Yoga With Bruce

I will give my husband credit where credit is due:  he was the one who suggested we try out my new yoga DVD last night.  I purchased this DVD for both of us...it was supposed to be designed for people who have back pain or poor posture; a series of gentle moves to strengthen your spine and relax your body. 

It did not begin well.  The routine required the use of chairs, and a yoga strap.  Bruce decided to use his belt.  The soft music started, with a montage of tranquil images of the ocean and bamboo.  He said it was already making him tired. 

As we tried to move through the stretches (having to shift positions and chairs so as to be able to see the TV and not hit each other,) I realized how I had a long way to go before I could be considered flexible.  I bent over, only really making it a few inches down.  I glance over at my husband, who was still in the same position. 

"I can't bend...this is as far as I go." 

Seriously?  Well...I guess I feel a little better.

The rest of the routine was a montage of complaints and questions by my husband:

"What does that MEAN??"
"My body doesn't bend that way!"
"I don't know what he means by that."
"Is the human body supposed to do that?"
"I don't bend from the hip...what does he mean, 'supple?'"
"Open the chest?  What does that MEAN??"
"I don't stretch like that."

And, finally, upon shifting into position for the meditation portion of the DVD, my husband lets out a long, loud fart.  I'm glad the routine helped him release some tension...but that isn't what I was envisioning. 

Needless to say, neither of us really got much out of that session (outside of the releasing of flatulance.) 

Hopefully the next session will go a little better.  Of course, if it doesn't, there is always just sitting back with a bottle of beer, and complaining about our back pain...

THAT was the easy part??

"Just remember...the first year is the easiest."

A fellow parent of twins gave me this warning when I was pregnant. 

"They don't move yet!" 

The first year was beyond difficult.  I kept thinking to myself, "what does he mean, the first year is the EASIEST??"  In my sleep-deprived, still recovering from a c-section state, trying to figure out how to feed two fussy babies at the same time...one with bad reflux...I could not imagine things being more difficult. 

Now...during my much coveted quiet time (bedtime)...I am glancing around at the state of my house.  The printer tray is broken, courtesy of Owen.  Captain Crunch berries are ground into the carpet.  Toys litter the living room.  My phone (and laptop screen) are covered in fingerprints.  Puffy paint adorns my coffee maker.  The bathroom has puddles of water on the floor.  There is cat fur by the door, where Samson narrowly made his escape from the clutches of Connor earlier.  My pots, pans, and utensils are scattered around the kitchen...and I think I see the crusts of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wedged between the booster seat and chair.  I look in the finger print-covered mirror, and see several gray hairs starting to show.  There are bags under my eyes...and a nice cut in my lip from when Owen head-butted me yesterday. 

Now I fully understand the warning.  As tired as I was...as stressed as I was...the boys stayed in one place until I moved them.  Now I am forever pulling them off of counters, toilets, shelves and for some odd reason, the doll stroller in Irelynn's room.  They screech.  They smack.  They knock over each other's block towers.  They overturn chairs...and drag stools to the fridge to try and push the water and ice buttons.  They eat worms....and stick their hands in pee-filled potty chairs.  They color on my table with markers...and throw macaroni at the cat.  I have been reduced to tears...actually having said things like, "what is WRONG with you??" and "we do NOT throw POOP!"  I have even called my husband, at work, out of desperation, wondering if there is any chance he would be leaving early that day.

I have even called my mother and asked if she could please, please pick me up a fountain soda because it was too early for beer.  And then called my husband and asked if he could please, please pick me up some beer on his way home from work. 

So Uncle Tim...you were right.  Now...when does it get easier again???

Boys

I am not sure I can handle being the mother of a boy.  Now, I know what you're thinking...I have a teenage boy...I should be used to this, right?  Not by a long-shot.  One boy, who was the sensitive, intellectual type, years ago, was no match for Owen.  I do not say "Connor," because I believe Connor is following in his older brother (and father's) footsteps.  Is he a trouble-maker?  Yes.  That part I can handle, as all of my children are trouble-makers (I'm a veteran of mischief battles of various sorts, ranging from hair-cutting to clothes-altering...by means of scissors and markers.)  No, that I can handle.  It is the pure gross factor that comes with being a boy...a rough and tumble, fearless, slightly thick-headed boy. 

Just today alone I had a plethora of physical ailments, ranging from heart failure (when he dragged the stool to the fridge, teetered on top and grabbed a glass from the counter,) a bloody lip when he head banged me for trying to put him in pants, and a tension headache as he took his plate, covered in syrup, and set it on his head...slowly dragging it down over his face, leaving a streak of sticky syrup all over his head and nose.  He thought this was hilarious.  At lunch he tossed his fork aside to eat his noodles like a dog...face first. 

None of this compared to later, though, when we went outside to play.  First, apparently still a dog, he lapped up some dirty water on the play structure.  Then, not more than a couple of minutes later, I heard my mom ask the words no parent wants to hear outside, when there is no food around.

"What is in his mouth?!" 

Upon inspection, we realize that Owen has eaten a worm.  Half of a worm, to be exact, as the other half was laying at his feet...with teeth marks all over it. 

This kid is not even two-years-old yet. 

I cannot begin to imagine what the next few years have in store for me...

Growing a Garden, Sawdon-Style

We decided to be ambitious this year.  We started a garden.  I'm not entirely sure what prompted us to do this:  not a single one of us has a green thumb.  In fact, I have been known to kill plants...repeatedly.  A serial plant killer, if you will.  Also, as we do not have a fenced-in yard, we can rarely go out to do anything because it takes more than one adult to keep track of my clan.  It is a two-chaperone field trip just to head out to the back yard.  However...we now have a yard with pumpkins, tomatoes, peppers, chard and basil attempting to beat the odds and grow. 

First there was a matter of tilling up some earth.  Luckily, my husband's grandfather happened to have a rototiller.  He, along with my father-in-law, arrived at our house with the device...and the men set to work.  This was comic genius.  My husband, bless him, has never really done any gardening before, much less used such a device.  I don't know what was funnier...him trying to use it...or the fact that his grandfather, a few feet away, was giving him specific instructions...which he ignored.  So, my children come by it honestly.  My father-in-law just looked on and smiled.  Finally, Grandpa took over...and I have to say, I was pretty impressed...that man has some energy! 

The next day was planting day.  This, too, was interesting because our plants were already half dead from waiting so long to plant them.  The boys wanted to "help," so I gave them a couple of little shovels and let them go to town.  The girls were arguing because as the older girl tried to dig a hole, the younger girl was digging next to her...and throwing the dirt quite forcefully in her direction.  After taking care of that near-disaster, I turn to see that Connor had gotten into the bag of manure...and was throwing it...which confirmed my suspicions that he truly is a monkey. 

The plants are in and watered.  We'll have to see if they make it.  They will probably have to endure some neglect at times...and invading toddlers.  Let's hope they are stronger than the houseplants.

For Better or Worse...

My sister got married...and it was everything I dreamt it would be...crazy bachelor/bachelorette party, super cool theme, beautiful day....and my children disrupting the ceremony. 

Bruce, Irelynn and I were all in the wedding party, which created a bit of a problem when it came to a couple of over-active toddlers.  Irelynn went back and forth between being painfully shy and wild hippie child.  The family took turns keeping tabs on Owen and Connor.  I told Jay that his most important task was to help watch the boys during the ceremony, because we could not do it...my mother would have limited availability, and my oldest niece was taking pictures.  So, as I glance out into the pews from the front of the church, frantically glancing at Jay because Owen has burst out screaming during the sermon, what do I see?  Jaylond...holding my cell phone...apparently trying to record the ceremony.  Meanwhile, his sister is looking like a lost puppy as she tries to shoosh Owen and figure out what to do with him. 

I look down at our little flower girl...who is continuing to sprinkle flower petals on the floor.  She grins at me and then asks why that guy just keeps talking and talking.  Meanwhile, Owen gets louder.  I see my stepdad, with a bad hip, finally take my flailing child down the aisle to the back of the church...Jaylond focused only on capturing video with my phone.  Connor is sitting on my aunt's lap, repeatedly sounding like a young Kool-Aid man:  "Oh Yeah!"

Luckily my sister-in-law was able to pick up the boys after the ceremony. 

Though my kids managed to disrupt the most important parts of the ceremony...the rest of the event was wonderful.  The reception was a blast, and my sister was beautiful. 

I think I'm going to have a discussion with my budding videographer before the next wedding, though...