Twinside Out

We'll Be Back...Right After This

2011-09-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

I don't get to watch much tv anymore (at least, not anything being broadcast in real time), and I find that I don't miss commercial breaks at all. It used to drive me nuts when - right in the middle of a critical moment or emotional buildup - everything would come to a screeching halt so someone could tell me what kind of a car will make me look cool and which pair of shoes would best accessorize with it.

The sad truth is that even the sleekest car and the trendiest clothes could not make me look cool these days. It is really hard to take two screaming toddlers anywhere and look like you have it together. I am actually getting pretty good at rocking the I-am-a-complete-mess look.

And oh my, life has been messy lately. It started when Doodlebug came down with roseola, and then - perfectly timed with the Master Chief's vacation time - we all got sick with a nasty summer cold. Throw in a one-day softball tournament that turned into a three-day debacle, a lot of teething, and very little sleeping, and you have the makings of our staycation. It's been lovely.

I finally realized, as the Master Chief prepared to go back to work today, that I've been holding my breath. I feel like I've been impatiently waiting through a commercial break so I can get back to the action. Please don't misunderstand; it's been wonderful having him home to help me. Still, I crave the normalcy of our familiar routine. The last two weeks have just felt - strange. Naptimes have been irregular, bedtimes have been difficult, there has been no time to read or blog. I guess I truly am a creature of habit...and somehow I think too, I can better deal with fussy babies when we are back on our old schedule.

Of course, there are still some things to get through before we can truly get back to normal around here (or at least, our version of normal!). Doodlebug feels better and is back to climbing and running (yes...the walking was short-lived), but poor Inchworm is miserable. She picked up roseola from Doodle, and is also cutting three teeth (including her first molar). Plus she had a severe skin reaction to something she ate. So - as anxious as I am to catch up on my blog reading and writing - it may be a few days before I am really back in the saddle.

Stay tuned. We'll be right back, after this short break...

My poor, sweet, spotted baby girl.

Mama Loves: Olbas Oil

2011-08-27T06:40:00.000-07:00

The Master Chief brought home a lot of expectations for his vacation time: he wanted to tackle some lingering home improvement projects, get a few rounds of golf in, and spend some quality time with his Xbox. It turned out, though, that he also brought home a bunch of germs. Less than a day into his time off, he was curled up on the couch - but it wasn't quite how he had pictured. Instead of watching Netflix and shooting little Covenant grunts, he was popping Ricola cough drops and bonding with the Kleenex box.

We've really been pushing the concept of sharing with the kids lately, and the Master Chief provided an excellent object lesson as he passed the crud on to us. Inchworm was the first to succumb, then Doodlebug, and then me (yay). The worst part of this particular virus, in my estimation, is the nasal congestion.

Let me put it this way. Some things just sound right together: chocolate and peanut butter, wine and a starry night, NKOTB and Backstreet Boys. (Did I just date myself?) Some things sound strange paired up, but really work - like deep-fried pickles and ranch dressing. And then there are things that should never be mentioned together in the same breath: diaper and corn, Lady Gaga and meat dress, The Green Hornet and sequel. I would also put noses and faucets in this last category. Sadly, that's pretty much what we've had going on here this week - noses so runny that each nostril requires its own hazmat crew. My poor little ones were so stuffy that they couldn't even nurse (which is their favorite way to be comforted - so they've been pretty miserable).

I finally pulled out the big gun: my Olbas oil. It's a powerful mix of essential oils whose vapors will clear the stuffiest nose. For little ones, one drop on a cotton ball is sufficient. Several nights in a row, I used the Olbas oil and a steamy bathroom to clear the babies' noses enough for them to nurse and fall asleep.

Because Olbas oil is so potent, it's important to use it with care. Little ones should not get it on their skin, and the cotton ball (or tissue) should be placed somewhere where they can breathe the vapor but not touch it. Another vital note about Olbas oil: one of the primary ingredients is peppermint oil, which can decrease milk supply in nursing mothers. A little bit would probably not make much of a difference, but for those of us who have fought the uphill supply battle, it's best to keep it off your skin. For any non-lactating adult, though, Olbas oil is perfectly safe for topical use. It's great for massaging sore muscles. One final note: Olbas oil should be stored in a secure cabinet, out of the way of tiny hands; the bottle is not childproof, and it can be very dangerous if ingested.

(If that isn't quite enough in the way of oh, by-the-way, fine-print-type information, here's the usual blah-blah-blah disclaimer: no one compensated me in return for this product review. I'm just a happy, albeit still somewhat ill, consumer.)

What has made your week a little easier? Run over to Julia's corner of the blogosphere and link up!

Gifts of the 80's

2011-08-22T15:31:00.000-07:00

181. My sweet friend Elizabeth offering to watch the babies so we could have an afternoon out.

182. Watching a movie in an actual movie theater!

183. Pumpkin pancakes.

184. An early birthday present from the Master Chief: a new phone!

185. Having a totally rad retro dance party, courtesy of Bob and Larry Sing the 80's. After all, gourds just want to have fun.

Check out the rolled sleeves. Sadly, my side ponytail didn't make it into any pictures. (Ok, so I'm really not that sad about it.)

186. Inchworm's favorite "dance" - spinning in circles. She can't walk, but she loves to twirl (while sitting on the floor).

187. Doodlebug's favorite "dance" - which looks suspiciously like jumping.

188. Doodlebug walking backwards because he couldn't figure out how to change direction while going forward.

189. Defeating Mount Washmore. Cheers to life, love and the pursuit of clean underwear!

190. Excitement for our two-week "staycation" - we love having Daddy home.

Mama Loves: Hooked on Phonics

2011-08-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

I love to read. We moved around a lot when I was a kid; while I often had to leave flesh-and-blood friends behind, Nancy Drew, Harriet the Spy, Lucy Pevensie and my other literary pals always traveled with me. Even when language barriers and cultural chasms separated me from other kids my age, I could always count on the kindred spirits and bosom friends who waited for me in the pages of my books.

I certainly hope my kids aren't driven to read out of loneliness, but I do want them to appreciate the value of a good book. I want them to know how it feels to get lost in the pages of an epic adventure. I'd love for them to share in Lucy's wonder as she wanders out of the wardrobe and into Narnia, and to see the world fresh and vibrant through Anne Shirley's eyes.

Right now, the Master Chief is reading to two wide-eyed toddlers who are pounding their high-chair trays in anticipation of their favorite part. We have storytime after breakfast - it is the best time of day! We love eating our way to metamorphosis with the very hungry caterpillar, and we get so excited when Tadpole finds his mommy at the end of Who Lives in the Pond. We also have a blast laughing at Larry the Cucumber teaching the spoonless people how to eat yogurt with chopsticks.

One of our most beloved literary characters of all time, however, is Tot Fox.

This is Tot Fox. He will someday appear in the annals of great literary heroes, right next to Sherlock Holmes and Elizabeth Bennet.

The Master Chief's sister, a librarian and lover of all things literature, gave us the Hooked on Phonics Discover Reading (Toddler Edition) set for Christmas. It has an audio CD with fun songs (which I may or may not be known to sing along with exuberantly), four board books, a vinyl bath book, and large picture flashcards, among some other fun things. All of the books feature the adventures of Tot Fox and his friends, Hop and Flap.

These are the books from the set. Please note the beautiful, newly-refinished white coffee table. It is not included in the set; I merely point it out to say that my husband rocks.

Doodlebug's new trick is to take the bath book and hand it to me over and over and over again. If I don't read it right away, he will "suggest" I start by opening it for me. And Inchworm loves to read Say Good Night before bedtime. She actually kisses Tot Fox on the page. Cutest. Thing. Ever.

A side note about Hooked on Phonics: my sister was having trouble learning to read, and my mom bought Hooked on Phonics to help her. It worked for her when all else failed, so it's a great system in my book. (Ohhh...that was too punny. Apologies.)

What rocks your Mommy-socks off? Link up with the Mama Loves crew over at Julia's blog, Pontifications of a Twin Mom. And while you're at it, tell her how awesome her blog redesign looks!

Another side note: this post is the product of my own caffeine-addled, sleep-deprived brain. No one compensated me for it in any way. I am not affiliated with Hooked on Phonics; I am merely a happy consumer. (Or, in this case, gift-receiver.)

On the Move

2011-08-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

Our sedentary lifestyle is over - these kids are on the move in a big way! It started off innocently enough, when Doodlebug realized that he could scoot the stationary jumper along the floor.

This development (coupled with an incident where Doodle positioned the jumper just right to reach a huge stack of DVDs on a shelf) worked out pretty well for Inchworm. We've since learned not to put Doodle in the jumper very often, which suits her just fine - it's her favorite toy.

That didn't stop Doodle, however. He soon learned that he could make the exersaucer move even faster than the jumper. He throws all his weight in the direction he wants to go, and gets it moving at a pretty fast clip - unless, that is, Mommy has just cleaned the floors. (Ha! Thwarted again!) In the video below, he can't get the exersaucer moving quickly enough and starts to get frustrated.

Doodle finally realized that the best way to get from point A to point B is to walk there. Yes, it's official: we have a walker!

Inchworm won't be far behind him. She's pulling up regularly now, and is even able to stand by herself for a few seconds. In the meantime, she's content to watch her brother and giggle at his antics. And, oh, her giggle is contagious!

I guess it's time to get my running shoes out...

Gifts of Summer Fun

2011-08-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

Continuing to give thanks for the many gifts in my life. Want to join in? Click on the graphic below and link up!

171. Swimming pool fun.

172. Hamming it up with Daddy.

173. Finding heart-shaped rice on my plate, courtesy of the Master Chief.

174. Gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free pizza crust that actually tastes like pizza crust.

175. A quiet afternoon shopping by myself.

176. Cool, soft breezes.

177. Remembering to meal plan and feeling organized.

178. Hello Kitty boo-boo bears and arnica gel.

179. This crazy cat face. I caught her stalking the Master Chief's frappuccino cup (it had a bright green straw).

180. Being able to wear my wedding and engagement rings again. They fit!

Mama Loves: Easy Food Prep

2011-08-13T07:56:00.000-07:00

This may sound a little silly, but there is one tool in my kitchen that is totally rocking my world right now. Little did I know, ten years ago when I bought it, that it would someday be my go-to gadget for finger-food prep.

It's my OXO pizza wheel!

This is my best friend in the kitchen. I call her Wheely.

We stumbled upon the pizza wheel's true value a month ago, when I instituted a new pizza tradition on Friday nights. The pediatrician authorized a cheese experiment and I'd been wanting to hone my gluten-free baking skills. Not to mention, it had been over a year since I'd had pizza. I was so excited to eat it myself, but I was even more anxious to see what the kids thought of the cheesy goodness.

(Side note: There are many things in life that I can stop eating, or find a substitute for, and be fine with it. If it makes me feel vibrant and healthy, I'll even be more than fine with it. But cheese was my first word. It was my first love. And it is really tough to find a satisfying substitute that mimics cheese in both texture and flavor. So if we can add it back into our diet, I am all for it. Of course, the jury is still out on the Great Cheese Experiment of 2011. More on that another day.)

On the night in question, apparently I was too busy cramming pizza into my own mouth to prep the kids' food. When I came out of my cheese-induced delirium, I saw that the Master Chief had cut the remaining pieces into perfect, bite-sized portions. It was a light bulb moment! We now use the pizza wheel to cut all the kids' food - it's especially great for cutting peanut butter toast without getting your fingers dirty (or mangling the toast). I don't know at what age they start learning to take bites out of larger food pieces, but until then, this mama loves the pizza wheel.

Mama also loves making food that is allergy-friendly and tastes good too - check out my gluten/dairy/egg-free pizza crust recipe here!

Don't forget to stop by Julia's corner of the interwebs and link up with your "Mama Loves" stories! (And thanks for the button, Melissa! It looks great!)

Disclosure: I can't imagine why anyone would ever want to pay or compensate me in any way to review a pizza wheel that I bought an entire decade ago. But, assuming that someone would - well, no one did.

Gluten-Free Pizza Crust

2011-08-13T07:45:00.000-07:00

We have a new Friday night pizza tradition. I'm still perfecting the crust (it's more pour-able than roll-able), but for a gluten/egg/dairy-free bread product, it's pretty good. The Master Chief himself, the pickiest palate to please when it comes to gluten-free foods, even declared it so.

The Master Chief opts for pepperoni and mozzerella. (Also - are these not the largest pepperoni slices ever?!)

The babies and I enjoy chevre and broccoli.

It's a "bready" crust (we are thick crust people), with a good, chewy texture. It lacks the dense, hockey puck quality some of my earlier gluten-free creations had, and we don't miss that at all.

The Master Chief's biggest complaint in the early iterations of this recipe was that the crust had a taste. (Said with a scrunched up nose and pained expression.) I think it was a combination of him missing the flavor of the wheat flour and not being used to the way the gluten-free flours taste. I overcame this obstacle by adding some herbs and garlic to the crust, and by using more pizza sauce than I normally would. This crust can stand up to a little extra sauce!

Here's the recipe - it makes two medium-sized pizzas:

Ingredients

1 cup rice flour
1 cup tapioca flour
1 cup sorghum flour
2 tsp garlic powder
1-1/2 tsp oregano
1-1/2 tsp basil
1-1/2 cup warm water (divided into 1/2 cup and 1 cup)
1 tsp salt
2 tsp honey (or other sweetener of your choice; must be something that will activate yeast)
1 pkg yeast
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp ground flax seed

Directions

Combine the rice flour, tapioca flour, sorghum flour, garlic powder, oregano, and basil thoroughly in a big mixing bowl.
Make a "well" in the center of the dry ingredient mixture. Pour in 1/2 cup warm water, yeast, salt and honey (or other sweetener). Gently stir the liquid in the "well" without disturbing the dry mixture around it too much. (Some of the flour mixture will get mixed in anyway, and that is okay.)
Let it sit for five minutes.
The liquid in the center should be slightly frothy and resemble a heady beer. Add the rest of the ingredients (olive oil, flax seed, remaining cup of warm water) and mix well.

The crust is now ready to be transferred to parchment paper or a well-oiled pizza pan sprinkled with cornstarch or GF flour. (I use a ladle and let it spread out.) It needs to rise for 30 minutes prior to baking (more if you prefer a thicker crust). After it has risen, bake it at 450 degrees for 5 minutes. Add toppings and bake for 5-8 minutes longer, until the toppings are bubbly and lightly browned.

I am in love with my pizza stone, and someday I hope to have a pizza peel to make Friday nights a lot easier. But for now, here's my pizza peel-less method for divvying up the dough and baking it on a pizza stone:

Turn over two cookie sheets (round, if you have them) and cover with parchment paper.
Ladle equal amounts of the dough mixture onto each piece of parchment paper. I tip the cookie sheet and let the dough slide around on the parchment paper until I have the size and shape that I want. (If you try this, don't forget to hold onto the parchment paper, too!)
Let rise for 30 minutes and then bake for 5 minutes. (I leave my pizza stone on the bottom rack of the oven while it's preheating. I slide the upside-down cookie sheet topped with the parchment paper and crust onto the top rack to bake.)
I set the cookie sheet on a cooling rack while I add the toppings, but when I put the pizza back in the oven, the crust is solid enough for me to slide the parchment paper onto the hot pizza stone.
When it's done, I pull the parchment paper and pizza off the stone onto a cutting board, and slide the next pizza in.

Getting Teary-Eyed

2011-08-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

Doodlebug has it rough right now. He's been sick, he's teething, and the dog looked at him. (Apparently this was a severe transgression, which caused lots of crying.) He wouldn't calm down no matter what I tried, so I whipped out my trusty pink phone. It's off-limits for little fingers, and that makes it fascinating. I snapped this picture, and let him watch while I tweeted it. By the time I hit send, he was in the sniffling phase and had forgotten why he was upset in the first place.

Real tears and everything! So sad!

Julia tweeted back about the Cry Baby link party, and I am all in! If there's one thing we have around here, it's lots of crying baby pictures. (And crying babies.) Here are a few of my favorites:

I have to admit, I got a little teary-eyed myself looking through all our old pictures. I miss the twins being so little sometimes, but I definitely do not miss the late-night crying sessions!

Do you have crying baby pictures to share? Run over to Marcia's and link up!

Bring on the Books

2011-08-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

Amber at The Patterson Family tagged me in a blog award. Thanks, Amber! The rules are to list seven things about yourself, and pass the award on to seven other bloggers. Since I've had a lingering daydream lately about lounging on a beach and reading, I thought I would share seven books (or series) that I am excited to read with my kids as they grow:

1.) The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis. (These are my all-time favorite books. I re-read them about once a year, and I always find something new to mull over.)

2.) Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. (Actually, we've already read it, but it was right after they came home from the hospital. I'm excited to read it again when they're older.)

3.) The Ramona Quimby series by Beverly Cleary.

4.) The Fudge books by Judy Blume. (I'm not a fan of everything Judy Blume, but I like these.)

5.) The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster.

6.) A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

7.) I'm also excited to read the classic Nancy Drew mysteries with Inchworm, and the Hardy Boys books with Doodlebug.

There are dozens more that come to mind (ooh! Harriet the Spy!), but these were some of my favorites as a kid. The more I think about it, the more I'm tempted to take a stroll over to the library and check them out for a trip down memory lane!

So, on to the tagging. I'm late to the party, as usual, and I think most of my blogging buddies have already done this one. (If you haven't and would like to, drop me a note and I will add you in!) I tag Kim at Faith, Grace and Giggles and Stacey at Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mom.

Gifts of Huggles, Squeezles and Giggles

2011-08-08T12:11:00.000-07:00

161. Banana bites (a GF/DF/EF version, of course).

162. Family zoo outing.

163. Sleepy Inchworm.

164. Doodlebug using the exersaucer like a walker. He throws himself forcefully in the direction he wants to go, and gets it moving at a pretty fast clip. (I need to get this on video, but I'm usually running after him to keep him from getting into something he shouldn't.) So now he can make both the exersaucer and the stationary (ha!) jumper carry him towards trouble.

165. Babies bringing me books to read - again and again.

166. Inchworm's hair glowing red where the light hits it.

167. A rare, sleepy snuggle with Doodle.

168. Huggles and squeezles - a fun new game that brings fits of giggles. (Not to be confused with Heffalumps and Woozles, which frighten me. Still.)

169. Grace. Always grace...even when I am at my most undeserving.

170. A sweet husband who watches the kids so I can take a hot bath.

Mama Loves: VeggieTales!

2011-08-06T15:03:00.000-07:00

My wonderful friend Julia is kicking off a new feature today for mamas to share whatever is rocking their world at the moment. When I first heard about it, I thought of a million and one things that I could not, EVER in any way, live without. All day long I have been so excited to get to the laptop to share all the awesomeness that makes life a little easier around here.

And now that I'm sitting here, um...yeah.

So if there is any sort of gadget out there to return a mama's memory to her post-parental state of glory, that would totally top my list. I'm starting to feel like Neville Longbottom in need of a remembrall.

Since I can't remember what I was going to write about, I'll share what's going on right now in the living room. We ventured out this morning, but this afternoon we're having a VeggieTales marathon. Doodle is teething, has a fever and has been generally miserable for several days now. If Mommy isn't holding him, then his little world is coming to an end. Inchworm also wants to be held constantly: her allergies are really bad this week, and she's exhausted from waking up all night with a congested nose.

So maybe I should have led off with teething necklaces, ibuprofen and Zyrtec...

The problem is, they do not like to be held together. Also, every now and then Mommy needs to do something that requires both hands, like rescuing a cat stranded on top of the kitchen cabinets. Sometimes Mommy even needs to (gasp) leave the room to go to the bathroom.

Voila, VeggieTales! They love, love, love Bob and Larry and the gang. Something about that show makes tears disappear and makes this mommy's smile shine. So today, Mama Loves VeggieTales. (Not to mention, Netflix instant streaming.)

Is there something that makes your life easier? Run over to Pontifications of a Twin Mom and link up!

Gifts of Old Things Made New

2011-08-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

151. Doodlebug's first unassisted steps.

152. New routines and finding what works.

153. A shiny kitchen sink.

154. Inchworm laughing at Daddy sneezing.

155. The Master Chief refinishing the coffee table because it makes me happy, even though he hates those sorts of projects. The old, scratched up hunk of wood that has been the bane of my existence is turning into a shiny and new white table that will brighten the living room.

156. Success with gluten-free pizza crust from scratch!

157. Getting a surprise gift in the mail for the twins.

158. More new books to read during story time!

159. Finally finishing all the thank-you notes.

160. New noises that sound more like words than baby babbling.

One Nap to Rule Them All

2011-07-28T13:05:00.000-07:00

I have to admit it - I look a lot like Gollum these days. Baggy circles under the eye, goat chin (eek! thank you, PCOS), and if I'm being honest, I probably smell boggy too. I had gotten in the habit of showering when the babies were napping and lately, we've not had a lot of synchronized sleeping. Or sleeping at all, on some days.

Doodlebug is finished with two naps a day. I've known this for a while, but Inchworm enjoys her sleep and I enjoy having a break in both the morning and the afternoon. So for the past month or so, I've been forcing the issue. I've been putting the babies down for their morning nap around 10:30, with an afternoon nap following three hours after the end of the first nap.

It works well on paper, but what usually happens during morning naps is that Doodle fusses around in his crib until he wakes Inchworm. Then they either scream at each other angrily, or with each other in some sort of ecstatic contest to see who can break Mommy's eardrums first. They eventually both settle down and fall asleep - although not necessarily at the same time.

Afternoon naps? Well, it doesn't take Doodle long to wake his sister, and then they spend the next hour happily screeching at each other. I don't know what makes afternoon naps more joyful than morning naps, but apparently it's the most fun that they've ever had in their lives. (Or so you would think from the incessant laughing.) It doesn't take long for the laughter to stop, unfortunately, and meltdowns to ensue as we get closer to bedtime.

Over the past week, I've tried to go to one nap a day several times - and failed. We've had miserable babies, a miserable mommy, and probably miserable neighbors, too. I didn't want to leave our two nap schedule behind, but bedtime had turned into a circus. Inchworm was falling asleep at dinnertime and then not going to sleep until after 10 PM. Doodle was waking in the middle of the night again and I was feeling zombified. I thought maybe going to one nap would solve all our problems, but if anything - it got worse. I switched back to two naps immediately; still our nighttime problems only intensified.

Earlier today, I was grumbling about how we couldn't function on either schedule when it hit me: the epiphany to end all epiphanies! Since neither baby was really sleeping during the afternoon "nap" - weren't both schedules one-nap routines? Weren't we already on a one-nap schedule and I just didn't know it?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. Isn't it funny how sleep deprivation can make the obvious seem so clouded? So then - maybe the problem wasn't having just one nap. Maybe the problem was the timing of the nap. On our previous one-nap days, I put the babies down when they seemed tired, even though it was earlier than I would have liked. I started thinking, what if I could stretch them to stay awake longer in the morning?

We kept it simple today - lots of reading, a Winnie the Pooh cartoon, low-key toys. I even separated the babies and had them play by themselves for a while, to minimize meltdowns. They were yawning like crazy by lunchtime, but no one fell asleep in their highchairs. I had them in their cribs by one o'clock. Inchworm was asleep before her head hit the mattress, and slept for an hour and a half. Doodle, my so-called "problem" sleeper, fussed for about twenty minutes before giving in. It's almost two and a half hours later, and he just woke up.

It's too early to celebrate; we'll see how tomorrow goes. But I am wondering if the secret to the one-nap schedule isn't all in the timing.

The Cat and the Curry

2011-07-26T10:18:00.000-07:00

For many years now, the cats and I have been fighting a war for control of the kitchen. I surrendered the island long ago out of necessity; after several incidents where the dog scarfed down all the cat food, I had to find a place where the cats could access their bowls but the dog couldn't. Voila, kitchen island. We agreed on a treaty that worked for all three of us: they can come and go to get food and water as they please - they can even hang out on the island countertop when the dishwasher is running (a perennial favorite in these parts) - but the sink and the rest of the kitchen countertops are my territory. If food prep happens there, then it's a no-cat-zone.

Aside from the occasional act of feline insurrection (such as finding a cat curled up on the warm stovetop) and the Battle for the Top of the Fridge (which I lost, incidentally), the treaty has been well-respected. It has been a long time since I've caught a cat trying to mess with my dinner; all indications were that the feline prime directive had changed from absconding with asparagus to straw-stealing. And I was fine with that, really.

Do not be deceived by the elf costume that I have been forced to wear. I am a formidable thief of asparagus and straws.

It turns out, however, that they were just biding their time - waiting for the perfect opportunity to launch the next phase of their assault. Unwittingly, I provided that opportunity myself.

Last Thursday was one of those bad mommy days, when both babies refused to nap and whined all day. The dog tried to play tag with one of the cats and got tagged back with claws (why hasn't he learned this by now?). I was counting down the seconds until the Master Chief would be home, and realized at the last minute that it was a softball night. I realized even later that his favorite softball shorts were still in the washer, sopping wet.

I shook it all off and squared my shoulders - this day could be redeemed by a culinary adventure! I had been planning to make curry the night before, but threw leftovers on the table instead. I'd never tasted curry (let alone made it), so I wanted to start with something simple and mild. The chicken cur-wee from Weelicious seemed like it would fit the bill perfectly. One meal for parents and babies? Bonus!

As I gathered coconut milk and green curry paste, the Master Chief gathered his less-favorite softball shorts and cleats and headed out the door. Cue instant tears and screaming from the little people. I was a little frazzled, but I could handle this - juggling two crying babies and cooking is what I do best!

I diced a chicken breast and tossed it in my trusty iron skillet, but forgot to add any oil. The seasoning from the pan began to peel and stick to the chicken, making it look like it had been coated in pepper. By this point, both babies were in full meltdown mode and I was silently cursing softball night. I grabbed a colander, rinsed the chicken and left it to drain in the sink, and ran back to comfort them.

It took a while to dry all the tears, but as soon as calm was restored, I heard the beginnings of a cat-and-dog throwdown. Usually my policy is to let them work it out themselves, but this time it sounded a little more serious. Celerity, the more intrepid of the cats as well as the afore-mentioned Asparagus Thief and Straw Stealer, was backed into a corner, defending something against the onslaught of a tongue-smacking, tail-wagging, super-excited puppy.

They really do get along just fine, as long as the dog obeys the cat's orders.

On closer inspection, I realized that she was guarding chicken. My chicken. My chicken that she stole out of the sink. And from the looks of the colander, it was not the first piece she'd taken.

I guess I've surrendered the sink now, too. Deli turkey goes great in curry dishes, by the way.

Gifts of Books and Belly-Laughs

2011-07-25T07:59:00.000-07:00

137. Family time on the balcony, watching a storm roll in.

138. Doodlebug belly-laughing at the thunder. (This surprised me!)

139. Inchworm giggling and spinning around in her jumper, oblivious to the storm.

140. Trying curry for the first time.

141. Riddick following me around closer than my own shadow.

142. Babies learning to "play ball" with Daddy. (They had more fun chewing on the ball, I think.)

143. PIZZA NIGHT!!! And permission from the pediatrician to embark on the Great Cheese Experiment.

144. Inchworm finally feeding herself finger-food!

145. Doodlebug crying when storytime ends, because he wants to read more. I hope he always wants to read more.

146. New books filled with wonderful adventures (and some with fun textures to feel).

147. Inchworm splashing Daddy during bathtime.

148. Doodlebug doing chin-ups on the gate. (Funny and scary all at the same time...)

149. We've been reading "Say Goodnight" before bedtime. Lately, on each page that Mom Fox kisses Tot Fox goodnight, Inchworm has been leaning in to plant her own sweet kiss on Tot Fox's picture.

150. Inchworm giving Doodlebug a kiss for the first time, on his forehead - and Doodle looking like he wasn't sure he appreciated it. (Where is my camera when I need it?!)

Leaving Limbo Behind

2011-07-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Limbo, Population 1.
Photo courtesy of thomasje on stock.xchng.

I've been feeling lately like I'm stuck in limbo...desperately spinning my wheels and trying to make progress, but only pushing myself deeper into the mud. Part of it, I am sure, is a spiritual struggle - I've finally finished reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, and I see such a need for change in my life. But there has to be a desire for change, and (dare I admit it?) sometimes I like my sin. Negative thought patterns, old bad habits - they die hard. Nails pounding out nails, as Ann describes it. The hammer is heavy in my hand and sometimes I don't have the strength to wield it. Apparently I must wrestle with myself before I can wrestle with God.

There have been other things, too - I've been distraught over some family issues, the kids have been having sleep issues again (not sure if it's teething or a readiness to move to one nap), Doodlebug has been extra-clingy. Also, a few months ago, the Master Chief interviewed for a new position in his department. We thought it would be a huge step forward in his career development; more responsibility, more compensation. It looked like a way for us to finance a much-needed vacation, and more importantly - to get out of our third-floor condo and into a house with a yard. (The condo market here has fallen to the point that we owe more than we could get for our unit. Selling our condo will require some extra capital on our part.)

It turned out that the Master Chief's department was being restructured, and the powers that be chose not to make a decision on the new position until after the reorganization was complete. Feedback from his managers made it seem a sure thing that the job would be his; so we drove around and looked at houses, and dreamed up late-summer vacation plans. My head was filled with pictures of taking the kids to the park, playing outside in the yard, actually running errands with the kids during the week. (We have been house-bound of late; I didn't think I could manage getting up/down the stairs with both kids in tow by myself.)

Do you see it? I didn't at first - but as I said earlier, I tend to like my sin. I find it quite ironic that I can read a book about gratitude and celebrating the gifts of grace in our lives while simultaneously glossing over the ingratitude and discontentment in my own heart. I was so busy focusing on what I didn't have - oh, poor me, stuck inside on bedrest for almost my whole pregnancy, and then stuck inside with twinfants for a whole year, with no family nearby and few friends who are able to help - that I couldn't see everything that I do have.

And that's how I ended up in limbo, I think. I spent so much time looking forward at a possible future, that I wasn't really living in the present. (Warning: geek moment ahead.) I needed the Doctor to show up in his shiny blue Tardis and whisk me back into place while muttering something about me screwing up a bunch of wibbly-wobbley, timey-wimey stuff. (Ok, geek moment over. Thank you for your indulgence.)

Or, I needed the Master Chief's manager to give the position to someone else. Which is, incidentally, what happened. Apparently, with all the restructuring, the new position was changed, too - and it would have been a less-than-lateral move for him. More responsibility, more stress, but no more money. The job requirements were also altered to take the position in a direction that the Master Chief does not want his career to go, so he was relieved that he wasn't chosen.

Still, I mourned the loss of the dreams that were holding me in limbo.

Bye-bye new house.

Bye-bye yard, bye-bye trips to the park. Bye-bye freedom to leave home with the kids, by myself.

Bye-bye vacation.

I was pretty depressed, until some of the things I read in Ann's book circled back through my brain to hit me full in the face. I started chasing joy again, and naming the things for which I am grateful. I still have a gazillion and one things hanging over my head and making me feel like I'm stuck in place - emails I haven't returned (I am so sorry if you are one of them!), thank-you notes to write, laundry to fold, posts in my Google reader from months ago - still waiting to be read. But I am tackling these things one at a time, and slowly leaving limbo behind. (Although I am not sure that the laundry will ever be finished...maybe when the kids turn 18?)

I already knew that living in mental limbo was draining me - but I am learning that joy can be energizing. Last Saturday marked the wiffleball tournament that the Master Chief and his friends play in each year. It's an all-day event on a farm an hour away, complete with cookouts and massive amounts of sunscreen and following the guys from field to field as they ~~lose~~ ~~get in verbal altercations with other teams~~ ~~yell at each other~~ play their hearts out. I really wanted to go, but the kids couldn't last all day in the hot July sun, and I would have to have a way to get them back home and up the stairs by myself.

Jennifer-in-limbo would not have even tried. But Jennifer-learning-joy decided to do a trial run Friday night, with the Master Chief close at hand in case it didn't work. One baby in the front carrier, and one on the hip (per all your suggestions - thank you!). One baby on the floor of the front passenger seat (with the door closed) while I strapped the other one in. I am proud to say, I did it! I am also proud to say that we had a great time at wiffleball. And now that I know we can get outside...watch out world, because here we come!

Bye-bye limbo.

Gifts of Birthday Fun

2011-07-11T10:02:00.000-07:00

I am woefully behind - on blogging, on laundry, on cleaning. I am behind on living life, really. I've been doing a lot of moping, and envying, and cultivating discontentment.

I am disappointed in myself.

However, rather than continuing to sulk and wallow in self-inflicted misery, I'm choosing to chase after joy again instead. So here it is, the continuation of a list that I should not have put on hiatus:

131. Discovering swings

132. Birthday babies! (Can I still call them babies??)

133. New icing tips (and fun playing with them), and a new coconut oil frosting (which didn't hold up so well)

134. Learning that Doodlebug really can feed himself - if there is a cupcake involved. (Inchworm couldn't feed it to herself, but she certainly enjoyed eating it once Mommy helped her get it in her mouth!)

135. A fun first birthday celebration with Grandma B

136. The "official" first birthday party went amazingly well, too! Pictures of that to come at a later date...

Gifts of Remembrance

2011-05-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

Each Memorial Day, I am reminded of a placard I saw many years ago outside a VA Hospital (Veterans' Administration, not Virginia). I was there with my dad, a special ops pilot. As we walked into the hospital's main entrance, we passed a small sign inscribed with, "The price of freedom is evident here."

And it was. I saw men and women, veterans of wars past and present, who sacrificed their health to protect my freedom. On their bodies, I saw physical injuries - missing limbs and scars; in their eyes, I saw shadows of injuries less visible - hints of the pain they lived through and the ghosts of those who did not come home alive. I know how easily it could have been my own father who did not come home, and this thought never fails to rattle me to my core.

So yesterday, in the midst of a day set aside for remembrance, I found myself meditating on the meaning of sacrifice. It is a concept that is central to my faith, and yet I am not sure that I really know its meaning. I can define it using words, but I am not sure that I can point to ways that I have lived it. Sacrifice requires a valuing of something else, someone else to be higher than myself, and if there is one thing I am beginning to understand - it is that I am selfish. The decisions that I make in day-to-day life are too often based on what I want, what I need (or at least think I do). Counting the gifts that surround me, cultivating a heart of gratitude...these things have been good for me. They encourage me to take my eyes off myself and look instead at the people and the world around me.

Thus, even though I am one day late (yet again!), I am continuing to count the gifts in my life and to give thanks for the daily moments in which I find the grace of God:

121. Memorial Day spent with my father, and a chance to show him gratitude for the sacrifices he's made for us.

122. My sweet friend Kim, who made her very first gratitude journal post this week! (Go visit her!!)

123. Kirill is coming home!

124. My first attempt at a strawberry rhubarb pie.

125. A day spent enjoying the sunshine with my loves.

126. Sippy cup fun.

Inchworm prefers chewing on the cup to sipping out of it.

Doodlebug loves getting water out of the cup, but he doesn't drink it. He spits it out.

127. Getting better at making food that the babies enjoy.

128. Discovering the grill by the clubhouse - there's just something about grilling food that makes it so much better.

129. Three pounds down!

130. I am so, so grateful that Doodle didn't have a concussion after falling and hitting his head on the hard wood floor. Twice (he hit the same exact place on his head).

The Art of the Non-Nap

2011-05-26T13:14:00.000-07:00

Doodlebug and Inchworm have decided to take up a new hobby. After staging several studies into the subject, they have chosen to practice the ancient art of non-napping. I'm so proud.

Here's a sampling of this morning's non-nap:

Being such diligent little workers, later on they were still at it:

Of course, there are consequences to foregoing the morning nap. Here they are, in chronological order:

Gifts of Adventurous Eating

2011-05-23T09:03:00.000-07:00

111. A fun and relaxing night out with the girls.

112. Beautiful weather over the weekend, so we could go outside!

113. Farmers' Market fun.

114. Trying raw rhubarb for the first time. That will make your lips pucker for sure!

115. Peeling and chopping a roasted beet, without staining my clothes.

116. Trying new foods with the babies: Red Beet and White Bean Hummus from Weelicious. They loved it! (Or maybe they loved me singing my own version of "Beet It"...I couldn't resist.)

117. Naptime that turned into comedy hour. The babies have discovered that they can talk to (and laugh at) each other through the crib rails.

118. A sweet husband who is working hard to move us into a larger space.

119. An opportunity for the condo board to vote on giving us an exemption so that we may rent our condo out. (Please pray!!)

120. A few minutes to myself to post this list.

A Line in the Sand

2011-05-19T13:13:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Maira Kouvara on stock.xchng.

First of all, Aramelle and Amber get a gold star for correctly identifying my Marie reference. I was indeed lumping my mother-in-law in with the overbearing and critical character from Everybody Loves Raymond. It wasn't very nice of me; I know. I'm still ticked off, though, so I'm going to continue to call her Marie - at least for the near future. Or maybe, for life.

As you may recall, it all started when Marie pushed me to pick a date for the twins' first birthday party, months in advance. Then, when I finally did, she suggested an alternate date and (even better) gave me a deadline to respond to her guest list demands. As long as I'm giving out gold stars, I should probably hand one over to the Master Chief for the brilliance with which he handled this one. Since she had emailed him (and not me) with her guest list additions, he let her know that I was planning the party and that he would pass her requests on to me. She responded back almost instantly and ever so graciously told us not to worry about getting back to her by her previously-declared Saturday deadline.

So, I didn't. Which was the plan, anyway. In fact, I was so angry over her attempts to hijack the party, that I had half-decided to stop communicating with her at all about it, other than to send her an invitation. But then, she emailed me to share that she had booked her hotel room and to ask if there was anything she could do to help with the party.

There it was, dangling in front of me: opportunity. I seized it. I wrote her a nice note back, which said in part:

As far as the twins' party goes, there actually is something that you can do to help. If you could extend me some grace to plan their party in my own timing, I would appreciate it so much. It is already more stressful than it should have been because I went ahead and picked a date when I really needed to wait until I had more details to plan around. I was waiting on some information on my parents' situations, and to find out when my grandmother's funeral will be (long story) but I also knew that you really wanted me to pick a date, and I didn't want to upset you. Finally, I picked a date just to pick one, and we ended up with a time slot that may not be best for the babies.

And in the end, it is their party. I want them to enjoy it as much as possible. We are happy to consider adding to the guest list - and it would be so much fun to see Uncle A, Aunt B and Aunt C - but first I need to see if the babies are doing any better with their stranger anxiety. I am hoping to observe them for a bit before we invite anyone other than immediate family and friends. (I was encouraged by how they did at church today.) So if you have anyone else you'd like to invite, we would love to consider it, but unfortunately we just can't do so on a short deadline. (By the way, I should let you know that it's doubtful that the hotel will be full that weekend, and if it is, then there are tons of other nice hotels with great deals in town. So no worries on that score.)

During a Skype session later that day, she apologized for being pushy about the date, and agreed to let us decide whom we would and would not invite. I breathed a sigh of relief; I had drawn my line in the sand. I thought it was over.

I was wrong.

The very next morning, Marie called to inform me that many hotels in the area were indeed booked the weekend of the party. The Master Chief's sister was researching rooms and coming up empty. I was confused; hadn't Marie said that she had already booked a room? Oh, yes! She assured me that her hotel was all arranged. But the Master Chief's sister and her family needed a place to stay, too.

The vision I had of our small, local-close-friends-and-grandparents-only birthday party started to erode into a nightmare. I pictured throngs of out-of-town family descending on our small condo all weekend long, overstimulated babies screaming and not napping, and me needing bail after putting Marie in a headlock. Somehow, I managed to keep the explosions inside my head and out of my mouth. I calmly asked Marie (albeit in a strangled sort of voice) if she had extended any other invitations that we should know about. She sounded confused and told me that she hadn't invited anyone at all. I reiterated that she needed to talk to us first before she invited anyone else. That it was for the babies' sake. That they don't do well around large crowds of people. She agreed, but she still sounded confused.

After she hung up, I decided that I needed to call in the big guns. I couldn't quite convince myself that she wasn't inviting her fourth cousin three times removed, even as I sat on the sofa and tried to understand what was going on. So I called the Master Chief at work. He thought it was a dire enough situation that he stopped what he was doing and immediately called his mother. He explained that it was inappropriate of her to invite people to our party, especially after we had just discussed it the day before. He told her that we were upset and frustrated with the situation. She apologized, and promised not to do it again.

Little did we know, the twins' small birthday party had just become a massive, sticky mess.

To be continued...

Fashionably Late

2011-05-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

I feel so honored! Stacey over at Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mom gave me the Stylish Blogger Award. Of course, because I do not have my stuff together this month, I am terribly tardy in posting it. Maybe I should be in the running for the fashionably (or not so fashionably) late award. Stacey, please forgive the delay and thank you so much for thinking of me!

If you haven't met Stacey, pop by her blog and say hi. She has three of the sweetest kiddos ever! I can really relate to her because she is powered by coffee, much like I am, and she has boy/girl twins who are a little older than mine. I love to read about their adventures, and those of their older sister, because I feel like I am getting a sneak peek of what our life will be like in a few months!

The rules for the award are:

Link back to the person who gave you the award.
Tell us seven things about you.
Share the award with others.
Contact the recipients and tell them they've been awarded.

So, here are seven random factoids about me:

I am a sci-fi geek at heart. The Master Chief and I watch a lot of science fiction.
I hate the movie Transformers. I'm not using the word "hate" lightly here. So, it should have been a big clue to the Master Chief that I was really in labor the night he turned it on and I was in too much pain to argue about it.
I love to cook from scratch. I especially love to use fresh, local ingredients.
I get so excited to go to the Farmer's Market, but once we get there, my shyness kicks in and I make the Master Chief do all the ordering and paying.
I tried to cloth diaper and failed spectacularly. We started out with disposables and transitioned to cloth per my master plan, then somehow ended up back in disposables. I love the idea of cloth diapers, but apparently I lack the moxie to make it happen.
I enjoy using unusual words. Like "moxie."
I am terrified of spiders. Shortly after the twins were born, we ventured out to the store as a family (translation: we ran out of diapers). I noticed a very large spider on the inside of the passenger window, mere inches from where I was sitting. So, I did the only sane thing I could in that situation. I hauled my post-partum, bedrest-atrophied butt across the parking brake and into the Master Chief's lap. While he was driving.

I'm nominating the following bloggers, who are not only stylish in a fashion sense, but more importantly have style in terms of personality, character and heart:

Reedu at ReeWrite. This girl puts the style in stylish! She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, her little guy Mylo, and a closet full of fabulous shoes. She volunteers with terminally ill patients, is a fierce advocate for animals and has a sweet pitbull rescue named Ella. She also named her ficus tree Franky, which I think is awesome.
My good friend in "real" life, Kim. I've known Kim since high school, and am truly blessed to be able to call her one of my closest friends. She has a flair for storytelling, and being a preschool teacher, she has plenty of stories to tell! One day I know I'm going to see her name in print, in a Barnes & Noble somewhere. Kim is also one of the most caring and insightful people I've ever met. I love that I can have really deep conversations with her, especially about spiritual matters, and walk away having grasped something new. (I also love that we can be totally girly together, and talk about teen fiction.)

Gifts of Motherhood

2011-05-10T09:12:00.000-07:00

Must...keep...head...above...water...

When I first started blogging a few years ago, I had never heard of "followers." I'm pretty sure I didn't even know that commenting was an option. I just needed a place to be: somewhere that I could pour out my heart and how much I longed for a baby that I couldn't conceive; a safe place where I could vent my anger and hurt without being judged for it. I was drowning, one tear drop at a time.

Then I found the most amazing community of ALI (adoption, loss, infertility) bloggers. Or maybe I should say, they found me. They welcomed me with open hearts; they weren't judgemental; and best of all, they understood me. They loved me exactly as I was, bitterness and all.

Now I write here, on a different blog, and some days I feel as though I have a different life. But while things may look very different on the outside, most days I still feel like I am drowning. The babies are teething and want to be held constantly; I feel like it's all I can do to keep us in clean clothes. (Please, let the Hazelaid baltic amber necklaces arrive today!!) I know in my head that pressure is good, and that character is molded and refined in the tough times. Yet in my heart, sometimes I just want a break. I find myself grousing, we lost so many years of our lives to infertility; why can't life just go smoothly for a while?

But life is not a Staples commercial, and there is no such thing as an easy button. As I sit here, waiting for my mother-in-law to call me back so we can hammer out the boundaries for the twins' birthday party, I feel like I'm gasping for air. And I'm reminded (once again) that joy is not created by circumstances. Joy is a gift of the Creator, and it exists independent of circumstances. In spite of circumstances. In many ways, joy is a choice.

Today, it may just be the choice that gives me enough strength to keep my head up out of the water.

"Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength." ~ Nehemiah 8:10b

Continuing to count the gifts in my life, and learning to walk the path of joy:

101. The privilege of being a mother on Mother's Day.

102. Flowers and balloons.

103. Inchworm sitting up on her own.

104. Another surprise visit from my dad - and he brought lunch!

105. Doodlebug giving hugs.

106. A wonderful anniversary, and dinner at a restaurant with cloth napkins.

107. Courtney, Serendipity, Amber, and Kim - four amazing women who encouraged me through some of the darkest days of my life.

108. Babies laughing at each other, and "talking" to one another.

109. Doodlebug understanding what I wanted him to do and obeying.

110. Inchworm's excitement over her latest discovery: Daddy's ear. (This is really fun, apparently.)

A Recipe for Disaster

2011-05-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how my mother-in-law was miffed that we hadn't started planning the twins' first birthday four months ahead of time. I was so grateful for all of your responses, and I wanted to email each of you back to thank you. That didn't quite happen, partly because I have been scrambling to pull together details for a party that isn't going to happen for another eight weeks. (Why, yes, I am banging my head against the laptop as I type that; how did you know?)

For simplicity's sake, let's call my mother-in-law Marie. (A gold star to anyone who can guess why.) Marie once again brought up the topic of the twins' birthday, and since I have a better idea now of what my own parents' situations will be, I decided to go ahead and pick a date ~~so the woman would quit hounding me~~ so I could reserve the park shelter for the day and time we wanted. Many of you pointed out that this was a bad idea, and that I should wait until I was ready. And you were absolutely right.

Before we reserved the shelter - which, by the way, is in a beautiful wooded area and is very nice - the Master Chief mentioned to his parents what date we were leaning toward. Marie immediately pointed out that it was Father's Day weekend. Honestly, I've been so exhausted lately that this hadn't occurred to me, but as I thought about it, it seemed the Master Chief might enjoy spending his first official Father's Day as a father with his father. Three generations, all together. It sounded nice in my head. (Technically, I guess it's his second, since the twins were actually born on Father's Day. But we were all a mess that day, and while it was very good, it was also very scary, so I feel like it didn't really count.)

Marie wasn't thrilled, but said they didn't have any other plans for that weekend. Something about the tone of her voice made me think she wasn't really ok with it. Then, the next day, I received the following message. Through facebook.

Jenn, What do you think about having the birthday party on the following weekend from Father's Day. That would get it away from the holiday and give your friends a chance to spend Father's Day with [their] families. Just a thought but we will be flexible no matter which day you pick.

This is my head, about to explode.
Photo courtesy of cobrasoft on stock.xchng.

First of all, whatever happened to good old email? Or the phone? Facebook is not the most reliable way to reach me. Secondly, why is she concerned with what my friends have planned? I already had a good idea of who would be able to make it, because (contrary to Marie's opinion) I am actually a pretty solid planner. To anyone who doesn't know Marie or our history together, I'm sure that comes across as a sincere, sweet, kind message. To me, it says: I am trying to plan your party. I began to wonder if "your friends" wasn't code for Marie and my father-in-law. Maybe they had plans that they didn't want to share with us, for some reason?

It was enough to keep me from booking the shelter while I thought it through. When I checked the availability a short while later, I saw that the date I wanted had been booked. As had my second choice. After a brief meltdown, I rallied and found an alternate date that the Master Chief and I were both happy with. It happens to be the Saturday of the 4th of July weekend, but it works for us and for most of our friends. So I did things in the right order this time: I booked the shelter and then informed Marie. She promptly thanked me for planning it "so early," which made me chafe. Her words had the ring of victory.

I would like to say that the matter ended there, and had I written this post earlier today as I intended, that would have been true. The Master Chief received this email today at work:

Just wanted to ask you if I could invite Uncle A, Aunt B and Aunt C to the twins birthday party. I am going to Aunt D's 50th on Sat. and will be going with them.

Don't want to ask them if you already have quite a few coming. Please let me know before Saturday.

I'm kind of curious about a few things. Why did she email the Master Chief instead of me, especially since we already had a message thread going about it on facebook? Also, why is she planning to invite only three of his aunts and uncles? Their family parties seem to be all-or-nothing affairs. I'm a little concerned that if we say yes, everyone else is going to be hurt that they weren't invited.

Most importantly, though, WHY DOES SHE NEED TO KNOW THIS BEFORE SATURDAY? She sees these people frequently, and she certainly could call them at any time. This seems like a classic manipulative move. She goes to the Master Chief instead of me - when she knows I'm planning the party - and then she gives him a deadline to make him feel pressured to say yes.

Well, the Master Chief is awesome. Because he wrote her back and said that I was planning the party, and he would check with me. And I'm going to tell her that I need some time to think about it.

And then I'm going to call her and give her my decision, first thing Sunday morning.

The Business of Busy-ness

2011-04-26T05:32:00.000-07:00

Spring must officially be here, because softball season is in full swing. (Insert groaning here.) The Master Chief played his first game of the year last week. He came back victorious (yay!) but fully covered in mud (boo! hiss!). Maybe that's what makes this time of year seem so busy - extra laundry, weeknight games, batting practices. Maybe it's just that I am obsessed with spring cleaning and organizing at the moment. Or I suppose it could be the spring storms that sweep into town towing migraines in their wake (I am really affected by changes in barometric pressure)...whatever the reason, I have been having trouble finding quality time to spend with the laptop.

It isn't that I don't have anything to say; on the contrary, I have too much that I want to write about! For instance:

My mother-in-law has officially "offered" her opinion of the date we were considering for the twins' birthday. And suggested an alternate. (As you might imagine, I have quite a lot to write about that.)
The tentative peace between the dog and the cats seems to have disintegrated into all-out war. Even as I type, there is a battle raging for control of the litter box. The cats have mounted an offensive and the dog is losing.
Doodle has decided that between 4 and 6 AM is a perfectly acceptable time to start the day, but the closer to 4 AM, the better.
Inchworm is still not sitting up. She can at least hold herself in a sitting position if we put her there, but she can't do it on her own. She has an appointment with the pediatrician later this week. We also have our follow-up visit with the opthamologist.
And apparently I am working though all sorts of infertility baggage still. I think the technical term is "healing," but I much prefer "avoidance."

Hopefully I will be able to hammer out my thoughts on the keyboard more frequently; if not, my head just may explode! It seems fitting that I have the Francesca Battestelli song "This is the Stuff" circling through my head today:

In the middle of my little mess, I forget how big I'm blessed...

Gifts of Mud and Easter

2011-04-25T12:56:00.000-07:00

91. An unexpected visit from my dad.

92. Neither baby fussed too much while he was here, and both warmed up to him pretty quickly (even though they are in a stranger-anxiety phase).

93. A fun evening with good friends.

94. Finding outfits in the closet that fit both babies, and that were suitable for Easter.

95. Making it to church on Easter Sunday!!

96. Getting three quarters of the way through the service before Doodlebug melted down.

97. Going to a church where no one makes me feel uncomfortable for wearing jeans on Easter Sunday (they happen to be the only thing I own that semi-fit right now).

98. Softball. There's a lot more laundry now, but the Master Chief is happy. And covered in mud for most of the week...

Believe it or not, the shoes were less mud-crusted than the rest of him.

99. Finding out that the Master Chief has lined up a babysitter for our anniversary this weekend. DATE NIGHT!

100. My mom bought me Ann's book and it should be here later this week!

The Cat Stole My Straw

2011-04-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

(Sounds like a good title for a collection of short stories, doesn't it? If I ever get around to writing a book, I'm going to name it The Cat Stole My Straw & Other Tales of Feline Insurrection.)

I loved sipping drinks through a straw when I was little. To be more specific, I loved the noise the flexible straws made when they were bent. I felt like they were talking to me, and I would talk back. I guess it was my version of an imaginary friend.

As an adult, for a long time the only straws I encountered were of the Starbucks variety: green, unyielding, and sharp enough to cut your lip. I wasn't a fan. But then, when I was just shy of 27 weeks pregnant, I was hospitalized with pre-term labor and put on the oh-so-dreaded magnesium sulfate IV. I had to go on a liquid diet for a while, and the nurses brought me cups of soup and glasses of water - with straws.

Photo courtesy of colsart on stock.xchng.

I had already been on bedrest for a month; how was it that I hadn't discovered this simple trick? I'm a klutz at the best of times, but it is tough to drink from a glass when you are in a semi-reclined position and have a belly the size of Epcot Center. I had dribbled, dripped and outright poured gallons of water on myself while drinking my daily 432 million ounces. (Ok, so I exaggerate here. I was really only required to drink 431 million ounces a day.)

And so my love affair with the straw burned afresh. We stocked up at home, and after the babies arrived, I found that straws were great for drinking my water while nursing, too. In fact, we bought so many that I still have three left, ten months later. (Hey, the babies are ten months old today! I can't believe it!!)

Well - to be precise, I now have two left. Because Celerity stole one. The brazen little stinker took it right out of my glass last night, when I wasn't looking. I wasn't quite sure what had happened until the Master Chief stepped on it hours later, and we discovered the telltale puncture marks left by tiny kitty teeth. I don't know what her fascination is with long cylindrical objects, but she is obsessed.

Once she stole an entire spear of asparagus right off my dinner plate. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen her running across the floor, victoriously dragging the asparagus beside her like the spoils of war. (It was a huge asparagus spear, and she is a small cat.) She ran out of the room and slipped under a bed, where she gnawed possessively on her prize while I tried to wriggle after her. It's a good thing asparagus isn't toxic for cats, because that spear was history by the time I caught her!

Sometimes I wish I knew what was going on in her crazy little cat-brain. I wonder if she thought the straw was another yummy asparagus spear? If so, I bet she got a nasty surprise when she tried to eat it!

(ETA: I wrote this yesterday, but didn't get a chance to publish it. Wouldn't you know, that silly cat has now absconded with a second straw. Apparently this is a new game.)

Gifts of Suffering

2011-04-19T09:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I am once again late to the party! Instead of Multitudes on Monday, maybe I should find a community named Tardy on Tuesday. Better late than never, I suppose. If you are stopping in from Ann's this week, welcome!

I think I've previously mentioned that my mother is living with her mother, and helping to care for her. My grandmother, whom we affectionately call Oma, left us late Friday night. It was not an easy death, if death ever could be described by such a simple label. She suffered greatly. My mother stayed with her until the end, and she suffered, too.

And as crazy as it sounds, I am coming to see that suffering is a gift.

I listen to my mom describe Oma's fight at the end, her heavy and labored breaths, and the words labor and breathing stick in my heart and my mind. I remember almost ten months ago, my own labor to bring two tiny babies into the world. I think about my own suffering and pain, and how I reached out to touch a miniature blue foot as it was whisked away from me. I remember overwhelming fear, that birth and death would mingle for the precious little boy whose face I had not even seen yet.

I remember more pain, as a crowd of people surged around me; the doctor leaned in close to tell me that they were going to do something that would hurt, but that I was hemorrhaging and I had to suffer through it to live.

Suffer through it to live.

And now I see that birth and death really are all tangled up, but in reverse order. I see that Oma's suffering was really the labor pain of a new life about to start...that as she took her last breath here in this place, the veil fell away....that she opened her eyes and saw Him.

After all, it is through His suffering that we live.

It seems fitting that this is Holy Week, and that Good Friday and Easter loom ahead. I find myself thinking much about Ann's words on dying and living and how they are much the same, and Julia's thoughts on redemption, and how every minute is a gift. I wonder if, in retrospect, ninety years of minutes passes by at lightning speed. I don't know that I will have the opportunity to find out, but in the meantime I have a renewed determination to live every moment that I'm given...to see the gifts around me, and to be grateful.

81. Sweet memories of Oma, and a special game of Sorry played in her honor.

82. The privilege of prayer, and a greater understanding that He is GOOD despite our definition of suffering.

83. Workouts that make me feel stronger and more like my pre-pregnancy self.

84. Lounging around on the couch all weekend, cuddling babies (after a slight overestimation of my physical capabilities resulted in the inability to move for three days).

85. Inchworm staying upright for longer periods of time when I put her in a sitting position.

86. Doodlebug loving to stand up anywhere he can.

87. Classic Sesame Street sing-alongs.

88. Learning how to download the camera, and watching all our old videos of the babies. (They used to be SO tiny!!)

I can't believe they used to be this small!

89. Doodlebug's new-found vocal abilities.

90. Inchworm's new "sneezing" sound (she loves to be told "Bless you" when she sneezes; she figured out how to hear it without waiting for a sneeze).

A Plan to Fail

2011-04-14T05:56:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of ilco on stock.xchng.

Warning: Extremely long post ahead.

We're talking War and Peace-size. Feel free to detour to another blog.

Are you still reading?

Well, you can't say I didn't warn you. Apparently I had a lot to say about this.

Here goes...

I'm a planner. My husband is a planner. So much so, that in our pre-parental lives we even planned to be spontaneous. Seriously. "Hey, let's spontaneously go out to dinner next Friday." (The spontaneous part was picking out the restaurant at the last minute. And yes, I know it's pathetic.)

Growing up, my dad never missed an opportunity to preach his favorite words of wisdom: "Prior Planning Produces Positive Products." So it's no surprise that I turned out the way I did. It would be no surprise to find that my husband is a planner, either, if you could meet his mother.

I love my mother-in-law. She is an amazing woman. She is also the Maharaja of all planners (or whatever the female equivalent of the Maharaja is - Maharani?). Martha Stewart herself would quake in her presence. My mother-in-law's plans are iron-clad, and every detail has its place.

For example, when my husband and I were dating, we stayed with his parents while in town for a family wedding. Shortly before the time I was told to be ready, I put on my cute strappy sandals and saw that my toenail polish was chipped. It was bright red, and the chip was - to say the least - very noticeable. In my twenty-odd years of using nail polish, I had never spilled or dripped it. Not a single drop...that is, until I was standing in the Master Chief's parents' beautifully carpeted guest room. Red nail polish droplets plus light blue fluffy carpet equals panic. I didn't have any nail polish remover with me - and I wasn't sure what that would do to the carpet anyway- so I gathered up my courage and told his mother what I'd done. I expected her to be upset, but to help me clean it up before it dried.

Nope. That wasn't her reaction at all. You see, part of her plan for the day was arriving at the church a half-hour before the wedding was to start. Not to socialize, not to introduce me to the family - just to be early, because it is her way. The way of the uber-planner. It didn't matter if the red drops were arterial blood and I had severed an arm, we were leaving the house at the designated time - exactly according to plan.

Often, her plans are great. She put together a lovely baby shower for me when I was on bedrest, and brought all of the out-of-state family to me, since I couldn't go to them. But sometimes, her plans clash with ours. Like when I was still in the early stages of my pregnancy, and she started planning their trip down for when the babies were born. She wanted to bring an air mattress to set up in the living room or the nursery. The Master Chief explained to her on three different occasions that this wouldn't work. For one thing, the nursery was a disaster area; since I was on bedrest and couldn't organize it, we had boxes and baby things strewn everywhere. And as for putting an air mattress in the living room - well, the cats aren't declawed, and if it's in their area, it's fair game. They also have a habit of trying to sleep with anyone who's within reach, and neither of my in-laws would appreciate waking up to find a cat on their chests, staring them down. (It even creeps me out sometimes, and I'm prepared for it.)

The most important consideration, though, was trying to breastfeed the twins. I just wasn't comfortable having my father-in-law living in our two-bedroom condo with us while I tried to figure out how to nurse the babies. So we explained all of this to them, offered to help with hotel costs, and thought the matter settled. Then, the day after the babies were born, we learned that my mother-in-law had decided that her plans trumped ours.

I should say first off that we had a bit of a rough hospital stay. Somehow we miraculously avoided the NICU, but Doodle and I had some slight complications, and it seemed like there were always people in our room. So when my cell phone rang the second night we were there, I let it go to voicemail. When the Master Chief's phone rang, he did the same. But then the room phone rang, and we finally answered it.

It was my mother-in-law. She was calling all the numbers she could find, because she needed to finalize her plans. And as we listened to her speak, we both started to feel sick to our stomachs. Because she and the Master Chief's father were still planning on bringing the air mattress and camping out on our floor. She had it all worked out months ahead of time, but needed to know the particulars of our release from the hospital to coordinate things on her end.

We were exhausted. I was under the influence of a thousand different hormones, and I got upset. The Master Chief was too tired to deal with it and wanted to just let them come to avoid an argument. I knew I wouldn't feel comfortable breastfeeding with my father-in-law walking around, and the nursing hadn't gotten off to a great start, anyway. Finally, my sweet husband left the hospital to call his mom back so that I wouldn't have to overhear the most uncomfortable conversation of his life, as he informed her that she needed to change her plans.

I guess, then, that I shouldn't have been surprised when she asked me in March about the plans for the twins' birthday. Which is on June 20th. And I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when she sounded miffed that I hadn't made any yet, either. Nor should I have been surprised on any of the occasions that she's brought it up since then...yet somehow it catches me off guard each time. (It's worth mentioning that she's retired and doesn't have any actual need for this information, other than wanting to plan their hotel stay in the same hotel they always stay in, which is never even close to capacity.)

Photo courtesy of Thais Mor on stock.xchng.

I do have ideas - I have a theme picked out, and a general outline of what we're going to do for the party. But I'm going to wait until at least the end of April to pick a date. There are some complications with my side of the family - my parents are divorced, and cannot be in the same room at the same time. So probably only one can come to the party, and we will make separate plans with the other one. Of course, my mom is caring for her mother in another state, and may not be able to get away at all. My dad is currently living near us, but may be moving soon. So I'd like to get a better feel for which of them (if either) might be able to come, and how we can include both in our birthday festivities, before I commit to a date for the actual party. It's complicated, but I love them both and want them to be involved as much as they are able. And despite what my mother-in-law may think, I am planner enough to handle all those moving pieces.

But, in her eyes, this is a failure to plan since I didn't have a date for the party picked out way back in March. And we all know that a failure to plan is a plan to fail! Maybe she should pray that my aim fails when she comes for the party, otherwise she might find herself covered in cake...

(Just kidding. Kind of.)

I do want to reiterate that my mother-in-law is a wonderful lady. It's great that she wants to be a part of the twins' lives and a part of their first birthday celebration. But I also need her to understand that our lives are complex (especially given the situation on my side of the family), and that sometimes it's best not to make plans without having adequate information.

So what would you do if you were in my shoes? Should I pick a date just to pacify my mother-in-law, or stick to my guns and wait until I have better information to plan the party around?

Gifts of Milestones and Meatballs

2011-04-11T08:36:00.000-07:00

Well hello, blogworld! I've missed you.

Last week was, to say the least, busy. The 2012 Olympics are fast approaching, and I've been stepping up my training schedule. I hope to qualify for at least three events in my sport, which is Track, Field & Diapering. In fact, my coach decided I was ready for a whole new level of difficulty this morning. He added a triple corkscrew roll with diaper cream to our already challenging routine for the 1-Meter Dash. It still needs a lot of work; I only had one side of the diaper fastened by the time the baby was one meter away from our starting point. He kindly left behind a wide swath of diaper ointment for me to go back over our course and review my mistakes.

Seriously, it really has been a little crazy around here. There is something about spring that makes me crave vinegar, baking soda and some serious scrubbing time. Maybe it's just that this time last year, I was ~~manacled to the bed~~ constantly on bedrest or in the hospital, and I never got the chance to organize, clean and do all of those fun nesting-type activities.

So I decided to make up for my lack of Spring Cleaning when I was pregnant with an overabundance of organization this year. The problem is, everything is interconnected. I started on the storage closet in the nursery, but quickly got stuck. (Literally and figuratively; at one point, I did find myself surrounded by boxes, with no easy escape in sight.) I decided that I needed to move stuff into the master bedroom closet, which was an even worse mess. And then I considered that the bookshelves in the dining room should, for babyproofing reasons, be moved into our closet as well. Of course, I had to move everything from the first closet back out again.

I'll be the first to say it. It wasn't well-planned. Although technically, the Master Chief was the first person to point that out. And the second. And the third...well, perhaps we could just note that he wasn't pleased with my organizing efforts. It was like a bad game of dominos. Stuff from one closet tumbled to the next, until my poor husband found himself cleaning our outside storage closet on Saturday instead of chilling on the couch with yummy munchies and the XBox.

The house still looks like an F5 tornado ripped through it. And I will get right back to organizing, once I'm finished cleaning up the diaper cream...that stuff can really smear!

I am continuing to list the gifts for which I am thankful this week, gifts which are teaching me that order and cleanliness are important, but that grace and life are wonderfully messy sometimes, too.

71. Doodlebug standing for the first time.

72. Learning that people are more important than tasks, and that cuddling on babies is a higher priority than cleaning up clutter.

73. Conversations with Inchworm, which consist of her laughing and saying "Mama" over and over again.

74. The smell of freshly baked bread, made especially for the Master Chief. Gluten, how I miss thee...let me count the ways!

75. A family outing in unexpectedly hot weather - and finding out that the stroller seats recline for sleeping babies.

76. Heart-shaped meatballs - and a gluten-free/dairy-free/egg-free recipe that worked.

77. Traipsing through memories long-packed away.

78. Playing hours of XBox with the Master Chief after the babies went to bed.

79. Answered prayers for someone I love dearly.

80. A baby on the way for good friends.

Gifts of Love

2011-04-04T08:57:00.000-07:00

Please meet my sister Mary. She's the beautiful blonde in the picture below. (I am the crazy-looking one on the left, who was just SO EXCITED to be out of the house.)

Me: Crazy person on left.
Mary: Gracious, sick, pregnant lady on right who is being forced by her nutto sister to take pictures in the freezing cold. She's even more amazing because she didn't hit me over the head with the camera (which would have been fully deserved).

These are Mary's children.

Gianna (with Inchworm)

Elijah

Tatiana

Anastastia

This time last year, Ana, Eli and Tati lived in an Eastern European orphanage. They were born with Down's Syndrome in a culture which does not understand that kids with special needs can learn...laugh...love...live normal lives. Their biological parents were probably told that these children would be a financial and emotional drain on their families; they may have even been considered a curse. And so they were abandoned to an orphanage, where funds were limited and resources scarce. Bananas, the cheapest item on my grocery list, are an expensive delicacy to the kids who live there. It is a bleak and heartbreaking place.

For kids like Ana, Eli, and Tati - orphans with special needs - the future holds even more sorrow. By the time they reach four years of age, they are transferred from the orphanage, the only home and caretakers they have ever known, to a mental institution, where they will do little more than wait to die.

That is, if they even make it that long. Ana, who was three-and-a-half years old when Mary brought her home, weighed only 15 pounds. She was malnourished and had only a few teeth. (For perspective, my nine month old son - who is so small that he is not even on the growth chart yet - weighs over 16 pounds. He also has more teeth than she did.) Two-and-a-half year old Elijah weighed in at 15 pounds as well, showed signs of institutional autism and had some other health concerns. Tatiana was a healthier weight, but was infested with parasites. Tati was also the only one who was truly mobile, although all three have flat spots on the backs of their heads from spending the majority of their lives on their backs in a crib.

I shudder to think about what would have happened to my sweet nieces and nephew had they not found their "forever family." (You can read about their journey at Threefold Blessings.) Not even a full year later, they are completely different children. Eli makes eye contact and is crawling. Ana is walking, teething and feeding herself. Tati has started speaking. But the sad truth is that there are thousands more who are desperate for the same chance - to have a family, to love and be loved, to live. It breaks my heart.

If you are interested in helping in any way - whether through financial support or prayer or something else - please visit Reece's Rainbow, the ministry which helped facilitate my sister's adoptions. I would also encourage you to read about Carrington, who was recently adopted from Eastern Europe and was found to be severely malnourished (she weighed only 11 pounds and is fighting for her life), and Kirill, whose adoption was denied simply because he has Down's Syndrome.

Someday, I hope to be in a position to adopt one of these sweet babies into our own family. Until then, I will keep praying. Kirill especially is heavy on my heart, as his adoption ruling is being appealed.

Continuing to list the gifts in my life, and the amazing people and things for which I give thanks...

61. My sister Mary. Her heart is so big, and her love for orphans is infectious. (And her husband George too!)

62. Spunky Anastasia.

63. Joyful Tatiana.

64. Precious Elijah.

65. Sweet Gianna.

66. My new nephew - or niece. I'm excited to find out who you are!

67. Reece's Rainbow, and the lives they save.

68. Spring storms that make the grass glow green.

69. Getting organized - and learning to enjoy the process. (Because I am still doing battle with the closet!)

70. Goosebumps and truth realized.

The Game is Afoot

2011-03-30T08:13:00.000-07:00

It's mocking me.

Sitting back there, calling me names.

It thinks I won't do anything. It thinks I'm weak and can't lift any of those boxes.

It thinks I'm afraid. (Well, ok...maybe I am.)

Photo courtesy of Amy Burton on stock.xchng.

Too bad for you, hugely overstuffed closet, because I am bringing storage tubs and trash bags and a resolve to give away anything we don't need. Get ready...I am going to ORGANIZE YOU.

(For all my lovely friends in blogland, if I don't return to posting anytime soon, please send in the rescue dogs. I may well be buried in an avalanche of Christmas ornaments and old towels.)

Early Morning Gifts

2011-03-29T09:23:00.000-07:00

I am a little late to the party this week, but I have a good reason. Yesterday was my husband's birthday, and he took a vacation day. He spent some Daddy time with the twins so I could go shopping, and then he helped me ~~drag~~ take the babies to their nine-month check-ups. He used his day off to take care of all of us! So it should be no surprise that he tops my gratitude journal this week:

41. My sweet husband. He's an amazing gift for which I am ever more thankful. (And he is incredibly gracious. I really screwed up his birthday cake, but he still said it was beautiful.)

42. Icing that can be used as spackle to hold ~~large crumbs~~ pieces of cake together.

43. Early morning playtime with energetic Doodlebug.

44. Late morning snuggles with sleepyhead Inchworm.

45. Conversations with my mom about truth and living hard gratitude. She inspires me.

46. Retail therapy - even more fun because I was shopping for other people!

47. An organized freezer.

48. The rich smell of simmering stock, permeating the whole house.

49. The process of cleaning/organizing; learning to identify what I can do without.

50. Sunshine and crisp, refreshing winds.

51. Quiet evenings.

52. Uninterrupted sleep.

53. Hot coffee on a chilly morning.

54. Learning that stress can teach me to be gracious and patient, but only if I let it.

55. Banana and mesh feeder messes.

56. The Master Chief's excitement for the soon-to-start Friday night softball league.

57. Inchworm's new conversational inflections.

58. Doodlebug learning to sit up on his own (without pulling up on anything).

59. Getting back on a schedule.

60. Energy to start working out again.

The Chronicles of Riddick

2011-03-24T09:16:00.000-07:00

Terriers are known for several things, among them tenacity and intelligence. Our Scottie Riddick exhibits both of those traits in spades. When there is something he wants, he doesn't let go of the idea easily. Instead he's content to wait until the time is right for him to strike.

Shortly after he joined our family, I noticed that he was particularly attentive any time we used paper products. The Master Chief has horrible allergies, and every time he sneezed, the dog was right there eyeing the tissue box surreptitiously. Riddick waited until I was preoccupied with laundry and then he seized his chance. When I walked back into the living room, I was surrounded by a cloud of white fluff. Kleenex-confetti rained down like beads at a Mardi Gras parade.

Score: Riddick 1, Kleenex 0

So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when, not too long after the tissue throwdown, Riddick discovered the litter box. He mistook it for a sandbox of treats. Not only was this disgusting, but it was potentially dangerous, too. (Thankfully, his foray into coprophagia did not result in any vet visits, and he was fine.) I went on a shopping spree and found a tall, top-loading litter box. It looked like a regular storage bin, and when we placed it in a small alcove next to the computer desk, the dog couldn't reach the opening.

But now that we need to baby-proof as well as dog-proof, I started having second thoughts about the litter box. I went on another shopping spree and found the perfect solution: cat litter furniture. It has an entryway designed to trap litter particles, followed by a second compartment for the litter pan.

The cats' fancy new litter box

Once we set it up, it was easy to see that neither the dog (who at that point resembled a small grizzly bear) nor the children could get through the small entryway. And if the dog did somehow manage to get past the first compartment, I was sure he would get stuck there and would never try it again. I congratulated myself on my brilliance. Then, as I had promised the cats, I arranged for Riddick to visit the groomer.

Maybe his new haircut made him feel daring. Or maybe he knew that I was having a very bad day, and that if ever he had an opportunity to break into the litter box unopposed, this was it. (I've heard that animals can smell fear; maybe they can also smell insanity.) Maybe he realized that if you rearrange the first four letters of carpe diem, it spells "crap." Whatever his reasoning was, he carpe'd the crap. And then he got stuck.

Exhibit A. Dog paw

When I first walked by, on my way to the laundry room, I thought it was a cat leg sticking out. Then I realized that the paw had fur on it - and our cats are Sphynxes (furless). I again congratulated myself on my brilliance, because clearly the dog had not made it past the first compartment. But then, as I continued to celebrate my foresight and planning, I saw something else:

Exhibit B. Dog backside

Somehow he managed to wriggle around so that his head and one shoulder made it into the second compartment (where the litter pan was). All my brilliance, all my foresight...foiled. Back to the drawing board.

Does your pet get into anything that he/she shouldn't? If you have any funny pet stories to share, please do!

Poo in the Stew?

2011-03-23T08:03:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday was one for the record books. It was the day before our Ferber attempt, and I was exhausted. Both babies were overtired and were melting down one after the other. Doodlebug in particular was feeling very clingy - when I turned away from him to pick up a toy, it elicited crying that could be heard for miles. Still, I was determined to make it a good day.

So I turned to Bob and Larry and the VeggieTales gang. After all, much like a rollergirl hot on the trail of victory, the stapler song had been skating violent loops in my brain for days. Maybe listening to it again would be the cure I needed. (Watch the video below at your own risk. None of the traditional remedies worked - not even singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.)

I settled Doodlebug in the jumper, and Inchworm in the exersaucer. Once everyone had quieted, I determined that I was going to do something wonderful to show my appreciation for the Master Chief, and all the ways he's pitched in to help recently. It had to be something really good...something epic. Something like homemade beef stew.

I should mention that the Master Chief has been doing much of the cooking lately. I should also mention that he hates to cook, which makes it even more special when he does. He is the stereotypical meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so what better way to say thank you than with meat and potatoes? Since we had taken a trip out to the farm lately, I had grass-fed beef on hand. I also had fresh veggies...I started getting excited, despite the hectic morning. It was going to be good. I just had to be careful not to set off our newly fixed smoke detectors, which are very sensitive and too high for me to reach (even with a ladder).

I started sauteeing some onions, and humming the stapler song to myself. (So much for a cure...) Then, I smelled something not onion-related. Sure enough, Doodle needed a diaper change. My pan hadn't been hot enough when I started the onions, so I decided to let them cook a bit while I whisked out a quick diaper change. After all, the little guy had already had two dirty diapers that morning - how bad could this one be?

Apparently...it could be and it was B.A.D. Bad as in, possibly the messiest diaper I have ever changed in my entire life. Homeland Security should have issued a warning. His crib looked like a bomb went off. (Side note: I've been changing the babies in their cribs lately. They are on a mission to roll around naked, and it's the only place I can corral them long enough to get a new diaper on.) But, he was clean. And I smelled burning onions.

I didn't have time to put a new diaper on him. Even the stapler song was obliterated by my thoughts of keeping the smoke detectors silent. The kid had already gone through three diapers in just a few hours; surely he was finished, right? So I put clean Doodle in his sister's crib with a toy while I raced back to the kitchen to rescue the onions.

I'm pretty sure I washed my hands first. I mean, I always wash my hands after diaper changes. I have the chafing and dry skin to prove it. But I was tired, and I don't always remember things I do when I'm tired...so just because I don't remember washing my hands doesn't mean I didn't do it. I think. And I didn't actually touch the onions, just the wooden spoon...but still. So much potential for contamination! I am a biologist by education, and thanks to my microbiology classes, I HATE GERMS. With a passion. I don't even use public restrooms. So there is no way I touched anything in my kitchen without scrubbing down first. I think...arrrgh.

My anxiety attack was stopped cold when Doodle started crying again. It wasn't "I'm bored; get me out of this crib" crying; it was "There is something really wrong and it needs to be fixed NOW" crying. While I had been saving our dinner, Doodle had been peeing - all over himself, and all over his sister's crib. Then, he rolled so that he was aiming out the side of the crib, and he peed all over the carpet, too. (Although I didn't find this out until later, when I was stripping the mattress and stepped in it.)

I would like to say that the rest of the day was drama-free, but Riddick decided to add his own finishing touches on my break with sanity. He deserves a post all to himself, so I will share his latest antics tomorrow (complete with photographic evidence). I did serve the stew for dinner, and the Master Chief loved it. I would have enjoyed it more if I wasn't so worried about whether there was extra "flavoring" involved.

Sleep Wars, Episode VI: Return of the REM Cycle

2011-03-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

We tried a new sleep strategy (the Ferber Method) over the weekend. Once we realized that we were getting up as many as sixteen times a night with the babies, we knew we had to do something. Our gentle, no-cry sleep plans resembled Alderaan after the Death Star blew it to pieces. We were barely functioning, and the babies were getting fussier and fussier. It wasn't good for any of us. (The cats were pretty ticked off too; after all, the house belongs to them at night and should be off limits to all of us humans. Even sweet Riddick was annoyed that his pillow - aka my feet - kept moving all night long.)

We decided that the Master Chief would be the one to put the babies to bed and soothe them at increasing intervals. (The twins are breastfed, and we didn't want to tease them by having the breakfast bar walking in and out of the room.) He bought sodas and snacks and Golden Oreos until our kitchen resembled a hurrican preparedness kit. I planned to leave the house - although, as bedtime neared, I couldn't even muster the energy to make it to the car. So I barricaded myself in the back bathroom with the laptop, Netflix, ear plugs and pedicure supplies. We dug in our heels and prepared for an all-nighter of tears and tantrums.

The Master Chief put them to bed at 9 PM, which (per the plan) is late for them. He went in after three minutes, and then again after another five.

AND THEN THEY WERE ASLEEP.

Really. They each woke up only once that night. The next night, they were asleep within five minutes. Inchworm slept all the way through, and Doodle woke up once (albeit briefly). And that's pretty much the way it's been ever since! Naptimes are a little more difficult - Doodlebug has trouble settling down - but they are getting better, too. I wish we had tried this months ago!

Photo courtesy of tylerjones on stock.xchng.

And, oh! How wonderful it feels to sleep for hours at a time. My eyes have finally unpacked the bags they've been dragging around since Thanksgiving. My skin no longer resembles a pepperoni pizza (well, maybe slightly). And my energy levels are getting back to normal. The kitchen has been cleaned, and I finally scaled Mount Laundry.

Welcome back, REM cycle! How I've missed you!

Gifts of Spinach and Spring

2011-03-21T11:17:00.000-07:00

Last week, I began a journey to celebrate the gifts in my life. It's a small attempt to cultivate a thankful heart, but one that has already started to change the way I view the world around me. Here is my continuing list of gifts, great and small, for which I am deeply thankful:

21. Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems by Richard Ferber, M.D., and all the information in it.

22. Babies who SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT!

23. A dozen roses from my husband.

24. Gorgeous sunshine and cool spring breeze, all weekend long.

25. A beautiful day outside at the zoo.

26. The twins' first time riding in the stroller without their car seats.

27. Painted toenails.

28. Waking up feeling rested and ready to start the day.

29. Open windows and the smell of spring.

30. A smile and a chat with a sweet neighbor.

31. Learning that the babies will eat anything as long as there is garlic in it...

32. ...but that spinach is best when eaten plain. New favorite food!

33. Inchworm is growing hair - and it looks like it will be dark!

34. Doodlebug's hair is getting lighter and longer - he almost has enough for a shampoo mohawk!

35. Making shepherd's pie from scratch.

36. Making time to feed my soul.

37. Watching March Madness with my husband, because it makes him happy.

38. Watching the laundry pile dwindle down to nothing.

39. Honking of geese in the sky.

40. Birds playing on the balcony.

March ICLW

2011-03-21T08:08:00.000-07:00

Welcome ICLW-ers! If you've not stopped by before, please allow me to introduce myself:

My name is Jennifer, and I used to be an ultra-organized control freak. When my husband (aka the Master Chief, for his never-ending ~~addiction to~~ enjoyment of Halo) and I decided it was time to expand our family, I planned carefully. Each month I was convinced I was pregnant; I had every sign and symptom - except for the important one, the little pink line on the stick.
After nearly a year of trying on our own, I was diagnosed with PCOS. Thus began the dark days of infertility drugs and (even more) wacked out hormones.
Years later, when I was completely broken and on the verge of giving up, we decided to do acupuncture followed by an IVF cycle. I was terrified that the cycle would be cancelled - I had severe OHSS and my ovaries were the size of grapefruits. Amazingly, we were allowed to continue. Even more amazingly, we were pregnant.
Our boy/girl twins joined our family nine months ago yesterday, which happened to be Father's Day. We've nicknamed them Doodlebug and Inchworm. I'm not sure where Doodlebug came from, or why I started calling him that. He used to be so tiny, which may have been part of it. Inchworm got her nickname from her trademark I-want-to-nurse-NOW move, where she pushes her bottom out and scoots her face down. (She does this in her sleep now, too, and pushes her bottom way up in the air.)
Our family would not be complete without our two Sphynx cats, Serenity and Celerity, and our Scottish terrier, Riddick. The cats have had some complaints lately, but mostly they are pleased to allow us to live here and serve them.
I am a Christ-follower, and lately I've been trying to recognize all the gifts He has given me and be grateful for them. It is truly changing how I view the world around me, and I love it. I feel like I'm rediscovering joy.

So that's me in a nutshell. I'd love to hear about you! Please leave me a link in the comments if you don't have a Blogger profile, so I can return the visit. :)

Sleep Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope

2011-03-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, in a nursery not so far away...

It is a period of civil war. Two babies, striking from their comfy cribs, have won many victories against their exhausted parents. During recent battles, the parents conspired to unleash the ultimate weapon, the FERBER METHOD, a plan with the power to teach the babies to soothe themselves back to sleep on their own. Pursued by sinister stacks of laundry and dangerous dirty diapers, Mommy races through her new book, custodian of the secret plans that can save her sleep and restore sanity to the family...

Photo courtesy of clix on stock.xchng.

As you may have guessed, the babies are still having some major sleep challenges at night. As you may also have guessed, I am a major sci-fi geek. And the less sleep I get, the geekier I become. I am only moments away from whipping out my beloved Star Trek Federation Academy sweatshirt from high school. It is awesome and it is authentic, because I bought it at a Star Trek Convention. But, I digress.

The Master Chief and I have decided that something has to be done. We've been keeping sleep logs, and have been horrified to discover that between the two babies, we've been getting up ten to sixteen times a night. The fastest way to get them back to sleep is to nurse them - and oh my word, is that a lot of nursing. This Mommy is wiped out!

Now that we've read Dr. Ferber's book, Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems, we're ready to implement one of his solutions. We're going to start tonight with the progressive-waiting approach: the plan is to allow the babies to cry for very short intervals, after which one of us will go in and briefly reassure them. The intervals get longer until a maximum amount of time is reached; so on the first night, the intervals start at 3 minutes, and gradually increase until they are being left alone in their cribs for ten minutes at a time. Doodlebug has a lot of separation anxiety, so we think this will work better for him than just letting him cry continuously.

The big question is whether to do this while both babies are in the nursery. We've tried moving each one of them to our room recently, but this didn't work out so well. We're seriously considering keeping them both in their cribs; maybe, in the long run, it will help them learn to sleep through each other's noises.

Interrupted sleep, lack of sleep...it's not good for the twins, and it's not good for us. We have to find a solution, and I hope this is it. Wish us luck!

House Rules

2011-03-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Cats,

I am sorry that our home does not meet with your approval. I would like to take this opportunity not only to respond to your complaints, but also to review a few of the House Rules.

1.) The dog, or "the beast" as you call him, will not be leaving. He is sweet and gentle, and fulfills a very important role in our household. Besides keeping my feet warm at night, he is quick to snap up anything that is dropped, spilled, or thrown from a highchair. He is a canine Dyson and splat mat rolled into one. (I do, however, agree with you about the breath. I also think he rolled in something bad, so we will be making an appointment with the groomer ASAP.)

2.) The tiny humans will not be leaving, either. I think it is only fair to warn you that they soon will be mobile. This gives them the ability to bring their noises and smells even closer to you. Also, being cats, I'm sure you know all about curiosity. May I suggest keeping your tails where you can see them at all times.

3.) The litter box, and its fancy new chest, will not be moving anywhere else. There is no reason why you cannot jump down and walk on the floor. It takes far more energy to leap from the love seat to the coffee table to the couch to the cat tree to the kitchen island counter to the sofa table to the litter chest. I would also like to point out that you are no longer kittens, and some of those jumps require perfect Olympic long-jump form. As neither of you are, in fact, feline gold medalists, your near-miss, using-claws-as-grappling-hooks landings violate one of the essential House Rules:

Digging your claws into any piece of furniture which I like and wish to keep is not allowed at any time or for any reason.

(I do wish to note here that the coffee table is very old and a few new scratches may help the Master Chief to decide it's time to go furniture shopping. Have at it.)

4.) The "male human slave" does not actually work for you. When he returns each night from a long day of work for his real employer, he is tired. And instead of a relaxing evening, he comes home to an even longer night of trying to convince the tiny humans to sleep. So, if he derives a little pleasure from pretending you are Ninja Kitties, go with it. After all, his paycheck provides for your food, toys, fluffy comforter, and treats.

It has also not escaped my notice that you purr very loudly during these Ninja Kitty play sessions...

5.) Finally, as you bring up the topic of the kitchen, I would like to remind you of some other basic House Rules:

Stay out of the kitchen sink.

Your bowl is filled with cool, refreshing water at least twice each day. This water is filtered; it is the water that I myself drink. It tastes good, and is good for you. There is no reason to lap up lukewarm soapy water that has been sitting in a dirty plate. This behavior only results in projectile vomiting throughout the house, and try as I might to clean it up as soon as I find it, the ~~Dyson~~ dog sometimes gets there first. So, if you want his breath to smell better as you claim you do, stop drinking out of the sink.

Eat the food that you are given.

The kibble at the bottom of the bowl is no better than the kibble at the top. Similarly, kibble fresh out of the bag is no better than the kibble I gave you five minutes ago. Using your nose to push all the food out of your dish is not an acceptable reason for me to refill the bowl. It is also not a valid reason to wail pathetically. The food is still there for your eating pleasure; it's just on the counter where you spilled it.

Also, I would like to point out that your feeding schedule has not changed in years. Dinner always has been, and always will be, at 5:30 PM. We have never, ever missed a feeding. You are not going to starve (in fact, the vet has even suggested that one of you needs a diet). Perching on the top of the refrigerator like a ravenous vulture will not hurry dinner along. Neither will jumping on my head when my back is turned - in fact, this may have the opposite effect and delay dinner further.

I hope that we will be able to amicably resolve our differences, and that you can once again enjoy living here in our humble abode. Also, I regret to inform you that if there is a coming revolution as you say, you are going to lose because, well, you're cats. But that is also precisely why we love you and your crazy antics. Now, let's put all this behind us and go cuddle on the couch.

Lovingly,

The Management

(Photo courtesy of Jason Morrison on stock.xchng.)

Learning the Art of Thankfulness

2011-03-14T12:34:00.000-07:00

Every journey starts with one small step, or so I'm told.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how I've been running head-first into gratitude everywhere I turn. Or maybe I should say heart-first, because that's where it's been grabbing me. And still I must not get it, because the encounters continue:

My mom, in phone conversations and texts, reminds me to "Give thanks in everything, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thessalonians 5:18 HCSB*, emphasis mine) I stumble across a blog post about Jja Ja Maria, who has joy and gratitude in spite of much suffering and pain, and about Katie, who is reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and challenging herself to understand that the way she labels one thing good and another bad prevents her from seeing them all as gifts and beauty and joy.

Julia, just a few days later, recommends the same book to me. I'm curious and as I go to the author's website, I find that Julia's weekly thankfulness posts are part of a larger community. A multitude of bloggers, writing about a multitude of blessings, capturing the joy of the moment and cultivating gratitude. Multitudes on Mondays, they call it. And I want what they have...this ability to find beauty in the seemingly mundane, to see the Creator's Hand at work in all things.

So here is my small step towards rediscovering joy and chronicling the gifts in my own life...

1. Middle-of-the-night snuggles with Doodlebug.

2. Good-morning "kisses" from Inchworm.

3. Bath time fun.

4. Chirping birds who sing of the promise of Spring.

5. Thin slices of cucumber that make my everyday-turkey sandwich look and taste fancy.

6. Long phone conversations with my sister.

7. Family bonding over basketball.

8. Doodlebug pulling himself up to a sitting position all by himself for the first time, and being thisclose to crawling.

9. Inchworm's new-found fascination with tummy time in her crib.

10. Video calls with loved ones who are far away.

11. Giggles with Daddy.

12. Getting a sweet, unexpected e-card from my husband.

13. An overdue visit with a cherished friend and her new baby.

14. A quiet trip to the store - all by myself.

15. My husband keeping me company through marathon nighttime nursing sessions with Golden Oreos, 30 Rock and laughter.

16. Homemade hearty beef stew on a cold night.

17. Toothless grins that are starting to be slightly less toothless.

18. Shrieks of laughter courtesy of Dr. Seuss and One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish , Blue Fish.

19. Riddick curling up at my feet in the middle of the night.

20. Watching Inchworm gently touch Doodlebug's head as they play together.
*HCSB = Holman Christian Standard Bible

An Open Letter From the Cats

2011-03-09T13:52:00.000-08:00

Attention Management:

It has not escaped our notice that the quality of your establishment has been in rapid decline over recent years. We have tolerated many indignities during our stay, but the latest events have pushed us beyond the limits of feline patience. We must therefore insist upon a few changes:

1.) We demand that you evict the beast. We have tolerated his presence for years, but can endure it no longer. His pungent breath has taken on a new odor that smells suspiciously like spit-up. Most concerning, though, is the way he approaches us when we try to play with the tiny humans’ toys. It is almost as if he wishes to play with us. We shudder at the thought.

2.) We also require the removal of the tiny humans, which are disruptive and disgusting. Our delicate noses cannot endure the offensive odors emanating from their diapers. They emit sharp noises that pierce our sensitive ears, often at times when we are sleeping. Not to mention, the tiny humans don’t ever seem to sleep themselves; they are always filling our space with their noises and smells, even in the middle of the night. We suggest an exterminator be scheduled with the utmost haste.

3.) We demand the repositioning of our litter box. While we appreciate the delicate décor of the new wooden chest which conceals our litter (and the double-entryway which prevents access by the beast and the tiny humans) its location in the front hall requires us to walk on the floor. This is not acceptable.

4.) We insist upon more respectful treatment from the male human slave. Contrary to his erroneous belief, we are not “Ninja Kitties.” We do not appreciate having our paws moved in mock-karate moves, nor do we enjoy the associated “Ninja” noises that are made. Should he do it again, we will show him ninja moves of our own, and it will involve claws.

5.) Lastly, we require that the kitchen begin serving dinner on demand. The dry food that is provided, peasant-style, disgusts us. We do not want to wait until the male human slave returns home at night to eat our wet food. Sometimes we may wish to eat at 2 PM, or we may wish to eat at 6 AM. We insist that you inform the kitchen accordingly.

We will be watching carefully to make sure that these changes are enacted swiftly. If you do not comply with our wishes, you will pay a steep penalty during the coming revolution.

Sincerely,

Serenity & Celerity

aka "The Cats"

Victories, Big and Small

2011-03-04T09:30:00.000-08:00

I feel like a brand new woman today. For the first time in several months (possibly since Thanksgiving), I slept for three hours IN A ROW. At NIGHT.

This is huge. Bigger than the last flight of Discovery. Bigger than Lindsay Lohan's legal issues. Bigger than *gasp* a Chipotle burrito.

Silly Mama, babies don't need sleep!

Now, I know what you're thinking. Nothing is bigger (or better) than a Chipotle burrito. And as it's lunchtime here, my stomach thinks you may be right. But after endless weeks of getting up once (and sometimes twice) an hour all night long, it felt so good to finally get into a deeper stage of sleep. Inchworm only woke once all night long, and had her brother not been so loud, I think she would have made it the whole night through. Doodlebug turned in a magnificent performance, sleeping an entire four-hour stretch before reverting to his hourly wakings (and yes, this Mama should have turned in when he did; I would have had even another hour's sleep!).

It may be pouring rain outside but the sun is shining bright in my living room today!

Since we've been having such awful sleep challenges, I haven't had the energy to even try to get the babies outside. Our condo is on the third floor, and it takes some serious muscle to get everybody downstairs. Having spent much of my pregnancy on bedrest, and having spent most of the last eight months either nursing babies or begging them to sleep, I do not have serious muscle. (I don't even have flippant muscle.) However, when the opthamologist called to say Inchworm's glasses were ready, I found that I didn't have a choice. The Master Chief had a busy week at work, and couldn't make it home during the slim window of time we were given to make the pick-up.

Inchworm isn't too thrilled with the glasses, or as she thinks of them, her new teether.

It took forever to get down the stairs (and I needed a breather halfway through getting back up them), but we did it! I haven't tried to take both babies anywhere by myself since before the holidays (when the babies were much lighter), and to know that I can go anywhere I want without help is completely freeing.

What victories are you celebrating this week?

10 Signs You Need More Sleep

2011-03-03T09:45:00.000-08:00

10. You call your kids by the pets' names, and you don't realize what you've done until your husband starts laughing.

9. You find yourself watching the Charlie Sheen debacle on tv because you're too tired to change the channel, using the remote that is right next to you.

8. When the barista at the Starbucks drive-thru tries to give you someone else's order, you realize that you never actually placed your own order, despite having been parked by the speaker station for ten minutes while you waited in line. (The Master Chief did this one.)

7. You try to put the diaper on the baby backwards, and get angry because, clearly, there is something wrong with the diaper.

6. You waste five minutes trying to pop up the stroller before you notice that it's upside down and the wheels are nowhere near the pavement.

5. One of the babies looks like Rainbow Brite because you forgot what color shirt you pulled out of the drawer thirty seconds ago, and decided to go with the loud purple pants.

4. The baby that looks like Rainbow Brite is your son, and it is quite probable that he is wearing his sister's clothes.

3. At 3 AM, you finally discover that what's itching you from inside your bra is actually tiny bits of every meal that you ate all day. Because you can no longer get food from the plate to your mouth without dropping it in your cleavage.

2. You also find evidence inside your bra that you were the one who polished off the rest of your husband's cookies, even though you have no memory of doing it and denied it vehemently. Nevertheless, Oreo crumbs do not lie.

1. You are too tired to speak English accurately, and can't be bothered with using articles or the correct word order. For instance,

"Now tired bed brush." (to the Master Chief - I think I was trying to say that I was going to brush my teeth and go to bed.)
"Glasses baby look good." (to the puzzled assistant at the opthamologist's office - I hope he didn't think I was calling him baby.)

Book Buzz

2011-02-26T13:49:00.000-08:00

We've started a new routine in our home. Each weeknight now, when the Master Chief comes home from work, he takes over for a little bit while I go hide in the kids' bathroom and take a hot bath. It is quiet, relaxing, and heavenly. It also helps me get my act together for the overnight shift, which is long and challenging these days.

Because of this time to myself, I've been able to start reading again. And I LOVE to read. I've also discovered that not only can I buy books and read them on my phone, but I can download library books to it too!!! (How crazy is that!) The only problem is, I need book suggestions. (Well, there may be one more problem. It's probably not so smart for me to read books on my phone in the tub. But for now, until I can physically get to the library, I am being very, very, very careful.)

So, what's on your reading list? Or what have you read recently? Do you have any book recommendations?

Odds & Ends

2011-02-25T15:06:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of alexfrance on stock.xchng.

Tonight was supposed to be Girls' Night Out. I was really looking forward to it: about once a month, I get together with three wonderful friends whom I don't get to see much of otherwise. They are the sort of friends who love you unconditionally, and even if it's been a whole four weeks since you spoke with them, you just pick up where you left off. I guess tonight just wasn't meant to be, though, because three of us canceled at the last minute (and ironically, all at the same time). One got sick, one was hampered by snow, and...well...when I found myself sprawled out on the couch, too tired to move and ~~wondering how bad it would be to just pee where I was lying~~ thinking fondly of the many months I spent on bedrest, I realized that maybe this was not my night to get glammed up and hit the town. (And by "glammed up," of course, I mean "take a shower and put on deodorant.")

Doodlebug is really struggling with his sleep right now. He's getting up an average of seven times a night, and will not settle without nursing. (Yes. S.E.V.E.N.) Even the swing has lost its charm. Inchworm has also been getting up at night, and I'm pretty sure it's because she hears her brother. (They share a nursery.) I love our condo's open floor plan, but unfortunately sound travels really well, and I struggle with getting one baby quieted before the other wakes. The Master Chief suggested bringing Doodlebug back into our bedroom for now, so at least we have a better chance of keeping Inchworm asleep. Plus then we'll be free to work on his sleep training without worrying about the baby in the next crib over. I'm all for anything that brings more sleep...I hope it will work! I can't remember ever being this tired before in my life.

When do babies start talking? Both Doodlebug and Inchworm have made noises that sound like “Mama” before, but they were always buried in the midst of other babbling. I thought maybe they were just repeating sounds without grasping their meaning. But today, when I tried to get Doodlebug to nap in the swing, he got upset and spit out a very distinct, sharp-toned, and stand-alone “Mama” at me. I don’t know if he was just telling me off for making it naptime (naps are a battle of wills around here), or if he actually understood that it’s my name. In either case, it’s the closest we’ve come to actual words, and it made my heart melt. Which made it really tough to go back to enforcing naptime…so we just cuddled on the couch for a bit. I’m a pushover.

I'm pretty much convinced that Inchworm has mad Jedi skills. She loves to take her socks off, and somehow can do this no matter where she is, regardless of whether she can actually reach her feet. I've long since accepted that I will never know how she pulls them off when she's in the Bumbo chair with the play tray on, but I am really puzzled as to how she managed today's feat. (Ha! Feat...feet...sorry, I get punny when I get tired.)

I strapped her into her bouncer while I nursed Doodlebug, and gave her two toys to play with. I am quite sure that neither of them were wearing socks. I am also quite sure that there were no socks in the bouncer itself, yet somehow when I came to get her, she was playing happily with a white sock. While her own pink socks were still both on her feet. Mad Jedi skills...I just hope she doesn't turn out to be a Sith.

The Sound of Music, Redux

2011-02-23T12:58:00.000-08:00

I once said that I thought infertility had cracked my brain. Today, I think my last three functioning neurons finally succumbed to sleep deprivation.

Have you ever found yourself singing a song without intending to? Doodlebug and Inchworm love music and are greatly entertained when I sing to them, so at least once a day I find myself singing or humming absentmindedly while I am working on something else. Something like, say, a diaper change.

Today, I found myself singing this, to the tune of "The Sound of Music":

The house is alive
With the smell of poo;
Someone's diaper is filled,
And might have leaked too.
The stench fills my mouth
And my throat with gagging.
My lunch keeps on trying to re-appear.

My nose wants to run like a punk that's just jacked a car,
Who's now hiding from police.
Your diaper is gross, and I need more wipes!
Now, where can they be?
There must be a refill pack nearby - oh, it's just out of reach.
Please don't twist,
Or else it will smear up your back!

I really need to find
The missing baking soda,
I know it will help
Cover up this stench.
Wait while I scrub
Underneath my nails
Then we'll play once more.

Have to run; must keep a look out for the men in the white coats. I'm pretty sure they're coming for me any minute now...

Attitude of Gratitude

2011-02-22T17:53:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed that when there's a lesson you're supposed to learn, all of a sudden it's everywhere? From facebook statuses to blog posts to the books I'm reading...everyone is talking about being grateful. I'm feeling pretty challenged today to cultivate a thankful heart.

So here are two tiny people for whom I'm very, very thankful, and some ways that they light up my life:

Doodlebug's precious, precious smiles: even when he's upset, he smiles through his tears. He has the most delightful giggle! His laughter is always contagious. And sometimes also quite mischievous...especially when he's trying to grab my phone. He's definitely a mover; even when he's nursing, he's trying to go places. He loves music and dancing in his jumper. And his legs are so strong! Forget sitting, he'd much rather try to stand in my lap!

Inchworm's quiet studiousness: she will spend hours examining one toy. She is very thoughtful, and she's my cuddler. She loves to snuggle close and dig her fingers into my hair. Her favorite pastime at the moment is studying our lips and trying to reproduce noises. Blowing raspberries are a great source of entertainment for her! She also loves to give "kisses" - she opens her mouth wide and slobbers all over our cheeks.

And another thing I'm grateful for tonight? They're both asleep! At the same time!! Fingers crossed that they will stay that way...

ICLW

2011-02-21T07:10:00.000-08:00

Happy ICLW! And welcome to my little corner of the blogoverse. A few random notes about me:

After several years of various infertility treatments (including a whopping nine failed clomid cycles, which I most definitely do not recommend to anyone), we finally conceived our sweet boy/girl twins, affectionately known as the Doodlebug and the Inchworm, via IVF. They were born on Father's Day, and turned eight months old yesterday. (They celebrated ALL. NIGHT. LONG.)
The twins are on a sleep strike, and I am very, very tired. So don't be surprised if stuff I write makes no sense whatsoever.
I used to blog over at Hope Endures, but had a bit of an identity crisis and started a new blog.
The identity crisis is on-going, so I usually either blog about the twins, or I write to try to sort out all the emotional baggage I've picked up over the last few years. I guess I thought that becoming a mommy would magically heal me, and restore all my relationships strained by infertility. Ummmm, yeah, that didn't happen.
I am a Christ-follower, and He is the one who *is* magically healing me. Only He's making me walk through it one step at a time instead of a *poof* "You're healed!" sort of thing. Which is hard, but also good.
My husband is amazingly patient to put up with all my quirks and foibles. He plays a lot of Halo, and thought it was funny that I wanted to refer to him as the Master Chief on this blog. Well...he used to play a lot of Halo. Now he changes a lot of diapers. (And now that I think of it...blowing aliens up is probably good therapy for having to live with me. He went through a huge Halo phase every time I took Clomid. Coincidence? I think not.)

I guess that's me in a nutshell. And now I'd love to meet you! Please leave me a link to your blog (if you don't have a blogger profile) so I can return the visit. :)

Mirror, Mirror

2011-02-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

I signed up for ICLW this week, which I am very excited about. (If you aren't familiar with it, you can click on the purple button to the right to learn more.) It's been a long time since I've actively participated in the infertility/adoption/loss blogosphere. In fact, I think the last ICLW I did was over a year ago, on my old blog (Hope Endures).

I've been thinking a lot this week about why I started a new blog, and about how infertility is something that never really goes away. We may eventually have our own children, whether by babies growing in our bellies through pregnancy or in our hearts through adoption, but we still bear the scars of the battles we fought to become parents. It isn't something that most people can understand, or relate to...and maybe for some women who've struggled to start a family, it's different. Maybe they wake up one morning to find that they're healed. They can go their merry ways and jump into mommydom with both feet.

It isn't that way for me. After the twins were born, I tried to write at my old blog. Somehow the words wouldn't come. They were all jumbled up in my head, but I could never express them well enough. I eventually realized that for all the hope and faith implied in the title "Hope Endures," it wasn't a happy place for me. It was a place I went when I needed to share my deepest, darkest feelings. A place where I could rant about the injustice of a friend's pregnancy, the pain of an egg retrieval, the heartbreak of another BFN. A place where I could be honest about my ugly feelings and find comfort from others who walked the same road.

And then, I got my miracle babies. Somehow it didn't seem right to paint my happiness across the canvas I shared with others who only knew heartbreak. Others who were still waiting for their miracles. I also didn't want to deal with the inevitable truth that all those old feelings - the cyclic hope and hurt in which I lived for so many years - aren't going to just go away now that I'm finally a mommy. And writing at Hope Endures makes me face that. It makes me remember the road I walked to get here. Not that I want to forget...but I don't want to really remember either. It hurt. So I reinvented myself, at least in blog-land.

But darn it all if you can't just shut life off like that. It creeps back inside in other ways, you know? A dear, sweet friend of mine gave birth to her first baby last night. (And I have to give her props - Baby Avery weighed in at 10 lbs, 10 oz and was born the old-fashioned way. Both mine together weighed 10 lbs. I cannot imagine what that felt like. My friend is a rock star.) As thrilled as I am for her, I found myself a little jealous of how easy it's been for her (aside from the obvious giving birth to a 10 pound baby thing - I know that part wasn't easy). But I am jealous of all the friends gathered at the hospital to celebrate her baby, even in the middle of the night. Jealous because she's the only one who came to the hospital to meet our babies. No one else came, the whole time we were there. Very few people stuck with us and loved us through our infertility struggles. Everyone else gave up on me, and with good reason. Infertility turned me into something that rhymes with "stitch."

And apparently, motherhood hasn't changed me back to a sweet, meek and mild-mannered person. I am very aware today that all those ugly feelings are still in my heart, swirling around beneath the surface. It all comes back to contentment, and accepting that God's plan for my life may not look like my own. (Which, if I'm being honest, I suck at.)

The leader of a Bible study I used to go to would tell a story about something really bad that she said or did, and comment, "Isn't God gracious to show me what was in my heart?" Yeah, super gracious. Because I really wanted to know that I'm still a super-judgemental, angry, bitter, whiny donkey's-behind. Thanks a lot, God.

(Just to clarify...I am really glad to know what's really in my heart. Or I will be after I've done a lot of praying about it, and dealing with it. Because if I don't know it's there, I can't work on making it better. It's just hard to look in the mirror sometimes, and today is one of those days. But I know:

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" - II Corinthians 5:17

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." - Isaiah 43:19

So it will be OK. It will even be good. Just maybe not today.)

Naptime Cage Match

2011-02-14T11:14:00.000-08:00

Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the fight of the century! Here in the corner to my left we have....Doodlebug! Barely 14 pounds sopping wet, his greatest weapons are his baby blues and his dimples. He's never yet met an opponent he couldn't out-smile!

And in the other corner, with hair sticking out at every possible angle and sporting the latest in spit-up stains, it's...Mommy! She's tired, she's sick, and she's desperate for a little peace and quiet. Someone once said you can't force a baby to sleep...but that someone wasn't her. She's not going down without a fight, folks! Grab your popcorn, because this is going to be a good one!

So be honest with me now...how bad is it when you start hearing imaginary voices? OK, OK, I am only kidding. Mostly. I'm not that far gone, yet. But today has been such an overly dramatic battle of the wills that I've been narrating it myself. (Fine, so maybe I am that far gone...or maybe I just watch too much reality tv).

Doodlebug does not want to go to sleep. He decided at 4 AM (during his third middle-of-the-night appearance) that sleeping is overrated, and it is not something that a fashionable seven-month old should be doing. He nursed, and then he flashed that beautiful gummy smile my way..."Mommy, let's play!"...but I was not to be swayed. We nursed again. And again. And again. And again, until he finally fell back asleep. And as soon as he was back in his crib, he woke up. So he left me no choice...it was time for a sneak swing attack.

The Master Chief and I settled him in the swing with a toy, and quietly slipped out of his sight. Sure enough, that boy was sawing z's in no time! He slept until 8 AM!! Even so, he fought me hard for his morning nap - every time those sweet little eyes started to close he would jerk upright suddenly. It took a half hour, but I finally got him to sleep.

This afternoon, though, he was determined not to give in. He fussed, he twisted around (while still latched...OUCH!), he smiled his best. No matter what I did, he would not settle. Time for the big guns...

Doodlebug is now sleeping soundly in his swing. And Mommy is eating lunch and catching up on her Google reader. I think that's called a KO folks!

(photo credit: januszek on stock.xchng)

Pink Eye

2011-02-11T10:05:00.000-08:00

What a week! We are having a hard time getting rid of this bug. My fever is finally down, but I am continuously dizzy and have to take lots of breaks throughout the day. The twins still aren't feeling their best, either.
It turned out to be a good thing that we had pediatrician appointments already scheduled on Monday. We were able to get everyone checked out, and of course picked up a few things along the way. Like some pointers on when to medicate a fever and when to wait it out, how to deal with Inchworm's constipation, and - let's see, what else did we get? Oh. Yes. Pink eye.

But let me back up a minute, to why we were there in the first place. Inchworm has been looking more and more cross-eyed lately. The pediatrician referred us to an opthamologist, and we were lucky enough to get an appointment for yesterday morning. It turns out that she is extremely far-sighted with a strong astigmatism, causing her left eye to drift when she's trying to focus on something close up. So, Inchworm gets pretty pink Fisher Price glasses. (Too bad they don't come with a Fisher Price price tag...) Inchworm also gets prescription eyedrops, because in the ten minutes it took for us to go from home to the opthamologist's office, her eye (the same one that drifts, too!) swelled up and turned dark pink. Apparently this is right in line with being exposed on Monday at the doctor's office...which is the only place she could have picked it up, anyway. I guess if you have to get an eye infection, the time to do it is when you're seeing an opthamologist, right? (Although I did feel a little foolish, because I didn't notice the problem until we were talking with the doctor. Score one for Mom...) Definitely ready for all this sickness to go away.

(By the way...I gave my blog a facelift! I made it all from scratch. It's my first attempt at anything artsy, and I'm pretty proud of myself. What do you think?)

The Plague

2011-02-07T13:07:00.000-08:00

We have the plague. OK, so maybe not "the" plague, but this has to be a form of it. The Master Chief got it last week, and was kind enough to share with all of us. For several days now, I've had a fever of 103 that Tylenol barely touched. Thankfully the babies have not been sick to the extreme that we've had it. Their fevers have stayed relatively low; they are fussy but not inconsolable. They are still playing and laughing, but need some extra cuddles thrown in. I am always glad to give extra cuddles!

Somewhere in my fever-induced delirium over the weekend, I started thinking about all the things I thought I'd never do or say when I finally got my chance at being a mom. (I'll admit it - I was pretty self-righteous about a lot of things before I knew the lay of the land.) Topping the list...poop. I think I actually told a friend of mine to shoot me if I ever started talking about poop.

This is the same friend who rolled her eyes at me recently, as she jokingly said, "You can let them cry, you know." Cry-it-out... ha. I'm sure she was thinking about all my inexperienced theories about crying it out, and how it would be perfect for us and our super-structured lives. Then came breastfeeding hormones, and the realization that one crying baby leads to two crying babies, and finally...an understanding that it just isn't my parenting style. And maybe I'm not as structured as I think I am, either.

But back to the diaper dirties, because I do talk about it now. All the time. I even sing about it, making up words to nice songs that should never have anything to do with what comes out of babies' bottoms. The other day, I found myself saying to Inchworm in a sing-songy voice:

"Let's not make the nugget airborne. Airborne nuggets are very, very bad." She thought this was funny, so I followed it up with a rousing rendition of our new favorite "Wedgie of Poo" song. I will never be able to watch Winnie the Pooh the same way again. (And, yes, airborne poop is very, very bad. Particularly if it's Doodlebug's. Apparently neither of my kids get the concept of keeping still during diaper changes.)

The Master Chief and I have had lengthy discussions - as we swore we would never do - about the color, consistency and even (ashamed to admit this one) odor of what we've found in the babies' diapers. But you know what? It's a parenting thing. Parents talk about poop.

And I am just so grateful to be a parent. I'm going to soak up every minute of this...even if I sound like a lunatic raving about poop.

SuperNap!

2011-02-02T12:58:00.000-08:00

(Photo Credit: julosstock on stock.xchng)

Well, since my posts have been such downers lately, I felt the need to post some GOOD news.

BOTH babies have been asleep for nearly two hours this afternoon - and they each took morning naps today, too.

SuperSandman to the rescue! This mama needed the break, and is very grateful...

Is it too much to ask for a return visit tonight??

Cheese, Whine and...Mango?

2011-02-02T12:19:00.000-08:00

I've been very grumbly lately. It's a combination of factors...mostly sleep deprivation, with some family issues thrown in for good measure. Oh, and milk withdrawal. I looooove milk products, especially cheese, but it's off the menu since Inchworm and Doodlebug are allergic. ("Cheese" was my first word. My mother never misses an opportunity to remind me that "cheese" rolled off my lips before "mama.") Usually when I'm stressed or upset, I choose the emotionally healthy thing to do...which as we all know involves much, much eating. And it should be no big surprise that I prefer a nice cheese to go along with my whine. (And my wine, too, of course!) But since cheese isn't an option, today's whine has been brought to you courtesy of a big bowl of pretzels and dairy-free chocolate chips. It's not brie, but it will do.

Can I be completely transparent for a minute? This motherhood gig is tough. Physically, I feel like I am only beginning to understand the abuse I put my body through trying to get pregnant. Don't misunderstand - I would do it again in a heartbeat. And someday, I probably will. But the years of medication, hormones and injections are starting to show. Add in the difficult pregnancy, bedrest and delivery that I still haven't healed from - seven months later - and it's not a pretty picture.

I want so badly to be a good mother. I prayed for this for so long, and God has blessed me with two amazing, beautiful, sweet babies. So I feel ungrateful being grumbly. But Doodlebug is really struggling with this second tooth, and all he wants to do (all. night. long.) is nurse. And poor Inchworm...we've started calling her "Nugget" because that's all she can put in her diaper these days. She is so uncomfortable. The Master Chief is trying to hold all the household chores together, but he's sick and struggling, too.

And we have no family here. We did, for a brief shining moment, but no longer. No one to help. And here is where infertility rears its ugly head once more...we have no other support system here anymore either. Our friendships have starved in the desert of our barrenness. We were chased from our church home that we loved, because our situation made people uncomfortable. We weren't welcome there anymore. We found another church, but didn't get too involved because we were afraid to face the same sort of hurt again. (And if I'm being honest, we were also lazy. The Master Chief was finishing his MBA, and time was a precious commodity. Finding a home group that would be a good fit for us would have taken time.) So, while we are a part of this newer church, we are also apart from it. No one there could possibly know that we need anything.

But we do. Oh, we do! We need to be fed spiritually...we need to serve others...we need people to come alongside us and pray for us. We need community. We need friends. And we don't have any of that right now. (I am blessed to have a few precious girlfriends who get together every few months, and I delight in those relationships, but we don't get to do daily life together.) So I am praying that God will bring us into community somewhere, anywhere. I am also praying that He will provide a way for me to get involved with some sort of local MOPS group. I am so, so lonely during the day. And when both babies start crying at the same time, it breaks my heart. I feel like I'm trying to do a two-person job all by myself, and I worry that my children will suffer for it. That they won't get all the individual attention they need, right when they need it.

So, there's the whine. As I said earlier, I feel ungrateful to acknowledge even the slightest discontentment because I am so blessed. Inchworm and Doodlebug bring such joy to our lives...and laughter, too! After the past few years, I sometimes felt sure I wouldn't ever laugh again. But just about every other moment with them brings torrents of laughter. Some of it - like the "Wedgie of Poo" song, sung to the tune of the old "Winnie the Pooh" theme - can only be explained by sleep deprivation. As for the rest of it - well, I just want to remember those moments for forever.

Like when I was nursing Inchworm the other night, and looked down to see a large ball of wax in her ear. As in, county-fair-prize-winning-pig, how-did-that-ever-come-out-of-her-tiny-ear-canal huge. The Master Chief came over as I carefully wiped it out, only to discover that it was... (ta-da!) mango. It struck both of us as hysterical (again with the sleep deprivation) and Inchworm began laughing because we were. Love that little girl's laugh more than I can ever put into words!! I will treasure forever the joyous look on her face as she screeched out peal after peal of laughter. (Also a lesson for Mommy, that she needs to be more careful what she eats while nursing...which is why I finished the pretzels off over here!)

Thinking about Inchworm's infectious laugh, and watching Doodlebug stretch out on the monitor (YES!! HE'S ACTUALLY ASLEEP!) makes me know for sure: I have to find community somewhere. Not just for my sake, but for them...so I can be a better mother. One with a little less whine!

(Photo credit: s0ny at stock.xchng)

The Bad Day, Part Two: Way With Words

2011-01-27T09:07:00.000-08:00

The first three-quarters of the day had not been ideal - okay, it was pretty awful - but I survived. I even got to start eating lunch, albeit at nearly dinner-time. But I had barely tasted my food before Doodlebug started to meltdown again. The poor little guy's mouth was definitely hurting. I thought it would be a great time to try out the mesh-feeder teething toy my mom gave us...only I couldn't open it. I tried kitchen tongs, rubber potholders, everything I could think of. Doodle was already stripped down to his diaper (in anticipation of the mess) and waiting in the Bumbo chair, where he was now screaming loudly. In my rush to help him, I even grabbed a pair of tweezers and started desperately pinching at the locking mechanism on the feeder. That didn't work either. In one last salvo of frustrated energy I grabbed the lock with my fingers again. After some searing pain in my thumb, it finally opened. I jammed in some frozen banana and offered it to Doodlebug...who promptly turned up his nose at it.

He did, however, want to sit in my lap, and after a few minutes of this was once again his happy, smiling self. Inchworm, who had been watching the entire debacle from the exersaucer, seemed very interested in the feeder. I let her play with it, deciding that as I was feeling rather defeated at the moment, I would rather change her clothes and clean the exersaucer later instead of stripping her down and moving her now. As she happily sucked all the banana out of the feeder, I reveled in her joy. It was a nice moment in a stressful day.

And then I remembered that banana is no friend to a constipated baby. I set Doodlebug back in the Bumbo chair, which he did not appreciate, and tried to trade Inchworm a "better" toy for the feeder. She wasn't interested. In the end, I had to take it away, and we were back to two screaming babies. And I still hadn't eaten.

Fine, I'll admit it...after I cleaned Inchworm up, I resorted to the electronic babysitter. I hate to do that, but I needed a break, and if Bob and Larry can restore smiles to my babies' faces for even a few minutes...sign me up. (Which they can. The twins LOVE VeggieTales.)

I hurriedly ate my cold soup, and rushed to rinse the bowl before the next wave of crying started. Only, no water came out of the tap. I ran to the guest bathroom...no water there, either. No water in the master bathroom...I methodically checked every tap before I finally accepted that we had no water.

This was too much to handle, so I called in the Master Chief. He, however, did not seem to find it as pressing a problem as I did, and left a message on the property manager's voicemail. (We live in a condominium development which is managed by a third party.) Ok, so he was at work and had a lot to do...but still! I started a new VeggieTales story (thank you, instant streaming Netflix!) and called the management company until I got hold of a live person. She asked me to check if any of our neighbors had water, so I quickly dashed outside. I ran into a neighbor who no longer lives here but hasn't sold his condo. Apparently he had stopped by to check on it. I hadn't seen him since before I was pregnant with the twins.

He took one look at me and said, "WOW! You've really put on weight."

I said, "WOW! You really have a way with words." It wasn't a stunningly witty comeback; it wasn't a fancy retort. But it also wasn't a physically violent reaction which culminated in me beating him to death with my phone (which was the only weapon at hand). And trust me, I thought about it. Unfortunately I needed to find out if his unit had water, so I couldn't just run back inside and cry. At the end of the conversation, he followed me back to my door and had the nerve to ask me why I had said he had a way with words. I was really uncomfortable at this point - something about the way he was following me was not natural. If someone says they have to go check on their kids, and they end the conversation, it's not usual to follow them and continue talking. When I finally made it back inside - with the door locked - the property manager called to tell me that a water main had broken. Great.

The water eventually came back on, shortly after the Master Chief got home. The rest of the evening was quiet, thankfully, until we were ready to go to bed ourselves. I wasn't quite able to shake off the comment about my weight. I've really been self-conscious about it lately; I gained seventy pounds when I was pregnant. Being on bedrest for so long left me weak, and I've had trouble shedding weight.

Inchworm saved me from the ever-repeating echo of his comment in my mind when she woke up crying. Poor baby! She was so constipated. All she could do was grunt and cry. After an hour of this (and nothing to show for it), we resorted to a glycerin suppository. It took another hour for that to work, and still there was barely anything in her diaper when she finally went. She was comfortable enough to sleep, though, and we put her back to bed.

Cue Doodlebug, who promptly started crying and asking to nurse...

Because days like this don't really end. They just bleed over into the next one.

The Bad Day, Part One: Where's the Coffee?

2011-01-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

I had a singular day yesterday. Singularly...awful.

Doodlebug's second tooth is not proving as easy as the first to break through. The poor little guy has been miserable lately. Night before last, he was up almost every hour wanting to nurse. But then the nursing must have hurt the area where the tooth is cutting through, because he would pull off crying. So before the day even started, both Doodle and I were struggling. He finally gave up even trying to sleep at 5 AM, and I let him watch a VeggieTales show (his favorite thing to do in the world).

Photo courtesy of ukapala on stock.xchng.

I went to make coffee, and...we were down to our last spoonful of grounds. I NEED COFFEE TO LIVE. It's a simple, non-negotiable fact. So - without losing a precious grain - I carefully spooned the grounds into the French press while I started the water boiling. I let it steep for half of forever, and it still was only the color of apple juice. (We're not even talking apple cider here...this stuff was a light amber color. No kick whatsoever. Boo.)

The twins took a good morning nap, and a glimmer of hope (possibly stoked by the weak coffee) began to burgeon in my chest. Was today the day that I could finally put away the remains of the Christmas decorations? We had gotten the tree and all the trimmings down last week, when we couldn't take it anymore, but we weren't able to get everything packed away. We thought if we confined it all to one small area, we would at least feel better about it. Needless to say...if there is a Hoarders' Christmas Special, my dining room would make the cut. I'm calling it the Holiday Hurricane of '11.

Ah, you blasted weak coffee, how you torment me!! I had the desire to clean, I had the drive to organize, I had the...urge to sit on the couch and examine my the backs of my eyelids for light leaks. So naptime came and went (although I wasn't able to actually fall asleep myself).

Our afternoon routine never quite came together. The babies napped badly and at different times. Doodlebug cried if I wasn't within arm's reach, or if I turned my back on him. (Incidentally, it is really hard to care for two babies if you must always be facing one of them.) Inchworm, who was transitioning from constipated to severely constipated, began to fuss as well. I juggled babies all afternoon - holding one long enough to stop the crying before moving on to the next one, and then back to the first.

When - starving and on the verge of tears - I finally reached for my lunchtime bowl of soup at 4 PM (which had been sitting on the counter for four hours), I had no idea that there were even better things in store for me.

Naptime Novella

2011-01-25T13:05:00.000-08:00

HELP.

I'm a little growly at the moment. I admit it. Inchworm took a great nap this morning, but Doodlebug went down before she did and only slept for thirty minutes. It's not that I'm not happy with the thirty minutes - for him, that is an okay nap. But they were only sleeping at the same time for a very short while. I was only able to fold ten washcloths and five towels (seriously, that was all and I have mad Jedi skills when it comes to folding laundry). It reminds me of the Whack-A-Mole game at Chuck E. Cheese: one baby goes down; the other pops up. Rinse and repeat.

I was really hoping that afternoon naps would be better. Doodlebug went down first again. He actually fell asleep in his bouncy chair, and I moved him to his crib before getting Inchworm settled. Forty minutes into his nap (and twenty minutes into Inchworm's), Inchworm woke up screaming...and of course, Doodlebug woke, too. I think I could have gotten her settled again if he hadn't started crying. They tend to feed off each other and get more worked up sometimes - and they were probably picking up on my panicky thoughts of "NO! MUST...HAVE...NAPTIME!"

And the truth is, they need more naptime too! It's not just a matter of housework waiting to be done (although, the Master Chief would really appreciate some clean underwear sometime this week). The babies both need that second nap to be at least an hour. Otherwise, it is soooo messy. Which is where we are now...fussy babies, fussy mama...

I do know that part of the problem is that they both nurse to sleep (mostly), although with the help of Elizabeth Pantley's The No-Cry Sleep Solution, we are teaching them to fall asleep on their own. That seems to be working and we are making progress. What I don't know is how to keep them from waking each other up? They are in separate cribs but the same room (no choice there).

If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them!!

Toothy!

2011-01-24T07:32:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago some dear friends of ours stopped by in the evening to say hi and see the twins. The babies were especially fussy that night - to the point that I was worried we scared my friend, a first-time mommy whose little girl is due on Valentine's Day. Inchworm in particular cried the entire time they were here, which is unusual for her. She's definitely more clingy and stranger-sensitive than her brother (Doodlebug is a flirt; he loves the ladies!), but normally she settles down as long as I'm holding her. Even that didn't do the trick. After our friends left, she continued screaming in a way I've never heard before. I was on the verge of calling the doctor when she began to settle down. We assumed (from evidence presented by Inchworm herself) that it was just gas. Then, a few days later she grabbed my finger and bit down hard. I might have imagined the sharp edges I felt in her mouth, but the little indentations in my finger did not lie. My little Inchworm had a TOOTH! She has since cut her second, and now that I now what to look for, I can better soothe her for future teeth. (Of course the mommy guilt still kicks in, and I do wish I had known what was going on that night.)

Photo credit: ideas4eyes on stock.xchng.

Doodlebug, who is five minutes older, has always been the first to hit developmental milestones. So I was surprised that Inchworm was the first to ditch the toothless grin. But last night, the poor little guy seemed so uncomfortable that I felt sure he was about to catch up. And sure enough - this morning, Doodlebug is sporting a brand new tooth! From the looks of things (yes, he actually let me see it!!), the second one will probably cut through sometime in the next week. It's just below the gum. My little babies are growing up! It's sweet and sad all at the same time.

Culture and Tradition

2011-01-23T14:46:00.000-08:00

When I was a child, my family moved frequently. We spent several years in Europe, and lived in various American cities, too. No matter where we called home at the moment, my parents encouraged us to learn about the ways the culture around us differed from what was familiar. Even within the US, I noted that each region has its own set of unique mannerisms and behavior. It was an experience that forever shaped the way I view the world. (It also influenced the way I want to view marriage: my husband's customs and habits aren't worse or better than mine; they are just different. Somehow, though, it seems a lot easier for me to adapt to wider cultural variances in the world than to accept that my husband will never load the dishwasher the way I do, or put the toilet paper in the dispenser the way I like it. And don't even get me started on the toothpaste...)

So I have been wondering lately, what cultural habits and family traditions am I passing down to my children? There are the things I do intentionally - like emphasizing the words and signs for "thank you" and "please." We put a lot of thought into Christmas this year, continuing legacies of our own family while beginning our own traditions that we will develop for years to come. We pray before every meal, and once I bite the bullet and buy two high chairs, we will have family dinners. And of course the twins watch football with their dad, which is very much a part of the Midwestern American life, and will probably know every play before they turn three.

But then there are the accidental parenting measures. The things I do without thinking, only to wake up one day and find that I've created a habit (all too likely a monstrous one, at that - we won't get started on the whole nursing-to-sleep thing). For instance, every time I pick the babies up these days - especially when I'm putting someone in the jumper - I do a sniff-test on their bottoms. It's automatic. It occurred to me today that they are going to grow up thinking that they are dogs, and that the polite way to greet someone is to sniff their behind. Well, not really, but the very fact that I just wrote that sentence should tell you how The Great Nighttime Nursery Offensive is going. Only sleep deprivation could account for that!

(Although - in the interest of accurate record-keeping - the Inchworm has the sleeping through the night thing down. She's actually been doing it for a few months now, excepting the holiday upheaval and teething troubles. Doodlebug is doing much better than he was, but for some reason I am really struggling with the middle of the night feedings. Mostly because we had stopped them and then restarted - but he also has two teeth about to break through, which may account for a lot of the problem.)

And now I am off to further cement another accidental parenting measure I am bound to regret. Inchworm's favorite game is to sit in her Bumbo chair with a bucket of toys, which she takes out and throws one by one. Also a favorite pasttime of Doodlebug's. I think that someday they are going to have slightly less fun putting all the toys back in...but for now her bucket is empty, and waterworks are ensuing. Mommy to the rescue!

What Goes In...

2011-01-20T13:11:00.000-08:00

...can come back out in many different and interesting ways, including some that I'm still scratching my head about. I should have made a mental note during my first parenting failure that the whole matter of input and output was going to be problematic for me. I'd always been warned that little boys had a unique ability to create arcing fountains during diaper changes, so it took me completely by surprise when it was not Doodlebug who got me first. Before we even left the hospital, Inchworm had not only peed on me (twice) but had also christened the nurses. (Yes - nurses, plural. They loved us.)

Photo courtesy of blary54 on stock.xchng.

Thus it was one day, as I changed Doodlebug's diaper in my sleep-deprivation-induced fog, that I got a little sloppy with the quick diaper swap. He was crying, and I was more focused on soothing him than on perfecting my diapering technique. As I lifted up his little legs to slide the new diaper under his bottom, he unleashed a geyser of pee with the force of water speeding over Niagara Falls. It was one of those slow-motion moments. Noooooo... I saw the path of the fountain before I could do anything to stop it. Poor Doodlebug lay on the changing table, mouth open mid-scream, as he peed all over his face and upper body. It went in. his. mouth. I was horrified at my parenting ineptitude. EPIC fail.

I have since learned - keep the hosepipe covered at all times during diaper changes. It's like one of those rules on planes: keep your seatbelt on at all times when you're seated. Nine times out of ten you won't need it, but when that plane hits turbulence, you'll be glad it's fastened. Same principle.

Inchworm no longer poses a threat in the diaper department; instead she is busily perfecting the art of the supreme spit up. If it's at all projectile in nature, so much the better. She demonstrated the skill of her sport earlier this week while I carried her from her crib to the living room. As soon as I picked her up, she executed her trademark inchworm move, pushing her bottom out and scooting the top half of her body downward in an effort to nurse. (Hence the nickname.) On this particular occasion, she somehow managed to simultaneously spit up down my shirt while sending another salvo shooting out across the newly-cleaned floor. Huge mess on the floor and inside (!) my shirt, but not so much as a drop on her outfit. Talented, eh?

So yesterday, when Doodlebug annointed himself with pureed carrots (which I promptly followed with the laying on of towels), I thought I had seen the worst that the week had to offer. Surely it can only get better from here, right?

Wrong. This morning, I heard the telltale warning bell of a diaper explosion in progress. Inchworm had "the look" so I didn't bother to sniff-test first. I whisked her off to the changing table stat. The sound I heard had all the hallmarks of gooey disaster and I was wasting no time. As soon as I peeled off her diaper, I felt like a losing contestant on The Price is Right - the one who is amped up to get the flashy car but instead chooses the door with the camping gear. You've seen it before - the well-manicured lady who thinks "roughing it" means staying somewhere with only one bathroom, gazing at the camping gear with a dazed look remniscent of a bald man being offered a complimentary cut and color.

As I stared at the surprise of an empty diaper, the reality of the situation started to sink in. The "prize" I heard was in Doodlebug's diaper. Doodlebug's diaper - and Doodlebug - were happily bouncing in the jumper. (Well, "bouncing" is a gentle word for what he does in the jumper. It's more like he's trying to launch himself into space. After all, who needs booster rockets? He has Red Wings socks!)

Here again, we find another immutable law of physics. What goes in, must come out. And what goes up, will come - no, wait. That's not right. In the jumper, what goes up, sometimes stays up. Especially if it's something that can smear and leave a trail of its rambling exploits. I rushed back to the living room, settled Inchworm in the Bumbo chair and snatched up Doodlebug.

Too late. I could feel it along my arm as I sprinted back to the nursery. His back was slick with - well, I will leave the details up to your imagination. I will, however, say that I had a brief memory of a frat house in college who hosted an annual mudslide. I resigned myself to the task at hand and started scrubbing the mess from between his shoulder blades.

I returned to the living room, determined to redeem the remains of the day, and froze in my tracks. Seated happily in the middle of the floor were Inchworm and the dog, heads bent together over a pile of toys. Happily licking at the spit up that dribbled down around them.

EPIC parenting fail. Is it bedtime yet?

(ETA: As I was writing this, Inchworm woke from her nap. Sure enough, she spit up all over me as soon as I came to get her. Again - not a drop on herself. How does she do that?!?)

Through the Looking Glass

2011-01-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

Just call me Alice. It's Day 3 of the Great Nighttime Nursery Offensive, and I have spent the last two nights peering through the looking glass into a world where nothing makes sense. In my case, though, the looking glass isn't a sparkly mirror or a deep metaphor; it's the pixelated gray tones of my shiny new baby monitor. Things happen on that screen that would make the Red Queen herself blanch white with horror. Because, when it is 4 AM and your head hasn't hit the pillow for more than 30 seconds at a time, the sight of a baby slowly wriggling around to wakefulness evokes emotions equivalent to the standard scary movie scene where someone unknowingly heads straight toward the brain-sucking aliens, alone. DON'T GO DOWN THERE! YOU WON'T COME OUT ALIVE! It's the same feeling, only there aren't aliens lingering in the nursery...I think.

For the last six and a half months, the twins slept in our bedroom. We bought a co-sleeper that could do triple duty as a stand-alone bassinet (with a much higher weight rating, great for two babies) and a pack-n-play. For months I happily basked in the glow of having two babies who woke at night only to feed, then went right back to sleep. They wouldn't always nap during the day (or when they did nap, nap well), and they refused to fall asleep until close to midnight, but I could always count on at least a few hours of sleep and quiet. Then came Thanksgiving, with family visiting from out of town, and Christmas, with a long weekend trip to visit the Master Chief's parents. It's amazing how in a few short days everything fell apart. How do you explain to a baby that Grandma can't come over every day to hold you while you drift off to sleep? Or that sleeping through a five-hour car ride does not exempt you from sleeping at night for the rest of your infant life?

Since we needed to revisit sleep training basics anyway, we decided it was time to move the babies into the nursery. Tack on the pediatrician's suggestion that easily-distractible six-month-olds would nap better in their own quiet space...and you have Wonderland. A place where everything seems like it should be amazing and beautiful (both babies napping simultaneously? you mean I could take a *gasp* shower?), but instead it's twisted around into something bizzare. It's almost like playing Whack-A-Mole. One baby goes down, the other pops up. All. Night. Long.

Here's hoping that tonight brings less staring at the monitor and more staring at the back of my eyelids!

Turned Twinside Out

2011-01-18T09:31:00.000-08:00

I used to be a very organized person. My life wasn't strictly scheduled, but it was ordered. I worked four days a week, and every Friday I would curl up with a cup of tea, write my own blog and read others. Then, I got pregnant with twins - two precious miracle babies who have brought me as much joy and laughter as they have confusion and chaos. Turns out this parenting gig is much harder than I ever imagined it to be! I feel like I've been spun around and turned upside down.

In an effort to right myself and regain my sanity, I'm making a fresh start - which includes a new blog. I hope to chronicle my attempts at keeping my sense of humor during 2 AM feedings...but most importantly, I want to document my journey in learning how to model for my children what it means to be in an intimate relationship with the Most High God. Someday, I hope that I will look back at these entries and marvel at how far I've come - because every day I realize more just how long a road I have to travel. Even in these early days, motherhood has been a towering mirror in which I've seen myself a little too clearly. I am thankful to serve a Creator who is still putting brush strokes on my canvas! He isn't finished with me yet. In fact, I think maybe He's just begun - and I feel more than blessed to be turned "twin"-side out.