Raising Three

At peace with wonderful

2008-12-19T18:58:00.000-08:00

Never before in my life have I experienced a more visceral moment of what I feel is the quintessential spirit of Christmas than I did just moments ago. With snow dancing downward from a deep, dark sky, my 4-year-old and I plowed through inches of new-fallen snow to deliver homemade cookies to our neighbors. Giggling as our feet plunged into the unknown depths of each step, we hurried from house to house bearing more than ginger cookies but also a sincere feeling of love, kindness and gratitude. Love for our fellow humans, love for each other and our family; gratitude for the welcoming community in which we find ourselves now living; gratitude for being warm during such a cold, cold night.

My heart pulsed with love for my dear child* whose hand I held and, who later, I carried on my back while singing Christmas carols as we plunged through the pure white powder which was often illuminated with the festive, warm colors of Christmas lights.

Although I am so very fortunate to give my children gifts this year for Christmas, I feel that, by moving here, I am raising them in a place of beauty where neighbors actually know each other and where our hearts sing as we drink it all in, grateful for each other and for the peace in our hearts.

May all of you find such peace. Merry Christmas and happy holidays.

* It was too cold for my 2-year-olds but they were in my heart as well.

Tirade

2008-11-30T19:28:00.000-08:00

In the grand scheme of things, the moment was trivial. Compared to the horrors being experienced by those in Mumbai and even ordinary folk struggling to live their lives anywhere on the globe, it was not even close to being a truly stressful situation; however, since I can only experience my own life (although I do empathize with others), I found myself baffled at how completely my 4-year-old could make me feel paralyzed and inept in front of countless witnesses. What a joy to behold perhaps but definitely not one to experience.

Before describing this special moment with my child, I'll preface it with a little history. The reason it was just he and I and not the whole family was due to two factors: money and maintaining our sanity. It already cost us $1000 to fly just the 2 of us so it would have been ridiculous for 5. Plus, who is seriously insane enough to fly with 3 kids 4 and under?

My son hadn't flown since he was 6 months old. He might as well never have as far as his memory was concerned. I was entering the realm of new and unknown experiences with my child which, in the past, hadn't always produced the best results. Being the "smart" parent, I thought of ways to prepare him for the trip. I made one big mistake. Thinking that going through security might be frightening for him, I thought it might be helpful for him to watch a video I found on the TSA's website regarding flying with children. It shows children happily going through security. It shows how they might use the wand to check for metals but it's all happy go lucky. No problemo.

Yeah, well. You can guess where this is heading. We get to security and he starts to panic. I manage to get his shoes off and his coat and put them in the buckets. I get his luggage up and mine. I pick up the now screaming child and walk through the metal detector. No beeps. Whew. Ok, the worst is over. . . except he runs off and down toward the guard at the end of the security area who tries to stop him which makes him even more scared so he turns back and runs BEHIND the security area where about 10 guards are standing completely baffled as this frantic, panicking, insane little 4-year old literally weaves in and out of the guards desperately trying to escape this frighteningly scary place while yelling, "no metal!"

So proud. So very proud.

Obviously, we get him out of there and we move along. We gave the guards a little something to chuckle about. It took a few minutes for my blood pressure to go down and to remind myself that patience is actually a virtue and that it is sort of in my grasp if I would stop feeling the need to strangle the little rascal.

This same child, who wove in and out of trained security guards screaming like a banshee, then boarded the plane and entertained (in a good way) the passengers nearby with his cute ways such as asking a nearby 12-year-old what he was thankful for. It was probably good that he didn't ask me that shortly after his tirade but, in the true spirit of a parent who understands the depth of a parents love, I'm thankful for that little rascal even if he can embarrass me like no other.

Ill prepared

2008-11-11T20:04:00.000-08:00

How many times had I insisted that we have the Epi-pen handy even for the twins who may not have severe allergies? Despite my diligence, I panicked today as I looked for one of the many I thought I had around the house. One was supposed to be in my purse, one in the diaper bag but where the hell was it? The extra diaper bag. Why the hell do I have an extra one?

Where the hell are my keys? I just had them. Toys at my feet and babies crying in the car, what the hell did I do with my keys? He was getting worse.

Epi-pen found. Keys found. Unhesitatingly, yet recoiling emotionally, I plunged the Epi-pen into my darling son's leg despite his protests.

Which hospital to go to? The one that I took Dylan when he fell or the new, fancy one near the house? I'm not from these parts - which one is good? Thank you, Lord, my mother-in-law answered the phone. Going to the close hospital and she's meeting me there.

Husband informed and trying to not panic him as I speed to the ER.

Peanuts. Peanut butter on a cracker at a school he'd only been to 4 times. "Severe peanut allergy" listed on his applications. Epi-pen provided but I'm confusion about how well I had informed them of that and wondering why they didn't take it more seriously. How mad should I be that someone handed out the crackers provided by some parent with a child who obviously doesn't have a severe peanut allergy. Obviously.

Swollen, red and angry hives all over his little body. Bloody scratches from his itching. Crying because he's scared. Juggling three babies at the ER until my sweet mother-in-law arrives and takes the little ones - one of whom is missing a shoe because it wasn't important. Nothing was important except getting Neil to the ER.

Doctors, nurses, medicines, shots. Cries, giggles eventually and redness abating. He's going to be ok. Daddy comes and helps with the giggles and snuggles. My darling boy charming the nurses and amusing the doctors.

Instructions, relief and disbelief that everything is going to be ok. My little darling survived it and I can only humbly fall to my knees in thanks for everyone who helped my son survive the life-threatening exposure to the most innocent-seeming, childhood food of peanut butter.

Old and new

2008-07-22T09:34:00.000-07:00

Apparently, we weren't the only ones to journey across Texas, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah. Hidden among our enormous truckload of belongings, a small gecko held on for dear life. Hot, bumpy and long, our journey took 3 days to drive from Plano, Texas, to Salt Lake City, Utah. Since we were exhausted, I can only imagine how tired the little gecko was considering, unlike us, he didn't have the luxury of food or water.

Although we brought along many things from Texas and even Texans themselves, the discovery of our secret passenger made me ponder how far we were from Texas considering Utah probably isn't hospitable to a little lizard from Texas. Fortunately, the gecko was found by a groovy chica who doesn't flinch at the idea of caring for the little rascal. Armed with a background in science and a knack for caring for creatures, Nikki confidently assumed the role of caretaker. We should know in a few days whether the little creature adapts to his new home.

As for us, we are adapting quite well. It is absolutely gorgeous here and surprisingly comfortable. Oddly enough, I continue to find elements of my old home. For instance, as we crossed over the Utah border, we stopped at a groovy restaurant in Monticello, Utah, called the Peace Cafe or something hippy sounding like that. One minute I was feeling how far from home we were but then I walked into a room that sent me back. It's pretty remarkable how certain smells can trigger very distinct memories and something about one of the rooms of the restaurant smelled just like my grandmother's house. Perhaps it was the age of the house or a certain kind of soap but I had never found that scent anywhere but at her house. Now that she is no longer with us and I'm unable to visit her house, I was comforted that perhaps I'd still have opportunities to connect with memories of her despite how far away I am from Texas.

While I was touched by a sense of home then, I have experienced many things which are far from it, although most of them are quite pleasant. For instance, I have enjoyed being outside more often throughout the day due to the cooler temperatures. I have been able to be outside in the late afternoon and evening without being bitten by mosquitos. I took a 10 minute drive up into a beautiful canyon and saw mountain rivers rushing along the road.

Of course, not everything is so pleasant, although I can't say I have experienced anything truly negative either. The fact that my Texas accent stands out like a sore thumb does make me feel a bit conspicuous. I also feel that I have dried out due to the lack of humidity which causes me to drink gallons of water a day. I still don't know how to get around here, although I did successfully get out alone today and find my way around a bit. (I had to pat myself on the shoulder for that one but I have to hand it to the city planners though because the city is laid out in a pretty orderly fashion.)

So, as I sit and rock outside listening to beautiful mourning doves (who thankfully live here too), I feel a sense of tranquility that I haven't enjoyed for a very long time. I do miss home for sure and I especially miss my family but my heart is telling me that it really needed this and I'm thankful we did it and am grateful to those who helped us get here.

Tired giggles

2008-07-16T20:20:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I'm the best at using the fancy box tape mechanism. If you need a box taped up, I'm the chic. Confident in my abilities, I expertly began taping the bubble wrap surrounding a huge mirror from our dresser which was being supported by my husband and my mother-in-law. As my father-in-law rolled out the wrap and I taped, we were in the flow and were feeling very proficient until I got the tape all tangled and half stuff to the wrap and myself and anything in its way. So much for being the tape diva. Tired to the bone, we all found ourselves giggling relentlessly at the ridiculous situation and the laughter felt great.

Today, within hours, I found out that I don't have breast cancer, the house sale went through and Chris had a good interview for a job. Not bad considering how much of a beating the last few days have been. So, as we hustled and bustled to pack up the remaining items, it was great to have a moment of silly, tired laughter as we shared in a moment of fun after a very long day which followed a very long trial of various hardships to get to this moment and we're here and it's nice.

Since we're moving I won't be posting for a few days. Until then, may everyone be happy and well. My next post will be from Salt Lake City, Utah.

Drowning

2008-07-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I had an aquarium. I spent countless hours sitting in front of it watching my fish live out their lives. Most of the time, it was peaceful to sit there and watch them swim from one glass wall to the next, chasing each other or idling in one spot staring vacantly at something I couldn't see. At other times, I learned important life lessons such as the cruelty of nature and the inevitability of death.

I remember being panicked when I would discover a fish who was ailing. If they had a disease called ick, I put some kind of medicine in the water but I don't recall whether it ever worked. Most of the time, I'd find myself witnessing the fish's struggle to live despite his or her body's efforts to die. As its body became more limp and its attempt to swim grew weaker and more infrequent, I would become enraged and horrified as its fellow fish took advantage of the ailing fish's weakness and would begin to peck at it in a cannibalistic fashion. As the fish flailed around, struggling with every move, the healthy fish swam by and pecked at it impassively, not seeming to recognize what it was they were eating.

Thankfully, I'm not the fish and I'm in good health as far as I know but I am struggling. I'll be completely honest: my life is incredibly hard right now and there are times when I feel I'm not up to the task despite my best efforts. Unfortunately, while dealing with the often overwhelming task of raising 3 boys 3 and under (not to mention moving, being concerned about breast cancer, and all the aggravations one typically experiences in life), I find that there are some who take jabs at me when I'm at my weakest but, thankfully, there are also those who lift me up to the surface.

So, as I flail around over the next weeks, I sincerely hope that I can keep the nibblers at bay and that I can rely on the sturdiness of those who selflessly can help me stay afloat.

Choices

2008-07-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

If you think about it, the act of making a choice is such a fundamental part of being a free spirit. Choices send us in a variety of directions, influencing our futures in ways we often can't grasp when making them. For some, choices are frightening. For others they're exciting. For many, choices are made without realization by a sleeping mind.

For those who chose to view the world in terms of good or bad, choices can be a frightening dilemma since there is the 50-50 risk of failure. If one strives to be perfect and unerring, it is essential to make only "safe" choices or those deemed to have the least risk factors. Although this perspective has its own validity, I find it stifling and limiting. I also feel that life is still too unpredictable for any life to truly be safe at all. Ultimately, the biggest fear (death) is awaiting all of us no matter how cautious we are.

On the other hand, there are those who take big risks and, speaking in cliche, throw caution to the wind. Blown from one whim to the next, their lives run the risk of being aimless and immature as they avoid being grounded in responsibility as they repeatedly make choices that help them escape themselves and their troubles.

I can't help but ask myself whether I'm more cautious or more whimsical with the choices I make but I find it hard to separate what it is I believe from what I think important people in my life believe about my choices. As I try to untangle the answer to this question, I can't help but feel I'm a mixture of both and that I often fluctuate back and forth between the two. I have noticed that I feel more calm about major decisions in the day when I'm fully rested and more insecure and cautious at night when I'm tired and trying to sleep. I'm not the first to notice that anxieties manifest themselves more dominantly at night. I believe it was the Navajos who had an expression along the lines of "even spotted leopards look black at night," or something along those lines.

Rather than viewing a choice in its simplest form, I can't help but ponder judgments regarding whether decisions are viewed as good or bad by ourselves and by others. Lately, I have listened to a variety of opinions about our moving to Salt Lake City. The more cautious a person is the more negatively they view our moving. The more adventurous they are the more they support it. However, we do have a few friends who I would neither characterize as overly cautious nor overly flighty who feel that, although there is risk involved in our move, we made the decision after very careful consideration. Perhaps I'm seeking support here but I would have to agree with them.

As the coming week unfolds out in front of us, I'm a bit intimidated by the many, many things we need to take care of. From packing, closing on the house, and moving to getting a biopsy (the mammogram was inconclusive) three days before we leave, I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all. As much as Chris and I support each other and our decision, I can't help but desire support from those who are, at the least, ambivalent or, at the most, are unsupportive altogether. Ultimately, the choice has been made and we intend to follow through as long as it is meant to be. I guess I have to make the choice to trust myself and my husband and to know in my heart that we're not making a reckless choice by trying to provide a better life for ourselves and our children.

So, as the time approaches 11:00 p.m., I'm reaching for a peaceful mind that will not only allow me to have a restful sleep but one that accepts the misgivings of others without taking on their feelings as my own.

Spilled cheerios

2008-07-11T06:14:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a good, old fashioned breast cancer scare to make life a tiny bit more dramatic. With a family history of breast cancer, I felt it was only smart to get a mammogram after I turned 35. I'm sure it's probably nothing but they need a more detailed mammogram of an area in question - one week before I move out of my home state.

When I'm feeling sorry for myself, which is unfortunately too often these days, it's hard not to laugh at how ridiculous my life has been over the past few years. From twin babies, hospital stays, an ovarian cancer scare and subsequent surgery, the death of my grandmother, putting our house on the market, 52 showings, packing the house up and the emotional ramifications of my moving away from my family, I thought that perhaps I had had enough doo doo thrown my way but apparently not. One thing that I have learned is that my childhood idea of an easy life has evaporated into a stressful, amazing, insane, wonderful, nutso life and the best way to enjoy the best parts are to push my way through the crummy ones.

So, today I go in for the second mammogram. Although they reassure me that it's probably nothing, it's not easy for my mind not to go down the path of what if they're wrong. I'm waiting for them to prove the negative - that I don't have cancer - but until then I have keep on packing, pick up spilled cheerios and wait for the results.

High standards

2008-07-01T07:58:00.000-07:00

I realized just now that my standards have really changed these days. I guess you could say that they've shifted away from me and toward my children. As I was preparing for a morning outing with the boys, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: hair in a lazy bun, no makeup, teeth unbrushed, clothes covered in pancake mix and I decided that perhaps I could make myself look a little "less than shitty".

The sad thing is that is my new standard for myself. When I said those words to myself (in my head and not out loud - I do have a little sanity left), I was struck by how little regard I have for myself these days. It's not that I don't care about myself or how I appear to the world, it's that I seriously don't have time to. Actually, maybe I don't care. Well, maybe I do. Perhaps I'm not sure.

Anyway, so I took a moment and brushed my teeth, put on a bit of makeup. There. I'm still in pancake clothes but I'm at least a little less than shitty. I guess if I change clothes I could be a little less than crappy and if I put clothes on that actually are attractive I might pass for ok. The days of cute, hot or decent are over but at least my boys look good.

On a roll

2008-06-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

The luxury of moving is that I am finding more creative ways to occupy the kiddos. From letting them "help" me pack (which involves giving them boxes for them to play with while I do the real thing) to rolling out old wrapping paper on the floor so they can slip, slide or color on it, I'm finding that packing up a house is tricky but is ripe with many silly opportunities for play.

Of course, with the full heat of summer beating down on us, I feel trapped in the house with three energetic boys and haunted by an unending list of to dos. I would much rather rest, put my feet up and cool off. As I listen to the sound of a neglected tv playing in the back of the house, I find myself looking forward to the changes ahead - if anything because it will be different than this right now.

As I wander the house, going from room to room to room, I am reminded of different days by the pictures I'm now packing away. Today, I packed our wedding photos which is only fitting considering today is our 7 year anniversary. Is it time for the 7 year itch? Nah. Chris and I don't have the energy to cheat on each other. Perhaps our 7 year itch has manifested in this move. I think we both need a change especially after the challenging years we've had. Although my relationship with some are being upset by this move, I'm glad to know that Chris and I have only grown closer and we're more committed to each other and our family as we prepare for a new, and hopefully, exciting future.

One wedding, one honeymoon, two houses, and three babies later, we're still on a roll. Happy anniversary, hon.

Saying Bye

2008-06-30T04:51:00.000-07:00

Our fate has been decided and we’re moving to Salt Lake City. Although we go about our daily routine of feeding, clothing and playing with our babies, our house is slowly emptying as towers of boxes climb to the ceilings. Trying to maintain order during a time of deconstruction is challenging but we’re doing it in stages in order to allow ourselves and our boys to adjust to the changes.

As I place one of our possessions in a box, I can’t help but remind myself that one day I’ll be pulling that same object out in a new home. I know how I’m feeling now – although I can’t really define it since it’s comprised of many emotions – I wonder what I’ll be feeling then. I can’t help but worry that I’ll be sad and filled with regret but I hope I’ll be optimistic and excited about our new life in SLC.

As we pack up our belongings, we’re also saying our farewells to our loved ones. Last Saturday, we met with some of our closest friends at a local bar. With the breeze of an afternoon shower bathing us in coolness, our hearts were warmed with the love of friendship and our appreciation of our shared histories. The night was ripe with giggles as we let our guards down and just shared the evening together just one more time.

Heavy with sleepiness, good beer and food, we drove home (Chris was designated so he had only had a beer or two hours before) later than we had in a long time. Feeling the vibration of 75 below us, I was soothed by thoughts of our friends. Spending time with our friends was like slipping into our childhood bed and snuggling in a nice, warm blanket. I was at peace despite not knowing when we’d see them again. I know our friendships are enduring and that the critical component is love and connection and I knew we had that.

Bitter and sweet

2008-06-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

I’m struck by the word bitter tonight. As I feel the many emotions I’m experiencing about our upcoming move, I think of it as bittersweet. How can one person have such conflicting emotions? On one hand I’m very excited about the many adventures that lie ahead of us, while on the other I’m honestly scared about leaving my home state, my family and friends. I feel like the compass that guides me is calibrated for Texas and that, by moving, I’m not going to know my way – at least not for a while. Meanwhile, I’ll still be the busy mom I am now and have to function. I can’t afford to fall into despair or panic.

During the day, my heart beats excitedly about the many beautiful things I’ll be able to see in Salt Lake City, the fun things I’ll get to do with my husband , children and in-laws, the many opportunities for us to do things we can’t do here. At night, though, my chest tightens with anxiety, my stomach clenches and I worry about how I will ever be able to make SLC my home.

As Webster’s defines it, bittersweet is pleasure alloyed with pain - how succinct and how appropriate for my situation.

Tonight, in addition to my usual concerns, I’m thinking about someone very, very close to me. For the sake of anonymity I won’t identify her. She essentially accused me of pretending to be sad about leaving. Although I have not cried openly, this heart of mine sinks when I think of what, and mainly who, I’m leaving behind. It is not a pleasant feeling but I can’t provide a window into my heart large enough to prove it to her. I know she hurts and I hate that. I think she thinks I’m cold and that I don’t love her enough to stay. Unknowingly her own bitterness pushes me away and influences me to appear cold and unloving – fulfilling her prophecy and hurting us both.
Tonight, the sadness that is always present is burdened even more with feelings of being misunderstood, of feeling disconnected and angry. I’m at a complete loss as to how to rectify the situation since I still grasp at the illusion that I could fix the situation if I tried. Ultimately, despite how much I love her and how much I know she loves me, only she can let go of her bitterness and dare to trust the strength of our relationship and my commitment to it. Until then, I can’t take her pain on as my own because I have enough of my own to handle. I can only we’ll both awaken one morning soon with a sense of peace and untainted sweetness in our hearts.

Stretch and contract

2008-06-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

We may be moving after all so I have started packing just one day premature. As I was going through one of my bedside tables, I found a notepad that had numbers listed all over it. Example:

1:40
1:45
2:05
2:30
2:45
3:50

and so forth until it stops at 9:15. It took me a second to realize these were my hastily written notes about the contractions I was having while in the hospital the four weeks before the twins were born. There are pages and pages of these, some written legibly and others written slanted and scribbled - indicative of how my energy and comfort level waxed and waned throughout the several weeks worth of bed rest.

After flipping through the pages, I then found something I had written semi-coherently to my boys. It's not art but it does show how I felt the weeks before I had Evan and Dylan. As I was ready for their birth, I was also sad to be away from my oldest, Neil:

My body aches
stretched beyond
my womb clenches
and the baby boys dance

My eyes droop
spent energy throughout
but I see a drawing
you made on my arm
I'm filled with my love for you (this was after a visit from Neil where he drew on me)

The love for the twins
growing in me
love for my husband
who shares all this with me
his unwavering committment to all of us

I'm a long way from those days. My twins are bouncing on the bed and eating graham crackers and my oldest sees me more than he doesn't. My love for my husband is even stronger and our committment to each other and our family has become even more evident as we prepare for our great adventure to Utah.

Twisted

2008-06-14T17:23:00.000-07:00

I was simply turning to explain some nonsense to the boys when my knee decided to be rather uncooperative. I can't really even explain what happened but I had the sensation that my knee temporarily dislocated, I heard an icky pop, and I was immediately in a lot of pain. From standing to falling in mid-sentence, the boys thought their mommy was being funny. As I tuned out the world and felt the pain, I tried to figure out what had just happened and tried to figure out how I was supposed to take care of my boys when I didn't think I could even walk. As they all swooped in like puppies on a person who has laid down on the ground for wrestling time, I tried to fend off my babies in order to protect my now throbbing knee. As I got my senses back somewhat, I pulled myself across the kitchen floor and made a one-legged attempt at standing and reaching the phone.

Meanwhile, my husband saw our home number pop up on his work phone caller ID and he prepared himself for either a stressed-out wife or a casual conversation about one of his son's most recent antics. Instead he heard a wife in pain asking him to come home now. He left but it was going to take him an hour and a half to get home since he bikes and takes the train. (In Dallas, an hour commute is common so an hour and a half isn't that big of a deal.)

I couldn't figure out how I was going to take care of the boys for an hour and a half so I called my mother. Answering the phone she heard her normally cheerful daughter beg her to come over to help. She would be here in 20 minutes.

Twenty minutes isn't that long unless you have 3 boys 3.5 and under. I managed to make my way to the couch nearest the front door and laid down. All 3 boys joined me and I explained that mommy hurt her leg but that Mammaw was coming over. I asked them to be very good for me and, with the exception of one brief toy-stealing battle across my lap, they were. My leg screamed with pain and I tried not to stress out about what the heck I had done to my knee (and ultimately what the hell were we going to do if I did hurt myself badly). Gaining a little more confidence with the situation, I began to slowly bend and straighten my leg to see if I could do it. Completely absorbed in the task of cautious movement, I was initially unaware of Dylan, the one child now remaining beside me (Evan and Neil were busy doing something else). As I bent and straightened my knee, I happened to look at Dylan at the foot of the couch: My little almost-20 month old baby was laid back on the couch bending and straightening his leg too.

My distressed and anxious heart warmed and I laughed. Looking at me, he laughed then bent and straightened his leg again and again, each time followed by a giggle. My little precious babe was so cute as he did this and I relaxed and decided that we would be fine no matter what I did to my knee. He gave me what I really needed: not just an ice pack, pain meds and an x-ray but a pure, sweet and simple laugh.

A few minutes later my Mom showed up and corralled the babes, gave me the ice pack and the pain meds that I did actually need. I decided rushing off to the ER wasn't necessary and that I likely just sprained the tar out of my knee. An hour and a half after my call, my sweaty husband (from riding in the hot weather) rushed through the door to see how I was doing and to take on the nightly baby duties. Shortly after that, my Dad came to bring crutches. We then drank beer, ate nachos and put the babies down for the night.

Today, I awoke with a really sore and stiff knee but I think it's improving - either that or it's the pain meds I'm on. Either way, we'll be ok even if my knee isn't completely great. At least I can walk somewhat, I can definitely laugh and I have precious babes who can help me do so.

Endangered self

2008-06-12T17:27:00.001-07:00

As the idea of our moving seems more probable, I find a stillness in me, a calm sense of waiting for my future to present itself. As we discuss our potential move with others, their emotions whip around me. I'm affected by it, obviously, but if I stay centered I don't get sucked into it. I guess you could say I'm in the eye of the storm and I'm trying to stay there.

From my sweet friends who express their sadness of our departure while stating their unconditional support (thank you, guys!) to my 88 year old aunt diplomatically supporting me while making it clear she won't be living much longer. Although she wants me to be happy, I don't think she thinks I'll be happy if we move. I guess that's what I have to find out for myself.

My parents recently told me that, according to an author whose name escapes me at the moment, Chris and I are from the "me" and "endangered" generations. The fact that I'm choosing to move with my husband and children to a place my family isn't thrilled about could be seen as a "me" sort of thing to do. The fact that we're concerned about the future of the economy and our country's livelihood with the oil crisis (whether people want to face that fact or not) could be seen as our feeling "endangered". I suppose we could be just living our lives predictably, following a course through our age and state of mind but it doesn't feel like we're intentionally following a set lifestyle. We live in this age as every human has - in our time. We're influenced by the world around us and we interpret it thus, whether we believe the earth is flat or being assaulted by humankind.

The only thing I know how to do is to live my life, stay informed via as reputable sources as a person is capable of finding, and make choices that feel right to me. Trust in news sources, in opinions about critical life changes and the ones we love is a tricky thing but, ultimately, you have to take a leap of faith if you want to live a full life. Risk avoidance is just as risky as careless risk taking. In my opinion, making critical life choices involves dissolving irrational fears, calmly evaluating the choices and following your gut instinct. As much as the feelings of others is important to a point, no one can live your life for you and you can't live your life for others to the exclusion of your life's passions, interests and loves.

As I drink a glass of wine, I am rocking away in our glider trying to find that center of the storm. As I feel for those who are sad about our leaving, particularly my family, I am truly sorry for the loss that they may feel. Meanwhile, I retreat into myself and enjoy the idea of what our future may hold and am hopeful that the transition will prove to be less traumatic for everyone.

Adrift

2008-06-07T20:46:00.000-07:00

At times, I find myself feeling groundless and separated, floating in a psychological eddy, not sure where I will settle. Sometimes I don't mind the state of mind but other times, like now, I find it stressful and annoying. When I fight it, I think I only prolong it, like a dog circling his tail endlessly. Feeling that, since this is occurring in me, I then must fix it so I focus inward, nagging myself to death as I try to find my footing. As many times as I have done this, I almost always find relief only when I reach out to another: my husband, my parents or friends. Tonight, although I didn't realize I was doing it consciously, I found myself grounded after spending a very pleasant evening with a friend.

Having shared our youth together, then separated and then reconnected, I am comforted by our similarities, amused by our memories, and proud of what we both have managed to overcome at those difficult times in our lives. As grown women with full lives as wives, mothers, daughters, our young souls have evolved deeply and richly. Hours before, I was exhausted and anxious by my hectic life, but having spent an enjoyable few hours with her talking, I feel refreshed, energized and grateful that we are yet again in one another's company.

As my eyes droop and my body insists on sleep, I am content to settle into this restful state. Thank you.

Dried and frozen

2008-06-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

As Thomas the Train plays in the play room, I feel the need to toot my own horn. You see, I'm new to the homemaker business and, with a long history of feminist leanings (if not totally tipped over), I have rebelled against domesticity like most men. In the last few weeks, I have discovered that I actually quite enjoy it and am eager to learn how to be a better master of my trade. (What else am I going to do since I don't have time to pursue a paying career at this point, plus, this is such a critical time in our boys' lives that I want to do my best for the boys.)

From canning, dehydrating food and making homemade (and yummy) popsicles, I am thoroughly enjoying finding ways to preserve food so it lasts longer, making healthy and tasty treats for the boys, and learning new ways to make home fun, comforting and a pleasure for all of us. (Of course, I say this as one of my boys is whining but you understand what I'm saying.)
Although I canned the salsa weeks ago, we don't get to try it until this weekend (it required sitting a spell for the flavor to reach its peak). As for drying foods, my favorites so far are mangos, watermelon, peaches and bananas. Since we're beginning to purchase more locally grown foods, though, we'll have to eventually give up mangos and bananas. Today, my dehydrator is plugging away on honeydew. So far, it promises to be good as well. Interestingly, dehydrating foods makes the flavor of the food become more concentrated and the final product is an easily transportable and healthy snacks for the boys.

As for the popsicles, I have tried two recipes so far from Mormon Chic. (I figure since we're considering moving to SLC, I might as well see what these ladies know.) I have made the "Dripless Popsicle" which is tasty but, as Chris points out, is full of chemicals. The other one I made is watermelon popsicles. They are definitely healthier and all the boys seem to like it.

I feel that my slow transformation to domestic chic is timely because I think it's going to become increasingly necessary to preserve our food and waste less as oil prices continue to rise and our current food transporation system becomes challenged by it. (I highly suggest reading Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver which addresses issues related to peak oil and food security.) Buying locally grown foods and learning how to preserve food before circumstances actually require us to do that might make the transition a little less stressful if we are already confident in our abilities to take care of ourselves and our families.

Although I'm doing this as a way to expand my skills, ultimately I'm doing this because I feel that soon it may be necessary and I want to be ready for it. If things end up being fine and my concerns are unwarranted then the worst thing that happens is that we save money, waste less and our family eats a healthier diet than that found in processed, packaged goods made by people who don't know my children. If they don't, I'm hoping that what I'm learning will help us make the most of what's available so that we may have full bellies in the years to come.

Banana straws

2008-05-30T16:19:00.000-07:00

Recently I invested in a food dehydrator. Just the sound of that makes me feel that I'm definitely not cool anymore but, anyway, I not only bought one but I like it and I use it regularly. So far, my favorite things to dry are mangoes, bananas, and strawberries. Although I ultimately want the kids to enjoy them as snacks, I find myself eating way too many of them as I peel them off the trays. I justify it that I'm testing to see how dry they actually are. "Hmm....that one was dry. That one was dry. That one was dry. Let's try one more. . . ."

When I first did this, all three boys swarmed me as I handed out the dried goods. Now, the twins are the only ones swarming and my oldest emphatically denies even trying one. Well, until I had a moment of mommy brilliance! He'd seen the plate full of dried bananas (which up until now I called "banana chips" to pretend they were unhealthy enough for his appetite) so I knew I needed a new disguise. Recently, my husband had bought some veggie chips that were in the shape of straws. The boys found them fun to whistle before they ate them. "Ah-hah!" So, with a little extra effort, I rolled the slices which are very nice and pliable when dried into little straws. Not only did he enjoy whistling through them, he gobbled them up. The funniest thing to me was that he saw me rolling them - the same bananas that were yucky looking beforehand. Shows how a little change in perspective can increase a stubborn kiddos appetite.

Ending with a silly pun, I guess I need to roll with the punches when it comes to feeding these little rascals.

What was I thinking?

2008-05-29T12:21:00.000-07:00

The house was quiet - eerily so. This house should only be quiet when we're gone or when the smaller 3/5 of the house are sleeping soundly. Neither of those applied so I knew something wasn't right. I was in ear shot of all the guys and I had been paying attention to their movements for a while but then what I thought was a temporary lull in activity extended into the dangerous territory of being quiet for too long. It was time to investigate.

I found the eldest playing quietly by himself - good job! That left the twins. Nothing more dangerous than two mobile boogers teaming up in their mischievous pursuits. I saw signs of them before I actually tracked them down. They left the telltale sign of my bad decision to let them eat popsicles in the house - what was I thinking? A little drop of green here, a red drop there. I quietly followed the drips to the music room where they had closed the door. Hmmm.... I didn't want to open the door and find them playing nicely together and risk disturbing a wonderful moment for me! I also didn't want to ignore what my mommy instinct told me was too risky to ignore. They were just too quiet.

I slowly opened the door. No babies but I could hear them now talking twin to each other. They were at least fine so that was good but what were they doing? Ahhh. The bathroom. Joy. Our once clean, white bathroom was now a rainbow of popsicle. Lime and strawberry flavored toilet and floor. How lovely. I herded the little rascals out of the bathroom and they were agreeable thankfully. Of course, they went immediately to the rug on the floor and a huge glob of popsicle splatted on the rug - at least it was the lime one instead of the strawberry one. As I closed the door to the bathroom behind me, noting to myself to remember to return to it to clean it, I paused as I turned back to look at the two little rascals with their messy faces and shirts. It's hard to be annoyed with them even when they're that messy. They simply looked adorable, adorably sticky and colorful.

They returned to being noisy again, especially after they fought being cleaned up. The bathroom was eventually cleaned and their sweet tracks wiped up. Rather than being annoyed with them for making a mess, I laughed at myself for being so stupid. Popsicles in the house? Seriously, what was I thinking?

Bedtime

2008-05-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

On Mother's Day, my husband gave me the best gift a husband and father could give: a free day pass. He gave me a guilt-free, unlimited day to do whatever I wanted. With so few opportunities to have a day to myself, I struggled with what I was going to do with my day. Go on a day trip somewhere? Spend time with friends? Shop?

Although I always enjoy spending time with friends, I found myself craving time alone. Being alone is so rare these days. I cherish those few minutes in the day where I am completely alone and can relax. I also realized that I'm always doing something - whether it's taking care of babies, folding laundry or cleaning house, I rarely just sit quietly alone and rest. After a long weekend, I realized it was time for my special day. As coo coo as it sounds, I had the best vacation I could think up and it was free! I laid in bed, ate crackers, watched tv and napped the entire day. It was wonderful.

I have to say we're fortunate to have the house we have right now (even though we are trying to sell it) because the "grown up" part of the house is separated from the kids' section so it's almost like being in our own apartment when we're in our part of the house. That's ideal when solace is needed and I was enjoying it yesterday.

Although I was still in ear shot of the kids' tantrums and fussiness, they were surprisingly good the whole day. I enjoyed hearing them giggling with their daddy, knowing that they have a strong bond with him and that they don't solely rely on me. They're actually better with him. He says it's because they know they won't get as much from him as they do from me. I'm sure that's true. I probably make things a lot harder on myself by answering many of their needs, even when they're silly ones. It's the curse of being a mom. As Chris said to me before we had kids, "Moms are crazy." He didn't mean this in a bad way but I totally understand it now. We moms are nuts and our kids are lucky because we are.

So, I enjoyed my day. I knew I had had enough rest though when, as the evening approached, I was missing my boys, wanting to hold them and kiss them. I needed a break so I could enjoy them again and so I had something to give. I won't lie and say that I'm now stress-free and completely calm, because I'm not, but I at least I had a little while to rest and gain some perspective and to again appreciate what is important. I especially feel thankful that I have such a good and caring husband who gave me the best gift of all: rest. Thanks, honey.

Box of crackers

2008-05-22T23:27:00.000-07:00

It's 1:30 in the morning. I obviously should be sleeping but one of the boys woke me up with some half heartfelt whimpers. They're asleep again and I'm not. I'm hungry and stressed. So, what does a good girl like me do in such a situation? Grab a box of crackers and a cold beer. What else?

Today (yesterday?), was a long day: two showings and a visit to the hospital. Both actually went well but the whirlwind of activity surrounding them wore me out, or what was left of me. I took the boys out to one of the dreaded malls, suffered the innumerable questions about my children and the groovy stroller (Valco Twin Runabout with the additional toddler seat, in case you’re curious), returned home with semi-grumpy, tired boys, and then left to see my Dad at the hospital who was recovering from "minor" surgery (if there is ever such a thing). The good thing was that I got to visit with my Dad for a good while and, most especially, the surgery seems to have been successful. Can't ask much more for that.

So, why I am up in the middle of the night drinking a beer and eating crackers? Well, let's see, today I mopped the kitchen, vacuumed all the carpeted rooms, waxed the furniture, scrubbed the rubber play mat in the play room, loaded children in and out of the car (one extra time when I discovered that one of the lame parking garages at the Galleria - blah - did not have elevators - is that even legal?), I ate a tiny sandwich of soy turkey (ick) before driving across town to the hospital. Also, I know I have at least one showing tomorrow and it's around the time I was planning to have my sweet, Uncle Don come out for lunch with the boys. My dilemma is that I can't figure out what the heck I'm going to do to make it work tomorrow. Should I cancel lunch? Should I take the kids on a walk during the showing or go somewhere? Should I eat another damn cracker and take another swig?

Obviously, I'm tired.

I think I may give off the impression that I handle my life pretty well despite its many obstacles and hurdles but, believe me, I have moments and I'm having one tonight. You can reach a point where you're just tired and want to surrender. "Uncle!" (Not Uncle Don, obviously, just alluding to asking for the pain to stop.) If I weren't so tired, I probably could easily figure out how best to handle tomorrow and, if I'm honest with myself, I know I will figure it out in the morning but right now the answers seem elusive because my energy is waning and my mind is muddled.

So, I'll sit here a little while longer, drink my beer, eat my crackers and listen to the rocking chair make its quiet creak as I rock myself to sleep once again.

Forever Texan

2008-05-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

I've been tormented by my family for as long as my brain was actively firing about the fact that I wasn't born in Texas. It had less to do with my being born in Arkansas than the fact that I had broken a seemingly long tradition of being a native born Texan (if any of us honkies can be considered native). I was born in Hot Springs and we lived in Arkadelphia. My older brother, only a little over 3 then, had difficulty saying Arkadelphia. Instead, he called it Arkadelly. My sweet Pappaw named me the Arkadelly Queen.

From sharecroppers to cattle ranchers and plain city folk, my Texas heritage is rich with a wide range of stories covering various lifestyles. Inherent in all my family's past though is a strong connection to the land from whence most of us had sprung. Our horizons have varied from whirling wind mills, foreboding dust storms or electric thunderstorms to glass and steel skyscrapers piercing the hot, humid sky.

Wherever we have been, many common pleasures have been present: the smell of honeysuckle, blankets of bluebonnets, cool, sweet watermelons on a hot, hot August day, the soft coo-cooing of the gentle mourning dove, the joyful singing of the mockingbird. Fire-hot salsa and hot tortilla chips best complimented with a nice, cold margarita are like adding root stimulator to my long, deep roots nestled in the soil of my home.

As we have set things in motion which may lead us to leave the state of TX, I smell the honeysuckle a little more, I breathe in the hot air and I wonder what my children will know of Texas. I’m encouraged that my boys seem to have acquired my accent (my husband isn’t Texan so doesn’t have quite the same appreciation for it). I also understand that as long as my children associate love with Texas, they’ll find a piece of home here. Since Texas is filled with my family who loves them dearly, I’m confident that Texas will become a desired destination for them as well.

It may be that we won’t leave Texas and this mental exercise I’m undergoing may be pointless but, if we are, I’ll appreciate having paused to take it all in, the good and the bad, and let it fill my pores, my veins and my heart so I can take it with me wherever I go.

Blue green

2008-05-21T14:10:00.000-07:00

I really have no business wearing shorts these days. Although I am getting trimmer, my legs are covered in scratches and bruises. The other night I counted around 13 but that was conservative since I counted as one bruise an area that technically had several small ones grouped together - I jokingly imagine that they are little hand print bruises. Today, I enjoyed the making of yet another bruise (with complimentary scratch) when Neil accidentally knocked one of their chairs over on my shin as he was eagerly making way for his car which was cruising a step in the play room. The chair was simply in his way. My shin wasn't very understanding.

When I woke up this morning, I put on a green shirt and blue shorts to match my bruises. A few hours later, I had to change my shirt, of course, because it was saturated in baby food and ick. I changed to purple and blue. It seemed fitting to change my colors like bruises do - the aging of wounds so to speak. Of course, I need to change the purple shirt now because more junk has been sprayed across it. Should I change to black or is that just pushing the bruise analogy too far?

Can

2008-05-19T06:10:00.000-07:00

After months of reading, acquiring equipment and quiet contemplation, I took my first step toward preserving food. Last night, I lined up my first batch of canned goods, jalapeno salsa, and momentarily paused. The twelve jars, with their spicy fill still bubbling, represented a big accomplishment to me. I have wanted to do this for years. I couldn't help but wonder if I shared this moment with my grandmother who passed away in January. What was a normal part of life for her, was a new frontier for me, yet I felt that my canning just these few jars was creating a bridge between my generation where we purchase everything to hers where doing things from scratch was the norm.

I also was reminded of the book by Barbara Kingsolver that I recently read, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle which was truly an inspiration. In her book, she recounts her family's commitment to eat local foods or those they produced themselves for a year. With her poetic view of the ordinary and her soulful way of expressing it, she made a seemingly mundane topic magical, alluring and exciting. Thanks to her inspiration and that of other locavores, I made my jalapeno salsa from all locally grown produce, including onions from my own garden plot at a local community garden.

Tonight, I will find out if my first efforts at canning were truly successful when I test the seals on the jars. I'm filled with a tiny bit of apprehension since I only have books to reference regarding how to do it properly. Although the books I have are excellent (example: Ball's Complete Book of Home Preserving: 400 Delicious and Creative Recipes for Today), I still can't help but wish I had a coach to whom I could turn for my questions. As I watched my hands working in the kitchen last night, I secretly hoped the knowledge of my ancestors flowed through my hands and guided me. Magical and poetic thinking, I know, but preparing and preserving food for your family is a soulful activity that can open the doors to a deep and meaningful way of life that I think many of us these days are missing.

So, tonight when the kids are asleep in their beds, I will slowly test the seals on each of the 12 jars. With each jar, I will hold my breath. I know I'll be supremely disappointed if any of them fail, although I'll refuse to be discouraged from future attempts. I do hope though that I did it right and that I'll be able to be confident that I can, after all, can.

Riding the waves

2008-05-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

We have had 32 showings in 4 weeks. 32 times we have left the house for strangers to evaluate, sometimes criticize, sometimes compliment the place we call home. Toys put away, carpet vacuumed, diaper smells eliminated or covered by yummy candles and "smelly sticks". I almost grow more attached to the house the more we make it nice.

As much as I try to be detached from unhelpful feelings, I find myself defending our house each time someone finds a "flaw" with it (from not liking the pedestal sink to finding the back yard too small) but when someone compliments its size, layout and general feel, my chest swells with pride. The rise and fall of being evaluated every day by strangers is a bit bizarre and emotionally exhausting at times.

Yesterday, we found out a couple we thought was very interested decided that the house wasn't a good fit for them. The night before, when we thought we were about to receive an offer, I began fantasizing about the next stage in the game: packing, moving and the adventure ahead of us. After finding out that they weren't interested, I was bummed. Moping around the house and being a grump, I finally got annoyed with myself and decided that enough was enough.

Stepping back, I evaluated the situation as this: selling the house is completely out of our control. If we sell it, we have things to look forward to. If we don't, we have things to look forward to. Essentially, the things that really matter will be the same whether we sell it or not. I decided what was most important was that I be a good mother to my children and a good spouse to my husband. Oh, and it would be good to be nice to me too.

So, instead of moping and allowing the tides of change and uncertainty beat me to death, I decided to break free of it and surf it like a groovy, hip, happy chic and to hell with letting things get to me.

Disarmed

2008-05-12T06:40:00.000-07:00

I try to avoid the malls like the plague. Although I once walked briskly through their halls as a teenager, fantasizing about being able to purchase everything I wanted, I now find them hauntingly soul-less, unnatural and depressing. Their vastness, the piped in air and the focus on consuming innumerable products left me feeling hollow when I left. Knowing that I have an unpopular opinion of malls, I feel like a traitor to myself and my children any time I wheel them around these consumer meccas. My oldest wants to go to the malls all the time now and it truly makes me sick.

Why do I go? Free entertainment pure and simple. Since our house is on the market, it is one place we can quickly go where the children can be entertained safely, comfortably and free. Meanwhile, I try to internalize all my negative feelings and simply enjoy the fun my kids are having.

The last time we were at a mall, I was wheeling the boys around, killing time and I made the controversial (to myself and my husband who wasn't present but in my head) decision to go into the Disney store. Stacked from floor to ceiling and busting off their shelves and into the aisles were endless products and must-haves for children of all ages. As a kid, I'm sure the place was magical and amazing. To me, it was nauseating. Obviously, there is nothing evil about the products they were selling but the people behind the products, the big daddy executives and the marketing whores were whose stench I couldn't remove from my nose as I wheeled through the aisles.

There were so many products stuffed into the space that I began to find it difficult to wheel our double stroller through the aisles. With effort I managed to wind my way to the back of the store only to find myself stuck, trapped in Disney hell with three children eyeing everything with awe. It was time to go but I simply couldn't. Down one aisle stood a woman oblivious to my needs and down the other was a salesperson coming our way to discuss my babies, the stroller and how she could possibly help us purchase some product. I decided that I had to go toward the salesperson because the other woman was intent on examining all the varied goodies on her aisle.

I talked with the salesperson politely as I pushed the stroller toward her. At the tightest spot in the aisle, I found myself next to a mannequin sporting some merchandise that someone was going to have to have. Blushing with effort and gagging from my distaste of the store, I tried to be as polite as I could as the saleswoman began handing the boys cards for Narnia - just what they needed: free advertisements just for us. As all my feelings of annoyance and claustrophobia set in I inadvertently knocked the arm off the mannequin. Oops.

Making the joke that the aisles weren't designed for my ridiculously large brood, I apologized to the saleslady who was relatively understanding about it. I managed to free the stroller from the narrow passage and fled quickly from the store. Once I had relaxed and felt a safe distance away from the confines of the Disney store, I couldn't help but laugh at my unintended destruction of the mannequin. Obviously, what I did was relatively minor but I contented myself by pretending that I'd just stuck it to the man.

Taking it in

2008-05-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I was casually complaining yet again about the annoying tendency for people not only to be curious about all my children when we go out in public but the frequency of strangers to just ogle us without any idea how rude they're being. It's one thing for someone to look at us as we walk past them but it's an entirely different thing for them to stop mid-step, drop their jaw and stare at us in disbelief as we walk by. It's worse when there is a group of people since they feel even less inhibited and may discuss my family and my situation loudly as if we're not even present or capable of hearing them. Of course, there are also many people who will want to talk with me about my boys which I will do to an extent but like Willie Nelson singing, "Momma, don't let your babies be cowboys" for the 1 millionth time, I'm not very enthusiastic about responding to the same comments and questions posed to me every time I walk out the door with them. Having heard me complain about this before, my husband makes the joke that maybe they just think I'm hot. Quite amusing.

The funniest thing about his comment though is that it made me aware of something I had not considered before: my ridiculous tendency at times to get an unusual amount of attention, even when I'm really just trying to get through my days. When I was younger, I was sort of cute - cute in the all-American girl kind of way. To be honest, being blond, blue-eyed and skinny is rather boring. I couldn't take credit for how I looked. I was just how I was. Of course, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't come in handy when their was a hot guy I liked but there were plenty of times that I would have prefered to blend in with everyone else.

Again, I was no real beauty. Unintentionally, my trusting nature, naivety and youth invited all the predators to swarm me since I appeared to be easy prey. Good thing I wasn't but there were many instances where I found myself at risk. From strange men trying to get me to get in their pick ups to go to who knows where to being asked to have my photo taken with a large number of Japanese men in a tourest group who took a fancy to me, I have had some strange moments. I can't imagine what a woman with real beauty must go through if I experienced such things. The good thing is I survived all of that and I now am a grown woman who no longer draws the attention of horny, older men - either that or they can tell that I'd grind their balls into a powder if they got near me.

Since it has been such a long while since I turned heads like the days of my youth, I find it odd to yet again be in the spot light so to speak and I find it rather aggravating. I know that people mean well most of the time - I really do - but it gets old. As moms can attest, there are times when you're with your children and you're just not having a good day. All you want to do is to get from point A to point B without your kids misbehaving. When I'm having moments like that with any of my children, the last thing I want to be conscious of is some mouth-gaping goof gawking at me and my children. As I was getting a little beyond frustrated with one of my children today, some loud lady yelled, "Triplets?" to me and, unfortunately, my cursory response was anything but pleasant. I hoped that she didn't pick up on my anger but, then again, she wasn't considering me when she blabbed.

Despite my husband's amusing comments that people are looking at me because they think I'm hot, I laugh at how my life has changed in regard to how I get attention these days. At least I know how to handle it somewhat and I appreciate the fact that the people who gawk nowadays are doing it for much more benign reasons. I'll try to be more understanding to those who are polite enough to not do a 360 when we pass by but I can't say that I'll always have a kind word when one baby is screaming, another needs his diaper changed and the third is pulling my shirt up to expose my stretch marks to the world and some kind-hearted person is amazed by the fact that I have 3 children - the three children that I spend every waking moment with and who are not the least bit new to me. Yes, they are darling. They really are now get out of my way. Thanks. :-)

Rebirth

2008-05-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

It seems I'm living in two worlds these days: one which is focused on an unknown future and one which is looking back to remember the paths that led me here. There was a time in my youth that I focused a lot of energy on my past, mulling over endless details as I found ways to regret many of the choices I had made. Once I met my husband and had my children, though, I focused on the present and the future and essentially forgot a lot of my past. Looking back over my shoulder nowadays, I see a different past than I had seen before. When I put aside all my regrets and focus on the substantive and meaningful parts, I realize how rich a childhood I had and how much of it I left it behind.

Last night, I had dinner with someone with whom I had been friends and had known since 1st grade. We hadn't seen each other in 17 years. As cliche as it is, I felt that we picked up where we had left off with the exception that we had 17 years worth of life to catch up on. As she laughed, I was reminded of her laugh back then. As she made funny statements, I remembered how witty and smart she always was. I couldn't help but regret the times we missed sharing together and I tried to remember why we drifted apart. As I pondered it, little memories popped up in my mind and I couldn't help but realize how trivial the reasons were for why I had pulled back and disappeared. I also realized that I did that to a lot of people at about the same time. I can only surmise that I was trying to find out who I was and I felt I could only do it by leaving my past behind me. Although I found reasons to "justify" my withdrawal, I think that I was looking for a way to shed my old skin in order for the new to appear. It was a time when I was very self-absorbed and unable to share friendships with anyone for very long.

I can't help but wonder what my life would be like now if I had held on to my old friendships. Perhaps I would have felt less lonely in vulnerable times or I would have heeded the advice of friends who had their heads on better than I did at that time. There is no way to know at this point and there is nothing I can do about decisions I made at the time. The good thing is that I have reconnected with my friend and I'm pleased to have the opportunity to know her once again.

Although she and I have matured and changed considerably over the years and have experienced our share of hardships, it was nice and reassuring to sense that she was still the same person at the core that I knew then and that, oddly enough, so was I. We both have new people in our lives, changed relationships with some that we had had before and our lives are richer than they were in our awkward, soul-searching days as teenagers.

As the evening came to a close, I felt very content that a part of my past felt at peace and that my future has the potential to be richer now that she and I have reconnected. If anything, it's nice to feel a connection with another soul with whom I've travelled with through life even if we've been on different paths. There is always the possibility that, with our busy lives, we may not communicate as often as I'd hope but at least we know where the other is and we have the opportunity to know one another again.

Showing

2008-05-06T07:17:00.000-07:00

Before our house was on the market, I practically worked up a sweat worrying about how the hell I was going to manage the stress of bundling the kids up and running out the door at a moments notice while somehow making our house appear calm, clean and uncluttered enough for someone to come in and think, "Wow. What a great house! I'd love to live here." Most people who visit us, usually go away thanking their lucky stars that they don't have to live with us.

It's been a little over 2 weeks now since we put the house on the market and we've had around 23 showings, an open house and an agent's office tour and, not only have we survived, we've gotten positive feedback (including house of the week), we've had a few relatively interested buyers (although no official bids yet) and we've discovered that we're actually having fun more often than not.

When it was time to put the house on the market I had to get past my worries and figure out survival techniques. None of them are particularly amazing but they have proved to be very helpful - so much so that I plan on continuing some of these things even after the house is, uh, sold? Here are just a few things that I've done that have helped:

* Snack bag and cooler packed and ready: Instead of scrambling to pack snacks and drinks at right before leaving, we pack a bag full of non-perishable snacks and put perishables in a small cooler which stays in the fridge until it's time to leave. We have had showings without little more than 30 minutes notice so that is particularly helpful when we have had to flee the house quickly.

* Off limits rooms: In the morning, Chris and I get our bedroom and bathroom completely ready for showing and then keep the door closed so the boys can't go in there. We also do this with any other rooms that the children won't need to go in. When it's time to show, all we have to do is open those rooms up as we leave and they're already ready and free of boogers, toys and other such nonsense.

* Gates for temporary off-limit rooms: If we have enough notice, I can place gates in certain areas that I can clean up and keep the kiddos out of until we leave. We use this for their rooms particularly when they're busy playing in the play room and not interested in going in their rooms.

* Good and trustworthy cleaning person: I have a wonderful person who comes to clean our house. We can't afford to do this all the time so this is temporary but it is completely worth every single penny. I figure it's better to use the money on cleaning rather than therapy.

* Car seats: When everything is as finished as possible, I get all the little rascals in their car seats in the car (with the garage door down and the car off, obviously, for safety sake) and then I run like a freak around the house to do the last minute fixes. These are things that the boys would immediately un-do if they were in the house. This lasts less than 2 or 3 minutes and the boys usually are too busy giggling together in the car to even notice.

* Fun and free places to go: Since the boys are putting up with us grown ups, we're trying to make this a fun thing for them. When it's nice outside, we take them to parks. When it's not, we go to the awful malls and let them play there. When they're hungry and they really need something special, we take them to the evil Burger Kings or McDs of the world while muttering under our breath about how we hate the places, while we can't help but secretly wish that every place could be so kid friendly and (relatively) affordable.

The one thing that surprised me the most is that I discovered I could handle all 3 boys on my own in settings that I didn't think I could do before. I had had frightening visions of losing one or more of my boys among the swarm of kids at the mall for example but I discovered yet again that fears are often overblown and that, if I keep my wits about me, it isn't that bad after all. (One technique I use at places like the mall is that I dress the boys in similar if not idential outfits - usually bright colors too - so that I can easily spot them among the kids. I also find a seat near the exit of the play area and guard it like a hawk.)

Another giant reward of all this is that the boys have had a complete blast. Why wouldn't they? They're getting out the house, seeing new things and just enjoying being kids. How wonderful. It gives me a lot of satisfaction to make their life more fun and enjoyable rather than have their world's be disrupted by what is sometimes stressful and hectic for us adults.

As I have found many times before, it's important not to let fear and insecurity prevent me from trying new things and challenging myself a little bit more. It has been 100% worth it so far regardless of whether the house sells or not. So, we're on the market and we may be for a long time but, whatever the results, I feel we've made a potentially stressful situation and turned it into something fun and rewarding for all of us.

Poisoned

2008-05-03T06:54:00.001-07:00

It's been a long time since I gave up the illusion that Friday night's were a time for hanging out with friends, having a brew and experiencing carefree merriment. Although I still am blessed with the occasional opportunity to do just that, more times than not I find myself tucked in bed early and asleep before 10:30. Last night was altogether different. Unlike normal nights, I didn't go to bed until at least midnight but, also unlike the fun Friday's of my youthful, pre-children days, I was definitely not having fun.

It must have been the lettuce. I was the only one who ate it and, boy, am I glad that my boys, including my husband, weren't eager to chow down on a good salad. My body is probably as passionate as my heart because when it does something, it goes all out. Every bit of anything in my gut was out and out and out. I was dehydrated quickly and begging for a ride to the hospital as I lay face down on the cold, ceramic tile in our bathroom. I was supremely defeated and helpless.

Help arrived via my wonderful parents and my sweet husband. Down to a regional hospital, wheeled into the ER because I couldn't even lift my head much less my feet, we waited in the waiting room. I fought off passing out as much as I could by repeating the names of my children in my head and I begged for mercy to be given a sweet, sweet IV because I knew I was dehydrated. Thank God for the triage nurse who saw that I was "pitiful" and also had difficulty finding my blood pressure. Off to the back I went with my barf bucket in tow.

Oh, sweet, merciful medical care. I couldn't help but ponder as my body took in the fluid what a person would do if they didn't have access to care. Although we had tried to rehydrate me at home, I simply could not keep anything down. I thanked my lucky stars as I began to focus again, my nausea subsided and the stomach cramps eased to a dull, sore pain. I joked with the nurse that I felt like I had just had a ridiculous ab work out. No doubt I lost a pound or two too. It sure wasn't worth it though. I can tell you that.

Two bags of IV fluids later and a prescription for anti-nausea meds, my hubby and Dad drove me back home where my tired Mom waited. The crisis over and the hour way into the evening, my sleepy but relieved parents drove home and I promptly fell asleep.

Throughout the ordeal, as I was at the mercy of my body's rejection of the food, I counted my blessings: my husband and children, my sweet, caring parents, and the professional staff at the hospital. It was odd that my evening went from carefree to crisis to relief so quickly and I was humbled yet again by how life can throw you a curve ball without any sign the ball is coming and going to knock you flat on your keister.

So, I'm eating lightly today and taking it easy for now. Any food that might have been the culprit is in the trash and I'm just supremely thankful that I was the only one who went through that last night. I now have a real appreciation for why they call it food poisoning and am glad that I had access to the antidote that got me through it. Thanks to everyone who helped me last night.

35

2008-04-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

I'm 35 years old today. 35.

35.

35.

Ok, it's time for me to get over that but it does have a different ring to it, doesn't it? If I weren't so busy right now, I'd probably find myself dwelling on what I have managed (or not managed) to accomplish in my whopping 35 years but then that might lead me to a mid-life crisis which I seriously couldn't afford these days.

It's a pivotal age at a pivotal time in my life where nothing seems definite and "the right life" is a bit illusive. I haven't been writing lately because we put our house on the market. If our house sells, we'll move. If it doesn't, we'll stay. It's as simple as that yet it's not the least bit uncomplicated.

From struggling with the emotional issues related to a potential move to the ridiculous logistics of hauling 3 kids out of the house at a moment's notice for house showings and the pure insanity of keeping our chaotic house in a state of appearing calm, clean and uncluttered is, at moments, exhilarating and adrenalin-inducing and, at others, sheer madness. I've decided to ban madness from my mind today because it is my birthday so I'm not going to let anything ruffle my feathers - if the wisdom of my years will allow me that strength. We'll see. Either way, as I live through another day celebrating and reflecting on my ever-distant birth, I hope to embrace this rare moment of calmness in my heart and appreciate how good my life is regardless of how hard it is.

I'm alive. I'm relatively happy and there is a lot of love in this house or in any house in which we find ourselves living.

Gasping for air

2008-04-14T14:50:00.000-07:00

I watch the clock like I used to when I worked for pay. I eagerly await 5:40 which is when my husband typically comes home. Although it will still be bedlam until 7:30 or so, it is reassuring to know that I share this, uh, fun with someone else.

I still have to take a moment to reflect on how ridiculous my days can be. Today, it involved nice things like three boys playing with trains, running around in or near the sprinkler, silly giggles and tickles but it also included poop diapers removed in the crib (hence, poop on the sheets, blankets, child), pee on the carpet, getting Dylan down from the bay window above the couch, and, later, performing the Heimlich on him due to a jelly bean. (The jelly bean was meant as a treat for all 3 boys for playing so well together. As is so typical around here, a well intentioned idea turned into an unexpectedly crummy situation.) Thankfully, the jelly bean left his throat and his color changed back to normal after approaching a frighteningly purple color. Thanking my lucky stars for having taken the CPR coarse at the NICU, I headed off to make dinner, dumped out another potty full of pee, and consoled another crying babe.

Before I had kids, most days I stayed in the same basic mood for most of the day. With the exception of stressful times, such as being tailgated by an angry driver or a bad project at work, I was usually in a relatively content mood. These days, my moods change from bliss, despair, stress, panic, contentment, pleasant to bafflement at an unpredictable, seemingly crack-inspired, frantic pace. The days that I find myself feeling completely, utterly, and miserably incompetent, it's because I AM. Who wouldn't be? Perhaps if I were a robot I could get through the day, going through the motions, without succumbing to the mind-rippingly, emotional tornado that blasts through here as soon as my precious babies open their beautiful, little eyes.

It's taken me well over an hour to write this much. Since I started, I've dumped more pee from the potty, fed three kids, made bottles for two, rewarded my oldest for using the potty and jumped up and down in frustration as I tried to finish my post while being yelled at for something as simple (and annoying) as, "Mom, can you skip this song?"

And to end the post with more bliss, I managed to make my husband mad for immediately handing over a whining baby before he was able to eat and, mostly, for not being very nice about it when I did. He'll understand later after the babes shut up enough for me to explain why today was yet another fun-filled day in child-rearing bliss.

Tot pursuit

2008-04-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

I sneak a sly glance over my shoulder. The coast is clear. False alarm. Another sound. Another glance. Typing faster. Subject in view. Cover blown? I won’t risk turning my head. Fingers type, eyes peaking. Subject gone. Now, two subjects and a bouncing ball. Perhaps the ball is more interesting than me. Steal a glance and see one subject looking away, trying to poop. Perhaps pooping is more interesting than me. Pitter patter the feet slap the floor. Two sets of feet. Ball hits my foot. “Ball” uttered repeatedly by subject. Standing super still. Subject retracts ball and moves away pursuing thrown ball. Whew. Close call.

How long will my luck hold? Perhaps I can risk moving one foot in order to be more comfortable standing here typing. Oh no. I got too confident. Looked as one subject saw me. The other subject is approaching. Afraid to look. Subject is still approaching but seems to have something in his hands that is more interesting than me.

Ah shit. “Bobble” and “mommy” uttered by each. Alas, they have found me. Repeat: they have found me.

Note: Third subject was having quiet time in his room; otherwise, entire attempt of doing something for myself for a damn change would have been completely impossible.

Stormy weather

2008-04-10T06:11:00.000-07:00

If you've read my posts before, you would assume the title for this post is alluding to my tornadic-whirlwind-crazy-freaking life but, actually, I'm writing about the lovely storm that blew through last night.

I swear I have a super power to sense when a storm hits. I was in the middle of an annoying dream when I was bolted awake by the sound of wind screaming over the house. Not the best sound to wake up to in an area prone to tornadoes. After breaking through the thick fog of sleep encompassing my exhausted husband's brain (it was 3:45 a.m.), I convinced him we needed to get the babies up and that we all needed to get in the closet - our designated tornado "shelter". The TV, showing the angry red and purple storm on Doppler, was on full blast and we buzzed around the house snatching warm, sleepy babies from their comfy beds and rushed them to the closet. As I ran around the house, I caught snippets of the weather report: tornado warning in dallas and collin county. Joy. Winds in excess of 60-70 mph. Yippee.

My instincts have been honed after years of being scared poopless (such a mom) when storms came our way. Most of the time my concern is unwarranted but I don't feel I can risk being complacent when I have my babes to look after. Despite the chuckles from those who are unconcerned, I continue to wake up when storms blow threw. At the least, I quickly check the weather. If it's bad enough, I sit up and watch the weather until the threat has past. If it's really bad, I haul everyone out of bed until it's all fine (I only do this if there is a tornado warning which means a tornado has been spotted or has formed.)

My respect for tornadoes was established by two impressive events: a tornado hit my middle school when I was a kid, and, as a college student, I volunteered at a clean up for the town of Jarrell after a huge tornado tore through the town and killed several people. The tornado that hit my school was not a big deal and it only knocked some bricks off of one side of the building but, although I couldn't see it, we all felt the power of it as it shook the entire building as it went by. Volunteering at Jarrell was completely different. I was fortunate to be in Austin and far away from the tornado when it went by but the poor people of Jarrell were in its path. Having seen the affects of tornadoes for years, I was stunned into silence after exiting the school bus that took us to the fields - empty fields where houses used to be. The openness and silence was chilling. The land still had the energy of the category 5 tornado in the air which made the hairs of my arms stand on end. Finding the rotting carcasses of cattle in the field of tall grass provided a visual and olfactory understanding of the violence of the storm.

So, after gathering all the kiddos up and piling into the closet, I worked to pretend that the storm was no big deal. My oldest is very intuitive and had already clued into the fact that this storm was different. When I came to get him out of his room, he said to me that he was scared and that the storm was really fast. How did he know? Maybe he has acquired my super power as well. Anyway, so as we huddled together, Mom, Dad, Neil, Evan and Dylan, we had a "closet party" as we waited for the "grumpy" storm to go by. When it had past and it was time to return to our beds, thankful that we were ok, I took Neil to his room and we waved the storm bye-bye. He was very brave and didn't insist on sleeping with us even though he did seem to want to. The tuckered little twins fell back to sleep pretty quickly. Since it was almost 5:00 a.m. by this time, Chris got up and started getting ready for work, and I, relaxed once again, and fell promptly to sleep.

Waking up this morning, I felt pretty good because we managed to handle the potentially stressful situation pretty well and we didn't have any significant damage from the storm with the exception of two sections of our fence knocked over. Although I'm sure Neil was a little nervous about the storm last night, we joked about happy and grumpy storms this morning so I'm hoping that he won't be in a panic the next time we have a closet party. Of course, he did want to have one today even though the skies are relatively clear and it's not raining.

I haven't had a chance to see how the rest of the metroplex handled the storm. I heard there were some cars on houses a bit west of us and that there are large chunks of trees missing around the neighborhood. At least it seems like we all survived the storm relatively unscathed and we can relax until the next line of storms comes blowing through here.

My ridiculous life

2008-04-09T18:27:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to believe that humans weren't designed for 3 children 3 and under. Well, 3 1/2 and under now but either way. Perhaps it's just me who is not designed for it but that would mean there is something wrong with me and I'm tired of beating myself over what is truly a ridiculous life.

When I try to find an analogy that might provide a glimpse into our world, everything falls short. For instance, I picture the I Love Lucy episode where Lucy is working at the chocolate company and is overwhelmed by the chocolate coming down the conveyor belt. I can relate to the sense of things piling up and occurring regardless of my capacity to handle them or not. I can relate to using every part of my body to hold, carry, or work with my babies but I can't relate to the background laughter because it just ain't funny. I can't relate to standing in one spot or having other people there to do part of the work. Finally, I can only imagine that it smelled good at the chocolate company (and thus not like dirty diapers), Lucy had probably had a shower and she was able to at least eat something.

Today, I had a moment that pushed me over into "beat myself up for not being an octopus with eight hands, a spider with a million eye balls, or a vegetable that doesn't react obviously to stressful, external stimuli." In brief, here was the scenario as I described to my hubby moments afterwards (Note: this all occurred within 5-10 minutes at the most):

"neil peed in potty (good). i didn't know he did (not so good). evan found it (bad). evan splashed around in it (very bad). rushed evan and dylan to bath (good). neil found lysol i was going to use to clean up play room (bad). neil sprayed it all over him (very bad). i bathed all 3 boys (good but bad). all three boys soaked me with water (annoying). put babies in neil's room with gate while i finished neil's bath (good). forgot neil had the scrabble game on the floor (bad). evan and dylan found scrabble game (bad). thankfully, other than scaring me to death, they didn't eat any of the pieces they had thrown all over the floor (good)."

To think that after all this ridiculous business, I actually beat myself up over my inability to take this peacefully. Only a zombie would respond calmly to this situation. Seriously, an 18-month old splashing in his brother's pee, a 3.5 year old spraying himself with Lysol, and so forth. Now I'm going to beat myself up for beating myself up. Now, that makes sense.

So, tomorrow will be just as stupid as today and, tomorrow, I'll feel just as incompetent. Perhaps at the end of the day, after the boys have survived the chaos once more, I'll pat myself on the back for a damn change and take heart that they're getting one day closer to being bigger boys and maybe, just maybe, our lives will be a little calmer and a little less ridiculous.

I can only hope.

My kind of strange

2008-03-26T18:46:00.000-07:00

I'd have to admit that I'm kind of strange. I find myself appearing odd around other people. Sometimes it makes me laugh and other times I feel self-conscious. I always have a reason for what I do but I don't always have an opportunity or the interest to explain. As I have mentioned before, I'm a dumpster diver (i.e., I forage for things people have decided to discard). I don't actually get into dumpsters, although I know people do that. I just keep an eye out for what people put out for collection. When I find something, I either keep it if I can use it, donate it, sell it or freecycle it. Either way, I keep it out of the landfill at least temporarily.

The other day I was taking a walk after my husband came home from work. It was my free time so I breathed in the fresh air, shook off the constant feel of sticky, little fingers grabbing me and walked. It was a nice walk and I enjoyed feeling my blood pumping. At first enjoying the moment was enough but then I spotted something in an alley as I was passing by it. I swear I have a second sense for treasure. I decided to detour back to the alley and explore.

What I found was a crime as far as I am concerned: a children's bed frame in good condition (but it was under a lot of heavy stuff so I couldn't get to it) and a topiary (a metal frame where plants can be trained to grow around it into the shape). It was large and very rustic looking. Ok, so it was covered in fake plants - I knew I could remove that. I could see it's potential and it's value. These things aren't cheap. I estimated it would cost about $50-75 to purchase.

Now, remember, I was out walking alone in the neighborhood. How was I going to get this 5 foot tall, metal thing home? Being the goofball I am, I decided to carry it - several blocks. Here I am in our relatively nice neighborhood which is inhabited by mostly older, comfortable-living, NORMAL people and I'm digging through someone's trash and carrying a large, metal thing around like I do it everyday.

I walked and walked, shifting this large thing from hand to hand because it was getting heavier. I was obviously conscious of the fact that I looked like a goob but what was I going to do? Leave it there? Nope. So, I just tried to go faster and faster. Just as I was about to turn down our street I began to hope that no one was going to see me, or rather, I wouldn't see anyone seeing me. Hoping got me no where. A nice, normal lady was out in her yard talking with her nice, normal male neighbor and they both looked up at me. They appeared a bit puzzled. I know she said something to him with a chuckle but I couldn't quite make out what she said. It was something about "metal" and "walking". Whatever it was was not, "hey, she just saved that great piece from the landfill. Good for her!" No, it was more like, "she's weird and let's make sure we both agree that she's weird so we can reaffirm how normal we are." Ha ha ha.

I admit I'm strange and, frankly, I'm proud of it because being normal these days hasn't gotten us very far. It's normal to throw stuff away without thinking of the consequences. It's normal to buy cheap junk that costs somebody somewhere. It's normal to insulate ourselves from the world in our homes, watching bad tv so we don't have to deal with how depressing life can be when all you do is work and don't have anything to show for it. Normal isn't normal if you look at how people lived for thousands of years before all our great ideas of progress and consumerism came along to create the fake bubble we all seem to be living in these days. We've cut ourselves off from the real beauty of life and replaced it with a plastic, anaerobic, chemical-laden turd - but it sure is nice, isn't it?

So, I'm strange but I'm relatively happy. I buy fewer things than most. I try to buy local foods and products. I garden a small plot at a community garden. I try not to throw things away and reuse what I can. I'm still too normal though no matter how much I try but at least I'm trying.

Ova-achiever

2008-03-23T17:39:00.000-07:00

As I watched my oldest coloring his first eggs for Easter, laying the finished ones on a plate, each ova with his or his brothers' name on it, I found myself having a different perspective on what eggs symbolized to me. With three eggs, one for each child, I was reminded of the many, many eggs I had produced for these guys to be here. As I'm sure I've mentioned in the past, my babies were all made possible by in vitro fertilization (IVF).

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure to find out all the sorted details related to IVF, let me quickly explain that the woman is given tons of hormones to increase egg production (rather they cause many eggs to mature since we don't actually produce new ones - we're born with them all). We normally mature one egg per cycle but in IVF you either produce a few, several or many. When they first give you hormones, they make an educated guess as to how much you need in order to make a good amount of eggs (or follicles as they call them). Until they have had a chance to observe their effects on you, you feel a bit like an infertile guinea pig.

My nickname became the ova-achiever (coined by myself, thank you very much, but used by all - husband, physicians, nurses. . . .) I was unusual. Instead of producing 8-10, for example, I produced about 60 - in each ovary. Think about that: a normal ovary matures one per cycle and I had 60. As you can imagine this did affect me a bit. My ovaries literally became the size of grapefruit.

Ouch.

Rather than bore you further with all the medical details, let's just say that I had a lot of eggs. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, we only had a limited number of embryos produced from this due to other fertility issues we had. Over the course of the next few years, we went through four rounds of IVF, producing 3 pregnancies, two of which resulted in my little dudes. It was quite an ordeal that I'm eager to forget. (Obviously, not the good pregnancies or my children.)

Back when I was going through IVF and swollen with eggs, the idea of the little buggers was so completely unappealing. I felt like a chicken who would be disgusted by the thought of eating her own eggs. Yuck! So, as I looked at the three little eggs, each with my sons names on them, I decided that eggs aren't so bad after all and I quite love the little rascals.

Multi-worries

2008-03-19T18:57:00.000-07:00

I just realized that not only have I honed my skills at multi-tasking (example: changing one baby's diapers, discussing colors in Spanish with another, and using my foot to keep the other baby from trying to get the just-removed dirty diaper), I've also accomplished multi-worrying. I can manage to worry about a billion things at once. What an amazing skill about which I am so pleased to have accomplished.

My brain spits out worries at an amazing pace, overlapping each other in the strangest ways and splitting off into others. These days I worry about selling the house, moving to SLC, having money, being a good parent, being a good daughter, being a good wife, friend, citizen. I'm also worried about potty training my oldest after talking with his school which is pressuring me and him about it. I'm worried about the economy, politics, food safety, environmental protection, public health. It's amazing how much energy - that I don't have anyway - still manages to get focused on a variety of issues, many of which are out of my control.

So, maybe I should have been a slug. Of course, who knows, they might worry about whether they have enough goo in their bodies to slide across the sidewalk before they dry up. See what a creative worrier I am? I can make a slug's everyday existence seem stressful. Challenge me! I bet I can out worry you.

Anyway, I'm obviously making fun of myself and my tendency to worry. Ultimately, all my worries are in my head. Perhaps if I make fun of them enough they'll go away. Just in case, though, I'll drink this glass of wine.

Complete Garbage

2008-03-16T17:35:00.000-07:00

This weekend I went on a rare visit to Bed, Bath and Beyond in order to buy a shower gift for a good friend of mine. Since outings to stores these days are rare I took a few moments to see what new products were being marketed. Being the consumer cynic I am, I found myself laughing at many of the products being sold. Even though I wouldn't buy most of the products even if I had the money, I could at least see why someone might want them. But then a product caught my attention: the Rachel Ray Garbage Bowl - a $15-18 bowl for garbage. Brilliant.

I can understand buying a garbage can or a bowl for cooking but this bowl was being sold to be used as a garbage bowl. For those of you unfamiliar with Rachel Ray's revolutionary (to those who hadn't thought of it on their own) idea of having a bowl out where "trash" such as cores of apples, seeds, etc. can be thrown in order to speed up cooking while encouraging orderliness. Not to brag, but I had already come up with the idea years ago and it never occurred to me that I could make some serious money by telling everyone else about it. Of course, I'm not Rachel Ray so no one would have listened but, seriously, who is so dull as to think they need a specific bowl for trash - much less one that costs $15-18.

As I stood there laughing out loud like a crazy woman, I couldn't help but realize how weird I must be if I think it's ridiculous to buy such a product. Somebody must buy them otherwise they wouldn't have a billion of them sitting out. What planet am I on?

Anyway, I pulled myself away from my thoughts and found a nice, practical gift for my sweet friend that she could actually use for a long time if she wanted to. Later that night, I got out a random bowl from my cabinets and used it for trash and didn't feel the least bit sad that I hadn't bought Rachel Ray's.

Neil the critic

2008-03-15T07:29:00.000-07:00

Our three year old has many opinions as most children his age do. We enjoy getting Neil's perspective on all sorts of random things. After a few hours with Neil, we both frequently find ourselves quoting him, often while giggling. In order to share the amusing perspective of our little guy, my husband has started a blog, http://www.neilthecritic.blogspot.com/, to share his funny insights.

Although the blog is mostly about Neil, it also reflects my husband's focus on music, politics, or whatever is on his mind these days. My hubby also has a habit of editing out anything that goes against his idea of what is right (i.e., you won't see Neil discussing how awful Steely Dan is, why Bush is the best president ever or how yummy meat is). Since he can't edit my posts, he can't edit my gently tormenting him.

oh yes i can! - c.

Draw of a straw

2008-03-13T18:21:00.000-07:00

I find it interesting how memories can be tied to the oddest things - a certain piece of cloth, a smell in the air, some trigger that takes you back in a way that merely remembering something independent of external stimuli can't emulate. In many cases, the triggers appear randomly without any suggestion that you're about to be reminded of another day and time. You open a drawer, turn a corner or merely look at something differently and synapses fire back to old, dusty memories at the recesses of your brain.

Today, I held my 3 year old and felt the stirrings of old times as I watched him sipping his milk from a cup. I don't know how many times a day I watch him drinking from his cup or, more specifically, with a straw but something about how I was holding him, how tired he looked triggered memories of a time before the twins were born and I was in the hospital.

Not unlike many moms pregnant with twins, my body wanted to go into labor before it was in our babies' best interest. At 30 weeks, I started having regular contractions, had a positive fetal fibronectin and was dilating. My doctor admitted me after a routine check up and I stayed in the hospital for 4 weeks. At the time, Neil was approaching 2 years old.

Although 4 weeks is a long time for an adult to be in the hospital, it was an even longer time for Neil to be away from his mommy (I did see him a few times while I was there) and a long time for me to be away from my son. While enduring the constant monitoring, the isolation, the discomfort and medications that were administered, I focused my energy on getting through the experience with as positive and strong an attitude as I could muster. With the exception of a few incidences where we were very concerned about the welfare of the twins, my strength only dissolved when I thought of my sweet, darling Neil who I missed so much.

While I was in the hospital, I missed our baby shower. All our friends came and had a party without me. My husband even had to leave the party early because of concerns that labor wasn't going to be averted. Thankfully, it did. Also, we were fortunate to have many caring family members and friends there to support us during such a tumultuous time. A day or so later, my mother-in-law brought pictures from the shower.

I enjoyed looking through all the photos, seeing my friends having fun in our house, seeing my family talking with my friends and seeing the children playing together. When I got to one picture, though, of Neil drinking with a straw my heartstrings were strummed. Before I left for the hospital, he wasn't using a straw. Here he was not only using a straw but he looked like he'd been doing it for a while and he looked so grown. I felt so absent from him at that moment, like a parent who has died and can't see, smell and touch their own child. He was out of my grasp and living his life without me and it made me sad. It also made me proud of him though to see him doing something new, to see him turning into a bigger boy. I just wanted to be there too and I couldn't.

Before the twins were born, it was Neil and I. Of course, Chris was part of the whole equation but I spent more time with Neil than anyone and vice verse. I won't pretend that it was always a blast and that he never drove me nuts as kids can do, but we had a solid bond and he was my buddy. It was so emotionally jarring to be removed from him so suddenly and for so long despite knowing how completely necessary it was. It helped that I had two babies moving around in my belly to remind me. As I laid in the bed, I rubbed my huge, swollen, wiggling belly and cried as I held the photo.

Tonight, so many things are different from that night. Neil is older. He's no longer a baby and I see him sip straws all the time. I'm 65 pounds lighter than I was that day (thank God!) and the twins are wiggling in the house now and not in my belly. Times are tough in different ways but not as hard as they were then. I didn't know then how my babies would do once they were born, I didn't know how I was going to parent them and I wondered how different Neil would be when I came home. I'm fortunate that everything worked out and that my babies are safe and warm in their beds. Just as Neil fell asleep with me on the couch within the first few minutes of my return home from the hospital, I feel peace in my heart.

Needy-Wants

2008-03-13T12:58:00.001-07:00

We're seemingly over the odd stomach ick that briefly affected our oldest. As far as we can tell, it was a fluke. Now that we're past the hurl-arity, we've come down with a common disease around here - the needy-wants. I think all children get this bug at least once a day but unfortunately it can occur every few minutes.

Symptoms of the needy-wants are persistent neediness for an unknown thing, indecisiveness about what it is they want and a tendency to talk in a whiny tone that can escalate to the pitch of a pig at slaughter. However unpleasant this condition must be for the child, it is very difficult for the primary caregiver or of the individual from whom the child thinks he can get his needy-want satisfied.

Fear not, you are not alone. As sad as it is, there are no definite cures but there are a few things that can help. Ignoring their incessant demands is helpful but is maddeningly ineffective if your child is determined to give you the second hand disease which is utter, total madness. Alternatively, fulfilling each and every wish is tantamount to keeping your child needy-wanting and, again, also leads to utter and total madness. Finally, if you're desperate enough to try this, you may find it helpful to sing the "Needy-Wants" song to the tune of polly wolly doodle all day. Here is how it goes. It will likely be received with giggles and may at least temporarily interrupt the, "I want. . . " and "I need. . ." cycle.

I have the needy-wants
the needy wants
the needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I want some thing and I need it now.
Needy, needy, needy, needy want.

I don't know what I need and
neither do you but I need it, need it now.
Give it to me really, really soon
or I'm going to have a cow.

The needy wants.
The needy wants.
The needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I need something and I need it now.
Needy needy needy needy wants.

Of course, if you make the song too funny you can find that you've altered your child's latest want to having the song sung over and over again. So, one should be careful how much of the song you administer to your child since the effects of the song vary per child.

Stomach virus 101

2008-03-11T07:32:00.001-07:00

How can one possibly be prepared for a stomach bug? You can't. Not really. There are things that can be helpful though. Here are some things I've learned after previous experiences of 3 puking children and 2 puking parents. We learned these things the hard way and continue to add to our repertoire of barf-flinching strategies. If you have any to suggest, we'd love to hear them!

(By the way, if you're faint of heart, you may need your own barf bag to read this.)

1) You can't ever have enough: clean towels, sheets, and mattress covers. After our last round of barfing babes, my mom came to our rescue when we ran out of clean mattress covers. Like a Red Cross helicopter dropping in emergency supplies, my mom flung 3 brand new covers on our porch as she ran, fleeing, the virus that had knocked all 5 of us down. Thanks to her help then we're better prepared for future rounds of vomit.

2) Trash bag ready for chunky, vomit clothes. Ok, this is gross but I find this helpful. When juggling several kids while at least one is throwing up last night's dinner, you can't always get to the laundry fast. Thankfully, we have a utility room where I can isolate the ick. As experienced moms know, there are various degrees of vomit-soiled linens and clothes - liquid and solid. In order to prevent the chunks from littering the floor and everything it touches, I throw the chunky stuff in a trash bag so that I can then carry it to the trash when I don't have babies dancing around my feet. Of course, I don't throw it away - I just shake it out before I throw it in the wash. The stuff only stained with liquid junk can be thrown in the wash sooner.

3) Finally, it helps to have on reserve those items that send you running to the store such as Pedialyte (or equivalent), crackers, and a bottle of wine for you at the end of the night.

4) Hand sanitizer for cleaning and lotion for all the many cracks your hand will develop from all the ridiculous hand washing you'll be doing.

5) A healthy dose of acceptance of the situation, patience and pats on your back as well as theirs is incredibly helpful too.

Perhaps after this recent round of ralphing I'll have new ideas. Until then, I'm trying to take it one barf at a time.

Signs of a stomach bug

2008-03-11T05:22:00.001-07:00

My son asked for water this morning instead of milk. I thought it was odd but then. . . .

After cleaning up vomit and having put the first batch of laundry in the wash, I believe an evil stomach bug has struck.

This is a time for praying, cursing, and ducking. Let's just hope the other boys don't get it.

May not be posting until this storm is over.

Confessions of a Quitter

2008-03-10T06:54:00.000-07:00

I'm a quitter. I get inspired by things, I jump in then the newness wears off and I quit. It's a rather undesirable trait, one about which I am not proud. Funny thing is my children are teaching me something - there are some things you can't quit, namely them.

When I think back to my childhood at the first sign that I was a quitter, I remember scenes in a Principal's office where I begrudgingly listened as the dark haired, older man explained in a seemingly condescending manner that quiting cheerleading would only make me a quitter. Since he didn't want to encourage that, he wouldn't let me quit. I showed him. I still showed up for practice and games but I didn't have to cheer because I had a doctor's note. Although I won that battle, I didn't really win because, since then, I have continued to quit things rather than tough them out but, for once, I really have been trumped. I can't quit my kids and I'm supremely thankful for that even though there are times I would love to go running - at least for a few hours of quiet.

When I ponder how I became a quitter, or rather, what flaw in my character predisposed me to quit, I can't pin point the true cause. Perhaps I was spoiled by my good parents? Although I think I was fortunate to have been raised by thoughtful, caring parents, I can't blame them for my predicament because my brother was raised the same way and he is anything but a quitter. As a published writer of short stories and a professor of English, he has done nothing but tirelessly fight for his dream. I wouldn't have the patience to write and attempt to get published just one story or article much less the many, many things that my brother has written and gotten published. So, how I was raised was not the cause of my quitter-ness.

Perhaps a reason for my tendency toward quitting is that I have too many interests and I find it difficult to determine which interests are my soul's calling and which ones are mere curiosities. That in itself isn't enough though. I think that the underlying cause is likely to be laziness, yet another pleasant quality that I find I'm guilty of. Basically, I like things to go smoothly and to be nice. When things get tough, it exhausts my mental faculties and I need to rest which is a nice way of saying be lazy. I can't do too much.

Three babies later, I'm not lazy anymore. Now, although I may throw my hands in the air with the appearance of giving up, I still face struggles head on because my babies are my ultimate responsibility. Of course, I still find myself walking upstream against my tendency toward resisting difficulties when faced with the many challenges a parent faces but my children don't let me quit. I absolutely can't.

Perhaps if I had listened to the principal back in the days when he tried to keep me from quitting, I would never have gone down the quitter's path. The fact is I didn't listen to him. His authority was not strong enough for me to push back my lazy tendencies. Thankfully, the maternal instincts that flow through my blood coupled with the soft cuteness of my boys has trumped my lazy nature and pushed me beyond quitting to embracing life's difficulties as I learn to drink in the beauty of life as a mother even when it's hard as hell.

Play by Play

2008-03-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

Neil steals toy from Evan.
Evan cries.
Neil asks me what he did.
Dylan cries for some reason.
Evan comes to find me. Wants held.
Neil tries to hand me a ball.
Evan whines.
Neil wants me to watch him.
Dylan climbs in chair.
Evan whines.
I take a brief break to hold Evan.
Evan wants a tortilla.
"Caterpillar" toy making noise.
Neil throws football.
Evan is in play room now.
Neil is in living room now.
Dylan is in chair playing with caterpillar.
Nothing changes for one minute.
Evan now in living room.
Dylan has Neil's foot ball.
Neil is working on filling his diaper.
Evan wants another tortilla.
Dylan tries to play with Neil.
Neil pushes Dylan.
I intervene.
Dylan wants tortilla.
Neil is playing with new toy.
Neil stole Dylan's tortilla.
Gave Dylan a new tortilla.
Evan wants another one.
and so on.
All this happened in about 4-5 minutes at the most - a fraction of my day made up of an average of 13 working hours (i.e., when they're awake) or 780 minutes.

Clarification

2008-03-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that I'm concerned about the ramifications of my writing about my parents on my blog. I don't want to embarrass them in anyway so, in the hopes of alleviating any bad feelings, I decided that it was not only fair but my duty to clarify that I have awesome parents and that I only want a good relationship with them. I'm not trying to be right, to have the upper hand, or to prove how awful they are because they aren't. I'm just struggling with balancing my independence and our need for staying connected. Although I'm unhappy with how things are, they have every right to be feeling what they are. I love them no matter what.

Transitions are often painful but, with being kind and compassionate as a constant goal, we can overcome.

I am truly grateful for my parents and the strong bond that we have. I know we can get through this.

My peace

2008-03-06T07:14:00.000-08:00

Our house is clean. The twins are down for their morning nap and Neil is playing a game on the computer. I hear birds chirping in the backyard and spring is drifting in from the newly washed windows. It's peaceful all around and I'm doing my best to be peaceful as well.

I don't like to be unhappy or fearful or angry and I've felt all of these emotions pretty regularly lately. When I find myself feelings such feelings, I eventually reach a point where I've had enough. When in dispute with others, I evaluate and re-evaluate my role in the conflict until I reach the usual conclusion that I can't change how others feel, I have to respect their right to feel what they feel but that I don't have to accept their misunderstandings of me as truth and I have the right to be happy. Ultimately, focusing on compassion toward others and for myself leads me to the peace of mind I need in a time of turmoil. I have reached that point with my parents thanks to some good advice from a friend of mine who said, "forgive your parents for not having the strength to support you right now."

It's amazing how a few words can change one's perspective. It's usually the simplest statement that drives home such a deep understanding. I'm grateful to my friend for, in one sentence, reminding me to be compassionate and understanding toward my parents while accepting the situation as it is.

So, I'm focusing on being forgiving and accepting and it helps me when the angry, fearful and sad emotions drift up to the surface. As was evident this morning after awakening from a dream where I gave birth to a still born, my feelings of loss are too deep for my conscious thoughts to penetrate. Perhaps if I do it long enough, though, these feelings will soothe my soul enough for my dreams to become peaceful as well.

Boundless

2008-03-01T15:46:00.000-08:00

The troubled waters are flowing in my family these days. I'm not sure how adept I will be at skirting these rapids and arriving safely at our destination, wherever that may be. I admit that I'm feeling a bit unstable and, honestly, angry at my current situation that, although they were initiated by me, have grown well beyond a mere stream to the grand freaking rapids.

We're planning on moving to Salt Lake City, UT, which sounds simple enough but it involves my leaving my home state, and mostly, my parents. My parents aren't happy about it. Out of respect for my family, I won't delve into the details of their feelings or our many conversations. I do feel that I can express my feelings which are that I wish they could adapt to the idea better than they have. The tenderness I feel for my parents is unwavering yet I sense they don't believe it since I'm leaving, as if our moving is evidence of my loving them less. This is where I have to remind myself that there are things which I can't control and I have to rely on the hope that they'll be able to set aside whatever bitterness is in their hearts and acknowledge that their daughter still loves them deeply and soulfully. Just because we're moving does not mean we can't be close: physical proximity is only a small portion of intimacy - our souls are boundless.

Recently at their request, lines have been drawn in the sand behind which we may lick our wounds. Limitations have been defined and emotions inventoried. Distribution of time and affection are being rerouted in order to preserve . . . something, sanity perhaps? I don't know but I'm concerned. I'm concerned that unnecessarily bad realities are being created and prophecies fulfilled that are driven out of fear, weakness and sadness. Rather than shrinking from a difficult situation, I want to challenge them to be strong and focus on what is truly important. My heart is open and vulnerable and I know I'm not the weaker for it. Strength is not gained by hiding behind walls and barriers - it's gained by facing life straight in the face and not flinching.

So, I sit behind the line in the sand and I turn to my husband and my sons and know that they are my family. I'd like to share them with my parents on the other side but they'll have to realize for themselves that we're worth it. I can only hope that they do.

Good Grief: He's a God

2008-02-27T18:23:00.001-08:00

Our 3 year old has been amusing us lately with random Charlie Brown quotes. At first I thought he was learning different phrases at school but then it slowly became apparent that he has moved from "being" Little Bill to being Charlie Brown. From "good grief" to re-enacting Lucy tricking Charlie Brown into kicking the football, our house is filled with Peanuts these days. (Of course, I can't help but notice the irony of that considering that we're a peanut-free house due to Neil's severe peanut allergy.)

Tonight, as the evening was winding down - and, as a side note, today was amazingly calm compared to yesterday - Neil repeated one of his favorite, new phrases which is, "Will you say grace?" (From the Thanksgiving episode.) He has no idea what grace is and thinks saying grace is merely that: saying "grace". For him to hone in on that phrase is both amusing and troublesome since neither Chris nor I consider ourselves Christian and saying grace is, as far as I know, primarily a Christian ritual (although showing thankfulness for food is likely to be something that all or most religions include). I decided it was time that I try to explain to him what it meant to say grace.

Try is the operative word. I began by asking him if he'd like to know what saying "grace" meant and he did. I then proceeded to explain that saying grace was a way to be thankful for food and for sharing that food with loved ones. The big elephant in the room, or in my head rather, was how to explain who is being thanked. Although I'm not Christian, I respect all faiths and did not want to misrepresent Christianity in my explanation so I explained that Christians believe in a god and. . .that's when Neil interrupted and said, "I'm a god."

Ok, then.

So, I decided that he was still too young to understand these things, and I just reiterated to him that saying grace was a way to be thankful and that that was a good thing. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't really matter what religion that sentiment is tied to - the act itself has its own validity regardless of its basis. Of course, now that I know a god in person, perhaps I could get him to explain the concept of grace to me. Good grief!

Damage report

2008-02-26T17:53:00.000-08:00

After ripping my dry contacts from my eyes, sitting down in a comfortable chair and putting my aching feet up, I'm struck by how beaten I am today. I don't know what it was about today but the energy level in the house was beyond ridiculous. It sent repeated shock waves throughout my body. I can't help but feel that these 3 little boys are whittling me down into their idea of their mom and that they could compete with air and water that erodes earth into mountains. Unfortunately, they've already made gravity pull my body down closer to the ground, carved crevices in my skin (stretch marks) and made me bulge forever at my waste line.

I'm a bit dramatic tonight. Did I mention my feet hurt?

So, tonight I ponder why it was so nuts today and I can't help but fear that this is a new trend, one that includes images like Neil spinning his baby brother Dylan around over and over and over again in our office chair, three babies squirming maddeningly in my lap, one baby climbing the table, one crying and the other squirting milk out of his mouth in fits of giggles. Writing about it makes it seem relatively innocent and carefree but that is only just a few flashes of memory from today. It was like that from sun up to sun down, non stop.

I guess the good thing is that Neil and Dylan seem to be doing much better now that they have their tubes in their ears. Of course, as Neil was screaming incredibly loudly and joyfully into a cup while I dried him off from his bath, I asked Chris if we could take his tubes out so that he'd quit being so insanely happy. Horrible thing for a mom to say even when completely joking. I do think he is feeling better so now I have to find the energy to keep up with the happy little guy.

As for Evan, he feels like dog doo since he has infections in both ears. I'm sure we'll end up getting tubes in his ears soon - probably before the month ends. At least we already know what to expect and we've paid our deductible for this year!

So, I'm unwinding now and letting the staticky twitch of my exhausted muscles ease and I can't help but laugh about my boys. They are adorable. They're happy and they know they're loved. They kick my butt but they're worth it even if I want to kick their behinds for grinding me down to a pile of dust at the end of each day. Being this tired and exhausted should only prove to me how hard I really work and how worth it they really are.

Bedlam

2008-02-26T14:22:00.000-08:00

I don't even care if I misspelled it. In short, just as my laptop connects to the internet my "break" has ended. One child has an ear infection - the one who doesn't have tubes yet but soon will. Dylan, my little he-man, has interrupted not only Neil's only nap today but has done the same for Evan. Gleefully, he runs away from me and barges into their rooms. He just did it to Evan and I decided it was smarter for me to write this post than go in there and kick Dylan's booty (figuratively speaking, of course).

Ok. Calmer now. I must return to my sergeant duty once again and get my little troops back in line.

Is it 5:00 yet?

Bingo!

2008-02-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

Over the last few days, old games of mine and Chris' have been pulled from the depths of what we refer to as the "special toy closet". First it was Twister then Scrabble and, finally, Bingo. How could Chris and I possibly have the time to play these games? We're not. Our three year old is and he loves it.

A sane person probably wouldn't even consider getting any of these games out of their closet so that their 3 year old could play it. I hadn't thought of it before simply because it didn't even cross my mind that he'd be capable of playing any of them but I had an "aha" moment that has led to some fantastic entertainment for him and us as well.

The first inspiration came with Twister. I'm going to assume anyone who reads this is familiar with the game. What could easily be seen as a semi-naughty game involving the entanglement of limbs upon the colorful mat evolved into a completely benign and innocent way for Neil to enjoy jumping around on the different colored circles. Plus, the card that you spin to find out which hand or foot, right or left, goes on which colored circle provides a great opportunity to work on learning left from right. Aha! Not only did Neil enjoy jumping around on the mat, Evan and Dylan seemed to enjoy all the big, pretty colors as they scooted around on it, slapping their little hands on the circles. Finally, it gave Neil great pleasure to "tell" me where to put my hands and feet on the mat and watch me actually do it at his direction - a rare moment for him that sent him into a fit of giggles. (Of course, the fact that I looked like a goof ball doing it had nothing to do with it.)

Once my mind had been rewired to rethink uses of old board games, I began looking at the other games we had. That's when I stumbled on Scrabble. As I have mentioned in previous posts, Neil loves letters and is beginning to read. Scrabble was perfect for that. Although we didn't follow the rules at all, he thoroughly enjoyed creating words with the letters. Unfortunately, since the pieces are small, Scrabble had to be played away from baby brothers.

As much as he enjoyed Twister and Scrabble, the real breakthrough came with Bingo. As I peered into the semi-darkness of the special toy closet, my eyes found Chris' old Bingo game that he got in the 70s. Orange and faded, the box was falling apart and I noticed that Chris' name was written in permanent marker on it. I decided it was time this game be played again. No point in letting it sit there and collect dust.

Unlike the other games we'd played thus far, Neil actually learned how to play Bingo. We both had our cards and he was the announcer. I don't know what current Bingo games come with but Chris' comes with a little mechanism which you turn and a Bingo chip slides out. Neil absolutely loved this thing which is amusingly the colors of orange and yellow - so 70s. We played Bingo off and on all day today and he never tired of reading off the letter and number on the chip, scanning his and my cards and placing the little circle over the numbers when they were there. He even beat me on his first try.

I am amused that these games are so entertaining for him and that they even provide good opportunities for him to strengthen his knowledge of colors, letters and numbers. What else could a parent ask for? I mean, it was free, he loves it and he's learning. I think that all lines up to one successful "Bingo!"

Happy to see you

2008-02-22T14:00:00.000-08:00

You wouldn't believe me if I told you that my children are bright and amazing. Moms always lie about such things. Once you have a child, you understand this because watching a little person progress from being a crying, sticky, often stinky, blob to a complex human with a new and interesting perspective on the life you share with them is truly an awakening experience for anyone involved in the raising of a child. Seriously, life is beautiful and rich and it is no more evident than when your own flesh in blood with whom you will share your life and love shows you who they are and gives hints as to what really makes them tick.

So, rather than saying that my children are amazing, I'll share what a nurse told me about my oldest the other day. Of course, you must believe this unidentified nurse and every detail I provide because I'm truly unbiased and a completely objective party in this story. I'm not sarcastic either.

Seriously. Ok, well....

Anyway, the other day two of my darlings had to have tubes put in their ears due to chronic, recurrent ear infections. Although I knew the procedure was relatively simple and done repeatedly all over the world on tons of children, I wasn't completely excited about having two of my babies under anesthesia and under the knife. The procedure seemed unavoidable and a good solution for the never ending discomfort the boys were experiencing so we agreed to have it done in order to help the boys out.

Other than the concerns regarding my children both being under anesthesia at nearly the same time (within 15 minutes of each other), I was concerned about my oldest reigning holy terror on the poor unsuspecting, innocent physicians and staff of the hospital. Not to mention that I was hoping that my father-in-law wouldn't witness a ridiculous scene of crazy child, crazy mama. It didn't help that the information provided to me by the surgeon warned of the side effects of coming off of anesthesia being unusually cranky behavior. I could only imagine what unusual cranky behavior would look like in my children. They seem to have it down quite well enough without any extra help.

Prior to the nurses wheeling the boys off for the procedure, we were visited by the anesthesiologist, a quite amusing chap with a British accent who quoted Monty Python to us as he examined the boys. He quickly determined that Dylan (our 16 month old) was perfectly calm and needed no help with relaxation. Conversely, and as feared, was able to see that Neil would need some good drugs to behave. Neil wasn't behaving horribly but he made it very clear that he did not want "them" to put the hospital bands on him nor did he want the oxygen monitor taped to him either. My anxiety level began to mount as I worried about what was to come.

Then entered the "goofy juice" as the sedative was called. The very skilled nurse quickly administered the sedative before he realized what was happening. As we watched over the next few minutes, Neil slowly began to relax and became a silly, little dude. The funniest moment was when he was playing the "give me 5" game with his daddy. (In Chris' version that he plays with the boys he says: give me 5, on the side, in the hole, you're too slow.) After Neil had managed to maneuver enough to give his daddy 5, he slowly moved his hand, with his index finger and thumb touching in the shape of an "o", toward his face while saying, "toooooo slowwwww". It was so cute it almost made me cry.

So, Dylan went into surgery first then Neil. Dylan did fabulously. He was calm from the beginning until the end. He looked adorable in his Looney Tunes cartoon hospital gown as he gripped his tiny little duck (which we washed the day before the surgery). Dylan recovered amazingly without a fuss and was his usual busy self once he got home.

As I sat and rocked the slowly awakening Dylan, a nurse wheeled Neil back into the recovery room and announced to us that Neil was a prodigy. Here I was worried that he would be a crazy tyrant and he turned out to be a prodigy. She began to tell us how he said his ABCs and informed them that "apple" started with an "a" (after being offered apple juice). I thanked her graciously and tried not to sound like I wasn't surprised that he was saying those things.

There is a fine line between expressing how you're proud of your child's abilities and sounding like you're bragging. It's just simply a fact that Neil likes to learn and he's incredibly enthusiastic about it and always has been. Anyway, Neil has been saying his ABCs (all of it) since he was 18 months old, he has been talking forever it seems, and he started reading when he was 3. My mother-in-law, who is a retired 1st grade teacher, told me that Neil reads better than some of her 1st graders did. Obviously, I'm pleased that he's doing well but, again, I understand that all kids are special as are my other two dudes and other children I know. They're all special in their own ways.

Anyway, the next day I spoke again with the nurse and she told me how she woke up before work that day and couldn't stop thinking about how special Neil was. She said, "we see children all day long, every day but he was special. There was something special about Neil." Of course, I hated to hear this. . . not. She then told me how he was not only smart but very pleasant (this is where I asked her to repeat herself since I wasn't sure I heard her right). She told me how Neil turned to one of the nurses and said, "What is your name?" to which the nurse answered, "Carrie." Neil replied in a stutter, "C..c..c..carrie. Carrie starts with a "C". It's nice to see you, Carrie."

Oh my. He's even good with the ladies! I couldn't help but recall another amusing incident where his pick up line was, "What's your favorite letter?" which he directed toward a cute, older girl. He was disappointed that she didn't answer and walked away which I didn't find surprising since her mouth-breathing, blank expression didn't give me the confidence that she even knew her letters in the first place. (Totally tacky of me to say but it's easier to say than to face the fact that she was totally unimpressed with my child.)

So, my little prodigy has recovered nicely from his surgery as has little Dylan and I am relieved that they both did so well. Perhaps next time I have concerns regarding Neil's behavior in public, I'll remember this time or I'll simply go and get me some goofy juice.

Warmth

2008-02-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

As the days become longer and sunset later, I have had the opportunity to escape from the confines of our home when my husband returns home from his life beyond these walls. I simply walk out the front door and go on a walk. I don't go very far - I merely circle a small area around our neighborhood but to see the sky, albeit an often cloudy one, and to hear less noise than what I'd heard throughout the day is refreshing and allows me to feel I have escaped momentarily.

It's amazing how restorative it is for me to walk away for the simple purpose of being alone even if it's only for 20-30 minutes. Yesterday, it was cold and misty when I ventured forth into the world beyond and, although I found myself chilled and less than comfortable, I was happy to be away for just a little while. As I listened to my breath come in and out as I walked briskly along and felt the chill upon my skin, I allowed my senses to accept the new, pleasant sensations and let my tense muscles relax. It was nice to just be and to not be needed if even for a second.

It's amusing to write about these moments now while the chaos surrounds me and finds me at every turn. As I write, Dylan is weaving his way through my legs (I'm typing while standing because sitting with a computer is out of the question), Evan is babbling at my feet and bumping into me and Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving DVD is playing in the background (Neil is crazy about Charlie Brown and could care less if the show is not relevant in the middle of February.) Although I can't exactly relax in this atmosphere and must constantly reel in my frustrations and aggravations, the fact that I am experiencing some moments of sanity may help me find some peace amid the crazy chaos or, at the very least, provide some brief calm to my normally hectic days.

Last night after I returned from the cold, I reentered our noise-filled house and was greeted by my three little boys and my handsome husband. They were happy I had returned and, although I was tired, I was happy to be back. As I warmed up from being out in the cold, I found myself surrounded by all three of my little boys as I sat in the floor: one behind me patting my back, one hugging me in the front and the oldest trying to style my messy hair. It was nice to be welcomed back and I'm glad I was at peace enough to cherish it.

Constipated

2008-02-21T14:22:00.000-08:00

One of my little darlings has been clogged and clogged and clogged and whew. We seem to have figured out a way to relieve his unpleasant condition, and we now see how much he had been affected by it in ways we hadn't previously realized. Evan has been slow to walk - he just turned 16 months old but he was 6 weeks premature. While his twin would run past him, Evan would catch up with Dylan via his speedy, hauling crawl. He wasn't slowed down but he liked to stay close to the ground. Just a few days after his symptoms were relieved, he seems more eager to be upright and is attempting to walk a lot more. An interesting development that I had not foreseen.

As I pondered my son's constipation, I realized that I was sort of suffering from a mental constipation. I've been plugged up with lots of emotional garbage for the last few weeks and I was unable to express any of it because our computer has been giving us a ton of trouble and because I wasn't sure if it would be prudent to write about some personal, family business I've been involved in. Our computer situation is improving yet I haven't decided how or whether I should discuss the emotional ramifications of a family situation. So, I guess you could say I'm still a bit clogged. Hopefully, I'll find a solution to this dilemma soon enough or the emotions will pass on their own so that I don't feel the need to air them publically. For now, I will probably be a little hampered until I can stand again on my own two feet.

Newly acquired

2008-01-30T19:32:00.000-08:00

Lately, I find myself paying attention to my thoughts, my beliefs, my actions. I guess any reflective person is apt to do that from time to time. The fact that I'm approaching my 35th birthday and that I'm one of two people who is solely responsible for the welfare of three, precious children makes me find the experience more relevant and important than in times past. I laugh now at the ridiculously serious self-evaluations I used to make of myself in regard to my obsessive and childish "love" life. Gaining renewed and, hopefully, more realistic perspectives is definitely a bonus of getting older. Of course, I can't say that without feeling compelled to scream to the heavens that I'm still a kid at heart!

With my childish outburst purged, I'll continue on with my most recent self-evaluation. As a long time resident of the Dallas area (sporadically throughout my life), I have grown accustomed to a revered tradition around here: shopping. For most people, there are 3 things to do here: shop, watch tv or eat. Of course, some manage to do a combination of these at the same time - the more the better. No doubt that I'm completely over-generalizing but, unfortunately, it is not far from the truth.

Even though I'm an environmentalist and I espouse the doctrines of the simple living movement, I still find myself spending my spare time to acquire more products. From seemingly benign things such as vegetable seeds to valentine cards for my son to take to school, I find myself buying things constantly. I'm starting to wonder why. Although there are definitely things that one needs to purchase, and there are even products that are probably ok to purchase, many of the things I find myself buying I could either make myself, borrow from friends or family or find on freecycle. Why do I feel so compelled to buy, to acquire?

It came to me this evening that I enjoy the experience of buying. When I tried to understand why the only explanation I could come up with is that I'm excited about the "hunt" for whatever it is that is "right for me", the thrill of finding something for a good price, the physical enjoyment of exchanging money and receiving something in return. How boring!

As I was thinking of all this, it occurred to me that a new way to direct my focus would be to attempt to acquire experiences rather than products. What if I directed money toward things that don't require the stripping of more resources from the earth? What if I directed my resources and energy toward things I want to learn about? to teach my children? What fun things could we participate in? How can we help others? Also, how can I use my creativity to do these things without purchasing more than is absolutely necessary?

This epiphany tonight seems quite simple to me and is definitely not ground-breaking but considering the social climate of my surroundings it is revolutionary. I'm surrounded by people who aren't even aware that the silly little knick knacks that they feel that have to have are, not only ugly, but are pointless, frivolous and obscene. When I think of people who struggle to just eat and contrast that with a suburban, SUV-driving, cell-phone talking executive buying some cheap toy for his/her tv-watching, text-messaging, over weight child, I just want to hurl. I guess I have a bit of a bias.

I guess my next self-evaluation should be on my prejudice against suburban, SUV-driving, cell-phone talking executives but until then I'll enjoy further reflection on my newly acquired revelation.

New Heights

2008-01-24T14:18:00.001-08:00

Noses are dripping, ears are plugged, babies are screaming and I'm looking for a beer. Well, not yet. It's still early but hey. Can't blame a girl for fantasizing.

3 boys with ear infections, one with bronchitis. The funny thing is it's not that big of a deal. We've been here before and we'll be here again. As I have said all too many times these days, it's amazing what you get used to.

Poor Dylan has ear infections in both ears. You would expect me to say that he's crying and fussy and just plain miserable. Of course, he is but he's also taking it to another level. Literally. Have I mentioned that Dylan is a climber? The child needs a neck brace to keep him from focusing onward and upward. The ground is apparently too boring for him so he's decided to commit every ounce of his strong, little body to climbing chairs, tables or whatever is high enough to make me scream bloody murder when I spot him on it.

While at the doctor today for the second time this week, the pediatrician was amazed how Dylan's being sick wasn't slowing him down a bit as he climbed into a chair and began typing on her computer. (I was holding Evan at the time so it was hard for me to stop him.) Once we got home, he immediately pursued new heights and I decided that I wasn't going to chase the little punk all over the house. Rather than letting his aggravatingly dangerous behavior turn me into psycho, crazy mom who needs a beer NOW, I decided to take the opportunity to be creative. Rather, I tricked the kids into thinking we were just going to have fun and be crazy.

Since Dylan's main objective is to climb into a chair and onto one of the two dining tables we have, I used gates to prevent him from getting to one of them and I took the chairs from the other one and made a "train" in the living room far away from the table. While my oldest son pretended to be taking the train to the playground, Babies R Us (my little consumer) and various other locations, I brought out tons of colorful cups and put them on a small table for the twins to fight over. When Dylan felt the need to climb, he climbed on the "train" or he climbed on a slide that I brought in from the backyard today and placed in the middle of the play room. Who says they have to be outside, right?

All in all, I felt that I was having one of those moments where I think I'm doing ok as a Mom. They're happy. I'm happy. We're all having fun. I could have focused on their being sick and stressed out over and over again about what Dylan was up to now. Instead I challenged myself to make the best of it and I think it worked well enough. It wasn't rocket science and it wasn't the most creative idea I have ever had. If anything, the best thing I did was find a way to take back my house in a way that everyone still had fun. I'm content and the day is almost over. Although it's still early enough in the day that I could still turn into psycho mom, I'll try my best not to.

Out of this world

2008-01-18T16:22:00.000-08:00

She was unassuming and rare indeed. A tall yet tiny, little lady who flinched at compliments because, surely, you really didn't think she was all that. One might call her meek unless you'd witnessed her fierce protection of animals or preservation of nature. I was surprised by the strength of the loss I felt by losing such a soft and gentle person. She was my grandma and she died last week.

I knew her better than I realized yet I know there was a lot I never knew. In her absence, her historic home echoed with the hollowness of my footsteps as they fell on the hardwood floors. Her quiet voice and gentle nature was in my heart whispering and I wanted to reach out and hug her just one more time. At least I was able to say good-bye to her a few days before she died but it was hard to believe then that I was never going to see her alive again.

Although she was quiet and humble and not one to call attention to herself, we all couldn't help but look for a sign from her. Loud bumps on the floor, huge flocks of birds gathered in her trees being much quieter than usual, and even a UFO sighting that made national news were all hopeful signs that she was still with us. She did mention seeing green men before she died, they say. Would be a good story to tell her great grandchildren some day - just to add some color to their history.

As much as I'd like to say that I've seen a sign, there isn't anything that could replace her presence in our lives, her vitality that was uniquely hers. I can't help but laugh at what she'd think of us speculating about the significance of a huge UFO sighting in her small, largely unknown town the week that she died. She'd smile shyly and humbly and probably mumble some rejection of such a silly notion.

Whether the UFOs, the birds or her spirit is acknowledging her continued existence in some realm or other, I can't say for sure. I can say that she would enjoy listening to us speculate about it since listening to us ramble on about this, that or the other was one of her favorite things to do. Quietly among us, she loved us and I hope she continues to do so.

1 car, 2 parents, 3 kids and a long, long trip

2008-01-15T16:02:00.000-08:00

Every night for the last few weeks, my oldest son has been asking me to tell the "3 boys go on a trip" story. Perhaps if I keep repeating this fanciful and exciting tale, I might rewire the memories in my brain to reflect a less exhausting trip. Yes, we survived and we're back.

When I had told people that we were going to drive from Dallas, TX, to Salt Lake City, UT, with our 3 boys (oldest being 3 years old), they thought I was plum mad. I agreed pretty much but it was what we had to do in order to go have Christmas with my husband's family. We very much wanted to go. Who would be crazy enough to pass on spending time with a groovy family, in a beautiful, winter wonderland of a city during the holiday season? So, balancing the crazies, we decided it would be crazier not to go and flying just wasn't an option.

After being stripped of my lazy, "can't do it" ways after becoming a parent, I've almost rebelled against my previous tendencies by making my life just a little more hectic and nuts. Ok, so I couldn't find a lot of people who had driven that far (2 full days) with 3 boys as young as mine but we still have to try, don't we? So we planned and planned and planned and we did it and we enjoyed it and we'll never regret it.

To say it went smoothly would be absolute garbage but to say it was as bad as my fears had been prior to leaving would also be wrong. It was fun, exciting and hard. Very hard. It would have been a lot harder though if we hadn't planned it out so well. If there are any of you who are as insane as us, you have our sympathy. Perhaps the following list of things that helped us would be helpful for anyone who would be interested in taking a similar trip:

1) Research your route thoroughly. I surfed the net for all the child-friendly places between here and SLC. Since we're bleeding money these days, I looked for free places such as malls with play areas, libraries, parks (for those traveling in good weather) and museums (although many charge). Our best find that came in very handy on the trip was the Peace Cafe in Monticello, UT. The two women working that day were gracious enough to let us bring our cold, little babies in to change clothes in their bathroom and basically take over the front room until we could get organized enough to order their very healthy and refreshing food.

2) Bring new toys and activities and introduce them periodically. One very handy thing I made for the trip was a map of our route which I had laminated. I brought stickers so my oldest could mark where we were on the map as we went. Practically eliminated the "are we there yet?" interrogations.

I also am proud to say that a DVD player was not necessary on our trip. We brought a portable DVD player that we had planned on hooking up to our electric outlet in the car but it didn't end up working. The boys watched one show the entire time - going and returning. I think it helped that one of us sat back with the children as much as possible in order to entertain them. It also made the trip less boring for us too.

3) Be precise about packing belongings in the car. Before we left, I studied our Honda Odyssey and planned how to best use every nook and cranny. For instance, the Odyssey has a compartment under the floor which we used for emergency supplies that we wanted to have but didn't expect to need. Also, I found cardboard boxes which would fit under the chairs and put the baby jars of food in them. They were out of the way yet they were still handy.

4) If you see a truck with a spotlight but no obvious police lights, don't pass him just in case. Yep. He tricked me but he didn't pull me over. He just flipped his siren on just as I was passing him and made my heart leap into my throat.

5) Make sure tires, wiper blades, oil, etc. in car are good. I did not anticipate that our wiper blades would be a problem since they worked well in the rain. Unfortunately, they didn't work well in the snow. We replaced them and everything was fine.

6) Bring all medications (particularly for the kids) even if they're not taking them now. For example, I brought the breathing treatment medicines that my boys occasionally have to take. One child was finishing up his treatment but I went on and packed all the boys' meds and we ended up needing it because every one of them got sick. I also packed the nebulizer which was definitely needed.

7) Child safety supplies. If you're going somewhere that won't be childproofed such as a hotel it helps to bring some basic child proofing materials. I brought outlet covers because I knew I didn't want to be chasing the twins around from one outlet to the next on the evenings we had to stop on the way to SLC. It proved very helpful. Unfortunately, I forgot to get them when we left so the maids probably thought I was on crack.

8) It's all how you look at it. We bought a CD at the Peace Cafe that we ended up playing quite a bit on the trip. It was nice that one of the songs was an uplifting one about how it's up to us to chose how we look at things. I noticed my husband would sneak that song in about the time I'd be losing my mind. It's true though. We do have a choice and it helped to remind myself of that.

So, tonight, when I put my little dude down to sleep again, I'll tell him this amazing story about the three little boys who went on an adventure and the story will be filled with giggles and laughs and happy little boys and, even though it was not always like that, the story will be true.

Peace and happy New Year!

Blood Knuckles

2007-12-14T08:07:00.000-08:00

My Mom put a funny spin on our current not-so-funny situation. You see, 2 out of 3 boys have pink eye. So lovely. Mom said that on Christmas Day we may be confused and think it's Easter since there may be so many little pink-eyed bunnies hopping around. Well put, Mom, well put.

Not only are a few eyes pink, my poor hands look so beaten up that I look like a professional boxer. Perhaps I should tape my knuckles and make myself look like a tough gal rather than appearing like a tired Mom with sick children at home. You see, if you don't have children, the reason my hands look awful is because I have to wash them and wash them and wash them and wash them and wash them. I don't think there is a lotion on the market that could soothe my poor cracked skin. It gets so bad my knuckles bleed which is, again, just lovely.

Just in time for the holidays, we have a virus or two parading through the children, waving its nasty flags of snot, vomit and ug. It's beautiful to behold. I'm hoping that this will all go away in the next day or two and then we'll all be virus free to enjoy the holidays. Since too much hope can lead to exceptional disappointment and since disappointment is rather unpleasant and all too frequent these days I'm trying to cope with what is going on and do the best that I can. Of course, I still stress out and worry that my boys will be sick on our ridiculously long drive (yes, we're driving) to Salt Lake City, UT, from Dallas, TX. If you didn't think I was insane before, you'll have the confirmation you needed because we're totally nutso.

Rather than visions of sugar plums, I'm having visions of barfing babes in car seats and tearful parents, racing as fast as we can to SLC without, of course, endangering our precious, vomiting babes. We'll see. Until then, I'll scrub my epidermis religiously, try to keep the babies from crawling in recently spewed vomit and medicate, medicate, medicate the boys until we're all well again.

So, my Christmas wish for all you parents out there is: May your children be healthy, may your nights be quiet, may your hearts be happy and may your knuckles be soft and smooth. Peace to all.

The sun does set

2007-12-06T17:50:00.000-08:00

The sun has set and so are my aching muscles and bones. Over the last few weeks, things have been pretty mild and even fun at times. I've enjoyed the feeling that maybe we're getting past the harder times. Overall, we are but the last few days have been rife with examples to the contrary.

Amusing things come to mind such as Neil's unrelenting pursuit for arguments. The best I've heard yet was his demand that I make the sun rise again. I guess it might not seem absurd to him. It's flattering to think that he thinks I'm that powerful. Of course, the fact that he says no to me all the time suggests that he doesn't respect my god like powers enough.

The twins are being pretty adorable these days and enjoy playing together. The biggest challenge is when their two minds work together to create even more unsafe activities with which to entertain each other. They give me a whole new respect for team work. Of course, it's also dangerous when they don't work together such as when Evan pushes a toy on which Dylan is standing.

Today provided two exciting episodes that I would have been happy enough to have allowed someone else to experience. The first one involved our television and Neil. The TV has been a concern of ours for a long time and Chris and I had not determined the best way to secure it. As far as we could tell, our biggest concern was that the twins would accidentally knock it over but we felt we had a little time until they could reach it. Classic parent mistake: we focused on the wrong kid. Duh. We thought Neil was disinclined for such activities but, today, he decided that moving the TV would be a good thing to do. As I was talking on the phone, I watched as he began to move it and I ran faster than I have in a long time in order to prevent it from falling. Neil subsequently had nap time.

With the strength that I didn't have (hence, part of the reason I'm hurting tonight), I lifted the TV over my head and put it on the highest part of the entertainment center. This took Herculean strength and engenuity, neither of which I found easily. The TV was moved. I had a beer. God forgive me, I had a beer.

The next pleasant event this evening involved bath time. Chris was having a rare evening out so I was in charge of bath time tonight. I had just finished bathing all 3 boys. The twins were in a play pen fussing for me to return and Neil was in the bath demanding bubble time. It was a no bubble night and that was that. Neil didn't agree and wanted to argue with me about getting out of the tub. All patience spent, I wasn't going to argue with him so I started to pick him up out of the tub and slipped. Bam. Nothing like a nice tub to hit at the end of a hard day. Can't wait to see the bruises. Being the hilarious 2 year old, Neil yelled loudly about how he hurt (his latest drama - a fly buzzing by him would send him into a tail spin). He wasn't the one who fell. Of course, I couldn't let him win the argument just because I couldn't stay on my feet so, a little more carefully, I hauled his little self out of the tub and ended that argument.

Part of me wants to get all philosophical right now about where I am in my life and the important role I play in these boys' lives and the rest of me, the tired me, just wants to be so thankful that the sun has set and that the sun won't rise for a few more hours. If I could make the sun rise at will, I might ask it to rise a few more hours later just so I could get some sleep!

Pausing to think about thanking

2007-11-21T16:33:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to be thankful when you can't think straight. I've been suffering from crooked thinking the last few weeks. For those of you who read my posts, you'll notice it has been a while since I last wrote. I have had plenty to write about but, to be honest, things have been so unpleasant and exhausting that I was afraid to vent my feelings because I was concerned my friends and family might think I have lost my marbles. Ok, so I have but I'm at least on the ground looking for those little, round rascals and have found a few that have escaped me. Meanwhile, the air is chilling and the holidays are starting.

Thanksgiving has never been my favorite and I rarely get into the spirit of it but I felt the need this afternoon to actually welcome the true spirit of being thankful. The holiday provides an opportunity for us to pause and reflect, to take stock of what our life is right now in this very moment and to acknowledge the positive in our lives rather than dwell on what we're missing, wanting, yearning for. Of course, this is just an opportunity and many of us are so busy with life and our reactions to it that we barely have time to think about what to be thankful for. To sit and be thankful is an important exercise though because, if we don't do this occasionally, we run the risk of being bitter and negative and unpleasant. Such sad qualities, in my opinion, tend to discourage others from wanting to be near you. It blinds you from good opportunities and sucks the happiness out of life.

I used to resist the idea of Thanksgiving because of the history of the holiday and what it represented. I still don't like the historical aspect of it. Happy pilgrims, happy "Indians". It all seems simplistic and unreal to me. I've decided to ignore that though and embrace what I want it to be. I can't do anything about how our ancestors treated Native Americans but I can focus my attention on my family and friends and ponder how immensely blessed I am despite how hard life is and can be. It is hard. It is extremely hard but I have beautiful babies. I have a strong, amazing husband. My parents, my brother, sister-in-law, neice and nephew, my parents-in-laws and the rest of my husband's family, my extended family - they are all good people. Wonderful, sweet, smart, funny, creative, loving people and my gratitude for them flows through my veins and I wish them all the same, deep happiness that they bring me.

Although I can't promise that I won't get annoyed with how crazy my life is these days or that I won't look to the heavens and ask (no, scream), "what the hell, man?" at least in the deep recesses of my being I will still know that life is good even though it isn't always.

Sending my love to everyone. Happy Thanksgiving.

One year hurl-dle

2007-11-04T09:16:00.000-08:00

Our house as been astir with birthday tidings as the twins had their first birthday. We were all swept up in the celebration of a hard year finished and the excitement of their darling, little lives. We partied. We celebrated. We joined with super friends and family and it was a good time. The boys were showered in sweet, generous gifts which are like gifts to Chris and I as well.

As we recovered from the excitement, family returned to their respective homes and friends returned to their lives, a little virus was lurking. During the party preparation, we made a few jokes about how we hoped that the twins wouldn't get sick during their first birthday party like poor Neil did on his. Perhaps it should have been a clue at Neil's party that he wasn't feeling well when he refused to eat the cake I had baked for him. (It had nothing to do with my cooking, of course.) After having enjoyed the majority of the party, the secret virus revealed itself as Neil hurled what food he had eaten that afternoon. At the twins' party, the contrast with Neil's was evident as both boys eagerly, and messily, gobbled up their birthday cake. (It had nothing to do with the fact that Chris made their cake.)

At last! We got to celebrate a first birthday party without barfing!

Little did we know though about the secret virus. Perhaps it was laughing at us as it spread throughout our family, waiting until our guard was down, before it revealed itself. It first showed up the night before my husband's parents returned home. My father-in-law became ill but we thought it was due to his normally healthy diet being disrupted by our less than nutritious fare. But then, Dylan threw up. We hoped it was a coincidence and that maybe it was due to the fact that we had just started introducing milk to his diet. But then, Evan threw up. Then Neil threw up. Then I threw up and then Chris threw up.

Barf was everywhere.

Everywhere.

We scrambled for towels, sheets, bed spreads, diapers, anything that would catch, wipe up or remove the barf. It would be cruel of me to provide details that no one would ever want to hear so I'll just allude to how disgusting it was - I saw semi-processed food that I never want to eat again as long as I live.

The washer and dryer ran all night as we barfed and cleaned and barfed and cleaned. It started on Wednesday. Today is Sunday and Chris is the last of us to be recovering from it. So desperate to prevent a relapse of this insipid and evil virus, I stooped to buying Lysol instead of making my own green concoction (which had been my goal for the next time I bought cleaning solution). Screw that! I want chemicals, I want the equivalent of a virus-killing nuclear bomb to go off in this house to eradicate the demon. I'll be green next time.

So, the one year birthday has passed and the barf too seems to have passed. I'm hoping for a calm few weeks just to recover before Neil's 3rd birthday party. Let's hope that we don't have anything in store for us on that one.

Full

2007-10-16T18:30:00.001-07:00

As I was sitting with my 3 year old, I have to admit that I wasn't being 100% present. I had a lot on my mind and was concerned about things. I was worried about money issues, about the future and how well we were caring for our little guys. Although lately it seems I meet a lot of parents who don't appear to have any financial concerns, I know we're not the only ones struggling every pay check to make ends meet. We're not irresponsible people and we know how to manage our money. You just can't budget for twins, hospital bills, expensive formula, food thickeners, bad plumbing in the new-to-us house, and so forth. We've had more than our share of the unexpected and it's eaten all the reserves we had so responsibly secured. It weighs on us but we're becoming more and more skilled at living on as little as necessary but, at times, it's hard not feel beaten down and like a leach on our sweet and generous parents. It's hard to feel like the grown-up parents that we have become while we're calling home asking for money. We intend to get past this. It just isn't happening as quickly as we'd like.

So, with emotions and thoughts such as these beating around my tired brain I finally stop and hear what Neil is saying to me. Without any prompting he is saying, "Neil's tummy is full." I'm not sure what inspired him to say that but the impact of his words poured through me and warmed my heart and eased my spirit. I looked at all my sons and acknowledged that all their tummies were full, that they were happy and felt loved and that was all the wealth we needed. All I want is for my babies to have full tummies and that will make my heart full of peace.

Interestingly, Chris experienced a similar feeling a day or two prior and he shared it with me the evening after Neil told me about his tummy. After coming home from a hard day at work, we were all out in the backyard horsing around. Neil and Chris were pushing Evan in a toy car around and around the yard. Neil and Evan were squealing with pleasure while Dylan was getting into some kind of trouble as usual. He too put aside his feelings of being poor and realized that we had the wealth that truly counted.

So, we'll take care of our 3 little treasures. We'll invest in them and nurture them and we'll be richer than our wildest dreams.

Piece of my soul

2007-10-08T16:26:00.000-07:00

I've been assigned by my husband to take a moment. I can't imagine why I might need one. The last few hours have been filled with needy babies, ridiculous tantrums, pokes and jabs - some unintentional and others quite on purpose. After pulling myself off the kitchen floor (where I had been bottle feeding the twins), replacing my glasses that had just been ripped roughly off my face by a smiling Dylan and pulling my disheveled and drooled on hair back out of my face I spoke toward the sky the following, motherly comment addressed to no child in particular: "Yes, please take yet one more piece of my soul."

Ok, so that was a bit extreme. Of course, after having said it, I looked over at Chris who just laughed and so did I. What a motherly thing to say. Actually, it is quite motherly in that I know I'm not the first mom to feel a bit stripped of self-hood while wiggly, parasitic (albeit adorable) babies, crawl, pull and harass every reachable part of my body. Slimed, bitten, scorned, yelled at, whined to, needed, demanded, needed, demanded, wanted. It can be a bit much at times and, at those times, it's hard to have the best perspective so it was understandable that I needed to say, "yes, please take yet one more piece of my soul."

It was such a naughty thing to say and so crummy of me that it felt super to say it. I almost felt a little weight was pulled off me (no, it wasn't Dylan climbing off of me - he was being distracted by his daddy). So, I walked out of the room and into the computer room and shut the door. Quiet. Well, except for the muffled sounds of children on the other side of the door. Perhaps if I can stay in here for just a few more minutes, I can regain my mental integrity and allow my nerves to feel unstimulated for just enough time for them to relax and be at peace even if it is just for a moment.

All the peace-love-carry my baby all the time-never let them cry-type-moms will likely frown at my detachment. That's ok because I'll take their criticism any day - it's nothing compared to my normal world so bring it on. I'd love to see a mother of 3 boys all under the age of 3 carry her babies all the time. Wouldn't that be a riot? Seriously, though, if a mom finds that kind of parenting satisfying the more power to them. Of course, I still want to see one juggling 3 boys like mine. [Devilish laughter]

So, I'm feeling a little more refreshed and ready to face the night time madness (a/k/a bath and night-night time). Perhaps a nice cold brew might help take the edge off a little more then I'll be able to sit back (it's hard to do when they're climbing all over you but I mean this figuratively) and drink in the beauty (not the beer - I only want one) of my children who actually fill my soul when they're not ripping it to shreds.

Our return

2007-09-30T08:28:00.001-07:00

Although the sun had already set, the lights from all the stores and billboards pierced the night sky as we drove down I-35 into Austin, Texas. I had entered Austin this way many times before but never like this. A lot had changed in Austin and in me since I was here last.

Looking at all the development along the freeway initially made me wonder if Austin was more like Dallas nowadays. By that I mean, whether it had become yet another shopping mecca consumed by huge chain stores and product-hungry people desperately trying to make enough money to get their fix on things that made their life easier, prettier, cooler. As I was evaluating my surroundings, I took stock of my own world. Here we were driving into Austin in our minivan. Neil was singing his ABCs (although it was nearly 10:00 at night), Dylan was cooing in his deep, raspy voice and Evan was whimpering as he tried to sleep. I couldn't help but giggle.

When I lived in Austin years ago, it was a cool city to be in but it was only starting to become the rage that it has become. Properties were expensive but it wasn't insane like it is now. It was a great city to just be whatever you felt you needed to be. Although there was always a bit of pressure to be weird, creative, radical, there were a few normal people floating around too. (There probably were a lot more normal people there than I realized, though, but I spent most of my time around the not-so-normal.) Now, I am sort of normal but the weird, hippy freak in me would like to come out again given the opportunity.

When I thought of my young days in Austin, I remembered protests, silly, silly times with friends, my never ending quest for a good guy, hiking and biking in beautiful country, but I also remembered being lonely, insecure and struggling to find my place. I definitely don't experience those feelings anymore. Can't say I miss that one bit. I remember the free lifestyle: sitting for hours drinking coffee while translating Latin, spending time with boyfriends with whom I've lost contact, wearing a path on the sidewalks of the university over countless days during school. The newly found independence of a college student was intoxicating and I miss that but I wouldn't trade it for the world nowadays. Although I'm not independent like I was then, I am surrounded by my loved ones. I married so amazingly well. My husband is truly the love of my life and he continues to awaken my senses and inspire me to live fully and completely together with him as we raise our precious baby boys. I did good.

So, we spent the day in Austin and we had fun. There were moments of peace and happiness and moments of exhaustion and frustration. Can't have one without the other these days. It's ok though because overall life is fabulous. After meeting with good friends and eating good food, touring old haunts, we got in the car and drove home. Sleeping in our own bed with the babies snoring in their own rooms, we knew we had survived our first car trip adventure and were glad to be home.

Beyond blah

2007-09-26T18:09:00.000-07:00

He bent over and began drawing the map while I looked over his shoulder. He explained his markings as he drew. "You take this road then get on the trail here. You'll turn right then cross a bridge. . ."

I was getting excited. I was going on an adventure.

I grabbed the backpack filled with only the bare essentials (keys, garage door opener, wallet, cell phone - I am a mom so have to have the phone) and hurried out the door carrying my map.

Despite how exhausting the day had been I felt excitement over the possibility of doing something new and different. I put my helmet on and climbed onto my bike. I was off and I was free.

The air blew all over me making me conscious of the tension I had been carrying. I relaxed and road. My muscles remembered the motion of riding and fell into a rhythm and my breath increased. It felt good and I felt alive. After all, I was going on an adventure. Alone.

I crept along residential streets and watched as enormous cars passed by me. I wondered what the drivers thought of me. What story did they make for me? Was I a nuisance to them? An out of shape mom out for a rare ride? A 30-something chic trying to be 16 again? Surely they didn't think I was a hippy, liberal freak who was intentionally biking instead of driving. Not in this neighborhood. Even if they existed, people like that don't look like me. Right?

Wrong, of course. I am a hippy, liberal freak and my adventure was that I was making a routine errand fun. I was going to a pharmacy to pick up stuff for my twin boys. As boring as this errand might sound, it was fun. I got to exercise and feel my blood pumping. I got to see a different part of our community - I road a bike path that is only seen by those of us willing to go to it. I also got to prove to myself that I could do it because it was a longer ride than I had been doing and the stuff I was buying was heavy and would weigh me down on the way back.

So, call me a hippy freak. I had the option to drive to the pharmacy but instead I managed to get exercise, to practice my philosophy of reducing my impact on the abuse of our environment, and I made something that would have been a drag into something fun which gave me a sense of accomplishment and a sense of adventure. Next time you need to go on a lame errand, think of ways that could make even that task fun. It's an opportunity. You just have to take it.

Jaded

2007-09-19T08:02:00.000-07:00

Going to the grocery store shouldn't be a big deal. Of course, hauling the dudes in and then getting through the whole process of selecting, buying, bagging, and leaving isn't uneventful and is often punctuated with moments of, "don't touch that!" or "you're ok, baby," and "we'll be leaving soon, hon." Today was no different with one exception: an odd moment with a stranger.

I'm used to people ogling the twins. It happens practically every time we go somewhere and usually multiple times per outing. Today, I only had the twins with me because we had just dropped Neil off for school so I pulled into the parking lot and opened both side doors of our lovely minivan. Not completely unexpectedly, a man approached me to ask about the twins. Never one to dilly dally, I proceeded to pull the stroller out while talking with him. He said the usual things at first and seemed to be just a normal, nice guy but then he started to tip over into the "what is this guy up to?" category.

He got closer to the car and to Dylan who happened to be on that side of the car and started talking baby talk which is fine but I didn't feel comfortable with him getting closer to Dylan. At surprising speed, my brain processed the situation like a detective: unknown white male in his 50s, possibly retired, wearing tropical shirt and slightly disheveled appearance. Outwardly friendly but unknown intentions. Uncomfortably close to my babies and overly solicitous of their attention. So, is this guy purely just a sweet man who likes babies or is he up to something?

Meanwhile, I'm still just trying to go in the store. The only thing preventing me from doing that is this man who has now gotten between Dylan and I so that I can't actually reach in and get him so, as politely as I can, I firmly tell him, "excuse me" so that I can get Dylan out of the car. He quickly moved out of the way which makes me feel better although I'm not sure about this guy still. I put Dylan in the stroller and looked up to see the man sticking his head through the car toward Evan who is on other side. WTF, dude? He is trying to get Evan to smile and Evan wonders who the heck he is just like me. Good boy, Evan!

Rather than leave Dylan near the man, I wheeled the stroller around to Evan's side in order to get him out. This whole time the man had been rattling on about how wonderful children are and how he was on his way to read to 3 year olds. Ordinarily, I would have asked him where he was going to be doing that but, frankly, I didn't care. The nice side of me thought that perhaps he was just a nice, retired guy that likes to spend time with children. The cynical side of me thought that he fit sexual predator characteristics and that he enjoyed being near children whether he managed to assault or not. Of course, I'm not proud to feel that way but I owe it to my children to not put them at risk.

Thankfully, the interaction soon ended and, although he went into the same store that I did, I didn't run into him again while I was there. As he walked away finally, he told me that he wished us a good life and he made a special point to say, "a good life, not just a good day." I thanked him for his kind statement but I just couldn't believe him and I didn't truly accept his words. If anything, he further confirmed my idea that he was borderline coo coo or disingenuous. Perhaps it wasn't the words that he said but how he said it. It had a fraudulent air to it but he seemed convinced that he felt everyone would trust him. That's fine but I didn't.

Am I the coo coo one for not trusting this man? Perhaps. Did I owe it to this man to trust him? No. Although I like to be nice to people, I owe it to my children to protect them even if that means that I might hurt someone's feelings. If the man was just a nice guy with no ulterior motives, he could benefit from learning to back off a bit. I know I'm not the only mom who has found herself aghast at the behavior of strangers toward their children. If he was a freak, then I'm glad to be rid of him.

Trashy mama

2007-09-18T18:22:00.000-07:00

My anticipation is building. I'm starting to see signs that it's coming up soon. As I drive down the road, scanning the surroundings, I start to fantasize about what I'll find. No, it's not the red apple sale at Foley's - not even a sale at BabiesRUs. It's almost bulk trash pick up time and I'm ready to scavenge, to dumpster dive, to retrieve completely functional objects left outside by people who just can't deal with one more thing.

Trash. What is trash anyway? You put it outside and a weight is lifted. Less junk. When I find something like a perfectly good table I wonder why the table had pushed the balance in their previous owner's head and inspired them to wish it away. Was it an ex-boyfriend's? Did a cat pee pee on it? Did it just not go with that fabulous new carpet they just installed? Resisting the urge to go knock on their door and ask what the hell were they thinking I instead will stop my car and load it into the back. I feel a thrill not unlike finding the best sale in town - and only I know about it - at least in this alley at this very moment.

So what do I do with the things that I find? I use them. I decorate them, fix them, whatever they might need. I keep them, sell them, freecycle them but mostly I keep them out of the landfill - the illusive landfill that few of us ever see. If you haven't gone and seen a landfill, you might find it amazing how much trash we are capable of producing. Humans are capable of creating beautiful and inspiring things on grand scales but we're also capable of producing a ridiculous amount of trash - a large volume of which is completely fine and usable.

I'm very tempted to jump on a soap box here about the price our environment pays for the production of a ridiculous amount of products and their subsequent disposal but I'll resist it (with the exception of this sentence). I won't even pretend that I haven't been guilty of throwing things away just because I didn't have the time or energy to deal with it. I understand the feeling but it's worth resisting because the "trash" doesn't just go away. Not only that but it took resources (oil, metal, wood, human labor, etc.) to create whatever it was and, by throwing away something useful, one trivializes and ignores the energy used to create it in the first place. So, although it's a little embarrassing to say that I dumpster dive, I will say that there is nothing to be ashamed of by digging through other's trash considering that in a sad number of instances what's being thrown out shouldn't be trash in the first place.

A bear, a duck and a blanket

2007-09-08T18:58:00.000-07:00

The house has gotten quiet and my babies are sleeping. Each of my three little boys is cozy in their beds snuggled up with their favorite companions: a bear, a duck or a blanket. How precious they are to my boys and to me.

My Mom calls the bear, "stinky bear". I'd have to agree. He does emit a rather nasty odor despite any efforts to clean him. He used to be so cute. I remember when my cousin brought him to the hospital after Neil was born almost three years ago. Little did I know then how important he would be. After all, we had already gotten tons and tons of stuffed animals so here was just one more. Of course, even I could tell there was something unusually cute about him. The fact that his company-provided name was Slacker made him even more charming and unique.

It took Neil a few months to decide that the bear was the one too. For a long while, Neil didn't seem drawn to any particular thing like a toy or blanket, although pacifiers were essential. One day, though, something changed and he decided that the bear would do. He's been a good bear. He's lived a hard life and it shows. Nothing like being spit up on, dragged by one arm, smashed and picked at to make a bear show his age. I need to make sure we take good care of him because we need him to be around a long time.

I have noticed over the last few months that Dylan and Evan are beginning to claim their companions. Looks like we made a $50 mistake by buying other bears (different ones) from the same company that brought us Slacker. We even picked bears that even looked a little like the boys but, as parents are apt to do, we made assumptions about our kids' likes and dislikes and were inescapably wrong. Dylan, who is huge, oddly has picked a tiny duck. I can't help but chuckle at the sight of this enormous baby snuggling up to his little duck who is already looking worse than the bear. Dylan's favorite activity is to suck on the duck's beak. I'm concerned ducky may need some cosmetic surgery shortly.

Ever the rebel, Evan has leaped outside the realm of small, animal-like creatures and instead has chosen blankets. Although he doesn't seem to be particularly attached to one specific blanket, he does seem to like the blanket made by his great-grandmother. I applaud his choice. Not only is it perfect that he picked something that was lovingly made specifically for him, I can wash it! Also, it is so well made that he actually might not be able to destroy it. Of course, it is even more irreplaceable than the bear and duck since it is truly one of a kind.

So now as the boys sleep and the house cools after a hot day, I listen to the quiet of the house and am thankful that my babies are lovingly holding their special companions as they dream sweet dreams. Maybe tomorrow I'll wash the bear, make sure the duck's beak is ok and wash the blanket to make sure they stay with us as long as they can. I can't help but feel a little akin to the bear, the duck and the blanket since I often feel dragged, smashed and spit up on but I also know how it feels to be loved and to feel irreplaceable and it's nice.

Little tricks

2007-09-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

After stating that I have my hands full, the second most common comment is, "how do you do it?" as they stare with mixed amusement and horror at my three, wiggling boys. My most frequent responses are, "I don't" (which I'm not sure what I mean by that), "It's nuts but it's fun" (for those who can't imagine not loving every minute of it - obviously, people who have no clue), and, if the boys are really acting up, I just grunt and shrug my shoulders while controlling my urge to throttle the person who is somehow challenging my already limited amount of patience.

Of course, I could be a bit more helpful, though, so I'm going to try to start writing periodic emails on little tricks I have come up with to manage the chaos. No one likes long lists so I'm going to keep this relatively short and sweet. Hope these are helpful to someone out there:

* One of my most recent tricks that has proved handy is pouring a 1/4 cup or 1/2 cup of water (I totally don't measure - I'm just giving you an idea) onto the tray of the twins' high chairs at the end of their feeding but before I want to get them out. The high chairs we have have a nice large tray that is recessed enough to hold the babies' foods. Benefits of this are: babies are supremely entertained by splashing like mad in it which helps wash their already messy hands and their face to some degree depending on how enthusiastic their splashing is; it cools them off when it's hot; and it helps to begin cleaning the messy junk off the tray.

* In an effort to reuse things around the house, we found a fun way to reuse the Graduates Veggie Puff containers. After the boys have finished eating one, we clean it and tear the advertising label off so that it's just white. (For those of you who haven't had the privilege of getting these, they have a unique shape that is cylindrical but with a curve in it.) It dawned on me that they're shaped like bowling pins. We have collected enough of them now that we place them on the hardwood floor in our living room like they are set up for bowling and we let the big buy (and us when we can't control ourselves) have at it with a fun game of bowling using whatever balls we can grab at the time. It's fun, it's cheap and it keeps garbage out of the trash.

* Our oldest is a very passionate dude. When he likes doing something, particularly an activity that he hasn't done before, he goes absolutely nuts. An example is that he has been introduced to alphabet games on the computer. His first experience with the games was so amazing to him that he absolutely flipped out when we had to stop. Flipped out. Rather than avoiding the activity altogether I started using a timer to give him a clear idea how long he could play. So, I set the timer for 30 minutes and he knows now when the timer goes off it's time for some other activity. The first time we did it he was a little grumpy but the second time he just jumped and ran out of the room. It was super.

Anyway, these are some things that have helped me and perhaps they could help someone else. Although some are "original" to me in that I came up with it without having heard about the idea from someone else (i.e., they're probably not totally original), the timer idea for sure is something I had heard about and wanted to pass on.

I'd love to hear from you too. If you'd like to share a trick of yours, please comment to this post so that we can all help each other out.

Embracing motherhood

2007-09-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

Every cell of my body is baptized in motherly fluids. Embryonic, breast milk, tears, blood, sweat. Then later, formula, spit up, and urine. I've been expanded, divided, engorged, disgorged, stretched and emptied, kissed and kicked. Still, I'm stronger now and, as much as I feel like I've spent every ounce of energy, I somehow have the endurance to keep going. I didn't know how much of a fighter I was until I actually had to fight. The early years with this many young children is reminiscent of being in the trenches. Of course, these boys aren't my enemy but they sure can act like drill sergeants at times.

Becoming a mom awakens ones senses. I feel the wildness in me when my wolf-like senses reveal a quietly crying baby on the other side of the house, my sense of smell tunes into a smelly diaper that no one else smells, or the 6th sense of "something isn't quite right". It took me a while to tap into this instinct but now I can't shut it off. I don't want to though. It's invigorating. My body is doing what it is meant to do and I'm embracing that.

Of course, smelling a dirty diaper is less than pleasant. Smelling, or rather, inhaling the beautiful scent of my babies is unimaginably sublime. Feeling the sensation of stepping on half-chewed food is disgusting but feeling my oldest's little fingers trying to tickle my foot is amusing and fun. Holding my babies feels so good. If only I could hold them all at the same time. One of my favorite times with my boys is when I lay on the floor and they all jump, crawl and attack me. Like a dog with her puppies, they slobber all over me and step in places they shouldn't but I love it and I close my eyes and listen to their squeals and laughter and my innate motherly self feels immersed in beauty. I give myself over to them and I couldn't be happier

Beyond green

2007-08-30T11:05:00.000-07:00

I'm inherently insecure although I'm getting over it these days. I can't afford to be. Having said that, I might be deemed obnoxious since my strong opinions are becoming less diluted and polite. If I didn't have three children who are my responsibility and whose future I'm profoundly interested in, I probably would still be secretly sending in money to Sierra Club and other environmental organizations while hypocritically driving to the store instead of biking or using a billion paper towels a day to keep things clean.

Having been raised in Texas, I should be used to being different. I was a vegetarian in high school when my fellow students either never thought twice about meat or were actively raising cattle as a part of "Ag". I didn't go to church. I was less interested in fashion than I was human rights and the state of the world. People didn't understand me then and they still don't quite understand me now. I seem so normal but I'm very weird, apparently. Even in the early days of our marriage, my hubby saw me as the environmentalist in our family but now he may have even surpassed me. Go figure.

I hate self-righteousness so I hope I don't come across that way. I don't expect everyone to believe what I do. The road to becoming an environmentally minded person is varied. Some people are born with an interest in nature and have the fortune to be surrounded by people who help them experience it from an early age. Others reach it from a health perspective when they realize how their mortality is influenced heavily by what we dump into our environment. Still others may begin focusing on the environment when it occurs to them how much our way of life may soon be challenged by our supreme dependence on the finite resource of oil. I'm sure there are many other avenues to it but those are just a few. I personally always had an interest in nature and had the fortune to be introduced to its magic by my parents and family. In my family, life is celebrated in all its beauteous and magnificent forms.

I'm experiencing a metamorphosis these days and I think I may becoming something even more radical than I was in the past. I used to talk myself out of changing certain things I did because I was plain cynical about the impact it would have. It's hard to feel like you're making any difference when you're surrounded by Hummers and huge SUVs. At least in Dallas, people are almost arrogant about not being environmentally conscious. After all, it's a God-given right that we do everything big, bad and wasteful. What I find particularly amusing is when a wasteful practice such as throwing any and everything away is considered not only normal but THE way. When you go to the trouble of freecycling, reusing, recycling you're weird. Strange that being resourceful and unwasteful is not valued these days. I don't get it. What is there to be proud of of throwing more shit into a landfill? Beats me.

So, my hubby and I are doing a little at a time to change our lives from wasteful to resourceful. From changing light bulbs to energy-efficient ones, using torn up receiving blankets instead of paper towels, biking or riding the train instead of driving, we're living more simply and mindfully. Many would argue that we're inherently violating environmental ethics by having had 3 children. True. We've added to overpopulation by doing more than "replacing" ourselves. All I can say is that it was unintentional (although very welcomed). Our goal is to raise our children in an environment which will hopefully encourage them to respect their place in this world and help them understand how choices make a direct impact on the world despite what some may believe. Ultimately, there being here has served more as an inspiration for us to fight for what we believe in - for us to live how we feel our society needs to in order for our kids to have a better quality of life than they'd have if we didn't.

Ordinary beauty

2007-08-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

I have a suspicion (or perhaps it's my conscience whispering to me) that some of my friends or family who have heard me vent about how insane my life is now wonder why I don't seem grateful for the fact that we were able to have children after all the struggles we had in order to have children in the first place. Simply put, isn't this what we wanted? Isn't this what we were begging for? Yes, it is but. . .

So, my conscience has been tumbling this question around for quite some time now - about 2 years and 9 months to be exact - and I finally feel that I understand. Essentially, one never knows what it's like to have your own child. Your own. Not someone else's. Not your brother's. Not your friend's. Your own. It's entirely different. If you haven't experienced it yourself, don't pretend you understand because you don't. Trust me. I thought I had an idea but I had no idea. Becoming a parent is a transformation of your entire being and has to be experienced in order to be understood. You can't empathize about this no matter how open-minded you are. If I had to sum up why it's because you can't imagine how much you can love a child and you also can't understand the immense responsibility that comes with raising your own child. Parenting can warm a cold, hard soul or can bring you to your knees begging for mercy. It's a blessing and a beating and it's worth it.

With this new understanding and acceptance, I have begun to open my eyes. The monotony of caring for young children at home can be brutal. Wake up 7:00 a.m. Feed twins. 7:30 oldest wakes up. Feed him. Feed self. Put laundry on. Change diapers, clothes. Prepare lunch. Serve lunch. Clean messy faces, etc., etc. Tedious. It doesn't have to be though. That's the amazing thing. For example, during a grueling diaper marathon (i.e., changing 3 dirty diapers one after the other), I might find myself covered in poo yet one of my babies might give me a smile that just makes me feel so good or my oldest might make me so proud by bringing me a diaper to change his baby brother. It's simple. It's pure. It's sweet and it's fleeting but another moment is always around the corner.

This morning, I sat in the living room and watched the twins playing on the floor. They were laughing and stealing toys back and forth from each other. My oldest was napping in his room. I was sitting on our couch folding the day's laundry and I felt at peace. My babies were fed and happy and I was relaxing as I folded each of my babys' clothes. Little jammies, shirts, shorts. Each little tiny outfit held special meaning to me and I pictured each little rascal in their clothes. I could have just been annoyed by yet another load of laundry but instead I took my time with each article of clothes and carefully folded each one. The sun shown down from the sky light above me and I felt blessed and complete.

There is a beauty to our routine and our life here and I'm thankful that I see it. I remember my Dad once telling me when I was a kid how we can make ourselves learn to enjoy things that we don't like (in this instance, I was grumbling about having to do the dishes). I often remember him telling me that as I did my chores. At the time, I thought that he was just trying to get me to quit griping and do whatever chore needed to be done. Now, though, I understand he did really mean what he was saying. I realize that I have a choice to see beauty in the little things and that that in itself is a gift. I could sit and grumble about how hard my life is - and certainly it definitely has had it's moments - but I'd be missing an opportunity to live fully, experiencing each sacred moment. Although I may still vent from time to time, I do hope to keep this perspective. I feel thankful that my life is rich with both ordinary and extraordinary beauty and I embrace it.

Anger, relief, rest and return

2007-08-24T18:18:00.000-07:00

I was right, although I didn't believe myself. The so-called expert hoodwinked me into thinking he knew my body better than I did. His clinical data seemed more legitimate than the pain I was experiencing but whatever. I woke up from the surgery to discover that the surgeon now understood why I was in pain: my fallopian tube was corkscrewed around the ovary and ovary ligament. It was wrapped several times around it preventing the fluid in the tube (the diameter of an orange) from draining. Hmmm...sound painful? It was apparently very rare and surprised everyone. One of the nurses told me that I was "a mess in there". I wanted to ask her if she wouldn't mind checking out my head since I let the surgeon convince me that the hydrosalpinx shouldn't be that painful.

Initially, I was very mad at him for being an arrogant physician blinded by data but then I realized that I really was mad at myself for letting him convince me I was wrong. Lesson learned hopefully. Thankfully, Dr. Hays had listened to me and knew me well enough to know that I don't cry wolf.

My recovery has been decent. I could not have done it without the amazing support of my hubby's parents. More than anyone on this planet, they know the day in and day out of our lives here. It helps to share that with someone so that we don't feel so isolated and misunderstood.

Although I'm still in a little pain, especially when lifting babes a lot, I'm improving. I'm a little concerned that something else may be going on but it's still too early to tell. Too tired and too busy to worry about it yet. I'll try to give my body time to heal.

This isn't the most exciting post I have ever written but I felt I needed to write a follow up to my previous one. I have several other posts that I would like to write that were inspired by the events of the last few weeks. Although the dullness of this post might suggest that the events over the last few weeks were uneventful, they actually provided some inspiration which I hope will be conveyed on the blog in the future.

Peace and good health to all.

Under the knife

2007-08-01T18:08:00.001-07:00

I have surgery tomorrow, and I have mixed emotions and adrenaline flowing through my veins. I guess tomorrow anesthetic will course through them and send me on a journey which will hopefully be uneventful and anticlimactic. I don't need any more drama.

I've been calm about it up until tonight. Although it is appreciated and welcomed, the "good luck" phone calls from family only seem to highlight the concern of others about my well being and thus send my mind down the path of what if. No need to explain the what ifs in this scenario: Cancer, surgeon error, whatever. Those thoughts then lead to my husband, my babies, my family. Phrases such as "if this happens, then we'll have to open you up" and "blood transfusion" and "vascular surgeon", etc. spoken by the surgeon echo in my head. With all the paperwork you have to sign about the rare but horrible consequences of surgery, I wish there were an option to sign one that says, "don't tell me a damn thing and just do it." Guess that doesn't cover their butt enough and Lord knows they don't care about mine (in reference to the lovely hospital gown I'll be sporting tomorrow).

Ah, well. It's a day I've been hoping for because I'd like my life to return to "normal". I am glad it's here finally but now it's time to hope it goes well. I'll hug and kiss my babes a little more tonight. Let's just hope my next post is about how great I feel now.

Praise for Dr. Tracy Hays

2007-08-01T09:11:00.000-07:00

She is truly a beam of sunshine in the darkest of times. I have had my share of those dark times over the last few years. From infertility to preterm labor with twins to chronic pelvic pain, Dr. Hays helped me stay focused on what was important, listened to all my fears and concerns regardless of how irrational or unfounded, and managed the care of myself and my sweet, darling babies with great professionalism, warmth and attentiveness. I could not ask for a better doctor.

Tomorrow, I'm having surgery to hopefully alleviate the pain I've been experiencing for the last few weeks. Throughout this stressful time, she has repeatedly been an advocate for me and has not only monitored my physical well being she has taken into consideration how surgery affects how I function as a mother to 3 babies. She listens and she acts. I feel understood by her, and I feel cared for in a way that most physicians couldn't possibly replicate.

She is more than a doctor. She brings to her job something special that anyone who works around her is immediately aware of. I appreciate everything she has done for me. Thank you, Dr. Hays.

A glimpse of beauty

2007-07-18T16:46:00.000-07:00

Today, I witnessed beauty in a most unexpected way. What started as a routine appointment with my sons' cranial-facial surgeon transformed into a moving experience involving a young man I'll call Juan. (I do know his actual name but do not feel I should divulge it publicly.)

I had all three boys with me and we took over the waiting room as we are apt to do. Just the size of the stroller alone tends to dominate typically small waiting rooms of specialists like this surgeon's. We found ourselves crammed into a corner only inches away from a young man who was obviously there as a patient. I say obviously because his outward appearance was grossly misshapen. His most striking feature was that one of his eyes appeared to always be open very wide and he had various scars and irregularities throughout his face. As much as I hate to admit it, he was very difficult to look at without succumbing to the urge to look away. It was heartbreaking.

As we got situated - toys distributed, snacks obtained - we settled in to wait for our turn. The room was full of other patients but I was drawn to this young man and could not help but read his body language which was detached and withdrawn. He quietly sat eating a snack. My oldest was busy exploring the room for a while and then he saw him. I could tell Neil didn't understand what he was seeing - he's only 2.5 years old after all. I watched him look over several times and stare. I'm in the habit of suggesting Neil say hello to other children in the hopes that he learns to feel comfortable talking with other children. I suggested he say hello because I wanted him to understand that this little boy was just another person and that we should talk with him rather than stare. The boy quietly said hello back. His expression indicated that he was surprised that we said hello.

Toys were picked up from the floor and handed back to fussing babies, more snacks were dug out of my bag and the boy began to uncurl from his chair and become interested in the twins who were closest to him. The twins giggled and squealed to him just as they would anyone else and I think that made him comfortable. I made comments to him about the twins and began to talk with him casually and he relaxed more and more.

As I was talking with him, I tried to figure out where his mom or dad were. No one seemed to participate in our conversation. People who were sitting next to him were called into appointments and then I'd realize that they weren't with him. The room began to empty and eventually there was only him, my children and a young woman who had been talking on a cell phone across the room. She came to sit next to him but didn't talk with him. She continued to do whatever she was doing in her controlled, professional manner. Was this his mom? I tried to involve her in our increasingly more dynamic conversation but she only smiled mildly and seemed disinterested. I didn't push it.

Meanwhile, I found out his name - he showed me his hospital bracelet and I introduced him to my boys. Juan had clearly become taken with Evan, one of the twins. Juan seemed delighted by Evan's spastic, squealing fits and was very warm toward him. He began to ask questions such as whether he could crawl and such. I got Evan out of the stroller and placed him on the floor. Juan offered to watch him for me. He got down in the floor with him and kept his hands close to him to keep him from falling. He asked me if Evan liked toys. I said yes so he reached in his little bag and pulled out a gingerbread man from some fast food restaurant and handed it to Evan.

Ok, my mom instincts wanted to rush over and clean the toy before Evan put it in his mouth but I couldn't do it. The germ nut in me didn't want to expose my baby to germs from a child who has been in the hospital and who has been exposed himself to no telling what but I stopped myself. This darling little child wanted to share something with my baby and there was so much love in this action that I couldn't possibly trample on his desire to hand him the toy. Evan immediately put it in his mouth. Of course. I apologized and the boy said it was no big deal - he would wash it off later. He shrugged it off and sat smiling as he watched Evan play with his toy.

The nurse finally called our name. Of course, every one of my boys was out of the stroller by now and it took ages to get everyone strapped in and the bags repacked in order for us to leave. In the midst of the chaotic shuffle, Evan accidentally fell over on his back. He was fine - just the typical spill any child takes on a normal day. As I started to bend over to get him, Juan gets down and cradles Evan so gently, slowly lifting him up to me. He did it with such tenderness that I was almost moved to tears. This horribly deformed child had a beauty in him that few would ever stop to see.

We said our goodbyes and I wished him luck on his upcoming surgery and we left. I was still thinking of him and mentioned him to the nurse. I found out why his "mom" didn't seem very interested in him. She was his case worker. The nurse explained in a more candid moment than I've seen in a while in the medical field (thanks to the ridiculously rigid rules of HIPPA) she explained to me how he travelled very far to see this doctor, that he had no mama in his life and that he had a very sad story which she didn't divulge and I was afraid to hear. She then commented on how sweet a boy he was and how everyone in the office cared about him. I was humbled by this little boy's story and was moved by his tenderness toward my baby despite how hard the world had been for him.

The doctor was going to perform surgery on his eye tomorrow and, although I'm not a Christian or part of any other organized religion, I will pray to the heavens to bless this sweet child.

If you found this post inspiring and would like to help children like Juan, visit the World Cranialfacial Foundation at http://www.worldcf.org/. Juan's surgeon is affiliated with this organization so it's possible that he may be receiving assistance from this foundation for his care.

Corpus meus

2007-07-17T10:52:00.000-07:00

My body and I have been through a lot together. We went through the usual things like birth, colds, puberty, pregnancy and multiple childbirths. What once was supple and young, my body has become more worn and stretched - no longer smooth and unblemished. Scars have appeared, moles darkened, weird red dots punctuate parts of my skin. I don't recognize myself at times yet I also have a hard time comprehending that I'm 34 years old and I'm not as sexy as I used to be. Damn!

My poor body has put up with me. I gave it shots in its stomach and intoxicated it with hormones. I forced it to mature a ridiculous amount of eggs and had my body cut in order to remove these potential vessels of life. I put embryos in my womb who sometimes stayed and sometimes didn't. I made my body pregnant with 1 then later 2 babies - pushing my body beyond its natural tendencies.

It's not like my body just sat there and took it though. It made sure I knew that shots hurt, my ovaries didn't like being ridiculously large, that my mood was sure as hell not going to be pleasant thanks to the PMS cocktail of hormones and to get me back my body gave me lots of stretch marks, a belly whose muscles won't strengthen and now a fallopian tube that is inflated like a balloon in order to remind me that I messed with it and I am now to pay.

How should I make peace with my body? I guess I should accept my body for how she has changed and be thankful that she made it as well as she did. I will let my body enjoy holding the beautiful babies she nurtured and protected - I'll breathe in their scent - the one that only a mama can smell and enjoy. I will have my tube repaired surgically although my body may not like that but, once that is done, maybe she'll forgive me and understand that I appreciate her and all that she's done. I'll quit asking her to be the young body she used to be and learn to see that she earned the scars and stretch marks triumphantly and gallantly as she endured tremendous strain and challenges. She deserves that and so do I. Thank you, body, for my babies, for the love which pours through my veins each time my babies smile at me.

It will be ok

2007-07-11T17:07:00.000-07:00

The thunder came so suddenly we all jumped. Chris and I just laughed and looked at each other but then paused to see which of our 3 children would wake up crying. Tonight, it was Neil who hadn't actually fallen asleep yet but had been quiet nonetheless. It was his scared cry so I went to his room to comfort him.

I wrapped my arms around his trembling body and told him it was ok. Funny thing is he didn't act scared - his young bravado was evident as he said, "hi, mommy" as nonchalantly as he could - but the fact that he was shaking told me enough. After a minute, thinking he was fine, I started to leave but he grabbed my arm and made it clear that he wasn't ready for me to go yet. I had already told him his requisite 4 bed times stories and I was too tired of them to say them once again so I made up a story about a little, lonely cloud who made friends with other clouds and they danced and played in the sky. They clapped (thunder) and flashed their flashlights (lightning - not original but, hey, I was improvising). His body visibly calmed but soon he wanted me to "hang out with Neil" (i.e., play). It was time to go. He needed to sleep and I needed a moment of free time before I went to bed. I tucked him into his bed and gave him a hug. I told him again that he was ok - that the clouds were just playing and he told me, reassuringly, "you're ok, Mommy".

Last night, hearing him say that brought a chuckle up from my belly and warmed my heart. Tonight, after having another trying day (Neil had to get blood drawn for an allergy test, physical therapy for Evan, no phone call from doctor regarding my potential surgery, and discovery of a potentially huge plumbing issue with our house), I reminded myself of his sweet words and tried to reassure myself with his sweet words. Now, I'm going to go get a hug.

Son rising

2007-07-08T10:20:00.001-07:00

It's 5:37 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Evan is awake and having his morning bottle. The house is quiet and dark. As I hold him, I see the sky begin to lighten as the earth turns toward the sun. I look down to see him looking at me with smiling eyes, and I forgive him for waking me up so early. I give him a kiss. He smiles and continues to eat.

I enjoy holding and feeding my babies. Cradling their little bodies in my arms as they gladly drink their milk. I particularly like their first morning feedings because they're eager for the food and they're just a little bit sleepy so they rest and eat calmly. Their little hair is often messed up and their eyes are puffy from a good night's sleep. Warm to the touch, their soft bodies are snuggly and I wrap myself around them as I slowly awaken as well.

Our connection is strong and our bond is firm. It is not less because they are fed from a bottle, although there are plenty who would tell me I'm missing something. It's different - that's true - but it's not less. The love in my eyes and the love in theirs is all that there needs to be. They're bellies are full. They're healthy and strong. That's all a mom can ask for.

The bottle is almost empty now and the sunlight is shining through the trees. It will be daytime soon and the daily hustle will begin. For now, though, I snuggle with Evan and listen for the stirrings of Dylan and Neil. Like a mama bird listening for the chirps of her babies, I sit and listen for the day to begin.

Maternal mantra

2007-07-02T18:28:00.000-07:00

So many things are out of my control and that can really get me down. There is a point, however, when so many things become so obviously uncontrollable that it pushes me to a point of revelation: I am not in control and that's that. Why fight it? What good does it do me other than make me more miserable? Of course, my revelation has been felt by many people, including Buddha and his followers to name a few. I guess the Christian philosophy has its own way of viewing this same conundrum in similar terms by the idea of "Let go. Let God." Either way, the act of letting go is amazingly restorative and often provides a perspective not otherwise available via an anxious mindset.

Although I have often found myself pondering events in my life in terms of what I can and cannot control, I find myself repeatedly returning to this question now that I'm a mom. Perhaps the fact that I have a tendency toward being a "Type A" personality has made parenting a challenge for me at times. From the most basic situation such as how many of my three kids has a dirty diaper to whether one of my sons needs a helmet, physical therapy, surgery, whatever. I often feel like I'm walking a high wire - I'm balancing what I can control with what I can't. I do my best to control the environment in such a way to lead to a more peaceful and orderly household. We have schedules and rules, discipline and consequences but I try to do it in a fashion that allows fun, creativity and spontaneity. Meanwhile, someone has a dirty diaper, another needs a bottle and the other is asking me the same question over and over and over and over.

In my best moments, I experience a peacefulness amid confined chaos. In the worst, I'm a raving lunatic who feels as if she's herding cats. When times get tough, though, I just need to remember to breathe deeply and repeat to myself, "it is what it is," and change that diaper, feed the baby, mop up the mess. . . and move on.

Pass out

2007-06-22T16:07:00.000-07:00

Here I am at the end of a very long week. I'm drinking and I'm feeling better than I have in a while. Could it be the alcohol? Perhaps. It might also be that I at least got some decent lab results indicating that my risk for ovarian cancer is low. I'm pleased with that. It may also be that my Mom came over and rescued me today and helped me regain perspective. I was having a very bad morning until she showed up.

As my body is forced to relax via the sweet, brown bottle at my fingertips, I am reminded of the sensation that one feels right before going under anesthesia. It won't be long before I'll be experiencing that once again. Under the knife. It's clear to me that my state of mind is less than desirable these days considering I find the idea of surgery as a way to rest. Pretty sad.

I will let go and be at their mercy. I will lay there and sleep while they slice me open. I will be manipulated and cut and parts of me removed but at least I get to rest.

I will wake up in pain. I'll be awoken by countless nurses and poked and prodded but then I'll be able to sleep once again. Three days paid for by insurance. I couldn't pay for a 3-day vacation so maybe this is the next best thing.

I don't like it either anymore too bad

2007-06-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

My 2 1/2 year old is a rascal. He even knows it because he sometimes says, "Neil is a punk," after doing something rotten. I can't imagine where he got that.

His favorite new thing to say more often than I care to hear it is, "I don't like it either anymore too bad!" This phrase has morphed and changed over time. It first started out as, "I like it," even though he clearly was stating that he didn't. Once he got the concept of "don't" down then it became, "I don't like it." As you can guess the additional words were added until it became, "I don't like it either anymore too bad."

I feel I must explain the "too bad" part since that was all my fault. When you're trapped in the house with youngsters, it's easy to become rather infantile in response to some of their annoying behavior. I swear Neil can inspire a tamper-like tantrum in me after hearing him repeat something annoying and whiny for 3 hours. So, being the mature person that I am, I once responded, "too bad" when he kept whining for something silly like watching a video of himself ("Neil show") or not liking getting his diaper changed. Yes, it was sweet and understanding of me but, if you've spent considerable time with a 2 year old who has a very profound sense of entitlement, you'd understand 100%. Anyway, realizing there was some power in that phrase, my son gladly added it to his now favorite phrase.

The funny thing is that right now I totally know what he feels like when he says it because I feel like throwing a tantrum myself. I'm not the least bit excited about having to have surgery. I don't like not knowing whether I have cancer. I probably don't but, damn, I have enough shit going on. I'm the mother of 3 small children and I'm not really excited about the possibility that their lives (not to mention mine but this is how moms are) might get severely disrupted if mommy gets sick. Ah, jeez. So, in the spirit of my dear, darling toot of a son, I feel compelled to scream at the heavens, "I don't like it either anymore too bad!"

Poop on my face

2007-06-19T16:52:00.000-07:00

In the middle of juggling the twins during their bath, my husband noticed that I had something on my face. He lovingly reached up to pick it off then realized with horror that it was baby poop. While I shrugged as if that happens everyday, Chris grimaced and suggested I go wash my face. I couldn't help but feel that that moment summed up today.

We're facing more poop. For those of you who know us well, you've heard about how crazy our lives have been over the last year or so. Apparently, it's time for us to endure another trial of sorts. How much of a trial is unknown at this point. I'm hoping for a small one but we'll see.

Today, I went to the doctor to see what was up with my left ovary. Most people probably can't tell where their ovary is much less whether something is unusual but, after all the IVF procedures and subsequent hyperstimulation (ridiculous amount of eggs produced) that I had endured, I had a really good feel for when something wasn't quite right with one of my ovaries.

So I had a sono. A cyst that had been small and benign in the past was much bigger. Whether it's benign still remains to be seen. Either way, it has to be removed surgically.

This is what lies ahead so far: Another sono, surgery, 3 nights in hospital, no driving for 2 weeks, recovery for who knows how long. Meanwhile, I have 3 babies who need me and a tired, tired husband who has just had enough of all this crap. We just can't catch a break these days. We endure but, man, we've been kicked and tossed and hassled and we're just damn tired of it. We somehow laugh despite all this - such as when he said that my ovaries were causing problems yet again. After all, I was the ova-achiever. These guys (or should I say gals) just don't know when to stop.

Good thing we don't either. So, I went and washed the poop off my face and went back to work. I kissed my babies a little more tonight, hugged them a little tighter. Let's just hope that surgery is all we have to deal with now.

Pause for peace

2007-06-18T16:42:00.000-07:00

We all slowed down when the bus began to flash its lights and the stop sign moved into position. Three lanes of traffic came to a stop as small children began to descend its steps and walk to their waiting parents. I couldn't see how many children were leaving the bus but I guessed about 5 as I watched the bus jiggle and move with the eager footsteps of the children. It was taking a long time.

I looked around at all the cars stopped with me, wondering which jerk would honk their horn, which angry driver was muttering under their breath for the kids to hurry up already. Nobody made a sound, no breaks were being pumped. For a brief moment, the hostile, egocentric, drivers of Dallas restrained themselves out of their collective interest in these unknown childrens' welfare. How nice and peaceful.

I then began to wonder if these same patient drivers supported the war in Iraq or any war advocated by the Commander in Chief for that matter. Did they care about the welfare of the children in countries we invaded? Just as I was having these thoughts, I heard an NPR report about a school that had been bombed in Afghanistan. More children dead. How horrific. Isn't that awful to any human being? Shouldn't it be?

We all began to drive again and the people who were driving like jerks before had returned to their tailgaiting, cutting-off ways, and I continued on driving with my three, darling babies in the car. I couldn't help but wondered if they cared about my babies as they drove along carelessly. Maybe, unlike the bus with its flashing lights and its stop sign that forced us to notice its precious cargo, they can't see my babies. Just like the bombers didn't see the children huddled in their classroom.

Maybe it's not that we don't care. Maybe we need to be forced to pause. I would imagine many drivers would not stop for the school bus if it wasn't a law, if they wouldn't get a ticket for disobeying. Perhaps if our government encouraged diplomacy instead of war we might pause enough to care.

To the father of my babies

2007-06-14T17:53:00.000-07:00

He can change a diaper in the dark and snap the snaps to the horribly complicated outfits while barely awake. He does it without complaint or thanks.

We met in 1999. I was a mess and he was lonely. He held me patiently as I hesitated to trust him. He waited. I trusted.

We had fun and lots of it. We shared great friends and great times, beautiful moments. Our wedding, our honeymoon in Hawaii gave us peaceful memories that we can always look back on.

We struggled to have children and suffered losses. We looked toward the unknown together and stubbornly never gave up.

Being parents is a lot harder than we ever thought it would be. God, how we love our babies. Boy can they kick our asses. We've muscled through it together and are feeling more sure-footed and tested. We'll be ok and so will they.

He is even sexier than he was when I met him. When he rolls out of bed to feed a baby or comforts my soul in times of uncertainty and despair, he is so solidly there and reliable. He's so strong and sure and true. And, damn, he's still a hotty.

My babies are lucky to have him and I couldn't do it without him. I really could not do it without him.

I love you, honey. Happy Father's Day.

Mindfully mindless

2007-06-12T13:24:00.001-07:00

I have to have my wits about me. Is Dylan near anything that he shouldn't put in his mouth? What is Neil climbing on now? Why is Evan crying? Is he sleepy, hungry?

Pacing the house from one child to the next. Lifting and caressing, laying down and kissing. My back hurts and I'm bruised. Some of them are sleeping so what can I do until they wake up? I'm so tired of doing the dishes, doing laundry. What can I do for me?

Hmmmm.....

What was that? Someone crying. What now? Guess they're ok now.

What can I do for me? Maybe I can watch a show but it's boring.

Maybe I can. . .who is awake? How long until I have to go in there and get them? Is it dinner time?

Running out of time for me. The evening madness is soon to begin. Dinner, baths, storytime. Guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow for me.

Star Sisters

2007-06-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

As we sat around the pool talking and listening to one another, I paused to enjoy it. We're here together again and it feels great. Like planets in a galaxy, we each have our own orbits that take us on our individual paths but we always reunite when our orbits reconnect. I find myself wishing we could be together more often because it's so good but it's ok. I trust the fact that the heavens will bring us back together.

Our lives are very different. One of us is preparing to take one of life's biggest steps by marrying the man she loves; one lovingly yet sadly is accepting her son's departure to far away lands as he pushes for success yet struggles with life choices he has to face; one is enjoying her prime as she embraces her aspirations and those of her husband's, lovingly supporting one another; another is struggling to shed feelings of despair and exhaustion as she tries to be more than she is to her darling babes. Two new faces joined us and each brought with them their stories and blessed the night with their vitality. We shared ourselves and served one another with laughter, humility and love. As we drank in the beauty of the night, the coolness of the water, we bonded yet again and sprinkled each other with our moon dust and merriment.

My girls. My friends. My sisters of the stars. May our orbits always find each other.

What I Can't Afford

2007-06-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

I can't afford to be in a bad mood. I can't afford to be distracted. I can't afford to be sick. I can't afford to be angry. I can't afford to be selfish. I can't afford to be tired. I can't afford to be absent. I can't afford to be stupid. I can't afford to be sleepy. Why?

These things delay or prevent me from doing things that have to get done: physical therapy nail trimming lotion applying diaper changing tummy time doctor appointments medicine administering love giving school enrolling disciplining. (Commas intentionally left off since none of these things occur independently - they blur together and are often simultaneous.)

I'm human though so I'm in debt to my babies because I get in bad moods, get distracted, get sick, get angry, am selfish, am tired, am occasionally absent, am stupid, am sleepy.

They say that mom's need to take care of themselves in order to take care of their babies but I can't help but wonder when can I? I can't afford to.

Blessed to death

2007-06-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

If my days could be described by the words that I speak more often than any others they'd be: "I'm tired."
"No, Neil."
"Stop yelling."
"Hi, sweetie."
"Do you have a poopie diaper?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Oh, God, you're heavy."
"Let's go take a nap."
"I love you soooooo much."

If my days could be described by my body language it would be:
Rubbing my eyes in exasperation
Refixing my hair to get it out of my face
Making silent screams of bad, bad words to the ceiling
Smiling my proud mama smile
Rubbing my aching back
Rubbing my messed up wrist
Pulling my damn pants up again
Grimacing
Sighing
Sighing
Sighing
Smiling eyes tearing
Sad eyes tearing
Alert, concerned eyes seeking

If my days could be described by the emotions that flood me, they'd be:
Exhaustion
Peace
Exasperation
Joy
Love
Anger
Frustration
Isolation
Confusion
Guilt
Hope
Pride
Despair
Concern
Relief

If my appearance could describe my life it would be:
Pooching mama belly
Stretch marks
Tired eyes
Smeared makeup or none at all
Messy clothes
Bad hair
Dry, cracked skin on my overwashed hands
Dirty feet
Disheveled

My words, my gestures, my emotions and my appearance describe my life as it is: chaotic and insane shit and bliss. It's such a crazy mix of good and bad that is still worth every minute. I wouldn't trade it for the world, although I'd love a fucking break. Let's face it, I've been blessed to death.

Good Bad Good Bad Good Bad Good: The Ever Changing Mood of a Stay at Home Parent

2007-05-29T17:59:00.000-07:00

I used to have concrete ideas regarding whether a day was good or bad. It was simple to me. It was either good or bad. Nowadays, I can't say that anymore because it changes constantly. I may wake up to a good morning but 10 minutes later feel like it's the worst day I've ever had. I started to notice this when we had our first son. I learned to think in terms of good and bad moments. I might be able to say a day was ok if more good moments occurred than bad. If there were more bad moments than good, though, it was a crummy day.

These days it's hard to even characterize a day or a moment because even a single moment can be split three different ways - by three different children. I might be having a horrible moment with one child while somehow sharing a peaceful moment with another and may just be having a calm but neutral one with the third - all at the same time. Basically, my moments have been divided into thirds now. In some ways it just makes life more interesting and rich but in another it can be schizophrenigenic (an excellent term coined - as far as I know - by a family friend). To put it simply, it can be maddening.

Here is an example from this very evening. One of the twins, Evan, was having a difficult time sleeping. I finally had some luck soothing him by rubbing his back slowly and his little eyes slowly closed. I marvelled at how beautiful his eyes are. His lashes are so long and dark. His little hands so cute and cuddly. I looked over at the other crib where his twin, Dylan, was sleeping and I quietly chuckled about his position. He had his round bum in the air and he'd crammed his face into the mattress. I thought to myself how I needed to reposition his head as soon as Evan was asleep. I heard Neil laughing with his daddy in the other room and I was filled with peace but then it began to change. Neil began to yell. Evan began to wake up. Neil screamed louder. Evan screamed louder still. Dylan was fine for a little while but he began to stir. My peaceful thoughts were replaced with silent pleas for Neil to shut up! He didn't want to have the bath that he has EVERY night but fights over having EVERY night that he ends up enjoying ridiculously then hates getting out of. (The logic of two-year-olds is amazing but that's another post for another day.)

Anyway, the tenderness I was feeling for all my babies was still there but I was annoyed with Neil, frustrated with Evan and mystified with Dylan who was calm for the longest but even he succumbed to the madness eventually. All three babies were crying and it was time for me to go to another room before I wigged out. If you've never heard three babies crying at the top of their lungs with no hope of consoling them, you'd understand why I needed to do that.

So, how did it all end? After calming myself down, I began to settle the babies down. I tucked Neil in bed after telling him the requisite "night-night" stories exactly like I do every night. (Deviations in plot or subject matter are strictly prohibited - he notices every little detail.) I finished with the story his Grammy told him and now is a part of our evening ritual: I told him how he is the luckiest boy in the whole world and then named all the people who love him. My shoulders became less tense and my anger subsided as I softly told him that his mommy and daddy love him so very much. I gave him a good night kiss and he told me "night night" as I left.

Meanwhile, the twins grumbled for a minute or two longer but they soon settled down and slept to the sound of peaceful, lullaby music. All was good except for the fact that we'd run out of trash bags and Chris was about to put the 300 lbs worth of dirty diapers out in our City trash bin and couldn't do it until he had more. Exhausted, he set off for the store and I went to the computer. Now that everyone is asleep, formula is made, dishes are clean, and laundry is under control, I have to start my paying job. After that's done maybe I can sleep. Despite having to work, and since the boys are sleeping quietly, I'd most assuredly have to say that this is a good moment. I'm going to enjoy it.

Going the distance

2007-05-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

Certain events in my life have motivated me to explore the concept of distance. On the surface, the term "distance" seems pretty concrete and graspable when defined as a separation of two points - when it is defined in terms of physicality. Distance is harder to comprehend when it is defined in terms of feelings such as emotional separation and remoteness. We can measure physical distance with tools but emotional distance is not quantifiable. It's personal and subjective.

What I find most difficult to untangle is how the concept of physical distance can impact emotional distance - how we each make choices regarding how we allow physical distance to impact emotional distance and connectedness. Is it necessary that individuals be near each other in order to remain emotionally connected? I think that question has to be made by each person and is often made differently. I, for one, feel that physical proximity is not integral to a close and loving relationship. As the saying goes, "distance makes the heart grow fonder".

In my life, I have had many instances where I made a conscious choice to remain connected or to disconnect from another when they were leaving. This morning, I received a phone call from one such friend, my dearest friend, who now lives on the other side of the world - in Switzerland. She is the closest thing to a sister that I have but, if I had made different choices, she could have just been another person that I used to know. I have never, nor will I ever, regret that choice. My life is richest with her in it. It would have been a great personal loss if I had let her slip through my fingers.

I often wonder what our relationship would have been like and would be like now if she and I lived in the same city as we once did. Would we be closer? How much fun we would have! Would I love her more? Perhaps but I doubt it. Our connection is so deep that the miles between us seem immaterial. I wish we could get together with her and watch our children grow up alongside each other. I wish she and I could grow old together - to sit on a front porch sipping ice tea in our old age but I accept that that won't be the case. She has her own life there as I have my life here. We remain committed to each other, and I wouldn't trade our relationship for the world.

My perspective isn't held by everyone though. I know others who feel that proximity is necessary for a close relationship. I don't discount the fact that it is harder when you can't always go and be with someone you love but there are ways to be connected regardless of proximity. It may not be ideal but love really has no boundaries and is not measurable by inches and miles - not unless we choose to define it so.

Unlike physical distance which can be easily defined and understood by many, emotional distance is in the control of each individual. It is a conscious choice that can have far reaching implications. It is much harder to overcome emotional distance than it is to overcome the physical. I can get on a plane or drive a car but I can't open a heart that has closed itself off. I can't go the distance alone. I hope I don't have to.

Herbs, beer and boogers

2007-05-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

I'm having a much deserved beer tonight. Ok, I lied. I'm having a much deserved 2nd beer tonight. I expect it might even be a 3 beer night. Today wasn't any worse than any other day. It just was

another

day

filled with the usual shit.

The boys pooped a billion times. I've been covered in so many bodily fluids lately that I'm completely immune to it. I have to remind myself that poo is dirty and I must wash my hands because I'm almost so desensitized by being covered in it. Now, THAT's messed up.

Here is a summation of today's fun: Waking at 4:00 a.m. to Evan yet again. Cry, cry, cry, fucking crying again. No reason. He's ready to be up. We're sure as hell not. Who wins? He does. The dude won't go back to sleep. Fuck all the experts. My babies are bad asses. They're not some little wusses you hear about that fall back to sleep after crying for 10-15 minutes. Nope. These dudes are hard core. So, Mr. Evan wins. He gets to sleep with Mommy in the guest bedroom so Daddy can get some fucking sleep so he can make money and feed his little punkass kids and, occasionally, me (though you wouldn't guess I don't eat much since I'm STILL trying to lose my insane pregnancy weight).

The most positive aspect of the day was a groovy visit from my Uncle Don. Neil loves him now that he knows that when Uncle Don comes he brings food Daddy doesn't want him to eat: Chicken strips and french fries. God love him. I have to admit that I like what he brings me: Fat wrapped in a bun - well, a burger and fries. Ok, so it's not helping me lose the weight but I need a little SOMETHING. Anyway, Uncle Don rules. My babies love him and so do I.

The rest of the day was feeding, tickling, kissing and harassing my little buggers. Evan's physical therapy was more of a focus today since the surgeon said his torticollis isn't resolving fast enough and he'll have to consider surgery if he doesn't improve in the next 3-4 months. (Evan was smushed in the womb by his twin, Dylan, so he has a shortened neck muscle that makes his head tilt to the left.) My mommy guilt is insane these days so I tried to stretch the little stubborn toot's neck every chance I had. He hates it so it's a lot of fun to do. Surgery would be totally sucky though and I'd feel like the world's worst mom if he has to have it.

Anyway, the rest of the day was "uneventful" in that nothing other than the usual crazy shit happened. I finally started reading some peak oil junk my hubby wants me to read. Ok, maybe Portland would be a great place to live. The question is: how the Hell do we get there with any money left over? Can we get there with my family's blessing/understanding? What about my need for REAL Tex-Mex? Will I go even more coo coo without sunshine?

The day ended with the twins getting a fabulous bath in our kitchen sink with their big brother harassing them and running madly away (as if they could get him if they tried) and Neil deciding I was his personal booger rag as he repeatedly blew his nose (while laughing) against my leg. Eeeuw. It's a damn good thing I'm gross and thought it was funny. I then promptly chased him around with the real booger rag as he fled with glea.

Now, I'm having a mature woman's moment. I'm having a break. I just read some info on growing herbs since I've started cultivating them in our greenhouse. I'm feeling all domestic and good. I just finished my beer and will be seeking the third and hope the boys go to sleep soon and sleep the whole entire night. We'll see. I may drink one more beer just to make the fantasy seem real.

Peak what?

2007-05-24T13:40:00.000-07:00

Picture this: It's my 34th birthday and I'm feeling every bit of it. My in-laws have generously volunteered to watch our 3 babies so that my husband, Chris, and I can have a date. A date - what is that? You've all heard it before. Another parent bemoaning never having a chance to get out and be an adult. Yeah, well, don't discount it until you've been in my shoes. Of course, let's not discuss my shoes - old, dilapidated, abused, cheap shoes.

Back to the story. My hubby and I have gone to our old haunt - a great little Tex-Mex restaurant we used to go to in our no-child days or BWHC (before we had children) days and our pre-twin days, a/k/a WNDOL (when Neil dominated our lives) days. We pigged out and we drank. It felt great. . . until Chris took the conversation away from the exciting and never ending conversation of what the Hell to do with [insert child's name here] to the topic beginning with "we're going to die."

Maybe that's not bleak enough. Let's see, this should cover it: he didn't expect to ever teach our oldest (2 1/2 years old) to drive and he wouldn't be surprised if our children's' life expectancies would be no more than 50 years old. Whoa! Screech. Where's my fucking margarita?

It wasn't April Fool's Day - he actually missed that this year for the first time. What crazy prank was he pulling? Well, his prank isn't so dang funny and I wish I could pretend his concerns weren't valid. It was at this dinner that he explained to me about peak oil.

Peak what? Exactly. In a nutshell, according to peak oil people (POPs), our oil will max out. Before we actually run out of oil, we will reach a maximum amount of oil we can pump (peak oil). The problem is that demand will continue to rise beyond that which is available. What will that lead to? Mass disruption of the economy, peace, prosperity, etc., etc. All in all, they forecast a pretty grim future, although some are a little more optimistic than others. So where does my husband lie in the continuum of POPs? He's in the "things are going to be horrible" end of the spectrum. The question for me now is where do I stand?

The answer is: I have no idea. Do I believe we'll run out of oil eventually? Yes. It's a finite resource. It's nonrenewable so therefore we will run out. Will it be soon? Likely, yes, unless we make drastic changes which I don't think most of us will be willing to do without a very strong incentive. In other words, when the choice is taken out of our hands because oil is too expensive. I also have some nagging anecdotal evidence: I have a relative who specialized in looking for oil as a geologist for various gasoline companies such as Exxon. I asked him years ago whether we'd run out of oil. He said yes without hesitation and explained that everyone in his field knew that. When I asked when he said in about 20 years. That was around 10 years ago. Hmmmm.

I'm not going to spell out all the technical support for or against the idea of peak oil because there are tons of sites which do that far better than I could possibly dream (or care to do for that matter). I think most credible sources at least acknowledge the reality that oil isn't going to last and we need another energy source. The biggest problem is where is this energy source? Most people, including me, have resolved any rising anxiety by convincing ourselves that some nerd will figure this all out. We all bow to the God of technology asking for this new saviour. "Please, God, bring us a new energy so that I can drive 45 minutes to work while gabbing on my cell phone. Please let my life continue to be easy."

So, where are these nerds? Who are they? Are you one? Do you know someone? I'd love to talk with them. Maybe they can call me and explain to me how they're going to fix everything so that every driver in the U.S. right can relax.

Meanwhile, my husband is acting coo-coo. After my uplifting birthday date, we continued to talk about our future. I began to read. Maybe I'm a little coo-coo too. We have 3 little babies we brought into this world and now we're hoping they won't hate us for it. I've started buying books on how to be more self-reliant. We're starting to garden. We're debating about whether we want to stay in the ugly suburb we're in. My husband feels we need to make changes to get ready. Get ready. GET READY! It feels so extreme and yet, when I read information about it from POPs who seem to know what they're talking about, my adrenaline does begin to pump and I feel like doing something. Anything. I hug my babies tighter. I kiss them more often and I try to not laugh at my husband as he experiments with reading a book by candlelight. Abe fucking Lincoln, man. So, is he crazy? I don't think so but I wish he were.

I remember

2007-05-17T13:11:00.000-07:00

I once went to a doctor who explained how the body had its own memory. He relied on that memory when he investigated cases of potential fraudulent injuries. He'd look for signs their body would make that indicated whether the injury actually occurred or not. He told me this after my own body showed signs of past injury about which I hadn't even told him. He read my body's responses and asked me whether I had dislocated my right kneecap before. Yes, I absolutely had many years prior as a cheerleader. Although I continued talking with him regarding my injury, my mind was focused on the stunning fact that he knew something about me that few people knew just by observing how I subconsciously reacted when he examined my knee. I have since forgotten the physical therapy exercises he recommended but I haven't forgotten that my body has its own memory of which I may not always be aware. I jokingly referred to it as my carnal knowledge.

I was reminded of this idea recently in another unexpected way. I had been given a wonderful gift from my parents, one that I was so looking forward to: a full body massage. In the last 2 and 1/2 years, I have given birth and cared for 3 boys - 2 of which are twins who are now 7 months old. These years were bursting with innumerable trials and tribulations, joys and blessings, successes and concerns. Basically, I had been through a hell of a lot and I needed some TLC.

I trotted off to the spa and slowly left behind my typical mother thoughts about my babies as I drove further from home and closer to my retreat. I practically glowed when I arrived and quickly settled into a moment for me. The room was dark, lit only with candles. Music softly played and washed over me. Peace and quiet are so rare these days. Peaceful sounds make me pause and listen. The masseur was perfect. She talked only briefly and gave me my space. I disrobed and laid on the table and began to let go.

The more my body relaxed the more tension I realized was there. Years of tension that no booze or hours away from home could wash away. I tried to relax as much as I could but then that became a stressor in and of itself so I stopped. I worked on just letting myself be.

As she massaged my muscles, she was like an archaeologist digging down through the layers of memory trapped in my body. In my case, they were memories and emotions that I had unknowingly buried in order to survive the many difficult situations I had experienced in the last few years. As she massaged, my body began to quietly tell me its story.

I began to revisit the last 2 1/2 years, particularly since I became pregnant with the twins. Emotions that I had tried to keep in check so that I could just get through the latest crisis, concern, discomfort. I remembered the first sonos that played havoc with our emotions as we were told both babies would make it, one would make it, both would make it, one would surely die and then both would make it. I began to remember what it was like to have 2 babies living in my belly, kicking me. I remember being afraid - how could I possibly handle twins? I remember not being able to hold my 2 year old when he needed me, being on bed rest, having a hard time even turning over.

Then there was the hospital - the long four weeks when I was ripped from my home and family to live with nurses and doctors. Alone in a room with the babies in my stomach, waiting and wondering what would happen to me and the twins. The birth - so welcomed yet so feared. 34 weeks - 6 weeks premature. 12 people in the operating room. One baby ok. One not. They were tiny. One in the room with us. One in NICU. Bonding with Evan but afraid to change his diaper because he was so small. Dylan with his face covered with breathing apparatus. His chest sinking down deeply as he struggled to breathe. I couldn't hold him yet. Later, so tiny he was placed skin to skin with me - placed down my shirt in what the nurses referred to as the kangaroo hold. That's when he really became my baby. Coming home and falling asleep with my 2 year old who was so confused and scared. One baby came home. One in the hospital then all of us home.

Each memory and emotion was being massaged out and I secretly cried tears that I had not let myself shed. I will cry more later when they're older or during my next massage.

Introduction

2007-05-16T12:09:00.000-07:00

Every day, people ask me how I do it - how do I manage to raise 3 boys who are 2 1/2 years and younger? They jokingly call me a saint, super mom and tell me I'm amazing. I want to laugh yet I understand what they're saying - my life is a bit insane. Each time a stranger makes a comment, I say my usual remarks to make a joke about it all and try to move on to whatever it was I was trying to do. It's weird standing out in a crowd any time I take my babies out of the house. It's probably a good thing that I'm somewhat comfortable with attention - public speaking doesn't phase me and, hell, I used to jump around flashing my bum as a cheerleader in high school. The difference is I used to choose when I stood out. Now, I stand out every single time I go out - to the store, the doctor, wherever. I'm (we're) a spectacle to behold, a curiosity.

The problem for me is that I am not a saint. I'm not super mom. I'm just a chic that has 3 boys. I'm doing the best I can and that's it. There are days that I suck. There are days that I kick ass. It doesn't matter how good or bad I'm doing, though, I can't convince people that I am just a chic with 3 boys.

This chic needs to vent. This chic has things to say. I'm choosing now to say what it's like to raise 3 boys under 2 1/2. I'll leave my silly remarks for casual conversations but here is the deep stuff - the real story. I also choose to talk about things that don't have to do with the dudes because, as hard as it is to believe sometimes, there are still parts of me that aren't wrapped up in their worlds. I need to convince myself of this even if I don't convince anyone else.

So, here I am. Read or not. It's your choice but I'm writing nevertheless.