I will be starting a part-time job this coming weekend and had to spend last weekend in a training class in Chicago.
I left my house at noon on Friday and didn't get home until about 2am Sunday night/Monday morning.
Way, way, way too many hours without seeing my babies. Hubby was good about sending pictures but pictures are not the same as holding them.
I was ok until I got a panicked call from hubby because the Engineer had spiked a fever of 102 and he had no idea what to do. Although I purchase generic over the counter drugs I use brand names when talking about them. Advil is much easier to say than ibuprofen and ditto for Tylenol over acetaminophen.
Hubby was stressed which stressed me out and I began to panic. I don't panic often but this was utterly out of my control and I was freaked. In giving him directions I resorted to the easier to say brand names and he replied that there was not Tylenol.
O. M. G. Seriously!
I'm pretty sure that he's the only person in the world that doesn't know that acetaminophen is the generic of Tylenol. I tried to do my best to not yell into the phone.
I failed.
After a few minutes (he had to write down the directions) we switched from phone to FaceTime and when the Stuntman realized that mommy wasn't going to be coming out of the phone he began to cry which touched a cord in me had me choking back tears. It was awful. After saying goodbye and hanging up I sobbed uncontrollably for about 10 minutes. Every tear that I had fought back since noon that day cascaded down my cheeks.
I pulled myself together, remake-upped my face and went downstairs to grab some dinner and prepare for the weekend training. Despite my having a good time, my hubby and my boys were on my mind the entire time. Frequently throughout the weekend I would pull up pictures of the boys just so I could see them.
We never did the FaceTime thing again. It was just too much for the boys (translation: I couldn't handle it!). As it was if hubby put me on speaker the Stuntman would cry when I'd say goodbye. It really sucked being out of town.
But, I survived the weekend.
Hubby had to get up and go to work Monday morning so he was in bed when I arrived home at 2 a.m. As I headed upstairs I noticed that he'd left the outside light on and when I went to the backdoor to turn it off I discovered that hubby had made a heart in the snow in the backyard.
He'd purposely left the light on so I would see it.
He's such a sweet guy!
I made my way up the stairs, peeked in on the boys, brushed my teeth and crawled into bed next to the love of my life.
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
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.
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.
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!"
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?
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Just Wait Until...
Since my boys were born I have been assaulted by women who, based on their incredibly negative comments, I can only assume hated being mothers.
Everything seems to be prefaced with "just wait until..." and then some stage of development is mentioned: sleeping, feeding, teething, crawling, etc. I never cease to be amazed by the negativity of these miserable ladies and frequently find myself wondering if these are the types of women who raise serial killers or hermits!
I will give them this much...teething sucks!
Despite the need to baby-proof the house (baby-proof...Ha!) crawling has been so much fun. They follow me. I can hold a bottle up and say, "Come on" and they crawl to me! We chase each other around the house and play peek-a-boo around the furniture. How can you not love that?
It seems that we live in a society where instead of sharing the best of times we have to outdo ourselves on the worst of times. Rather than "my dog is bigger than yours" it has become "my dog is sicker than yours." Weird and sad at the same time.
Any woman who has ever been pregnant will tell you that other women love to tell horrific pregnancy and birth stories to expectant mothers. Like the idea of childbirth isn't already stressful enough we really need to know how your best friend's best friend's sister-in-law's cousin was in labor for 97 hours! Oy vey!
I thought the nightmare stories would end with childbirth but nooooo. Evidently, I'm supposed to hate the different stages of development and have something negative to say about each. Well, that's just not me.
I thought the nightmare stories would end with childbirth but nooooo. Evidently, I'm supposed to hate the different stages of development and have something negative to say about each. Well, that's just not me.
I prefer to laugh.
Of course some days with the boys are tough. Did I mention that teething sucks?! Most of the time the boys are on the same schedule but sometimes they end up out of sync and it it feels like I'm tag-teamed all day long. Those days are very long but they are also very rare. I don't dwell on them. I have better things to do like play peek-a-boo!
Most of the time, my experience is something that I have dreamed of my entire life. I have happy, sweet babies that love to go for walks around the neighborhood or rides in the car. They love stores and shopping carts as long as they can see where they are going; we have to push the carts backwards. I call them my "happiness ambassadors" because they make everyone smile. Walmart could only dream of such greeters!
Could I waste precious time focusing on dirty diapers, barf, ground up cheerios or teething - did I mention teething sucks? Of course I could but why would I? Why would anyone? What a waste of time! I don't look for the negative in motherhood.
I revel in the positive.
The list of things that I love is long and getting longer: They smile when they first wake up in the mornings or from naps. I can make them giggle just by saying, "Boo!" They love when the "raspberry monster" attacks. They hug and love to be hugged. They love water; bath time and swimming lessons are so much fun. They have infectious giggles. They crawl to me. They crawl on me. They are trying to stand.
The list of things that I love is long and getting longer: They smile when they first wake up in the mornings or from naps. I can make them giggle just by saying, "Boo!" They love when the "raspberry monster" attacks. They hug and love to be hugged. They love water; bath time and swimming lessons are so much fun. They have infectious giggles. They crawl to me. They crawl on me. They are trying to stand.
Motherhood is not easy but no one said it would be. In fact, most other mothers are resolute in telling me how terrible it is.
Which makes me wonder...
If it's so bad, how come I have never been happier before in my life?
If it's so bad, how come I have never been happier before in my life?
Friday, August 2, 2013
Rice Krispies
When my boys reached about four months of age one of them began throwing up very regularly. He wasn't just throwing up, he would barf and then scream. This to me was indicative of one thing: acid reflux.
I dutifully called the doctor's office to find out what to do. I'm not a panicky mommy (I would have been in my 20s) I rarely call the doctor's office but I felt that this needed attention. The nurse called me back later to tell me that the doctor thought he was just getting a little too much fluid and that I could start adding rice cereal to his bottles to thicken things up and help keep it down. She said that if that didn't help then the doctor would like to see him. I thanked her and hung up the phone completely oblivious to the fact that my hubby was sitting there waiting to be filled in. Let's face it, my accidental snub was not intentional. I am the handler of all things baby: nutritional, medical, clothing, etc. It didn't even dawn on me to explain the call.
He got miffed. Finally, he looked at me and asked, "Well are you going to fill me in?" "Oh, yeah, sorry," I replied. I then went on to explain that the doctor wanted us to begin putting rice cereal in the bottles to thicken things up. The longer I talked the more confused my hubby became. Once I finished he looked at me totally bewildered and said, "Like Rice Krispies?" I actually had to think about what he was asking. The synapse in my brain temporarily failed. I went blank.
O.M.G! No! Hahahahaha. I just about had to pick myself up off of the floor because I laughed so hard my son and I almost fell off of the sofa. Hubby did not know that they make a rice cereal for babies. (In the old days it was called Pablum.) He thought the doctor wanted us to put the "Snap, Crackle, Pop" version of rice cereal in the bottles and the confused look I saw on his face was him trying to imagine how our son was going to suck it through the nipple.
All I have to do today is say "Rice Krispies" and we both begin to laugh.
I dutifully called the doctor's office to find out what to do. I'm not a panicky mommy (I would have been in my 20s) I rarely call the doctor's office but I felt that this needed attention. The nurse called me back later to tell me that the doctor thought he was just getting a little too much fluid and that I could start adding rice cereal to his bottles to thicken things up and help keep it down. She said that if that didn't help then the doctor would like to see him. I thanked her and hung up the phone completely oblivious to the fact that my hubby was sitting there waiting to be filled in. Let's face it, my accidental snub was not intentional. I am the handler of all things baby: nutritional, medical, clothing, etc. It didn't even dawn on me to explain the call.
He got miffed. Finally, he looked at me and asked, "Well are you going to fill me in?" "Oh, yeah, sorry," I replied. I then went on to explain that the doctor wanted us to begin putting rice cereal in the bottles to thicken things up. The longer I talked the more confused my hubby became. Once I finished he looked at me totally bewildered and said, "Like Rice Krispies?" I actually had to think about what he was asking. The synapse in my brain temporarily failed. I went blank.
O.M.G! No! Hahahahaha. I just about had to pick myself up off of the floor because I laughed so hard my son and I almost fell off of the sofa. Hubby did not know that they make a rice cereal for babies. (In the old days it was called Pablum.) He thought the doctor wanted us to put the "Snap, Crackle, Pop" version of rice cereal in the bottles and the confused look I saw on his face was him trying to imagine how our son was going to suck it through the nipple.
All I have to do today is say "Rice Krispies" and we both begin to laugh.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
First post!
Welcome to Love, Laundry and Laughter!
While I am not new to blogging, this is my first mommy post.
Nearly 9 months ago I gave birth to two of the most beautiful baby boys. From their first breath they have been nearly perfect children. "Nearly" because we have endured being peed on while changing diapers, barfing, difficult breast feeding, middle of the night screamings and now we are up to temper tantrums. Who knew that an 8 month old child could throw a temper tantrum? I had no idea. But, they have slept through the night (most nights) since they were four months old. They are happy, wonderful, friendly babies that people love to be around.
As a more "mature" mother, translation: old, I have watched my younger sister and older brother not to mention scores of fertile friends raise their children. Many times I have said to myself, "I would never let my kids do that." Yes, I have judged. I was a step-mother for a long time. I have done the teenage years, argued over the cleanliness of bedrooms, whose turn it is to clean the bathroom and even taught kids to drive. I have much more intestinal fortitude than I thought I did :) My point is that I am not without experience.
Babies! Babies are a whole different thing all together. No two babies are alike and that goes for my twins. One is laid back and capable of entertaining himself. The other is a smuggler. He's not a mommy's boy he loves daddy or anyone else that will hold him. He is happiest on a lap.
Twin pregnancies don't exactly adhere to the common pregnancy beliefs such as "morning sickness ends with the beginning of the second trimester." My morning sickness began with, "Congratulations, you're pregnant!" and ended with an emergency C-section.
Well-meaning, experienced, ladies made suggestions out the wazoo! Six months into my pregnancy, they would tell me, "Just keep the Saltines close." Each time I would have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, "A cracker?! Really?? You mean to tell me that I didn't need three medications all I needed was a freakin' cracker to fix this?"
I tried Saltines.
Saltines gave me the worst, and I mean worst, heartburn you could imagine, second only to mustard and did nothing to alleviate my nausea.
When I told these well meaning ladies about the heartburn they countered with, "How about Ginger Ale?" Ginger ale made me want to vomit. I tried Sea Bands. They helped a little but within two days my hands and wrists hurt so badly that I couldn't even lift a glass of water. I restricted my diet to low carb high protein to help with the ups and downs of digestion. That just made my constipation worse. Yeah, constipation. There's a wonderful side effect of pregnancy that no one tells you about until you're already well on your way!
I was on three, yes three, anti nausea medications and they just took the edge off. I tried acupuncture. Acupuncture worked wonders, but I would have had to go in for treatment nearly every day for it to continue to work. In the end the only cure for both my nausea and my skyrocketing blood pressure was birth.
The acid reflux was hideous! I drank Gaviscon like it was going out of style and ate Tums like they were M&Ms. Zantac barely helped. The doctor finally resorted to prescribing Nexium for me which, thank God, actually worked.
Any woman who bragged about "feeling great" or "never feeling better than when they were pregnant" I wanted to slap in the head or at the very least kick in the shins! I was jealous that I didn't get to have that kind of "dreamy" experience. One friend even told me to, "Just relax and enjoy being pregnant." I don't remember exactly what I said but she ended up apologizing. Hmmmm come to think of it, I should probably apologize to her.
I was a high risk pregnancy. So in addition to all the rest of the issues that I had, I was not permitted to exercise. I was not on full bed rest but I wasn't allowed to do anything either. I wasn't even allowed to walk around the block! Going into the OBGYN's office was work. And being high risk I had to go for weekly "non-stress" tests. Fancy description for monitoring!
I was not a happy pregnant woman. I did not enjoy being pregnant. At one point I called my mother, (thank GOD for my mother) in tears asking, "When do I get to glow?" I'd always heard that pregnant women have a "glow" about them. I didn't glow, well except maybe when my face was bright red from bawling my eyes out or dry heaving over the toilet.
What I did have was my own experience. I was sick, I was nauseas, I (this is undoubtedly the only time in my life that this will happen) was chastised by my doctor for not gaining enough weight. I cried all the time! I endured 6 weeks of Ensure+ shakes because one of the babies had his head embedded in my stomach and I couldn't get solid food down.
I had a sense of smell that would have put a bloodhound to shame! I could smell things that have no odor. I almost offered my services to an officer working with a K-9 unit in the state park. To this day I still can't stand the smell of Dawn with Oil of Olay dish soap.
In a word I was miserable. I hated being pregnant! But I was pregnant. My whole adult life I have felt "on the outside looking in" of this "mom club." I would sit politely at parties and showers and listen to pregnancy and birth stories but I was never really a part of what was going on. I had no story to tell. I couldn't identify with the other women. And, I was jealous.
I have my own story. I am no longer on the outside looking in. I'm part of the group.
I have two of the most beautiful wonderful babies in the entire world. They are perfect in every way and when they are not puking on me or blowing poop out of their diapers I am a...
Happy Mom
While I am not new to blogging, this is my first mommy post.
Nearly 9 months ago I gave birth to two of the most beautiful baby boys. From their first breath they have been nearly perfect children. "Nearly" because we have endured being peed on while changing diapers, barfing, difficult breast feeding, middle of the night screamings and now we are up to temper tantrums. Who knew that an 8 month old child could throw a temper tantrum? I had no idea. But, they have slept through the night (most nights) since they were four months old. They are happy, wonderful, friendly babies that people love to be around.
As a more "mature" mother, translation: old, I have watched my younger sister and older brother not to mention scores of fertile friends raise their children. Many times I have said to myself, "I would never let my kids do that." Yes, I have judged. I was a step-mother for a long time. I have done the teenage years, argued over the cleanliness of bedrooms, whose turn it is to clean the bathroom and even taught kids to drive. I have much more intestinal fortitude than I thought I did :) My point is that I am not without experience.
Babies! Babies are a whole different thing all together. No two babies are alike and that goes for my twins. One is laid back and capable of entertaining himself. The other is a smuggler. He's not a mommy's boy he loves daddy or anyone else that will hold him. He is happiest on a lap.
Twin pregnancies don't exactly adhere to the common pregnancy beliefs such as "morning sickness ends with the beginning of the second trimester." My morning sickness began with, "Congratulations, you're pregnant!" and ended with an emergency C-section.
Well-meaning, experienced, ladies made suggestions out the wazoo! Six months into my pregnancy, they would tell me, "Just keep the Saltines close." Each time I would have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, "A cracker?! Really?? You mean to tell me that I didn't need three medications all I needed was a freakin' cracker to fix this?"
I tried Saltines.
Saltines gave me the worst, and I mean worst, heartburn you could imagine, second only to mustard and did nothing to alleviate my nausea.
When I told these well meaning ladies about the heartburn they countered with, "How about Ginger Ale?" Ginger ale made me want to vomit. I tried Sea Bands. They helped a little but within two days my hands and wrists hurt so badly that I couldn't even lift a glass of water. I restricted my diet to low carb high protein to help with the ups and downs of digestion. That just made my constipation worse. Yeah, constipation. There's a wonderful side effect of pregnancy that no one tells you about until you're already well on your way!
I was on three, yes three, anti nausea medications and they just took the edge off. I tried acupuncture. Acupuncture worked wonders, but I would have had to go in for treatment nearly every day for it to continue to work. In the end the only cure for both my nausea and my skyrocketing blood pressure was birth.
The acid reflux was hideous! I drank Gaviscon like it was going out of style and ate Tums like they were M&Ms. Zantac barely helped. The doctor finally resorted to prescribing Nexium for me which, thank God, actually worked.
Any woman who bragged about "feeling great" or "never feeling better than when they were pregnant" I wanted to slap in the head or at the very least kick in the shins! I was jealous that I didn't get to have that kind of "dreamy" experience. One friend even told me to, "Just relax and enjoy being pregnant." I don't remember exactly what I said but she ended up apologizing. Hmmmm come to think of it, I should probably apologize to her.
I was a high risk pregnancy. So in addition to all the rest of the issues that I had, I was not permitted to exercise. I was not on full bed rest but I wasn't allowed to do anything either. I wasn't even allowed to walk around the block! Going into the OBGYN's office was work. And being high risk I had to go for weekly "non-stress" tests. Fancy description for monitoring!
I was not a happy pregnant woman. I did not enjoy being pregnant. At one point I called my mother, (thank GOD for my mother) in tears asking, "When do I get to glow?" I'd always heard that pregnant women have a "glow" about them. I didn't glow, well except maybe when my face was bright red from bawling my eyes out or dry heaving over the toilet.
What I did have was my own experience. I was sick, I was nauseas, I (this is undoubtedly the only time in my life that this will happen) was chastised by my doctor for not gaining enough weight. I cried all the time! I endured 6 weeks of Ensure+ shakes because one of the babies had his head embedded in my stomach and I couldn't get solid food down.
I had a sense of smell that would have put a bloodhound to shame! I could smell things that have no odor. I almost offered my services to an officer working with a K-9 unit in the state park. To this day I still can't stand the smell of Dawn with Oil of Olay dish soap.
In a word I was miserable. I hated being pregnant! But I was pregnant. My whole adult life I have felt "on the outside looking in" of this "mom club." I would sit politely at parties and showers and listen to pregnancy and birth stories but I was never really a part of what was going on. I had no story to tell. I couldn't identify with the other women. And, I was jealous.
I have my own story. I am no longer on the outside looking in. I'm part of the group.
I have two of the most beautiful wonderful babies in the entire world. They are perfect in every way and when they are not puking on me or blowing poop out of their diapers I am a...
Happy Mom
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