My name is Amber

There are few things more precious in the world to me than hearing my sons call for me.  Thing 1 calls me "Mom".  Thing 2 calls me "Mommy".

But for 27+ years, I was not "Mom" or "Mommy" or "Ma-ma" or "Thing 1 & Thing 2's mom", I was just Amber.

For the first few years of my sons' lives, I think I was fairly typical of many of today's parents, allowing my whole life to be consumed by loving my kids.  I worked full time, but when I wasn't at work, I was at home with my kids. Taking care of my kids.  Loving my kids. Playing with my kids.

My scrapbooking supplies went untouched.  My sewing machine gathered dust.  My softball mitt languished somewhere in a box in the garage.  Forgotten.  Probably more than 75% of my Facebook posts had something to do with my kids or parenting.  (Much to the annoyance of I'm sure about 99% of my Facebook friends.)

It makes sense in many ways really.  Becoming a parent truly changes your life.  The who you were before becomes transformed.  Suddenly things that seemed important before no longer seem important.  You have new priorities.  A new identity.  New prerogatives.  Add that to a hearty dose of working mother's guilt, and you have a recipe for a woman who begins to spend every spare moment with or about her children, not feeling she deserves any time for herself.

But now my boys are older.  They will be 5 soon.  They attend preschool.  They have friends.  They are incredibly more independent.  I can see that they are slowly developing lives outside of me, outside of my husband, and our little family.

And this is a good thing.  Watching their independence reassures to me that they deserve their little lives away from me, away from being the sons.  And that I deserve some time away from them, away from being the mom.

Over the last year, I have started scrapbooking again.  I have started sewing again.  I have gone to crafting workshops on a Saturday.  I've even looked into weekend long scrapbook retreats.  I joined a co-ed softball team.  I have un-apologetically been getting involved with activities that are just for me. Me.

And on a sunny afternoon when Superman takes the boys over to the baseball game, and he calls and asks if I want to meet them there on my way home from work.  And then he tries to guilty me into saying yes by putting Thing 2 on the phone and saying "Please mommy, we want you to come watch baseball with us."  I feel perfectly fine saying "No thanks.  Maybe next time honey." And maybe next time I will go.  But this time, I will use that free time to do something I want to do instead.

Because while I'm still Thing 1's "Mom" and Thing 2's "Mommy", I'm also Amber. And I can't forget about her.

What do you do when you don't like a kid?

Yesterday one of my favorite bloggers posted a blog about having a nanny.  And one of the things I thought was interesting about her justification for being a stay-at-home-mom with a nanny is that only in the United States do we have this "my child, my problems" mentality.  Almost everywhere else still lives by the "it takes a village approach."

It got me thinking: As an American, I am very careful about reprimanding other people's children, because you never know when a parent will go ape-shit on you.

"Oh no you didn't just tell my child to stop kicking that kid!"

The next thing I know I'd be in a youtube video titled "Moms get in cat fight at playground."

So what do you do when a little kid is being a jerk?  

Really, at a playground is the easiest place to deal with this situation.  Tell your kid to stay away from the kid that is hitting/pushing/calling names/spitting/acting a fool.  If he doesn't, just leave.  You will most likely never see that little jerk again.

And while all kids can be little jerks once in a while, what do you do when there is a kid you know that is just generally a little jerk most of the time?

If it is a friend's kid, we just stop hanging out with that friend when the kids are involved.

But what do you do when the kid, the one that you see as a negative influence, is a more permanent fixture in your child's life that you can't simply weed out? What do you do if they are in their class at school, or go to the same church, or are on the same tee-ball team, or live on the same block.  Are you going to have them change classes?  Switch churches?  Transfer leagues?  Move!?!?  Even if you would/could do any of those things, in all likelihood, you'd just run into a new, different problem kid there, too.  You can't just keep moving.

And let me interrupt for a second to say that we in no way think our kids are perfect. All you have to do is read my blog to know that I know my kids can be loud and unruly. They can be mean (but usually only to each other).  But #1 we acknowledge our children's imperfections, and we are constantly working on positive reinforcement and constructive discipline to curb these behaviors. But most parents with the kids I can't stand think that their kid wears a halo and poops rainbows.  (You can't fix it if you can't/won't admit there is something wrong.) #2 I don't want them picking up any more bad behaviors while we are trying to correct the ones they already have!

Am I the only one with these dilemmas?  Are other parents facing similar situations?  What do you do???

Or am I just a jerk for thinking little kids can be jerks?

Jinya Beach

When Thing 1 and Thing 2 were just little bean sprouts in my belly, Superman and I had to decide where we were going to raise these little beings.  At the time, we were living in Buckeye Country, not anywhere near either of our families, and we knew that we didn't want to stay there.  But the question was, would we go back to the Hoosier state to be closer to his family, or back to the Old Dominion to be near mine?

I was raised a military brat, so I never lived near any of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins.  In fact, being that my dad was in the Navy (meaning we were always stationed in a coastal city), and my parents were both born and raised in the midwest, we were lucky when we got to see those relatives more than once a year.  We usually did a summer trip out, and occasionally got to go during the winter holidays.  Growing up, I desperately envied my friends who were close (geographically and emotionally) with their extended relatives, and that is always something I wanted for my kids.

So, in the end, we decided to move back to the Hoosier state for a few reasons:

• Superman's parents are retired.  Mine still work full time
• Superman has a huge extended family (his dad is one of 9 and his mom is one of 8), with lots of cousins.  And his two brothers, who both have kids around Thing 1 and Thing 2's age, also live here.  My sister has two kids, but they are in their late teens (and she lives 600 miles from my parents anyway) and my brother doesn't have any kids (or is even married yet).  And obviously I have no cousins or extended family there.
• Where he is from in the midwest is MUCH cheaper to live than where I'm from on the east coast.  We were able to buy a 4 bedroom house with a full basement for what we would have gotten a two bedroom condo for where I grew up.

But, life isn't black and white, and our choice is still sometimes hard to deal with.

I miss my friends and their kids terribly.  And they are all so close in age to my boys...they'd be perfect to grow up with.  Their un-cousins.  Superman only has one friend here that even has kids.

Their first year we made it home four times.  But since then, we are finding ourselves only able to visit about twice a year, because of time, work, money, etc.  My kids started referring to my parents as the "other grandma" and the "other grandpa".

This past Thanksgiving, after an 11 month absence, we were able to take a short visit back and see the other grandparents, my brother, my sister and her family, and most of my friends and their kids.  But the visit, like always, felt so rushed.  I felt like I had 100 people to visit in 72 hours.  I felt pulled in so many different directions, and felt like I was disappointing everyone and wasn't spending quality time with anyone.

After being guilted by one of my good friends, who bless her heart just wanted some time with me, I turned to Superman in tears and told him that I hated the emotional blackmail part of the trip so much that it makes me never want to come back for visits.  Since I know I'm invariable going to let someone (often multiple someones) down by not giving them the time they feel they deserve.  I left that trip relieved to be heading home and seriously dreading going back.

But Thing 1 and Thing 2 don't know about all of that.  They just knew that they loved being with their other grandma and grandpa, and taking their pack of dogs on long walks.  They loved playing with their aunt and uncles and cousins.  And loved playing with mommy's friends' kids.  They loved going to the beach.  Almost weekly since Thanksgiving, they have asked when we were going to "go far away again to Jinya Beach."  They have stopped calling my parents the other grandma and grandpa.  And I often overhear them playing with stuffed doggies, calling them my parents' dogs names.

On Sunday, I decided to surprise the boys by taking them to visit the dog shelter.  When they asked where we were going and I said it was a surprise, they asked "Are we going far away to Jinya Beach?"  When I said no, Thing 2 bursted into tears asking me why we couldn't go.  And it reminded me of those times as a child when I would literally cry from missing my midwest grandparents so much.  And it was almost as if I could feel all of those bitter and anxious feelings melting away from Thanksgiving, as I comforted my little boy and heard myself saying that maybe we can plan a trip to Jinya Beach for Spring Break.

A dog owner for a day

Nothing like playing dog owner for a day to realize how not ready we are for a dog.

A few months back, Superman and I were strolling the neighborhood and happened upon a lost dog. He didn't have on a collar, but was obviously a well taken care of pet. The dog lover I am, I instantly was ready to take him home and start making "Found Dog" flyers.  Superman was not so motivated.  But the dog followed us home, literally into our backyard.  So it was settled.

I called the local animal shelter and left a detailed description, then made up a few flyers to post around the neighborhood.  Then, we borrowed a leash from a neighbor and took our new buddy for a walk around the surrounding blocks, posting his picture as we went.

Then it was time to drive down to pick up Thing 1 and Thing 2 who had stayed the night with grandma and grandpa.  While we were gone, a man called because the animal shelter had told him we'd found his dog, Stu. I let him know that Stu was in our backyard, gave him directions to the house, and figured I'd never see this sweet dog again.

Fast forward two months, and I get a call at work from Superman. He has just arrived home to find Stu sitting on the front steps.  It's cold and rainy, so he brings him in.  I call the shelter again, this time I'm able to give them both the dog's name and the owner's name.  I figure it will be just a short matter of time before the owner comes to claim him.

A few hours later, we still haven't heard from the owner, so I go online and look up my own phone records to find the guy's number.  I call his phone "Hi, you've reached Steve's phone," yup, it's the right number.  And I leave a message "Hey, we have your dog again.  Please come get him."

As night time rolls around, the owner still hasn't called or come to get his dog.

Now I will say...I grew up with dogs.  I can't remember a time in my life when we didn't have a dog.  Not big dogs like Stu (who I think is some kind of lab/retriever mix), but we had a cocker spaniel (25 lb-ish), then a lhasa-poo (20 lb-ish), and then I had two shih tzus (each about 15 lbs) when Superman and I first got married (they now happily live with my parents in a non-children household).  And I never in my life imagined that I'd be dog-less for so long (going on five years now).  And ever since we relinquished my dogs to my parents when I was on admitted to the hospital when I was pregnant I've been looking forward to the day we would be able to add to our family by adopting our own dog.

But now, now that I had this 100+ lb sweetheart jumping on my bed, grabbing Thing 1 and Thing 2's toys and stuffed animals, constantly asking to be let out and then let back in, scrapping with the cat...the list goes on.  I thought "man, get this dog out of here!"  I called his owner again first thing in the morning and said "Dude, Stu is going to be in my backyard, if I get home from work and he's still there, I'm taking him to the shelter."  Superman was stunned.  He thought for sure that I would be using the delinquent owner as an excuse to try and proclaim Stu for our own.  He was amazed that I was actually more anxious than him to get rid of it.

I'm still a dog lover, and I still want a dog.  And I actually kind of missed Stu when I got home from work that afternoon to find him gone.  But for right now, 14 hours with a dog was enough to let me know that we still aren't ready for such a big responsibility and commitment.  And in a way, I'm thankful to Stu's owner for letting me see that.

Talking to Kids About Abuse

This is an incredibly informative blog that addresses talking to your kids about sexual abuse written by a woman who attends my church. I highly encourage every parent to read it and to consider talking to your children about this subject.  Like she says, even children as young as four can understand these basic concepts.  Your children deserve to know they have rights not to be abused.

Thank you Jenni.


Talking to Kids About Abuse

Children as young as four years old can understand the basic concepts of good touches, bad touches and confusing touches. These young children can also understand the definition of sexual abuse and are not afraid of the words that send a chill up the spines of adults. Use the words "sexual abuse" when talking with your child because if a child is victimized, they need to be able to tell you that they were "sexually abused."

Child protective services social workers will tell you that a child without the language to describe their victimization is a child whose case is weakened in the court system.  Remember, you are not putting the responsibility on the child.  Instead, you are helping the child to understand the problem and identify safe people who will support them.

Children need to hear information more than once. This way, your child will "own" this information. Repetition allows them to retain what they have learned. A one-time discussion is soon forgotten.

Also, repeating your discussions every year will reinforce what they have learned and reintroduces points they may have forgotten. Let's not rule out the possibility that, in the course of your discussion, a child may exclaim: "Hey! That's happened to me!" While a parent can never be fully prepared for such a disclosure, you may want to know how to respond to a child who discloses abuse, before you begin your talk with your child.

This synopsis is offered here to help you discuss this very difficult topic with your children so that they will have the tools they may need to stay safe from sexual abuse.

• Teach your child that they are special and have the right to know everything they can about being safe.Discuss of all the safety rules they have learned and explain that there are some more safety rules to learn.
• When teaching your child about sexual abuse, talk about 3 different types of touch: good touch, bad touch and sexual abuse touch. "Good touches" are those touches that make us feel happy, safe and loved. Good touches can make us feel warm inside or can make us feel like a smile. Emphasize that most of the touch we get is good touch. Good touches are so important! "Bad touches" are those touches that hurt us; they feel like an ouch. Some examples are kicking, hitting and biting. "Sexual abuse touch" is defined as "forced or tricked touch of private body parts." The key words are forced and tricked. A force is when someone makes you do something you don't want to do or don't understand. A trick is when someone lies to you, fools you, pretends or calls something a game, that really isn't a game, so they can touch your private body parts or have you touch theirs. Explain that sexual abuse is confusing because it doesn't necessarily hurt; the touch can feel good. And that is confusing to children.
• Use the words "sexual abuse" to eliminate unnecessary confusion. The effort to call sexual abuse by another name (such as inappropriate touch) is counterproductive--leading to more confusion for children. After all, we can be assured that the sexual abuse offender of our children will not call what he/she is doing sexual abuse.By giving your child the correct language, you give your child the power.
• Teach your child that their body is their own and that no one has the right to touch them in a way that makes them feel uncomfortable or in a way that they don't like.
• Teach your child that they have the right to trust their own feelings and to ask questions when they feel uncomfortable or confused by someone's behavior. Talk about times when they may have had an anxious feeling (forgetting homework, losing something, frightened by a loud noise, etc.). Discuss the importance of paying attention to our feelings in situations when we are feeling uncomfortable.
• Teach your child that they have the right to say "NO!" to sexual abuse. Teach them that they can say "NO!" to anyone who might want to sexually abuse them; even if the offender is an adult; even if the offender is someone they know.
• Teach your child that it is very important to tell a trusted adult if someone sexually abuses them or hurts them in any way. Teach your child that they can tell another person if they are not believed. Discuss and identify trusted adults in their life.
• Teach your child that it is okay to break promises they might make about sexual abuse. Children do not have to keep any promise that makes them feel bad inside.
• Teach your child that if sexual abuse happens to a child, it is NEVER the child's fault. Older children (4th grade and up) may come up with ways in which it could be the child's fault; explain that sexual abuse is against the law and children are not responsible when someone breaks the law and sexually abuses them.
• Teach your child that a person who sexually abuses a child can be anyone. Most children, even adults, think that offenders are usually strangers. Children need to know that they have the right to say "NO!" and tell even when the offender is someone they know, like, love or even live with. (In 90% of cases the offender is someone the child knows.)
• Let your child know that it is never too late to tell about sexual abuse.
• Let your child know that if sexual abuse happens to them,  they are still lovable and that you will always love them no matter what.

This information was taken from http://www.childhelp.org/

Who is worth protecting?

Last July, I wrote a post going public with a secret I had kept for nearly 25 years, about my experiences of being sexually abused when I was a young child.

This was not something I did lightly. For a period of nearly 25 years, I told very, very few people. And often once I had told someone, I almost always regretted it. I felt marked. Like as if that person now saw me with a scarlet letter, A for Abuse. I was marked as a victim. Who wants to be thought of as a victim?

I have shared the actual physical details with even fewer people. Because really, who wants to talk about them? Certainly not most normal people. Certainly not me.

But overall, it actually felt good to blog about it last summer. Weirdly liberating to share my shameful secret with the blogosphere. Maybe it's because I didn't tell people face to face, so I didn't have to experience their looks of "what do I say to that?" but when I wrote this blog I didn't feel the same burn of the scarlet letter, even though I was opening myself up to not only close friends and confidants, but to all my friends and family. And even some people who I only knew in real life in a passing fashion. Heck, even to strangers, if anyone passed the link on.

The first few days after posting the blog, I waited with some trepidation to feel that same burning shame, but it never came. And really, I kind of just forgot about it after that. My secret was out. No big deal. What had I been so afraid of?

You see, I am actually pretty lucky, as far as sexual abuse victims go because I don't really feel my life has been too affected in the long run. I didn't turn to drugs or other forms of self abuse (cutting, etc) to punish myself. I don't have messed up relationships with the opposite sex. In fact, from what I've read about typical abuse survivors, it seems the only stereotypical way it affected my life is that I was overly curious as a child about sex, leading me to becoming sexually active at a younger age than most of my peers.

Maybe it is because my abuse was temporary, unlike many who suffer at the hands of their abusers over long periods of time. Maybe because my abuse was not violent. Maybe because my parents did not know, so I never felt the betrayal of witnessing them turn a blind eye, or worse blaming me, as some kids do. Maybe because in all other aspects of my life I felt loved, supported, safe...

But wait, there is one more way my life has been affected. As I said before in my previous blog, my childhood experience does affect my parenting. It has made me what some deem overly protective. We did not let our children go to daycare or be babysat by anyone other than their grandparents or godmother. Within the past few months we have allowed them to be watched shortly by their good friends' parents. But we are careful not to open the flood gates on this one. Going into their neighbor friends' houses whose parents we do not know is still a huge no-no, and will be for a long time!


But even though I know I'm lucky that overall my emotional scars don't run too deep, as evidence that I can type out blogs like this without retreating into hysterics or regressing on whatever progress I've made, I am not immune from getting worked up when I hear about abuse. Of course I am referring to the current headlines about Jerry Sandusky.  Obviously I think he is a monster.  Obviously I'm sickened by what he did and my heart goes out to those children.  But, here are my three main take aways.

#1 The media needs to learn the difference between molestation and rape. Many commentators and news outlets reported that Sandusky had allegedly "molested" or "inappropriately touched" children. That is wrong. He is being accused of raping children.

Molestation is touching and inappropriate behavior.


Rape is actual penetration of an orifice (anus, mouth, vagina).

To me, this is an important distinction. Not to say that molestation cannot be traumatic, because it certainly can (especially when experienced over long periods of time and by someone you are supposed to trust), but it is not the same thing as rape.  Both are sexual abuse.  Both are reprehensible, but let's call a spade a spade. He didn't just look at the boys with wanton eyes. He didn't just rub their butt over their football pants. He stuck his nasty man penis in places it should never have gone. There is a difference and it should not be glossed over because it is uncomfortable to think about.

I am a bit of a hypocrite on this one. For years and years, I referred to what happened to me as a child as being "molested" because honestly to me it sounded less vile. In my mind, it seemed like when you say the word "rape" people visually think of the physical acts. The penetration of orifices. And as I've said before, I didn't like think of people thinking of the physical acts. I didn't like feeling marked. Like a victim. So I said "sexual abuse" or "was molested" as a weird euphemism, because those could mean something as little as some creepy mall Santa once rubbed me inappropriately. But the truth was, I was raped. I need to learn to use that term, even though it isn't pretty. Even though I don't like what it denotes. And so does everyone else.

#2 TALK TO YOUR KIDS. Thing 1 and Thing 2 are only four years old, but I have already talked with them about the importance of not letting people touch their pee-pee or butt. These are called "private parts" because they are private. Mommy and Daddy can touch them only to help them clean them, but even we don't need to touch them outside of the bathroom. And NO ONE else should be touching them. And that they should tell Mommy and Daddy is someone does, or tries.

I hate having to talk to my four year olds about this. I worry about scaring them. I worry about taking away their innocence. But, I worry more that someone would touch them and they wouldn't know a. that it was wrong, b. wouldn't know how to tell us, or c. would be afraid to tell us. So, I talk to them about it, even though I wish I didn't have to. And I strongly feel all parents should.

#3 I am angry. I am so angry at the adults who knew about this and did not protect these children. Instead they chose to protect the reputation of their colleague.  Of their schools. Of their football program. When given the choice of "Who is worth protecting in this situation?" Not one of them chose the children. So yes, I believe the whole lot of them deserve to be fired, and brought up on criminal charges.

And I'm angry at the people I see defending these people. Because when presented with the facts of "Who is worth protecting?" they too are not choosing the children.

Let me give you a hint people: when the choice is "Who is worth protecting?", the correct answer is always going to be THE CHILDREN. If you have chosen anything else...you are on the wrong side of the argument.

Ketchup catch-up

Thing 2's ketchup costume is finished!

One I finished making the labels (materials: felt, hot glue gun, and puffy paint), I just had to make the actual bottle shape.

I didn't have a pattern, so I literally laid my little ketchup kid down on the felt and did a police outline of his body.

Unfortunately, my ketchup kid (Thing 2) wasn't being very cooperative after the initial measurements, so luckily I had a clone happy to step in for the "fittings".

Finished product.

I plan on having Thing 2 wear a red shirt under the costume.  I'll have to have a long sleeve one on stand-by in case it gets cold.  No jacket is going on over this costume!

And, I've already finished the labels for Thing 1's mustard costume.

Seriously, I love Halloween!  When Steve Jobs tells the world to follow your passions, I think to myself "Self, why can't you find a job where you get paid to make Halloween costumes all year long?" :)

My new favorite thing

I love pajamas.  I especially love kids in pajamas.  I especially especially love Thing 1 and Thing 2 in pajamas.  The only problem: pajamas are expensive.

I am a bargain hunter.  At the end of almost every season, my favorite shopping partner in crime (my mother-in-law) and I go and buy all the clothes the boys will need for the next year at the clearance prices.  If you go in my basement right now, you will find totes upon totes filled with 4T, 5T, and 6T boys clothes.  Shirts, shorts, sweaters, shoes, underwear, swimming trunks, you name it.  In fact, I probably already own the outfit they'll wear on their first day of kindergarten!

A shirt on sale for $10?  Ha!  Come talk to me when it's marked down 75%!  I speak red-line clearance fluently.

Now, I'm just a bargain hunter.  My mother-in-law, she is a professional compulsive shopper.  She cannot pass up a "good buy."  Combine our two personalities and you have a deadly combination leading to an overfull closet of marked down clothes.  (I won't point fingers of who won't stop buying long after they have more than plenty, but her name begins with "grand" and ends with "ma.")

But what we don't have overflowing...pajamas.  Why?  Because pajamas are expensive, and they never seem to go on clearance.  Sure, you might catch a buy 1 get 1 half off sale, but where I can routinely find name brand shirts for $2 and jeans for $3.50, I can never seem to find the same amazing deals on bedtime clothes.

This summer, we are the lowest on pajamas that we've ever been.  We literally have 3 pairs of 4T short sleeve/short combination pajamas.  I've been rotating those with a few pairs of 3T pairs I have left over from last summer.  For a while, it was working, but then...

Weird Science called.  Wyatt wants his shirt back.

The 1970s called.  The NBA wants their shorts back.

Obviously the boys needed new pajamas, but I didn't want to spend $15 a pair on outfits that never even leave the house!  And I didn't want to put Grandma-shop-aholic on the case, because I just wanted a few pair, not 20!  One look at their closet jam packed with tshirts, and you know she has no self-restraint.  Half of those shirts they've never even worn.

Wait...I have a plethora of shirts they've never worn....  EUREKA!

Instead of buying more pajamas, I headed over to Burlington and picked up a few packs of Hanes toddler boxers (did you know they made boxers for toddlers?!?!).  Two packs of 2 for $5.  Score!

Then, I match the cute plaid boxers with one of their millions of unworn tshirts and...PRESTO!  Instant pajamas!

But the best part...better than saving money....  Is they look so freaking adorable!!  Seriously, I thought seeing them march around in their little tighty whiteys was adorable...but I swear the boxer/tshirt combo is even cuter!  (That, or my boys get cuter everyday.  That is a possibility too!)

So there you go...if you have a little boy, and you want to help out your hurting wallet...skip the pajama aisle and head over to the underwear.  Pick up a few pairs of brightly colored boxers and pair them with matching tshirts that you probably already have plenty of.  I promise you won't miss the pajama cute factor!

Happy Father's Day Superman

I recently posted this article about Fathers on my facebook page, commenting how I'm so glad that both Superman and my own father are the good kind of fathers.  The kind that have made being active with their kids a priority in their lives.  A father who is actually an equal parent and an equal spouse, doing housework and laundry because it is a household responsibility, not claiming it's woman's work.  (On the same token, I have been known to roll up my sleeves and mow the lawn and take out the trash and grab my tool box to fix a faulty light switch or replace a toilet, because it's not men's work.)

I thought: How sad that this needs to be written in 2011.  It seems like such a 1950s idea of woman as caretaker and man as standoffish provider.  But sadly, I do personally know couples where the mother does do it all while the father works.  And when he comes home he needs his "me time" to unwind from working.  And then spends hours and hours of golfing on the weekends.  For some of them it works (and good for them, who am I to judge), but for most of them...it doesn't.  The women feel over burdened and unappreciated.  And they are sad to see their children who idolize their daddies, getting so little of his time or attention.  And they fume when the absentee fathers suggest having "just one more" baby.  One of my friends even secretly had her tubes tied during her c-section, and as far as I know STILL hasn't told her husband, because he wanted more kids and she didn't.  And some of these women eventually became so tired of being single mothers that they eventually left their husbands to be actual single mothers.

I wouldn't say that I'm lucky Superman turned out to be a good dad, because I always knew he would be.  In fact, that is part of why I fell in love with him.  Part of why I knew I wanted to marry him. We met when we were both working for a non-profit organization that provided care and job opportunities for adults with physical and mental disabilities.  Watching the care, patience, and compassion he had for a population most people are afraid of, I could see the kind of father he would one day be.  And throughout our dating, as I got to know him better and better, I just became more sure of this.

Because remember ladies, we don't live in a patriarchal society with archaic arranged marriages.  We CHOOSE our mates.  We CHOOSE who we want to procreate with.  Who we want to share our genes with and our lives.

In fact, when I first met Superman, I was actually dating someone else.  This guy was fun, funny, interesting, and he adored me (who wouldn't love that?).  I knew he wanted to marry me.  I knew he wanted to have kids with me.  But the thing was, as fun as he was to date...I knew he was not the guy I wanted to be the father of my children.  First of all, he had a son.  And honestly, as much as I liked the guy, I thought he was a pretty lousy father.  True, there are some other factors why I knew he wasn't the one that I won't go into here, but the bottom line was even without any of those other factors, seeing him father his son, I knew I would not be having kids with him.

But I guess maybe I was lucky.

Lucky that Superman didn't change. Some women I know have married men who maybe they thought would be great dads, but somewhere along the line they made their careers a priority over parenting.

Lucky that he turned out to be an even better dad than I ever hope or imagined.

When I found out I was pregnant, we immediately started discussing whether or not we could afford for one of us to stay home.  Even from the beginning, it wasn't how I would stay home.  It was which one of us.  Prior to getting pregnant, we had never discussed how to handle child care.  Which in hindsight was a mistake.  However, as luck would have it we both were in 100% agreeance that we didn't want to put a baby in daycare, and that we would find a way to make sure that, at least for the first year, one of us would stay home to raise it.

Because we had just moved to a new state for my job, and Superman didn't even have a full time job yet (did I mention the pregnancy was unplanned?), he volunteered to stay home.

Then we found out we were having twins.

He didn't bat an eye.  In fact, once he found out we were having twin boys, he seemed pretty excited for his "guy time".

After one year, we both agreed that the arrangement was working so well that he would go ahead and stay home another year.  At the end of year two, we decided to go for another!  For three years, he was the primary caregiver, before we decided it was time for the boys to head to pre-school, and for Superman to re-enter the outside-of-home-workforce again.  I was both happy (for the boys starting a new chapter of their lives and for Superman getting a chance to work among peers again) and sad (because for three years I never had to worry about my children's care and happiness).

But you would not believe how many comments I heard from other women (mothers and non-mothers) saying "I would never let anyone else raise my children".  Excuse me?  I didn't drop them off with some stranger, they were at home with their father.  What makes you think that you have more of a right to raise your children than he does?  What makes you think you'd even be better at it?

Honestly, are there things I probably would have done differently (like more scheduled activities and taking the kids on playdates), but I say probably because I realize some things are easier said than done.  What I think I would have done and what I actually would have done might be two wholly different things...

But I can tell you what they did learn from their daddy that they most likely wouldn't have learned from me (at least not as well):

Patience.  I am much more hot-headed and quick to temper than my calm-demeanored husband; I love that they seem to have acquired his personality.  After all, if I hadn't thought he was pretty great, I wouldn't have married him.

A love for music.  Sure, I love to sing along with the radio, but by three years old, my boys already knew how to keep a beat on drums and hold a guitar the right way as they lip synced to old school 80s rock songs, thanks to hours and hours of home jam sessions.  I swear to you they can tell the difference between Girls, Girls, Girls, Crazy Train, I Love Rock n' Roll, and Jump by just the first two bars of the song.

A love for the outdoors.  Even on the hottest of days, when I would have hidden away in the security of the air conditioning, Superman would venture outside with the boys and find something fun to do.  Whether it was splashing around in the wading pool, looking for bugs, or just taking a short walk.

How to be active.  Superman is an avid runner, and loves being active.  He would take the boys on really long walks, all around our little town.  Often walking them up to my work to visit me during the day.  Now 4 years old, Thing 1 and Thing 2 really show the benefits of being raised by someone so active.  (Not to say that I'm a lazy-ass, but let's just say I find doing a craft project more fun than taking a 5 mile walk pushing a double stroller.)

I could go on.  But, my point is...yes, we are different parents.  But neither one of us is the inherently better parent based on whether we sit or stand when we pee.  We both have our strengths and our weaknesses.  And I like to think that as co-parents we compliment one another well and have raised two amazingly awesome kids because of it.

I think it is time to stop accepting that fathers are some kind of second rate parents.  Quit describing a dad spending time with his kids as "babysitting" or "giving mom a break", he is just doing what he is supposed to be doing...being a parent!  Quit having such low expectations of what a father looks like.  EXPECT a father to be a parent.  A real parent.

And don't accept this "I work hard all day" as an excuse for not parenting nonsense.  Guess what?  For three years I was the working parent with the 9-5 job, yet I somehow managed to come home, change my clothes, and go play with my kids...and my husband (because that is important too).  In fact, everyday I would make sure to 1. notice and give Superman a compliment about the house, 2. give him a rest from the kids (stay-at-homes need this "me time" much more than working parents I think), 3. cook dinner, and we alternated days for who gave the evening bath.  Was it tiring?  Of course.  But who ever said being a parent would be easy?

I'm happy to say that its summertime again, and school is out.  Which means my husband has left his Clark Kent job as high school teacher to resume his role of Superman stay-at-home-dad.  So, for the next 2.5 months, I can rest easing knowing Thing 1 and Thing 2 will be having the summer fun of their lives!

And honestly, I'm pretty jealous.  Because who wouldn't want to spend all day hanging out with this guy --->?

Happy Birthday x2

Thing 1 and Thing 2's birthday...where do I start?  This birthday will definitely go down in infamy as the birthday that EVERYTHING WENT WRONG!

Fail #1 For weeks, the boys have been saying they wanted "guitar cake" (they had a guitar cake last year).  Thing 1 wanted a blue guitar cake and Thing 2 wanted a red guitar cake.  One week ago they sprung it on me that they wanted a train cake instead.  Hmm, so off to google images search for me.  I found a lot of inspiration and decided I could make a decent homemade train cake using bread pans and lots of colored icing.

It started out okay.  But as I was preparing to put the final touches on the train, I noticed that the train tracks I had drawn with marker on the cake board was bleeding.  UGH!  Hours of baking (all cakes and icing from scratch) and now the cakes might be ruined.  It was past midnight, and my choice was to start over or try and salvage the cake, hoping that the bleeding had only affected the cardboard, and not the cake itself.  I checked and the marker was "non-toxic", so I decided to try and salvage the cake.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 mostly just eat the icing off the top anyway, maybe other kids would do the same.

I re-located the cakes to another board, covered in foil, and finished piping it and covering it with candy cargo and oreo wheels.  It came out okay, not as cute as I'd imagined, but not bad.  But I was still worried that it would taste like magic marker, so to me, it was deemed ruined.

Yesterday we took it to school and had the boys' party.  Their classmates loved the cake.  And luckily, most only ate the candy and icing (good!).  But take it from me...do not use magic marker on your cake boards!!

Fail #2 The boys' birthday coincided with their last tee-ball game.  So I told the coach I would bring the snack for the game.  I made some super cute baseball cupcakes.  And unlike the train cake fiasco, these turned out exactly as I'd hoped.  The problem: it stormed last night and the fields were flooded.  So, their game was cancelled.  Am I bad, but I'm NOT making cupcakes again next week.  I'll go buy some popsicles instead!

Fail #3 We decided not to do a party this year.  I am not one of these parents that thinks my kids need a party every year.  We had a big one for their first birthday (actually, we had three!), but did a small family celebration for their second.  We planned a small one for their third birthday, but somehow it turned into a fairly big one because almost everyone we invited came, just one kid couldn't make it.

I honestly wasn't planning on doing any sort of party this year, but I felt bad that this was the first year the boys really got that it was their birthday, so we decided to do a "Birthday Playgroup."  Our plan was to invite their three best friends (two from school and one from church) to go bowling at the bowling alley right near our house.  About two weeks ago, I sent out a "Mark your calendar" email to the parents.  And then sent a FB message to the bowling alley asking if I needed to actually reserve a lane for only five kids.  No response.  About a week ago, I called them.  No answer.  Last night, I called maybe six times, each time letting the phone ring and ring and ring.  I even told Superman "maybe we should just go over there and make the reservation in person."  But in the end we decided that we highly doubted they'd be so crowded at opening on a Saturday that we couldn't just show up and snag a lane.  I was right.  And wrong.

We pulled into the parking lot at 12 pm sharp this afternoon.  There weren't a lot of cars, but no worry, the bowling alley opened at noon, so how many people would be there right at opening.  But it turns out, they weren't open at all.  In fact, they hadn't been open for more than a week.  UGH!?!?  At this point, all five boys were running around the parking lot, hugging and talking and laughing and excited to play.  Now we had to load them in the car and head over to the other bowling alley.

Fail #4  I was embarrassed for my lack of foresight, but everything was going to be fine because the other bowling alley wasn't a far drive.  And in about five minutes we were in their parking lot, which also seemed very empty.  A woman stuck her head out and let us know that they would be open at 2 pm, since their summer hours were different than their regular hours.  UGH!!!  Might want to change your website info people!!!

Man I was so embarrassed now.  I couldn't even think straight.  But with the help of the other parents, we decided to all head over to a nearby playground where we had an impromptu picnic pizza party (thanks to Little Ceasar's $5 hot and nows) while we passed the time waiting for bowling alley #2 to open.

Honestly, the kids had a blast running around chasing each other.  And they loved that they got to eat the cookies and candy in their treat bags while waiting for the pizza (because who doesn't love to eat dessert first?!).

2 o'clock came and we headed back to the bowling alley.  It was chaotic, but so much fun.  And I was really really glad that we only invited 3 kids though, because I don't know how we could have coped with more.  Teaching four 4 year olds and one 6 year old to take turns bowling was definitely a challenge. :)

Interestingly, while we were there Superman ran into a bunch of people who knew from his pre-married/kids life.  Among those, two birthday parties.  And guess what?  They had both had the same exact morning as us.  Well, not same exact.  Because their parties were a bit bigger than ours, and they had actually made reservations at the other bowling alley only to show up and find it closed.  So, I felt a little better knowing that even if I had made that reservation, the morning would still have been so disorganized. Turns out, the other bowling alley was closed down by the IRS.  I guess you can only go so long without paying your taxes...  And they had never notified any of the people with reservations of the closure.

After settling in to our game, the boys were all having a blast.  But then one by one they had to go home.  Bless their parents for letting them stay sooo long in the first place, after going from location to location.  We were so thankful they were so understanding and gladly waved goodbye and thanked them for coming.

The day did end on a perfect note, though.  Thing 1 and Thing 2, despite my best efforts, love McDonald's chicken nuggets.  So, we packed in the van, along with Grandma and Papaw Train and headed to Mickey D's and had a fast food feast with a side of indoor playground.  We came home, gave the boys a bath, and let them fall asleep in their train pajamas watching one of their new train DVDs.

In the end, the boys had a great birthday.  They didn't notice the train cake may or may not have tasted like magic marker.  They didn't notice that they missed their tee-ball game (because we spent that time skyping with my parents and opening their presents).  They didn't understand the bowling alley confusion fiasco; all they knew is that they got to play at the park and eat pizza and open presents and eat cupcakes and even ride in our van with two of their favorite buddies.  And of course, they loved their birthday dinner at McDonalds.  They even were able to get Papaw Train to buy them McCones before we left.

This is probably the first birthday they will remember (it's crazy to think they are going to be able to start remembering stuff that is happening long term now), but they will only remember the good stuff.  It's only us Type A hyper-organized mommies that will remember this as the birthday that taught her to always, always have a plan B! :)

I like to plan ahead...

Superman actually enjoys last minute shopping.  He gets a thrill out of going to the store and having to find "the perfect gift" in five minutes flat.  Unfortunately, more often than not it is the leftover gift...the gifts that no one else wanted.  Which is why I like to plan ahead.  If my gift is a fail, it is rarely for lack of trying.

Which is why Mother's Day has just passed, and I'm already thinking of the next holiday...Father's Day. On Mother's Day, I got my mom a "4 Reasons I Love Being a Grandma" shirt from PersonalizationMall.com, and for just $3 extra I was able to add a personalized card which I thought was a really cute and unique touch.

So, for Father's Day, I decided to head on over to another of my favorite websites, Shutterfly.com to order up a few personalized cards for Superman and the grandpas.  Right now, you get 20% off of all cards, plus free shipping on orders over $30.

I was able to fill up the cart with a bunch of things I needed printed and a few other upcoming gift necessities to get my free shipping.  (I have an unnatural need to never pay for shipping!)

The trick is you have to order these far enough ahead of time that you can wait the 7-10 days delivery time for the free shipping items.

Check out the card I made for Grandpa Train.  It maybe the only picture of him and Grandma Train with all of their grandkids.  I think he is going to LOVE it!

And, if you make a project and share it in your blog (like I have here), you'll get a code for $10 off your next purchase.

Take me out to the ball game

Our town has a mini-baseball season for the three and four year olds.  It consists of six Saturdays in Spring, and the first two are just practices.  The last four are "games".  Though I'm sure they won't even keep score.

Part of me felt like a stage mom signing my three year olds up for tee-ball.  I mean, what can a three year old really get out of it?  Will their chances of making the varsity baseball team in high school really hinge on whether they started little league at three or five?  I highly doubt it.

But, since Superman and I both grew up playing ball, we have been buying them ball caps, reading them books about baseball, and teaching them "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" since they were little, little babies.  So while I don't expect them to have perfect aim after six short Saturdays of tee-ball, I am hoping they will get excited about baseball and it will help develop their interest in playing it as they get older.

Their first Saturday consisted of meeting their coach and teammates, doing some stretches and jumping jacks, running the bases, hitting off a tee, and catching some ground balls.  Thing 1 had a blast!  Unfortunately, Thing 2 was benched due to a case of Toxic Synovitis.

Tomorrow, they'll be getting their jerseys and taking team pictures.  And Thing 2 should be up to running around like normal.

But as fun as watching them run around and doing jumping jacks was (and it was fun!), I am sad that my parents don't get to see them play.  No, they aren't dead (thankfully!), but they live about 700 miles away, so a quick trip in for a tee-ball game is not really on the agenda.  I grew up on the ball field with my dad in the dugout and my mom in the stands.  Sometimes them living so far away just sucks more than others, and this is one of those times.  I just really wish they were able to be on the sidelines to see my boys learn to love the sport that they taught me to love.

I am happy though that my good friend, let's call her "The Godmother", will be coming into town to see them play their first game.  In fact, I can't believe it, but she is actually skipping her cousin's wedding for the occasion, because she says seeing a game is so important to her.  Which is a nice reminder once again that family comes to you in many forms.  Sometimes family is made through blood and birth, sometimes it is made through wedding vows, and sometimes family can be made by having really awesome friends who really love your kids.

Big boy beds

Thing 1 and Thing 2 have big boy beds!

Superman and I were pricing out bunk beds for the boys (the kind that you can start out as two twins and bunk later when they turn 6) and were definitely feeling the pinch on our wallets.  One set of wooden bunk beds, two mattresses, four sets of sheets, two pillows, two comforters...it was adding up all too quickly.

And then something amazing happened.  My aunt sent me an email asking if I had a need for two twin beds (they are in the process of converting their guest room to a king bed).  So, for the price of gas to drive to and fro Indianapolis (about 60 miles), we got two complete twin beds, with frames.  Score!

A lot of people are surprised to know that we are keeping the boys in the same room, and ask when we plan to give them their own room.  I have a few thoughts on that:

1. I plan on keeping them in the same room for as long as possible.  Puberty maybe?  I don't know.  It'll really depends on when they start bugging us for their own room.  But for now, I love hearing them chatter in their beds at night before they fall asleep.  I am not anxious to break that up.

2. Since when do kids HAVE to have their own rooms?  I know I sound like a bit of a hypocrite, seeing that the first time I shared a room I was a senior in college (at the sorority house), but I just don't think that having your own room is an inalienable right of childhood.  Especially two young children of the same sex.

The one problem...how do I stop the boys from jumping back and forth between their two new beds?

The Easter Bunny Threw Up

I'm proud to say that we actually only bought three of the things on the table.  The Bambi video and the baseball gloves.  That's the best thing about having really young kids, they don't remember that they got all of this other Easter crap for the last three Easters.

We've known for months now that we wanted to get the boys baseball mitts for their Easter baskets, especially since their first tee-ball practice is next weekend.  The only problem...we still don't know if they are right-handed or left-handed.  We've been trying for weeks to pinpoint, even enlisting their teachers to help us out, but we still aren't 100% sure.  Thing 1 seems to prefer his left hand for writing, throwing, and eating, at least most of the time.  But not all of the time.  Thing 2 seems to prefer his left hand for writing and eating, but throws with his right hand.  But again, most of the time that is true, but not all of the time.

Superman is really rooting for them to be left-handed.  First of all because his dad, Papaw Train, is left-handed and he (Superman) has a serious case of daddy-worship.  Second, because he has big dreams of the boys being Major league pitchers one day, which they'd have a better chance of if they were left-handed.

I personally would like Thing 1 to be left-handed and Thing 2 to be right-handed.  That'd make a perfect pitcher/catcher team!

For now, we bought three mitts.  Two left-handed and one right.  We are pretty sure Thing 1 is left-handed, but we got Thing 2 one of each, and we'll see which one he prefers and return the other.

A Mother's Intuition

I really need to learn to trust my mother's intuition.

Monday afternoon, right before lunch time, I got a call from the boys' school that Thing 2 was running a fever.  So, I left work to go pick him up and spend the rest of the day at home with him.  He was definitely feverish (hovering around 102 all night) and moaning and groaning and whimpering the most pitiful "nope" to just about every question I asked.  Around 11 pm, he started vomiting, and continued vomiting over the next few hours. Then, around 3 am, he finally fell into a deep, yet still fitful sleep.

Some things are going on at work right now that make me really anxious about taking too many days off and Superman doesn't have any sick days right now (long story), so I arranged for Grandma Train to come over on Tuesday and stay with him.  These boys tend to bounce back really quickly from sicknesses, so I didn't have too much guilt about abandoning him while he was ill.  I figured he'd be running around like normal in no time.  Besides, I was planning on going home to check on him around lunch time.

Well, Superman beat me to it.  He stopped by on his lunch break to help take Thing 2's temperature and help administer the next dose of pain killer (Grandma Train has a bad back, so while she can read to, play with, and comfort the boys, she can't lift our 36-lb sack of sick potatoes or have the strength to fight him to take his medicine or temperature.).  Around  11:30 or so, I get a phone call, Thing 2's temperature is 104.1.  At this point, I still wasn't positive I was taking him to the doctor's but I knew that a kid this sick needed his mom and Grandma Train needed some relief.

When I got home, it was 45 minutes after a cool bath and a dose of Ibuprofen, and he was still burning up.  I took his temp again (103.5) and called the doctor's office.  My mother's intuition said that my kid was really sick.  I'd never seen him so whiny and moany and miserable.  But, the nurse on the other end said based on his symptoms, and as long as the pain reliever was bringing the fever down some (even if just 1 degree), wait for 3 days and if his fever still didn't subside, to bring him in.

Later that afternoon, you could add diarrhea to the symptoms.

All that night he was feverish (pain killers only brought it down 1/.5 degree or so), lethargic, and all around not feeling good.  Superman slept in the guest room.  While I barely slept with Thing 2 in our bed.

The next day was more of the same.  More high temps.  More moody, whiny, needy boy who didn't know what he wanted, uncomfortable, and couldn't be satisfied.  Papaw Train did come buy with treats.  And he seemed to perk up enough to go downstairs and play trains.  But he fell asleep while playing, and Papaw left.  When he woke up, his temp was back up to 104 and he was as miserable as ever.

Later that afternoon, he started complaining about his belly hurting, rubbing down in his lower abdomen.  All along he has been barely eating, so I figured it must be an empty tummy.  Superman came home and got worried it was appendicitis.  We were on the verge of calling the doctor again when out of nowhere Thing 2 started acting better.  So much better in fact, he was walking around saying his "sick is broken now" and ready to go back to school.  He even ate a fair amount of dinner.  I was thrilled.  It definitely seemed he was on the mend.  And I was telling myself that that nurse had been right...that I just had to wait out the symptoms and they'd disappear on their own.

Bed time came and Thing 2 was whiny and threw a fit that we weren't letting him sleep in our bed yet again.  I explained that sick boys get to sleep in mommy and daddy's bed and well boys sleep in their own bed.

After missing half a day on Monday, half a day on Tuesday, and a full day on Wednesday, I was preparing for a good night sleep to go back to work on Thursday.

Wrong.

At about 1:30 am, our bed was invaded yet again by my whiny feverish hot box.  103.8 and as moany and miserable as ever. I guess his sick wasn't broken after all.

When asking Thing 2 what was hurting, he kept rubbing his lower abdomen and saying his tummy.  Superman gave me the look.  He was really worried about appendicitis.  He had just had his taken out 3 years ago when the boys were babies, and hadn't experienced the typical textbook symptoms.  So he was very convinced it was possible Thing 2's symptoms didn't have to follow the book either.  I wasn't as convinced (or at all), but I was up losing sleep over how to make my baby feel better and why I'd waited so long to take him to the doctor.  Now it was 3:30 am and I was counting down the minutes until 8 am when I could take him to see his doctor.

I guess I finally fell asleep, because around 7 am I woke up.  The first thing I did was feel Thing 2's forehead.  No fever.  But this time, when he woke up, he was not acting fine.  He might not have had a fever, but he was still whiny and moany with sick eyes.  He was still the sick version of himself.  I went ahead and called and make the appointment.  Then we got his brother dressed and dropped him off at school.

Thing 2 at first was upset he couldn't stay at school (mostly because he wanted to do the morning activity), but then perked up when we went to the donut shop.  Here is where I start doubting myself again...in the car to and while at the donut shop he was acting fine again.  Chatty.  Sweet.  Inquisitive.  And he seemed to have an appetite.  He ate 3/4 of his "white donut" (powdered sugar) and 1/4 of his "brown milk".

I'm thinking: Great, I'm taking him in to the doctor's with no fever and acting fine.  A waste of money and time.

But we press on.  At the doctor's office, his temperature is 98.7.  Perfectly normal.  But, he is acting weird again.  Lots of "nope" answers.  When I tell the doctor about the abdomen, she asked him if his belly hurts and he says a pitiful "yea".  Then she asks if his hair hurts and he says a pitiful "yea".  Then she points out that it's hard to diagnose children this age because of their lack of ability to effectively communicate.

One look at his throat with her little doctor light though, and the need for communication went out the window.  "Looks pretty red back there.  Let's get a strep test done."

My big boy opened wide and said "ahh" and about 5 minutes later, it was official...he has his first case of strep throat.  Fifteen minutes later, he had his first dose of amoxicillin.

Five hours later, he is feeling much better.  But I feel awful.  How could I have made him suffer through 3 days of aches and fevers when he had a legitimate illness?  When I get strep, I am at the doctor's within hours and getting my antibiotics.  No way I would suffer through without my drugs.  But I didn't want to be that mom bringing her kid to the doctor for some virus that would pass and there was nothing they could give them anyway.  Yet, on Tuesday and Wednesday both I had the nagging doubt of "should I go ahead and just take him in?" and didn't.

I still don't want to be that parent who takes her kid into the doctor for every cough and sneeze, but next time I'll know that if I know my kid is feeling miserable and really not himself, that I'll follow my mother's intuition on when to take him to see the doctor.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Rule number one is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it's all small stuff. ~Robert Eliot

Last Wednesday was like any other evening in our household.  Moments after I got home from work, Superman was out the door for a run, leaving me to deal with Thing 1 and Thing 2 running around rambunctiously and wreaking havoc around the house while I was trying to cook dinner.  They were alternating between trying to "help" me and just helping themselves to anything that would drive me crazy (using a pen to write on the couch, drawing on my table with crayons, spilling an entire tube of go-gurt on the rug).  Needless to say, by the time bedtime came, my last thought as I was shutting out their light was "THANK GOD!"  They were going to bed and I'd have some peace and quiet.

Superman brought some laundry up for us to fold, we turned on the tv to watch our shows, and I popped open my laptop to check my email one last time.   But what I found in my inbox was devastating.  A friend of mine, one of my best childhood friends, had sent me a message letting me know that her son had passed away that afternoon.  I must have re-read the email five times, because I kept thinking I was misunderstanding it.  It wasn't until Superman came and sat next to me did I realize I was crying and quietly saying "oh my god" over and over.  A beautiful, healthy, 16 month old child had suddenly and unexplainably aspirated in his sleep during his afternoon nap.  That poor child.  That poor mother.  That poor family.

Around that time, Thing 1 comes plodding down the hallway crying that his brother had hit him.  Usually my rule is that if you aren't bleeding and nothing is broken, you go back to your room.  But instead I grabbed my child and hugged him and held him while I cried.  Cursing myself for getting angry about spilled yogurt.  Cursing myself for thinking "Thank God" as I put them to bed that night.  Because really, all of the clean carpets and neatly folded laundry in the world isn't worth even one less second with my child.  Yet, in the hum-drum of everyday life, we often forget this.  Death of a child, especially a healthy one, is so unimaginable, unfathomable, that we often take our every days with them for granted.  At least I know I'm guilty of it.

Of all of the poignant and heartfelt things my friend has written about her son since his passing, the thing that made me cry the hardest was this line from a poem she wrote for him:

Next came a bath, where you soaked the whole entire floor,
What I would give right now to clean it up once more.

I don't really subscribe to the everything happens for a reason philosophy.  I can't think of any good reason to take this young child from his loving and doting family.  However, I do believe that good things can come out of even the most terrible of situations.  For my friend and her family, I can't imagine what good will come out of this event for them, however, I'm confident something will.  Eventually.

For me, I know that over the past week as I've dealt with some upsetting news at work and some other bad news (because when it rains it pours), I just keep reminding myself that none of those things really matter in the end.  It's all just small stuff.  Stained carpets and couches and broken lamps can be replaced.  ACs can be repaired.  New jobs can be found.  But you can never, ever, ever, replace your child.

As I sit beside Thing 2, laying in his pajamas in mommy and daddy's bed with sick eyes and a fever of 103<, moaning and groaning, and telling me his head hurts; my heart aches because I can't magically make him feel better.  But, I feel so unbelievably lucky and undeservedly blessed that my baby boy is only momentarily ill.  That overall he is a happy and healthy child.  They both are.  That I have been lucky enough to be their mother for almost 4 years.  And I pray with all of my might that I will be lucky and undeservedly blessed to be their mother for 40 more.

The Economics of Parenting Twins

I just read a funny and accurate blog on the economics of having twins: Freakonomics

I've been meaning for a while to write a blog on "What parents expecting twins really need".  For instance, two high chairs YES, two Jumperoos NO.  It's on my things to blog about list, but I just haven't gotten around to writing it.

This guy succinctly mentions issues of the costs of having twins.  (Hint: It's not two for the price of one!)  Here are my quick comments on his article.

Feedings.  Superman and I split midnight feedings.  We couldn't just take turns like other bottle feeding parents.  Two babies equals two constantly sleep deprived parents.  And actually, I'd like to point out that I had it worse than him, because as soon as the feeding was over, we changed their diapers and put them back in their crib, then he went back to sleep.  I got to stay up for another 30 minutes of pumping and 15 minutes of clean up from said pumping.

P.S. When you are sleep walking during pumping, and you accidentally spill that milk that you are working so darn hard to make...you bring new meaning to the phrase cry like a baby.  I think Superman thought I'd fatally wounded myself.  And in a way, I felt like I had.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 at 3 weeks old in
second-hand bouncy seats from my cousin 

Infancy Costs. Most people have one baby at a time.  Which means they have one crib that is used for multiple children at different times.  But we had to get two of almost everything, since there were no hand me downs to be passed on.  The worst was the cost of buying things that you knew they'd only use for a few months and then outgrow.  We loved thrift stores and took any hand-me downs people would give us.  I didn't care if their high chairs matched, as long as they were cheap and/or free!

We were so lucky that I had a cousin who had twin boys two years before us.  They passed on a ton of stuff and I couldn't have been happier!  We "paid it forward" by passing on a ton of stuff as well.

P.S. People who won't take hand me downs for gently used items that the baby will outgrow in two seconds are freaking stupid!

P.P.S. I want to smack people who already have a blue high chair for their son and then go get a pink one when they have a girl. Hint: that baby doesn't freaking care what color their high chair is!  Use the dang-on blue high chair and put that extra money into their college account!!  Sheesh!

Diapers.  We chose to do cloth diapers for several reasons.  1. It is better for the environment.  2.  They are healthier for the kids (have you ever seen the toxic crap that spills out of a diaper that explodes when it gets too saturated?!)  3.  They are supposed to make potty training easier, since the kids feel more uncomfortable than disposables that are super absorbent.  And 4. They are cheaper.  Except, again, most people buy their $300 worth of Fuzzy Bunz in a few different sizes and that lasts them through as many kids as they have.  We on the other hand, had to buy twice the amount of diapers.  So in the end, I'm not sure just how much money we really saved.  I'm sure we saved some, but not as much as we would have if we'd used $300 for two different babies at staggered times.

Child care costs.  Babies cost more than toddlers.  Diapered toddlers cost more than potty trained toddlers.  People say "wow, it was great you could afford for Superman to stay home with the boys for three years."  The truth is, two babies in child care would have eaten up almost all of Superman's teacher salary.  He would have basically been working to pay someone else to take care of our kids.  As it is, we pay $1200-1500 a month (depending on whether it is 4 weeks or 5 weeks) to have two potty trained kids in preschool now.  People gasp when they hear that and say "Wow, I pay half that."  Duh, you have half the kids in school as us.

The good news: once they start kindergarten in a year, we will feel rich!  In the end, we end up paying the same.  The difference is we have to do a more condensed version, where other people get to spread theirs out a bit.

Sleep.  Again, thanks to the awesomeness of having a cousin pave the way for us in the world of parenting twins, we knew from day one the importance of getting them on a schedule.  I really don't know why anyone would be against sleep training.  Rested parents are happy parents.  Happy parents equal happy babies.  It's common sense to me.  But I read so many negative opinions about methods like Ferber and Babywise (both of which we used with great success!).  My boys were sleep trained as babies and are STILL amazing sleepers.  I read peoples' Facebook posts about their kids getting up at 5 am, even on weekends, and I thank my stars that my boys would sleep in until 9 am everyday if we'd let them (and on weekends we do!).  My only problem with their sleep is getting them up early enough in the morning.  Sometimes I feel like I have teenagers already!

And not only do they sleep late, but they go to bed great.  We have followed the rules of following schedules and being consistent.  So they know that bedtime is 8 pm.  There is no fighting, crying, or having to do super nanny methods to keep them in their beds.  It's 8 pm, they go to bed.  Boom.  We read them a few books, turn off all but one reading light, and they read quietly in bed until they fall asleep.  99% of the time, this is our night time routine.  I can't imagine doing it those other ways... how exhausting.

Built in playmate.  This one is huge.  I can say that this is by far the #1 reason why I'm glad we had twins.  I can remember even when they were 9 months old, seeing how much easier it was with two for keeping them entertained.  I'd put one in the Jumperoo and one in the exersaucer and set them facing one another while I did dishes and made dinner.  They'd laugh and entertain one another the whole time.  Meanwhile my friends with just one baby would complain about how hard it was to get anything done, because their baby wanted their attention.

I also think this is why we were successful at keeping them away from tv for almost two years.  If we'd had just one baby, I'm sure we would have given in and used the digital babysitter much much sooner than we did.

College.  Honestly, this is like the child care issue.  Sure, it's gonna suck to have two kids going in to school at the same time.  However, once it is done, it will be done.  And unlike with the surprise of having twins, we have 18 years to get ready for that expense.  And honestly, if we end up not having enough to send them...there are always school loans.  Hey, if it was good enough for me...

I take that back.  I freaking despise my school loans.  We'd better have saved enough by then!

In Summary.  All of you people who say "Ah, I always wanted twins."  Bet you didn't think about all of this, did ya?  You just thought about the cute factor of having two itty bitty babies dressed in the same outfit.  The truth is, there are definitely draw backs.

But then again, I only had to be pregnant once.  Only had to go through one delivery.  Only had to go through breastfeeding once.  Bottles once.  Night feedings once.  Diapers once.  Potty training once.

And once the boys outgrow equipment, clothes, toys, etc, there is no need to store them in the basement or attic for the next one.  We have a garage sale, or donate them to a friend or organization.  It's Hasta La Vista Baby!