't been...yet.
For weeks now, we have been keeping the boys from climbing up onto the hearth for fear that they will fall off it. We have hardwood floors, installed by yours truly and the hubby, and the fall is a solid 9.5". (Yes, as a matter of fact, I did measure it.)
The battle to keep them off the hearth was unending. They were bound and determined to climb up on the damn thing. When they weren't trying to climb up they were pulling on the screen and the fireplace tools. The screen is not really a big deal because it is very light and there are not really any sharp edges. The tools are another story completely. Not only are they heavy but this is a wood-burning fireplace and we use the tools...they are dirty!
In an effort to win at least one battle, hubby put the tools behind the screen inside the fireplace.
Nice idea but it missed the mark.
Now the kids saw the screen as a challenge. Every-freakin'-day was a constant battle to keep them from trying to pull the screen down to get to the tools. It was a nightmare.
As their crawling improved, so did their strength.
Not only could they stand at the hearth and hit the screen, they could climb onto the hearth and pull on it. Of course the inevitable happened. One twin pulled and the screen came down on top of the other.
Oh joy!
The one that managed to pull down the screen was very excited that his access was no longer blocked and he was not at all deterred by the fact that his brother was crying. I now had one twin on the hearth happily enjoying unencumbered access to filthy fireplace tools and another on the floor screaming! He was not hurt but it scared the crap out of him.
I moved them off and away from the hearth and put the screen back but I knew that this was not over.
A couple of days later while talking to my hubby I had to pull the kids off the hearth about 10 times in as many minutes and we decided that it was time to teach them how to safely get down off the hearth. We practiced the "feet first dismount" a couple of times and the first time we let them crawl up there without resistance from us David let out a triumphant growl while clenching his fists and wiggling his feet. We laughed.
Battle lost.
The next day David once again, won the battle of the kitchen island shelf. This one is 13" off the floor ( yes I got the ruler out again) and a much tougher climb. Up he went and again I got the growl.
Another battle lost.
I keep a pile of spare baby blankets on the love seat in the playroom. It's convenient and I don't really have anywhere else to store them. Anyway...last weekend the kids were in the playroom while I was getting breakfast ready when I heard my hubby shout, "Oh my God!" I looked up and there was David ON the love seat...growling!
The dynamic duo had figured out that if they pulled the blankets off the sofa and climbed up onto the pile they could get up on the cushions.
Oh goodie!
So exciting because I certainly didn't have much to worry about before.
I am not delusional; I never actually expected to win any of these battles but I didn't expect to lose them so soon.
For weeks now, we have been keeping the boys from climbing up onto the hearth for fear that they will fall off it. We have hardwood floors, installed by yours truly and the hubby, and the fall is a solid 9.5". (Yes, as a matter of fact, I did measure it.)
The battle to keep them off the hearth was unending. They were bound and determined to climb up on the damn thing. When they weren't trying to climb up they were pulling on the screen and the fireplace tools. The screen is not really a big deal because it is very light and there are not really any sharp edges. The tools are another story completely. Not only are they heavy but this is a wood-burning fireplace and we use the tools...they are dirty!
In an effort to win at least one battle, hubby put the tools behind the screen inside the fireplace.
Nice idea but it missed the mark.
Now the kids saw the screen as a challenge. Every-freakin'-day was a constant battle to keep them from trying to pull the screen down to get to the tools. It was a nightmare.
As their crawling improved, so did their strength.
Not only could they stand at the hearth and hit the screen, they could climb onto the hearth and pull on it. Of course the inevitable happened. One twin pulled and the screen came down on top of the other.
Oh joy!
The one that managed to pull down the screen was very excited that his access was no longer blocked and he was not at all deterred by the fact that his brother was crying. I now had one twin on the hearth happily enjoying unencumbered access to filthy fireplace tools and another on the floor screaming! He was not hurt but it scared the crap out of him.
I moved them off and away from the hearth and put the screen back but I knew that this was not over.
A couple of days later while talking to my hubby I had to pull the kids off the hearth about 10 times in as many minutes and we decided that it was time to teach them how to safely get down off the hearth. We practiced the "feet first dismount" a couple of times and the first time we let them crawl up there without resistance from us David let out a triumphant growl while clenching his fists and wiggling his feet. We laughed.
Battle lost.
The next day David once again, won the battle of the kitchen island shelf. This one is 13" off the floor ( yes I got the ruler out again) and a much tougher climb. Up he went and again I got the growl.
Another battle lost.
I keep a pile of spare baby blankets on the love seat in the playroom. It's convenient and I don't really have anywhere else to store them. Anyway...last weekend the kids were in the playroom while I was getting breakfast ready when I heard my hubby shout, "Oh my God!" I looked up and there was David ON the love seat...growling!
The dynamic duo had figured out that if they pulled the blankets off the sofa and climbed up onto the pile they could get up on the cushions.
Oh goodie!
So exciting because I certainly didn't have much to worry about before.
I am not delusional; I never actually expected to win any of these battles but I didn't expect to lose them so soon.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Collision in the Dark
One thing that my hubby does on a regular basis is to trip over things. He's gotten better lately. He actually went two weeks without a seriously calamitous collision with an obstacle on the floor.
Unfortunately, when he did collide with something it was immovable and he re-injured the toe he broke when tripping another time.
Each time he does this the thud is followed by a loud "OOMPH!" and sometimes a swear or two. Which is usually answered with me laughing.
I don't know what it is wrong with me but the sound of him tripping or colliding with something, especially in the dark can throw me into a fit of giggles that leaves me gasping for air and groping for my inhaler!
In his defense, there are a great number of obstacles that now exist in the house that never used to be there before. However, he is not Helen Keller...he can see where he is going. He just doesn't look down when he is moving through a room. This may be good social etiquette but is dangerous in a house with ankle biters.
This is not a condition that started with the arrival of the boys either. This has been going on for quite some time. The most memorable of all events was when I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant. We had brushed our teeth, taken our vitamins and headed to bed when I complained that I was hot.
Being the wonderful hubby that he is, he valiantly hopped out of bed and headed downstairs to the dining room where the thermostat is located adjust the AC.
We have a center-hall colonial style house with a foyer at the bottom of the stairs. To the left is the dining room. Between the foyer and the dining room is a small alcove. When I finished the vacuuming earlier that day, instead of putting it away I tucked the vacuum in the alcove because I had more to do but was tired and needed to rest. I wasn't on full bed rest for my pregnancy but wasn't allowed to do much. Vacuuming was pushing it!
To get to the thermostat hubby was going to go from the bottom of the stairs, across the foyer and through the alcove.
It was nighttime, it was dark and we live alone. There was no one else in the house so rather than putting his sweats on and turning on a light, he just ran downstairs in the dark. Naked.
OMG THE VACUUM CLEANER! Before I could yell down to him I heard him make contact with the Dyson.
OOMPH!!! F*&@!!!
Fortunately, he did not hurt the Dyson.
Unfortunately, when he did collide with something it was immovable and he re-injured the toe he broke when tripping another time.
Each time he does this the thud is followed by a loud "OOMPH!" and sometimes a swear or two. Which is usually answered with me laughing.
I don't know what it is wrong with me but the sound of him tripping or colliding with something, especially in the dark can throw me into a fit of giggles that leaves me gasping for air and groping for my inhaler!
In his defense, there are a great number of obstacles that now exist in the house that never used to be there before. However, he is not Helen Keller...he can see where he is going. He just doesn't look down when he is moving through a room. This may be good social etiquette but is dangerous in a house with ankle biters.
This is not a condition that started with the arrival of the boys either. This has been going on for quite some time. The most memorable of all events was when I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant. We had brushed our teeth, taken our vitamins and headed to bed when I complained that I was hot.
Being the wonderful hubby that he is, he valiantly hopped out of bed and headed downstairs to the dining room where the thermostat is located adjust the AC.
We have a center-hall colonial style house with a foyer at the bottom of the stairs. To the left is the dining room. Between the foyer and the dining room is a small alcove. When I finished the vacuuming earlier that day, instead of putting it away I tucked the vacuum in the alcove because I had more to do but was tired and needed to rest. I wasn't on full bed rest for my pregnancy but wasn't allowed to do much. Vacuuming was pushing it!
To get to the thermostat hubby was going to go from the bottom of the stairs, across the foyer and through the alcove.
It was nighttime, it was dark and we live alone. There was no one else in the house so rather than putting his sweats on and turning on a light, he just ran downstairs in the dark. Naked.
OMG THE VACUUM CLEANER! Before I could yell down to him I heard him make contact with the Dyson.
OOMPH!!! F*&@!!!
Fortunately, he did not hurt the Dyson.
Don't Put That in Your Mouth!
I have mentioned in previous posts that hubby and I have our usual chores around the house. I do the laundry and cleaning and he does the guy stuff like taking out the trash. One morning a few weeks ago, after harvesting the pumpkins and squash, before leaving for work, he decided to empty the diaper pail in the playroom.
To be honest, it was really stinky!
I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can. As was the case this particular morning.
I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.
Not good!
Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.
There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.
At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.
I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.
That's when the trouble started.
The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.
When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.
I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!
My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.
Greaaaaat!
Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!
When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.
But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.
Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.
I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.
Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom, their room and our closet.
It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.
Not good!
I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.
About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.
Flush!!!
Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.
The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.
I draw the line at removing the flush handle.
As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.
They love to play in the closet.
Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.
This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!
Eeeeeeeeeew!!!
Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!
This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!
To be honest, it was really stinky!
I love that he takes out the trash and does the "hubby jobs" around the house. I hate that he has this really annoying habit of forgetting to put a new bag in the can. As was the case this particular morning.
I didn't notice this until I rushed one of my boys to the diaper changing table with a massive blowout in his footie pajamas.
Not good!
Hmmm...well, I thought, I'll just put the diaper at the end of the changing table and dispose of it when I was finished. In theory this should have worked out really well.
There was a fatal flaw in my thinking.
At 11 months he is pretty long and his feet come to the end of the diaper changing pad. I couldn't leave him on the table to go get a new bag, I couldn't set him on the floor covered in poop and couldn't put the diaper on the floor because my other son was now standing between my legs.
I removed said diaper and placed it at the foot of the changing pad, hoping for the best, and tackled things with the wipes. Lots and lots of wipes. I piled them up on the offending diaper and grabbed a new diaper to put on him.
That's when the trouble started.
The boys' desire to squirm or rollover is directly proportional to the amount of crap on their butts. The bigger the poop, the more they want to squirm.
When I prevented him from rolling over he got really mad and slammed his feet down...right into the poop filled diaper.
I screamed. Yeah really actually screamed. It sort of...splashed!
My scream startled him and he began to cry, then in a show of some sort of twin solidarity, the other one started to cry too.
Greaaaaat!
Not only do I have a colossal friggin mess but now I have two screaming children to deal with, one of whom was also naked and covered with poop!
When all was said and done, the baby had a new diaper, tears had been dried, the pad on the changing table had been changed and, most importantly, there was a new bag in the diaper pail. Of course I handled it like a pro but then again I am here alone, it's not like anyone else was going to do it. It's just another poopie experience to add to the list.
But...what I am proud of is the fact that I didn't call my hubby and rip him a new one. I didn't even send him an obnoxious text message. Mostly because one of the boys fell down again and needed his boo-boo kissed and by the time I finished dealing with that it was snack time. Ranting at him about something like a trash bag just seemed so menial at that point.
Falling down is the norm around here. They are constantly hitting their heads...usually on the floor. They have learned to avoid the coffee table and the bottom of the kitchen hutch but they trip...when crawling no less, and face-plant. Either or both have been known to have pretty good bruises on their foreheads at least once a week.
I've gotten used to the sounds of their playing...and falling. Depending on the sound of the thump, I've learned to respond appropriately. Sounds in general tell me what's going on but more importantly, the sound of silence is even more telling.
Last week, during our morning ritual, I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the rocker in the bedroom while the kids played in the hallway. They like to crawl around in the hallway, the bathroom, their room and our closet.
It suddenly dawned on me that it was completely silent.
Not good!
I left my coffee and headed down the hall to find that one of the boys had unraveled most of a roll of toilet paper, which was now piled up in the middle of the floor, and the other was happily chewing away on a wad of it that was so big it would make a professional baseball player jealous.
About the time I walked into the bathroom the one that had been doing the unrolling, discovered this little handle thingy on the toilet tank.
Flush!!!
Unfortunately, he liked the sound. Fortunately, it takes about 35 seconds to refill the tank on the toilet. Which is approximately the amount of time necessary to gather up the toilet paper, remove the disgusting pulp from the one's mouth and move both boys out of the room and close the door.
The bathroom door is now closed all the time and, just in case one of us should happen to leave the door open, the toilet paper is now located on the edge of the sink.
I draw the line at removing the flush handle.
As I've mentioned, I like to start my day slowly with a cup of coffee and the boys like to play upstairs. We now keep all doors upstairs closed with the exception of the master bedroom and the master closet.
They love to play in the closet.
Chewing on shoelaces is a favorite pastime as is, evidently pulling dirty clothes out of the laundry basket that serves as our hamper.
This was discovered one morning as I sat happily rocking away, sipping my coffee and reading the news. I noticed that the boys were a little too quite. As I was getting up to head into the closet to see what they were doing, one of them came crawling out of the closet with a pair of my panties in his mouth like a lion dragging home a kill!
Eeeeeeeeeew!!!
Nobody saw it and if I didn't write about it, no one would even know...but I was mortified! They carry stuff in their mouths all the time...just not my underwear. I don't even think it would have been ok if he had had a clean pair in his mouth. Somethings you just don't put in your mouth...period!
This no doubt will not be the last time that I am completely grossed out by something that one of my boys' puts in his mouth. I am sure the words, "Don't put that in your mouth!" will be said at least a million times but hey, that battle's got to be better than dealing with a flailing, poop-covered baby...Right?!
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Mornings, Midnights and Mayhem
I am not a morning person.
If I could sleep until 7:30 every morning I would be a happy girl. Most mornings however, at least one of my boys is awake at 6 am or 5:30, 5:00, 4:30, 7:00, 7:30...you get the point.
There doesn't seem to be any real consistent time that he sleeps until. And, before you go analyzing it, there isn't any particular reason either. This is the child that can go 5-6 hours on a 20 minute power nap. The fact that I ever even get to sleep until 6 is often a miracle.
My favorite mornings are the ones where both boys are awake and "talking" to each other across the room.
I love waking up to giggles.
I truly believe that there is no better way to wake up in the morning than to happy, giggling babies. This used to be the exception but lately it has been the rule. There is just no way to have a bad day when your kids wake you up like that.
I wish the nights were as wonderful. Unfortunately, one of my boys has been having night terrors.
Despite my repeated attempts to clarify the difference between nightmares and night terrors to my mother she insists that it has something to do with the way we play with the boys.
The boys love, love, LOVE to be tossed around. One of them in particular really gets a kick out of being swung by his ankles, upside down and dropped on his back onto the bed or sofa. He gets the biggest smile and laughs out loud.
Truly a LOL - not the I'm smiling to myself LOL that we associate with Facebook.
The higher the better. If we can toss him onto the bed and make him bounce he gets even happier.
He is our wild child.
The other one likes to bounce but prefers to be on the bed on his back and have one of us bounce the bed. He thinks it's hysterical. He is also the one that is capable of entertaining himself for long periods of time with no other human interaction. He will sit and turn pages of books as if he is reading or study a pair of plastic toy pliers like he is looking for a way to improve them. He will be the head of engineering.
The daredevil is happiest on a lap. He loves people and doesn't care who they are. He will go to anyone and be happy as a clam in their arms. He is very stubborn, throws temper tantrums when told "No", smiles at everyone in the stores and already likes to be the center of attention. He will be the head of marketing.
Night terrors, as you may know, have no similarity to nightmares other than sharing the word "night." It is a sleep disruption, not related to dreaming. When we pass from one sleep stage to another it is usually a seamless transition that we don't notice because, well...we're asleep.
Kids with night terrors are disturbed by the transition.
You know when you're falling asleep and suddenly get the sensation that you're falling from a cliff? That's the same thing that happens to cause the night terror. They never wake up they just thrash and cry and sometimes scream. It can last anywhere from a couple of minutes to half and hour and there is really nothing anyone can do about it other than keep the child from hurting themselves when thrashing around.
In doing research I discovered that children don't often experience these until about 18 months. Mine are 11 months. We are ahead of the curve, so to speak.
Lucky us.
The good news is that he's been having these about an hour and a half after he's been asleep - and I am still awake. Dealing with an incoherent, unresponsive child is difficult enough. Doing so from a sound sleep is harder. I usually pick him up and sit in the rocker until he settles down and goes back to sleep. I wait a few extra minutes to make sure that he's really under and then put him back in his crib. Fortunately, once the episode is over he's usually down for the night.
If all goes well I wake to giggling.
We usually start the day upstairs in the master bedroom. I bunch up the comforter from our bed and have the boys lie down on it to have their morning bottles while I hang out in the rocking recliner sipping my coffee. The boys will play with each other for about 30-45 minutes while I read my email and then we venture downstairs for morning snack and more playtime.
Most days are pretty good. But... I'm sure you've heard of Controlled Chaos? Well, I live in Managed Mayhem.
They have learned to divide and conquer. If I catch them doing something that requires the word "no" and I have to head over to them they will crawl in opposite directions.
Smart little buggers!
I usually grab whoever is the closest and, if need be, put them in the playpen or at the very least, move them to the playroom. The head of engineering will usually busy himself with whatever I put in front of him. The head of marketing will decide that he needs a new plan and will head in another direction.
In addition to crawling the boys have begun to climb. I do know that there is little we can do to prevent this from happening. Oh sure, we've installed the baby gates at the top and bottom of the stairs. The basement door is now closed all of the time and we have locks on the cabinets with dangerous or breakable stuff in them.
However, my kitchen island is actually a commercial prep table with a shelf on the bottom of it that has been cleaned off of all baking items. Recently the boys have begun to climb on it. I use it as an easy place to store toys when I'm cleaning. Now, I am constantly trying to keep them from climbing on that shelf and the lower shelf of our end table.
We also have a stone fireplace and a rather large hearth.
The other day I was working at the kitchen table and looked up to find both boys on the hearth holding onto stone the fireplace as if they were about to begin a rock-climbing exercise.
A week ago, the boys were in the playroom which is located in the front of the house next to the stairs. They like to rattle the gate at the bottom of the stairs and I thought to myself that I hadn't heard the gate so I went to make sure that it was closed.
It wasn't.
I turned the corner and the head of marketing, who was 2/3 of the way up the stairs, turned and reached for me. He cartwheeled and as his feet came up over his head I caught his ankles. He was not injured and surprisingly I did not suffer a heart attack. I keep the gate closed almost all of the time now.
Between snacks, playtime, meals, naps, picking up toys and laundry my days fly by. Things I thought I would be able to finish in a day - take two, sometimes three, days to complete and of course I frequently forget what I was doing before I was interrupted by the heads of engineering and marketing to settle a dispute...or change a diaper.
The house frequently looks like FAO Schwartz puked in it. I pick up the toys two to three times a day. Not because I am some sort of anal-retentive neat freak but because I like to keep my ankles in whatever working order they have left.
We have the bottom shelf of the island in the kitchen, a cabinet in our entertainment center and the bottom shelf of the diaper changing table for toy storage. And if I am in a rush I just grab everything and toss it into the playpen. Thinking about this now, I'm surprised that I don't do that more often.
Some days I feel like all I do is follow the kids around the house saying, "No" or "Aah, aah, aah?" And, you know all those sayings that we swore we would never, ever say to our kids when we were younger? Yup, I'm there and they're only 11 months old.
I find myself actually saying things like, "Nobody wants to hear that noise, get your finger out of your brother's ear, and today was the first time I actually uttered the words: stop fighting."
I hate to admit it...But I sounded just like my mother.
If I could sleep until 7:30 every morning I would be a happy girl. Most mornings however, at least one of my boys is awake at 6 am or 5:30, 5:00, 4:30, 7:00, 7:30...you get the point.
There doesn't seem to be any real consistent time that he sleeps until. And, before you go analyzing it, there isn't any particular reason either. This is the child that can go 5-6 hours on a 20 minute power nap. The fact that I ever even get to sleep until 6 is often a miracle.
My favorite mornings are the ones where both boys are awake and "talking" to each other across the room.
I love waking up to giggles.
I truly believe that there is no better way to wake up in the morning than to happy, giggling babies. This used to be the exception but lately it has been the rule. There is just no way to have a bad day when your kids wake you up like that.
I wish the nights were as wonderful. Unfortunately, one of my boys has been having night terrors.
Despite my repeated attempts to clarify the difference between nightmares and night terrors to my mother she insists that it has something to do with the way we play with the boys.
The boys love, love, LOVE to be tossed around. One of them in particular really gets a kick out of being swung by his ankles, upside down and dropped on his back onto the bed or sofa. He gets the biggest smile and laughs out loud.
Truly a LOL - not the I'm smiling to myself LOL that we associate with Facebook.
The higher the better. If we can toss him onto the bed and make him bounce he gets even happier.
He is our wild child.
The other one likes to bounce but prefers to be on the bed on his back and have one of us bounce the bed. He thinks it's hysterical. He is also the one that is capable of entertaining himself for long periods of time with no other human interaction. He will sit and turn pages of books as if he is reading or study a pair of plastic toy pliers like he is looking for a way to improve them. He will be the head of engineering.
The daredevil is happiest on a lap. He loves people and doesn't care who they are. He will go to anyone and be happy as a clam in their arms. He is very stubborn, throws temper tantrums when told "No", smiles at everyone in the stores and already likes to be the center of attention. He will be the head of marketing.
Night terrors, as you may know, have no similarity to nightmares other than sharing the word "night." It is a sleep disruption, not related to dreaming. When we pass from one sleep stage to another it is usually a seamless transition that we don't notice because, well...we're asleep.
Kids with night terrors are disturbed by the transition.
You know when you're falling asleep and suddenly get the sensation that you're falling from a cliff? That's the same thing that happens to cause the night terror. They never wake up they just thrash and cry and sometimes scream. It can last anywhere from a couple of minutes to half and hour and there is really nothing anyone can do about it other than keep the child from hurting themselves when thrashing around.
In doing research I discovered that children don't often experience these until about 18 months. Mine are 11 months. We are ahead of the curve, so to speak.
Lucky us.
The good news is that he's been having these about an hour and a half after he's been asleep - and I am still awake. Dealing with an incoherent, unresponsive child is difficult enough. Doing so from a sound sleep is harder. I usually pick him up and sit in the rocker until he settles down and goes back to sleep. I wait a few extra minutes to make sure that he's really under and then put him back in his crib. Fortunately, once the episode is over he's usually down for the night.
If all goes well I wake to giggling.
We usually start the day upstairs in the master bedroom. I bunch up the comforter from our bed and have the boys lie down on it to have their morning bottles while I hang out in the rocking recliner sipping my coffee. The boys will play with each other for about 30-45 minutes while I read my email and then we venture downstairs for morning snack and more playtime.
Most days are pretty good. But... I'm sure you've heard of Controlled Chaos? Well, I live in Managed Mayhem.
They have learned to divide and conquer. If I catch them doing something that requires the word "no" and I have to head over to them they will crawl in opposite directions.
Smart little buggers!
I usually grab whoever is the closest and, if need be, put them in the playpen or at the very least, move them to the playroom. The head of engineering will usually busy himself with whatever I put in front of him. The head of marketing will decide that he needs a new plan and will head in another direction.
In addition to crawling the boys have begun to climb. I do know that there is little we can do to prevent this from happening. Oh sure, we've installed the baby gates at the top and bottom of the stairs. The basement door is now closed all of the time and we have locks on the cabinets with dangerous or breakable stuff in them.
However, my kitchen island is actually a commercial prep table with a shelf on the bottom of it that has been cleaned off of all baking items. Recently the boys have begun to climb on it. I use it as an easy place to store toys when I'm cleaning. Now, I am constantly trying to keep them from climbing on that shelf and the lower shelf of our end table.
We also have a stone fireplace and a rather large hearth.
The other day I was working at the kitchen table and looked up to find both boys on the hearth holding onto stone the fireplace as if they were about to begin a rock-climbing exercise.
A week ago, the boys were in the playroom which is located in the front of the house next to the stairs. They like to rattle the gate at the bottom of the stairs and I thought to myself that I hadn't heard the gate so I went to make sure that it was closed.
It wasn't.
I turned the corner and the head of marketing, who was 2/3 of the way up the stairs, turned and reached for me. He cartwheeled and as his feet came up over his head I caught his ankles. He was not injured and surprisingly I did not suffer a heart attack. I keep the gate closed almost all of the time now.
Between snacks, playtime, meals, naps, picking up toys and laundry my days fly by. Things I thought I would be able to finish in a day - take two, sometimes three, days to complete and of course I frequently forget what I was doing before I was interrupted by the heads of engineering and marketing to settle a dispute...or change a diaper.
The house frequently looks like FAO Schwartz puked in it. I pick up the toys two to three times a day. Not because I am some sort of anal-retentive neat freak but because I like to keep my ankles in whatever working order they have left.
We have the bottom shelf of the island in the kitchen, a cabinet in our entertainment center and the bottom shelf of the diaper changing table for toy storage. And if I am in a rush I just grab everything and toss it into the playpen. Thinking about this now, I'm surprised that I don't do that more often.
Some days I feel like all I do is follow the kids around the house saying, "No" or "Aah, aah, aah?" And, you know all those sayings that we swore we would never, ever say to our kids when we were younger? Yup, I'm there and they're only 11 months old.
I find myself actually saying things like, "Nobody wants to hear that noise, get your finger out of your brother's ear, and today was the first time I actually uttered the words: stop fighting."
I hate to admit it...But I sounded just like my mother.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Shut Up and Get in the Car!
Over the summer we spent four weekends away from home. Each trip was met with pretty good levels of success with a couple of little blips on the sleep schedule that can be more readily attributed to teething and growth spurts than to being in a different house. The kids are crawling so arriving anywhere involves an immediate sweep through the residence to put breakables, and pet food, out of reach.
It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!
When I was child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.
Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.
The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.
The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.
Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.
Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.
The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!
The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.
We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.
There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.
I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"
Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!
Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.
Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.
Comparatively, right now I have it easy.
I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.
This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"
It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!
When I was child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.
Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.
The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.
The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.
Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.
Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.
The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!
The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.
We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.
There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.
I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"
Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!
Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.
Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.
Comparatively, right now I have it easy.
I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.
This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Stellar Parenting Skills
"I'm so pissed off I could spit nails!" was what came out of my mouth when my friend answered her phone. I was on the way home from the cake supply store when I was passed, like I was standing still, by a woman in a green Toyota Camry and a toddler leaping around in the backseat of her car!
REALLY??? In this day and age? Who the hell doesn't buckle their kid in?
"You don't have to have an I.Q. to have children," was my friends response.
Unfortunately, she is right. Just walk into any Walmart and you will see a plethora of individuals who were standing behind the door the day brains were handed out!
Anyway, prior to calling my bestie, I had called 911 to report the Camry owner's threat to her children. There were in fact two children in the backseat. She'll probably have some lame-ass excuse for not having the kid buckled in like, "he just screams when he's in his seat." Well quite frankly, a screaming baby is much better than a dead one in my book but what the hell do I know?
If her excuse is that she can't afford one then maybe she could quit smoking. Yes, she was smoking, with the kids in the car. Just a glowing example of stellar parenting skills here. A car seat at Walmart, where I'm sure she already spends a significant amount of time, is $78. Cigarettes in the great state of Delaware where her car is licensed, are $6 per pack. That's only 13 days off the coffin nails to protect her kid. Besides she shouldn't be smoking around them anyway!
The 911 operator said she would contact the state police and that I should stop following her, which I did. I have my own wonderful kids to worry about. Besides I only followed her to get her license plate number.
Speaking of Walmart, I was kidless the other day and stopped in quickly to grab a couple of staples that we had run out of. When I only have two or three items I usually go through the self checkout aisles. There is always someone at one of those things with a cart chock-full of crap and has no idea what they are doing as was the case that day. To make it even worse, she had one of the most OBNOXIOUS children with her that I have had the displeasure to be around in quite some time. This in itself is a bit of an accomplishment as I tend to go to Walmart pretty regularly.
The mother was trying to run items through the scanner and the little girl wanted to be in charge of which items were put through. Doesn't sound too bad right? Yeah well you couldn't be more wrong! The child screamed at the top of her lungs each time the "wrong" item was put through. The mother did nothing!!! Not a "shhhh," "stop," or "No" was uttered from her lips. She just proceeded on as if nothing was wrong. Not so much for the rest of us. The employees, the other customers and I stood gape-mouthed staring at this spectacle.
"Not my children," was the thought that played through my mind with each obnoxious scream.
Granted the twins are only 10 months old but I would never, and I do mean never, tolerate that type of behavior. I don't even tolerate it now and yes 10 month old boys have tempers and throw temper tantrums. When they do they are removed from whatever they are doing and put in the playpen, crib or have their highchair turned around to face the wall. I have no intention of waiting until they are older to begin disciplining them.
They are learning the word No and are praised when they respond properly. One trip out in public tells me that my hubby and I are the minority when it comes to disciplining our kids.
I watched a young teenager tell her mother to "shut up!" in a store the other day. I can't even imagine what life would have been like upon returning home had I chosen to speak to my mother like that, and in public no less!
Yup we were spanked. There is this idiotic philosophy that tells us that spanking kids breeds violence. Um...I'm pretty sure "the experts" have gotten that one wrong. If that were the case we would be a gentler society, I don't know about you, but that is definitely not my impression of things these days.
Don't get me wrong here, I DO NOT condone child abuse, but I do believer that a smack on the ass is an effective way to get their attention and let them know that they have crossed the line. I love my boys and would do anything for them and that includes helping them to become productive, respected members of society.
I will not raise leeches!
My boys will know how to cook, clean, do laundry and fend for themselves. They will do chores. They will have a good work ethic and be respectful to others.
We are their parents and if we do right by them, they will love and respect us for the lessons they have learned and for the men that they will become.
We are raising someone's future husbands.
REALLY??? In this day and age? Who the hell doesn't buckle their kid in?
"You don't have to have an I.Q. to have children," was my friends response.
Unfortunately, she is right. Just walk into any Walmart and you will see a plethora of individuals who were standing behind the door the day brains were handed out!
Anyway, prior to calling my bestie, I had called 911 to report the Camry owner's threat to her children. There were in fact two children in the backseat. She'll probably have some lame-ass excuse for not having the kid buckled in like, "he just screams when he's in his seat." Well quite frankly, a screaming baby is much better than a dead one in my book but what the hell do I know?
If her excuse is that she can't afford one then maybe she could quit smoking. Yes, she was smoking, with the kids in the car. Just a glowing example of stellar parenting skills here. A car seat at Walmart, where I'm sure she already spends a significant amount of time, is $78. Cigarettes in the great state of Delaware where her car is licensed, are $6 per pack. That's only 13 days off the coffin nails to protect her kid. Besides she shouldn't be smoking around them anyway!
The 911 operator said she would contact the state police and that I should stop following her, which I did. I have my own wonderful kids to worry about. Besides I only followed her to get her license plate number.
Speaking of Walmart, I was kidless the other day and stopped in quickly to grab a couple of staples that we had run out of. When I only have two or three items I usually go through the self checkout aisles. There is always someone at one of those things with a cart chock-full of crap and has no idea what they are doing as was the case that day. To make it even worse, she had one of the most OBNOXIOUS children with her that I have had the displeasure to be around in quite some time. This in itself is a bit of an accomplishment as I tend to go to Walmart pretty regularly.
The mother was trying to run items through the scanner and the little girl wanted to be in charge of which items were put through. Doesn't sound too bad right? Yeah well you couldn't be more wrong! The child screamed at the top of her lungs each time the "wrong" item was put through. The mother did nothing!!! Not a "shhhh," "stop," or "No" was uttered from her lips. She just proceeded on as if nothing was wrong. Not so much for the rest of us. The employees, the other customers and I stood gape-mouthed staring at this spectacle.
"Not my children," was the thought that played through my mind with each obnoxious scream.
Granted the twins are only 10 months old but I would never, and I do mean never, tolerate that type of behavior. I don't even tolerate it now and yes 10 month old boys have tempers and throw temper tantrums. When they do they are removed from whatever they are doing and put in the playpen, crib or have their highchair turned around to face the wall. I have no intention of waiting until they are older to begin disciplining them.
They are learning the word No and are praised when they respond properly. One trip out in public tells me that my hubby and I are the minority when it comes to disciplining our kids.
I watched a young teenager tell her mother to "shut up!" in a store the other day. I can't even imagine what life would have been like upon returning home had I chosen to speak to my mother like that, and in public no less!
Yup we were spanked. There is this idiotic philosophy that tells us that spanking kids breeds violence. Um...I'm pretty sure "the experts" have gotten that one wrong. If that were the case we would be a gentler society, I don't know about you, but that is definitely not my impression of things these days.
Don't get me wrong here, I DO NOT condone child abuse, but I do believer that a smack on the ass is an effective way to get their attention and let them know that they have crossed the line. I love my boys and would do anything for them and that includes helping them to become productive, respected members of society.
I will not raise leeches!
My boys will know how to cook, clean, do laundry and fend for themselves. They will do chores. They will have a good work ethic and be respectful to others.
We are their parents and if we do right by them, they will love and respect us for the lessons they have learned and for the men that they will become.
We are raising someone's future husbands.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Calm, Cool and Collected...Sometimes
I have never considered
myself to be the overprotective type. Oh, I can be a momma bear when it comes
to someone hurting someone I love, but I know that our kids will get boo-boos.
And not all situations require 911.
I truly believe in the
concept of "boys will be boys” and fully expect to end up in the
emergency room some day.
I have seen children freak
out and cry when they plop down on their butts (not a cry-worthy experience as
far as I am concerned) simply because their parent's overreaction.
Not only do I not do the,
"Oh my gawd, are you ok?!" over-the-top reaction; I tend to go the
other way.
I laugh.
I fear that I am warping my children.
I'm not a monster. If one
if them seriously bangs their head or really falls, I give them the proper
boo-boo attention that includes kissing and rocking but if we are talking about a small bonk
or slight crash, when they look to me to see how they should react, I simply
laugh.
This might be having an
adverse effect.
In the evenings my hubby and I each take a kid and play on the sofa. They crawl around and bounce on the pillows. Well, one night we were doing our regular bouncing routine and one of the boys face-planted into the pillows. The other one laughed...hard.
In the evenings my hubby and I each take a kid and play on the sofa. They crawl around and bounce on the pillows. Well, one night we were doing our regular bouncing routine and one of the boys face-planted into the pillows. The other one laughed...hard.
Who knows where this will
lead down the road?
Knowing that the boys will
get boo-boos and having them do so are two entirely different creatures.
Recently, while washing
bottles one afternoon, I heard a weird noise in the playroom (formerly the formal
living room AKA the Tea Room). I dried my hands and rounded the corner to
discover that one of my boys was painting on the wall with something. Upon
further inspection I discovered that it was blood!
Holy Hell!!!
I scooped him up and ran to
the sink to wash his hand off and see where it was coming from. It seems that
he had managed to stick his tiny little fingers into the air return vent for
the A/C and slice the tops of his fingers.
Once washed off, I called
my neighbor, a retired EMT, to come check him out. I tried desperately to be
calm and explain what had happened and ended with, “CAN YOU COME CHECK HIM
OUT!”
I was far from calm and now
I was crying.
My son on the other hand
was not crying and was simply concerned with trying to eat the paper towel that
I had wrapped around his fingers.
My neighbor arrived within
seconds and declared that my son was fine. The bleeding had stopped completely.
The cuts were the equivalent of paper cuts. He even advised me not to put
Band-Aids on his little fingers, as he would just try to chew them off and then
choke on them.
Hmmm good thinking.
So much for the calm, cool,
collected mom that is not overprotective and knows that her kids will get
boo-boos huh?
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