a day in the life (with an old lady thrown in the mix for good measure)

I had been working tirelessly cleaning a house that was badly in need of cleaning and every time I turned around, the Un-makers (AKA: 3 year old twins) had undone something I had just put in place. Finally I fed their bellies and decided it was time to go outside. I was thinking that surely they would have fun outside and in the process, I wouldn’t mind the Un-making.

I took them outside expecting them to swing and run and kick the ball. I expected them to play with the fairy houses and jump on the trampoline. I expected that I would be able to continue the unending work that has been the clearing of the enormous and magnificent tree we lost in the fall. I got the garden tools out and started piling sawdust and shavings from the chainsaws into the wheelbarrow. I had already taken at least 12 loads to the woods in the past weeks. When I started to rake and clear until I could see earth again, my tools were stolen. Every time I put one tool down, an Un-maker would come and sneak it away and rake shavings back into the garden. Another Un-maker found the old charcoal from the last campfire and started putting new ideas of Un-making into the other one’s head. All this time, there was screaming and whining. There were complaints about who’s stick was who’s and which tool was too heavy. There were screams every time a bug buzzed in sight or sound (which happens to be about every 10 seconds), followed by panicked running and flailing, including the loss of tools and sticks flying through the air hap-hazard. I was loosing my patience!



I sent them to the trampoline, tired of their constant bickering and screaming. As I wheeled another load of shavings to the woods, I saw an elderly woman parked in my neighbor’s driveway eyeing the scene. I shushed the girls and tried to let them know that they were alarming the entire neighborhood.

As I continued the raking and piling and moving of shavings, the girls would not stop their screams! I walked over to the trampoline, my face stern, “Stop all that yelling. What is the matter?” “A sca-wy bug! It’s going to eat my blood!” “That? That’s just a pretty little lacewing. He won’t do anything to you. He just is resting.” Screaming and crying in bursts continue as I walk away. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I walk over and say, “Just go back inside,” as I grab them off of the tramp one at a time and scoot them toward the house.



I rake and pile and I can hear banging in the house.  I try to ignore it. Knocking on the window grabs my attention and I can see them in the mudroom getting into the bags on the hooks. I try to ignore them. On my next trip back from the woods, I spot the elderly woman and she’s walking toward me. I drop the handles of the wheelbarrow as she says, “Hello!” and walk over to greet her. She introduces herself and tells me that she will be at my neighbor’s to work in the garden. I exchange pleasantries about the garden and she tells me that she has a background in gymnastics, eyeing the trampoline. “Oh,” I say, “would you like to jump?”

As she speaks, I am noticing her petite frame and her gray hair pulled loosely into a simple ponytail. Her eyes full of wisdom and something that I can’t put my finger on. Contempt for the way I’m being overly friendly? Curiosity? Energy? She’s been telling me that my rules I have set for the trampoline are not adequate. She has been informing me that she is willing to help teach the kids tricks and that if they won’t be happy about the new rules that they can come out one at a time and the kids inside can watch the one who is having a turn on the trampoline, among other advice and tidbits about enforcing the policies she has prescribed.

I smile and change the subject and tell her that the twins were screaming on the trampoline because they were scared of the bugs. She says, “What bugs?” To which I laugh and say, “Exactly,” with a little knowing tilt of the head. I tell her about the “sca-wy bad dweams” they have been plagued with, keeping the whole house up all night with screams and crying. I told her how at 2:00 AM I had to turn the light on and show my child each layer of her bed so she would be satisfied that there wasn’t a wasp in her bed waiting to sting her. The woman tells me about an incident in her childhood with mice in her bedroom. I tell her about last week when the cat caught a bat and brought it upstairs to the older girls’ room and it was still alive. “Well, that’s what it is!” She qualifies herself by telling me she used to be a teacher and that the bat incident triggered the night horrors and that what I need to do is go to the library and find a book about bats that is sweet and help the girls overcome their new fear. (I didn’t bother telling her that the twins didn’t ever see the bat.)

After watching her show me several tricks on the trampoline—seat-drop, swivel, seat-drop; back-drop, swivel, back-drop—and listen to her explain what games I can teach them that will help with various forms of development, (though she’s aware that I grew up with a trampoline and can do all kinds of tricks that we had previously gone through one at a time and name by name) I realize that the house has been very quiet. I also realize that this woman is driving me crazy.

“I need to go check on the girls,” I say, excusing myself.

Inside I find the work of the Un-makers. My purse has been emptied, all gum opened and wrappers littered on the floor. My wallet turned out and emptied. My emergency tampon has been opened and is lying in the middle of the floor and the band-aids have been opened and one is stuck on the floor underneath the table. I listen and hear nothing. I call to them and hear quick footfalls upstairs. I go up and find them hiding their faces on a bed with their bums in the air. They had found leftover Easter candy and had been eating as fast as they could. I heave a big sigh as I collect as many Robins’ Eggs as I see on the bed and floor and walk out shaking my head. I come downstairs to put things back together and hear them giggling and jumping on the bed, high on sugar. 



The next day I enjoyed, more than usual, the boyish games being played on my trampoline.

lacking

A while back, I told my seven year old to document a family birthday party with her Instax. Later, I saw a pile of little pictures. It was adorable. But I had to have a little chat with her about privacy. (That’s saying something since I seem to have an obvious lack of the sense of privacy myself.)

I know that there has been an obvious lack of something else around here. (That would be me, writing on my blog.) I’ve been trying to decide whether to even address it or not. But I’ll just keep it really simple: The third year in the life of a mother of twins is harder than the first year in my humble opinion. Who knew? Maybe the other twin moms? I understand not wanting to scare the new twin moms, but there you have it. Maybe if you expect it, it won’t be quite so hard.

Anyway, my inclination is that I really want to write everything down that I haven’t had time to. But that just stops me in my tracks because it’s too grand a task for one like me.

So let’s just pretend that we’re all caught up, shall we?

I’ve missed you, friends!

you turned three!

Dear Ones,


You are precious. I cried like 20 times today because you are driving me insane. But I still think you are precious, and I’m going to focus on that right now, and nothing else because I want to live a long and healthy life, not one in the loony bin. I’m going to focus on that because I want to feel love and joy and happiness and have lots of the good stuff in my memory bank.



Eden, you tell me that you love me about 78 times a day. You say it when you are happy and when you are sad. You say it when you are tired or when you have to go to the bathroom. But I don’t mind. Every time you say, “Mommy. I love you,” I say it right back. Because I do.

Last week at church I told you how the primary children were singing about Adam, the prophet, and how he lived in the Garden of Eden with Eve. Later you were so excited to tell your big brother and sisters! You said, “Adam and Eve and and and they lived…in the Garden…of ME!!!” I can’t stand your cuteness, you’re killing me.

You are so clever. Such a smart girl. And you love it when I have you repeat that; you say it with such joy and enthusiasm, you look as if you might burst: “I am smaaaart. I am beautiful. I am impoe-tant. I am looooooved. I am kind. I am divine…” You have really started to belt out the songs. You love music and sing constantly. You have quite a repertoire of songs stashed in that noggin. When you catch glimpse of yourself in the rear-view mirror of the car, you say, “Look, I have loooong hair.” It’s quite an accomplishment. When your sister gets shy meeting new people, you always smile and introduce her by her full, formal name.



My Jane-y Pot Pie. You have taken to nuzzling lately. You made up your own perfect word to go with it. You work your way into my body and say, “mommy, you so comfity.” As in comfort-y. It’s the sweetest thing.

You are thoughtful and sensitive and girly. You want to look pretty every day, and by pretty I mean that you want to wear a dress so you can dance. (Imagine dancing without a dress on…nope. You can’t do it; no dancing in pants.) Your favorite is Cannon in D and you ask for it by name, daily. Classical music calms you. You are protective of your sister and will do what you think you can to help her out when she is sad or upset. Even when she is in trouble and we are taking her to time out, you say, “Be nice to my sister.” You love her. You are very good at pretending. You take it seriously and even your older brother and sisters can’t help but join in, whether you are “shopping” or “sleeping.” Whether you are a princess or a baby or a mommy or a dog, we have no choice but to believe you.



You’ve been here with me for three years now. But I know that you have always been mine, and I yours, whether I remember it or not; we have always been family. You are part of me and it goes so deep that I know that you always have been part of me and you always will be. Even after we leave the earth at our individual moments, we will still be bound together forever. I can sense that bond with you girls and it is intense and steadfast. I wish there were better and more powerful words but for now all I can tell you is this: I love you completely, wholly and deeply. I love you like mad.

Always,
me

time out

Me: Oh, no. Is your baby in time out?


Her (2.5 years old): Yep.



Me: What did she do?



Her: She bit her sister

So far in the past two hours

...my 2 year old daughter has sprinkled an entire shaker of sugar and cinnamon all over the first story floor, found a wet diaper in the trash and thoroughly inspected it, dumped all the toys out of the baskets, found a baggie of googly eyes (she learned how to get in the junk drawer??) and dumped them out and chewed on half of them, covered the bathroom floor with water, colored over her body and clothes (brand new for her birthday!) and the counter with permanent marker and bit her sister twice.




And that’s just one of them. (The other one is licking the sugar and cinnamon off of the floor and I’m just going to let her do it.)



You may think me neglectful, but I don’t care—I’m too tired to write down all the intercepted attempts of destruction.



Please excuse me—I have to go because she is now attempting to get the permanent marker off the counter with Windex. (fyi: the only thing I’ve found effective is aerosol hairspray. Spray it right onto the marker and wipe off. Truly amazing.) (Do any of you know how to get it off of skin or fabric??)

My babies are turning two this month.

They are fraternal. They shared my womb. Except for 48 minutes when “baby B” took her moment to stretch out and do a little Irish jig in there. (It could have been 45 minutes. It’s all a little fuzzy.)

Some people can’t tell them apart.

I don’t think they look very much alike.

They teach each other all kinds of good things. And bad things too.

They are like yin and yang. Opposites but in a good way, balancing each other out. We have Art and Science represented through them. We have extrovert and introvert. We have intuition and intellectualism. And because we see the contrast, it makes it more obvious.


Having twins is really entertaining. All day long I hear, “Mom, come see what the babies are doing!” We’re constantly imitating them and their cuteness.

Having twins is really messy. They’re like a little team of chaos makers. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the edge of insanity.


And then I remember how blessed and lucky I am and how much I really, really love them and it practically makes my heart burst from love and joy.



The other day one of them looked at me and smiled such a bright and genuine smile and focused in on me so I felt like I was the only thing in the world that mattered and said, “I la loo, mommy.” (Which, in case you didn’t figure that one out means, “I love you, mommy.”) Hello, beautiful being. Hello, person who depends on me to teach you how to BE. Hello, meaning of life.

Motherhood is so full of ups and downs; black and white; joy and pain; so full of opposition, so you can really feel the highs and lows. It is so full of opportunities to grow and learn and improve that it is ridiculous. It kind of takes over and makes you put stuff aside until you know whatever that thing is that is SO IMPORTANT that you are willing to fight for it and not let it disappear into the abyss.




Having twins has been kind of like having a bucket of icy water dumped over my sleeping body. Shock! Okay, I’m awake! I’m moving! There is no room for down time when you’re the mom of twins. I feel like I’ve lost touch with everything outside of my bubble and I just keep hoping that it will all be there when the dust settles.

I will be forever grateful for the blessing these two are in my life.

Here's to two crazy wonderful years; Happy Birthday month, girls! 
(Now, will you please wake up happy tomorrow?  Please?)

See that little footprint?

So cute. 

Well, the cute person who made that footprint is about to send me to the loony bin.  At this point I'd just be glad to get some alone time in my padded cell.  Maybe some uninterrupted sleep?

She has boogers running down her face.  She wants me to hold her, but then while I have her in my arms, she'll try to peel my hands off her, like really, mom?  do you HAVE to be touching me?

Even though she keeps throwing all her food onto the floor, enraged, I still think she is sweet.  And I know that she probably just feels like there is a big clump of sand in her diaper.  Rubbing her biscuits raw.

on being human

Curled up in the fetal position with my head and knees on the floor, snots and tears cover my face and my world seems dirty and desperate. Two little terrors in tutus come over and pull my shirt up enough to see my ink: goodness and virtue was tattooed on my skin in urgency during my 19th year of life to remind myself who I am just in case I forget someday. The little people start to whack away and to then rub my skin, saying, “Back! Back!”


I think of the hamster food, spread over the entire carpet. Stupid hamsters. What fool leaves hamsters at a church just so they will be rescued? If I decide I don’t have enough goodness and virtue left, I may dash the children’s hearts and desert the little rodents at the proper place: the SPCA.

I feel a mouth on my back. She drools on my skin and then rubs it around with her chubby hand. I’m too tired to care. I think about the highchairs. How could I have forgotten to collapse them? I know what happens—they get used as ladders to the mother load of chalk. What could be more fun to two toddlers than to cover every surface with pretty colors when mommy’s not looking? She bends and blows wet raspberries on my back and giggles. I peek out of my tears and see the reflection of the other one who is twirling in her tutu.



Is this the moment I inked my skin for? You are good. Your life has worth. You are loved. You love. The dirty floors and windows will be clean someday. (Even if it is when they are all grown and gone and I am so sad and lonely because the house is so quiet and clean all the time.) Everyone is always telling me to cherish these times because they are the easy times of motherhood, and the real challenges are yet to come. The bitter thoughts creep in. No. I will not think of that right now. I will pull myself together and take a deep breath. The sun is shining and the leaves have turned into something splendid. I will not think of all the millions of things that need doing that are not getting done. I will focus on the task at hand: remember who you are. You are a girl. You love the fall. You will show affection to your tutu clad babies and feed them lunch. You will open the dirty window and pray for peace as the fresh air comes in and cleanses your lungs.