Transcendent

Elliana has been trying to make sense of the whole concept of death. She is often perplexed about it, especially when she sees a relative in pictures and learns that she cannot meet them. Naturally, this works its way into her play. So, when she informed me that both her parents were dead, in an attempt to help her understand the permanence of it, I responded by saying "I'm so sorry. That's very sad."

She looked at me, quite seriously, and said "AND terrible" as if making sure I understood the gravity of the situation. So, I thought we'd made some headway.

She then proceeded to fill me in on the rest:

"My babysitter died too. And all my Grandpeople. And months and months passed but they didn't get better. So, I'm going to take a hot air balloon to go visit them. I know how to visit them."

True to form, this conversation went in a direction I'd never suspected.

Inside Scoop

While we were preparing dinner, Elliana was in the living room with my mom. They were coloring and having a heart-to-heart about some of the changes in our lives this year. My mom commented on how it must be hard, sometimes, alluding to the challenge of having two baby sisters. Elliana's response was:

"It's tough to live here sometimes. We have some real characters around here."

As she said that, she rolled her eyes in our direction. Apparently, she's been putting up with us.

You Fool

Me, of course.

Elliana has basically abandoned her little potty for a bigger throne. So, you can imagine my surprise when she lifted up the lid to reveal a gelatinous substance with a wad of paper stuck in the middle. Apparently, she’d peed quite a while ago and it had never been emptied. The odor was sickening.

So, I quickly whisked the potty pail downstairs to be sanitized. It occurred to me, in a fleeting thought, that it could be dangerous to leave the potty accessible when the pail wasn’t in place. This is especially true because it’s not immediately obvious if the pail is absent. I have to admit, the thought crossed my mind more than once, which should have told me I was on to something. Instead, I dismissed it to attend to more pressing matters. The pail sat, idle, for days.

Along came Wednesday, and with it Elliana was in rare form. She was wound up and ended up spending some time in her room to calm down so we could all coexist safely (a.k.a. not harm her sisters by insane indoor gymnastics or “accidentally” biting one of them). The retreat didn’t seem to bother her at all, and soon she was immersed with dollhouse play.

After a little while, I went upstairs to have a discussion with Elliana about safely playing with her little sisters. However, by the time I was on the top stair, I could see she was fervently trying to clean up her carpet. She looked relieved to see me.

While she’d been playing, she had needed a stool in order to access a portion of her dollhouse. So, she took the bathroom stool into her room. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a problem. However, this wasn’t just any stool. It’s the famous potty that doubles as a step stool.  During the course of play, she must have needed to go to the bathroom and decided there was no reason to leave her bedroom since she already had a potty right there.

The pee rode the curve that was intended to hug the potty pail and sailed out onto the carpet. I could see where it clung to the base of the potty and created a puddle line. Elliana also had a partially drenched towel in her hand. Had she saved ALL her pee from the last 12 hours for this?!

There was no time to discuss the downstairs incident, as the carpet needed attention quickly. I extracted the potty from the bedroom and returned it to the bathroom. Then, I raced around for supplies to remove all traces of the urine that now decorated her bedroom floor.

Truly, I had this coming. I didn’t know how, or when, but by leaving the main component of this unit MIA for days…something was bound to happen. Now, I know what.

For Spencer

This year, we renewed our wedding vows, silently, through actions. 

When we learned we were blessed with twins, we shared our surprise and delight.  Then, we spent the next five months trying to manage our world as I struggled with Hypermesis. I limped through daily life, my part-time job, a grad class, and parenting Elliana, while Spencer lifted what I couldn’t, shopped, cooked, and renovated our garage.

After the nausea finally subsided, it was followed by blurred vision and instructions to limit activity. Spencer regularly reminded me to be cautious and became super-husband as he whirled around picking up and preparing.

Finally, I had intense swelling and was put on bedrest. Spencer, along with our super-team of tremendous supporters (especially family and Nanaville), did all that I could not.

Until, at last, Spencer and I welcomed our babies into this world.

Twelve hours later, he waited anxiously as I was rushed to the OR. After two days, and two blood transfusions, I was still so weak that I struggled to hold our babies. Their combined weight was less than 11 lbs. I faced 6-9 months before normal energy levels would resume.

And so, we moved forward.

Three and a half months later, I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. Spencer continued to cook, clean, and parent as my muscles, joints, and nervous system were taken hostage by this persistent disease. He picked up side jobs when I was too sick to work. We muddled through.

After months of debilitating weakness, I am finally on the road to recovery. 

As our bond grew stronger, so did appreciation for our support system. We are forever grateful to the skilled doctors, kind strangers, and our group of Ville friends. Most importantly, we are indebted to many of our wedding guests. Perhaps more important than witnessing our marriage celebration, they have helped lift us up, and keep us strong.

And, for the times when everyone went home, and it was just us, thank you. It was hard. It is hard. I learned how to accept help. We grew.

In sickness and in health

For richer or poorer

I love this beautiful family we created together.

Parenting 101

I just scored a flying F. I may as well tattoo it on my forehead.  This one may haunt me.

It was naptime, and Spencer and I were both home. He was in the twins’ room and I had been running some dirty diapers and clothes downstairs. I overheard Spencer asking Elliana what she was doing in the bathroom. So, on one of my rounds, I poked my head in and found her on the little potty (which doubles as a step stool). Apparently, she’d decided she needed to use that potty. She looked up at me through the crack in the door, solemnly said “I need privacy”, and closed the door.  I mentioned, to the door, that this was ok but it would need to be cleaned up after (aka empty the potty pail into the big potty afterwards).

Spencer was sure that this was going to be a problem. I, on the other hand, thought it might all be fine. I ran my last armful of clothing downtairs and returned to find Spencer no longer with the babies. Instead, he was at the bathroom door with his mouth hanging wide open and making gagging sounds.

By the time I entered the room, all three of us were staring into the sink. There, plopped right across the drain was an enormous poop. In Elliana’s left hand was the potty pail that collects the waste. In her right hand, and trailing on the floor, was a full-sized bath towel that was wet and poopy.  Apparently, she’d been trying to clean the potty pail but had failed to empty it into the toilet first.

So, in this crucial moment, with no time to spare, I did the WORST thing. It was one of those uncontrollable urges to laugh in response to a shocking situation.  It seized me and took on a life of its own. Between gasps, and poorly concealed giggles, I began guiding Elliana through the clean-up. 

Under normal circumstances, this would be bad. However, Elliana lives to entertain. And, I caught a glimmer in her eye as soon as she saw me laugh. The more I tried to hide it the more the corners of her mouth turned up.

Spencer quickly escorted me out of the room and redirected me to twin nap duty.  I am weak-kneed at the potential repercussions of what just happened.

God help me.

Suit Up

The familiar sound of Elliana’s feet on the stairs greeted me this morning. Yet, her voice reached me before her body did. She called me by first name, as she sometimes does, and proceeded to announce:

“Actually, I peed in my bed.”

Even before entering the room, she assured me that she’d taken care of it. This had my mind racing about all of the potential repercussions to what she just shared. I was about to inquire, but she wasn’t done sharing.

As I turned to see her, indeed, in a fresh set of pajamas, she revealed the rest.

“And, I didn’t want to wear pull-ups, so I put on an under-suit.”

She followed this by lowering her pajama pants to reveal a pair of bathing suit bottoms. They were neon green and aqua with a fairly large ruffle. Apparently, this was the closest thing to “big-girl-underwear” that she could locate.

Then, in a whisper voice, she tilted her head and said “The pull-ups were sleeping”.

20-Minute Dash

I overslept. We ALL overslept. I vaguely remember Spencer waking me to say goodbye. The next thing I knew, Elliana was requesting breakfast. Twincy was curled up next to me, sound asleep. Twinjay, I could now hear, was downstairs crying. I had no idea how long she’d been up, but she was crying LOUD, and I felt AWFUL.  That poor baby! Time to apply a thick layer of guilt impenetrable by reason.

Normally, Elliana’s routine is to go potty and get dressed before heading downstairs. Of course, she chose today to announce she wanted to eat first. That always slows things down and there simply wasn’t time to spare. We all had to get ready, and out the door, ASAP. This meant dressed, breakfast, diaper changes, nursing, the whole works. The likelihood of this happening without a late arrival to school was slim. However, I wasn’t willing to admit defeat yet. And, I am pretty sure I was sleep-walking.

So, I raced downstairs to rescue poor, sad, Twinjay. She quickly cheered (though, even as I write, I still feel bad) and I began changing her diaper. Of course, Twinjay was soaked and needed to be completely changed. She is masterful at detaching her diaper, even through a onesie. I, on the other hand, am not as skilled at re-closing the diaper through clothing. So, I was in a major race against time.

Now, Twincy’s clothes were dry but, while changing, she began to pee. She’s a champion pee-er and I found myself hurrying to secure the diaper in time. It’s not that I wanted her to be stuck in a wet diaper, but I really wanted to avoid another outfit change. I thought something was working my way until I sat her up and realized the pee had gone all over her back. And so, outfit change it was.

Meanwhile, Elliana was firmly resisting bathroom duties with her usual “Pee doesn’t come out!” retort. I calmly reminded her that she needed to try, and also get dressed, before breakfast. To that, her face clouded over and she disappeared into the bathroom. I was NOT confident that she was doing anything productive in there. Trying to speed up a three-year-old is a losing battle.

I returned to something I thought might be more successful – feeding the babies. With no time to get the nursing pillow, I propped them up in bed the best I could. Normally, the two are pretty on-task, but this time Twincy decided to alternate nursing with deep, soul-searching stares. Now, I am ALL for bonding with my children but this was so NOT the time for a leisurely feed!

I had to prematurely end the “session” to locate Elliana. She had decided she needed help with all her morning tasks (after all, her sisters do get that service!). With no time to disagree, and a dizzy feeling taking over me (yes, in major need of food and water), I found myself traipsing upstairs to assist. She was satisfied by my company and complied for everything, even tooth brushing.

Still, there was breakfast to be had, hair to comb, a car to warm, and all 3 kids needed to get into carseats. Not to mention, today was the rare day I scheduled for a friend to visit. Even better, our house looked like a place where laundry goes to die, and my father-in-law was scheduled to arrive in a few hours. 

 

After gathering food for Elliana to eat en-route, I determined that I too must eat or risk doing a face-plant. I seized the box of Raisin Bran and managed to stab a few spoonfuls in while Elliana wasn’t looking.  This was so NOT modeling eating at the table with careful chewing.  Finally, we were out the door!

As if wishing for speed gifted me with delays, I hit the next roadblock. By the time we got to the car, Elliana insisted that she do her own carseat buckle. WHY couldn’t she have exercised this independence INSIDE the house??!? Because, I tell myself, that would have been easy.

After she was secured, I hopped into the driver’s seat and proceeded to glue my stubborn hairs down with Neutrogena Hand Cream.  This guaranteed that fifteen minutes later I’d look like I hadn’t showered in four days. It also cancelled any possibility of skipping a shower before KT arrived. However, my focus was on getting Elliana to school. We were on our way and I was in the zone.

…

For the record, we were totally late.

Paint the Town

Every well-rested adult on the planet is wise to something I sailed past. I realized my error after the damage was already done. To my horror, I envisioned our house covered in purplish-red splotches.

For the past several months, I’ve been on a beet “kick”. Literally, I would eat them as a main course. Since Twincy and Twinjay have begun eating solids, offering beets to them seemed like a natural next step.

As a precaution, I checked a few food-introduction resources to make sure beets weren’t on the high-allergy list. They weren’t. I thought it was actually a bit odd that they also weren’t on any of the suggested-food lists either. Surely, they are rich with nutrients. I glossed over this, figuring it was an oversight or possibly not mainstream enough.

And so, I dutifully cooked and mashed the beets. I gave them to the babies at lunch, early enough in the day so I could be watchful for adverse reactions. Given the amount I’ve consumed in recent months, this was doubtful. However, always good to have bases covered.

Speaking of having bases covered, this is a good time to mention my glaring error. I have spent the better part of their lives doing excessive amounts of laundry due to spit-up. What goes in comes back out. So, it is almost laughable that I didn't consider the potential for disaster from dye-friendly beets gracing our household. I blame the oversight on the hazed state I typically operate under. In other words, sleep is overrated.

As predicted, I will be reminded of my very, very poor food choice for some time to come. As Twinjay army-crawls around the house, the effort eventually causes her to spit-up. I hear the wet deposit, a gift really, and am greeted by a Pepto-Bismol colored puddle. In my horror movie, I’d forgotten to add breastmilk and baby cereal to the equation.

I fully expect to spend the next several days of my life racing around the house to locate the nearest clean cloth. In addition to the visual reminders that will be left if not quickly cleaned, spit-up has the added pleasure of stench if not immediately, and thoroughly, cleaned.

Consider this a public announcement. Beets are for adults.

Finger Lickin' Good

I returned home after a rare solo-outing (the all-exciting errands) to a rather perturbed Spencer. In my absence, he’d had an interesting exchange with a door-to-door salesperson. It left him uncharacteristically agitated. He announced we were no longer accepting solicitors and muttered something about posting a sign by our door.

After a few minutes, I learned more about this bizarre encounter. Apparently, a woman had come to the door trying to sell an all-natural, home-cleaning product. In an effort to find his “need” she pitched a mild interrogation with questions ranging from how many kids he had to the name of his hometown. Spencer deflected most of the inquiries and lied about the rest. But, this train was not easy to derail. So, she continued trying to ascertain his habits while convincing him that this product-wonder was a true cure-all. 

In fact, in an effort to sway him, she started an on-site demonstration. She went so far as to try cleaning the front door, one of my shoes (not really loving that), and the sidewalk.  Much to her dismay, Spencer was not sold.

To make matters worse, she wouldn’t leave any brochures at the house, provide a website address, or leave an order form. She insisted that he must make an instant purchase or miss out on this incredible offer. It was as if every option to take something, and send her packing, was off limits.

Well, as far as Spencer was concerned, she had already lost him when she wouldn’t part with the pamphlets. So, he firmly declined her offer until she unwillingly accepted defeat. She left, and he began plotting future roadblocks for solicitors.

So, I get it. She was pushy and a bit overboard.

…..

Oh, but it gets better. Later that evening, I was in the office when Spencer piped up with “You know what was really odd about that woman today?”. I came out of the office to listen, partially surprised that he was still thinking about today’s encounter. He proceeded to tell me about the most shocking of details.

 

Apparently, after the cleaning demo, the woman took her performance one step further. After reminding him that the product was “all-natural, all-organic” she opened the bottle. Then, she licked the tube of the spray bottle, and, in a strong southern accent, said “mmm mmm tastes just like fried chicken”.

HE WAITED HOURS TO SHARE THIS DETAIL!!?!!??

…..

After a mini-rant/outburst from what I’d just learned, the puzzle pieces of the day started to fall in place. I see now, laboring over a self-made “NO SOLICITORS” sign must have been his way of cleansing from this truly outrageous experience. I now also understand why he disappeared in the bathroom and his shaving experiment took a detour.  Typically, Spencer gets haircuts when “life” seems overwhelming. However, he’d just gotten his hair cut two days prior so options were limited. But, the urge must have been uncontrollable, because it won, only a foot and a half lower. Yes, that’s right. He buzzed off his armpit hair and, somehow, found peace with the situation.

Tooth Decay

Yesterday, Elliana made several trips to the bathroom announcing that she needed to poop. Yet, she returned almost instantly saying she didn't need to after all. I became accustomed to hearing her talk herself through the experience with comments such as "Sometimes, you sit on the potty and just don't have to poop!". As she was working on making sense of the world, I was doing laundry. And, just as I carried in a bin of clothes to fold, I overheard her ponder out loud in a trailing voice:

"If I don't poop, then maybe I'll get a cavity..."

On the Road Again

You would think we’d have learned from our beach trip. But, no, we are gluttons for punishment. So, when invited to visit with family we cheerily agreed to the 3.5 hour drive for a 36-hour stay. After all, it will be fun to change up our routine and there will be extra adults to help if we’re tired upon arrival.

IF?? What were we thinking?!  Let’s just say, the ride is supposed to take 3.5 hours but it took us 6. And tired doesn’t begin to describe our state. Exhaustion or a stupor would be better descriptors.

By the morning of departure nothing had been packed yet. There were a variety of reasons, but the end result was the same. I was to pack for the five of us in between school drop-off/pick-up, nursing, naps for the babies, lunch, and picking Spencer up at work on our way out of town. Mind you, the final piece was a 2:30pm pick-up, and my brainchild, so I own that insanity.

The morning unfolded as you might imagine. It was a flurry of diaper changes, feedings, outfit changes from spit-up, haphazard packing, more diaper changes, cajoling with a three year old…the list goes on.

In the end, we were on the road and headed to my Mom’s in daylight. This last piece is key because Twincy hates riding in the car when it’s dark. Aside from that, she seems to like being in the car.

FAMOUS LAST WORDS.  At least one of the three kids was crying almost the entire ride. We stopped 8 times (no, that’s not a typo) and actually contemplated turning around at one point. Yet, we pushed on and the two most memorable moments were as follows:

1. You know it’s a blowout when…Your husband throws you a hat as the first supply item. Yup, that’s what I said. Twinjay had such a wild explosion that it went through all her clothes right onto the carseat. Since the car was packed full, and the smell surely would have caused an even bigger riot with our less-than-pleased travelers, we had to change her outside. We found an unsuspecting neighborhood and “dropped trou”. Literally, Twinjay was stripped down on the grass (except for said hat) and “bathed” armpit-to-ankle as well as wipes can do. It was insane. The changing pad didn’t survive the experience.

2. So, you’ve reached your limit.

Elliana’s nap was cut short due to her sisters’ wailing. Even so, she was managing rather well until I heard a scream from the back seat. I turned to see her with a blanket over her head. Sobs, muffled at first, began pouring out as I asked what the problem was. My error, of course, was that I assumed she had just hit her limit of what she could tolerate for this carride. Instead, I learned what had really happened.

 

Elliana: “A cheetah just bit my finger and it really hurts!” she cried. 

And, like only a three-year-old can, she continued to produce a surplus of tears as she bemoaned the trauma.

By the time we arrived it was pitch black outside. We had family waiting in the driveway to help us instantly eject from the vehicle. Suffice it to say, we have no road trips planned for the near future.

Customer Review

Since I have nothing else to do, I went shopping for a cold. While I was at it, I chose the best variety. It is good quality: sturdy, not easily kicked, and can withstand most homeopathic remedies. As if that wasn’t good enough, I picked one that was colorful. What fun is a clear runny nose and no phlegm? No, at the very least you must have yellow.

I made sure to pick one up that causes me to cough as I try to lull the babies to sleep, jolting them awake with impressive timing. And, as if initiating them to the noisy household they’ll continue to dwell in, the violent sneezes cause me to bury my face in blankets as I rock them to sleep.

It’s also clever. Just as I lay down to sleep at night, there’s a nagging tickle in my throat. If not responded to quickly, it persists until I cough. Yet, it’s not just any cough. It’s one of those coughs that begins lightly and escalates until you’ve pulled out baritone sounds along with burning embers in your chest.

Perhaps most important, it’s versatile. It has gifted me with a husky voice, sore muscles, and a headache.

Yeah, I picked a winner.

Date Night

Our rescheduled date fell on a perfect weekend. Spencer was going to be working almost all day Saturday and Sunday. So, the Friday night outing was to be our getaway before the long haul. Still, the preparation to make it possible leaves me almost contemplating a staycation.

I started the day by going to the store with the twins after dropping Elliana at school. This always tires me out, but we needed to have dinner ready for Elliana in order to go out tonight. So, I headed into the store “wearing” Twincy in the Moby while Twinjay, still in the carseat carrier, was nestled into the grocery cart. However, because Twinjay and Twincy are facing each other, this causes Twinjay to crack up. Literally, I was pushing a cart, with a chuckling baby, up and down aisles. The funny part is that people often think I only have one child with me (the one I’m wearing).  They must think I stash the carseat in the cart for convenience (note: it is NOT convenient, just a necessity). Consequently, there are surprised looks from shoppers as they realize the giggles are coming from a live baby and, shocker, I have twins! 

So, laugh-fest aside, I try to get out of the store and home in time to get the babies down for their normal naptime. This is tricky because Twincy often falls asleep in the car and I’m left to decide if I should wake her or not. As expected, this happened. But, by some luck, I was able to transfer them both to their cribs. Since their naps aren’t always predictable in length, I didn’t try to nap and instead raced around the house trying to accomplish as much as possible. And when I say “race”, I use that term loosely.  What I really mean is that I’m at least not moving at a turtle’s pace any longer.

Before I know it, it’s time to get Elliana. So, I actually wake the babies, put them right into the carseats and drive to school for pick-up. After the whole lunch and naptime insanity (truly, there’s no other word for the dance that, if successful, culminates with three well-fed, sleeping children) I have a million things to get to. I have intentions of washing my jeans, typing up babysitter instructions, doing dishes, and taking a shower before the sitters come (yes, plural, we wouldn’t sick our brood on one victim for bedtime – that delight is left solely for me). However, I am FAR too tired to even begin. I set my cell phone alarm and crash on the couch with hopes of actually sleeping.

By the time I woke, Spencer was home and I had fallen into such an intensely deep sleep that I actually felt drugged. It was restorative, far too short, and incredibly hard to come out of. I went into the office to try to tell Spencer something about the order of attack and couldn’t seem to say anything intelligible.  It mirrored the time I had my wisdom teeth pulled and woke from the anesthesia speaking Spanish to my Mom. I might as well have been speaking Greek, as she doesn’t know any Spanish, and the only English word I kept repeating was vacuum. I was 17 at the time, far too young to have vacuums on the brain. Either that was some sick foreshadowing for future years or my inner demons were betraying me for the world (aka my Mom and the dentist’s staff) to know about my preference for thorough cleaning.

I never did communicate what I intended to Spencer. None of my words made sense and I couldn’t think through the thick fog that was encompassing my brain. So, I abandoned that plan and began attacking the house. Spencer caught wind and followed suit and soon we could actually see the floors again!

As my list of to-do’s was impossibly long, I kept mentally ditching the ones that weren’t vital until I met the first sitter at the door as a just-woken Twinjay spit up on herself, me, and the floor. And, for some reason, I felt the need to blurt out “Anything you see in the house that looks normal was just done” and proceeded to clue her in that this was basically a disaster area. Sweetly, Celeven smiled and laughed. I could tell I was talking a little too fast (giddy from the 30+ minutes of sleep I’d gotten) and sharing way too much (normally a task reserved for Spencer, my love, the best over-sharer I know).

I gave Celeven a tour of the house and promised I’d print the instructions prior to leaving. Then, I handed her a baby and headed off to shower. My intention was to leave by 6pm, but it was already almost that time and I was anything but clean. I mentally chucked several more items from my list and raced to the bathroom.

You would think I had my clothes planned and ready for our date, but the twins have been spitting up a lot for the past two days and I never did get my jeans into the wash. So, I headed to the closet and tried on jeans that haven’t fit since before I was pregnant. Who knows, right, anything can happen! To my shock, I could pull them all the way up and, drum roll, close them comfortably with NO BELLA BAND (truly, I LOVE that band, but not needing it was almost as satisfying as going out for a few hours!). Almost is the key word there.

Once I was dressed, I finished typing instructions and welcomed our other sitter, Nanaville, to the house. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen her and she’s practically an extension of our family. I almost wanted to stay home just to catch up with her! Again, almost is the key word.

Meanwhile, Elliana decided that our outing was basically abandonment. Nevermind the fact that she talks about Nanaville daily and has been asking when Celeven will get here all week. Now that the time has come, I watch a roller coaster of emotions work through her little body, which finally collapsed on the floor. Thankfully, she was easily distracted with coloring and soon forgot her recent “orphan” status.

Hugs, kisses, a few last suggestions for bedtime.

Finally, as if we were shot out of a canon, Spencer and I exit the house. We are free and we sit in the car, in almost dumb silence. The potential for what we could do with these next few hours, and the silence in which we could complete thoughts and, dare I say, conversations, is almost numbing.

Looking down

Elliana casually positioned herself on my bed this morning and crossed her legs as though it was an age-old habit. She then looked at me and announced, "I'm the woman with stilts." This didn't surprise me because her fascination with the woman in stilts was renewed over the weekend when we saw her at a downtown event. My somewhat groggy reply was, "Do you work at the circus?" Again, I'm assuming she'll confirm my suspicion but instead she said, "No, I work at the garage sale." Then, she leaned toward me and tilted her head, as though imparting knowledge, and informed me, "It's like a cafe."

I've decided not to dismiss the comment, but instead, let my mind float. Maybe I've just been narrow-minded in my definition of garage sale...

Not a Mama

Now I’ve done it. Apparently, I inadvertently ended Elliana’s relationship with Elizabeth. She told me with such sincerity that my heart dropped.

It all started with the famous naptime. While pregnant, I devoted myself to helping Elliana learn how to get herself to sleep. I was convinced that she needed to nap daily despite her frequent, persistent, and creative protests. I followed strict instructions from Madame, at Elliana’s school, and eventually we all got sleep!

As a result, I work hard to keep naptime routines consistent. So, when I heard Elliana talking rather loudly in her room, I feigned surprise and said “Oh, you are still awake”. I proceeded to tell her that if it was too distracting to have Elizabeth sleep in the room with her than Elizabeth would need to take her nap downstairs. Since Elliana dotes on her baby doll, this reminder is usually taken very seriously and followed by instant compliance. You may think I’m ruthless for suggesting that I separate the two of them, but I crave sleep like my next breath of air.

After disappearing downstairs, I heard Elliana again rather loudly. Several minutes of this passed and Elliana must have known I was about to come upstairs. As she was apparently planning to veto her nap, I found her in the middle of the stairwell.

Elliana: “I’m not a Mama anymore.”

Mama: “What?”

Elliana: “I’m not a Mama anymore. Because of what you just said.”

She looked very serious and genuinely sad, but resolute, as she made this statement.  I tried to think quickly and all I could come up with was:

Mama: “What do you mean?”

Elliana: “You said you were going to take Elizabeth downstairs during nap. So, I’m not a Mama anymore.”

I was horrified. This is what she thought that meant? I hadn’t intended that at all! I was simply trying to get some sleep in our house (getting Elliana and twins down for naps simultaneously is no small trick – and trying to fall asleep myself once they are down is a pipe dream!).

I tried to calmly remind her that it just seemed like it was too distracting to have Elizabeth in her room. She was welcome to see her after nap when they both woke. Yet, Elliana was adamant that she was no longer a mother.

In this two-minute exchange I felt reduced to dirt. Elliana and Elizabeth have been practically inseparable for the past several months. Elliana sashays through the room with her doll in a baby sling and she rocks her to sleep using all the techniques she’s studiously observed for the past several months. She tends to her diapers, spit-up, and outfit changes. She even looked at me knowingly one day at nap and said “You won’t believe it, she’s STILL wiggling”. That one had me at a loss for words so I’d said “Oh” and left her to handle the “wiggly” baby.

So, as you can imagine, I feel horrible to have unintentionally stripped her of a role she has honed, almost religiously, for the past several months. Then, amidst my exhaustion and shock I managed to think of a key question.

Mama: “Do you want to be a Mama?”

Elliana: “No.” (tears now welling in her eyes)

Mama: “What do you want to be?”

Elliana: “I just want to be a kid!” (tears now pouring down her face)

All along, I thought she’d been mothering over her baby doll because she wanted to. I had no idea that Elliana, with her seemingly endless imagination, felt exhausted by all the hard work she’d been doing to tend after this “newborn”.

I’m still not sure if I’ve collected all the pieces of my heart that broke on the stairs.

Off Kilter

Elliana could have cleaned her crayons up 4 times over with the time she spent protesting the task. Twincy and Twinjay were on round two of spit-up and diaper changes. I was attempting to shower before bringing Elliana to school to meet Spencer for a Family Work Day. And so, it was a fairly normal Saturday in our home: typical tasks were taking 3x as long as they might otherwise.

Finally, all tears aside (mine included), we were in the car and on our way. After drop-off, I headed to the coffee shop with the babies. My master plan was for the twins to get extra sleep in the car and, potentially, I’d meet up with some other MoMs (Mothers of Multiples) at the monthly gathering. I realized the latter was a distant possibility, as summer attendance is low, but even so the jaunt provided a much-needed outing.

After parking, I pulled out our double stroller. Amazingly, it has 12 different combinations of seat arrangements to keep everyone happy! Truly, the bells and whistles are kind of daunting. My favorite feature is the ability to snap in carseats so the babies can KEEP SLEEPING! After getting the babies in and settled, I hurried into the shop to avoid the rain that was beginning to pick up speed. A quick survey of the cafe showed that, indeed, no MoMs were meeting today. No problem, still some semi-me time.

Since I don’t drink coffee (Yes, I said it. You can file it under the long list of reasons I might be crazy) I opted for a steamer. After paying for my drink, I set it in a conveniently placed cupholder that eliminated the possibility of spills onto the sleeping babes. Since preventing all potential hazards is just one of the many things that race through a mother’s head regularly, I was silently congratulating myself on our purchase as I nestled the cup in the holder.  

I pivoted to head toward the door and relish in the me-time I had scored, even if it was just quiet sipping in “solitude” in the car. No sooner had I done that then the back wheel fell off the stroller! Truly, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

The kind man behind me asked if he could help. I think if I’d answered anything other than “YES” I would have been committed for insanity. I am now trying to make the stroller stay upright without spilling this drink and cannot let go to reattach a wheel! The man replaced the wheel, I thanked him profusely, and then I reassured him that the car wasn’t far away. My errror.

I managed to get out to the sidewalk only to realize I couldn’t risk angling the stroller off the sidewalk for fear the wheel would detach and we could all tip right over. Thus, I parked the stroller on the sidewalk in the now pouring rain. As fast as possible, I began to ferry each carseat to the car while reassuring myself that glares from any strangers were unwarranted: they had no idea how much better this option was than the alternative parking lot plunge!

It took about 6 racing trips, back and forth, just to get everything in the car. To add insult to injury, the newly attached wheel fell off, again, just as the stroller was hoisted into the trunk. I began to curse the day we bought this thing (literally, less than a month ago) and put the car in reverse.

Since I don’t frequent coffee shops, claiming my energy levels would be intolerable if I consumed caffeine regularly, I wasn’t familiar with this parking lot. My current state may cause me to question this argument, but, nevertheless, I was backing up, in pouring rain, on a steeply inclined driveway.

As I pulled out, and down the hill, I found the lighting system rather peculiar. None of the traffic lights seemed to face me directly so it was nearly impossible to determine when I should enter traffic. After craning my neck, and wondering if I’d pulled forward so far that I was under a light, I realized there was a DO NOT ENTER sign to my right. Oh, and it was intended for people like me! Similar to the large arrow painted on the driveway indicating all traffic was to go in, NOT out. Aaah, got it. So, I backed up the hill, in the rain, redirected the car, and exited the lot.

In my head I was whipping off a letter to the company imploring them to consider better workmanship of their products. Surely, parents care more about the basics, such as wheels staying attached, than the numerous features advertised on this Rolls Royce of strollers. And, if they haven’t had many complaints to date, it’s probably because parents with multiple little kids are TOO BUSY to write these letters! We just need stuff to work. In fact, I have several ideas for how this stroller could be improved. Better yet, let’s start from scratch. I’m sure I could describe features that really matter to parents. Like, for example, 12 seat arrangements but no adjustable handlebar??? Really?

That’s about as far as I got. By this point I had reconnected with Spencer and my mental tirade came to an end. I knew, in all reality, this letter wouldn’t get written. Sadly, my expertise will be sitting idle until I’m discovered.

Now, Spencer is usually very good-natured. He befriends most everyone he crosses paths with and genuinely likes to keep the masses happy. However, by the time I relayed the story to him he was livid. And, before I knew it, he had keys in hand and was dashing out the door. I began to question that logic since heavy sheets of rain had been pouring down for over an hour, but he was gone.

All I know is that a fuming Spencer arrived at the store, looking like a drowned rat, with the stroller in one hand, the wheel in the other, demanding to see a manager.

We have a different stroller now.

Appetoezer

As we were getting ready for dinner this evening, Elliana was deeply engrossed in coloring...or so I thought. I walked through the living room and was greeted by this news:

Elliana: "I just bit off a big piece of toenail"

Yeah. Enough said. I'm dreaming of crawling underneath a desk, like my 8th grade Spanish teacher used to. When I come out, I'll share the rest of our insanity from this weekend.

Breaking Point

I am reduced to sitting in a fetal position on my office chair and fantasizing about wearing boots (will explain later). I am actually considering vomiting just to end the rise and fall of puke in my throat. I am afraid to take off my fleece or even move my body. I am rigid with disgust and the inside of my nostrils have begun to itch. In fact, it feels like my whole body is itching. No, these are not more lovely symptoms of Lyme Disease. Perhaps, worse…

Soon after getting all three kids to bed, Spencer went to the neighbor’s house for a drink. I settled into the office to catch up on some emails when I felt something move on my head. I shook my head and thought I’d imagined it but realized that it was too heavy to be nothing. So, I reached up and actually felt a lump. To my horror, a caterpillar fell onto the desk. A CATERPILLAR! It was yellow and fuzzy and began to uncurl and move once on the desk. I am repulsed. I am not camping. I am inside, in my office, and worst of all I haven’t gone anywhere! How did this caterpillar get in my hair? It wasn’t like it was just on top, it was almost underneath the rubberband that’s holding my hair back. This tells me it had been moving around for a bit.

Consequently, I feel sick. Are there no boundaries? I would be much better with an ant, a mouse, or any number of other things. And, the WHOLE story would be different if I were outside. But I am not. I am in the one, tiny space in our home that is just for adults. Until tonight.

So, my very healthy reaction is to text my sisters that I am traumatized (and because they  know me so well they know I am not exaggerating and they are laughing themselves sick). Then, I proceed to call my older sister just to let her know how truly awful this experience is. I am squirming all over.

Oh, and the boots. That seems to be my go-to whenever something comes indoors that I expect should be outside. For example, the dish gloves and boots I donned when the mouse entered my first apartment or the boots my little sister and I wore the first time I babysat her and a squirrel got into the house. My parents actually found us curled up on the couch, with boots on, watching Sesame Street re-runs as we tried not to notice a squirrel darting across the living room floor.

For most people, the breaking point would be the result of a major life event. Yet, I seem to have pushed through severe post partum hemorrhaging, diagnosis of Lyme Disease, and days of twins crying in stereo with more grace than I can muster for this. 

Incinerator

*For those of you who have been following, C is Twincy and J is Twinjay

This is what the 4x4 dressing room at the store feels like. The kind women at the store helped me squeeze into the room in order to nurse Twinjay who had begun to cry. While answering Elliana’s many questions, and maneuvering the double stroller with one hand, I finally got all 4 of us into the room. It was like learning how to do a K-turn into a parking spot where you think you can squeeze into but you aren’t 100% sure - while you have an audience. The saleswoman nicely shut the door for us since I was now wedged in, couldn’t reach the door handle from that angle, and had not yet unbuckled the crying baby.

I was pleasantly surprised that Twincy was facing the mirror, which I thought would keep her occupied. So, I began nursing a now almost-frantic Twinjay.  Elliana decided that Elizabeth (aka her baby doll Big Baby who was recently “born” and renamed) also needed to be nursed. She very seriously “nursed” her, which consisted of plastering her face to her tummy – about belly button level- and draping her shirt over Elizabeth’s face. Meanwhile, Twinjay is happily eating as though she hasn’t eaten in days and Twincy has a front row seat to what she deems completely unfair. Twinjay is eating and she isn’t. So, we sat there, sweating in the store with the broken AC while Twincy broke into full wails and Twinjay continued to nurse. I wondered how many customers were bothered by this racket as the store was about the size of our family room. It was so hot the mirror started to steam and the babies’ tiny bits of hair began to curl as it only does when they are completely sweaty. As soon as there was the slightest indication that Twinjay was done, I put her in the carseat (barely burped) and rescued Twincy. Elliana was now done feeding Elizabeth and full of questions about why we couldn’t get out of the dressing room yet.  I fed Twincy and was finally able to reach over the double stroller, unlock the door, and maneuver the stroller out the door with one hand while holding Twincy in the other and verbally directing Elliana to the register.

After paying for the slippers and accepting multiple offers to help open the door for us as we left (the store was almost empty once we emerged from the dressing room – no idea if we cleared it out or not), we were in daylight again.  In fact, it almost seemed cooler outside.

Following a quick stop next door to the toy store (not because I’m crazy but because they assured me the teething toy I was seeking was sold there), we headed to the car. Just as we go to the car I leaned to start disassembling the double stroller and Elliana hopped up (as 3-year olds spontaneously do) and knocked right into my mouth. Literally, I could feel my lip swelling instantly. Minor blood but immediate swelling. Fantastic. I began conjuring images from Hitch and tried to use it as a teaching moment for Elliana to still ask if someone is ok even if she didn’t intend to hurt them (her initial reaction was just to tell me to put a bandaid on it in a less than concerned voice). After our brief discussion she looked really sad which broke my heart and wasn’t my intention at all. Always trying. That’s what I tell myself. Always trying. Next time maybe I’ll know the exact right thing to say.

I walk around to the driver side and get a whiff of an awful odor. My initial reaction was, ah, this was the reason for fussing. At least one of those poor babies needed a diaper change. Poor kid. Yet, a moment later I recognized the stink and was amazed it was still with us! On our way out we had been unable to avoid driving over remains of some roadkill. It was indistinguishable upon sight but moments later recognized as a skunk. Apparently, they still really stink when dead and with each revolution of the tire the stench wafted into our car through the AC vents. So, this stink is going to continue to accompany us for some more driving pleasure. Truly, there is nothing I can do about this one so home we go.

As we drive, I try to answer Elliana’s chatterbox questions.  Twinjay starts fussing again and one side of my mouth starts to swell shut so, while I answer questions, that half literally just stayed closed. Awesome.

The 7-minute drive home felt much longer, as it always does, when there are crying kids in the car. Once in the driveway, I quickly begin my dance of getting as many things in the house as possible while strategically removing kids. If Elliana is out first she’s mobile and that can be a problem, especially if she decides she doesn’t want to come inside OR is going to “help” with her sisters while I’m shuttling items. Sometimes, her version of help is squeeze/stress relief with a baby arm as the object of choice. Not at all comforting to a Mom who just sometimes wants to be able to step out of the room and know all 3 of her kids will live to see her walk back in.

Alas, we are all inside. And, while I was getting lunch on the table, Twinjay scooted. She scooted!! I was as proud and overjoyed as only a sleep-deprived Mom can be. I reached for the phone to call Spencer when I realized my cell must be in the car…in the bottom of the collapsed stroller. Not fun. So I got the house phone (yes, we still have one, long story) and left him a voice mail. Truly, 2 minutes later, Twincy scooted too! Each had gone a full body length and I was beyond thrilled by their accomplishments! I ran outside to get my cell to now call my Mom in hopes of actually reaching someone live. I positioned Elliana at the front door to watch me as much to protect her sisters as to keep her in-the-know. Now, popping open the stroller isn’t really that cumbersome but the stroller is heavy and I’m still recuperating from Lyme Disease. So, today’s outing alone was exhausting. Instead of opening it to get my cell phone and, good to see, my wallet, I tried fitting my arm through the bars of the stroller. Naturally, as soon as I did the phone slid to the very bottom and I couldn’t reach. Stubbornly, I began turning the stroller and reaching from every angle until I surmised that I’d already expended more energy than I would have if I’d opened the stroller in the first place. So, I relented, got wallet and cell and ran back inside.

Thankfully, Mom answered her phone at work. Elliana caught wind of my excitement and began racing around the house crowing that her sisters had scooted. “Good for fun, my sisters scooted!”. 

And so, once the hubbub died down we all had lunch. Elliana happily chomping away and me, eating through the half of my mouth that still opened. Somehow, it still tasted good and I was happy. Nobody was crying, we were no longer in the dressing room, and I had worn a black shirt so maybe, just maybe, my pouring sweat wasn’t obvious at the store. I can dream, can’t I?

I'm Allergic To My Life

“I need you to do something I know you won’t want to do, so, whenever you are ready let me know”

……

If someone sneezes across town I get a cold. At least, that’s how it seems lately. After a string of illnesses, including: two colds, eczema, multiple rounds of mastitis, and joint pain that had me hunched over like an 80-year-old, I found myself at the doctor yet again. Surely, this must be the domino effect that breastfeeding twins after a complicated pregnancy and severe postpartum hemorrhaging takes on your body.  Yet, after a thorough review of all symptoms, additional blood work, and follow up phone calls, I learned that it was even better. Lyme Disease. FANTASTIC. I don’t even go anywhere! Truly, I have barely even walked around the block since the babies were born.

Almost instantly, I find myself on antibiotics with the warning that I may feel worse before I feel better. Out of habit, I optimistically assume that it won’t be so bad. Au contraire. I was so fatigued and sore that I barely got out of bed for the next few days. Then, it seemed like the symptoms started a circuitous route around my body. I began feeling like I was back in an Abnormal Psych class in college where the professor warns you that during the course of the semester you’ll self-diagnose with all types of symptoms, except these were legit.  Oh, and since my system is weak I am still more susceptible to anything else that crosses my path. Awesome.

So, it was no surprise to Spencer when he came home from work one day and I said “I need you to do something I know you won’t want to do, so, whenever you are ready let me know”. I can only imagine what was running through his mind as I assured him that there was nobody else who could help. I proceeded to tell him that I needed him to check my head for Lice because I was itching all over. By this point, I had actually begun to itch and feel pin-pricks all over my body but declined to mention this as lately it seems every time he turns around I’m mentioning some new ailment. He looked at me in that silent “there’s no way I’m doing that” look to which I responded out loud with “you are the only other adult here. You have to do this”.

To that, I found myself sitting on our front porch. Spencer insisted the light was best there and I was at his mercy. So, there I sat, facing the neighborhood and hoping that everyone had something else they were doing so nobody would see me and wonder, or even worse, know, what was going on.

After several minutes, I asked Spencer if he was finding anything (it seemed to be taking an inordinately long time). I described exactly what he should find according to the flyer that is sent home occasionally from Elliana’s school. He hemmed and hawed and then said “well, I can’t tell. I just ate a sugar cookie and didn’t wash my hands”.

WHAT?!?!

After shock, disbelief, and a lot of laughter because, seriously, if I don’t laugh at this stuff I will cry, I decided to call the doctor. Apparently, the itching AND pin-pricks can be from the Lyme Disease medication.

I am almost afraid for what tomorrow may bring. 

You Know You're Tired When...

I was at the register and about to pay with a gift card when the cashier asked to see my I.D. As I reached for my wallet, I wondered how they would connect my I.D. to the gift card and was amazed that stores now go to these lengths to reduce fraud. Then the cashier clued me in that I was being I.D.'d because I was purchasing alcohol. Riiiiiiiiiight. I NEED SLEEP!

Say What?

Lately, Elliana has taken to mimicking adults when speaking to her baby sisters. She coos at them in a velvety voice while smiling and nodding her head. For this reason, I didn't think twice as I heard her talking to J in the other room in her sing-song tone. That was, until I passed by and overheard her cooing "disease" in a soft, melodic tone.  I stopped in my tracks and slowly backed up to hear exactly what was going on.

Elliana:  "Disease. Yes. Isn't that funny?"

J: Staring at Elliana with a huge gummy grin

Elliana: "Hand-Foot-Mouth disease. Yes. Yes it is. Isn't that funny? Yes it is!"

And so, in my shock, it took all I had not to scream "NO! That wouldn't be funny! Not even mildly amusing!".  Please, do NOT let this grace our home. SOOOO not funny.

Wax On Wax Off

It is particularly awesome when your 3-year old bolts in the house, charging towards the bathroom, where you are precariously positioned while pre-beach waxing (cost saving measure). Lately, I've repeatedly reminded her that she is not to cover her body with yogurt at the table...or ever. HOW is what I am doing going to make sense? I knew she was on her way home but that didn't help much except to increase my panic level (since I couldn't exactly stop midway). I knew, because Spencer had called to say they were on their way home. How did I answer the phone, you ask? Oh, well I was making jam this morning (yes, because these are helpful things to do the morning before you leave for a week-long trip). And, I decided to try and wax while Spencer was out of the house with Elliana (this is round 2 mind you, I started the other day). However, this did mean I was watching J and C while waxing, which meant I was slightly rigid with worry the whole time that one of them would need me, or cry uncontrollably, when I couldn't get to them. I should also mention that I had decided to wax my whole legs, not just bikini area.

Ok, back to the phone call. I had heard the timer go off in the kitchen and I needed to re-warm the wax because the babies kept needing me. So, I crept into the kitchen from our bathroom using a paper towel to cover my lower half (wearing only a nursing tank seems to be my specialty). Thankfully, the curtains were closed. I turned off the timer on the oven and decided I could not deal with the jam so I turned it off and hoped it wouldn't solidify before I could get to it. At the same time, Spencer called. I answered the phone with the fingers that weren't waxy and he told me our friend KJ and her son, Booker, were on their way to our house (OMG!!). I quickly gave him the background and raced into the bathroom in fear that I would have multiple visitors and the set-up with the twins wouldn't allow me to close the bathroom door (again, wax all over one hand limits ability to move them).

Fast forward to Elliana's racing feet, followed by Booker's, right into our bedroom! I literally hid behind the half open bathroom door and called for Spencer. He rescued Booker and Elliana (or me, depending on how you look at it) and I tried to clean up as FAST AS POSSIBLE. So far, Elliana hadn't noticed any of my bathroom doings as she had bolted into the bedroom to touch C's hands. If she had seen there would be NO way to distract her or make her stop asking questions (this child misses NOTHING!). In my haste, I somehow got wax all over me. Literally, it looked like I'd plunged my hands into the wax container. I tried water (hot and cold - again - making impulsive decisions). Neither worked. Soap didn't help. I called for Spencer multiple times (he was still trying to help Elliana get out the door to the park with our friend's mother). He came in and, amidst laughter, located the tiny (emphasis on tiny), bottle of solution that helps remove wax (literally it is smaller than a nail polish container). 

As he tried to give it to me it tipped over on the counter so I furiously tried to wipe up any drops as this couldn't be wasted! After about five minutes of trying to wipe the 1/8" of glue off my hands I had marginal success. Oh, and not just wax all over me but hair too. Awesome. Hot. I am a catch!

The knob to our sink, the top to the soap, and a spot on the floor still have glue. I think most of the evidence is in the trash. The cloths are in the sink (and may need to be tossed too since the bottle of heaven is empty and I am afraid to plunge my hands into that mess again).

I decided to throw my pajama pants back on so I could say hello to KJ, feed J, and handle the jam before my friend Super E stops over (little does she know she'll be on baby duty while she's here - though I know she won't mind)! Now, I have blue fabric from my pants stuck to me in numerous places as I certainly didn't have time, or solution enough, to even try to deal with the remnants of wax on my legs.  

Elliana and Booker are on their way to the park with KJ. The jam is now setting in the fridge. Super E is here and Spencer is oh-so curious what I am doing in here (if I don't capture these moments as they happen they'll be lost forever! - I know you are crying at the thought).

I have not showered. I actually might have food in my teeth (anything is possible since I just spent the past hour in a bathroom looking anywhere but a mirror!). I still have a cold although I am trying to kick it. And, interestingly, C and J have the same nostril that's congested - same as last cold...odd. 

Ok, beach. In all my glory, here I come!

Polygons

Elliana: "Mama, is your back sore?"

Mama: "Honey, I'm tired, so my whole body is achy." Elliana came over to hug me and while hugging, I said "I love you to bits and pieces".

Elliana: "Me too. I love you to pieces and squares."

Not That Much

After reading the book Guess How Much I Love You? numerous times lately, Elliana asks this question frequently throughout the day. She wants you to tell her how much and then it's her turn. Typically, she's beaming at the end and offers a huge hug. Now that I'm used to this routine I expected a certain reply. My mistake.

Elliana: Mama, how much do you love me?

Mama: More than all the books in the world. And, how much do you love me?

Elliana: I don't love you more than all the books in the world.

Mama: Did you mean that you do love me more than all the books in the world?

Elliana: (in her new robot voice): No. I love you, but just not that much.

Mama: silence