Give Me a Break!

This past weekend I spent a luxurious 48+ hours on a retreat with three of my closest friends. I promised myself months ago that I would take myself to Breitenbush Hot Springs (alone if need be) to celebrate weaning the twins. I expected it to be in Fall and I gave myself a decent amount of time to accomplish my goal.

It wasn't easy. Can you imagine how hard it is to say, "no" to these two?

I went about weaning in a very gentle way...basically, I let them decide, but I encouraged them a bit and dropped feedings when they didn't seem to need them (even emotionally). So, I had to say no occasionally, but not much.

The amazing thing about the combination of weaning the boys and allowing myself a personal retreat is that I felt like all of a sudden I got myself back in every way. Physically, I can eat what I want, take cold medicine if need be, have as much coffee as I want, drink 2 glasses of wine without feeling guilty, and certain parts of my body have returned to normal size. What I didn't realize until I went away for the weekend is how much of myself I was suppressing mentally, as well.

The thing about motherhood is that it's really, really hard, but we do it because there is no alternative. We don't eliminate the children's needs because then what kind of mother would we be? Instead we eliminate our own needs. We push our desires, our interests, even our health into a corner and say we'll get to it when we have the time, but we never really have the time. Being away was sort of like waking up. There were so many parts of me that I was pushing aside in order to be a better mother, or so I thought. What I realized was that I can be a better mother if I allow myself to breathe and celebrate who I am occasionally.  The entire thing felt so foreign at first, suddenly I remembered what it felt like to just sit and read a book or drink a cup of coffee in the sunshine, and not worry about what comes next or who needs what. It was so beautiful and so renewing!

sitting by the river in an adirondack chair reading a book!

There were so many wonderful moments during the weekend, but for some reason I keep coming back to the first morning when my friend Patty, who also has three children, and I sat on the porch of the lodge in the sunshine drinking coffee. We sat there for at least an hour drinking and talking and when we were done we couldn't help but remark, somewhat jokingly, about how frivolous it seemed to have spent so much time just sitting there. We couldn't quite wrap our brains around it yet because we hadn't been there for long yet, but that time we took to ourselves was something we NEVER have time for in our everyday lives.

When I first visited Breitenbush I went with Ben for our wedding anniversary. Kyan was 2 years old and we had never left him overnight before. I was REALLY nervous about it, but I really wanted the time with Ben, too. One of the wonderful and complicated things about Breitenbush is that there is no cell reception or public phone or internet. I had no way of contacting home to make sure Kyan was okay. I had a great time, but there was a constant nagging in my gut because I couldn't totally release my anxiety about leaving him. When Sunday morning hit I was ready to go immediately and Ben had to reign me in and get me to relax for a bit longer. Here's a picture from that first trip:

This picture is one of the pictures from that trip that I go to when I feel like I'm letting myself slip away too much...it just feels like a picture that is SO very "me".

June 2009

Here's the cute little 2 year old Kyan that we left behind for our anniversary trip:

During this recent trip I felt very mild anxiety about leaving the three boys, but it totally faded by the end of the weekend. Maybe it was something about not being a first time mom, or maybe it was the fact that I needed the break so desperately that my mind knew better than to punish me with anxiety. Either way, I was pretty darn relaxed and I could have stayed another couple of days without getting too anxious!

September 2011

I found the time to be the "me" that I longed for when I look back at that picture because I gave myself the permission I needed to relax and renew. I think I gave myself a wonderful gift, and my husband also contributed to the gift by taking care of all three boys on his own for the first time ever (well, for a prolonged period of time, that is) without a single grumble.

I am so thankful for the moments that I was granted and I know that it will keep me stronger as I struggle, laugh, and celebrate with my beautiful family.

Today was one of those days when one questions one's right, and possibly one's choice, to be a mother.

I suppose the day started at 1:30 am when Ronan awoke screaming:
He is briefly mollified with a pacifier and blanket, but the screaming returns about 10 minutes later (you know, just long enough to begin to drift back to sleep thinking you've dodged a bullet).

When further attempts to calm him IN the crib become futile, Ben gets him out and begins walking around the house with him. It is clear that something hurts because he cries no matter what we do. Eventually Ben gets him some ibuprofen and I take him to bed with us. Where he cries, and fusses, and rolls, and laughs, and crawls, and stands on my chest...you get the picture. Finally, fed up with that I take him out to the living room and attempt to calm him. I get out a bottle of milk (something he has recently been indulging in before bed since the nursing has stopped...what crazy person introduces the bottle at 15 months, you say? why me, of course!), and he drinks the entire thing.

Great. He was just hungry. Now he'll sleep, right? NOPE! More screaming. Oh, have I mentioned that by this time Mason is in bed with Ben because he has been woken up by the screaming several times and managed to go back to sleep a few of the times but is finally fed up.
Screaming continues. Ben, taking one for the team, passes Mason to me and gets up and gets dressed. He takes Ronan into the playroom and stays there with him until 5 am. Awake. Yes. 5 am. How nice that I got to stay in bed, right? Uh, yeah.

Well, by this time Mason is wide awake since Ben and I have been arguing over his head about what to do with Ronan. He takes up Ronan's fuss, roll, and crawl routine and keeps it up for about and hour or so. Finally, he falls asleep...within about a half hour Ben comes back to bed...then we all sleep for an hour...then Kyan wakes up. Of course, right?

6 am we have most of the family in the bed and I am trying to keep Kyan quiet and still enough to keep from waking Mason. No such luck. Up we go.

After rising I have to do my morning weigh in for my diet game that I'm playing. Wouldn't you know it, I didn't make weight for the week. OF COURSE I DIDN'T! That would mean something GOOD was happening. So, the final conclusion of my night of HELL is that I will not be drinking wine for two solid weeks (if we don't make weight we can't drink for the remainder of the game). Fabulous.

The rest of the morning basically consists of Ronan and Mason taking it in turns to shriek and sob while clinging to some part of my body. Only with Ronan the shrieking never stops. No matter what I do.
So, I put them down for nap a tad bit early and Mason goes right to sleep while Ronan (you guessed it) shrieks. When he finally goes to sleep (maybe 10 minutes of shrieking) he sleeps for approximately 30 minutes. SERIOUSLY?? Then wakes up...shrieking! I pick him up, I cuddle him, I offer him food and drink, I sit, I stand, I dance, I sing....nothing works. The shrieking continues.

Finally, it seems wise to call the doctor. I think maybe he has an ear infection as many of his crazy night fits have been associated with that in the past. The only appointment available is at 2:40; the twins' second nap is at 2 pm. Of course.

So, I decide they should be quite tired and try to put them down at 12:30 so they can nap before the appointment. A new level of shrieking commences. So, I give that one up and throw them all in the car. I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I cannot stay in the house listening to the shrieking for one minute longer!

As we begin to drive I realize that both Kyan and I need to eat. So, I get the bright idea to go to New Seasons. Kyan loves to eat there. Things seem to be going fine until I actually begin to consume my food...at which point (can you guess?) SHRIEKING!

Now, the thing about the twins is that they are really good babies...really. If they get fussy I just have to change the scenery and they are pretty much content. SO not the case today. So, I try juggling various distractions in the form of food, silverware, napkins, etc. while simultaneously shoving my food into my mouth and trying to get Kyan to sit still and eat.

As I get up to throw things away and clean up our mess the twins are pretty fussy and a bit loud, but it's not like we're in a 5 star restaurant or anything, it's not a quiet place. Still, I get these looks from people that clearly say, "we are judging you for the behavior of your bratty boys." I also get a sense of, "what's wrong with you? Do you know what birth control is?" in several of the glances.

By the time I leave I am almost ready to cry, but I don't. I get them in the car and strapped in and begin the drive to the doctor's office. In an attempt to keep the twins awake (ironic, isn't it?) I start to act silly and laugh with them and I realize that I really do like them better when they are all strapped into their car seats looking at me adoringly.

When we get to the doctor's office I open the van door and realize that Kyan is beginning to drift off. COME ON, KID!! He hasn't napped since last week and I wasn't even working on keeping him awake! So, I put him in one side of the double stroller with the seat down and he is instantly asleep. OK. I strap Mason on my back, since the appointment is for Ronan, so in theory Mason can stay there through the entire event, put Ronan in the other side of the stroller, and off we go.

We get in there and Ronan is the happiest child I have ever seen. They are looking at me like I have a screw loose when I explain why we've come. They check him out and, sure enough, nothing wrong. Maybe a tooth coming in, maybe, but I think that was just an attempt to make me feel better. BUT, "while you're here, why don't you get those next two vaccinations taken care of (since you are so far behind because of your 'alternate schedule' and we are afraid you're going to destroy the human race with your rebellion)." Uh, ok.

It is DEFINITELY a great idea to add two sore spots, a possible fever, and an increased chance of fussiness to our already boiling over pot. WHY THE HELL NOT! Let's do it.

Of course, Kyan wakes up right before the torture session. He is not particularly happy to wake up in a stroller in the doctor's office. The twins are naked now and running, climbing, grabbing, and pushing everything in sight. It takes the nurse a good 10-12 minutes to return with the shots (OF COURSE IT DOES!).

We get the shots done, children are screaming, I only half dress them, strap them into the stroller and onto my back and set off into the waiting room full of people who also would like to inform me that, "I've got my hands full." Thank you. Very astute observation. Do you want one?

We get in the car and I'm SURE the twins will fall right to sleep, I mean they have to, right? NOPE. Ronan shrieks like a banshee for a good 5 solid minutes which sets Kyan off because he's out of sorts and, I have to admit, it does REALLY hurt one's ears to listen to, and Kyan is right next to him.

I have to pee really badly at this point (because I am consuming 3 liters of water a day for this silly diet game I'm doing), but I sure as hell wasn't going to attempt to go into a bathroom with the entire screaming crew. So, my new dilemma is whether or not to drive until they are asleep or to get home as fast as possible so that I can pee and give poor Kyan a reprieve from Ronan's shrieks. As I see Ronan's eyelids begin to flutter between shrieks I decide to keep going. Finally, he falls asleep. Mason does not, but I'm counting on him to lay down in the crib without any issues once we get home. BIG mistake there!

We get home and I take Ronan to his crib where he commences loud, stuffy snoring (oh, NOW I notice that he's stuffed up), but when I try to put Mason in he screams and throws himself all over the crib. Kyan is in the hallway trying to get me to put the TV on for him because I have mistakenly agreed to let him watch so that I can possibly have a few minutes of downtime once I get the twins to sleep. It takes me a good 10 minutes of cooing and rocking to calm Mason and he goes to sleep. I put TV on for Kyan, go into the kitchen and begin preparations for dinner. That lasts all of 3 minutes before I hear Ronan. Really? REALLY?

So, I bring a shrieking Ronan out of his room and he, again, continues to shriek. I get him some ibuprofen for whatever pain is turning him into this monster and I try to finish preparing the roasts that I have to get in the oven to cook because they will take over an hour. He will not let me set him down, but I can't do it holding him, so I set him on the counter and give him some cooking utensils to play with. He continues to shriek while I prepare. I realize I have reached an all time low. I am just about ready to put him in the oven.

Finally, the roast is in and I take him into the playroom with Kyan. He continues to shriek so I give him my phone and the remote control (minus batteries) and this distracts him enough to stop the shrieking. Finally, a bit of quiet. Then Mason wakes up. He won't stop crying. I realize he is stuffy. Oh dear lord.

When Ben gets home I am sitting at the table shoveling food into my mouth while both babies are trying to climb up onto me while shrieking and sobbing. I attempted to feed them and they threw the food AT ME. Here are Ben's pictures of my attempt to sit on the couch and relax for a minute after I ate:

The look on my face is complete disbelief that the shrieking banshee is smiling SO sweetly for the camera!

Finally, I take my leave and go for a 20 minute bike ride in order to decompress. It helps. I come back able to help put the twins to bed without screaming. And, now that I have cleansed myself of the day by laying it all out here, I am off to bed to prepare for what promises to be another great night!

Mothers Who Shop

Ben made a comment the other day when we were going to shop for Kyan’s school backpack. Kyan asked why we were going to Pottery Barn Kids and Ben said, “Because, Kyan, that’s where Mommies who want to compete with one another go.” I got really mad, but the truth is I got mad because the truth hurts.

There is this part of me that totally competes with other moms. It’s like a little voice in my head saying, “are you going to let them ‘look’ like a better mother than you?”  or “if you don’t get him the cute and expensive version then everyone will think (know) that you don’t have a lot of money.” 

This is the sad reality and yet I’m a very open person. I don’t lie about the fact that we don’t own our house or have a lot of money to buy things, I don’t even hide it.  

So what is it with this competition that we mothers insist on engaging in? I see the ridiculousness of it in my mind’s eye and yet I continue to make choices that are based on my insecurities and my need to “prove” something to other people. I’m not sure how I got here.

Yesterday Kyan was making up a song while playing the guitar and I was sitting out in the living room just listening. In one part of the song he sang (approximate version) “I love my mother because I love her a lot and she loves me…she loves me so much because she gives me something special because she loves me so much…” Listening to that I had mixed emotions, obviously Kyan knows he is loved, but he equates receiving a gift or something special with love. That isn’t right. Seriously. This kid has no idea what it is like to want something REALLY badly and not receive it. Everything he has ever really wanted he has eventually gotten. It’s hard, as a parent, and hard for his grandparents, too, not to buy him the things he wants because he just seems so genuinely happy when he receives them and it feels so good to make him so happy. The issue is that he is beginning to equate this with love. Love should be so much more than the giving and receiving of material objects. 

I remember as a kid wanting a Cabbage Patch doll so badly that it’s all I could think of. My parents kept deferring to Santa Clause and Christmas as the chance to get it, but they didn’t promise anything. They didn’t have a lot of money and I knew that so I thought maybe if I told Santa over and over again he would bring my Cabbage Patch Kid. On Christmas morning I opened all of my presents and there was no Cabbage Patch. I tried really hard to be okay, but I think I might have started to cry when my parents told me that was it. Then they sprung the surprise that there was one more hidden present…of course it was my Cabbage Patch. The reality was I knew, for the most part, at that point that my parents were Santa and that they had a hard time affording Christmas, so that’s why I tried to be okay when it wasn’t there at first, because I knew it was a hard thing for them to afford. I understood the sacrifice they were making to some degree and I knew that I couldn’t have everything I wanted. I carried that doll with me everywhere for a long time. It was even saved for years, it may still be around. 

she looked JUST like this!

I thought that Kyan’s obsession with Buzz Lightyear a couple of Christmases ago was akin to my obsession with that Cabbage Patch kid, so I knew I had to get it. The difference is that I got him Buzz, and Woody, and Rex the dinosaur…amid a myriad of other things that totally overwhelmed him to the point that he actually stopped opening presents and said he was done. He never questioned for one second that he would get Buzz and wasn’t even surprised to have the entourage of characters appear, too.
I overdid it that year and I tried not to do that this past year, but it’s hard. I tell myself that, on one hand, the boys having fun toys makes my life easier because they are entertained. True, in part, but absolutely not the entire story. Yesterday Ronan and Mason entertained themselves for more than a half an hour by taking all of the pans out of the cupboard and carrying them to various places in the house and then setting them on the floor and stepping in and out of them. Kyan spends more time being entertained by sticks than he ever does with his $30 light saber. So, who am I buying all of this stuff for? Is it for me? So that when we have play dates everyone can see how much we have and how lucky my boys are? Maybe in some part, I don’t think that’s the whole story either, though. 

I want my boys to appreciate what they have and to feel what it is like to want something they can’t have. How can I achieve this when I along with their 4 loving grandparents like to get them everything they show interest in? I can’t tell everyone to stop buying presents. I can’t turn Christmas morning into a “give your toys to needy children” event and let them go without. There are little things that people do, like have kids donate to a toy drive etc, but I don’t think that’s going to get the real message across, it just makes us parents who have abundance feel like we’re at least making an effort to teach our children about those who don’t. I have no idea how to achieve it, but I truly want Kyan to want something and to be unsure he will get it. 

I suppose I can start by not competing with other mothers to have the cuter backpack or lunch sack or shoes for the kids, etc. I can stop allowing myself to judge my worth and status as a mother by how my children and their possessions appear to others. It’s a start. I don’t have any idea how successful I will be in my endeavor because the reality is that the need to compete comes from deep seeded insecurities about how others see and judge me. I know that my worth as a mother has nothing to do with those things, but I have to convince myself that others know that, too. Of course those people that I care about most and are true friends don’t judge me that way, but unfortunately I care what everyone thinks, not just those friends. I suppose I can begin with a different kind of Christmas, one where I don’t go into debt in order to overwhelm my children with the abundance that I can provide for them. It’s a start, and maybe next time we’ll look for a new backpack at Goodwill instead!

Foundations

Yesterday was Kyan's first day of preschool.

Since he once went to preschool full time (when I was working) I suppose it isn't a real "first", but somehow it felt that way. His new school is a cooperative preschool, meaning that I, as a parent, have a lot of work to do within the school. I work in his classroom once or twice a month as a parent teacher, and I have a formal "job" to do throughout the year.

Kyan will only be in school for 2 1/2 hours a day three days a week, so it's not a huge chunk of time, but somehow this has kick started my mama grief because it seems like he's so much closer to kindergarten, which is so much closer to elementary school, which is so much closer to middle school...you can see where I'm going with this.

Walking through the mall with the family the other day I was looking at teenage boys, I always do this, and trying to imagine our boys as teenagers. I turned to Ben and asked him if he ever does this and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy and said, "No." Well, maybe I am crazy, but I try to imagine what it will feel like to have three grown boys who are itching for independence from their parents and who are forming identities that we, as parents, will have little control over. One of the things that stood out in the child psychology class that I had to take to get my masters degree in teaching was the fact that a very large part of a child's identity is formed outside the home. There were numbers attached to this that showed how much time a child spends outside the home (mainly in school) and how big an influence their peers have on them vs. how much influence parents have on them. For some reason I have never been able to forget that. Maybe it's the control freak in me that can't believe I will have so little control over these boys that I gave birth to.

I guess this is why I am so concerned about the schools that I will send my children to. I have worked in a lot of different school settings. I have taught at a daycare style school that had a teaching philosophy, but was set up for full time working parents. I have taught at a cooperative alternative school run entirely by the parents on a governing board. I have worked in a public elementary school, and of course taught in a public high school. I have developed some very strong feelings through all of these experiences and now that my first child is nearing the age where he will begin to go to school "for real" I am faced with some huge decisions.

Ben and I have had a goal for the last couple of years. Our plan is to move back to the coast so that Kyan can go to the cooperative alternative school that I taught at years ago. I have a lot of reasons behind my desire to send Kyan, and eventually the twins, there, but the most important one is that I want the foundation of their education to be a love of learning. There are amazing teachers in public schools that do give their students this foundation, but they are not all amazing and even the amazing ones are hampered by the system they are a part of and the curriculums that they are required to stick to.

I'm not worried about Kyan learning the basics, I know that he will learn them whether at home or at school, what I'm worried about is that my boys learn about community, about loyalty, about kindness, about nature, and about their place in the world they live in. I want them to think of school as an extension of home; a place they feel comfortable in and responsible for. I don't think that happens in a public school. I don't blame those who run the public schools for the lack of these things, because often they are working hard to create them, but the public education model itself is severely lacking. There was a time I thought I would one day fight to change this model and help to save public education...then I became a public school teacher. The need for change is huge and I saw that even more once I was teaching everyday, but it is so huge that it is overwhelming. I don't have answers. I don't know if anyone really does. It is such a grandiose problem that there is not one answer. The problem is, I don't want to sacrifice my children's foundation to a system that I don't believe in.

When Ben and I discuss this he always brings up the argument that the public education system is a representation of our society and that our boys, like it or not, will one day have to function within that society. Point taken. I am entirely willing to expose them to the inherent flaws of the society in which they will live but only once they have a solid foundation for dealing with those flaws. I want them to have a real childhood. I want them to get dirty and messy while learning about science. I want them to run in the woods and build forts during recess. I want them to love and respect their peers because the community they are a part of values that. I want them to think about their classroom as their home and take care of it as such.

Maybe I have too clear a picture of my goal for the boys because I taught in the school where I want them to end up. All I know is that I will fight to the death for them to have a solid foundation. I don't think they will end up as horrible people if I send them to a public school. In fact, I'm sure that, as parents, Ben and I could give them a solid foundation no matter where they go to school, but if I can provide them with an environment that will nurture that foundation rather than counter it then I am going to fight like hell to do it.

One day I will watch each of my boys cross the stage at their high school graduation and I know I will be filled with pride. I know also that what they become and who they will be is entirely up to them once they reach that precipice. I just hope that the decisions I have made up until that point will lead them in the right direction. I suppose that's all I can do...I can give them roots so that they can lift their wings and fly...

Reaching the top of the mountain: the end of nursing

It is official. The twins are done nursing.

I expected a rush of sadness and a feeling of loss, but I can't say that either of these things have really happened. I feel a tiny bit of sadness, I suppose, now that they are both officially done, but mostly I feel relief and pride. I was proud of nursing Kyan for 16 months, but nursing one baby is like taking a nice long walk along a moonlit beach; simple and sweet, and when it ends you feel a bit of remorse. Nursing twins is like climbing a very high mountain; a beautiful walk with lots of rewards, especially at the end, but challenging, and when you reach the top and take in the beautiful view all you can think is, "thank goodness that climb is over!"

I say all of this knowing that my nursing experience was FAR easier than many twin moms, and that many mothers of multiples don't make it as long as I did. Here are a few pictures from the early nursing days:

Ronan's first time!

Mason's first time!

Mason

 

 

 

Happy boys after a tandem session in the hospital!

on the go tandem nursing at 2 months!

Nursing became easier, or so it seemed, around 5 or 6 months when I stopped the tandem act. It meant I had to feed twice as long, but somehow it was more manageable. Then around 1 year they lost their patience with individual nursing. If I tried to nurse them separately the one waiting would FREAK out, so we went back to tandem. Here's an idea of what that was like:

I think Ronan was done and I was trying to keep him from attacking Mason while he finished :)

I have to say that this 15 months has gone so fast. I didn't even write the boys their 1 year letter, or make them a baby book, or compile their first year in video, all things I did for Kyan. I don't know exactly how I'll explain that to them other than to say, "well, boys, I spent all of the time that I would have been doing those things nursing you and recovering from the intense sleep deprivation caused by...nursing you!"

I think I did what was best for my boys, though now and then I wondered if I should have made different choices in order to help my husband and I sleep better and thus be better parents and spouses to one another. I'm not sure I could have justified it to myself, though.

Now the boys are walking, talking, jumping, almost running, and certainly climbing! They can eat most foods and definitely don't need to nurse anymore. The next step is getting rid of the pacifier and that's going to be a hard one!

holding them back from the waves!

I will likely never nurse a baby again (only 'likely' because crazy things happen, so I try not to think in absolutes), and I do mourn that. There is something so sweet and beautiful about nestling with your baby (or babies) and knowing that you are giving them the best food possible for their body. There is a sweet, milky smell about them that only comes from nursing. There is that sense of total calm and peace when a crying baby settles down to the breast and all is right in the world. There are those beautiful moments lying curled together on the bed and listening to the soft sucking and swallowing sounds of a baby. There is so much loveliness about nursing that it doesn't matter what else comes with it, I will remember the beauty instead.

It seems like this step away from me is the boys' first step toward independence. One day they will be like Kyan and only need me now and then. One day all three of them will turn away from me to some degree and take care of themselves. There is a part of me that longs for the boys to be more independent and there is a part of me that feels torn in half at the thought. I know that I have no control, motherhood has taught me that much, but I will hold on and hug them like crazy while I can...because there's nothing in the world as beautiful as my little boys.

Growing Pains

Today I was visiting a twin mom who is on hospital bed rest and while I was chatting with her and feeding the twins cheese I realized that my finger kept hitting something sharp while I was feeding Mason. On closer inspection it was his first tooth!

Now, the boys are certainly a bit old for their first teeth (11 1/2 months to be exact), so I was pretty excited. It explained a lot about their behavior over the last few days (especially nights) and I'm pretty sure that Ronan has one about to pop through, too.

Beyond excitement I realized I was feeling a bit sad, too. For some reason seeing a tooth in his mouth made me more sentimental about his babyhood than seeing him try to walk or pull up. Somehow he was still a baby until I saw that sharp little tooth sticking up, but now he's a big boy ready to bite his Mommy!

I may also have been feeling the sentimentality of visiting a mama who is lying in the hospital missing her kids at home just like I was one year ago. I even got to talk to a nurse on the way out who remembered me and Kyan and was so excited to see the twins. She even remembered my name!

I am so thankful to be through that difficult time, and I am seriously confident that I do not want to have another baby, but something about it all made me a bit sad. Just knowing that I will never have another newborn, or witness a first tooth, or celebrate a first step after the twins reach all of these milestones.
Ronan has taken his first steps, Mason has his first tooth, they are eating mostly finger food and rejecting purees, they race each other across the room pushing their walkers, Ronan is CLIMBING things, and I am watching it all with a huge smile on my face and a bit of an ache in my heart.

There's this other part of me that is not sentimental at all and cannot wait until I get to sleep through the night and stop chasing babies around to keep them safe. I have this vision of my boys and Ben and I all on a camping trip hiking through the woods and roasting marshmallows over campfires. I see us traveling across the country and enjoying the wilderness. Ben wants that all right now, but my vision doesn't really including figuring out how to keep two toddlers safe in the woods or get them to sleep even in our amazingly wonderful camper van!

In only 3 weeks my babies will be one year old! That is so amazing to me! Watching my poor friend miss her girls while she lies uncomfortably in that hospital bed and wonders what the future holds for her with two newborns on the way has really made me reflect on my experience. I didn't keep much of a pregnancy journal because I honestly wasn't sure if I wanted the twins to know how I was feeling or managing during my pregnancy. I was afraid they would only hear how difficult it all was and that I wouldn't get across the message that they are well worth the pain!

yes, pain! 38 weeks and going in to deliver!

They warm my heart and I am so excited for the future and for every little step they are taking...if only I could freeze little moments of time so that I could come back and relive them every now and then! These crazy little monsters make me smile so much that my cheeks hurt and that's what I want them to know about this process. So, I thought I'd mention that instead of how tired I am for a change :) I love you my sweet little boys!

Dancing To the Beat

It's been so long that I almost forgot I had a blog. I don't know if it's me or the circumstances, but sometimes I am drawn to the computer to type whether I have time or not and others I am so tired that doing anything requiring thought is way too much to handle.

I have however been composing many blog entries in my head and it has made me think of my Grandmother who composed poems in her head while doing housework. I looked around the bathroom today and decided that I would forgo cleaning it in order to write a post. The twins are sleeping and Kyan is playing with his friend in the playroom. I almost had to suspend the entire blog plan in order to search for a missing frog, but I have realized the search is futile and if she shows up she shows up.

Hopper, the missing frog

Last night while lying in bed Ben and I talked about how hard it is to be a parent. I know we were challenged by Kyan, but it's nothing compared to the challenges of having two babies AND a 4 year old at the same time. It is amazing to me how much I can love being a mother and hate it at the same time. Ben and I are so tired and irritable that we barely feel like ourselves and we rarely seem to connect to one another anymore unless we force ourselves to break the bubble of exhaustion and indifference and communicate about something other than baby poop and time out.

It is easy to see how marriages can be rendered unrecognizable by the joys of parenthood. My midwife kept telling me during my pregnancy that divorce rates among twin parents are much higher. I basically ignored her warnings, but I get it now.

The thing that Ben and I keep discussing is the reality that our troubles are not really about us. There is no problem with our marriage. We are tired, we are stressed out, we are overwhelmed, but we are still in love, we just don't really have the time to attend to it. It seems like knowing that is half the battle, but we still seem a bit too tired to fight the other half of the battle.

I actually didn't intend to sit down and write about my marriage, and maybe Ben will not appreciate that I'm talking about it, but I think it's an important discussion. When Ben and I got married we talked a lot about it beforehand. Neither of us intended to ever be divorced, so we didn't want to get married unless we were as sure as we could be about it. At one point it almost didn't happen because Ben couldn't guarantee me that he wanted children and that was a deal breaker for me. Eventually we settled on a shaky understanding in that department, mostly based on the fact that I knew he would be okay with it in reality, he just had trouble with it in theory.

Now I think I know why Ben was unsure about fatherhood; he is intimidated by babies. Right around the age of two he relaxes, but babies overwhelm him. I can't say that I blame him; It's the crying really. We were extremely lucky to have three very even tempered babies. None of them had colic, none of them were super cranky, and they are extremely adorable. Ronan, however, has a cry that could topple anyone's tower of calm, and he reserves it mostly for nighttime. The problem with this is that there are times when I have to have help at night because they are both awake and want to eat.

I can't tandem nurse them anymore because they beat each other up and no one gets any milk. Ronan won't go back to sleep if Mason is crying and Mason can't go back to sleep if Ronan is crying because it is so loud and shrill that our eardrums barely remain intact. So Ben must hold one baby, and usually that means he is holding a fussing or crying baby because they do not want him, they want me and my breasts. So Ben gets frustrated with them, which makes him feel frustrated with himself because he knows they are only babies and he can't be angry at them for crying. I get mad at Ben for being mad at them and they get mad in general because there's so much jittery energy around them. This doesn't happen every night, but it happens enough that if I wasn't sure about my decision to not have another baby, I'm sure now.

This nighttime dance is where all of our exhaustion and frustration begins. I have a tendency to choose a future event or date as the time when difficult things will be resolved. Even if it doesn't happen I at least have a sense of closure on the horizon that comforts me through the long haul. Right now I anticipate that weaning the twins will be the answer to our problems. If I can just make it another month I can start to wean them off of breast milk and then maybe they will begin to sleep through the night. (I, of course, realize that new challenges will replace the old ones, but I don't need to think about that now.)

Sleeping through the night feels about as real as winning the lottery. I think the last time I slept through the night was probably before I was pregnant with the twins, or at least in the first 2 months of the pregnancy. I got up to pee about every hour or two for at least 7 months and haven't actually slept for more than a 4 hour stretch since the twins were born. I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not.

newborn babies...the end of sleep!

While I am enumerating the difficulties of parenting twins (don't worry, I'll get to the joys in a moment) I should add that I need to go to the doctor and the dentist and have needed to do this for months. I have even called to make appointments, but can only get them at nap times, so I decline. I have had one massage and one pedicure since the twins were born. Those things took a lot of planning: finding appointments that didn't interrupt nap times since I am the only one who can put the twins down for a nap, making sure I pumped or came home within 3-4 hours so that they wouldn't freak out on Ben, and sometimes finding alternate care for Kyan to make it easier.

I have had four nights out since they were born: the first was a Christmas party I went to with Ben and it went fairly well for Nana and Papa. The second was a ladies comedy night with my Full House Mom friends (only a bit over a month ago) and I came home to find Ben cuddling a screaming Ronan and Mason asleep in the swing. The third was the night of the FHM resale and I ended up at dinner with my friend Patty at about 10 pm. I was so tired and so nervous about what Ben was enduring at home that I couldn't even relax. When I got home they were both asleep, but Ben had let them cry it out for over an hour. The fourth was when Ben and I went to a play as a birthday present from my in laws. That went pretty well, but we were on edge the whole time and talked mostly about the kids and whether or not they would go to sleep for Nana and Papa. The moral of these stories is that things tend to go fine without me here, but that I cannot relax for fear that they won't go fine.

Now that I've completed my vent let me tell you how amazing it is to be the mother:
Lately the twins have become very good at independent play, which I count as play that doesn't involve me, but does involve one another. Sometimes I look over and they are passing a toy back and forth and laughing at their game. After a nap they both want snuggles so I sit on the couch with them and we all hug and coo and kiss. As a mommy I have an amazing power to soothe my children; it seems that approximately 15-20 kisses in rapid succession all over the face of a baby can make a pretty bad bonk fade away instantly. The smile on the faces of my babies is enough to light up an entire building, and they are very generous with their smiles.

This morning while I was in the shower Kyan came in and said, "Mama, I just wanted to say, last night, thank you for the meat you gave us." Because Kyan and I have been doing preschool together he gets so excited to share any experiences he has without me, especially if they relate to what we've learned. I get the feeling that an experience isn't complete until he comes and tells me about it. I feel not only special, but necessary.

Most of all there is so much love in my heart that at times I feel breathless. This is the excruciating irony of parenting. Often times being a parent means giving up yourself for awhile and focusing on the needs of your children before your own needs. This can be difficult and at times it can bring with it a feeling of resentment or frustration, but what's amazing is that all it takes for the ugly feelings to subside is one toothless, dimpled grin from a naughty little boy.

I wouldn't change a thing. I know that whatever struggles Ben and I are having with each other or with being parents, we will get through them. We both know that. I know that there will be a day when we sleep for 8 hours and we wake up and the world is a few shades brighter and we will know we have reached the summit and can begin our descent into normality again (that is until we come across the next mountain). This beautiful and painful dance is going on all over the world and we are just one little family in the midst of it all.

Generations of Understanding

I had to stop what I was doing just now to get up for moment and attend to something...The children are napping and I was planning the weather curriculum for Kyan's preschool time...While I was up I noticed the mail on the porch and went out to retrieve it. In the pile of mail I found a birthday card from my Grandma. I opened it right up and smiled immediately to see that she had sent me more of her poems. My grandma is 87 years old (I think that's right...give or take a year) and is one of the most amazing women I have ever met.

I stopped my planning, put aside my thoughts of reading my book, and came straight to the computer to record the moment that my grandmother just gifted to me. As I stood at the counter reading her poems I laughed a bit for they were about a mother who wanted to do all sorts of things, read poetry, write poetry, take a walk, but was stopped every moment by the needs of her children or the house. I smiled at the poems, but when I read her letter and heard her voice speaking so clearly in my head the tears began to fall.

I talk and talk (oh how I can talk) to friends who are mothers, friends who aren't mothers, strangers in the store, you name it, about the trials of motherhood, the struggle of being a stay at home mom, the sleepless nights, and though many of my fellow mothers can relate to my plight I have yet to feel a level of empathetic understanding anywhere near what I read in my grandmother's letter. What strikes me is that though our lives are so incredibly different and though there are generations between us, there is a commonality that transcends time and circumstance, a bond that is so simple and so strong.

I have always thought of my grandmother as old fashioned. She was born and raised in the mountains of North Carolina and when she came to live with us when I was twelve years old her Southern upbringing still shone brightly in her. She is still a little Southern woman, but she has been changed a bit after more than twenty years living in Ohio with my somewhat eccentric and very liberal family. I still remember when she was searching for a doctor in the phone book and refused to choose anyone with a name that sounded even remotely "ethnic". I was appalled by this and it took me years to understand that she came from a different time and a different place than I did and that she was a product of that just as I am a product of where I come from. She has come a long way since then and I have come a long way, too.

I see now that we are not so different. The image of my beautiful grandmother scrubbing floors and rocking babies all the while composing poetry in her head strikes such a chord within me. I write this blog to fill the void where my intellectual self should be...The last time I took a bath and relaxed for twenty minutes I began to outline the novel I want to write...Sadly, I have yet to put even one of those ideas down on paper.

When I am on my hands and knees scrubbing the toilet or listening to all three children scream at me at the same time I begin to feel like I am lost in this vortex of motherhood that will not release me, and I despair. Yet in the same day I can find myself lying on my bed alone with one of my babies while he nurses and looks up at me with the deepest love and trust that a person can ever know. In those moments I feel my heart about to burst from the overwhelming love and happiness that I feel as a mother. Both of these feelings are my truth.

Perhaps many women have lost this connection with their grandmothers because most of us work outside of the home now, something most of our grandmothers did not do. I will say that I did not feel this so strongly until I became a stay at home mother myself. When I was working it was a different type of struggle, a different flavor of desperation, one that my grandmother could not understand, but my mother could. I suppose I should count myself lucky to have had the opportunity to walk in both of their shoes for awhile so that I can experience and feel what it is to be of the women from whence I came.

My birthday is tomorrow and I think my greatest gift has come today....an understanding and an empathy that spans generations and has now settled deep within my heart.

Here are the poems that my grandmother sent to me:

Trapped
by Mabel Fish Raffield

Today, I wanted to read poetry,
        But I had to clean the house,
For I heard a small voice chanting,
       "Duty first, or you're a louse!"

Yesterday, I wanted badly
      To go watch the setting sun
Go to bed in pink pajamas,
      But the dinner wasn't done.

And last week, I ached to wander
      Down beneath the apple trees,
Where Spring was giving a garden party,
      Scattering blossoms on the breeze.

But I had to wash the dishes,
     Mend the clothes and sweep the floor,
Do a washing, rock the baby,
     Make the beds and, oh, much more.

Seems my wants are all against me;
      Every time I want to play,
Duty's lurking in the foreground,
      And always gets in my way.

There's a world, somewhere, I'm missing
      Cause I can't get out the door;
Reckon there's a hint of poetry
      In a well-turned daily chore?


The Losing Battle
by Mabel Fish Raffield

Ever try to write a poem
    By a pile of dirty clothes?
Now, let's see..."The silvery moonbeams"...
    Gee! that garbage tries your nose.

"A dreamy waltz and midnight magic"...
    Oops, the baby needs a change...
Punkin, please get out of that jelly...
    "waves of madness, delightfully strange."

Punkin, please! I'm very busy...
    "lilacs by a wishing well,
Pale moonglow and misty stardust"...
    Feed teh baby, she's starting to yell.

Dishes piling high and higher
    Till they overflow the sink,
Butter's melting on the table...
    "Peachy blossoms, downy pink."

Tell a story? No, no more!...
    "Dreams fashioned by a bright star, lofty"...
Two big eyes that stare straight through you,
    But I'll be darned if I'll be a softy!

"A full moon shines on Lover's Lane"...
    Please, now, Punkin, do be still...
"Lips that meet in"--Oh well...
    Jack and Jill went up the hill.

Disaster

Yesterday while driving with the boys in the car I was listening to NPR as they were recounting statistics and information about the disaster in Japan. Kyan has started picking up words here and there from the radio and he asks questions that I can't answer. I knew better than to leave the radio on, but it was on when I got in the car and I got sucked in and didn't turn it off right away. He picked up the words, "killed" and "wave" and began asking difficult questions.
"Mommy, did a wave kill someone?" "Mommy, is it a wave like Daddy rides on his surfboard?"
"Mommy who got killed?"

I wasn't prepared to discuss the disaster with him and though I considered trying to on a simple scale, I decided against it. I diverted his questions with some lie about fishermen who were catching fish in the waves and then killed the fish to eat them...what can I say, sometimes I have to lie for his own good.

It got me thinking, though...When are they old enough to know what is going on in the world around them. I pondered that and decided that, for now at least, I am glad that my smart little boy lives in a bubble where the world is safe and happy and good. I worry that if he learns too early of the instability, the war, the natural threats, and the inherent evil that exists in the world then he will learn to fear rather than to act.

I am afraid. I am scared to death of the stories coming out of Japan right now. The nuclear threat alone is mind blowing and though I am many miles from Japan and my boys are mostly safe from that particular threat, I think of all of the children of Japan and their mothers and fathers who are living a nightmare right now. There is nothing at all that they can do to protect their children from this disaster; there was nothing they could do to protect them from the earthquake or the tsunami. How on earth could I explain that to my son?

Someday he will have to learn about the world at large and all of its flaws and dangers. I know that. Yet there is nothing more precious than childhood and I will not take that childhood away from him. Not yet, at least.

He asks me constantly why I don't like guns and other weapons and why I don't like him to check out books that have violence in them. I try to explain that guns kill people and weapons hurt people and that I don't like that. He is already smart enough to come back at me with the fact that guns and weapons also kill animals so that we can eat them. I still stand strong that weapons are not toys, so we do not use them as toys. I wonder all the time if I am just deepening his obsession with weapons by resisting what everyone tells me is his natural impulse to want to play at violence. When he comes into the room holding two guns that he has, quite creatively, fashioned from Legos, I am at a loss. I scold him for it without even thinking and then when he sulks off I begin to wonder if my response is appropriate.

Short of sitting him down and educating him about the consequences of violence, the casualties of war, children bringing guns to school, people killing one another on the streets over a pair of shoes, etc. which I am not about to do with a 3 year old, no matter how bright he is, I have no real way to impress upon him the gravity of enacting violence for play.

Someday he will see other kids playing video games where people kill one another with guns and he will probably even pick up the controls (at someone else's house) and laugh and joke while he, too, kills imaginary people and watches the blood fly. He will not play these games at home, but I am aware that I cannot shelter him from the world forever, so how do I prepare him to meet these grim realities with grace?

It is completely beyond my understanding that these games even exist, let alone that people allow children to play them. How and when did death and violence become a game that we market to children? I can understand, to some degree, the argument that children should be introduced to guns at some point so that they are not ignorant of the realities and/or so that they have a working knowledge of them and a respect for their power. I hear that argument from my father in law and my husband all the time, and though I can't entirely accept it, I can see where they are coming from. How, though, can we make any argument for the existence of these games that make our children squeal with glee to see blood fly from their victims and body parts explode into pieces around them? Maybe those who allow their children to play such games believe that children can differentiate imagination from reality, but I would counter that the rising cases of violence among children tell us otherwise.

It all goes back to the original question: When do we begin to educate our children about the difficult things in life? It has to be early enough to allow them to make intelligent decisions about the media and the "play" that they will be introduced to when they are outside of our influence, but not so soon that the bubble of childhood is breached before they are ready for such exposure. I wish I could say that I can clearly see when that should be. I can't. I hope that one day I will just know that they are ready. I hope that I will make intelligent decisions about when to tell them about the 10,000 + lives lost because the ground shook and a wave came or about the fact that we power our society with toxic materials that can kill us all if we lose control of them. I want my sons to be intelligent beings who fight for our environment and our human decency when the time comes, but I also want them to be children that still believe in their parents' power to keep them safe. Once again, it comes back to walking the line and hoping like hell that I don't lose my balance.

Sustainable Families for a Sustainable Future

The world around us is changing before our eyes. Our children seem destined to live in a world dependent upon non-renewable resources for its survival. According to Steven L. Hopp, as published in Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, “Americans put almost as much fossil fuel into our refrigerators as our cars. We’re consuming about 400 gallons of oil a year per citizen—about 17 percent of our nation’s energy use—for agriculture, a close second to our vehicular use.” [1] With the price of gas becoming a financial nightmare for most families, what is the future of our fossil fuel dependent agricultural market?

As we all watch in horror, the earth herself is protesting the wrongs that have been committed by humankind. The oceans are rising as the polar ice sheets are retreating. Polar bears, penguins and other Arctic animals are threatened with extinction. “The vast majority of scientists agree that global warming is real, it’s already happening and that it is the result of our activities and not a natural occurrence.” [2] As we each sit in our small corner of the globe it seems impossible to conquer the road ahead; it seems unlikely that anything we do, insubstantial as we seem, can make any difference at all. Realistically, we ask ourselves, can the food we eat really make a difference? Despite this mentality small pockets of people all around the world are rising up against the tide of corporate dependence and learning how to sustain life independent of the tyranny that has overtaken what should be a simple, graceful, and somewhat independent dance for survival. These people are focusing their eating habits on their local community and teaching their families to examine and value the path that food takes to get to the table. In the San Francisco Bay Area a group called “Locavores” formed with a focus on eating only food grown within a 100 mile radius of their homes. In 2005, Jen Maiser, Jessica Prentice, Sage Van Wing, and DeDe Sampson challenged Bay area residents to attempt to live as locavores for one month. The movement has continued to grow and the word “locavore” was the 2007 word of the year for the Oxford American Dictionary.[3]

We as a society, and none of us can truly claim innocence, have come to accept the creature comforts promised by the advancement of technology, agricultural industry, and fossil fuels. We start our car each day and think only briefly, if at all, about the true price of the fuel it will take to carry us from point A to point B. We wander the grocery store aisles never doubting for a moment that whatever we desire will be waiting somewhere in the fluorescent lit building of wonder, carried there through the infinite power of fossil fuel. It is easy, in a day and age such as this, to assume that these are simply the rights and privileges we have earned through innovation, creativity, and intelligent invention. We, as a species, have obviously dominated the globe. We seem to control every aspect of life that sustains us, and we assume the sky is the limit. The glass ceiling is not shatter proof; nothing should hold us back from exerting our power and control over what once seemed insurmountable odds.

I think back to the days of my ancestors, both European and Appalachian striving to live in a new world, and I try to imagine life as they knew it. When I do so, I see scenes from a historical fiction novel. I see their struggle as Hollywood projects it onto the big screen, and only sometimes do I hear the stories my grandmother tells. When I really strive for understanding, however, I realize I have none. In all truth, I cannot even begin to understand the struggle of my ancestors just to put food on the table. I, who buy bananas from the tropics, tomatoes from California, apples from New Zealand, and fish from Chile; I, who surf the Internet, and check e-mail hourly; I, who complain about the time it takes me to prepare a meal each night... How can I ever truly understand? Yet I want, more than anything, for my children to understand where the luxuries on which they thrive are coming from, and, more importantly, what we are truly paying for them. Do I want to deny them these luxuries? Yes, I have recently decided, there are some of them that I do want to deny them. But there are others I want them to appreciate and understand before they enjoy them. I want my sons to participate in the process of making responsible decisions, not just for their individual welfare, but for the welfare of all human beings on this earth, and all future generations to come.

This lesson I want to teach my children must begin with an understanding of my own. Slowly, as I read and research, reduce, reuse, and recycle, I am beginning to see the answer. I am not insubstantial. What I do can make a difference. Each choice I make not only sets an example for my sons, which will affect the men they become, the children they raise, and the world they live in, but it also begins a ripple effect that can, and hopefully will, change the face of our planet. By choosing to buy local foods that are grown humanely and without the use of harmful chemicals, I am choosing to support a movement that can effectively rip a hole in the unhealthy trend of corporate agriculture in the same way that starting my car each morning puts a little more strain on the tattered edges of our ozone layer. It is not possible for me to completely eliminate my carbon footprint on this earth, but I can do my very best to walk softly.


Change must start slowly. I know from experience that any attempt to blindly jump into something as challenging as eliminating dependence on the comforts considered a birthright by most Americans will only result in failure. So I begin to consider where I will start, and the answer is in the bounty that is all around me in the state in which I live. By growing food of my own, as limited as I might be by my urban landscape, I can teach my sons to respect the food we eat. Together as a family we will sweat and strain to produce whatever small amount of food we can, and in doing so my boys will learn about the cycle of life. When I take my sons to local farms or farmer’s markets I will be teaching them to support the community in which they live; I will be teaching them to honor the path of life that takes our food from the ground to our belly. With these simple changes in our day to day life I can begin a cycle of change that will not only make my family healthier, but can improve the health of the planet on which we live.


If this is not empowerment then I don’t know what is. These choices I am making will take me back to the roots of my existence, back to a time when people grew their own food, and, if they didn’t, they shook the hand of the farmer who grew it for them. What I am doing by choice is nothing more than my ancestors did out of necessity. The lessons I will pass on to my sons are the lessons that my ancestors passed on to theirs. Somewhere along the way we have lost sight of the lessons of our ancestors. Life, as always, has taken us full circle: in order to continue, we must go back to the beginning. We must look at life as our ancestors did so that our children and our grandchildren can have a future.

For more information on how to practice sustainable living in your area check out these websites:

www.ediblecommunities.com
www.eatwild.com
www.sustainabletable.org
www.locavores.com

In Oregon:
http://www.oregonfarmersmarkets.org/

[1] Kingsolver, Barbara, Steven L. Hopp, and Camille Kingsolver. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. Harper Collins Publishers, 2007.

[2] www.climatecrisis.net/thescience: According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), this era of global warming “is unlikely to be entirely natural in origin” and “ the balance of evidence suggests a discernible human influence of the global climate.”

[3] www.locavores.com. April 2008.

bounty from the Farmer's Market

Kyan enjoying his favorite market treat

The beginnings of last year's garden!

The Harvest!

The tomatoes that got overlooked...

but, still produced in beautiful colors!