Tag: raising kids

Posted on

To My Oldest Son

My dearest boy. My ultimate lesson. My pure display of life. You grew within me, as me, a part of me for nine hearty months. I could not grasp that you were mine to have. That I had earned something so wonderful, so selfless, so magical. You came into this world with wonder and curiosity. You showed me patience where I thought I had none.

Each day you showed me how I was a good woman to you, I was a good mother to you. But I saw even more how you were such a wonderful, god-send of a gift to me. I had my days and you had yours. I did what I needed as a new mom out of love, out of a so-called duty, working by some manual I had not received. We figured the job out as we went along.

Days were new learning experiences and each passing week still seemed so new. Again such a wonderment of life. Our first child. Our first lesson. My first lesson of life, of undying, unwavering, unconditional love. To give of myself to you in all that you needed. Just a pure awe of what two people can create. Your dad still could not believe who and what you were. Your looks in relation to one another were and still are uncanny. If not for my pregnancy photos no one would know you were mine. Except for my adoration for you.

You showed me how to love and live with each passing day, week, month, year. The joy of living in each moment as if it were all new to me again. Learning all the new details and curiosities and magical wonders of the smallest and largest things in life. All these moments were moments not to be missed. You fought sleep for this simple fact.

My dear boy your smile and laugh were and are contagious. People gravitate towards your giving, loving, and sincere light and energy. Such a unique soul that your dad and I claimed aliens would arrive to take you back home one day.

Your will and spirit can never be broken but with time you have tamed to become a little man. All grown up with your boyish charm. I cannot believe to this day that you are mine. My gift. My gift of life, my new life. I never thought the day would come where I could be a mother, let alone your mother. Your rock in our home, your point of origin to know you are always home wherever we went.. My ease at night after a long day, just to see your face, hear your laugh, and smell your hair.

I yearn for the times where I was the one you always wanted to protet you and tuck you in at night. To fight off all the “bad guys” with my super powers, but I find that I am only your second line of defense. Now you have your own powers, you can do so much on your own. Was it not just yesterday we were fighting diapers and bottles and sippies and underoos? Now I try to fight to keep you forever young. As forever in my heart you will not age, you are my smudge on an ultrasound, my scream in the night, the one who told me I was indefinitely a “mama.” Where has my short time gone with you? Stop growing so fast.

I remember the day I took you to daycare and cried the day I had to leave you. Leave you without me to be there to answer for you and care for you in each and every need. Now I leave you to learn, to become more of the one-of-a-kind you are. Doing things your way. You now leave me to go off on adventures, to grow your self, to gather your identity more and more, and yet I still cry as I watch you grow. I so badly want to experience that with you. To carry your sadness, pain, hurt and fear, but all I can experience is my love to you in those moments where you need me for comfort.

I have never met someone who loved everyone and everything in life the way you do. No mean bone in your body, only a hug to share with all. I have watched you grow into an amazing young man and can only be amazed more and more at how truly wonderful of a person you are. To share all that you do, to love without boundaries, to give when you think someone has nothing, to never expect when your father and I have such higher expectations of what you should have. My simple boy who thinks the world of even the smallest, meager, gifts, never knowing any different.

Who could ask for anything more of a first child. I love you Grant-baby. I am so glad you had the best sixth birthday as I cannot believe I have been so lucky to share these years with you and so many more to come. A mother and father could not be more proud at your patience, your love, your giving, your selflessness, you my boy amaze me more and more. I love you. Happy Birthday!

Posted on

Making Exceptions with Kids

While reading a great post by Kristin I was totally motivated to write this post.

 

My inspiration was by her stating,
“You may see a graphic of a mom and some children but where is the mothering? The only time I ever see their children are in pictures and brief statements on their blogs or in the reviews they love to complain about. The blogs I like to read are blogs that have some insight on human compassion.” (Kristin @ Our Ordinary Life, Aug. 4, 2009) Later I also read a post that REALLY struck a chord for this post. Go check her out.
AMAZING woman.
These posts hit me because I know I personally like to bring out my compassion not only as a mom but as a woman. So this post is really wanting to hear feedback because this is a very delicate subject matter.
When DH and I were trying to conceive we finally reached a point where we agreed that we would adopt. Conception at the time was NOT happening for us and so we thought we would open our heart and homes to a child in need. A child that needed a family because one was unavailable due to some other mitigating circumstances. However, we successfully conceived many times over now. Some heartbreaking losses and three magnificent successes! But we me occasionally get the itch for another child. While I personally do not think I could sanely raise another child, I do know I can do it with all my heart and love. So adoption is definitely a possibility for us in our future.
Adoption also brings me to this scenario that has come into our home. Big G has a great little friend, a neighbor friend to be exact and they are roughly the same age. His friend we found from him parents not long ago is that he is adopted. Had no idea. Really none of my business, but interesting. We shared our stories of conception and her inability to carry full term as she would risk her own life and could not become a martyr to a child. In which I agree. I don’t think you can be a successful mom if you are dead before the child enters the world or shortly after their entrance. She chose to adopt which I support with every ounce of my being. She treats her son no different than any other child, she loves him unconditionally, cares for him as if she bore him in her womb, and makes no exceptions to his unspoken status that he is their legally adopted son, she treats him as she would her own flesh and blood.
I beg the question then why do parents make exceptions for children? Why do they treat them differently? Adopted or not? Different living conditions or not? I believe each child should be treated based on his or her needs, but not because of their situation. For example I have two sons and a daughter. My sons and my daughter will have different needs, clearly because of their gender. When the boys start bitching about my daughter getting a bra…..I will supply them with jock straps. Argument closed. But I do not favor or treat my daughter any more special or differently than I do the boys, vice verse, the boys are not treated any differently than my daughter. I love them all just the same. Exactly the same. My relationships with them may be different based on their needs, but that is because I am giving them what THEY need.
So why make exceptions?
My scenario is based on an incident yesterday with Big G’s friend. They were playing as all boys do, rambunctious, disorderly, super hero, arms flailing, screaming, gun slinging boys. At one point all was quiet. I figured, Okay, they are playing Lego’s….I can find peace.
WRONG
I happened upon a catastrophic mess of out of this world proportions from Big G and his friend. Now I may have exaggerated, but definitely THE LARGEST mess I have EVER cleaned of G’s. The boys had decided to half disassemble the closet, pulling down shelves and rods, emptying shelves, and wedging the closet door so inoperable.
I. About. Had. A. Conniption.
I kept my cool. I voiced my disdain for their behavior, for the mess. Both of them. Both guilty, both at fault. Did I also mention the 100+ Hot Wheels cars strewn all over the floor that the sea of metal prevented you from seeing the carpet? Yeah. So I disciplined the boys. I made them clean the mess. I told them that the mess was unacceptable, they both had to clean. That this type of situation does not go on in this house. Make a mess is one thing, to destroy is another. DH was involved in this situation as well. We were both disciplining to show a united front. When the neighbor friend was receiving his dose he started to wedge himself between the wall and the open door as to hide and stated he was “scared and afraid.” Now my first reaction was to twirl my head and see what exactly was going on.
I listened and realized the boy was playing DH. He was trying to weasel out of the responsibility of taking ownership for his actions. So my Bullshit sensor went off, I smelled it too. But the mom part of me wondered if maybe this was a product of his previous environments in foster homes, in foster care. DH backed off and was almost consoling to the boy, in which he got his way and proceeded to no longer clean but to mill about. All the while I was cursing profane thoughts in my head keeping from screaming whistling like a boiling tea kettle.
His mom came to pick him up shortly after the ordeal as she was returning home and offered to swing by. DH met her at the door and kindly and disarmingly explained the situation. I walked up and laughed about how I was ready to lose my mind. Mom to mom, we were on the level with each other. We are no bullshit types of moms where we are loving and kind, but not afraid to assert ourselves. We also explained the “scared” incident to which she confirmed my beliefs that he does that at home, tells her that too to get out of the situation. Laughingly I agreed that you should be scared of having to pay for consequences of unacceptable actions. She wholeheartedly agreed.
However, I still wondered. DH and I debated the situation again about disarming a child who claimed “fear” in the presence of an assertive discipline. We did not raise our voices, we did not yell, we did not threaten, hit, we voiced our clear disdain and disapproval at their disorderly actions.
What would you do? Would you have reacted the same by disarming and almost consoling or would you continue on saying “No one here will hurt you, we are telling you that this type of behavior and actions are unacceptable in our home.” Because as a parent I wonder where the line may be drawn, do you make exceptions based on a child’s previous life and environment? Or do you make exceptions period? When? How? For whom? Are there mitigating circumstances?
Believe me I am a parent who is still learning. I know nothing about a lot of things and parenting is one I work on everyday. Parenting is an ever evolving job and manual.
So what would you do? What are your exceptions?

Posted on

Sloppy Joes

The messy, saucy, warm, crumbly, meaty goodness in a warm, fluffy bun. The beloved Sloppy Joe.
Now I am a classy broad of sorts, I love my fish, my filet, my Faux Grois, something you use a knife and fork to eat, but I really love me my Sloppy Joe. This is a meal where I can really dig in and let loose. Last night, was a Sloppy Joe night. I don’t mean the open a can of Manwich type of Sloppy Joe night. I mean the real flavor, the taste, the ultimate mess of a homemade Sloppy Joe that guess what? You can make too! No can. No bullshit. Just open your pantry or your fridge to the loads of condiments in your door. Here are the deets for the easiest, tastiest, Sloppy Joe’s you will ever sink your teeth into…..ergo…..the rest will land in your lap….or like me….on my boobs.
1-2 pounds of ground beef or Turkey (if you are a dieting type person…like moi)
NOW, these ingredients all depend on the amount of meat AND how Sloppy you want that Joe.
1-2 cups of Ketchup
3T – 1/4 c of Yellow Mustard
1/2 – 1 cup of BBQ Sauce if you like that zippety sweet taste in your Joes
1/4 – 1/2 c of brown sugar
2-4T of Vinegar
1/4 c. Diced onions (optional)
1/4 c. Diced Bell pepper (optional)
BUNS (mmmmm…..buns)
  1.  Brown all meat with optional vegetable, while meat is browning mix together the vinegar and brown sugar to dissolve.
  2. Add sugar mixture to ketchup, mustard, and BBQ sauce, mixing throughly so that a smooth creamy consistency is reached.
  3. Drain meat of any fats and liquids and return to pan
  4. Add sauce, stir thoroughly until all meat is coated.
  5. Cook for 2 more minutes
VOILA!
Easy Peasy Pumpkin Pie. Sloppy Joes in a snap. Really who doesn’t love a Sloppy Joe?
My Big G…who doesn’t like anything that doesn’t rhyme or sound like chicken told me this:
“Mom, this is the bestest meal ever. It makes my stomach feel real good! Oh! SO! DELISH!”
I know buddy…..I rock as a lazy chef.
Posted on

How You Do It

Something a mom of multiples hears all the time is :
“How do you do it?”

Granted, we really are no different than any other mom. We all birthed a child, we care and love for our child or children, we worry, we do the best we can, we struggle, we cry, we scream, we want to pull our hair out, we are just like any other mom.

 

With one exception.
Multiple and twin moms gave birth to MORE THAN ONE child at ONE TIME.
So when you dress your children the same that may be a year or two apart in age, this is not the same as twins or more. Because you had two in diapers at the same time. Say a newborn and a 14 month old or so….this is not the same as twins or more. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not bagging on these women. But really….you open a whole new can of something when you say:

“Well, it’s like having twins”


Right! Like a colonoscopy is the same as having a vaginal exam right? They are down in that nether region…rooting around…its like the same.

I laugh. I cannot help but laugh. Or smirk like I want to tell some twit that her comment about “Well it’s like having twins” or “Well they are like twins” IS. NOT. TWINS.

Again, not bagging or berating. I am clearly stating the obvious. Which back to the obvious question of “How do we do it?”

I tell you what. I really do not have a clue how we do it. Something went off in my brain that told me I had no choice. In reality, I did have a choice.
A). care for my children or B). leave them to fend for themselves and dub myself a terrible mother. My decision was pretty crystal, A!

From the moment they were born I knew I had to run the show like a perfect machine. Rituals, schedules, timing, noting all of the pertinent details of everything from changing’s and the types of changes. Did we have a #1, a #2, or a combo platter. Feedings. How long, how much, breast or bottle. Which in my case it was breast and for how long. Did I have to pump. The whole thing became a science during the first six months. I called my therapist. A LOT!

I cried. A LOT. My therapist told me to, she said crying was healthy. I had to grieve. I had to feel like I was falling apart. I did and then pulled myself back together and went right back to taking care of my babies. All three.

You really take for granted trying to maneuver 2 infant carriers and a 5 year old. Who do you load first? Who gets unloaded first? You run the chicken and the egg question in your head. You weight lift and learn to man handle them both at the same time. Now I look like a quarter back grappling each one under an arm, but before I would cradle each one in a palm and arm. No choice, no option. Especially when you have a husband who could sleep through the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.


Doors are fun. If they are not automatic or have the handicap button, you really struggle. No one helps you. They stare. They gawk. Then they interrogate you. You are a celebrity and they are the paparazzi. You want to run. You want to ignore them.

Questions. Oh the questions. I have contemplated the idea of toting stickers with me that have the coined phrase “Here’s your sign” because I am appalled at the boldness and daft beauty in the probing. I have a whole post dedicated to questions…one I should update and bring forth as I get new questions everyday. Especially when the one woman who had separate fathers was spotlighted. Oh that day was a joy.

Judgment and ridicule. We get that too. Not sure why. I mean we don’t ask for help. We don’t. Twin and multiple moms go to other twin and multiple moms for help. Watch them. They rarely ask any Joe Blow, “would you mind helping me for a moment.” We are usually the ones who have folks offer themselves upon us as if we are invalids and completely incapacitated to care and watch over our own children. They are the ones that reach in and want to hold your child when you are shopping. Those folks give me the urge to shop with a fly swatter. Seriously, I don’t grab at your children or at your walker saying “Hey let me give you a boost” or “Hey great baby, let me hold him/her for you.” Seriously?! We also get that EVERYONE else knows that we could not have had boy/girl twins or girl/girl or boy/boy twins that are fraternal.

NOPE.

They are all identical. Um…okay. Thanks for playing, you do not get to go to the bonus round. I am not quite sure why people assume that twins mean same sex. But I have had so many say, “so how long were you on drugs before you got pregnant.” Again, seriously?! I want to say not long, hubs got me all liquored up pushed me down on my back and WHAM, did we get lucky!

How do we do it?


One foot in front of the other. Long, heaving breaths with our eyes closed, our minds empty where we return to center and build the gumption to keep moving. We have a sick and twisted sense of humor. We learn to laugh at everything, freak about nothing (unless Earth shaking of course), and share what we go through…with everyone. Because we are truly blessed to have a body that was a holy vessel of sorts for two special people to take residency for nine months. Blessings of kisses and smiles and hugs. I truly believe that if we stopped and thought about all we do as parents of multiples and twins we truly would lose our mind.
However, we do it just like every other mom.
We love, dig in for the long haul, hope for the best, worry, cry, wipe tears, chase off monsters, wipe butts, clean messes, give every ounce of ourselves and our unconditional love and at the end of the day hope we saved a little for ourselves.

Posted on

Chonies

Last night Big G had a moment of clarity with Dad. I was very happy to later only hear the story and laugh till I about peed myself. I have to say that I am SOOO glad his Dad handles those situations because I…would give the poor boy a complex. I would laugh until I fell over leaving him perplexed and wondering when I would give him an answer.

Shortly after taking a shower Big G was getting dressed and for some reason outfitted himself in a different set of chonies (underwear for you gringos..HA!!). Not sure why he chose the pair he did, but I did find the selection odd when I walked in the door from my PTO Board/Margarita meeting. (Yes that is how we ladies in the PTO roll….a few margaritas, maybe a Dos Equis, some chips and salsa and we get to business.) So I walk in to see the hubs on the couch and the kids roaming through the house and Big G already dressed for bed….which consists of his white t-shirt and his chonies. As I said…interesting choice for underwear this evening.

After the hubs puts the boy down and we are left wrangling gnomes well into the late demonic witching hours, aka 9pm, I asked about the underwear situation. Here is how the whole thing goes down:

Me: So what’s up with Grant’s chonies tonight?
Hubs: What do you mean?
Me: Not his typical underwear….those are usually the “Last Ditch” Mama needs to get the laundry done pair. I have them at the bottom of his underwear pile.
Hubs: Oh yeah, he just picked them out. And then he figured out they were different.
Me: Um yeah! (My best DUH impression rolling eyes and all)
Hubs: Yeah but it was funny because he got all “Dad, why are these shorter than the rest?” and he began pulling them down and fidgeting with his package.

The package…the penis….as if their “tool and jewels” were the beloved and sacred genitalia of all the world. Okay moving on……please enjoy the eye candy. Yum

Me: Giggling uncontrollably now.
Hubs: Grant was telling me “Dad and they are…..well they don’t feel right.”
Me: Laughing still
Hubs: I told him “Well buddy those are Tighty Whities” and he was like “Huh!? What are tighty whities?”
Me: Cackling!!
Hubs: “Buddy, well they are tight….and white…so they are called Tighty Whities.” Grant then tells me “What are the other ones called that aren’t tight and white?”
“Bud, those are boxers, you can move in those.”
“Yeah Dada these ones don’t really squish my penis.”
Me: I am falling over ready to pee myself.

So glad the hubs deals with moments like those. I couldn’t keep a straight face let alone handle the penis comment I would be cackling like an evil witch the moment he said “squish my penis” about his underwear, I know I am such a mature mom.
Posted on

Blogging and Toddling

Toddling twins and a mom who enjoys blogging….do not mix. Basically this mixture is like taking a mom who is on Prozac and loading her up on shots of tequila…no bueno!

I have attempted….okay really I have done more than attempt….I have started a half dozen posts only to have them so graciously (screaming, yelling, wailing, and crying) interrupted by the twins. This requires my moment of Zen to be disturbed by removing my ass from said chair in front of laptop to inspect said disturbance. This gets old!

Needless to say I think I am making a good exercise of it. I am thinking of moving the chair altogether to avoid the whole truly sitting down to just doing air chairs. I will have a sweet looking ass and thighs in no time if I do this!

As I remove said arse from said chair I find scenes like these strewn through the house:

I see toilet paper from a BRAND NEW roll completely dismembered through my vanity area of my bathroom and the latrine area.

I then see where the twins are becoming a gaggle of trouble…..unloading my Tupperware from my cabinets. Which normally I have no issue with…..except lately they disappear outside, in the sink, under cribs.

Finally, Little Bitty decides she will be the lookout for her brother….who was most likely the one who unrolled the toilet paper. Not only is she the lookout but the distraction….can you see in this picture why she would be a distraction?

Ah yes, the favored Victoria’s Secret brazier that she managed to get out of my bedroom and strung from her neck like a set of beautiful ivory pearls.

This kind of chaos ensues all.day.long. I pray for nap time. I begged for it yesterday when they refused to nap. They woke so early from their nap just to rummage and create more damage. By the end of the day I was spent. I still had to work out and said…EFF it. I went to bed. I had laundry that needed to be done…PFFFTT…it will grow larger tomorrow…went to bed. If you want to know how a mom of multiples does it everyday….she just says EFF IT and goes. to. bed!

So I went to bed. And now….that the twins are napping and….in.bed. I get to blog! HOORAY! I have to say on these days I miss the Big G just for the older entertainment he is for the squids.
Enjoy what a normal day looks like in my house of Blogging and Toddling.

Posted on

The Difference a Year Can Make

If you chronicle what happens in a year, from daily writings to even recalling shady memories, a great and amazing thing happens. You realize so much!!

This time last year I was breastfeeding my twins, I was fat, well not so much, as I lost a lot of baby weight…but was packing it back on because of breastfeeding.

This time last year my boy was struggling in all day kindergarten. Big G was doing the all day thing, but we realized that starting him a WHOLE year too soon was not best. He was throwing fits, yelling in the halls, everyday was a challenge.

This time last year DH was about to be laid off. Three years and lots of sweat and tears and he was laid off due to budget cuts. Scary when you aren’t sure where the next paycheck to pay for your groceries will come from. Especially with newborn twins!!

This year, the twins can almost open the fridge themselves to find food. They remind me of the characters from the movie “Over the Hedge” when they raid the human fridge.

This year I am down 30 pounds (just from March), working on 50 more (to be pre pre baby weight!! Yeah I was a size 4…I am hopeful) or less I would be happy. I just like to know I look good in my clothes, and I don’t have to fork out four grand for a tummy tuck I really won’t need. Thank goodness for the little engine that could of weight loss, slow and easy, and consistent.

This year, Big G is amazing!! He can color in the lines like a girl would, he gets up at the butt crack of dawn every morning excited to learn. Excited to be at school. He thanks me for making his lunch for him. And he is more than happy and excited when he gets home from school. Each day I find him more and more grown up, having grown up conversations about truly in depth topics like food, Star Wars, well I never said they were MY kind of grown up conversations…maybe his father but not me.

Amazing what a difference a year can make. I am glad that DH and I decided to take him to the young kindergarten program last year since he wasn’t quite five when he started school, and I am glad he is able to do all day kindergarten this year. He has matured so much emotionally and I am so happy for him. I am happy he enjoys school so much that this next summer….he gets to go to school then too!! Yup, summer school!! No more being bored! But we will play it by ear. Who knows, school may become the bane of his existence like the most of us.

What happened in the last year for you? Good and bad? With your kids? So much can happen in a year and in most cases even less time.

Posted on

You Might Die Having More Than One Baby…Well Not Literally

My reaction to having twins was pretty much like all other mother’s or soon to be mothers who found they were having twins.

WTF!!??

Seriously. I did not sign up for this. I was crazy enough to sign up for ONE. Let alone TWO!

The journey of life begins. Every mother/soon to be mother’s fear is the loss of the pregnancy until about week 12 or so. The fear subsides. Sometimes the morning sickness. Heartburn is a daily visitor. Urinating is like breathing….you don’t realize you went so much until you see your water bill the next month from what seems like continuous flushing. And finally the time comes when the two little faces you have come to know as Baby A and Baby B, blurry, splotchy, and skeletal, greet you with white filmy, pink flesh, cries, crying, tears, joy, sorrow, shakes, unknowing, fear, terror, pain, defense, a rainbow gamut of emotions.

I wanted to make sure my kids were alright. I was put at ease to know they were. They still are. Bounding, giggling, sqwealing, wailing, whining, crying, and carrying on, they are more than alright. But before we got to the alright, I really was not sure if I would be alright.

I was not sure if I could go the distance. I saw my skin stretch to the point of being a cast member on a Sci Fi world premiere television event. My back, hips, and knees were in so much pain, I was thankful for the winter season in AZ so I could sport compression stockings 24-7. I quite literally thought I would die. Twin pregnancy sucked. Pregnancy with a singleton sucked, but nothing compared to my two for one deal.

So when I met them and I was ponder how the hell I would manage. By Myself. All Alone. I thought I was going to break. Yes I have DH. Yes he is a great help with changings and baths and the like. But the rest was all me. You see I was the one with the lactating breasts. I was the one who had two. Lactating. Breasts. And so I did it. I breast fed both my twins. At the same time, one on each breast. For each feeding. Never missing a beat. Never, if hardly ever giving a bottle. With the exception to boost caloric intake for Sara who was a lot smaller and needed more, even though she was six pounds at birth as a twin. But I did it. Until I thought I was going to die. Until I thought I was going to lose my mind. I was losing every inkling of who I was as a person. As a woman. A wife. A caregiver. I need to break what I was doing for my own metal condition. To prevent a complete breakdown.

I had many. Breakdowns. I would put the kids down for their nap time which was every 2 hours give or take. And then I would find a nice spot in the house to retreat and ball my eyes out. I didn’t ask for twins. I didn’t have fertility issues. I was and am a good mother…why was I cursed? Why was I given this ultimate challenge, the job to top all jobs, an early death sentence, why me? I asked this for six months after the birth of my Thing One and Two. What was I to learn? Had I not suffered and struggled enough in my young life that NOW. NOW when I can enjoy being a mother I am tossed this curving knuckle ball to beat out into center field.

So I suffered through the pointless comments, stops, gawks, and gasps about having twins. The daft and the bold of fertility issues which most assumed was my issue. NO ONE has twins that are boy girl. (Um…okay….did you miss sex ed.) I dealt with it all. The nasty, the insane, the unbelievable, even the codependents who clearly thought I was unable to care for two children at the same time. As if I was the Octo-Mom Nadya Suleman or something.

At about 10 months I knew I was going to make it. Life got easier as I weaned (Sara…not so much the Seth-En-Stein) off the boob and into a hand held baby bottle to go! Bottle feeding was easy as they were able to hold things on their own at that time. Then when the sitting up really was in full force the high chairs were rotated into the house. Meals got easier. Naps were still consistent. I was a free woman again. I could leave the house and not worry if I was going to have saucer size messes all over my shirts if I didn’t move fast enough through a store to get home for a feeding.

Things got easier because I kept them on a schedule. From the day they were born they were on a schedule with me. I knew if they deviated life would be hell. I wouldn’t sleep, I would suffer, they would suffer, DH and Big G would suffer with me.

The one year mark passed and I wondered where the time went. I still wonder. I thought life would get easier with them. Which life did, get easier, for a short moment. And then they both started walking. Climbing. Almost running now. My house is on a constant Def Con 1 status.

But being a mom of twins gets easier. I am able to enjoy these moments as they entertain themselves. I am not always the playmate, which sucks, but is a life saver all in one. I watch them now “twin talk” to each other. I watch them watch us and learn. I watch them turn into loving people before my eyes and I wonder where the time has gone.

Big G told me the other day how much he loved me and that I was a great mom. I didn’t know what to say. I welled up and felt the burn in my cheeks, my nostrils flared, and I wondered where the time went. He tells me how much he appreciates the organic juice and milk boxes for lunch, that I cut his sandwiches into triangles, that I picked him up from school with his brother and sister. And I wonder where the time has gone. That my boy no longer gazes at me like I am the most beautiful woman on Earth, but that I am the woman who knows him best. Moreso than his father. He looks at me and smiles and tells me how much he loves me. The twins fight for a seat in my Indian Style lap, each wanting a prized thigh to hold them. And I wonder where the time has gone that they used to feed until they couldn’t eat anymore, gaze up at me and pass out.

I really thought I was going to die with twins. But if dying means that you get to enjoy all that life gives you, with twice as many hugs, twice as many smiles, and yes…twice as many diapers. I wouldn’t change my death wish. Life with multiples isn’t easy, but what is easy is the love you feel for these people who came into your life when you thought you truly were damned.

I am proud to have enjoyed Grant as my oldest, he was my teacher on being a mom. The twins are only helping me perfect the fine art of evolving motherhood.

Posted on

Girls Aren’t Always Sugar and Spice

Girls are not sugar and spice and everything nice. Unless of course you are talking about the way they smell. And even then…some girls, chicks, and women are questionable. Whew!

So my Little Bitty is coming into her own. She is truly an independent child. We knew this from birth that no doubt she would be a spit fire. Sara came into this world with her eyes wide open not making a sound. She was already planning mass manipulations of our emotions. Even now though she is ever so curious. Her inquisitive mind wants to conquer, touch, explore, have, hold, and steal what her brothers do not share.

While I was taking a moment to go out to DH’s office which is literally 20 feet from the back door, give or take a foot or so, to drop off some paperwork that needed to be handled I thought all was one in the house. Big G was positioned on the couch watching an educational program about sponges and starfish (*cough Sponge Bob *cough) and the twins were playing together with Tupperware and the sorts, causing a mess that I could easily swoop up later in a dash. I was in the office literally no more than five minutes. Enough time to drop off my paperwork, say a few words to the hubs and back into the house to maintain order and finish my other work.

I come back into the house to see a few Goldfish strew through the kitchen and fireplace room, thinking nothing more than another mess to clean, I looked over to see this!!

Yes that folks is my Little Bitty. Sitting on my island. In the middle of my kitchen. When I came in she was originally positioned in the middle of my ceramic cooktop launching Goldfish into my fireplace room. She unrolled a roll of paper towels and was working on my SOLID GRANITE mortar and pestle. Thankfully she did not tackle that….I could only imagine the destruction caused by the heavy stone. I sent Big G off to grab his dad so that I could 1. get help cleaning her destruction and 2. proof that she is not the glowing angel she portrays to be.

My little “girl” or mountain goat is what I should call her. Pulled a dining chair from the table and began her ascent. Obviously did not take her long as I was not gone for long at all. Our table was promptly moved from the area where it was closest to the kitchen island to prevent further incidents….however, she managed to comquer the kitchen table again…with an accomplice (Seth, of course) and they began to chuck glass candles off the table. I can see them now….hiding out on the roof…throwing water balloons to poor pedestrians in the future. Hopefully they grow out of this!!

Posted on

Back to School Blues

I really thought that everyone but me would dread returning to school. I counted every day and hour like they were my last. Yearning for that moment…..OF. SILENCE.

Hence, the moment never came. Yes, Big G is off to a full day of kindergarten. Last year was the young learner kindergarten because of his age, plus the program truly helped him develop those wonderful social and emotional skills when trekking off to the big bad world of education.

So he left the first day and with all honesty I sat around waiting for the call. The call to tell me he did something absolutely horrid. That he was a complete embarrassment to my parenting skills. I thought he would not be able to make it through the day without myself and his father. We were oh so wrong.

I really did not appreciate how much of a help and a great entertainment he was to the squids. I mean they all played so well together. And now that he is at school, the twins rely heavily on me to be their source of entertainment. Not so bad, except when I took my days to feed my reading addiction….which I am still having withdrawals about….so I am going to Barnes & Noble tomorrow for more reading…..my laundry and cleaning really piled up. Although, when Grant is at school, when the Squids find something they are interested in and leave me be then I can get A LOT done.

My other misconception that I had about the fatal return to school was that he would be bored. I am so glad he is not. Kindergarten is working on counting to 20 right now….which is mere child play, pardon the pun, to Big G. He can count to 100 and almost to 20 in Spanish. So when we pick him up everyday, we are so glad that he is telling us how much he loves school. The last few mornings he has even gotten up early enough to watch his little bit of cartoons, sing in our ears how excited he is to go back to school, and he isn’t arguing.

I think the back to school blues have got to be for the parents because I am so lucky to see that so far so good, my kid LOVES school, and I love that he is happy.

How was your back to school with the kids?