It was just one of those days. Although thinking about it, I feel like it is always one of "those" days. There are good mornings, but why is it that I clearly remember the tough ones?
I had not slept very well (typical), her devil horns were in full effect the moment her feet hit the ground (she told me to go back to bed when I walked in her room) and they were well, shrieking (hungry, want to be held, the usual). It was going to be an amazing morning. The only saving grace was that I was having a good hair day. Hey, on these kind of days, it's the small things that help you through.
We managed to make it into the truck and there were only a few tears shed. Luckily none of them were mine - tears and good hair are not the greatest look.
I did my best to remain chipper during the drive. Pointing out things that might spark a smile. Nothing. She had a sassy response for everything I said. Towards the end of the drive I was saying things only to irritate her. Not the greatest parenting technique and it WILL bite me in the ass later on, but for the time being it made me feel much better.
The boys sat drinking their milk bundled up with blankets and hats on. Thank goodness they had quieted down. I might have stabbed myself in the eye if they had all continued with their nonsense. Not enough coffee and cranky kids = birth control.
I gladly dropped them off and shut the door behind me. It was as if a fog had lifted. It had been a tough morning. Mornings are difficult, but this one was hard. Some days are just like that. Take the good with the bad. I get it. But some days it is still hard.
As I started down the driveway to my truck, but something told me to turn around. I glanced over my shoulder and there she was. Her horns had disappeared and she was waving at me from the window. Blowing kisses and smiling. For a moment my eyes welled up with tears. She was so sweet. My little girl. I made that. Wow. It was one of those "mom" moments where all the bad melts away and all you can see are the wonders and joys of children. And then I realized....knowing her, she is cussing at me under her breath. Oh, well so much for that. It's a good thing she's cute.
2.16.2010
2.08.2010
the twenty-first
We have a regular sized bathtub which fits three kids. Sorta. They fit enough that they can all have a place to put their bottoms while we wash off the biggest pieces of dirt. The universe made dirt and dirt don't hurt, right?They bathe together often. Actually it is one of my favorite and least favorite times of the day. Least favorite because it is usually right before bed - yuck....sometimes not enough wine in the world to make it through. And favorite time of the day because they all love to take baths. They run for the tub and smile ear to ear from beginning to end.
They all have their spots in the bath. She is at the helm right in front of the faucet. Making sure the drain plug does not get tampered with. Not on her watch. Already has a few control issues....I wonder who that came from? Couldn't be me...
The boys are positioned towards the back of the tub in what ever manner they choose (see I can let go. a little.)
2.01.2010
the twentieth
The past month has been loud at our house. Really loud. I mean REALLY LOUD. For some reason they have decided to shriek. They shriek often. Too often. Imagine Mariah Carey off-key. Tone def or not, it is a nightmare. They shriek as they sit in their highchairs waiting for food or some kind of entertainment while they snack. They shriek if they are left in their chairs 14 seconds longer than they feel is necessary. Let me be honest, it.is.horrible. Horrible. And yes, all those out there that are judging, hold your tongues. We have done the give them a toy to play with or chew on. We have tried the Ferber Method letting them cry it out. With one baby, okay, it is tolerable. But two....unless you have been here, keep your judgy-mc-judgerson comments to your self. Smile. Okay enough soap box....
Anyhow the shrieks are horrid. Their tiny feet navigating the floor as they shuffle from one piece of furniture to the next is precious. Their eyes as they play with each other and their big sister are magical. Hopefully the shrieks are just a stage, but something tells me it could be another case of Karma...enough already.
They finally sprouted front teeth. Two each on the bottom row. Now when they smile you catch a glimpse of tiny white tips. Makes up for the headaches we get from the shrieks.
She will be three soon. Three going on thirteen. I cringe when she tells me "Mom, don't worry."
After she has spilled her milk.
And "I'm busy."
When I ask her to come eat dinner.
It is going to be a long road.
And we are SO lucky that she shrieks too. She has taken up shrieking as she reluctantly scampers to the bathroom (still not potty trained. That's a whole different post). Then sometimes when she is being a real peach, she shrieks at you while she is going potty. She shrieks at you to leave. Then when you leave she shrieks for you to come back. Let me tell you, it takes all my energy to hold myself together. And while a kind reminder that shrieking is not necessary or allowed only escalates the issue, staying silent hasn't always been the answer either. She just shrieks until you respond. Yes, child rearing is so much fun.
Of course after going potty on the toilet (bravo), pulling up her own pants (bravo) and washing her hands (double bravo) she switches the dreadful child switch to wonderful and plays with her brothers. The laughter and giggles can be heard from all corners of the house. Every once and a while I catch myself thinking "Oh, maybe one more wouldn't be so bad..."
Can you hear my shrieks?
Anyhow the shrieks are horrid. Their tiny feet navigating the floor as they shuffle from one piece of furniture to the next is precious. Their eyes as they play with each other and their big sister are magical. Hopefully the shrieks are just a stage, but something tells me it could be another case of Karma...enough already.
They finally sprouted front teeth. Two each on the bottom row. Now when they smile you catch a glimpse of tiny white tips. Makes up for the headaches we get from the shrieks.
She will be three soon. Three going on thirteen. I cringe when she tells me "Mom, don't worry."
After she has spilled her milk.
And "I'm busy."
When I ask her to come eat dinner.
It is going to be a long road.
And we are SO lucky that she shrieks too. She has taken up shrieking as she reluctantly scampers to the bathroom (still not potty trained. That's a whole different post). Then sometimes when she is being a real peach, she shrieks at you while she is going potty. She shrieks at you to leave. Then when you leave she shrieks for you to come back. Let me tell you, it takes all my energy to hold myself together. And while a kind reminder that shrieking is not necessary or allowed only escalates the issue, staying silent hasn't always been the answer either. She just shrieks until you respond. Yes, child rearing is so much fun.
Of course after going potty on the toilet (bravo), pulling up her own pants (bravo) and washing her hands (double bravo) she switches the dreadful child switch to wonderful and plays with her brothers. The laughter and giggles can be heard from all corners of the house. Every once and a while I catch myself thinking "Oh, maybe one more wouldn't be so bad..."
Can you hear my shrieks?
1.02.2010
the nineteenth
It is natural this time of year to reflect back on what the year has been. In our house there has been so much. It is hard to know where to start....
This time last year that we had a huge scare. I was pregnant with the boys and the doctors thought I was going into preterm labor. There was a lot of concern and I was carted off to another hospital about two hours away via ambulance. It was a scary time. The boys were too young to survive outside the womb. If they had come that early, their survival rate was less than favorable. With medication and overnight monitoring the boys stayed snug as bugs inside. I was sent home and put on strict bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy.
It was the longest two months of my life. I had many other episodes when I went back to the hospital because of contractions. I had become a regular at Labor and Delivery. The nurses knew me. I got the best rooms and first class treatment. The boys and I held tight until they were 37 weeks and one day (for twins the gestation is usually 38 weeks as opposed to 40 weeks for a singleton). My labor was induced when my blood pressure got too high and I was diagnosed with preclampsia. It was one hell of a labor. I will remember that moment forever - for many, many reasons. Of course the most important being that the boys were healthy and huge (weighing in at around 7lbs each). We had made it. With the support of my wonderful husband who handled everything while I was bed resting and family who provided endless amounts of support and encouragement, we had made it.
I will never forget the moment when I was laying on the operating room table. I had just pushed out baby A and he was crying. I looked over at him. We were both crying. He said to me "You did it."
I remember seeing his face through my tears of joy and pain. I managed to utter "We did it."
Of course I still had to push out baby B who was face up and my epidural wasn't working AT ALL. It was horrible. Baby B arrived fashionably late about 45 minutes after his brother. He let out a cry to let us know that he too had made it. It was worth every ounce of worry and pain.
So at this New Year, this turn of the decade, that I can't help but reflect back on this last year. Amazement of the magic of twins conceived through the magic of mother nature. Terrified Joy of the unknown - our lives would never be the same. Acceptance that life has handed us a challenge and that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - I feel like I died a hand full of times this year, so I must be one strong ass b*&%$>. Fear that our boys would come too soon. Euphoria when they arrived healthy. Overwhelming happiness when she turned out to be the best big sister ever. Thankful that I have a husband who....I am at a loss for words. There are no words to truly express my love for him. 2009 has been an adventure. A master class in getting through. We made it. Together.
As the boys continue to try to find their balance and walk across our family room floor and she dances around mentioning cock 'n balls and putting her brothers on time outs, I stare in amazement at how far we have come. We are all still here and most of the time we are all smiling.
This time last year that we had a huge scare. I was pregnant with the boys and the doctors thought I was going into preterm labor. There was a lot of concern and I was carted off to another hospital about two hours away via ambulance. It was a scary time. The boys were too young to survive outside the womb. If they had come that early, their survival rate was less than favorable. With medication and overnight monitoring the boys stayed snug as bugs inside. I was sent home and put on strict bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy.
It was the longest two months of my life. I had many other episodes when I went back to the hospital because of contractions. I had become a regular at Labor and Delivery. The nurses knew me. I got the best rooms and first class treatment. The boys and I held tight until they were 37 weeks and one day (for twins the gestation is usually 38 weeks as opposed to 40 weeks for a singleton). My labor was induced when my blood pressure got too high and I was diagnosed with preclampsia. It was one hell of a labor. I will remember that moment forever - for many, many reasons. Of course the most important being that the boys were healthy and huge (weighing in at around 7lbs each). We had made it. With the support of my wonderful husband who handled everything while I was bed resting and family who provided endless amounts of support and encouragement, we had made it.
I will never forget the moment when I was laying on the operating room table. I had just pushed out baby A and he was crying. I looked over at him. We were both crying. He said to me "You did it."
I remember seeing his face through my tears of joy and pain. I managed to utter "We did it."
Of course I still had to push out baby B who was face up and my epidural wasn't working AT ALL. It was horrible. Baby B arrived fashionably late about 45 minutes after his brother. He let out a cry to let us know that he too had made it. It was worth every ounce of worry and pain.
So at this New Year, this turn of the decade, that I can't help but reflect back on this last year. Amazement of the magic of twins conceived through the magic of mother nature. Terrified Joy of the unknown - our lives would never be the same. Acceptance that life has handed us a challenge and that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - I feel like I died a hand full of times this year, so I must be one strong ass b*&%$>. Fear that our boys would come too soon. Euphoria when they arrived healthy. Overwhelming happiness when she turned out to be the best big sister ever. Thankful that I have a husband who....I am at a loss for words. There are no words to truly express my love for him. 2009 has been an adventure. A master class in getting through. We made it. Together.As the boys continue to try to find their balance and walk across our family room floor and she dances around mentioning cock 'n balls and putting her brothers on time outs, I stare in amazement at how far we have come. We are all still here and most of the time we are all smiling.
12.29.2009
the eighteenth
It is a complete cliche but it happened to me. The spirit of Christmas has returned. Yes, super cheesy, but I am telling the truth.
I remember Christmas as a kid. It had a feeling. A smell. It was my favorite time of year. Then one year it stopped. Christmas time came and nothing. I think I was about 22. It was the worst Christmas ever.But this year was different. The spirit took a little while to get here, but it finally arrived.
She is almost three, so the whole Santa Claus thing is a brand new concept. But by Christmas morning I think she got it. It occurred to me about three days before Christmas, that as a family we could start our own traditions. So cookies, milk and carrots for the rain deer (Ya, ya not a new tradition but...you know). Then The Night Before Christmas Book that auntie Sid sent. It would be perfect.
I have been a bit of a head case these days (hence the lack of blog posts). My mind and memory are like scrambled eggs. I spent most of Christmas Eve day worrying that I would forget to put out the cookies and read her the story. I felt like I needed to make myself a note. Seriously. I finally broke down and told my sister not to let me forget. The look on her face was priceless. I think she thought I was joking. Nope, 1,100% serious. Of course she would never remember that I forgot, but the mothers guilt would follow me year after year.
As the light of the day ended, we enjoyed a Christmas Eve dinner with my father (Papy). She got an intro to opening presents as she tore into the gifts Papy brought for her and her brothers. Then before bed the cookies, milk and carrots were out and The Night Before Christmas was read. I kiss on the cheek and off with the lights. As I closed the door, she asked "is Santa coming?"
"Yes, Santa is coming. But he won't come if you are awake." Echoing my mom years ago.
As we helped Santa and the raindeer by drinking the milk and gnawing on the cookies and carrots, I realized that the magic of Christmas was returning.
Before hitting the pillow myself, I put the presents from Santa under the Christmas tree and stuffed a couple of goodies in the stockings. For effect.
She woke us up at around 7:30am by bashing me in the stomach with a book. You should try it sometime. It truly is a lovely way to wake up. I asked her if Santa had come. Kinda like a dog, she cocked her head to one side and in the sing-song voice replied "Santa?"
"Yes, Santa might have come to our house. It's Christmas!"
"Oh." She replied. I could see the wheels in her head turning. Trying to figure out what in the ___ I was talking about.
He ran down stairs ahead of us to turn on the tree and get positioned for a picture. Watch out Ansel Adams! My husband is the pro photog!
As we came down the stairs and over to the tree, she was silent. I was so worried that she would not be thrilled. What if she wasn't thrilled? While it would make for a great story to tell at her wedding, what if she wasn't thrilled and was more interested in the lack of cock 'n balls on the tree? What kind of child have I raised? Have I not taught her better? I mean really. Presents! They are one of the greatest things on earth. Fact.
Anyhow, the look of bewilderment and amazement as she stood in front of the plate with the one lonely, half eaten cookie and an empty glass of milk. "Where did they go?" she said as she looked back at me.
"Santa ate them!" I said with as much glee as one can muster without having consumed a drop of coffee.
"Santa ate them?"
"Yes. Santa was here and he ate the cookies. But he left presents."
"Presents!"
My eyes welled up with tears. The magic of Christmas had returned. Right then and there I could feel it in every ounce of my body. It was wonderful. Easily one of the greatest feelings.
And off she went tearing into the wrapping paper. While the few gifts that we were able to afford occupied her for about 13 minutes, it did not matter. The gift of giving her the magic of Christmas is priceless. Those moments will stay with me forever.
I remember Christmas as a kid. It had a feeling. A smell. It was my favorite time of year. Then one year it stopped. Christmas time came and nothing. I think I was about 22. It was the worst Christmas ever.But this year was different. The spirit took a little while to get here, but it finally arrived.
She is almost three, so the whole Santa Claus thing is a brand new concept. But by Christmas morning I think she got it. It occurred to me about three days before Christmas, that as a family we could start our own traditions. So cookies, milk and carrots for the rain deer (Ya, ya not a new tradition but...you know). Then The Night Before Christmas Book that auntie Sid sent. It would be perfect.
I have been a bit of a head case these days (hence the lack of blog posts). My mind and memory are like scrambled eggs. I spent most of Christmas Eve day worrying that I would forget to put out the cookies and read her the story. I felt like I needed to make myself a note. Seriously. I finally broke down and told my sister not to let me forget. The look on her face was priceless. I think she thought I was joking. Nope, 1,100% serious. Of course she would never remember that I forgot, but the mothers guilt would follow me year after year.
As the light of the day ended, we enjoyed a Christmas Eve dinner with my father (Papy). She got an intro to opening presents as she tore into the gifts Papy brought for her and her brothers. Then before bed the cookies, milk and carrots were out and The Night Before Christmas was read. I kiss on the cheek and off with the lights. As I closed the door, she asked "is Santa coming?"
"Yes, Santa is coming. But he won't come if you are awake." Echoing my mom years ago.
As we helped Santa and the raindeer by drinking the milk and gnawing on the cookies and carrots, I realized that the magic of Christmas was returning.
Before hitting the pillow myself, I put the presents from Santa under the Christmas tree and stuffed a couple of goodies in the stockings. For effect.
She woke us up at around 7:30am by bashing me in the stomach with a book. You should try it sometime. It truly is a lovely way to wake up. I asked her if Santa had come. Kinda like a dog, she cocked her head to one side and in the sing-song voice replied "Santa?"
"Yes, Santa might have come to our house. It's Christmas!"
"Oh." She replied. I could see the wheels in her head turning. Trying to figure out what in the ___ I was talking about.
He ran down stairs ahead of us to turn on the tree and get positioned for a picture. Watch out Ansel Adams! My husband is the pro photog!
As we came down the stairs and over to the tree, she was silent. I was so worried that she would not be thrilled. What if she wasn't thrilled? While it would make for a great story to tell at her wedding, what if she wasn't thrilled and was more interested in the lack of cock 'n balls on the tree? What kind of child have I raised? Have I not taught her better? I mean really. Presents! They are one of the greatest things on earth. Fact.
Anyhow, the look of bewilderment and amazement as she stood in front of the plate with the one lonely, half eaten cookie and an empty glass of milk. "Where did they go?" she said as she looked back at me.
"Santa ate them!" I said with as much glee as one can muster without having consumed a drop of coffee.
"Santa ate them?"
"Yes. Santa was here and he ate the cookies. But he left presents."
"Presents!"
My eyes welled up with tears. The magic of Christmas had returned. Right then and there I could feel it in every ounce of my body. It was wonderful. Easily one of the greatest feelings.
And off she went tearing into the wrapping paper. While the few gifts that we were able to afford occupied her for about 13 minutes, it did not matter. The gift of giving her the magic of Christmas is priceless. Those moments will stay with me forever.
12.17.2009
the seventeenth
The reflection of the lights twinkle in her eyes as she watches me strategically put the ornaments on the tree. Of course she asks about the cock 'n balls which almost ruins the moment. A couple minutes go by and I realize that things are quiet. She is under the table reading a book (well not really reading because she is barely three, but you know what I mean). So sweet. It was one of those moments you want to stop time.I start humming We Wish You A Merry Christmas. She yells out to me "No Mommy! No singing!"
"Oh! I am sorry am I interrupting your reading?" I reply.
She responds "I no reading. I pooping. Be quiet!"
Great. Nothing like decorating the tree with cock 'n ball ornaments while she craps her pants under the dining room table.
12.13.2009
the sixteenth
I would like to preface this blog with a warning for my parents and family. This blog post will contain a few expletives that one might consider offensive. Although, in this case it is freaking hilarious.
This is the first year that she is actually "getting" this whole Christmas thing. She loves the Christmas lights, decorations, trees and kitschy lawn ornaments. She encompasses all of these items into one term "Christmas." It is actually quite genius when you think about it.
Anyway on with the story….I finally put together our Christmas tree. Yes, I just said put together. It comes in pieces. Our faux Christmas tree is circa 1970 so you literally have to put each branch in the trunk of the tree. A little wobbly but once she's put together she's mighty purdy. So a glass of wine and I tackled the assembly after the kids went to bed. The glass of wine decided not to put on the lights or the decorations, trashy TV was much more appealing.
She woke up the next morning and much to her surprise, Christmas was in her house. We walked down the stairs and into the living room. The look of complete surprise that Christmas was in her house was priceless. She stood in front of the naked Christmas tree turned her head and in her sing-song angelic voice asked "where're the cock 'n balls?"
This is the point in the story where I must back track and explain the source of her vulgarity.
She loves to play with him. They roughhouse all the time. She pounces and punches and jumps all over him. Unfortunately she also pounces on his, well….twigs and berries if you catch my drift. In an effort to explain to her that papa has a sensitive area, he told her to be careful of his….hold your applause….cock 'n balls. Don't judge me, I was not home that afternoon. When he mentioned to me that he had explained this cock 'n balls term I almost punched him in the cock 'n balls. Are you kidding me? Really? Of all the things to tell her. Husbands…sometimes they just don't get it. Bless his heart.
The first cock 'n balls episode occurred on a quiet Saturday morning. We were on the couch drinking coffee while the beast and the boys played. It was one of those moments where you are in "ah" of how wonderful life can truly be. She had been rifling through the toy box, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted them. She jumped up and trotted over to two handful sized balls. As she picked up the first one she said with such glee "Oh! My cock 'n balls!"
I almost wet myself. First because I was shocked to hear the words come from her lips and secondly because it was so cute. Really, it was adorable. I had hoped that I heard her incorrectly, so I asked her what she had in her hands. She replied "My cock 'n balls!"
Of course he heard it this time and much like a prepubescent teen he giggled. (I giggled too, but don't tell him that). She did not see our laughter as she was too busy packing her cock 'n balls into her purse….like a true woman. She had it by the balls (Hold your applause. I will keep the jokes coming).
The second episode occurred when we were over at my mother-in-law's house admiring their Christmas tree. You probably know where this story is going. She and I were discussing the tree, the lights and the ornaments. Yes, you got it. She pointed to the ball ornaments and said "Look mommy cock 'n balls!"
I guess we should be thankful she hasn't dropped the f-bomb….at least hasn't dropped it yet.
This is the first year that she is actually "getting" this whole Christmas thing. She loves the Christmas lights, decorations, trees and kitschy lawn ornaments. She encompasses all of these items into one term "Christmas." It is actually quite genius when you think about it.
Anyway on with the story….I finally put together our Christmas tree. Yes, I just said put together. It comes in pieces. Our faux Christmas tree is circa 1970 so you literally have to put each branch in the trunk of the tree. A little wobbly but once she's put together she's mighty purdy. So a glass of wine and I tackled the assembly after the kids went to bed. The glass of wine decided not to put on the lights or the decorations, trashy TV was much more appealing.
She woke up the next morning and much to her surprise, Christmas was in her house. We walked down the stairs and into the living room. The look of complete surprise that Christmas was in her house was priceless. She stood in front of the naked Christmas tree turned her head and in her sing-song angelic voice asked "where're the cock 'n balls?"
This is the point in the story where I must back track and explain the source of her vulgarity.
She loves to play with him. They roughhouse all the time. She pounces and punches and jumps all over him. Unfortunately she also pounces on his, well….twigs and berries if you catch my drift. In an effort to explain to her that papa has a sensitive area, he told her to be careful of his….hold your applause….cock 'n balls. Don't judge me, I was not home that afternoon. When he mentioned to me that he had explained this cock 'n balls term I almost punched him in the cock 'n balls. Are you kidding me? Really? Of all the things to tell her. Husbands…sometimes they just don't get it. Bless his heart.
The first cock 'n balls episode occurred on a quiet Saturday morning. We were on the couch drinking coffee while the beast and the boys played. It was one of those moments where you are in "ah" of how wonderful life can truly be. She had been rifling through the toy box, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted them. She jumped up and trotted over to two handful sized balls. As she picked up the first one she said with such glee "Oh! My cock 'n balls!"
I almost wet myself. First because I was shocked to hear the words come from her lips and secondly because it was so cute. Really, it was adorable. I had hoped that I heard her incorrectly, so I asked her what she had in her hands. She replied "My cock 'n balls!"
Of course he heard it this time and much like a prepubescent teen he giggled. (I giggled too, but don't tell him that). She did not see our laughter as she was too busy packing her cock 'n balls into her purse….like a true woman. She had it by the balls (Hold your applause. I will keep the jokes coming).
The second episode occurred when we were over at my mother-in-law's house admiring their Christmas tree. You probably know where this story is going. She and I were discussing the tree, the lights and the ornaments. Yes, you got it. She pointed to the ball ornaments and said "Look mommy cock 'n balls!"
I guess we should be thankful she hasn't dropped the f-bomb….at least hasn't dropped it yet.
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