Let Me Just Tell You Why I'm Bitchy

NOTE: I am taking the girls to the parent's for the weekend. Dave has been left with a "to do" list - divide and conquer.  It is impossible to get things done with the girls around. And we got a whole lotta stuff to do. I hope you have a safe and happy 4th.  Let's talk next week.

I'll leave you with this entry...because as I try to maintain the household AND pack, and re-pack what they unpacked after I asked them 5 times to LEAVE ALONE...I'm feeling a little on edge and it is shadowing my writing.


For the third time at the Lakeville Target, a holier-than-thou employee decided to impose their values and discipline onto my children and myself. I normally boycott that particular Target, but was in a rush so went to it - the closest one. My bad. And because there are no pictures of my heated conversation with the general manager of Target which ended in my calling him a "corporate asshole," (oh yes I did) the below will have to suffice. (I'm a bit tired of "THE MAN" these days)

I am going to have to pay a contractor big bucks to come re-do my whole bathroom ceiling - after somebody decided to "wash it" with the handheld shower head. The ceiling, hanging loosely, decided to add insult to injury and fell on my freshly washed head. Do you know how difficult it is to wash all that crap out of your hair?

Our outting, which reflects the rest of how my day goes. Something so simple, so minor as parking and going into a store has the capacity to drive me insane.
Arrive at destination
Pull stroller out, close hatch, set up stroller
Twins have jumped out, are standing in the doorway blocking Andi.
Move the twins
Put Andi's shoes back on. Take her out
Stumble over twins trying to get to Andi's stroller
Break up fight about who gets to ride in stroller, push stroller, latch Andi in, carry my purse.
Re-close the mother frickin' hatch because a twin has opened it.
Still fighting over who is pushing the stroller, remind people to stay with me.
Arrive at doorway, one twin pushes the handicap button, the other yells they wanted to open it.  Refuses to enter store til the door closes again.
Shoving match occurs (between the twins)
Other twin slams door shut so she can open it.
My turn to go through door (finally) stroller gets stuck.
Once inside I hear

"I'm thirsty."

"I have to go potty."

Despite going potty at home, these children who apparently have acorns for bladders, "can't hold it." We spend 20 minutes in the bathroom pottying everyone. Why did it take so long?

Because someone wore their Tinkerbell swimsuit under their clothes for the fun of it.

In the process of undressing her bracelets and ring falls off so we have to gather those up.

Out of my irritation, I press the soap dispenser so hard and rapidly, the foamy soap sprays Ella in the face and arms.  Clean Ella up.

And after all this, we leave the store - and my mind - and go out to the car. The wrong car. For the third time, I try to put my children in someone else's van. Luckily, it was locked and we couldn't get in.

I feel like I am constantly falling over someone who is going where I'm trying to go, and picking up one mess while they make another.  There are only two things that light a fire under their little bums when it comes to picking up their stuff -  which they spread EVERYWHERE.(Did I mention I hate clutter?)

The vacuum. They are afraid it will suck up all their toys. I have not de-bunked this myth for them.

The garbage can. I don't like clutter and I'm not afraid to throw stuff away.

To quote Owen Wilson's line in a movie I can't remember the name of:

"I don't know karate, but I know Ca-razy and I'm not afraid to use it."

Sucking Wings Off Flies

There are moments as a parent, that I laugh. Inappropriately. Maybe it's because I am so taken aback by what happened that I can't stifle my natural reaction. Maybe it's because I am immature.  Maybe, it's because I am insane. It really doesn't matter why. I do it. I do it when behavior is inappropriate, or when I'm startled.  Dave says I look "like a muppet" when I laugh, mouth wide open. He complains that the maniacal laughter disrupts the comic story so many times, that by the time I finish telling it, he's forgotten how the story even started. And he always seems slightly disturbed and dumbfounded when I tell him, between fits of laughter, that I think I'm going to pee my pants.

I laughed when I sent my twincesses to their room and they shouted at me,

"Stupid mommy. Poop it off."

Shortly after the girls learned technical terms for female anatomy, I laughed when I heard Ella's shocked yell from the bathroom. She had burst in on Dave stepping out of the shower,

"LOOK at Daddy's big vulva!"

(Dave, calling me a "comedy whore" did permit me to share this story, but drew the line at posting any sort of photographs)

I laughed following a panicked moment of swiping Andi's mouth with my finger, believing she had a bead in there. Pulling my finger out, I was startled to find a large, wingless fly on my finger. Screaming, I threw it across the room.

There's the time I laughed despite searing pain in my ear.  Ella and Sophia were 18 months old.  They had a cold and, leaving Ella in her crib, I suctioned Sophia's nose on their bedroom floor.  Sophia would scream and fight, but I kept going. Ella, protective of her sister, grabbed her doll with hard, plastic limbs and winged it at me. The plastic foot of the doll caught my ear just right.

The aim that child had stays with her to this day. Angry with Sophia for something, Ella shouted across the room at her, "I'm going to throw something pointy at you!"  Lost in dinner prep mode, the statement didn't register with me, and I looked up just in time to see Ella chuck the Tinker Bell plastic tea kettle at Sophia from across the room.  It hit Sophia square on the head.


I laugh at gross situations, too.

I placed freshly showered, still naked one-year-old twins in their room. They climbed on the huge totes I used to store outgrown clothing in. When they climbed down, they splashed and played with the liquid on the lid. I kept cleaning the room when it finally dawned on me...

someone had pee'd on the tote lid and now they were splashing in it.

I did not laugh; however, when I looked up from dealing with Andi at Sophia and Ella's first day of swim class. I saw Ella flailing underwater, the teacher with her back turned. There's nothing funny about water and not knowing how to swim.

My mother-in-law was here for the weekend. She doesn't ask me for anything, so when she made a simple request, it seemed only necessary that I answer it positively.  She's a teacher, seen tragic drownings, and will get on a soapbox about water safety. She wondered, if somehow I could work a safety reminder into my blog..."Perhaps you can blog a bit on summer safety, although it probably isn't funny - but with your talent maybe you could make a funny that got the point across."

Thanks for coming Nikki. And travel home safe. 

Balance

Sophia decided she was ready for her training wheels to come off her bike. We gave it a try Sunday night, and it was harder - and scarier than she thought it would be.

Below is the picture that got me to thinking about balance.  The three of us - all struggling to keep our balance - in different ways, but appropriate to each of our life phases....

It's a struggle, keeping balance in life.  Whether it is a baby learning to walk, a kid learning to ride a bike, or their mom trying to figure out how to make it to the gym, keep the house cleaned, house full of food, laundary done, appointments made and kept, engaging in self-growth, relaxation, mowing the lawn, playing with the children, teaching the children, letting the dog out, medicating the dog, cleaning up dog vomit, pee, poop...you get the picture.

I get that I don't have to do all of the above in one day (but sooooo want to). Daily, I practice focusing on what is good enough, perfection no longer something I have time for.

Today, I had to let something go.  I missed my trip to the gym. I go during quiet times to avoid the constant chattering noise that occurs at an all women's gym. The whole point, is to experience a break.

My lack of coordination is another reason I prefer to be there alone. My trainer has me using stretch bands. "Lay on your back, put the bands around your foot, and stretch your leg up hanging onto the  ends of the band. This will create resistance."

Or a damn big SNAP as it pings off my foot and hits me in the upper lip.

Again.

The pain roared through my lip, followed by tingling, then numbness. It felt like my lip was the size of a watermelon. I hopped up. I had to get out of the gym before people arrived and saw my lip. As I passed by the mirrors, I dared myself to look.

I was pleasantly surprised. When I got home, I showed off my full pout.  I put some lipstick on to really accentuate the fullness. I told Dave I am now considering a cosmetic procedure to make the look more permanent. "Why?" asked Dave. "All you have to do is go to the gym and snap yourself in the face everyday."

Cosmetic procedure or not, tomorrow, the three of us will continue to practice finding our balance.

Andi Doing Well

Andi is doing well. She has no structural abnormalities, which means she is just taking an extra long time to "grow out" of her swallowing dysfunction.  We'll stick with the thickened liquids until she outgrows the choking.   The nurse told us she woke up in the recovery room and started talking right away. "She's a real chatty Cathy." 

Yep.

Dave's Ipod is not doing so well, however. Upon leaving for the hospital at 5 this morning, he found his car had been broken into. The man, so conscientious about locking his car and removing valuables is now without his Ipod. And very sad. (And pissed.) 

Just wanted to provide a quick update.

Surgery for Andi on Friday

Andi chokes. The medical term is "aspirates." She "does not protect her airway when she drinks."  Whatever you want to call it, it scared us.  She used to spit up her formula so forcefully, it would come out her nose - a sign of reflux we were told. Not only would she spit up, but then she'd flail, unable to breathe, and begin choking. One episode lasted 30 minutes, she turned grey splotchy, and we called 911. She was able to come back around on her own, but that event sent us running to our pediatrican early the next morning, wondering what was wrong with this baby.

Our pediatrician, who has twins herself, and whom I credit for getting us through the first year with twins with her rock solid steadiness, reassurance, and skill as a pediatrician, sent Andi for a swallow study. After three swallow studies over six months, watching radioactive liquid go down her throat on an x-ray machine and peaking down "the wrong tube," we got sent to a specialist pediatric ENT. Because our pediatrician said she'd trust his recommendation, we are going with what he says. And, I have to say, he was a great doctor in the 15 minutes I spent with him.

He will do diagnostic surgery on Friday morning. We will be at a good hospital, with a good doctor. But I'm agitated and irritable, hoping nothing goes wrong. He may find "nothing." I am told this is "good news," meaning Andi will eventually grow out of this problem. Or he may find a structural problem, but that is "fixable." 

Dave's mom will be in from CA watching the twincesses so that Dave and I can wait for Andi together at the hospital. It will be weird, him and I waiting, quietly, with no children to distract us. I, in a very selfish way, am looking forward to no children yelling at me, in the quiet, albeit tense atmosphere, of the surgery waiting room.  In stressful situations like these, I enjoy the quiet. It allows me to thoroughly focus on my anxiety and rumination. "Stop talking to me," I'd tell Dave during all of our medical appointments during our infertility and high risk pregnancy days, as he'd try to laugh at something in a magazine, or share some current event, "I'm trying to focus here," I'd say.

"On what? Your just sitting there."

"Dave, can't you just be quiet? You are interrupting me. I'm trying to worry here."

He'd laugh at me, and I'd laugh a little, too at the craziness of me, myself and I. 

Times like those I missed my good friend from community college, who would sit alone in the hall before a test and cry or break out in hives - which I was rather impressed by. Others wouldn't get it, but I did. It takes neurotic to know neurotic.

And so Dave and I will wait on Friday morning. Waiting quietly as we used to, for the news we always hoped for during our waits in doctor's waiting rooms.  That our baby, is doing fine.

Father's Day in Dave's World

Dave slept in on Father's Day. He loves to sleep. Sophia raises with the sun. This high maintenance child, since birth, refuses to let anyone else sleep. She has wishes, needs, demands to satisfy. My gift to him, was to rise to her beck and call.

By 10:30 AM, Andi, unbeknownst to me, had eaten then choked on one of the girls pony tail holders. She threw it up, along with her breakfast and morning snack - all over the sofa. In my race to get her, I caught my toe nail on the rocking chair. I grab my toe with my right hand, and take the vomit covered baby under my left arm and fall onto the ottomon. I sit there debating in my head on whether to wake up Dave. The pain is not stopping, my nail, is hanging on by a thread.

"DAVE!" 

The girls are dry heaving in disgust, "STOP staring at her throw up and go get daddy up," I tell them, trying to distract them before I have two more piles of throw up to clean up.


Five minutes pass. Dave staggers down.  Groggy from 10 hours of sleep.

I tell him that I think I might die. He asks me not to, "There are three little girls in this house and it will suck to have to do their hair styling every morning." 

I do owe it to Dave to do something nice for him. I often join the girls in giggling at him, as they call him a name they made up, like "Thunderbutt."

And they do repeat things I say when annoyed at how long it is taking him to get ready in the bathroom - on a weekend - when we all want to go do something - and need to stick to a schedule - because HELLOOOO - there are three small children that need structure. "What's daddy doing?" Example reply:  "I don't know. Putting lipstick on. I don't know what's taking so long."  A few days later, waiting for daddy outside I say, impatiently, "what's daddy doing?"  Ella yells to me, "Putting on lipstick probably."  The neighbors must wonder....

Then there's the time he read the monthly update in which I shared that Ella, who told me she was being Mr. Noodle from Seasame Street, was wiping her boogies on his keyboard, "like Mr. Noodle." "Maybe you could tell me that stuff instead of me having to read it a month later."

I had not considered that, I was simply looking for good writing material.


Daddy loves homemade Limon cheesecake with fresh-made whipping cream. We were able to pull that off without a hitch.  Next year, "daddy Dave", maybe you can sleep in.

Ode to Dad on Father's Day

Dad is a hardworking man, who for all the time I have known him, has just wanted to provide for and make the members of his family happy. He has a deep, quiet pride for each of his three children: one a bleeding-heart, liberal social worker turned into freelance writer, a middle son and confidante, the creative graphic designer, and his youngest, a young woman with autism who has taught us all to be sure all people are included and accepted. He has always loved our quirks, seen and encouraged our strengths, and for this, we are most thankful. He is a "tinker-er," whose twin granddaughters love to follow him as he fixes and rigs broken household items, he endlessly walks with Andi, and swallows his manly pride while his twincess granddaughters accessorize him in pink Cinderella stick-on earrings.

And so it seems appropriate that we give him a day off from making him the object of stories re-told for purposes of a (really good) laugh.

Dad, we want you to know we are sorry for laughing at you when...

• You got locked in Patrick's car while trying to fix the door lock system. We realize being trapped in small spaces freaks you out. We are glad that, despite the windows being fogged over by your panicked breaths, mom noticed your desperate knocks on the window as she walked by the car after her run and let you out. 

• We tell the story of you choking on the steak at the campsite and trying to drink the Pepsi only to spray it out. We realize you love Pepsi and firmly believed it loved you back and was going to save you.  

• Ella told you your glasses look funny. I warned you. She is matter of fact in her observations. 

• Your foot rolls off the edge of the sidewalk - again - and you go stumbling through the grass til you catch your balance. (Have you considered walking down the center of sidewalks?) 

• You had to chase Paisley through the neighborhood after she took off like a bat out of hell to chase a rabbit.  But really, who is able to run with such speed and determination and never think to set down his beer...or even spill a drop? Now that is love (even if it is obsessive-type love).

Which brings me to my final message. We love you. Happy Father's Day!

June Monthly Update

Each month, I send a monthly update to those closest to me who want to hear about the kiddos. I'm not one of those moms who wants to brag about my children's greatness constantly, and so I got creative in the news I would report each month. Not that I put my children down or minimize them, but I try to capture their essence in words.


Since Andi is now a big girl (or so she thinks as she stands on the couch, jumping with her sisters), I am going to let her have the floor for this monthly update.

Andi says...

• I have a boyfriend, 3 days my junior. I visit him each week at Ella's  gymnastics class. His mommy is Ella's teacher and they run the joint.  He speaks russian. He has kissed me, hugged me, and follows me around. Daddy said he better get a shot gun sooner than he thought he'd have to.

• I like to practice my fine motor skills trying to pick up ants. It entertains me for long stretches of time (and freaks my sisters out).

• I comb my hair. I love to be "pretty."
• I love music. I dance, even to the elevator music I hear off the speaker phone when mommy is on hold.
• I let myself outside since I have figured out how to open the screen door.
• I have two sisters, they are both named "Ella."
• Every fuzzy creature I meet is called "Cah cah" (after Mocha).
• I pat-pat my sisters on the back when they are hurt.

This is what Ella says when mommy reminisced about my being born one year ago.

Ella - "We got to bring her home from the hospital. [pause] And we couldn't even take her back." I'm pretty sure they love me, though.

Here's what the Ellas said about me the day I was born, "She looks funny." Look whose talking, I say with a laugh!

I have to go. Mommy has a few things to add. Love, Andi






Ella and Sophia re-invented "Cheers." I mean the "cheers" that you do when you make a toast and clink a glass. Their version of it is to stick their tongues out of their mouths and press their tongues together.


Ella gave daddy a huge hug, and leaning in enthusiastically she exclaimed, "This is how much I LOOOOOOVVVE .......  Abbie!" Poor daddy. He just wishes to be as loved as the neighbor girl is.

Happy 1st Birthday Andi!

Andi turned "1" today. She is a sweet spirit. Five years ago if you had told me that I would have twins and a one year old I would not have believed you. On the very last attempt we would make at infertility treatment, the IVF worked and we got twins. When they were two, we were shocked, and given our history of losses, very cautiously optimistic to find out another little girl was on the way.

She fits in. Everyone loves her to bits and pieces. I have gotten to enjoy her so much more than I enjoyed the twins. Two babies is, work. Let's just be honest. That first year nearly kills you. One baby, comparatively, was easy, and pure enjoyment.

Today, amidst the excitement, I had this sense of sadness lurking in the back of my stomach. It was a happy day, and we were all content, in the moment, and unified in our celebration of Andi. At bath time, though, I finally paid attention to the sadness. I called it out. I asked what it was about. It was telling me it didn't want to put Andi to bed. I felt grief. And I finally realized it was because I was sad to let go of her infancy. When she wakes up tomorrow, she'll no longer be my baby. She will be my toddler. I loved having her as a little baby, often couldn't get enough of her. And as with all things loved, there is a grieving that comes with acknowledging it's passing.

Now this isn't meant to be a tone of darkness and depression. I'm just noting the mix of emotions that have come up at this milestone.

I feel excited anticipation, too. She is walking, she is saying words. She is showing a sense of humor, laughing at herself when she falls. (She has my sense of humor). She can reach for my hand, and lead me where she wants me to go.

This moment, where she sits at the crux of infancy and toddlerhood, is just one of those times that reminds us...me...to appreciate the everyday moments with my children. To really look into their eyes, and if I can just memorize the sparkle that comes back at me, the way her cheeks jiggle when she walks, the smooth softness of her skin, her tiny voice, her whispy hair that never quite lays down, even the sweet smell of her baby breath as she breathes, sleeping on my shoulder as I comfort her, as I often do when she wakes at midnight...if I can just memorize it, hang onto it in my mind, so that when I am old and gray, I can call it up and happily relive it in my mind.  And give myself that happiness that the little moments bring me now. I'll be ok, as much as I can be, in letting go of my baby.


Happy 1st Birthday Sweet Andi.

Moving Forwards Part 2

Today is Day 4. I was supposed to pay attention to what happened today (see prev post). Looking back over the day, it was strung with running errands, breaking up fights, feeding, cleaning up, and lamenting about all that I wouldn't get done. Pretty typical. And I have also had some waning confidence in developing myself as a writer. I thought about how the desire to achieve perfection, rather than what is good enough, often freezes a person so that nothing at all is achieved. Still, I moved forward even though I didn't know what to write. I got on my blog. I wrote. I checked another blog, and there was a reminder... a saying that I think I needed to be reminded of, because I desperately want to believe it.

"When you follow your bliss....doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors." Joseph Cambell

New Icee Flavor: Coconut Pee

As a parent of preschool age twins, I often hear conversations that...well, just read on.

Getting ready to head 45 minutes south on a shopping trip, I pull through a drive-thru to get the girls an Icee. I order cherry flavor. I hand it back and we start our drive. Here's what they say to one another,

"This tastes like coconut pee," said Sophia to Ella. Ella takes a sip.  "Yea. It does. It tastes like coconut pee."

They talk about this "coconut pee" matter of factly for a bit. 

After clarifying with them that they are saying it tastes like "coconut pee" I ask, "Does coconut pee taste good?"

"Yes," they tell me in unison.

Awkward Realization

I had a choice on Tuesday afternoon. I couldn't decide. Should I focus on the deep sense of contentment I usually feel after I get my house cleaned? Or should I focus on the agitated embarassment that kept goosing me, asking me to bask in it.

Sophia and Ella had their first birthday party invite from a preschool friend. They would make pizza, eat cake, play dress-up, and then go home. On the way to the two hour long party, Andi fell asleep in the car. I began to get that racing feeling of excitement thinking about all I would get done while the twins were gone and Andi was asleep. Maybe, if I hurried, I could clean my house. (Yes, this excites me. Truly.)

I got home and ran, clearing the counters of two weeks of bills, receipts, artwork by the twins. Clean laundary, left in baskets in four different places was all brought together on the bed for folding. Vacuum, check. Dust. Done. With 10 minutes to get to the party to pick up the twins, I was sweaty, but deeply satisfied that I got all done, except for the mopping.

Arriving at the party, I noticed cars there. Other parents to pick up their kids, I guessed. The mother asked me to come in, the girls were finishing their cake. We ultimately left and Ella told me she didn't talk to anyone. She just sat by the window and watched for me.

I reminded Ella that mommy was not invited. "But all the other daddy's and mommy's were," she countered.

Well this was an eyebrow raiser.

"Ella. Did all the other mommies and daddies have pizza?"

"No, they just watched. They said they'd eat lunch at home."

Sophia piped in, always my accurate reporter, "all the other mommies and daddies must have been invited. They came to the party."

Hmm. What do people think of moms who dump not just one, but two children at their home and dash off like a speed freak trying to meet their dealer before he runs out of his supply?

Should I look these other parents in the eye when school starts again in the fall?

And poor Ella. The little girl by the window. Waiting for mommy.

Berry Farm

Ella has had a number of aspirations including becoming "The Man with the Yellow Hat," a school bus driver, and currently a "planter" or "farmer." This weekend we took her to the strawberry farm and we all had a day in the life. People like pictures. So here you go.

 She named this odd shaped berry "Larry"

Harvest yielded 8 pounds

Minus the berries that Andi squeezed to death

We made jam, and smoothies...

and strawberry ice cream

There were chocolate covered strawberries, too. A delicacy in my opinion. (Ate them too fast to get a pic)

 

Water Boobs

We were innocently playing water balloons when...Pam-ELLA Anderson joined us...

Technicalities

Aren't fountains soothing? I think so. It may not be a kid friendly thing to have, but I put one on the deck. It's my one piece of beauty left in my kid-ified home.

On the back deck, the girls have a big tub of rice and beans for sensory play. It is one of the things that will, at times, absorb their attention long enough that they stay out of trouble and I can do something, like make lunch.

Last week I caught Sophia and Ella filling up one of the containers with water from the running fountain. They were just about to mix it in the rice and bean tub. "NO WATER IN THE TUB," I told them.

I make lunch, relieved they are entertained, I even stall a little. My heart rate slow, my breathing deep and even, I carry their lunch out to them to eat on the deck.

"WHAT IS IN MY FOUNTAIN?"

They stare at me. My zen mode shed faster than a speeding bullet, I tell them to look at the fountain which is "NOT WORKING."

"Didn't I tell you not to put water in the rice and beans?"

Ella, the technical one, the analytical one, the one just like her attorney father says calmly, "Yea. But you didn't say not to put them in the fountain."

Flowers with Gastro Issues

Sophia, has a true fear of worms. I mean the kind of fear where, when planting and a worm pops out, she will startle, scream, and climb on my back, smacking me in the face with dirt clods dripping off her shovel still in her hand.

This fear does not stop her from purely enjoying planting flowers in a pot, with bagged, worm-free soil. Last spring she was concerned about the white balls of fertilizer in the soil.

"That's gross," she told me.

"What's gross?" I asked.

"The flower poop."

This year, our potted flowers had another issue. They threw up.

I sprayed too much water in a newly planted pot and the dirt overflowed.

"Oh no," Sophia said shaking her head. "It threw up."

"They don't have mouths. It didn't throw up." I informed her.

"Miss Deborah says they drink water and eat food in the soil. How do they eat it?"

I really didn't know how to explain that one using the one brain cell I had left at 7:30 PM.

"They just do."

Moving Forwards

Someone who supports me sent me a forward - and she thought of me first when sending this forward because she knows I am trying to move, well, forward. I normally don't do this stuff, but something about it is so timely. And I'm trying to pay attention to anything that might help me on my path of letting go, moving. The desire to be a good role model calls me to monitor my actions and behaviors say to myself "You are raising 3 women here, what do you want them to be as women?".

The forward I got asks me to pay attention to what happens on the "4th day" after moving it along. I will forget to pay attention to what happens on the "4th day". So what the hell. Why not, make this a blog post?

(Did I mention this blog will be at times quite self-indulgent?)

The forward is meant to be sent to 12 women, who, in a room together could accomplish anything. (Echoes The Success Principles). The women are to make a wish before reading a quotation, and then pay attention to what happens on the 4th day.

Quotation:

'May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.'

Let's Talk about Why This Blog is Titled "Verge of Twinsanity"

The look Sophia gave me in the parking garage of Mall of America got me to thinking about what a scatterbrained nut I have become since having children. Outloud I said "Ok, where are we at?" hoping to ingrain in my memory where my van was parked as we prepared to exit the garage and enter the mall. Sophia heard me and half rolling her sassy 3 year old eyes said, "We are at the Mall."

Have you ever watched someone do something in public and thought, "what were they thinking?"

I have. In my younger, child-free days.

Now, as a mom to twins and a baby, I have become that person.

I have backed over my own stroller. Twice.

I have thrown the car into reverse and slammed into the still closed garage door.

I have searched frantically for my keys while in a store only to find them in my ignition. Can't even count how many times this has happened.

I have finished paying for my items, put my wallet back in my purse, corralled my children...and left my purchases on the check-stand.

I have unloaded a stroller or shopping cart of purchases at my car, only to find that we "shoplifted" items a twin squirreled away in the stroller. (Nail polish, a decorative flag, a t-shirt).

And lastly, the parking lot incident at the doctor office. When we came out of the doc office I noticed that my "Proud parent of twins" magnet was not on the van. I specifically put that magnet there so that I'd be sure to find MY van in the sea of minivans. I also noticed that there was a magnet for a sports team on the van. I start bitching in my mind "don't teenagers have something better to do than deface my car and put a stupid sports magnet on it?". At the car, I take the sports magnet off and frisbee it across the lot in a fit of anger after also noticing the van was all scratched up. I pull the door open and see the inside and think "Gosh, what a MESS!". The twins are just standing there and I become impatient "get in!" I command and start herding them in. Finally Sophie yells,

"MOMMY! This isn't our car!".

I look up and realize it is me defacing minivans. I've defaced the minivan of a mom in the special needs clinic.

"Umm. Ella. Can you go get that magnet and bring it over here?".

In awe of the whole witnessing of me finally falling off the deep end, Ella calmly states, "Sure".


Here's the kicker. I've gotten into the wrong car not once, but twice.

I plead twInsanity.

My Butterfly

I found myself watching her as if she were a butterfly I just released. She had on a pink leotard with a skirt. As she propelled herself up in the air, it seemed like she was gently taking off to fly. Evenly, almost slowly, she came back down, the skirt flaring and rippling out. Music plays in the background, slow and graceful notes match Ella's movements. Ella made the trampoline look easy. Watching the smooth ups and downs was almost hypnotizing - soothing.

I watched her jump. It was one of those moments that catches your heart, and you begin to see your child as their own person with their own talents, strengths, passions. You realize that someday they will be their own person, fully guiding their own life, who is in it, what they do...

Up, down, up, down. She is in the moment. She is still small enough that listening to where her true passion lies, is still possible for her. I think children are very aware of their needs, their desires, their wants. And if we are quiet, they can hear their inner voice guide them, begin to trust that voice, and hopefully not lose touch with it. Somehow, as we all grow up, many of us lose it. We don't know what our true calling is anymore, or even where to look, as if it is somewhere outside ourselves. Demands of making a living, satisfying others wishes, or obtaining a certain status may get in our way of following our passion.

The sweet country singer ends her song. Ella lands her last jump and bolts for the next event, waving at me with a smile. She is happy, fulfilled, content. Her braided pigtails bounce and remind me she is only three, but she still has a powerful inner voice guiding her down the path she is meant to be on. And I am happy for her.

Something New from Somthing Borrowed

I am going to try something new - blogging. And in the spirit of "Ready, Fire, Aim," (see the book The Success Principles, which I borrowed from the library), I am starting this blog without the feeling that I have fully researched how to blog AND make money at it. By that I mean, how to find the "perfect" template, finding the "right" title, the "right" description, the "right" entries, the most lucrative ad sources. I'm not sure where I'm going or what will happen, but, as I am learning in the success principles, you just have to do it. Quit thinking, wondering, analyzing, what-if'ing, hypothesizing, perfecting, catastrophizing, fearing, talking about, thinking about, planning and just PULL THE FRICKIN' TRIGGER already!

And so this is it. This is my start. I've just fired. Time will tell how well I aimed. And I can aim as I go, too. Or so I'm told. It's time to practice the idea that goes with my favorite saying "If you relinquish the desire to control your future, you obtain happiness." (Author Unknown)