Happy Birthday to Me

Things are going relatively well around here. I had another birthday, I'm another year older. As my husband commented, "You've had a rough year!" And I had to agree. But now I feel like I'm on steadier ground, surrounded by a better support system, and I learned a lot about myself- namely that I'm not expendable. My family really does need ME, not just anyone, to be the wife and the mom here. And as good as that feels, it's also scary at the same time. I'm reminded of what a huge responsibility this is, to be a wife and a mom.




But when I look at their faces, I know everything has been worth it. I might not have made the best choices along the way, but hopefully I can make up for that somehow, and it won't affect them in the long run. Every parent must make some mistakes, right? Some just bigger than others. All I can do now is try to make better choices now and be the best wife and mom I can be, and give myself a break.


Sounds like a good resolution for 2012.

Brotherly Love

The twins awoke at 4am this morning, which while you're all gasping out there in cyberspace, is a normal time for us, considering their bedtime of 6pm (hey, it works for us).

Their first fight was at 4:09.

Ah, so it has started.

I had often wondered why parents of twins or children very close in age would get them the same toys or clothes- to me if two children means twice the amount of stuff, then might as well get as much bang for your buck as you can, right? Double the wardrobe with different pieces, extend the toy closet with different toys, etc. Why treat each child the same by getting them each the same toy to play with or the same outfit to wear.

Now I realize. It's not so much for the kids' enjoyment as it is to preserve the parents' sanity. The number and severity of fights we have over toys on an hourly basis would frustrate the Dalai Lama. And for two boys who began life as one, they sure do know exactly how to beat the crap out of one another. Some fights would put Ultimate Fighting Champions to shame with all the hitting, kicking, eye gouging, biting, and jumping upon.

This post would be longer but one twin has the other in a headlock...

Moms and Grandmas

Soon, I will be the mother of a four year old. Unbelievable.

Some days I'm not sure I "fit" in that category, "mothers of four year olds." I have very distinct memories about what mothers or grandmothers do. Moms are awesome. They are there to get you off the bus, when you are little they give you donuts to eat when Mr. Rogers comes on, when you are older they let you buy something in the store next to the parts store where they work and you can eat it while you do your "homework" while sitting on a huge stack of tires. They let you cry about stupid stuff, then they make sure you splash some cold water on your face. They hug you when you need it, and more when you think you don't. They tell you what classes to take. They give you advice whether you want it or not, and when you don't want it, they say it twice to make sure you get it. After a certain amount of time has passed, they'll even laugh with you about the advice you *didn't* take (in my case a certain ex-husband), playfully nudge you on the shoulder, and chide you with a, "What *were* you thinking?"

Moms forgive mistakes. All of them.

If moms are great, grandmothers are even better. My mom is the perfect grandmother. She's a great example to my daughter of a strong, smart, independent woman. The Princess *adores* her grandparents, my parents. I'm so glad that she has a strong bond with them. My own grandmother was... there aren't words good enough to describe her. She knew everything about everything, and there wasn't anything she couldn't do or make or whip up out of thin air, she knew things about you before you knew them about yourself sometimes, and I swear my mom is becoming just like her.

Everyone should be so lucky.

Having Babies vs. Raising Children

I had an epiphany of sorts recently. I'm no longer "having babies" so much as I'm "raising children," if that makes sense to those of you out there on the other side of blog-land.

After putting together a family of four kids (one ready made and three cooked to order) and saying goodbye to one cat, we no longer seem like the "young" family that I still feel like. Although we are over thirty (me just barely, Monk *cough, cough* a bit more), and I find fewer and fewer reasons to be at the baby consignment shop unless I'm dropping off a load of "well-loved-by-the-twins" items, it doesn't set off a rampaging case of hormones like it did after the Princess was born. I guess this is what it feels like to know you're done 'having' kids and ready to move on to the next phase in your life. Rasising them to be happy, healthy, productive members of society.

Eeek.

One problem- although I envisioned that stage happening for my kids while I was pregnant many times, it was always like it was a movie on fast-forward.* The before-you-know-it-they're-one-the-its-kindergarten-then-it's-college-oh-my-they're-grown-and-out-of-the-house kind of movie. In real life there are oh-so-many decisions to make, which really translates to oh-so-many ways to screw up. I think so far we're doing an okay job. I mean, of course, we can look back and see a bunch of things that we coulda shoulda woulda done differently, but we not too anxious to build another human just to try out some new parenting techniques. I figure we'll hone the ones we've got and test 'em out on this crew, see what we get.

Funny to think that 20, 30, 40 years ago- our parents were saying the same things?



*Fast Forward. That was a great movie, wasn't it? At least a great bad movie. Right up there with Who's That Girl with Madonna. :) Okay, NOW I'm showing my age!

Thanksgiving

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.


My boys are growing like weeds- a little wild and out of control, but strong and resilient in all the right ways. The Princess is, too. She's in preschool now and it's a perfect fit for her. She's made a lot of friends and loves her teachers. The oldest, Mr. Cool, is a senior this year, and I hate that we are so far away from him, but I am grateful that he is growing up to be a wonderful young man. I am so proud of everything my kids are doing- from guitar solos and prom to giggling babies and fingerpaint.

And I have my health. What's left of it, anyway. :) Physically, I could be better. The fibromyalgia is kicking my ass, leaving me with pain and tingling in my legs that waxes and wanes with no rhyme or reason. Plus a few other bonus issues.

Mentally... *sigh* you know what? Not that great. I mean, I guess I could lie to you and tell you things have been all roses and lollipops since my last post when the boys were just six months old, but it would be a big huge lie. Some of you who follow my blog already know that. As condensed as I can make it, here's what's been happening in the last six months or so...

I had some minor surgery. Not too big of a deal, but I wasn't able to care for the kids for a few months afterwards. Day care was set up for the munchkins, and some heroic friends and family stepped in to even do some night care. Despite the fabulous support network we had in place, I think this is where I started to get more depressed. I already had post-partum depression, I already felt like a crappy mom that didn't know what the hell she was doing half the time with two little boys that seemed to zap the life right out of me.

(And let me just insert here- Hopefully it's understood, but just in case- I don't share my experiences looking for pity or sympathy, I share in hopes that it will help someone else that might be going through something similar, and they will feel less alone because of reading about my experiences).

Day care ended and the kids were home for what we hopefully called "summer vacation." On Monk's days off I took the kids to the zoo and playground. We did art projects. We played outside. We had high hopes of getting at least the Princess back to school in the fall for the morning session, but we had no way of getting her there and back. More depression. Hopelessness loomed. Pain worsened.

Then I went ahead with a "solution" that I had been thinking about for awhile.

I tried to kill myself.

It made sense at the time.

As simplistic as those words are, they are pretty brutal when just written on the page like that, like they could be any sentence. I will try to explain, to work up to it, but really, nothing helps. You'll either understand and forgive or not. I hope you try to understand. (And if you are reading this and you are in the same place, there is help out there- Suicide Prevention Hotline 1800-365-4044 or 401-272-4044, Butler Hospital Patient Assessment Services 401-455-6214 or 401-455-6215. Or you can always call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room).

Here is the part where I try to explain. I still don't think the words exist for how awful I felt, or how much pain I was in. I really thought that my kids would be a lot better off with someone else as their mom, and the fact that three of them are so young only made me more sure of my decision. I figured they would forget me and learn to love a new mommy and eventually that would be the only mommy they would remember. I even had a person chosen who I thought would be a terrific mom to my kids (her handling of the whole situation proved otherwise). I figured the kids would get way more from her and my parents than me, always in pain, taking all kinds of pills to try to manage it, not to mention my other health problems. And of course there's Monk, who despite how much I complain sometimes, is really a good dad and I knew with me gone he would step up and be able to take care of everything (especially since I had made a list of instructions of everything he needed to remember to do). :)

Obviously, my plan was thwarted.

Not a bad thing.

What I was really surprised by was Monk. After they shipped me off to the crazy house (exactly what I needed, and very restful, by the way), they told me that he had arrived and wanted to speak to me. I was afraid. This was not my plan. Never when I was thinking it through did I think someone would stop me somehow. Now I was faced with a whole new set of challenges- namely, what do I tell people? Oddly enough, as okay as I had become with the idea of people eventually finding out I had taken my own life, telling them I had just "tried" to- but failed- seemed like... well, I know I should have been grateful, but it just seemed like one more thing I failed at, just like I had been a failure at being a good mom. So when the staff told me my dear husband had trekked "all the way" up to the hospital to see me, I was so scared of what he would say, what he would think of me. I thought it was a good possibility that he was coming to tell me he was taking the kids and I would get the divorce papers in the mail. But when he walked into the room, he hugged me (despite my sweat-stained paper clothes), the tightest hug he's ever given me, and choked back tears as he gently asked me what was going on and what did I need? I was shocked. I know he's my husband and all, but I guess the depression really clouded my judgement- I figured he would be relieved to be rid of me and all my problems. I was totally wrong, luckily I can see that now.

Since then our marriage has really grown stronger in some ways, but that's not to say that everything has been perfect- far from it. We've both had a lot of work to do, and it's been overwhelming sometimes. We've said things we shouldn't have. We've fought in front of the kids- something I especially hate doing. But we've also learned to appreciate each other in different ways, and not to take each other for granted (usually).

Some other things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend are: my church and my faith in God. Without the people in my church praying specifically for my recovery and a little peace for my mixed up soul, I don't know if I'd still be here. I'm thankful for my family and friends who stood by me while I sorted everything out, and helped out when we needed them to.

So I'm glad my plan didn't work. There's still a lot of stress in my world, but I'm a little better equipped to deal with it now. And I'm much happier, not to mention grateful to be alive and with my family for another holiday.

Say What, Mr. Ferber?

So, sleep training worked... somewhat. And when I say "somewhat," I mean it worked for one of my cherubs. I instituted a new bedtime routine (as opposed to our old routine of Mommy crying, rocking, and begging the boys to fall asleep- while it faithfully ocurred each and every evening, it was definitely lacking in effectiveness). We put on pajamas, listened to a little bedtime music, drank a bottle, sang a song, and with eyelids heavy with sleep, tuck in with a pat or two and it's hel-lo dreamland. Within a night or two he slept through til the next morning, sometimes waking once or twice in the middle of the night for a hit of Pedialyte or a hug. But all in all, the whole schedule/sleep training deal was a dream.

My other boy, the one I sometimes admit that I fantasize selling to the gypsies, as my mother used to say, not so much. He might fall asleep on his own if I could lay him down drowsy, the problem is, he never is. I'm convinced the boy never needs sleep and the fact that he was the first twin to become mobile by rolling and scooting scares the crap out of me... I picture a three year old who never naps and only sleeps forty-five minutes a night wreaking havoc so much until I'm forced to go on one of those daytime talk shows for help ("Next we'll talk to one mom who actually has Red Bull instead of blood running through her veins..."). It was this non-drowsiness factor that led me to attempt the Ferber-cry-it-out (not that he ever calls it that) method today at nap times.

Now, the problem with twins is that just because you have two hands, and there are two children- well, that doesn't make things even. Even though I really wanted to continue sleep training the way I was going with Thing One, putting him down sleepy, fact is, there just isn't enough of 'me' to go around to do that (a fact that I, of course, still feel guilty about. Moms, you know what I mean). So poor Thing One had to join in the latest Cry It Out and Break Mommy's Heart chapter of sleep training. Luckily (for Mommy? Or Him? Or all of us?) he shone through again and was out like a light in less than fifteen minutes.

Not so for Thing Two.

First of all, I separated the boys, lest they cry and keep one another awake, so they were in different beds, at different ends of the house. Other than that, I tried to keep everything the same. They both had music, about the same amount of ambient light, the biggest difference (besides not being together and being able to beat the crap out of one another) was Thing One was in a crib and Thing Two was in a playpen. Both had been changed and fed before going down.

Didn't matter.

My boy cried. And cried. And cried and cried and cried.

I went in every ten minutes (I admit, I've only read the Cliff notes of Ferber's method, but my plan seemed to be pretty reasonably well thought out... or so I thought). I patted, tried to soothe and calm, all without picking him up and holding him.

It took willpower I didn't know I had. I cleaned the bathroom four times. I reorganized the linen closet. I let the Princess fingerpaint. Anything to distract myself from what I was doing- or at least, what I felt like I was doing, which was breaking my young son's heart.

In the end, he slept. It took about 40 minutes of crying at the morning naptime before he fell asleep. For the afternoon nap, after an hour and twenty minutes of crying (and most of it the coughing, jagged-breathing, hiccupping type of crying), I caved. He had pooped, so I picked him up to change him and his little fists grabbed onto me just like when he was a newborn (six whole months ago! Such a long time!) and I could feel his little body just muckle right onto me with all his might. How could I put him down again? My boy was sad, scared, and he wanted, needed his Mommy. How could I say no? Call me a sucker, a softee, ,but he'll only be little for a little while longer... there's got to be a way to make naptime go smoothly while preserving my sanity.

As soon as I figure out what it is, I'll let you know.

Mommy the Sleep Nazi

So,the boys are six months old now, and last week after a series of events (one of which was me dissolving into tears because I couldn't open a jar of pickles... can you say 'sleep deprivation?'), I decided that feeding-on-demand was just not working for us any more. The boys were up at night eating- I kid you not- five to seven times every night. Even the pediatrician was floored. And, of course, they hardly ever awoke at the same time. So I spent a few days and used every waking moment I had available (and I have to tell you, I don't have a whole lot of them) to research babies and sleep, sleep training and schedules.

With the Princess, she created her own schedule of sorts pretty early on- I know we certainly didn't put her on one, but she awoke, ate, played, and napped at the same times each day. I never realized how wonderfully lucky we were until now. And truth be told, I think each boy would do the same, but the times they "want" to do things do not coincide- and to keep Mommy out of the big building with the padded rooms and the nice men in the white coats, it looks like they need some help coordinating their schedules.

So I read, I researched, I took notes, I planned. I tried to talk it over with Monk but at the first mention of the phrase "sleep training" and "schedules" his eyes glazed over and he started to steal glances at the tv while I was talking... so I worked on developing a plan and Wednesday night was the first night of putting that plan into action. A lot of it I took from a, uh, "borrowed" copy of the Sleep Sense Workbook (Dana Obleman's program- pretty awesome, I'm still looking for a copy of that ebook to thumb through). The idea is to teach the boys how to fall asleep without needing any help- like the bottle they've been jonesing for in the middle of the night (my fault). So a few nights ago the boys went to bed after a "bedtime routine" (something else I've never been big on- I don't know what it is, but give me a rule, even one I institute myself and something inside me yearns to break it), and since they are both a very healthy weight, they don't "need" to eat overnight. So I decided no more nighttime bottles. And what's more, I carried it a step further and created a schedule for them for the daytime where they only get three 8 ounce bottles a day. And I know it's early, they've only been on this new schedule for less than a week, but...

They are doing AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!

I really thought they were going to protest a lot more and insist on having a bottle to be soothed back to sleep, but apparently I have totally underestimated the power of my singing the ABCs. From the time I put them down at around 7pm til about 3am the first night, all I had to do to help one twin go back to sleep was hug him, pat his back, and croon the ABC song. I think it's fair to say I was totally shocked at how much easier it was than I thought it was going to be. True, I had to totally throw out my idea of not picking up the twins (I figure we get away from the bottle first... baby steps, so to speak).

On the other hand, I don't know what happened after 3am. Maybe I just hit a wall myself, too tired to comply with my own rules, or maybe it's because both boys woke up at the same time and I was just too flustered (and sleepy) to think straight. But at that 3am wake up is when I caved and both boys got a bottle of watered-down Pedialyte, and I brought someone to the couch to snuggle with me. By that time the Monk was also up, and he took a baby until he left for work. But I still am considering it a MAJOR success, especially since the rest of the day went so well also.

They have really taken to the whole schedule thing (apparently they haven't gotten their Mommy's rule-breaking impetus). They seem very content, despite the fact that they are eating, not kidding, more than ten less bottles per day than they used to. We're still finding our way, and I suspect we will be for awhile still, but knowing that there's a light at the end of the tunnel has done wonders to improve my outlook on things... six solid months of sleep deprivation is a looooong time (Abu Grahib's got nothing on moms of multiples, let me tell you). Hopefully the overnights start going smoother, and they start staying asleep for longer stretches and being able to soothe themselves back to sleep in the middle of the night.

As I write this, the boys are napping!!! Praise GOD! :)

Hard to believe we went from the first photo to the second in the short space of one week!!!

Parenting Without Facebook

This year, for Lent, I've decided to give up Facebook. As the mom of a three year old and six month old twins, I had pretty slim pickin's in the "what to give up" department. Food? No, need that. Water? No, need that. Clothes? Pretty sure other people prefer I keep those on (my hubby may actually be in favor of a naked forty days). So it came down to Facebook or the Today Show- two things that I try to fit in my crazy days between diapers, bottles, tears, strained peas, and clothing and stripping Barbie countless times.

Since I decided to go without my social network, I haven't really thought about it too much. I made the decision about a month ago, but tonight, hours away from Ash Wednesday, I'm starting to wonder... what am I doing? How will I get by the next month without being able to ask all my "friends" which soy formula they think is best, which sleep strategy works for training your kids to fall asleep on their own? How will I tell my brother I need an oil change? I'll have to actually (gasp!) pick up the phone and give him a call? Who DOES that sort of thing any more? I mean, yes, I call my parents, sure, but that's because my mom tried Facebook once for a few months before reverting back to the Stone Age (to be fair she does have email... not that she emails me). What have I done?

Then I think... the reason why... Jesus. He did so much for us... (what an understatement!)... for me to do this one little thing for Him... even though it seems huge in my life, is really insignificant.

So, the next month and a half will come and go, and I'll have to make my decisions without input from the Facebook community, and I won't know what's happening with everyone out there, either, which is weird, I have to admit. But every day, when I think of logging in (and I know I will, it's a habit), I'll think of my blessed Lord and Savior and what He did for me, who definitely did not deserve it... and I will be thankful. And that, to me, is just a part of what Lent is all about.