Kilroy Was Here

Why do I blog?

That's a good question...let me think a minute... I don't have enough brain power for a full minute of thought...seriously...there are a few reason I blog.

When my daughter was born I started a written journal for her. Nothing fancy, just my thoughts and emotions about whatever- letters to her, thoughts about her daddy, feelings on current events. It was a way for me to introduce my young mother self to my future adult daughter. At times I felt like I was writing a relevant history book for her. And other times, I was just talking. She knows I have this journal and she knows where it is. She is looking forward to the day I read it to her or simply hand it over. When will that day come? I have no idea.

Then the boys were born and our lives changed as I could have never imagined. All journaling stopped, all logical thinking stopped; I was simply consumed with surviving yet another day at home alone with 3 small children. My sole goal became keeping us all alive until The Pilot came home. Now, that we are trying to shift from survival mode to live life mode, I want something to give to the boys too. I want them to know that at some point-usually during their sleeping hours- I am capable of complete sentences and thoughts.

So the answer to the question is: I blog for my own sanity. I blog because sarcasm is lost on the very young. I blog because sometimes the comments are my only contact with the outside world (so, if you never comment I never "get out"! hint hint) I blog as a way to record my life...to prove I was "here".

Why do you blog?

Count Them One by One

Who teaches a little boy where to find worms? Why is he always trying to renegotiate the bedtime terms?

Who teaches his sister how to pick flowers? Where did her little voice get such power?

Why do two of my three children love to swing? And all three fear a bee's sting?

How can I love them so? How am I qualified to raise them "in the way they should go"?

As I've said before, staying home with children is the toughest job I've ever had or heard of (it might even be a contender for Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe- think potty training disaster with twins) . There are days I wish someone would fire me and ban me from the premises. And then, there are days that I am constantly reminded of how blessed I am to be able to stay home and enjoy, train, discipline and love each of our babes.

Recently, very recently, I was reminded of how short life is and how unexpected the end can be. I am suddenly very aware of the little (very important) things- more than the usual coffee, sanity, personal hygiene, and good groceries!

Oh, Wise Readers, I urge you to count your blessings...daily.

Cry Baby

Herbie, as we're leaving the farm: "Mama, you miss Gampa?"

Me: "Yes"

Herbie: "You cry?"

Me: "Yes"

Herbie: "Your heart hurt"

Brotherly Love

And then there's the beauty of having twins...

The Celebrity of Having Twins and Actually Leaving the House

My twins are almost 3 years old and their sister is 6. So you would think that I would be accustomed to the questions, looks, and whispers; but I am not. I keep thinking that my next trip out into the real world will be "normal". I think "normal" left the day we found out I was having two babies. It might have left before that, I just didn't notice until we were buying a bigger car, trying to figure out what to do with a large purchase designed for a family of four, and explaining what "twins" means to an almost 3 year old.

Some days I want to wear a sign that answers all of the usual, mostly stupid questions. Other days, I want to where a sign that addresses the following:

1. Do you really think it's any of your business?
2. Do I look like I have time for you to stand in front of my grocery cart and debate their "identical-ness" with me?
3. Why do you get to say that three children is "a lot"?
4. No, your children that are 23 1/2 months apart are not "just like having twins". They are 2 YEARS apart.
5. "Double Trouble" is a rather rude thing to say.
6. "Boy, you have your hands full, ha ha" Ya, think?
7. I don't care that your best friends' neighbors' sister-in-law's cousins' great aunt had twins.
8. Their birth story is only told to close friends/family.
9. Neither is the "bad one". They are equally "all boy".
10. Yes, I work...ALL DAY LONG.

So, if you were the people I ran into yesterday while running errands, please don't stop me or the next mother of multiples you meet. We really are on a time schedule. We must get home before our "polite faces" melt.

(Can you tell what kind of a week I've had? Thank you to all of those who smile and keep on walking. My mom, mother-in-law and sisters are happy to take your questions on my behalf. And, now that I think of it, I'm happy to field most of the questions when I have time.)

Sometimes I Forget To Stop and Smell The Coffee

I remember when a cup of good coffee meant a morning spent at the coffee shop reading the newspaper or visiting with friends. Now "coffee" means I might make it through the morning. The last time I was asked if it was "for here or to go" I actually thought "you've got to be kidding?" When I get coffee I need it in the to-go cup because you never know when we have to go RIGHT. NOW. or when someone (read small child) will knock the cup over. With a lid, I only lose a few precious drops of the "nectar of sanity"; without the lid, I'm wearing the entire cup for the entire day.

A few weekends ago, Violet and I met one of my sisters for some Stumptown brew. I had it in a real coffee cup. What a difference a cup and saucer make. It was the most amazing drink I have had in years! It actually made me happy. When was the last time a cup of hot milk, espresso, and a hint of vanilla brightened your day?

As my sister said, "it wooed" me.

note: This is actually the cup I was served. I snapped a photo with my phone!

Another Adventure...

You are standing on a shore...somewhere. A ship before you spreads her white sails and starts for the blue ocean. She is a beautiful and strong ship and you watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle.

Then a sad voice at your side says, "There...well, well. She is gone."

Gone where? From your sight - that's all. She is just as large in mast and spar as when she left your shore, just as strong and able. Her diminished size is in you, not in her, and while someone at your side is saying, "She's gone..." there are other eyes watching her approach from the horizon. Eyes that are ready to take up the glad shout, "Let the adventure begin, for here she comes."

--Ernest K. Gann

Let Sleeping Babes Lie...

Me (in a whisper): Aren't the babes sweet?

Violet (in an even quieter whisper): When they're asleep

Sometimes A Girl Just Wants To Be Rescued

It was just one and then two and then it was an entire army. They were invading my kitchen. Were they looking for lunch? Or just a snack? Did they intend to carry the cookie jar off with them? I thought I was winning the war; but they kept sending out replacement troops.

And then I saw him. He was tall, blond, and handsome. He was my knight in shining armor. His weapons of choice were insect spray and ant traps. The man in uniform was willing to rescue the damsel in distress, and I loved it. Chivalry is not dead...and I'm singing dead ants! dead ants! dead ants!

It's The Anniversary Of The Birth Of Dr. Seuss!!!!

Violet and I decided to celebrate by reading a few Dr. Seuss books. Our favorite (for tonight) happens to be 50 year old The Cat In The Hat.

I am amazed that I am reading a book to my daughter that my mother could have enjoyed as a child. If I close my eyes I can almost see my grandmother sitting on the edge of her twins' bed reading, "And this mess is so big and so deep and so tall".

Did she feel, as I feel, that she wasn't merely reading but describing her house after a day of "The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, cold, wet day". Did she think about going after her net to "get those Things yet"? Did she long for a day when she could just "sit! sit! sit! sit!" I wish I could ask her all of these questions and a whole lot more.

My mom says that grandma was an amazing mother. I'm sure she would have agreed with The Cat in the Hat when he said, "I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny. But we can have lots of good fun that is funny!"

He Promised Me The Moon....and I got it!

If I admit that I hear voices will someone have me committed (please)?

Most days, my life is like a verse out of “Old McDonald Had A Farm”. I’m the duck quacking up and the three little pigs are oinking for another snack. I also hear “It’s Raining, It’s Pouring” but only after we’ve been homebound for a good 12 hours. In the farthest corner of my mind the voices chant “I’m A Nut” repetitively. And most days, “It’s A [very] Small World”. In the evening, I even hear my own tired, voice pleading “Hush Little Baby, Don’t You Cry”.

It wasn’t always like this. A lifetime ago, I only heard one voice and that was the voice of Old Blue Eyes himself, Frank Sinatra. He, prompted by my sweet husband, would serenade me with “Fly Me To The Moon”. In our 20s my husband promised me the world, he just didn’t say that it would be the world of Ramona the Pest and How to Eat Fried Worms. I really should learn to ask more questions.

Sometimes, when the other voices are screaming I try to listen for the quiet, reassuring melody of romance, innocence, and optimism. Life on the moon is certainly not what I had in mind, but it has been….an adventure that I wouldn’t trade for life on any other planet!

HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT, by Pat Benatar

Rachael (my new friend at crankmama.com) and I are participants in March's Blog Exchange (http://www.theblogexchange.net/). Go there to read others or to find out how to participate.

CrankMama is Rachael, Bellingham WA resident and potty-mouth mama to three girls (including identical twin 5 year olds). She channels Erma Bombeck and Anne Sexton (without the oven). She writes so that she can survive and laugh at it all.

Following is here story for the exchange. I'll post mine here tomorrow. Happy Reading.

Remember that silly Ally McBeal TV show from the 90s? In one episode, Ally's therapist asks her to identify her personal theme song? Well, she picks one and it puts a spring in her step and a sparkle in her eye and inspired me to do the same thing. At the time, I was also a single career girl in my 20s, equally confused and misdirected (though with a bit more junk in the trunk). As such, I proudly picked Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" a song which trumpets a woman's toughness despite the usual disappointments (heartache, fear, insecurity). Here I was, trying to be tough in a world where commitment and stability and integrity seemed as elusive as a good paying job as a social worker. So I'd walk along and sing "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" and dare the world to bring it. Bring it on. I was tough, rough, and ready. Or so I thought.

Three years later I was pregnant with twins with a boyfriend of five months. The twins and I were a family. A family who eventually started over without the man, with the love and support of my wonderful family. Since then I've learned that one should never beg the universe to bring it on. That's just foolhardy hubris.

On the other hand, all of the posturing gave way (through a crucible of sleepless nights, and a million ear infections) to something deeper and tougher than a dare. If I had a song to choose today, it would be something more like the classical music I played growing up. A dreamy piece I used to play called "The Syrinx" by Debussy. It's haunting and gorgeous and melodious. And you never know, after listening, how it will turn out. When you play the piece you are asking rather than telling the universe to reveal its beauty. The challenge and toughness is all underneath. A river of strength greater than any youthful dare.

No Time to Pre-Heat

I love to bake. I love the measurements, the dough yielding to my touch, and the beauty of creating something (other than children).

My best friend and I get together once or twice per year and bake for an entire day. She always does the cut out cookies because I can't stand cutting and rolling over and over again. I always make the Danish Puff because she can't get the pastry to puff.

Maybe what I really love about baking is the time between batches that I get to spend with J. Or maybe, it's that I covet her Kitchen Aid (I really need to quit talking my husband out of buying me one of my very own).

I have found that true friends take more than 8-10 minutes to find; and few are able to stand the heat of the oven we call life.


Note to J: I am hooked on Saint Cupcake. It is all I can do to keep from loading up my brood and heading down there right now.

Four Glorious Hours

The newest debate at our house it whether or not to send the boys to 3 year old "preschool" in the fall. It really isn't a debate as we've been waiting for the day to send them anywhere on a regular basis since they were 2 days old. We're talking about 4 glorious hours per week. Whatever will I do with myself for 4 glorious hours per week? I wonder if they have summer school?

As with most parents of multiples, the question of putting twins into the same class must be addressed. There are those who believe strongly that separate classes, teachers, friends, and clothes are the only way to educate. (I wonder if they could also get separate parents?) While others are insistent that remaining together is the only way for multiples to feel secure in their new and ever-expanding environment. (Again, I wonder if this new experience of hot lunches comes with a side of new parents?)

Today, I was discussing the pro and cons of both scenarios with my mother-in-law when Violet piped up with the solution: "What if only one of them gets a bag of chips?" With logic like that, who can disagree with putting the boys into the same class!

I wonder if I can get a two-for-one discount on their tuition?! Or maybe they can be the class "experiment" and I could get paid for their attendance!

How Do They Pay Me, Let Me Count The Ways...

So, I'm sitting on the couch- not folding laundry, not sorting laundry, not even thinking about laundry (until this very second)- surfing on The Pilot's laptop -the beauty of him being home! (This statement makes me laugh. I am having visions of me at the beach with my Gateway board, just waiting for the best wave!)

I digress.

I was scrolling through OrBlogs when I spotted "Non-Profit". The two line teaser piqued my curiosity. So I clicked and continued reading. I even commented using my real name (ok, not my name but my initial! You know I like my privacy!) Anyway, I put "non-profit" in my profile, and now I feel the need to defend/explain that. I might even remove it after I complete this entry.

Originally, I used it because I was sick to death of people asking me IF I work. I want to scream "I work ALL day, EVERYday" while throwing my laundry basket. I'm also irritated that Blogger does not offer me a way to describe my "Industry". Someone recently told my sister that they would love "to be that lazy". The nerve of some people.

Being home with them is difficult- I won't lie- but it is also the most rewarding thing I have EVER done. My college degree has done nothing to prepare me for dominoes in the wall, endless questions about mummies (I think we're finally moving on, but only after a trip to the library to see real pictures with real descriptions. Yes, I let her look and then she decided that they were "too gross". Yeah!), laundry in the toilet, singing "clean-up, clean-up" all day long, fire in the playroom, deoderant ALL over the bathroom floor (that's a whole 'nother entry!), sleepless nights, countless diapers, mom clothes, enough tears to flood the neighborhood, scraped knees (real and imaginary), broken favorite toys, lost "lovies" (aka stuffed animals), and no social life.
My "industry" is only "non-profit" in terms of my gaining money. I am certainly contributing to the financial profit of many establishments as I buy diapers, sippy cups, books- easy reader types, and the occasional latte that I allow myself on really long mornings. My payment comes in facials and "hand-cials" with Violet, love bug kisses from Herbie, and Aunt Fanny sized hugs from Bigweld.

Happy 4th Birthday!

Today is my nephew G's birthday. He is one of the sweetest young men I have every met. He loves to laugh, tell stories, and do his own stunts. G is an amazing gift and blessing to our whole family.

I Am In a Need-to-Know-Right-Now Situation

How long does it take for 5, maybe 6, crayons to melt in a heat vent?

Let's assume the following is true (because it is, mostly):
-the crayons are Crayola brand (because the off-brand variety isn't as "easy" to remove from furniture)
-they were body temp when they were forced into the vent (I know this because I had just done the Heimlich Maneuver.)
-the heat is kept at a constant 67 degrees (where is the little degree symbol on a keyboard?)

How does the melt rate change if the temperature is lowered by 20 degrees?

How many layers of clothing would be required to keep two 30 lb boys alive at 47 degrees for 4 days? (Maybe I shouldn't be concerned with keeping them alive until The Pilot gets home but rather when he gets home.)

What if I forget to mention the impending crayon fondu? How much will THAT lapse in memory cost me$?$

What if Train A leaves Cincinnati at 8am and Train B leaves Portland at 9am, when and where will they meet if they are traveling at speeds of...Wait, that's an old problem I don't have time to revisit. And, so far, I haven't needed the solution--I never take the train!

Real Life (or death) as a Learning Tool?

I don't think we'll be using this in Violet's continuing education on mummies.

It's A Good Day...So Far...

Phyllis the Cat has only one shaved spot on her back, and we're still not sure which one of our three angels did the shaving....and for that matter, who held her down!?!

The Pilot came home late last night only to find a laundry basket full of glass in the garage. When asked what happened, Violet said she'd give us "two guesses"...hmmm...

Violet is suddenly very fascinated by the "funny show" (aka America's Funniest Videos). Everything that makes her laugh (and that's a lot these days) "should be sent in". Unfortunately, the video camera is "dead, Jim, dead"!

Bigweld is convinced that his finger is detached from his hand and is living in the wall. I am still looking for suggestions, Oh Wise Readers, on how to remove glittery lip gloss from hard wood floors without having to use sandpaper. For someone who's finger is missing, he sure makes a mess, quickly.

Herbie is still wearing the lip gloss in his hair. He thinks it's hair product or his "handsome".

Violet's kindergarten class went to a "Kinderkonzert" (with members from The Oregon Symphony) this morning. She was rather irritated that there weren't any rides. She had confused "concert" with "carnival" and was very disappointed with the lack of rides, ponies, and elephant ears.

It's already 1:15 and nothing has flooded or been blown up... I am so thankful for peaceful mornings!

What Kind Of Day Are You Having?