Full

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.