Finally I have the video camera working! We have only a few videos of the past year, but I now have everything back in working order and you should be looking at more than just still photos from now on! Yeah!
Remember when...
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Working in the garden, and a little play too!
Yes, Lola is about to eat dirt.
Jackson helping Pops spray some plant food on the garden.
Digging up some weeds.
Jackson is determined to break into the shed. He has yet to succeed. 
Enjoying some play after all that work in the garden.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Don't pity me, but maybe a little sympathy...
Rarely do I wallow in the thought "this would so much easier with one baby."
For one thing, often times it's simply not true. Watching two children play happily and safely in the living room is no harder than watching one. And often it can be much more fun. Pushing two content children in a stroller is no harder than pushing one. And typing this while two children FINALLY nap is no different than it would be if only one were asleep.
But there are times when I think, "Oh my God this would SO MUCH EASIER if there were only one of you!" Of course I am not really wishing away one of my children. I'm the mother of twins, Lola and Jack. And it really seems that's the way it's supposed to be. In fact, I just chuckled out loud even thinking of being the mom of just one baby. Preposterous!
But when one baby is sick and wants to snuggle and the other baby is happy and wants to play, my very best mommy-of-twin skills are put to the test!
Lola has a viral fever and has been running a temperature between 100 and 102 since Saturday. As long as her fever stays in check she's fairly content to play as usual, just maybe committing a little less energy to her pursuits. But when the Motrin starts to wear off and the fever starts to creep up (as it inevitably does before 6 hours between doses) she becomes uncharacteristically clingy and only wants to be held. Our ped says this shouldn't last past Wednesday or Thursday. As long as she stays hydrated and her fever responds to the Motrin there is no cause for concern.
No cause for concern?
What about the concern that I won't be able to occupy an energetic and often destructive 13 month old boy
while comforting and forcefully hydrating his sick twin sister.
For one thing, often times it's simply not true. Watching two children play happily and safely in the living room is no harder than watching one. And often it can be much more fun. Pushing two content children in a stroller is no harder than pushing one. And typing this while two children FINALLY nap is no different than it would be if only one were asleep.
But there are times when I think, "Oh my God this would SO MUCH EASIER if there were only one of you!" Of course I am not really wishing away one of my children. I'm the mother of twins, Lola and Jack. And it really seems that's the way it's supposed to be. In fact, I just chuckled out loud even thinking of being the mom of just one baby. Preposterous!
But when one baby is sick and wants to snuggle and the other baby is happy and wants to play, my very best mommy-of-twin skills are put to the test!
Lola has a viral fever and has been running a temperature between 100 and 102 since Saturday. As long as her fever stays in check she's fairly content to play as usual, just maybe committing a little less energy to her pursuits. But when the Motrin starts to wear off and the fever starts to creep up (as it inevitably does before 6 hours between doses) she becomes uncharacteristically clingy and only wants to be held. Our ped says this shouldn't last past Wednesday or Thursday. As long as she stays hydrated and her fever responds to the Motrin there is no cause for concern.
No cause for concern?
What about the concern that I won't be able to occupy an energetic and often destructive 13 month old boy
while comforting and forcefully hydrating his sick twin sister.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Decisions decisions...
I make hundreds of mommy decisions every day. Some are certainly more pressing or consequential than others. Many of them consist of a some sort of internal debate. Usually the debate is short. Sometimes it goes on for days.
If there was a live feed of one of these debates going through my mind throughout the day it might read something like this:
"Can he finish his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Would you want to finish you breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Well, I wouldn't want to finish my breakfast sitting in any diaper, so maybe the analogy doesn't fit. If he finishes his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper will he get a diaper rash? Will it be a bad one? Will it be painful? Or will it be the kind that only lasts through the afternoon? Would you want to tell anyone he finished his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Is anyone ever going to know he finished his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper?"
Most moms will be familiar with inner debate on the necessity of a bath:
"The kids aren't dirty, they're not getting baths tonight. I'm tired, I don't feel like kneeling at the tub, I don't feel like getting wet, and they really aren't that dirty. No baths. Definitely no baths. But they really do enjoy the bath. They love filling the cups up with water and trying to drink out of them. No, they aren't dirty and I am sooooo tired. It's been such a long day already. No, no baths. But the routine... they eat dinner, take baths, put on jammies, have a bottle, watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, read Goodnight Moon and Moo Ba La La La and go to bed. If I skip part of the routine will they be thrown off? Will the rest of the routine not go well? And I guess maybe they are a little dirty. Is that yogurt in his hair? Oh, and they played outside a little bit. Are they itchy from the grass? I bet I could wipe them down with baby wipes and that would take care of it. What about the yogurt? Do you think anyone will notice it tomorrow?"
So the debate du jour?
"Grapes. Choking hazard or delicious juicy healthy snack. Do I cut them in half? Sure, that's not so hard. Do I peel them? Now that's just ridiculous! So yes to grapes, halved but not peeled. Done. Decided. But maybe I should do some internet research first. Yes, I'll post the grape question on a couple of mom message boards and see what they say. And I'll look on Ask Dr. Sears.com and see what he says. And then maybe... wait a second! This is grapes we're talking about. Just sit the kids in the high chairs, cut some grapes in half, give them one at a time, and see what happens. Yeah, this whole thing isn't rocket science. It's grapes. Just do it. But maybe I should call a couple of mom friends and see what they say. When did they feed their kids grapes? Yeah, that's what I'll do. Call on the sisterhood. If it takes a village, than poll the villagers. Excellent. No, ridiculous. Really, it grapes. Just grapes. No villagers, no message boards, just me and my kids and some grapes. Cut in half of course."
If there was a live feed of one of these debates going through my mind throughout the day it might read something like this:
"Can he finish his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Would you want to finish you breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Well, I wouldn't want to finish my breakfast sitting in any diaper, so maybe the analogy doesn't fit. If he finishes his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper will he get a diaper rash? Will it be a bad one? Will it be painful? Or will it be the kind that only lasts through the afternoon? Would you want to tell anyone he finished his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper? Is anyone ever going to know he finished his breakfast sitting in a dirty diaper?"
Most moms will be familiar with inner debate on the necessity of a bath:
"The kids aren't dirty, they're not getting baths tonight. I'm tired, I don't feel like kneeling at the tub, I don't feel like getting wet, and they really aren't that dirty. No baths. Definitely no baths. But they really do enjoy the bath. They love filling the cups up with water and trying to drink out of them. No, they aren't dirty and I am sooooo tired. It's been such a long day already. No, no baths. But the routine... they eat dinner, take baths, put on jammies, have a bottle, watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, read Goodnight Moon and Moo Ba La La La and go to bed. If I skip part of the routine will they be thrown off? Will the rest of the routine not go well? And I guess maybe they are a little dirty. Is that yogurt in his hair? Oh, and they played outside a little bit. Are they itchy from the grass? I bet I could wipe them down with baby wipes and that would take care of it. What about the yogurt? Do you think anyone will notice it tomorrow?"
So the debate du jour?
"Grapes. Choking hazard or delicious juicy healthy snack. Do I cut them in half? Sure, that's not so hard. Do I peel them? Now that's just ridiculous! So yes to grapes, halved but not peeled. Done. Decided. But maybe I should do some internet research first. Yes, I'll post the grape question on a couple of mom message boards and see what they say. And I'll look on Ask Dr. Sears.com and see what he says. And then maybe... wait a second! This is grapes we're talking about. Just sit the kids in the high chairs, cut some grapes in half, give them one at a time, and see what happens. Yeah, this whole thing isn't rocket science. It's grapes. Just do it. But maybe I should call a couple of mom friends and see what they say. When did they feed their kids grapes? Yeah, that's what I'll do. Call on the sisterhood. If it takes a village, than poll the villagers. Excellent. No, ridiculous. Really, it grapes. Just grapes. No villagers, no message boards, just me and my kids and some grapes. Cut in half of course."
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I think I have figured out the reason I have been putting off finishing the story of Jackson's arm. Apart from the usual piles of laundry and dishes and other chores that keep me from writing (all real reasons that often keep me from prompt posting), there's an emotional reason for my procrastination. Simply put, finishing the telling of Jackson trip to the hospital feels like letting go of the guilt I'm carrying around and putting the matter behind me. And I guess I'm just not quite ready to let it go. I don't mean to sound dramatic. And I don't mean to give the impression that I'm moping around constantly beating myself up about the experience. But I have been holding on to some guilt. I feel guilty. I know there will be some people who are chuckling or rolling their eyes. They will be thinking I have a flair for the dramatic and it's high time I just let this go. Well, I'm trying. But it's hard. Try and imagine what it's like to actively cause harm to your child. Not he gets hurt while you're busy with something else and not paying enough attention. But you actually cause the harm, the tears, the pain. It really really sucks. I feel like I should have been better than this. I feel like this is a permanent blemish on my mommy scorecard.
And I guess that's where we land. The blemish on my scorecard. I feel like there's a big fat F somewhere on my permanent record. On my first year report card I certainly didn't get all A's but I feel that at least I made A's, B's and C's (Ok, maybe there were a few D's thrown in at the beginning, but it was really tough at first). But now, early in the second year, I send my kid to the hospital and earn a big fat F for failing to lift him safely out of his wagon.
Certainly I am affected by how I think people perceive me and my big fat F. I would be lying and no one would believe me anyway if I said that I don't care what others think about my parenting. It would be a bunch of bull if I said that I don't imagine people leering or snickering about my mommy blemish when I'm not around. If I said I don't worry about coming up short when compared to other moms I know then I would be... well...full of crap.
But all that worry and fear about what others think only becomes a big deal because of my own personal insecurities. The way that F makes me feel is the real thing, the thing that comes first. And right now that blemish on my report card still makes me feel pretty bad. Hopefully by next semester the sting of this poor grade will fade. Hopefully I will be able to chuckle about how big this seemed when it happened and how it seemed like I would never get back on the honor role. And hopefully next year when I look back at this and chuckle I will be doing so standing on top of a whole bunch of mommy A's.
I never thought I would hear myself say, "We don't put milk in the toilet."
It's a stool, it's a boat...
"I need this toy and my milk cup. And how am I going to pick up that ring?"
Happy Hippy baby
And I guess that's where we land. The blemish on my scorecard. I feel like there's a big fat F somewhere on my permanent record. On my first year report card I certainly didn't get all A's but I feel that at least I made A's, B's and C's (Ok, maybe there were a few D's thrown in at the beginning, but it was really tough at first). But now, early in the second year, I send my kid to the hospital and earn a big fat F for failing to lift him safely out of his wagon.
Certainly I am affected by how I think people perceive me and my big fat F. I would be lying and no one would believe me anyway if I said that I don't care what others think about my parenting. It would be a bunch of bull if I said that I don't imagine people leering or snickering about my mommy blemish when I'm not around. If I said I don't worry about coming up short when compared to other moms I know then I would be... well...full of crap.
But all that worry and fear about what others think only becomes a big deal because of my own personal insecurities. The way that F makes me feel is the real thing, the thing that comes first. And right now that blemish on my report card still makes me feel pretty bad. Hopefully by next semester the sting of this poor grade will fade. Hopefully I will be able to chuckle about how big this seemed when it happened and how it seemed like I would never get back on the honor role. And hopefully next year when I look back at this and chuckle I will be doing so standing on top of a whole bunch of mommy A's.
I never thought I would hear myself say, "We don't put milk in the toilet."
It's a stool, it's a boat...
"I need this toy and my milk cup. And how am I going to pick up that ring?"
Happy Hippy baby
Friday, April 10, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Jackson's Arm part 2
You know when something terrible happens and you manage to hold it together for so long, and then you speak to either you mother or your husband? For some reason just the sound of their voice reduces you to hysterics. Poor Aaron. I'm sure all he could understand in between sobs was "Jackson" and "Children's Hospital". I tried to assure him that Jackson was fine. This wasn't a life threatening situation. Jackson wasn't even crying at this moment. But all I could do was wail into the phone. I can imagine this is every husbands nightmare; you wife calls you at work because you kid needs to go to the emergency room and she can't stop crying long enough to tell you what's wrong.
Of course Aaron jumped in the car and rushed home. He practically ran in the front door and through my sobs managed to hear my mumbling that Lola had a dirty diaper. While I'd been walking around holding Jackson trying to pretend like I was calm, my daughter had just been hanging out, playing with her toys and pretty much ignoring both of us. Thank God for that. Aaron changed Lola, I made a bottle for Jack and got us ready to leave for the HOSPITAL, and Grammy (Aaron's mom) arrived to take over Lola duty. Off we went for our first family Emergency Room visit.
On the way to Children's another idea hit me: "Am I going to be investigated by Child's Services?!?" This is unbearable. I am a fit mother! I really am! I do so much right. I am imagining making my case to the investigator, saying "But my kids drink milk out of sippy cups like they're supposed to, they eat 5 different fruits and vegetables per day, they have bed times and routines and rituals and we sing and read books and build block towers and we don't even watch too much tv!" All the things I would say to justify my competence as a parent came flooding into my mind. And then of course running parallel to that flood was the steady trickle of, "How could you? How are you going to look anyone in the face again?" I asked Aaron if he thinks Child Services is going to get involved and he looked at me, all puffy faced and panicking, and said with just the right combination of assurance and humor that he definitely does NOT think Child Services will be getting involved.
Carrying my son, I sheepishly followed my husband in to the Children's Hospital Emergency Room. A nurse waved us back into a small room to begin the admitting process. She looks at me and asks, "Patients Name?" Simple, right? Patients Name. But through my filter of mommy guilt it sounded like "And what were you doing EXACTLY when you tried to BREAK YOU CHILD'S ARM?" In reality there was nothing accusatory in her tone. When she asked "Patient's Name?" she was simply asking for Jackson's name. Nothing more. Nevertheless I burst into tears.
By the end of her simple exam (weight, blood pressure, a quick look at the arm) Jackson and I were both crying. She sent us into the waiting room, blubbering and overwhelmed, to wait to be called in to see the doctor. We waited for about an hour. We looked at the fish tank. We played with the trash can. We walked and sang. To my great disappointment Jack showed absolutely no interest in the Hannah Montana playing on the tv, but we managed to keep him occupied for an hour or so with little fussing.
But around 6:30 Jackson could no longer be distracted from his hunger (he had now missed dinner and his night time bottle) and exhaustion (between 6:30 and 7 is bed time). He started to really wail and thankfully we were quickly put in a room (which really looked like supply storage area).
From that point on I think the rest of our hospital visit lasted a total of 15 minutes.
********I know, I know... get to the conclusion already. It's coming, really it is. And just to make sure all of you aren't too worried about Jackson in the meantime, this picture was taken AFTER Jackson's elbow injury. No cast, no sling. Just a happy healthy kid enjoying a day at the park with family and friends.
Check out the awesome hair!
Joy!
Of course Aaron jumped in the car and rushed home. He practically ran in the front door and through my sobs managed to hear my mumbling that Lola had a dirty diaper. While I'd been walking around holding Jackson trying to pretend like I was calm, my daughter had just been hanging out, playing with her toys and pretty much ignoring both of us. Thank God for that. Aaron changed Lola, I made a bottle for Jack and got us ready to leave for the HOSPITAL, and Grammy (Aaron's mom) arrived to take over Lola duty. Off we went for our first family Emergency Room visit.
On the way to Children's another idea hit me: "Am I going to be investigated by Child's Services?!?" This is unbearable. I am a fit mother! I really am! I do so much right. I am imagining making my case to the investigator, saying "But my kids drink milk out of sippy cups like they're supposed to, they eat 5 different fruits and vegetables per day, they have bed times and routines and rituals and we sing and read books and build block towers and we don't even watch too much tv!" All the things I would say to justify my competence as a parent came flooding into my mind. And then of course running parallel to that flood was the steady trickle of, "How could you? How are you going to look anyone in the face again?" I asked Aaron if he thinks Child Services is going to get involved and he looked at me, all puffy faced and panicking, and said with just the right combination of assurance and humor that he definitely does NOT think Child Services will be getting involved.
Carrying my son, I sheepishly followed my husband in to the Children's Hospital Emergency Room. A nurse waved us back into a small room to begin the admitting process. She looks at me and asks, "Patients Name?" Simple, right? Patients Name. But through my filter of mommy guilt it sounded like "And what were you doing EXACTLY when you tried to BREAK YOU CHILD'S ARM?" In reality there was nothing accusatory in her tone. When she asked "Patient's Name?" she was simply asking for Jackson's name. Nothing more. Nevertheless I burst into tears.
By the end of her simple exam (weight, blood pressure, a quick look at the arm) Jackson and I were both crying. She sent us into the waiting room, blubbering and overwhelmed, to wait to be called in to see the doctor. We waited for about an hour. We looked at the fish tank. We played with the trash can. We walked and sang. To my great disappointment Jack showed absolutely no interest in the Hannah Montana playing on the tv, but we managed to keep him occupied for an hour or so with little fussing.
But around 6:30 Jackson could no longer be distracted from his hunger (he had now missed dinner and his night time bottle) and exhaustion (between 6:30 and 7 is bed time). He started to really wail and thankfully we were quickly put in a room (which really looked like supply storage area).
From that point on I think the rest of our hospital visit lasted a total of 15 minutes.
********I know, I know... get to the conclusion already. It's coming, really it is. And just to make sure all of you aren't too worried about Jackson in the meantime, this picture was taken AFTER Jackson's elbow injury. No cast, no sling. Just a happy healthy kid enjoying a day at the park with family and friends.
Check out the awesome hair!
Joy!
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