I am dusting off my keyboard (or rather, wiping off the banana and jelly stains which have accumulated from toddler usage) to add an entry to my blog. I know it's been awhile, and my mother, for one, has reminded me more than once. With Bruce's insane work hours (which I'm still convinced are not entirely legal,) I have been trying to settle into the role of single mom...which as my toddler demonstrated the other day with the phrase, "DAMMIT...I can't find my shirt!"... I'm not handling it very well. I could blog about the preteens' adventures in middle school (although I think the older girl would KILL me;) I could blog about Irelynn and her idea of decorating pumpkins, involving a Sharpie marker and a gooey pumpkin canvas, and her attempts to "help" her sister decorate her's....or I could blog about finding Owen under a bowl of Ramen noodle soup, with a huge grin, and noodles sliding down his head. However, I think the most interesting recent event was our trip up north....me with five children...and no husband...on a four-hour drive.
I shall spare you the details of getting ready for the trip, which my sister could tell you was pure mayhem, and skip to the car ride up there. All was well until we stopped to eat at a Burger King. It wasn't a "real" Burger King...it was one of those gas stations that had a fast food corner inside. They had one high chair. I had two babies who had been cooped up in a van for a couple of hours. Needless to say, this was not a pleasant dinner. Connor's food ended up on the floor. Owen's food ended up in Connor. My food...did I have food? I don't remember. My poor mother, who graciously rode with us, became the second high chair. Then we noticed an odd smell. It was a whopper...but not one that we ordered. Owen figured he would relieve himself while we were stopped. It would have been good timing....if the restroom had a changing table. We made do with the counter.
Back on the road...and into the rain...when my windshield wipers decided not to work. They got stuck in the "up" position. Brilliant. Luckily, they started up again, but now I see that part of the weather stripping on the bottom of the windshield has come loose. As we drive in the rain, with now cranky, screaming babies and two preteens that CANNOT get along, the little black rubber strip mocked me, flapping in front of my face. My mother, always the optimist, tried to cheer me up with her own version of the "suburban housewife" rap, pertaining to driving up north.
"We're going to Elmira....to have a Bud-weis-uh!"
The rubber strip, having not brought our spirits down sufficiently, entwined itself in the wipers, freezing them up the air. My mother gasped and fumbled for the cell phone to inform my stepfather that we had an emergency (he was driving behind us.) I told her it was ok, it wasn't a life or death situation, and we made it off the road into Zilwaukee. After fixing the problem (which meant yanking the dang strip from the window entirely,) we were back on the road with working windshield wipers once again.
Owen and Connor expressed their displeasure by alternating between crying, screaming, and yelling at us in what I believe was Klingon. My mother came up with another colorful verse to her rap, ending in the chorus:
"We're going to Elmira...to have a Bud-weis-uh....or two...."
I finally enlist the help of the older boy to quickly move the portable DVD player to the middle of the van and put in some Backyardigans...stat.
Ahhh...as we are almost there...quiet.
Once there, I was relieved for a moment. Until I realized where we would be staying. My older brother and sister-in-law were remodeling the main part of the house, so their massive garage had been converted into a livable space. It was huge, and had their couch and big-screen TV, a dining room table, and their fridge and stove with room to spare. Unfortunately...it was not baby-proof...and it was still a garage...meaning outside the "living room" area....it was concrete. I have really under-appreciated having a gated, baby-proof room in my house. The entire weekend was spent baby wrangling. We attempted to block off dangerous areas with dog crates, ottomans, and my future brother-in-law's...well...I think it was a laundry bag, I'm not sure. We chased them around couches and tables. When I say "we," I am referring to my sister, my mother and I...and occasionally my future brother-in-law who was probably afraid that my sister would kick his arse if he didn't help out. The rest of the family pretty much ignored the rampaging toddlers, whose favorite activities became walking up to the big screen TV and banging on it (after the initial awe of witnessing "Micky Mouse Clubhouse" three times bigger than they are used to it.) Connor also found the box of empty beer cans...which he was determined to get into, not to mention the shelf of breakable items, and the nice Macbook that was precariously left out within their reach.
Naptime and nighttime were excruciating. They did not want to nap. They wanted to cry. And bang on the TV. The pack n' play was set up in another room, with the creakiest floor imaginable. I spent hours trying to rock them asleep atop an exercise ball, and then figure out where each creaky part of the floor was located, and try to avoid it. I think most of my time was spent in that room. At night they woke up several times, and luckily a couple of times my sister or my mother would hear and come in to help. The first night, however, one of my brothers, who will remain anonymous, created a different...um...obstacle...while trying to get the twins to sleep. My sister was holding and shushing Owen. I was on top of the exercise ball, rocking Connor. And in stumbles...the anonymous brother...who was more than slightly intoxicated. He waddled into the room in a confused state....and I say "waddled" because his pants were halfway down, his hands gripping the sides of them, as I assume he was in search of a restroom. My jaw dropped as he stopped in front of me, and gazed down at Connor.
"Awwww...." He stared down at him...for at least a full minute.
I glance questioningly at my sister, who gives me the "I have no clue what to do right now" look, as we are exposed to much more of our brother than we ever wanted to see. Lets just say, we were "Chris"tened that evening. Finally, he comes to his senses (sort of,) and turns around to waddle his way toward the other bathroom....his pasty white butt hanging out in all it's glory. We hear my stepdad come downstairs a few moments later, knocking on the bathroom door, inquiring, loudly, if he fell asleep in there. My sister sets Owen down and decides she'd better help. She guided our brother back to the garage area and the couch. Needless to say, it was the favorite story told around the table the next day.
When it was finally time to head south, we had a new set of adventures awaiting us. A toddler having to go potty...right now...led us off an offramp that, while signs claimed they had gas, food and lodging, had pretty much nothing for miles, except for a lone DNR office. We finally decided to just turn around and see if the DNR place had a restroom....we pulled off onto a dirt driveway and turnaround....and found that apparently this turnaround was meant for jeeps and SUV's...not minivans. We got stuck in the mud. The kids found this quite funny, as I desparately spun the wheels to no avail. I, however, did not. In my sleep-deprived state, my sense of humor left me somewhere between the last chorus of my mother's rap and the boys' decision not to sleep. Luckily, my stepfather did have an SUV...and some rope. So, we finally got out...and stopped at the DNR office. After yanking my toddler out of the van, in her bright pink footed pj's and sneakers, running to the door and yanking on it....I realize that the sign in front of me states clearly that the DNR is closed on the weekend. Brilliant.
I set Irelynn down, and she walks next to me back to the van.
"It's ok, Mommy. I don't have to go anymore."
"You don't?"
"No...I already went in my pants back when we got stuck."
Awesome.
So, we get back on the freeway and about two miles down....see a rest area. Of course. So I stopped, and took out the toddler to put her in a new pull-up....and then realized we were out of pull-ups. Could this trip GET any better? So, I have my 3-year-old squeeze into a size 3 baby diaper (because I was not about to risk driving another few hours with her only in underwear,) and get back on the road.
Having had literally no sleep over the weekend, I began to feel drowsy...I was starting to imagine that I was in a submarine in search of mermaids...when I realized the babies were sleeping. So I asked Jay to please turn off the Backyardigans mermaid episode that we had now watched for the fifth time. We pulled over into a gas station, and as my mom stood there with the kids, I ran in and purchased a 32-ounce Mt. Dew, a 5-hour energy shot...and a bag of M&M's.
We made it home safely. My husband would not be coming home that night. Wonderful. I'm beginning to really hate his job. So, after several more feedings, and hours of rocking, the boys are down, I collapse onto the bed, and vaguely remember my husband arriving home sometime between 4 and 5am, just in time for Connor to wake up...again. Needless to say, I picked up Connor, handed him over to my husband with a bottle, and climbed back into bed.
Hopefully now that I have gotten some semblance of sleep since this event, I will have time to update my blog a little more often. Hopefully.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Life With Twins
It is amazing that I have not lost weight by now...I mean alot of weight. I feel as though I am constantly on the move. It must be those late night snacks...you know, a bite of cinnamon cake as I heat up a bottle at 3am, a shot of Redi Whip as I put the milk back in the fridge. Not great, but short of brewing a pot of coffee in the middle of the night, I do all that I can to make sure I don't accidentally give the boys soda or rum in my sleep-deprived state. Which leads me to the first, and actually, most difficult part of having twins. You learn quickly to live on no sleep.
Anyone who has a baby will say, "yeah, so? We've all been there." No...no. It is not the same. Trust me. Take what you have been through...and multiply it by two. And crying it out is not an option when babies are sharing a room. Not unless you want two screaming babies...and eventually a toddler waking up wondering what all the noise is...and another cup of water.
We have it down to a routine at night. As soon as a baby cries, I jump out of bed and grab him, shushing him, in hopes to not wake the other baby. I bring him to my groggy husband, along with a diaper, and he begins to change him while I go out to prepare a bottle. Or two, depending on whether or not the other baby is also awake. We do it this way, because if my husband were responsible for getting up to get the baby...well, it might never happen. He will take about three minutes just to sit up and get his bearings...then, eventually stumble out of the room. The entire house would be awake by the time he got there. And so...this is my responsibility. Hence the late night foraging on my part. We then feed the babies (or take turns if it is only one at a time,) and put them back to bed....only to repeat the routine a couple of hours later. I have learned that rocking them back to sleep does not work well...unless you want to be rocking for a good hour, and then have to stay up because the next baby is up after that. An hour of sleep is still an hour of sleep.
Then, during the day, after several cups of coffee, I commence damage control. Has anyone seen the movie, Shrek the 3rd? There is a scene in it where Shrek is dreaming about coming home to find not one, but several little ogre babies...they are all going in different directions, and he is running around like crazy trying to scoop them up before some dangerous peril befalls them. That is a fairly accurate description of my day.
I have them pretty much locked in the living room, which, for the most part, is fairly well baby-proofed. However, they find ways of getting into things they shouldn't. Don't ask me how....they just do. For example, we have a computer out there. They can't get to the cords, but they have managed to pry open the computer case. As I pull Owen away from the now open computer, I hear a squeal behind me. Connor has climbed into the infant seat I had sitting out to take to a Mom 2 Mom sale...he is standing up in it, holding onto the handle, and rocking it back and forth while squealing with joy. I set Owen down to go grab Connor and put the infant seat on the other side of the gate.
Crash.
I whirl around to find Owen shoving the external hard drive back behind the entertainment center. He opens the DVD drive on the DVD player and pulls out a disc...licks it...and tries to put it back. Meanwhile, Connor has found the remote, and has switched the channel.
"Look Mommy! It's Obama!"
Irelynn is trying to help me do damage control by yanking away any item she thinks they shouldn't have, but is momentarily stunned by her idol on the television. Connor sees his chance, and takes her juice...which is not spill proof.
This is why I am exhausted by the end of the day.
Last night I ran out to the store, leaving a reluctant husband behind with the kids. As I searched the coffee aisle for some pumpkin spice cappuccino (I will have to ask my mother-in-law where she finds hers,) I see a woman scanning the coffee shelves. She has a baby in her arms, and she is trying to console her. I look down to see another baby in an infant seat, fussing in her cart. The woman looks tired. I smile.
"Twins?"
She smiles and nods.
"How old are they?"
"Two months."
I smile down at the babies.
"I recently celebrated my twin boys' first birthday."
Her eyes got wide and she smiled.
"It does get easier."
It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the complete truth...but I remember those days. Those are the days that you really wonder if you will ever get through it....the days you are scared out of your mind. In that way, it does get easier as time passes. You learn that this, too, shall pass. You are stronger than you think...and that life may be difficult, but it isn't without wonder, amusement, and a whole lot of humor. Someday she'll look back and think that it wasn't so bad. Or she'll blog about it...one of the two.
Anyone who has a baby will say, "yeah, so? We've all been there." No...no. It is not the same. Trust me. Take what you have been through...and multiply it by two. And crying it out is not an option when babies are sharing a room. Not unless you want two screaming babies...and eventually a toddler waking up wondering what all the noise is...and another cup of water.
We have it down to a routine at night. As soon as a baby cries, I jump out of bed and grab him, shushing him, in hopes to not wake the other baby. I bring him to my groggy husband, along with a diaper, and he begins to change him while I go out to prepare a bottle. Or two, depending on whether or not the other baby is also awake. We do it this way, because if my husband were responsible for getting up to get the baby...well, it might never happen. He will take about three minutes just to sit up and get his bearings...then, eventually stumble out of the room. The entire house would be awake by the time he got there. And so...this is my responsibility. Hence the late night foraging on my part. We then feed the babies (or take turns if it is only one at a time,) and put them back to bed....only to repeat the routine a couple of hours later. I have learned that rocking them back to sleep does not work well...unless you want to be rocking for a good hour, and then have to stay up because the next baby is up after that. An hour of sleep is still an hour of sleep.
Then, during the day, after several cups of coffee, I commence damage control. Has anyone seen the movie, Shrek the 3rd? There is a scene in it where Shrek is dreaming about coming home to find not one, but several little ogre babies...they are all going in different directions, and he is running around like crazy trying to scoop them up before some dangerous peril befalls them. That is a fairly accurate description of my day.
I have them pretty much locked in the living room, which, for the most part, is fairly well baby-proofed. However, they find ways of getting into things they shouldn't. Don't ask me how....they just do. For example, we have a computer out there. They can't get to the cords, but they have managed to pry open the computer case. As I pull Owen away from the now open computer, I hear a squeal behind me. Connor has climbed into the infant seat I had sitting out to take to a Mom 2 Mom sale...he is standing up in it, holding onto the handle, and rocking it back and forth while squealing with joy. I set Owen down to go grab Connor and put the infant seat on the other side of the gate.
Crash.
I whirl around to find Owen shoving the external hard drive back behind the entertainment center. He opens the DVD drive on the DVD player and pulls out a disc...licks it...and tries to put it back. Meanwhile, Connor has found the remote, and has switched the channel.
"Look Mommy! It's Obama!"
Irelynn is trying to help me do damage control by yanking away any item she thinks they shouldn't have, but is momentarily stunned by her idol on the television. Connor sees his chance, and takes her juice...which is not spill proof.
This is why I am exhausted by the end of the day.
Last night I ran out to the store, leaving a reluctant husband behind with the kids. As I searched the coffee aisle for some pumpkin spice cappuccino (I will have to ask my mother-in-law where she finds hers,) I see a woman scanning the coffee shelves. She has a baby in her arms, and she is trying to console her. I look down to see another baby in an infant seat, fussing in her cart. The woman looks tired. I smile.
"Twins?"
She smiles and nods.
"How old are they?"
"Two months."
I smile down at the babies.
"I recently celebrated my twin boys' first birthday."
Her eyes got wide and she smiled.
"It does get easier."
It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the complete truth...but I remember those days. Those are the days that you really wonder if you will ever get through it....the days you are scared out of your mind. In that way, it does get easier as time passes. You learn that this, too, shall pass. You are stronger than you think...and that life may be difficult, but it isn't without wonder, amusement, and a whole lot of humor. Someday she'll look back and think that it wasn't so bad. Or she'll blog about it...one of the two.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Trying To Go With The Flow...
"Irelynn...get your pants on!"
"I am!" She is zoning out while Mickey Mouse starts singing the "Hot Dog" song.
I am frantically running around, putting together the diaper bag, looking for Connor's missing shoe, and trying to locate the directions to the apple orchard. It was Irelynn's field trip day at her preschool. I run back to the bathroom, thinking I'd better go one last time. Great...a kid forgot to flush. I flushed the toilet...and instantly regretted it.
The brown water began to rise. I quickly grabbed the plunger and desperately tried to unclog the toilet...with no luck. The water continued to rise, spilling over the top.
"OH MY GOD! STOP!!!"
I glance around at our bathroom floor, littered with tub toys, clothes, and a pair of Irelynn's shoes. I picked up a shoe and set it on the side of the bathtub while continuing to plunge.
"NO NO NO NO!!!!" The water is still spilling out, now covering the floor and making it's way to the hallway.
The three younger ones, trapped in the living room by a baby gate, are getting concerned. Owen starts shaking the bars, calling "mamamamama...."
Connor starts crying.
Irelynn tries her best to keep me calm.
"It's okay, Mommy! Mommy...everything is okay...Mommy, listen to me...it is ALRIGHT!"
I grab the phone and frantically call my husband, who is riding in the back of a jeep across the state for a project he has to do for work.
"THE TOILET IS OVERFLOWING!!!! I CAN'T MAKE IT STOP!!! I don't know what to doooooo....."
He calmly tells me to turn the water off at the pipe. Oh. Duh.
"Mommy....everything is okay!"
I turn the water off, and grab the carpet cleaner and begin sucking up poop water from the floor. My mom arrives. It's time to go.
Luckily, the apple orchard trip was fun...and incident-free. But then I had to come home.
As the older children arrived home from school, I informed them that the one bathroom was out of commission. It starts off okay. Jaylond, the thoughtful child that he is, took an excruciatingly long time announcing that he was going to be occupying the bathroom for awhile, so if anyone else had to go, now was the time. He asked every member of the family, multiple times, if they had to go. Finally, slightly irritated, I snapped.
"JUST GO!" I took a deep breath. "Sorry...but I think you're fine to use the bathroom...just go ahead."
I kid you not....thirty seconds later, the older girl is tattling on him. She decided she did, in fact, have to go...and he was "not hurrying up." I remind her that he offered plenty of chances before he got in for her to go. This apparently did not matter. She set up camp outside the bathroom and began a verbal assault until the boy had no choice but to surrender.
She apparently needed to do the same thing, because she spent a good 20-minutes occupying the bathroom. When she finished...right on cue...the toddler informs me that she, too, has to go.
((sigh))
I lead her to the working toilet...only to find out that it is no longer working. It, too, was now clogged.
"WHAT HAS THIS FAMILY BEEN EATING??!!"
"Mommy...I have to go poop."
Okay. Deep breath. I have the older girl retrieve the toddler potty from the other bathroom, and set it in the hall, so I can work on unclogging this toilet.
"But Mommy...I can't use this potty. It isn't clean."
"Irelynn...just use it right now. I can't do anything about it at the moment."
She finally condescends to using the dirty potty. I hear the babies start to cry in the living room. Owen is yelling for me, Connor is whining. Jaylond disappeared downstairs, and the older girl is whining about the fact that our house currently smells like a sewer.
"Mommy! Come wipe me!"
Bruce finally arrived home...looking a little scared.
"Are you okay?"
"It's been a pretty shitty day."
I love my husband. Truly. How many men would come home to that, go unclog multiple toilets, and scrub down a bathroom with bleach, and then have a beer with his exhausted wife?
Needless to say, our family then had a meeting regarding toilet paper usage and proper flushing technique.
"I am!" She is zoning out while Mickey Mouse starts singing the "Hot Dog" song.
I am frantically running around, putting together the diaper bag, looking for Connor's missing shoe, and trying to locate the directions to the apple orchard. It was Irelynn's field trip day at her preschool. I run back to the bathroom, thinking I'd better go one last time. Great...a kid forgot to flush. I flushed the toilet...and instantly regretted it.
The brown water began to rise. I quickly grabbed the plunger and desperately tried to unclog the toilet...with no luck. The water continued to rise, spilling over the top.
"OH MY GOD! STOP!!!"
I glance around at our bathroom floor, littered with tub toys, clothes, and a pair of Irelynn's shoes. I picked up a shoe and set it on the side of the bathtub while continuing to plunge.
"NO NO NO NO!!!!" The water is still spilling out, now covering the floor and making it's way to the hallway.
The three younger ones, trapped in the living room by a baby gate, are getting concerned. Owen starts shaking the bars, calling "mamamamama...."
Connor starts crying.
Irelynn tries her best to keep me calm.
"It's okay, Mommy! Mommy...everything is okay...Mommy, listen to me...it is ALRIGHT!"
I grab the phone and frantically call my husband, who is riding in the back of a jeep across the state for a project he has to do for work.
"THE TOILET IS OVERFLOWING!!!! I CAN'T MAKE IT STOP!!! I don't know what to doooooo....."
He calmly tells me to turn the water off at the pipe. Oh. Duh.
"Mommy....everything is okay!"
I turn the water off, and grab the carpet cleaner and begin sucking up poop water from the floor. My mom arrives. It's time to go.
Luckily, the apple orchard trip was fun...and incident-free. But then I had to come home.
As the older children arrived home from school, I informed them that the one bathroom was out of commission. It starts off okay. Jaylond, the thoughtful child that he is, took an excruciatingly long time announcing that he was going to be occupying the bathroom for awhile, so if anyone else had to go, now was the time. He asked every member of the family, multiple times, if they had to go. Finally, slightly irritated, I snapped.
"JUST GO!" I took a deep breath. "Sorry...but I think you're fine to use the bathroom...just go ahead."
I kid you not....thirty seconds later, the older girl is tattling on him. She decided she did, in fact, have to go...and he was "not hurrying up." I remind her that he offered plenty of chances before he got in for her to go. This apparently did not matter. She set up camp outside the bathroom and began a verbal assault until the boy had no choice but to surrender.
She apparently needed to do the same thing, because she spent a good 20-minutes occupying the bathroom. When she finished...right on cue...the toddler informs me that she, too, has to go.
((sigh))
I lead her to the working toilet...only to find out that it is no longer working. It, too, was now clogged.
"WHAT HAS THIS FAMILY BEEN EATING??!!"
"Mommy...I have to go poop."
Okay. Deep breath. I have the older girl retrieve the toddler potty from the other bathroom, and set it in the hall, so I can work on unclogging this toilet.
"But Mommy...I can't use this potty. It isn't clean."
"Irelynn...just use it right now. I can't do anything about it at the moment."
She finally condescends to using the dirty potty. I hear the babies start to cry in the living room. Owen is yelling for me, Connor is whining. Jaylond disappeared downstairs, and the older girl is whining about the fact that our house currently smells like a sewer.
"Mommy! Come wipe me!"
Bruce finally arrived home...looking a little scared.
"Are you okay?"
"It's been a pretty shitty day."
I love my husband. Truly. How many men would come home to that, go unclog multiple toilets, and scrub down a bathroom with bleach, and then have a beer with his exhausted wife?
Needless to say, our family then had a meeting regarding toilet paper usage and proper flushing technique.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Gym
After many attempts to exercise at home, all ending prematurely in babies waking up from naps, or overly affectionate cats disrupting my downward facing dogs, I finally gave up and joined a gym. I have never worked out at a gym before. Now I remember why.
First of all, I am not exactly the "gym" type. I do not own real "workout" clothes. My hair does not look cute pulled back into a ponytail. I do not own an iPod. And I do not know how to operate an elliptical machine. The treadmill I figured out ok...but as I'm working up a sweat just walking swiftly, I feel slightly awkward next to the tall, shapely blonde running next to me effortlessly. I look down at my over-sized tee-shirt bearing the confused face of Vizzini from "The Princess Bride" and the words "Inconcievable!" on it. I have some stretchy capri pants that resemble pj pants more than workout pants, and no iPod. I'm beginning to feel self-conscious.
The next time I went, I tried to prepare a little better. I found some stretchy black yoga pants at Target. I wore a tee-shirt, still baggy, but less conspicuous. At least it was not advertising movies or beer, as several of the tee-shirts I own do. I even dug up my $10 MP3 player that I bought a long time ago and have never really used.
I decide to try out the elliptical machine. I'm not quite sure what the different settings mean. I see you can incline it....so I push the button. Nothing happened. I push it several more times. Suddenly the machine tilts up...at nearly a 90-degree angle. Whoa. I frantically push the "down" button until it becomes slightly more tolerable. After 10-minutes I decide it's time to move on. I step off of the machine and immediately hope that no one is watching as I realize my legs have been reduced to jello. I pretend that nothing is wrong, and concentrate extremely hard on walking straight to get to the spray bottles and paper towels. Somehow I made it to the table, and lingered there, hanging onto the water fountain, acting as though I am just extremely thirsty, and not, in fact, trying to keep myself from falling to the floor. I start to feel normal again, and decide to move on.
I get on one of the bikes. It also has options ranging from "auto pilot" to "alpine pass." I finally choose a setting and begin working out. This isn't so bad. Almost easy. I then realize that I am listening to "Champagne Supernova" by Oasis, and pedaling to the beat of the song. Hmm...better find a more upbeat song. I flip through, finding some Katy Perry songs. I realize I have a song of hers that is not one of her more popular ones. I start cracking up at the lyrics. I then realize that I am sitting there, in the middle of a gym, thoroughly amused on a stationary bike. Again, I hope no one is watching.
I survived that workout session. I even came back another day...with all three little ones...with intentions of utilizing the free childcare. But that, my friends, is another story. Perhaps I'll tell it tomorrow. In the meantime, I must go back to my daily workout of wrestling Connor back into his diaper.
First of all, I am not exactly the "gym" type. I do not own real "workout" clothes. My hair does not look cute pulled back into a ponytail. I do not own an iPod. And I do not know how to operate an elliptical machine. The treadmill I figured out ok...but as I'm working up a sweat just walking swiftly, I feel slightly awkward next to the tall, shapely blonde running next to me effortlessly. I look down at my over-sized tee-shirt bearing the confused face of Vizzini from "The Princess Bride" and the words "Inconcievable!" on it. I have some stretchy capri pants that resemble pj pants more than workout pants, and no iPod. I'm beginning to feel self-conscious.
The next time I went, I tried to prepare a little better. I found some stretchy black yoga pants at Target. I wore a tee-shirt, still baggy, but less conspicuous. At least it was not advertising movies or beer, as several of the tee-shirts I own do. I even dug up my $10 MP3 player that I bought a long time ago and have never really used.
I decide to try out the elliptical machine. I'm not quite sure what the different settings mean. I see you can incline it....so I push the button. Nothing happened. I push it several more times. Suddenly the machine tilts up...at nearly a 90-degree angle. Whoa. I frantically push the "down" button until it becomes slightly more tolerable. After 10-minutes I decide it's time to move on. I step off of the machine and immediately hope that no one is watching as I realize my legs have been reduced to jello. I pretend that nothing is wrong, and concentrate extremely hard on walking straight to get to the spray bottles and paper towels. Somehow I made it to the table, and lingered there, hanging onto the water fountain, acting as though I am just extremely thirsty, and not, in fact, trying to keep myself from falling to the floor. I start to feel normal again, and decide to move on.
I get on one of the bikes. It also has options ranging from "auto pilot" to "alpine pass." I finally choose a setting and begin working out. This isn't so bad. Almost easy. I then realize that I am listening to "Champagne Supernova" by Oasis, and pedaling to the beat of the song. Hmm...better find a more upbeat song. I flip through, finding some Katy Perry songs. I realize I have a song of hers that is not one of her more popular ones. I start cracking up at the lyrics. I then realize that I am sitting there, in the middle of a gym, thoroughly amused on a stationary bike. Again, I hope no one is watching.
I survived that workout session. I even came back another day...with all three little ones...with intentions of utilizing the free childcare. But that, my friends, is another story. Perhaps I'll tell it tomorrow. In the meantime, I must go back to my daily workout of wrestling Connor back into his diaper.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Spider and the Beach
It was a typical evening in the Sawdon household. Babies were crawling around, climbing on things, wreaking havoc in the living room. Connor was screeching. The Disney channel was providing background noise. The older children were finding new and creative ways to prolong doing their chores. Irelynn was attempting to get my attention in various ways.
"Mom...you remember this?"
I look at her, and she says what sounded like, "back off, Bitch."
"WHAT?!"
My mind frantically races, trying to remember the last time we drove somewhere and whether or not I had said anything inappropriate at the wheel.
"Backyard Bitch!"
My mouth is still hanging open.
"Backyard BEACH," my husband interjects from the chair. I glance over at him.
"It was a 'Phineas and Ferb' episode," he explains, "where they built a beach in their backyard, and then they sing about it, Reggae style...'Nothing's out of reach, we got a backyard beach.'"
For those who want to see...and hear...what she was trying to sing, here is a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulA4T9RQPa0
"That's what I said....backyard bitch."
"Irelynn it's backyard beach..."
"I know...backyard bitch..."
"Beeeeeaach..."
"Peach...backyard peach!"
We look at each other. Close enough. I make a mental note to warn the preschool teacher the following morning.
The next few moments are a blur....I recall my husband spotting a spider, but before taking care of it, he wants a flashlight to get a closer look at it. Meanwhile, the older girl is frantically trying to figure out the corner in the house that will put the most distance between her and the spider. Jaylond is trying to be a heroic big brother and swoop all babies out of the way, who respond with noises that sounded like they belonged in Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. Irelynn is skipping around the living room singing, "Backyard Bitch." Bruce tells Jaylond to get the headlamp from his work bag (a "cool" gadget he found online...an LED light...that you wear...on your head.) He shines the light at the spider.
"Man, he has a big ass....I just want to make sure...."
Irelynn, now on the couch, pipes up, "that 'pider has a big ass. I don't like big ass 'piders."
"Irelynn, don't say that...Daddy shouldn't have said that." I glare at Bruce, who has a sheepish grin.
He begins debating with Jay what would be the best angle to swing a shoe to ensure the spider does not escape. After much deliberating, my husband makes an executive decision and finally gets rid of the spider. We then realize, as the cat jumps past him and out the window, why we are having spider problems...the cat has successfully torn a hole in the window screen...one big enough for him to fit through.
I make a mental note to visit the hardware store.
((sigh))
My "To Do" list just keeps getting longer...and more odd.
I think I'm going to have alot of explaining to do to Irelynn's teacher.
"Mom...you remember this?"
I look at her, and she says what sounded like, "back off, Bitch."
"WHAT?!"
My mind frantically races, trying to remember the last time we drove somewhere and whether or not I had said anything inappropriate at the wheel.
"Backyard Bitch!"
My mouth is still hanging open.
"Backyard BEACH," my husband interjects from the chair. I glance over at him.
"It was a 'Phineas and Ferb' episode," he explains, "where they built a beach in their backyard, and then they sing about it, Reggae style...'Nothing's out of reach, we got a backyard beach.'"
For those who want to see...and hear...what she was trying to sing, here is a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulA4T9RQPa0
"That's what I said....backyard bitch."
"Irelynn it's backyard beach..."
"I know...backyard bitch..."
"Beeeeeaach..."
"Peach...backyard peach!"
We look at each other. Close enough. I make a mental note to warn the preschool teacher the following morning.
The next few moments are a blur....I recall my husband spotting a spider, but before taking care of it, he wants a flashlight to get a closer look at it. Meanwhile, the older girl is frantically trying to figure out the corner in the house that will put the most distance between her and the spider. Jaylond is trying to be a heroic big brother and swoop all babies out of the way, who respond with noises that sounded like they belonged in Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. Irelynn is skipping around the living room singing, "Backyard Bitch." Bruce tells Jaylond to get the headlamp from his work bag (a "cool" gadget he found online...an LED light...that you wear...on your head.) He shines the light at the spider.
"Man, he has a big ass....I just want to make sure...."
Irelynn, now on the couch, pipes up, "that 'pider has a big ass. I don't like big ass 'piders."
"Irelynn, don't say that...Daddy shouldn't have said that." I glare at Bruce, who has a sheepish grin.
He begins debating with Jay what would be the best angle to swing a shoe to ensure the spider does not escape. After much deliberating, my husband makes an executive decision and finally gets rid of the spider. We then realize, as the cat jumps past him and out the window, why we are having spider problems...the cat has successfully torn a hole in the window screen...one big enough for him to fit through.
I make a mental note to visit the hardware store.
((sigh))
My "To Do" list just keeps getting longer...and more odd.
I think I'm going to have alot of explaining to do to Irelynn's teacher.
Friday, September 4, 2009
We put the "fun" in "dysfunctional."
I am already anticipating calls home from the preschool. An outing yesterday made me realize just how dysfunctional our family sounds at times.
It all took place in the van. My sister rode with us to the store, and then out to lunch. I usually try to tune the kids out in the van...literally. As the arguments get louder, and I begin to hear the infamous "MOOOOM!," the volume on the radio goes up. I've found that this is a useful trick...it annoys the kids almost as much as they annoy me...and they stop arguing for about 30-seconds. Most of the time I can successfully tune them out...but sometimes there are things that just cannot be ignored.
Irelynn started talking to Owen. I do not know what the conversation entailed, as I was not paying attention until she informed me that Owen was using some interesting language. Owen does not talk yet.
"Mommy, Owen said, 'what the Hell!'"
"Irelynn...Owen did not say that, and you do not need to say that, either."
Then, from the back, the older girl (probably seeing that I was momentarily listening to kids' complaints) chimed in:
"MOOO-OM! Can you tell Jay to stop pointing the gun at me and poking me with it?"
((sigh))
"Do not be waving the gun over the baby's carseat! I want you to set the gun on the floor, and kick it forward. I want your hands where I can see them."
My sister is starting to crack up. I reassure her that it is a squirt gun...not a 9mm. Not that I would put it past my kids. I begin to realize it sounds like I'm raising my kids in a ghetto.
But on a happy note...Happy Birthday to my baby boys. Here's to making it through the first year!
It all took place in the van. My sister rode with us to the store, and then out to lunch. I usually try to tune the kids out in the van...literally. As the arguments get louder, and I begin to hear the infamous "MOOOOM!," the volume on the radio goes up. I've found that this is a useful trick...it annoys the kids almost as much as they annoy me...and they stop arguing for about 30-seconds. Most of the time I can successfully tune them out...but sometimes there are things that just cannot be ignored.
Irelynn started talking to Owen. I do not know what the conversation entailed, as I was not paying attention until she informed me that Owen was using some interesting language. Owen does not talk yet.
"Mommy, Owen said, 'what the Hell!'"
"Irelynn...Owen did not say that, and you do not need to say that, either."
Then, from the back, the older girl (probably seeing that I was momentarily listening to kids' complaints) chimed in:
"MOOO-OM! Can you tell Jay to stop pointing the gun at me and poking me with it?"
((sigh))
"Do not be waving the gun over the baby's carseat! I want you to set the gun on the floor, and kick it forward. I want your hands where I can see them."
My sister is starting to crack up. I reassure her that it is a squirt gun...not a 9mm. Not that I would put it past my kids. I begin to realize it sounds like I'm raising my kids in a ghetto.
But on a happy note...Happy Birthday to my baby boys. Here's to making it through the first year!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Connor's First Haircut
I had not intended on cutting my baby's hair yet. It began with taking the children out to get haircuts for the start of school. I ventured out to the local Fantastic Sam's with all five children in tow...and, as always, it turned into a bit of an adventure.
I put the babies in the monstrosity of a stroller, Irelynn at my heels, and the older kids walking at enough of a distance that it could be questioned whether or not they belonged to me. I'm finding as they get older, that distance seems to grow ever so slightly. It could be because I am no longer cool, in my formula stained oversized tee-shirt. It could be that I say words like "Yay," "Poo-poo," and "Binky." Or it could be because I am pushing a monster stroller that is packed with enough supplies to survive a week in the wilderness.
As we enter, people stare. I sign the kids up, and Jay is the first to go. The stylist is trying to convince him to go a bit shorter, as he was beginning to look as though he had a mullet. He agreed that a mullet was not cool, and let her go to work, without going too short, of course...because clean-cut is also not cool.
Irelynn repeatedly asked if it was her turn. She is the only toddler I know who absolutely loves to get haircuts. She asks once a week or so to get another one. It was finally her turn, and I ask Jay to help entertain the babies so that I can be next to her. Jay took the term "entertain" quite seriously, and the next thing I know Comedy Hour has started up in the waiting area, complete with the twins laughing and applauding. People begin to smile and giggle. It can only last for so long, though, before something happens.
"Uh, Mom...we have an emergency over here!"
I look over to Jay, who is holding Connor.
"What?"
"Connor took his pants off!!"
Sure enough, there was my smiling baby boy, pantless. I go to help put them back on, which, if anyone has a one-year-old might know...is not an easy feat. Connor was determined to only be in his diaper and shirt, and put up a good struggle. We finally got them on, and Irelynn's haircut was finished. And she had to go potty. Now.
I look pleadingly at Jay and ask if would mind watching the twins for a couple minutes so I could run her into the bathroom. The older girl was busy getting her hair done. Jay let out a sigh that said "do I have a choice?"
We made it to the restroom just in time.
We came out just in time to find out that Owen apparently had to go, too. Jaylond informed me that he stank...big time. And he was cranky.
Finally the older girl's hair was done...it took awhile because not only did they cut it, but took the time to flip it, mouse it, spray it and scrunch it. It was certainly flippy. And had alot of volume. And would look nothing like that the minute she washed it. I did a mental cringe and hoped she realized that.
Then, I had a mental lapse. The thought was that, I was here anyway...it would be awhile before I came again...and I didn't want to try it on my own. I looked down at my shaggy-haired baby and asked the lady if she had time to do one more. I sat him on my lap, Irelynn kept his attention, and curls began to fall. I began to get worried...but upon my request, she left the curls in the back. At the risk of giving him an uncool mullet, I let her trim up the rest of his hair.
Then...the big moment came....the moment the kids all wait for (even still, as teens)...time to get the after haircut sucker. Alas...they were all out of suckers. I thought Irelynn might cry. But then, they came up with something better. A Hannah Montana poster. My toddler perked right up.
So, it ended well. When we got home, I put the babies down for a nap, and hung Hannah right under The Jonas Brothers poster on Irelynn's wall.
At least the kids' look good. All four of them. Well, five, because Owen has yet to grow enough hair to warrant cutting.
I put the babies in the monstrosity of a stroller, Irelynn at my heels, and the older kids walking at enough of a distance that it could be questioned whether or not they belonged to me. I'm finding as they get older, that distance seems to grow ever so slightly. It could be because I am no longer cool, in my formula stained oversized tee-shirt. It could be that I say words like "Yay," "Poo-poo," and "Binky." Or it could be because I am pushing a monster stroller that is packed with enough supplies to survive a week in the wilderness.
As we enter, people stare. I sign the kids up, and Jay is the first to go. The stylist is trying to convince him to go a bit shorter, as he was beginning to look as though he had a mullet. He agreed that a mullet was not cool, and let her go to work, without going too short, of course...because clean-cut is also not cool.
Irelynn repeatedly asked if it was her turn. She is the only toddler I know who absolutely loves to get haircuts. She asks once a week or so to get another one. It was finally her turn, and I ask Jay to help entertain the babies so that I can be next to her. Jay took the term "entertain" quite seriously, and the next thing I know Comedy Hour has started up in the waiting area, complete with the twins laughing and applauding. People begin to smile and giggle. It can only last for so long, though, before something happens.
"Uh, Mom...we have an emergency over here!"
I look over to Jay, who is holding Connor.
"What?"
"Connor took his pants off!!"
Sure enough, there was my smiling baby boy, pantless. I go to help put them back on, which, if anyone has a one-year-old might know...is not an easy feat. Connor was determined to only be in his diaper and shirt, and put up a good struggle. We finally got them on, and Irelynn's haircut was finished. And she had to go potty. Now.
I look pleadingly at Jay and ask if would mind watching the twins for a couple minutes so I could run her into the bathroom. The older girl was busy getting her hair done. Jay let out a sigh that said "do I have a choice?"
We made it to the restroom just in time.
We came out just in time to find out that Owen apparently had to go, too. Jaylond informed me that he stank...big time. And he was cranky.
Finally the older girl's hair was done...it took awhile because not only did they cut it, but took the time to flip it, mouse it, spray it and scrunch it. It was certainly flippy. And had alot of volume. And would look nothing like that the minute she washed it. I did a mental cringe and hoped she realized that.
Then, I had a mental lapse. The thought was that, I was here anyway...it would be awhile before I came again...and I didn't want to try it on my own. I looked down at my shaggy-haired baby and asked the lady if she had time to do one more. I sat him on my lap, Irelynn kept his attention, and curls began to fall. I began to get worried...but upon my request, she left the curls in the back. At the risk of giving him an uncool mullet, I let her trim up the rest of his hair.
Then...the big moment came....the moment the kids all wait for (even still, as teens)...time to get the after haircut sucker. Alas...they were all out of suckers. I thought Irelynn might cry. But then, they came up with something better. A Hannah Montana poster. My toddler perked right up.
So, it ended well. When we got home, I put the babies down for a nap, and hung Hannah right under The Jonas Brothers poster on Irelynn's wall.
At least the kids' look good. All four of them. Well, five, because Owen has yet to grow enough hair to warrant cutting.
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