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love and peace,
~Andrea
Monday, March 26, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Our new favorite word
The other night I was cooking dinner for the boys. I have still yet to convince them to eat what we eat, well, except for steak. Those boys love their steak. Other than steak, their meals consist of various nutritionally sound items such as fish sticks, chicken nuggets, spaghetti, and Chef Boyardee's ABC's and sports shapes (at least they are whole grain). Thankfully, they do love their veggies and fruits so I can't say their diet is complete shit, just partial shit.
At my mom's house, where they have dinner several nights a week the menu is the same. However, my dad generally gets home after they have eaten dinner. He sits down to his full plate of baked fish, rice and veggies at the kitchen table. As soon as he sits down, and I mean as soon as his ass hits the chair, the turkeys are on him like glue, sampling his dinner, and by sampling, I mean eating about half of it. After weeks of this, my mom decided to cook them their own piece of fish and rice.
Here's the kicker, they won't eat it. Unless it is on my dad's plate. The other day after eating their fish and rice off Dandad's plate, Hayden sat back, rubbed his belly and says,
"That's scrumptious. Mmmmm..mmmmm."
I almost fell out of my flippin' chair. Scrumptious? Where the hell did he come up with this word? I certainly don't say scrumptious. I've never heard anyone in his immediate circle using that word regularly. I seriously doubt any of his preschool classmates walk around saying scrumptious. I can barely spell it. I am actually staring at the word right now convinced I've spelled it incorrectly, but apparently spellcheck thinks I got it right.
So later that night, hubs is playing his PS3, don't get me started on that, and I relayed the scrumptious story to him. Without looking away from the T.V. he mumbles,
"Moose."
Huh? Moose? What on earth does that mean? My attempts at getting any answers about anything from my husband while he is engrossed in Modern Warfare 3 are generally futile. So I patiently waited, well, let's be honest, I do not have a patient bone in my body. More than likely I stood in front of the T.V., blocking his view, until he was forced to answer my questions.
Me: "What do you mean, moose?"
Him: "Moose A. Moose, you know the moose on Nick Jr. He uses the word scrumptious."
Me, shaking my head in disbelief: "You have got to be kidding to me? He got it from the effing moose? Good grief."
So hear I am thinking I've got myself a brilliant kid and it turns out he learned his one and only big word from the T.V. I guess that shit really does work.
Who knew?
Love and peace,
~Andrea
At my mom's house, where they have dinner several nights a week the menu is the same. However, my dad generally gets home after they have eaten dinner. He sits down to his full plate of baked fish, rice and veggies at the kitchen table. As soon as he sits down, and I mean as soon as his ass hits the chair, the turkeys are on him like glue, sampling his dinner, and by sampling, I mean eating about half of it. After weeks of this, my mom decided to cook them their own piece of fish and rice.
Here's the kicker, they won't eat it. Unless it is on my dad's plate. The other day after eating their fish and rice off Dandad's plate, Hayden sat back, rubbed his belly and says,
"That's scrumptious. Mmmmm..mmmmm."
I almost fell out of my flippin' chair. Scrumptious? Where the hell did he come up with this word? I certainly don't say scrumptious. I've never heard anyone in his immediate circle using that word regularly. I seriously doubt any of his preschool classmates walk around saying scrumptious. I can barely spell it. I am actually staring at the word right now convinced I've spelled it incorrectly, but apparently spellcheck thinks I got it right.
So later that night, hubs is playing his PS3, don't get me started on that, and I relayed the scrumptious story to him. Without looking away from the T.V. he mumbles,
"Moose."
Huh? Moose? What on earth does that mean? My attempts at getting any answers about anything from my husband while he is engrossed in Modern Warfare 3 are generally futile. So I patiently waited, well, let's be honest, I do not have a patient bone in my body. More than likely I stood in front of the T.V., blocking his view, until he was forced to answer my questions.
Me: "What do you mean, moose?"
Him: "Moose A. Moose, you know the moose on Nick Jr. He uses the word scrumptious."
Me, shaking my head in disbelief: "You have got to be kidding to me? He got it from the effing moose? Good grief."
So hear I am thinking I've got myself a brilliant kid and it turns out he learned his one and only big word from the T.V. I guess that shit really does work.
Who knew?
Love and peace,
~Andrea
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
I miss what I never I had
The 'rents moved to the Valley of the Sun, a.k.a. Phoenix, six years ago. I remember the first time David and I visited. It was long before the turkeys were in the picture and our days here were spent truly relaxing. We did nothing except eat, sleep, and drink. It was a beautiful thing. Anyhow, as soon as I walked into my parents new house, I was surprised that I felt as at home as I did.
I had never lived there. I had never even seen it. They had a ton of new furniture that should have felt foreign. But, nonetheless, it felt like home. Weird, huh? Not so weird now that we actually live here. But still, weird. We were always supposed to end up here. I know this and I have absolutely no regrets. God had a hand in this one for sure.
But that doesn't mean I don't miss those I've left behind. I wish I could find the words to express how much I miss my A and T (initials used to protect their identities, in case I get a little carried away in my trip down memory lane). These two chicks are my BFF's. It feels weird to be an almost 34 year old woman and saying BFF, but whatever. Did you notice how their initials could be T and A? Geez, Andrea, get it together.
These two women are a part of me. A part of me that distance and a couple of time zones cannot ever remove.
A has known me the longest. She and I go way back to high school. She was one of the first girls I met when I transferred in during my sophomore year. We clicked immediately and became inseparable. Oh, the memories. Crazy memories. Fun memories. Sad memories. I seriously wish I could share some specifics, but, my girl and my husband would likely not appreciate the public ruminations. So I shall let my glorious memories live on in my mind. Although, I think I can share the recent text messaging exchange we had on St. Patrick's Day.
Me: "Pop Quiz: What were we doing 10 years ago on this day?"
Now, here is a little caveat...my girl, A, always teases me about my memory. Apparently, I remember lots of shit that other people don't. I am always the go-to person that someone will text or email saying, "So and so just friended me on facebook, but I have no idea who this person is. And you're friends with her too. So who the eff is this chick?" To which I generally reply, "Oh, you remember, she sat in front of us in 1st period pre-calculus our junior year. She was dating Brad for a year or so. Her locker was on the 2nd floor by the photography lab." Yes, I'm serious. I remember the most mundane and useless details. I am a hub of information.
I digress, back to the text. She responded promptly and with the correct answer. I was so proud. I will not divulge what that answer was, but suffice it to say that I was basking in the glow of Key West memories for the remainder of the day.
She is a part of my heart. She's forgiven me for being a crappy friend more times than I can count and her heart is pure and beautiful. We now talk once a week, sometimes more. We talk about awesome stuff, about our faith, our children, our lives. Our conversations are a treasure.
T is my girl from Iowa. I've known her for almost six years. It was her first day bartending at our neighborhood watering hole when David and I walked in to share the news that we had just found our first house. She and I hit it off immediately. She was a newcomer to Iowa. She had just moved from Minnesota to be with her boyfriend, now husband. We exchanged phone numbers and that was that. She is just one of those chicks you can talk to about anything. She is so loving and giving. Her heart is pure and beautiful as well. She got to experience my adult life firsthand. She was there for the proposal, the wedding, the pregnancy, the preemie births and the move.
The move. Ugh. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do was to tell my pregnant girl (16 weeks at the time) that we sold our house and would be moving across the country in a month and a half. I wanted to be there for her during her pregnancy as she was for mine. I wanted to be there to hug and love on her newborn daughter. I wanted to be there to babysit so she and her hubby could go to dinner. I was never able to repay her for all the love she gave to me. Stupid house had to sell too damn fast.
My girl T and I talk several times a week. I just spent 3 days with her in Vegas. It was spectacular. I love her and am grateful to God that she loves me.
Some nights I get a little sappy. Generally, it happens after a glass or two of wine and these damn zones make it nearly impossible for me to talk to either of the girls by the time the wine kicks in, and then I get extra sappy. Sometimes I cry and get caught up in the "what might have beens." I get sad that I didn't get to see any of their children until they were at least 6 months old. It sucks.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if we lived closer. What it would be like to watch our children grow up together. What it would be like to have barbecues and picnics. What it would be like to watch the friendship between our spouses grow. What it would be like to be having a bad day and just pop in for a hug and a shoulder.
And that, my friends, is why I miss what I never had.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
I had never lived there. I had never even seen it. They had a ton of new furniture that should have felt foreign. But, nonetheless, it felt like home. Weird, huh? Not so weird now that we actually live here. But still, weird. We were always supposed to end up here. I know this and I have absolutely no regrets. God had a hand in this one for sure.
But that doesn't mean I don't miss those I've left behind. I wish I could find the words to express how much I miss my A and T (initials used to protect their identities, in case I get a little carried away in my trip down memory lane). These two chicks are my BFF's. It feels weird to be an almost 34 year old woman and saying BFF, but whatever. Did you notice how their initials could be T and A? Geez, Andrea, get it together.
These two women are a part of me. A part of me that distance and a couple of time zones cannot ever remove.
A has known me the longest. She and I go way back to high school. She was one of the first girls I met when I transferred in during my sophomore year. We clicked immediately and became inseparable. Oh, the memories. Crazy memories. Fun memories. Sad memories. I seriously wish I could share some specifics, but, my girl and my husband would likely not appreciate the public ruminations. So I shall let my glorious memories live on in my mind. Although, I think I can share the recent text messaging exchange we had on St. Patrick's Day.
Me: "Pop Quiz: What were we doing 10 years ago on this day?"
Now, here is a little caveat...my girl, A, always teases me about my memory. Apparently, I remember lots of shit that other people don't. I am always the go-to person that someone will text or email saying, "So and so just friended me on facebook, but I have no idea who this person is. And you're friends with her too. So who the eff is this chick?" To which I generally reply, "Oh, you remember, she sat in front of us in 1st period pre-calculus our junior year. She was dating Brad for a year or so. Her locker was on the 2nd floor by the photography lab." Yes, I'm serious. I remember the most mundane and useless details. I am a hub of information.
I digress, back to the text. She responded promptly and with the correct answer. I was so proud. I will not divulge what that answer was, but suffice it to say that I was basking in the glow of Key West memories for the remainder of the day.
She is a part of my heart. She's forgiven me for being a crappy friend more times than I can count and her heart is pure and beautiful. We now talk once a week, sometimes more. We talk about awesome stuff, about our faith, our children, our lives. Our conversations are a treasure.
T is my girl from Iowa. I've known her for almost six years. It was her first day bartending at our neighborhood watering hole when David and I walked in to share the news that we had just found our first house. She and I hit it off immediately. She was a newcomer to Iowa. She had just moved from Minnesota to be with her boyfriend, now husband. We exchanged phone numbers and that was that. She is just one of those chicks you can talk to about anything. She is so loving and giving. Her heart is pure and beautiful as well. She got to experience my adult life firsthand. She was there for the proposal, the wedding, the pregnancy, the preemie births and the move.
The move. Ugh. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do was to tell my pregnant girl (16 weeks at the time) that we sold our house and would be moving across the country in a month and a half. I wanted to be there for her during her pregnancy as she was for mine. I wanted to be there to hug and love on her newborn daughter. I wanted to be there to babysit so she and her hubby could go to dinner. I was never able to repay her for all the love she gave to me. Stupid house had to sell too damn fast.
My girl T and I talk several times a week. I just spent 3 days with her in Vegas. It was spectacular. I love her and am grateful to God that she loves me.
Some nights I get a little sappy. Generally, it happens after a glass or two of wine and these damn zones make it nearly impossible for me to talk to either of the girls by the time the wine kicks in, and then I get extra sappy. Sometimes I cry and get caught up in the "what might have beens." I get sad that I didn't get to see any of their children until they were at least 6 months old. It sucks.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if we lived closer. What it would be like to watch our children grow up together. What it would be like to have barbecues and picnics. What it would be like to watch the friendship between our spouses grow. What it would be like to be having a bad day and just pop in for a hug and a shoulder.
And that, my friends, is why I miss what I never had.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
Friday, March 16, 2012
Turkeys and Golf
Back in my bliss filled pre-kid days, I would occasionally let my mind consider the futures of my yet to be born children. I am one tall chickadee (5'11") and my side of the family is also tall and seeing as though I grew up worshipping Indiana basketball, I had high hopes any future children might grow up to love and be good at basketball.
I also wouldn't be against baseball. I don't think there is anything much cuter than a bunch of 4-5 years trying to navigate the bases in t-ball. I actually like baseball. I grew up in Cincinnati and therefore, had no choice but to cheer for and love the Cincinnati Reds. Hell, I even got to go to a World Series game in 1990 when I was 12 years old. Definitely up there in the awesome childhood memories department. Thanks parents. One of my claims to fame is my ability to still name the starting lineup of the 1990 World Series Champions, Cincinnati Reds. Back when I was still in the dating pool in Ohio, I charmed many a young man with that one, as you might imagine.
Football also wouldn't be too terrible of a game for the turkeys to participate in, although the protector in me cringes at the thought of my children being pummeled for the sake of some pigskin. My mom did not let my brother play football until he reached middle school. We had plenty of pee-wee leagues around, but she stuck to her guns. I think I will too. No football until middle school.
So there, turkeys, there are three sports that your mom (me) would be happy to have you participate in. Three sports, she wouldn't mind watching and cheering for. Three sports which she actually finds interesting.
Of course, what sports are they showing a propensity for?
Soccer and golf.
Please don't mind me as I show my enthusiasm. W.T.F.?! Soccer, really? And Golf? Ugh, I would rather pull my eyelashes out than watch either of those sports. Soccer is slightly better than Golf, but, shockingly enough, the children appear to love Golf more than Soccer.
I blame my parents for the Golf love.
See, they live on the 10th hole of a golf course. The turkeys love to hang at the kitchen table and watch golfers through the giant picture window. As soon as a cart arrives at the hole, they are excited as all get out. I get a running commentary of the progress of the golfers, who are identified by the color of their shirts.
"Aw man, mommy, yellow guy missed. Hahahahaha."
I'm not kidding, they totally laugh whenever the golfer misses the putt. It is rather amusing. But then, when the golfer actually makes the shot, which they hardly ever do because they either really suck at golf or are on beer number 10 by the time they reach the 10th hole, the golfer is promptly rewarded with a standing ovation and round of cheers and claps from my turkeys.
What makes this whole scenario even funnier? Sometimes we are all outside, within 20 feet of the hole and the commentary continues, complete with the "Awww, he missed" and "Wow, he made it, he made it," while the boys are standing with their faces pressed against the fence. They are definitely not quiet about their commentary. What can I say, we are practicing our inside voices. They just don't understand why they have to use their inside voices, when they are outside. Difficult concept to grasp, difficult indeed. Maybe, just maybe golf isn't for them after all.
A mom can dream.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Here's the skinny
Kids and dogs. Dogs and kids. Many of you would argue that the two go hand in hand. I would respectfully disagree.
I never grew up with pets. Okay, I take that back, we did have a pet hamster, whom we affectionately called "Rat." He was with us for quite sometime. My dad was especially fond of Rat. I have memories of my padre hanging out in the recliner with Rat just chilling on his chest watching basketball together. It made for a sweet picture. Truth be told, I think that my father actually loved that hamster more than my brother or I did. Don't tell him I said that. Oh, wait, he reads my blog? Dammit! Sorry dad-do, didn't mean to let your big secret out of the bag...
But I digress, except for Rat the hamster, who managed to escape his cage while we were on vacation one summer only to perish under the couch, we had no other pets while I was growing up in the parent's house. We were not "pet people." When I left for college and subsequently law school, I never lived with anyone who had pets. It was never in the cards for me, I suppose.
Cats make me miserable. Like puffy-eyed, itchy throat, hives, asthma-y miserable, so I tend to stay as far away from them as possible. If I do stay in a place that is also a home to cats, I live on allergy medicine, which is what happened when we stayed with my in laws for two weeks last summer. I take far more than the recommended daily dose, just to stay somewhat comfortable. My regimen includes a claritin in the morning, a zyrtec and two benadryl in the evening. In case you wondering, both claritin and zyrtec are supposed to be 24 hour drugs. Not for me, I just walk around in an over-the-counter drug induced haze and hope somebody remembers to feed the kids. My kids, on the other hand love cats and have not inherited my allergies to the dreadful creatures.
As I mentioned, we visited my in laws for two weeks last summer (Summer 2011) and one week the summer before (Summer 2010). Summer 2010 was the first visit that the turkeys were mobile. I got to follow them around everywhere we went, repeating the words, "No, do not touch that. Stop. No. Stop. No. Stop. No." It was fun. They spotted her cat the first night and the cat was never the same.
They became slightly obsessed with the feline and the feeling was definitely not mutual. Whenever the boys would get within 10 feet of the cat, which they insisted upon doing every 5 seconds, it would hiss. And this was not a soft, sweet hiss. Oh, no. This was a loud, "Get the EFF away from me" hiss. That cat was happy to see us go. Consequently for nearly a year after our visit in 2010, whenever anyone would ask the turkeys what a cat said, the response was not the typical "Meow." Instead, it was the cutest, loudest "hisssssssssss" you've ever heard.
Dogs do not have the same effect on me, as far as allergies are concerned, as cats. I actually do not mind dogs too terribly much. I have often toyed with the idea of getting a dog. After all, the turkeys love them. Not surprising. They get so flippin' excited every time we encounter a dog, that I seriously consider getting them their own pet. However, as soon as we are out of the dog's presence, I quickly get my wits back and realize that getting a dog would be a form of self-inflicted torture. And I certainly do not need that. I have twin toddler boys, thankyouverymuch.
Case in point: Who would feed the dog? Me. Who would take the dogs for walks? Me. Who would clean up the dog's poop? Me. Who would clean up the dog's hair? Me. Who would bathe the dog? Me.
Scratch that idea and fast. I can barely do all of those things with my kids. I definitely do not need the added pressure of an animal.
Besides, my kids have Sookie and Quagmire. These are the puppies they see on their wagon rides with Dandad at night. They love Sookie and Quagmire so much that they have named their toy dogs at home Sookie and Quagmire. You know, the toy dogs that you can pull around on a string and they squeak. I am required to pet, feed and play with these toy dogs on a daily basis.
That, my friends, I can handle. And that's about it.
Love and peace
~Andrea
I never grew up with pets. Okay, I take that back, we did have a pet hamster, whom we affectionately called "Rat." He was with us for quite sometime. My dad was especially fond of Rat. I have memories of my padre hanging out in the recliner with Rat just chilling on his chest watching basketball together. It made for a sweet picture. Truth be told, I think that my father actually loved that hamster more than my brother or I did. Don't tell him I said that. Oh, wait, he reads my blog? Dammit! Sorry dad-do, didn't mean to let your big secret out of the bag...
But I digress, except for Rat the hamster, who managed to escape his cage while we were on vacation one summer only to perish under the couch, we had no other pets while I was growing up in the parent's house. We were not "pet people." When I left for college and subsequently law school, I never lived with anyone who had pets. It was never in the cards for me, I suppose.
Cats make me miserable. Like puffy-eyed, itchy throat, hives, asthma-y miserable, so I tend to stay as far away from them as possible. If I do stay in a place that is also a home to cats, I live on allergy medicine, which is what happened when we stayed with my in laws for two weeks last summer. I take far more than the recommended daily dose, just to stay somewhat comfortable. My regimen includes a claritin in the morning, a zyrtec and two benadryl in the evening. In case you wondering, both claritin and zyrtec are supposed to be 24 hour drugs. Not for me, I just walk around in an over-the-counter drug induced haze and hope somebody remembers to feed the kids. My kids, on the other hand love cats and have not inherited my allergies to the dreadful creatures.
As I mentioned, we visited my in laws for two weeks last summer (Summer 2011) and one week the summer before (Summer 2010). Summer 2010 was the first visit that the turkeys were mobile. I got to follow them around everywhere we went, repeating the words, "No, do not touch that. Stop. No. Stop. No. Stop. No." It was fun. They spotted her cat the first night and the cat was never the same.
They became slightly obsessed with the feline and the feeling was definitely not mutual. Whenever the boys would get within 10 feet of the cat, which they insisted upon doing every 5 seconds, it would hiss. And this was not a soft, sweet hiss. Oh, no. This was a loud, "Get the EFF away from me" hiss. That cat was happy to see us go. Consequently for nearly a year after our visit in 2010, whenever anyone would ask the turkeys what a cat said, the response was not the typical "Meow." Instead, it was the cutest, loudest "hisssssssssss" you've ever heard.
Dogs do not have the same effect on me, as far as allergies are concerned, as cats. I actually do not mind dogs too terribly much. I have often toyed with the idea of getting a dog. After all, the turkeys love them. Not surprising. They get so flippin' excited every time we encounter a dog, that I seriously consider getting them their own pet. However, as soon as we are out of the dog's presence, I quickly get my wits back and realize that getting a dog would be a form of self-inflicted torture. And I certainly do not need that. I have twin toddler boys, thankyouverymuch.
Case in point: Who would feed the dog? Me. Who would take the dogs for walks? Me. Who would clean up the dog's poop? Me. Who would clean up the dog's hair? Me. Who would bathe the dog? Me.
Scratch that idea and fast. I can barely do all of those things with my kids. I definitely do not need the added pressure of an animal.
Besides, my kids have Sookie and Quagmire. These are the puppies they see on their wagon rides with Dandad at night. They love Sookie and Quagmire so much that they have named their toy dogs at home Sookie and Quagmire. You know, the toy dogs that you can pull around on a string and they squeak. I am required to pet, feed and play with these toy dogs on a daily basis.
That, my friends, I can handle. And that's about it.
Love and peace
~Andrea
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
I think I've got it
When I started this blog, I was amazed at how easily the words flowed through my fingers. I had a lot to write about apparently. I wrote this post just the other day while doing some serious soul searching. And just yesterday I had an epiphany of sorts.
I love sharing stories about my turkeys and our life. But there is so much more in this world I want to share with you. I want to use this blog for good. That's a pretty vague statement, I realize. But when the words "Miracle Monday" popped into my head yesterday, I started thinking.
Whenever, I hear the word miracle, an image of my boys when they were first born immediately materializes in my toddler hazed brain. I started thinking about all of the women I have known who have given birth prematurely and the stories behind those births. I also started thinking about all the families I have known who have children that have overcome medical conditions. I want to give those children and their families a voice.
Their stories are of hope. Their stories are of perserverance. Their stories are of faith. Their stories are of triumph over tragedy.
I want other parents in similar situations to find my blog and read these stories of real people and real children overcoming the most extreme obstacles. Real stories of real people and how their faith, hope and love helped them to overcome the most daunting of times.
I am so happy to announce that "Miracle Baby Monday" is coming to my blog. Every Monday, beginning April 9, I will feature one family and their story. I will provide a forum for their voice to be heard.
There are three lovely ladies who have volunteered to share their stories. Two of these ladies gave birth to micropreemies, their babies were born weighing right around a pound. The other beautiful woman delivered two preemies less than 15 months apart. I am so grateful that these women have decided to help me get my idea off the ground.
While these are stories regarding premature babies, I want to stress that I would like to share stories of other miracle children as well. If you would like to share your story or know someone who would be interested, please email me at twinshappenblog@gmail.com.
In the next several weeks, I will be switching my blog over to wordpress and will have my own domain. This is a little frightening for me, but after doing some research and speaking with a wonderful technologically savvy friend who has offered her assistance, I've decided the move is necessary.
I will continue posting until my launch date and I have plenty of new stories to amuse you with, including one about the turkeys and golf. That's a fun one.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
I love sharing stories about my turkeys and our life. But there is so much more in this world I want to share with you. I want to use this blog for good. That's a pretty vague statement, I realize. But when the words "Miracle Monday" popped into my head yesterday, I started thinking.
Whenever, I hear the word miracle, an image of my boys when they were first born immediately materializes in my toddler hazed brain. I started thinking about all of the women I have known who have given birth prematurely and the stories behind those births. I also started thinking about all the families I have known who have children that have overcome medical conditions. I want to give those children and their families a voice.
Their stories are of hope. Their stories are of perserverance. Their stories are of faith. Their stories are of triumph over tragedy.
I want other parents in similar situations to find my blog and read these stories of real people and real children overcoming the most extreme obstacles. Real stories of real people and how their faith, hope and love helped them to overcome the most daunting of times.
I am so happy to announce that "Miracle Baby Monday" is coming to my blog. Every Monday, beginning April 9, I will feature one family and their story. I will provide a forum for their voice to be heard.
There are three lovely ladies who have volunteered to share their stories. Two of these ladies gave birth to micropreemies, their babies were born weighing right around a pound. The other beautiful woman delivered two preemies less than 15 months apart. I am so grateful that these women have decided to help me get my idea off the ground.
While these are stories regarding premature babies, I want to stress that I would like to share stories of other miracle children as well. If you would like to share your story or know someone who would be interested, please email me at twinshappenblog@gmail.com.
In the next several weeks, I will be switching my blog over to wordpress and will have my own domain. This is a little frightening for me, but after doing some research and speaking with a wonderful technologically savvy friend who has offered her assistance, I've decided the move is necessary.
I will continue posting until my launch date and I have plenty of new stories to amuse you with, including one about the turkeys and golf. That's a fun one.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
Monday, March 12, 2012
One proud madre here
My boys are all BOY. Both of them. There is absolutely no doubt about that one. Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of listening to them make fake "tooting" noises and giggle hysterically whilst they were supposed to be falling asleep in their bedroom. Yes, we say toot in my house. I despise the word, "fart." And I am definitely not a fan of the word, "poot." So toot it was. I'm sure all of those words just created some weird kind of haiku, but whatever.
"Mommeeee! Hayden's tooting!" Cackle, cackle. Giggle, giggle.
"Mommeeee! Logan's tooting!" Cackle, cackle. Giggle, giggle.
This went on for well over 20 minutes, while I sat here, at my laptop, shaking my head, wondering if girls did the same shit. Finally, the energy they expelled while making their fake toot noises exhausted them so much that they fell asleep. Pretty much mid toot.
The thing is, I have no idea where they come up with the idea to do this. I certainly do not blow raspberries on my arm and then screech, "Toot!" Neither does my husb--- well, I guess one never knows what the husband does when the madre is not around. However, the children have apparently mastered this long lost art and enjoy making a symphony of sorts during naptime.
Yep, one proud madre here.
I have another proud madre moment I 'd like to chat about. Here's a quote from one of my favorite movies. Ever.
"You know about cars. Where did that come from?"
"Road and track. The boys back home I grew up with, they were really into American heavy metal: Mustangs, Corvettes. They bought 'em cheap and fixed 'em up. I paid attention. So how is it you know so little about cars?"
American heavy metal. Bonus points to whomever can name that movie. I always think about that quote whenever my turkeys talk about their cars. I would also include Camaros in with that little grouping. My children are obsessed with cars, as are most toddler boys. But how many boys can correctly identify 8 different types of cars. Uh, hum. I tell you as a woman, this is impressive stuff. My 3 1/2 year old little turkeys can identify Mustangs, Corvettes, Camaros, Chargers, Challengers, Chrysler 300s, Jeeps and Grand Prix's. They know both styles of Mustangs, the old early 90's body style and current body style. They also recognize numerous body styles of the Corvette and Camaro. My husband and father think this is some spectacular stuff. Me, I'm worried more about the pronunciation.
Consequently, when we head out of the house, not only are they instructing me how to drive and where to go, I also get a running commentary on every single one of the above mentioned cars we see on the road, generally in a uber surprised screech-y type of voice. I get the color of vehicle, the color of the tires, and whether or not it is going too fast or too slow. Often I am ordered to "catch up to that car Mommy." But if I go too fast, then I am promptly reminded of our recent accident. "No car crash mommy. No break car please."
We have two Mustangs that are generally parked right inside one of the entrances to our development, a white one and a gray one. I am now required to exit my development only one way, no matter if it is in the complete opposite direction that I need to go. And, if one or both of the cars has the nerve to not be present in its normal parking spot?
Oh, hell.
It has gotten better, though. Now, if they aren't there, I just tell the boys that the cars had to go to work, just like daddy. They seem to buy that one. Sometimes. Whew, dodged a bullet right there.
We are still working on other cars. For example, when they see any 4 door BMW 3 or 5 series, they call it "Mommy's old car" which is, of course in reference to the 2005 Hyundai Sonata I drove while my van was in the body shop. I find it hilarious that they equate Hyundais with BMWs. My husband? Not so much. They other good one is the Porsche. We saw a little mini convertible today and the boys freaked out screaming, "Mommy, mommy! Look, a Porsche!" So like a good mother, I glanced over and what did I see? An old school Mazda Miata circa 1995.
Clearly, we have a little work to do. But overall? I am one proud madre.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
"Mommeeee! Hayden's tooting!" Cackle, cackle. Giggle, giggle.
"Mommeeee! Logan's tooting!" Cackle, cackle. Giggle, giggle.
This went on for well over 20 minutes, while I sat here, at my laptop, shaking my head, wondering if girls did the same shit. Finally, the energy they expelled while making their fake toot noises exhausted them so much that they fell asleep. Pretty much mid toot.
The thing is, I have no idea where they come up with the idea to do this. I certainly do not blow raspberries on my arm and then screech, "Toot!" Neither does my husb--- well, I guess one never knows what the husband does when the madre is not around. However, the children have apparently mastered this long lost art and enjoy making a symphony of sorts during naptime.
Yep, one proud madre here.
I have another proud madre moment I 'd like to chat about. Here's a quote from one of my favorite movies. Ever.
"You know about cars. Where did that come from?"
"Road and track. The boys back home I grew up with, they were really into American heavy metal: Mustangs, Corvettes. They bought 'em cheap and fixed 'em up. I paid attention. So how is it you know so little about cars?"
American heavy metal. Bonus points to whomever can name that movie. I always think about that quote whenever my turkeys talk about their cars. I would also include Camaros in with that little grouping. My children are obsessed with cars, as are most toddler boys. But how many boys can correctly identify 8 different types of cars. Uh, hum. I tell you as a woman, this is impressive stuff. My 3 1/2 year old little turkeys can identify Mustangs, Corvettes, Camaros, Chargers, Challengers, Chrysler 300s, Jeeps and Grand Prix's. They know both styles of Mustangs, the old early 90's body style and current body style. They also recognize numerous body styles of the Corvette and Camaro. My husband and father think this is some spectacular stuff. Me, I'm worried more about the pronunciation.
Consequently, when we head out of the house, not only are they instructing me how to drive and where to go, I also get a running commentary on every single one of the above mentioned cars we see on the road, generally in a uber surprised screech-y type of voice. I get the color of vehicle, the color of the tires, and whether or not it is going too fast or too slow. Often I am ordered to "catch up to that car Mommy." But if I go too fast, then I am promptly reminded of our recent accident. "No car crash mommy. No break car please."
We have two Mustangs that are generally parked right inside one of the entrances to our development, a white one and a gray one. I am now required to exit my development only one way, no matter if it is in the complete opposite direction that I need to go. And, if one or both of the cars has the nerve to not be present in its normal parking spot?
Oh, hell.
It has gotten better, though. Now, if they aren't there, I just tell the boys that the cars had to go to work, just like daddy. They seem to buy that one. Sometimes. Whew, dodged a bullet right there.
We are still working on other cars. For example, when they see any 4 door BMW 3 or 5 series, they call it "Mommy's old car" which is, of course in reference to the 2005 Hyundai Sonata I drove while my van was in the body shop. I find it hilarious that they equate Hyundais with BMWs. My husband? Not so much. They other good one is the Porsche. We saw a little mini convertible today and the boys freaked out screaming, "Mommy, mommy! Look, a Porsche!" So like a good mother, I glanced over and what did I see? An old school Mazda Miata circa 1995.
Clearly, we have a little work to do. But overall? I am one proud madre.
Love and peace,
~Andrea
Friday, March 9, 2012
Public Restrooms and Why I Carry an Endless Supply of Hand Sanitizer
From the archives:
Have you ever potty trained 3 year old twin boys? No? Well, then this post is for you. And for any friends out there who have higher order multiples (triplets +) then I give you mad props because it was certainly, ahem, challenging just with two. The thought of more than two gives me a shudder that travels straight to my bones.
Okay, I may be exaggerating just a little, again. While it did have its challenges, it was actually far easier than I anticipated which is why I didn’t even try until they were way past 3. I could say that I just “wanted to wait until they were ready.” But, really, I was just kinda lazy and terrified of failing. And I didn’t want to clean up pee and poop. That’s it, my confession.
So now they are potty trained. Now what? Now we have an unhealthy obsession with all public restrooms. Which is probably my fault.
The first couple of times I ventured out with no diapers, I was a hot mess. Terrified of having an accident, terrified of my kid standing there with a little puddle.
Especially since there are TWO of them.
What happens if there are two little puddles? I couldn’t bear the thought. So every single time we went anywhere for the first week or so, I would force them to the bathroom of each establishment we entered. Sit them on the pot and wait. Most of the time they would go and I would be completely validated and do a little dance. No, really, I would do a little dance. After all, have to keep the positive reinforcement going, right?
So I bet you were wondering what the other kid would do while his brother was sitting on the pot? Why investigate every single bathroom stall and flush each and every toilet, of course. And pick up trash off the floor and throw it away.
All you germaphobes out there are probably cringing and rightly so. I’m not even that big of a germaphobe and I even cringe and want to throw up a little bit.
So after we would potty and SCRUB hands, I would pick up my purse and head towards the door and turn back around to make sure the turkeys were following me.
Nope. In the 2 seconds it took to pick up my bag, they were right back at it. Touching everything and flushing toilets.
I am expecting a water bill from Target to arrive any day now.
Then, today, while scrubbing Hayden’s hands, I look back and Logan is belly down on the floor looking under a stall door, which just happened to be occupied. That was a fun apology. "Um, sorry, my 3 year old is a peeping tom." Thankfully, the woman appeared to understand. At least she didn’t run out of the bathroom screaming, that’s a plus.
So hand sanitizer is my best friend. I KNOW it doesn’t kill all germs but it does enable me to do one good scrub after our adventures in the public restrooms and then just pray that the precious clear gel kills the rest of the germs that come from handling toilets.
Public restrooms are my enemy and my turkey’s favorite play place. Lovely, isn’t it?
Love and peace
~Andrea
Have you ever potty trained 3 year old twin boys? No? Well, then this post is for you. And for any friends out there who have higher order multiples (triplets +) then I give you mad props because it was certainly, ahem, challenging just with two. The thought of more than two gives me a shudder that travels straight to my bones.
Okay, I may be exaggerating just a little, again. While it did have its challenges, it was actually far easier than I anticipated which is why I didn’t even try until they were way past 3. I could say that I just “wanted to wait until they were ready.” But, really, I was just kinda lazy and terrified of failing. And I didn’t want to clean up pee and poop. That’s it, my confession.
So now they are potty trained. Now what? Now we have an unhealthy obsession with all public restrooms. Which is probably my fault.
The first couple of times I ventured out with no diapers, I was a hot mess. Terrified of having an accident, terrified of my kid standing there with a little puddle.
Especially since there are TWO of them.
What happens if there are two little puddles? I couldn’t bear the thought. So every single time we went anywhere for the first week or so, I would force them to the bathroom of each establishment we entered. Sit them on the pot and wait. Most of the time they would go and I would be completely validated and do a little dance. No, really, I would do a little dance. After all, have to keep the positive reinforcement going, right?
So I bet you were wondering what the other kid would do while his brother was sitting on the pot? Why investigate every single bathroom stall and flush each and every toilet, of course. And pick up trash off the floor and throw it away.
All you germaphobes out there are probably cringing and rightly so. I’m not even that big of a germaphobe and I even cringe and want to throw up a little bit.
So after we would potty and SCRUB hands, I would pick up my purse and head towards the door and turn back around to make sure the turkeys were following me.
Nope. In the 2 seconds it took to pick up my bag, they were right back at it. Touching everything and flushing toilets.
I am expecting a water bill from Target to arrive any day now.
Then, today, while scrubbing Hayden’s hands, I look back and Logan is belly down on the floor looking under a stall door, which just happened to be occupied. That was a fun apology. "Um, sorry, my 3 year old is a peeping tom." Thankfully, the woman appeared to understand. At least she didn’t run out of the bathroom screaming, that’s a plus.
So hand sanitizer is my best friend. I KNOW it doesn’t kill all germs but it does enable me to do one good scrub after our adventures in the public restrooms and then just pray that the precious clear gel kills the rest of the germs that come from handling toilets.
Public restrooms are my enemy and my turkey’s favorite play place. Lovely, isn’t it?
Love and peace
~Andrea
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I am turning into that ridiculous person who ogles twins
From the archives:
I had a revelation the other day at the gym as a gigantic Graco duoglider double stroller came out of the elevator and I gravitated towards it and the exhausted mother with an uncontrollable urge to see the little bundles of joy tucked safely in their carseats. How quickly I forgot how much I disliked being accosted by random people when trying to maneuver that monstrosity of a stroller in public.
I had a revelation the other day at the gym as a gigantic Graco duoglider double stroller came out of the elevator and I gravitated towards it and the exhausted mother with an uncontrollable urge to see the little bundles of joy tucked safely in their carseats. How quickly I forgot how much I disliked being accosted by random people when trying to maneuver that monstrosity of a stroller in public.
"Oh, are they twins?"
That was always my favorite question and I always wish I had the balls to say my prepared snarky response: No, lady, I just happened to be babysitting my sisters kid and just happened to have a double stroller and matching car seat handy.
"Yes," clearly not in the mood to talk. She was likely trying to gear herself up to load all babies, including all of their shit, in the car. But, no matter to me. I wanted to talk twins! So off I went...
"Oh, aren't they cute. I have twin boys. They are 3 1/2. I remember when mine were that little. Enjoy them now because they grow sooooooo fast. And when they get mobile, watch out! I wish I could go back to the time when mine couldn't move and destroy."
I barely registered the look of horror on the mother's face as I continued on my merry way,
"How old are they?"
"3 months." She's still thinking to herself, it gets worse when they are mobile? Good God, I thought it got easier.
"Awwwwww. Makes me wish for another little one, or two. Just kidding. My two are plenty."
She starts moving away from me, but me, do I take the hint? Nope.
"Are they sleeping well?"
"No." But she's thinking, of course, they aren't sleeping well at night. They are babies, you idiot. I barely get any sleep and barely managed to haul my ass to the gym, yet here you are, talking to me, when I just want to get the eff home, feed them, put them to bed, so I can shower. And YOU should know better.
"Mine still don't sleep well. Just wait until they are out of their cribs, and you hear the pitter patter of little feet across the floor at 2 am. And you thought middle of the night feedings were bad, pfttt." I smiled.
"Oh, and just you wait until they won't stay in the stroller anymore. That's fun."
I am pretty sure she is staring at me with her mouth open now.
"Well, I'll let you be on your way now. Good luck with those babies."
I walked away with mind full of images of babies and cuteness and loving memories of my non-mobile twin boys.
I'm pretty sure she walked away completely and utterly terrified of the years and months to come.
My work here is done.
Love and peace
~Andrea
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The Adventures of a Bed-Hopping Mommy
Bet I got your attention with this one, huh? Yep, I am a bed-hopping machine. Often several times a night, a couple of nights a week. Sometimes, up to three beds a night with three different members of the male species. Damn, I do get around.
Let me tell you about my bedmates. We'll start with the positives. Two of them have the prettiest blue eyes I have ever seen. Two of them, think that I rock and can do no wrong. Two of them give me the best hugs and kisses, ever. Pretty good bedmates, huh?
All three of them have the seemingly masterful ability to drive me a teeny tiny bit crazy.
Two of them like to sneak into my room at night and climb into my bed. And, because it is easier than moving either one or both of them, I will occasionally leave him/them there next to the other snoring bedmate, shuffle down the hallway and hop into one of their beds. Often, an hour or two later, one of them will come looking for me, and will try to join me in whichever bed I have burrowed myself into. Then, what do I do? Why, I hop into the other kid's bed, of course.
You've never played this game? What? It is super fun. I'm sure you must be seething with jealousy.
Let me tell you a little more just to get you good and jealous, if you aren't already. Two of them do not understand the principle of snuggling. Instead of embracing the snuggling principle, they seem to embrace more of a thrashing approach, necessitating the bed hopping. Two of them are obsessed with Angry Birds and at least one of them was up at 5:30 this morning, standing next to his own bed, which was where I ended up after my last bed hop, holding my phone, with the freaking game already turned on. Note to self: Put the phone somewhere unreachable and maybe, stage an intervention.
The third one? Well, did I mention that he snores? Loudly. Which, by the way, he did not do prior to our marriage nor until about a year ago. Otherwise, I might not have married him. Kidding. Maybe.
So last night, I was a bed hopping maniac. I'm a little tired today. So tired in fact, that I put day old coffee into the microwave, loaded it with cream and sweet and low and chugged, because I needed it, like, yesterday.
Thankfully, the turkeys have school today. I got up with them at 5:30, but the husband is taking them, because gaging by the snoring alone, he actually slept. And because my ass is going back to sleep.
It's okay. You might not be jealous of the bed-hopping, but you are jealous that I am going back to sleep. Admit it.
Love and peace (from my bed),
Andrea
Let me tell you about my bedmates. We'll start with the positives. Two of them have the prettiest blue eyes I have ever seen. Two of them, think that I rock and can do no wrong. Two of them give me the best hugs and kisses, ever. Pretty good bedmates, huh?
All three of them have the seemingly masterful ability to drive me a teeny tiny bit crazy.
Two of them like to sneak into my room at night and climb into my bed. And, because it is easier than moving either one or both of them, I will occasionally leave him/them there next to the other snoring bedmate, shuffle down the hallway and hop into one of their beds. Often, an hour or two later, one of them will come looking for me, and will try to join me in whichever bed I have burrowed myself into. Then, what do I do? Why, I hop into the other kid's bed, of course.
You've never played this game? What? It is super fun. I'm sure you must be seething with jealousy.
Let me tell you a little more just to get you good and jealous, if you aren't already. Two of them do not understand the principle of snuggling. Instead of embracing the snuggling principle, they seem to embrace more of a thrashing approach, necessitating the bed hopping. Two of them are obsessed with Angry Birds and at least one of them was up at 5:30 this morning, standing next to his own bed, which was where I ended up after my last bed hop, holding my phone, with the freaking game already turned on. Note to self: Put the phone somewhere unreachable and maybe, stage an intervention.
The third one? Well, did I mention that he snores? Loudly. Which, by the way, he did not do prior to our marriage nor until about a year ago. Otherwise, I might not have married him. Kidding. Maybe.
So last night, I was a bed hopping maniac. I'm a little tired today. So tired in fact, that I put day old coffee into the microwave, loaded it with cream and sweet and low and chugged, because I needed it, like, yesterday.
Thankfully, the turkeys have school today. I got up with them at 5:30, but the husband is taking them, because gaging by the snoring alone, he actually slept. And because my ass is going back to sleep.
It's okay. You might not be jealous of the bed-hopping, but you are jealous that I am going back to sleep. Admit it.
Love and peace (from my bed),
Andrea
Monday, March 5, 2012
What's the point?
What's the point, Andrea? Why did you start writing? You know, I've asked myself this question hundreds of times in the past several months. I've always been decent at writing. I could always tell a good story. I just never tried to write anything that wasn't required by a class or that was going to be read by anyone other than myself. I do not have a definitive answer to the question, just a few maybes.
Maybe, it's because I suck at taking pictures, uploading them and sharing them and this is an easier way to archive our lives. The turkeys do some funny shit that I don't ever want to forget and let's face it I probably will, because contrary to my numerous assertions, I do not remember everything.
Maybe, since we made the big move out west almost 3 years ago (!) and I left behind some of the greatest girlfriends the world has ever known, writing has become my way of self-expression since my girls are a million miles away and time zones suck.
Maybe, I desperately hope that my words will touch you, whether it be through a funny story or a thought provoking post.
Maybe, when you are having a bad day, it makes me feel good to know that the antics of my turkeys (or hell, even me) might just put a little grin on your face.
Maybe I have big dreams on what I can do with this blog and my life. I am a giver and if I can get enough people to read this sucker, then I have some big plans to help some pretty amazing people. Hint: Sharing is caring, friends.
Maybe it's because I've discovered after many years, that words are the mirror of the soul and I want to share my soul.
Maybe it's because I have been through a lot in my short little life and I hope my experiences might be able to help you in whatever particular situation you may be facing.
Maybe, it's because I feel like God wants me to.
Maybe, because writing is taking me out of my comfort zone and enabling me to realize the mistakes of my past do not define who I am today. Facing the mistakes I've made in the past are actually giving me a incredible sense of empowerment that I never imagined to be possible.
And maybe, just maybe, because I simply like to write.
Love and peace,
Andrea
Maybe, it's because I suck at taking pictures, uploading them and sharing them and this is an easier way to archive our lives. The turkeys do some funny shit that I don't ever want to forget and let's face it I probably will, because contrary to my numerous assertions, I do not remember everything.
Maybe, since we made the big move out west almost 3 years ago (!) and I left behind some of the greatest girlfriends the world has ever known, writing has become my way of self-expression since my girls are a million miles away and time zones suck.
Maybe, I desperately hope that my words will touch you, whether it be through a funny story or a thought provoking post.
Maybe, when you are having a bad day, it makes me feel good to know that the antics of my turkeys (or hell, even me) might just put a little grin on your face.
Maybe I have big dreams on what I can do with this blog and my life. I am a giver and if I can get enough people to read this sucker, then I have some big plans to help some pretty amazing people. Hint: Sharing is caring, friends.
Maybe it's because I've discovered after many years, that words are the mirror of the soul and I want to share my soul.
Maybe it's because I have been through a lot in my short little life and I hope my experiences might be able to help you in whatever particular situation you may be facing.
Maybe, it's because I feel like God wants me to.
Maybe, because writing is taking me out of my comfort zone and enabling me to realize the mistakes of my past do not define who I am today. Facing the mistakes I've made in the past are actually giving me a incredible sense of empowerment that I never imagined to be possible.
And maybe, just maybe, because I simply like to write.
Love and peace,
Andrea
Friday, March 2, 2012
It is always an adventure. Always.
No, the turkeys and I did not drive up north today. We settled for little drives around town and had a lovely time reminding the van why she missed us so much. I am happy to be back to normal and enjoy not dreading every little errand I have to run.
Today I had conferences for the turkeys. Conferences? Really? They go to school two mornings a week. Conferences? Really? Yes, really, and actually, since they just started school in January, I probably shouldn't bitch about going. I should want to know how they are doing and what areas they need work on. But it cut right into my doing absolutely nothing time and I was a little salty especially since some overachieving mom stole the 9:00 spot right out from under me and I had to come back an hour and fifteen minutes later. Did I mention it cut into my doing absolutely nothing time? Whatever, it lasted a whopping 10 minutes. Total. For both kids. And, it was nice to hear that the turkeys are doing well. Especially considering that 6 short months ago I was freaking the eff out about their speech development. Silly mommy, now they won't stop talking.
They had a variety of tasks listed in each developmental category and there were three levels. U = Usually, G = Good progress, W = Needs work. I am happy to say my turkeys both got all U's, a couple G and only one W. The W was in using scissors, so I am okay with that one. Not too shabby of a first "report card."
When I picked them up from school, one of their classmates, Zoey and her mommy, Elise were leaving at the same time. Elise and I chatted and she mentioned she was going to Costco for lunch. Costco is one of my all time favorite places to take the turkeys for lunch because you can do it on the super cheap. I invited us along and we ventured on over to the Costco and of course, as soon as we hit the doors, the turkeys take off. Now, I am not too worried, because they know exactly where the food counter is and sure enough after playing an excrutiatingly fun game of dodge the snowbirds and their shopping carts, there they were sitting on the floor, definitely in mortal danger of being stepped on, with their friend Zoey, waiting patiently for the mommies.
Zoey's mom then spots another mom from the preschool with a cartload of goodies and a couple of rugrats, in the food line. Before I knew it, we had 3 moms (two of which are pregnant, by the way, and NO I am not one of them) trying to wrangle in a herd of 5 kids all of which are 3 and under. Yes, we were definitely outnumbered. Hayden and Logan ate their pizza in like 30 seconds flat. Apparently, they were hungry. I got to listen to the two lovely expectant mommies talk about pregnancy, all the while praising God for giving me two in one shot so I wouldn't have to go through that mess again. Of course, the other mom, Kristin, is on her FOURTH kid and she doesn't look a day over 30. I almost started hyperventilating when I heard the word four.
I got the turkeys and Zoey some ice cream and they devoured that as well. Suddenly, Logan looks at me and says, "I have to pee mommy," and takes off towards the bathroom, engaging in yet another game of dodge the shopping carts. I take off after him with Hayden and Zoey in tow. Seriously, I have got to teach my kids not to do this, but short of strapping a leash onto them, I am at a loss of what to do. After an exhausting lunch, which lasted all of 20 minutes, I loaded the turkeys up in the van gave Zoey and Elise a hug, and headed the eff home, where, after I put the boys down for their nap, I seriously entertained the idea of opening a bottle of red. At 2:00. In the afternoon. I didn't, but I couldn't stop the words, "It's 5 o'clock somewhere" from running through my head.
Love and peace,
Andrea
Today I had conferences for the turkeys. Conferences? Really? They go to school two mornings a week. Conferences? Really? Yes, really, and actually, since they just started school in January, I probably shouldn't bitch about going. I should want to know how they are doing and what areas they need work on. But it cut right into my doing absolutely nothing time and I was a little salty especially since some overachieving mom stole the 9:00 spot right out from under me and I had to come back an hour and fifteen minutes later. Did I mention it cut into my doing absolutely nothing time? Whatever, it lasted a whopping 10 minutes. Total. For both kids. And, it was nice to hear that the turkeys are doing well. Especially considering that 6 short months ago I was freaking the eff out about their speech development. Silly mommy, now they won't stop talking.
They had a variety of tasks listed in each developmental category and there were three levels. U = Usually, G = Good progress, W = Needs work. I am happy to say my turkeys both got all U's, a couple G and only one W. The W was in using scissors, so I am okay with that one. Not too shabby of a first "report card."
When I picked them up from school, one of their classmates, Zoey and her mommy, Elise were leaving at the same time. Elise and I chatted and she mentioned she was going to Costco for lunch. Costco is one of my all time favorite places to take the turkeys for lunch because you can do it on the super cheap. I invited us along and we ventured on over to the Costco and of course, as soon as we hit the doors, the turkeys take off. Now, I am not too worried, because they know exactly where the food counter is and sure enough after playing an excrutiatingly fun game of dodge the snowbirds and their shopping carts, there they were sitting on the floor, definitely in mortal danger of being stepped on, with their friend Zoey, waiting patiently for the mommies.
Zoey's mom then spots another mom from the preschool with a cartload of goodies and a couple of rugrats, in the food line. Before I knew it, we had 3 moms (two of which are pregnant, by the way, and NO I am not one of them) trying to wrangle in a herd of 5 kids all of which are 3 and under. Yes, we were definitely outnumbered. Hayden and Logan ate their pizza in like 30 seconds flat. Apparently, they were hungry. I got to listen to the two lovely expectant mommies talk about pregnancy, all the while praising God for giving me two in one shot so I wouldn't have to go through that mess again. Of course, the other mom, Kristin, is on her FOURTH kid and she doesn't look a day over 30. I almost started hyperventilating when I heard the word four.
I got the turkeys and Zoey some ice cream and they devoured that as well. Suddenly, Logan looks at me and says, "I have to pee mommy," and takes off towards the bathroom, engaging in yet another game of dodge the shopping carts. I take off after him with Hayden and Zoey in tow. Seriously, I have got to teach my kids not to do this, but short of strapping a leash onto them, I am at a loss of what to do. After an exhausting lunch, which lasted all of 20 minutes, I loaded the turkeys up in the van gave Zoey and Elise a hug, and headed the eff home, where, after I put the boys down for their nap, I seriously entertained the idea of opening a bottle of red. At 2:00. In the afternoon. I didn't, but I couldn't stop the words, "It's 5 o'clock somewhere" from running through my head.
Love and peace,
Andrea
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