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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
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