Tag Archives: George

Make Mine a Double: Part I

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*Don’t forget to enter my giveaway for a beautiful clutch from Bee Gee Bags! Click here for details.

Exactly two years ago (give or take a week), I looked like this:

And yes – it was just as uncomfortable as it appears. And what is even more outrageous is that I remember looking at that picture and thinking it was “flattering” – that it made my stomach look less gigantic than it actually was. So apparently, I was even bigger in real life. People who have never been pregnant before can pick themselves up off the floor now. It’s not like that happens overnight. You do have some time to get used to it.

Enough about my enormous stomach though (shut up – I mean then, not now!). I am showing embarrassing pictures of myself as an opening for the story of the birth of my twins. It’s their birthday! On October 9, 2006, at 9:23 p.m. and 9:24 p.m. (respectively) I gave birth to George and Eleanor Hood. They looked like this shortly after they departed my body:

And no – they were not nearly as angelic as they appear. Actually, they were perfectly sweet babies – it’s just that there were two of them. And having had one newborn already – I knew the difference between one screaming baby and two screaming babies. It’s simple math: 2 x 1 baby = 1 seriously deranged mother. But that’s another story.

On the morning of October 9, 2006, I had a feeling that the end was near. While my scheduled c-section (my “baby A,” George was breech) wasn’t supposed to take place for another week, I just didn’t feel right. And of course I was already four centimeters dilated and showing some “signs” that are TMI for even this blog. Also, we had just moved into a new house three weeks prior and I was still carrying my 35 lb. 18 month old up and down the stairs. This probably helped to speed things along.

The bags were packed and waiting by the door and I was finally resigned to the fact that George was not going to turn over for me, and I would have to have my first experience with surgery. Awake. One word: barbaric.

We were as ready as we were ever going to be – and I decided that I would spend the day trying to wrap things up at work, even though it was a federal holiday and the office was closed. It’s like I knew…

I won’t get into the details of the day – mainly because I barely remember them. But at about 5:00 p.m. I was ready to leave. I felt the urge to do some errands, so I called Chris and told him that I would be running late, and that he’d have to do Oliver’s bedtime routine (which he was more or less covering already in preparation for my post surgery limitations). Then I was off to the mall.

First stop – the cosmetics department at Nordstom. I was running low on concealer, and you know – this is a huge priority for someone that expects to be sequestered to their house for several months. I have to look good for the mail man and all. Then I headed over to Suissa, a hair salon where I had a history of success with random stylists (I’m notorious for being a walk in client).

When I arrived, the receptionist smiled at me and told me that I was the third expectant mother to come in that day. My first thought was that I hoped the others were as far along as I was and also sporting ill fitting maternity clothes that hinted at a penchant for inappropriate belly baring. I didn’t want to be “the big one” when they talked about the run on pregnant ladies that day. She told me that Giamcome would be able to take me immediately. (I don’t remember his name – but I once had another stylist named Giacome, and I think it suits my no name guy.)

Giacome? Not that much of a talker. But that suited me well enough, as my mind was racing in fifty different directions, and I didn’t mind NOT playing 20 questions with him as he pretended to be interested in my pregnancy. But one persistent thought running through the rest was that I was starting to worry about incontinence (don’t worry – this isn’t a story about incontinence – but it’s relevant in context). All day, I had been feeling a little…well, loose – for lack of a better word. I had never experienced incontinence before, and I was wondering if this was an early sign.

It was while my hair was being washed that I had the first pang of concern. There was definitely something going on down there – and I was feeling extremely grateful for the long black gown that covered my legs. At this point, I was thinking that I might look as if I had just had accident – or more accurately, that I looked like I HAD had an accident. But at the end of the day, I’m an optimist, and I hoped that it either wouldn’t show once I was standing up – or that maybe it would be dry by the time I had to unveil myself.

The haircut was uneventful. It was looking exactly like what I had requested and Giacome continued to play the strong silent type. But about ten minutes into the blow dry, something rather significant happened. I suddenly knew that I was not experiencing incontinence. I had my water broken for me in the hospital when I had my first son, and while this was not the same, there were definite similarities. It finally dawned on me: I wasn’t peeing my pants – I was going into labor.

I had never spontaneously gone into labor before. My 9 lb. 2 oz. first born was a week late and I had to be induced. And I was expecting a scheduled c-section for the twins. So I was completely unprepared for the slapstick situation of having my water break during my blow dry at the Tysons Corner Suissa where I was a goddamn walk in for god’s sake. Oh my god! Damn!

But I’m nothing if I’m not practical. And I never panic. So I quietly weighed my options as Giacome continued to smooth and straighten my hair. I had done this once before, and I knew that I had some time before I actually went into real labor. At this point I wasn’t even having contractions. Oh what the hell – my hair was only half done, and I figured that it wouldn’t hurt anything if I just let him finish. I deserved to have perfect hair for my first surgery. Awake. BARBARIC I tell you!

Plus – I kind of needed time to figure out what I was going to tell Giacome. I couldn’t imagine that this was something that happened every day at Suissa. So when he finally finished his last flicks and fluffs, it was time for me to break the news. I said, “so Giacome…I have to tell you something. I THINK that my water may have broken.” He looked at me blankly – and if he did say anything, I don’t remember what it was. At this point I was beginning to wonder if he was actually mute.

Then I stood up and he removed the vinyl drape. And that’s when I realized that my water hadn’t really broken yet – it was just starting to break. It was only when was vertical and gravity took over that it really BROKE. All over. With sound effects. I was truly in a sitcom from hell. And as an added bonus, that morning I decided not to wear the black pants that I had sported every day for the past two months. No – I was feeling “khaki.” And there was no camoflauging the river of amniotic fluid running down my legs.

Giamcome looked me. I looked at him. And then as if we had the same thought at the same time, we both looked at the chair where I had been sitting. Thank god it was the usual fake leather. I can’t even imagine the humiliation of leaving a soggy chair in my wake. I guess I expected more of a puddle – but maybe my pants absorbed most of it. All that was left was what you might find after a very sweaty person in shorts got up from a vinyl seat. And in silence, stoic Giacome switched on the hair drier and commenced to cleaning up my mess.

The receptionist’s desk was conveniently located directly behind me, so I grabbed her attention and explained that I’d have to settle up rather quickly. And I would have to use her phone because – of course – I left my cell at home that morning. I called Chris – told him to get the bags, make the necessary calls, take Oliver to our plan A person, and if she wasn’t home, to our plan B person. And then I was ready to go.

The receptionist was incredibly sweet and asked if there was anything she could do for me. I couldn’t really think of anything… She wasn’t a doctor, and she had already helped me with the walk in appointment… And a pedicure was definitely out of the question. So I said that I thought not. But then she offered to get my car for me – and that sounded like a great idea since I seemed to be losing gallons of amniotic fluid with every step I took. And I was pretty sure that I’d needed to keep some in there for another hour or two.

After some discussion about where I may or may not have parked (pregnant women NEVER remember where they park), I told her to “walk in that direction and just start clicking.” Eventually she’d hear the “beep-beep” noise.

While I was waiting outside for her, strategically covering my soaked pants with my purse, it occurred to me that I hadn’t called my doctor. Rookie mistake! And I didn’t have my cell… so had to again rely upon the kindness of strangers. The only person in speaking distance was a touristy looking guy who I think I remember as being Japanese (I know that there were characters on his phone screen instead of letters/numbers). Either way – he definitely didn’t speak much English, and I could only hope my appearance made up for any confusion over the translation for “broken water.” Apparently it did since he handed the phone over without any questions.

Just as I signed off with my doctor’s answering service, the receptionist peeled around the corner in my car. I handed the man back his phone and realized that I had never said goodbye to Giacome. Seems like we should have hugged or something. But it was too late, and it didn’t seem appropriate to hug the Japanese tourist. We didn’t have quite as much of a history, and you know – I was really wet.

With effusive thanks to the receptionist and the tourist, I was finally on my way to the hospital. As I drove off into the twilight, I wondered what my story’s cast of characters would make of my cameo appearance in what seemed to be just another ordinary day at the salon. Would they reminisce about me in months to come? Would they wonder what happened to me and wish me well? I didn’t know – but I didn’t have time to think about it. My real journey was only just beginning…

Cool ending huh? Like something from a really bad romance novel. Yeah – I just kinda went with it.

What’s that? Yes – I said “ending.” Have you noticed how LONG this post is? It’s definitely a “to be continued.” I’ll finish up tomorrow. And here are a couple of spoilers: I realize that when you have surgery you have to be naked, and Chris almost faints. In that order. But the two are not related. Till tomorrow then…

I’m that Mom: Part II

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Yesterday I started a list of reasons that I’m not winning any awards for mother of the year. I had to cut it short because I was starting to feel depressed. Or more accurately, because I wanted to stretch this material for a couple of days to free up more time for work, I mean, my kids. Here are ten more things that make me “that mom.”

11. I’m that mom who threatens my three year old with naps even though he hasn’t napped in over six months and I have no intention of following through.

12. I’m that mom who will finally break down and offer my children candy if it will make them submit to my will.

13. I’m that mom who will bring my kids out to run errands before cleaning the magic marker off of their arms and legs.

14. I’m that mom who says I won’t let my kids taste raw cookie dough because “it’s not good for them” – when what I really mean is that I’m afraid that they’ll find out that it is in fact, much better raw. Then I eat some when they’re not looking.

15. I’m that mom who will let my toddlers play with things they shouldn’t (i.e. our cell phones, the dishwasher, the clean laundry, toothpicks) because I’d rather have them be happy and quiet than screaming while I try to assert my authority.

16. I’m that mom who will wait until Monday morning to realize that I have no clean school clothes for my son and then madly search through the dirty clothes for something that can pass for clean.

17. I’m that mom who will trick her son into leaving the (dreaded) pet store by saying, “I bet John and Cheyenne [John’s dog] will be out playing ball when we get home.” I’d rather deal with the consequences of that later in my own house where it doesn’t smell like gerbil poop.

18. As a continuation of #17, I’m that mom who will let her son believe that we are going to the park or the pet store, when we are actually going to Target or daycare. I don’t TELL him that we’re going where he thinks we are – I just don’t tell him that we’re NOT. So it’s not a lie as much as an omission. Right?

19. I’m that mom who answers my daughter’s thousands of calls for “MOMMY!” with “ELEANOR!” instead of just saying, “what is it honey?” And then she answers my “ELEANOR!” with another “MOMMY!” And because I find this incredibly entertaining I just continue the cycle until we end up enacting a personalized game of Marco-Polo. Except we’re not in a pool. And she knows exactly where I am.

20. I’m that mom who believes that ice cream is the solution for everything. For my children – and myself.

I’m That Mom: Part I

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I have a running list in my head of things that fall under the “what not to do” category of motherhood. Not that I’m saying I’m a bad mother. I do many things well. I’ve had uncounted triumphs, moments of genius and mental high fives. But I often fall short as well. At the very least I’ve had to look at myself from time to time and say “not your personal best, Kate.” Here are some examples:

1. I’m that mom who lets my three year old eat Goldfish crackers for breakfast when we’re in a rush – because “it’s just easier that way.”

2. I’m that mom who allows my nudist children run around in underwear all day as long as they stay inside (although I sometimes have to retrieve them from the front lawn).

3. I’m that mom who doesn’t even bother trying to force my kids to eat vegetables at dinner anymore. They eat them for lunch with that magical woman at daycare – so that takes some of the pressure off.

4. I’m that mom who lets my toddlers believe that Tic Tacs are “candy” and that they’re a BIG TREAT. They will find out about Reeces soon enough.

5. I’m that mom who accidentally locked myself and my twins IN my three year old’s bedroom with him on the outside (you can click to read what happened but if not, don’t worry, we all made it out without tragedy).

6. I’m that mom who hoisted my three year old over a chain link fence rather than walk a mile carrying him while his “accident” soaked through my shirt. More on that one another day…

7. I’m that mom who sometimes skips every other page of the longer bedtime stories because I’m tired and hungry for my own dinner which is at that very moment sitting on the kitchen counter getting cold.

8. I’m that mom who may know the children are doing something in the other room that I expressly told them NOT to do, but pretend I don’t see it so I don’t have to deal with it.

9. I’m that mom who will yell at my children and then hug them and tell them how “good” they are. Just to stay consistent…with the inconsistency.

10. I’m that mom who let my three year old grab all of the tampons that fell out of my purse onto the floor of the car – just because it was easier to let him have them than to try to take them away. Then I had to fight him to get them back once we arrived at the grocery store and I discovered that he had systematically opened each of them and ripped them to pieces. THEN I had to explain everything to my husband when he arrived home with wads of cotton clenched in his hands. Yeah…that was me…

I think I’m going to make this a “to be continued” post. I have more to add – but I like to keep my lists down to ten points apiece. (Plus I’m having a busy week at work and don’t have much time to write my usual novels.)

So come back tomorrow for ten more things that make me “that mom.”

The First Mommy

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What pregnant mother doesn’t imagine a day when her baby will look into her eyes and say “mommy?” It’s one of the things that we most anticipate and most take for granted. When we think about our unborn child, we don’t consider any of the potential obstacles and challenges that he or she may face. We just picture that cherubic face, shining with love for us and a sweet little voice saying “mommy.”

My babies of course did not select “mommy” as their first word. I was pre-empted for “ball” and “teeth” and “daddy.” You would think that out of three children, at least ONE of them would humor me with an early “mama.” But apparently, that’s not the way they roll.

As I’ve mentioned before, my oldest son Oliver has had some speech delays. While he did start using words at the usual age, his progress was a bit on the slow side. After having him tested at age two, he qualified for a county funded pre-school (so while you say “oh no – speech delays…” I say “oh yeah – free preschool!”) And his teachers have worked with him on some of his more quirky habits like jargoning (which basically means speaking in gibberish) and making up words.

An example of these quirks was his bizarre tendency to say “yo-yo-yo” before something he wanted, like “yo-yo-yo cookie!” During this phase we called him a little rapper and spent countless hours amusing ourselves with imitations (because that’s the way WE roll). He’d also replace real words like “mom” or “mommy” or even “mama” with made up words like “mo.” So, yes – for about a year, my first born son called me “mo.”

Chris, of course thought this was hilarious and encouraged it: “Oliver – where’s Mo?…Oliver – listen to Mo…Oliver – keep calling your mother ‘Mo’ even though she doesn’t like it – because I’m sadistic and like to torture her when all she ever asked for was to be called ‘mommy’ by shining cherubic faces…” You know – that kind of thing.

While I didn’t exactly encourage “mo,” I lived with it and just hoped that he’d grow out of it someday. At the very least, I would not allow “mo” to become my official name in the family. Dammit – someone was going to call me mommy!

The first day that I brought Oliver to school was pretty hard on both of us. He was so little (only two!) and I had never left him anywhere new before. He’d been going to daycare since he was three months old. It was unthinkable for me to just hand him to strangers and then walk away. But I had to. And then I had to listen to cries of “Mo! Mo!” as I took the longest walk of my life away from him.

The end of those three hours could not arrive fast enough. Even though I was busy at my office less than a mile away, I felt like I hadn’t taken a breath since I had let go of his hand (something I hadn’t experienced since the first day I left him at daycare). When it was finally time to collect him, I raced into the school wildly scanning the crowd for his little blond head and orange jacket.

When I finally did spot him, he sat with the other little kids, looking confused and forlorn. Not crying – but heartbreakingly unsure of what would come next. Then his eyes met mine, and his cherubic little face broke into the brightest, most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. And then he said “Mommy!”

I have no idea what changed. Maybe the teachers referred to me as “mommy.” Maybe the other kids talked about their mommies. But for some reason, I finally stopped being “mo” and started being “mommy.”

Thank god!

As for George and Eleanor? Eleanor is a typical girl in her constant chatter. She started calling me mommy once she really began talking. And apparently, it’s her favorite word. It’s also the soundtrack of my life: “MO-MEE! MO-MEE! MO-MEE!” Be careful what you wish for – right? George is only just starting to call me mommy, but chooses to pronounce it “Ma-MY!” Of course he also calls Chris, “Da-DY!”

We find this insanely adorable. Weird. But adorable. Which I personally find to be an apt description for all of my children.

*This is part of the “Writing Motherhood” writing challenge and giveaway over at Mommyvents. Post a link to your own post in the comments section and you can win a copy of “Writing Motherhood.”

This is What Crazy Looks Like

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Parents
Kate (36*)
Chris (35*)

Children
Oliver (almost 3 1/2)
George (almost 2)
Eleanor (almost 2)

*I included the ages of the children as a frame of reference and then decided to do it for all of us. Just like Us Weekly and People Magazine. They always do that. I don’t know about you – but I find something very reassuring about knowing how old people in magazines are. So what the hell – we’re old.

A Little Background:
It’s Sunday. The day started at 7:30 a.m. (which is a miracle since it usually starts at 6:00 a.m.). Chris left on Saturday for a business trip. I am alone with the kids for the day – and while it’s sunny, it’s also too muddy to play outside.

Oliver: Play Doh please!

Kate: Okay – let’s all play at the table. Sit in chairs. No Play Doh on the floor.

Eleanor: Pway Doh!

George: (Drags a chair over to the TV to play with the buttons.)

Oliver: Snakes!

Kate: Okay – let’s make snakes.

Eleanor: Nakes!

Kate: Oliver – put your Play Doh back on the table. George – that’s too loud. Come back to the table.

Eleanor: Tay-boo!

Kate: (Moves both George and his chair back to the table as he shrieks like he’s being dipped in a vat of boiling oil.)

Oliver: More snakes please!

Kate: Okay – let’s make more snakes.

Eleanor: Nakes!

Kate: George, I said stop it. Come back to the table. That’s too loud. (Moves both George and his chair back to the table.)

George: (Emits a sound that bursts dog eardrums throughout the neighborhood.)

Kate: Okay – who poopied? I smell poopie.

Oliver: Candy please!

Eleanor: Caddy!

Kate: No candy. George did you poopie? Hey – Play Doh stays on the table!

[Omit approximately 30 minutes of more of the same.]

Kate: Okay – that’s it! No more Play Doh. Oliver – do you have to go potty?

Eleanor: Potty!

Oliver: No…

Kate: Let’s go try. George and Eleanor, you come too.

Eleanor: Too!

Kate: George – I said that’s enough. Stop playing with the TV. Let’s all go upstairs.

Eleanor: Dairs!

[Omit the 15 minutes that it actually takes to get everyone upstairs.]

Kate: Okay Oliver – come on, lets go potty.

Eleanor: Potty!

Kate: Pee Pee first.

George and Eleanor: Pee Pee!

Oliver: (Stands at the potty and pees.)

George and Eleanor: (Try to position heads directly under the “flow” in hopes of getting the best view.)

Kate: Hey – that’s too close! Okay Oliver, let’s go potty now.

Eleanor: Potty!

Oliver: (Sits on the potty.) Candy please!

Eleanor: Caddy!

Kate: No candy.

George: (Muffled shrieks of delight from another room.)

Kate: George! Where did you go?

[Everyone moves from bathroom to master bedroom where George is jumping on the bed.]

[Phone rings.]

Kate: (Answers the phone.) Hello? George get off the bed!

Chris (on the phone): Hi! It sounds a little crazy over there.

Kate: Oh – you know, the usual. Eleanor get down!

Eleanor: Down!

Kate: So what are you up to? Oliver? Where did you go?

Chris: I’m looking for Starbucks but it’s not here. They said I should go to…

Kate: OLIVER! Get out of the shower! Put that down! Oh my god – it’s all over the place….NO! Don’t do that – you’re going to slip…

Chris: What happ….

Kate: Oliver just spilled soap all over the shower stall and now it’s all over his legs and all over the floor and…OLIVER! Get off the bed – you’re getting soap everywhere!

Chris: Okay – it sounds like you’re busy, so I’ll let you…

Kate: Okay bye! (hangs up)

Eleanor: Bye!

Kate: Okay Oliver (back to being calm Mom) let’s get that soap off of your legs so it doesn’t get all over the bed. George and Eleanor, get down (takes George off the bed and puts him on the floor).

George: (Screams and flails – then hits a note so high that glassware can be heard shattering throughout the house.)

Kate: Eleanor (puts Eleanor on the floor), you too.

Eleanor: Too!

Kate: I smell poopie. Eleanor – did you poopie? Oliver! What did I say? No jumping on the bed – get down!

Eleanor: Down!

Kate: George! (Lunges for George as he starts to climb back up on the bed, but trips and bangs head on the corner.) Ow! Shit!

Eleanor: Sit!

Kate: (Takes a minute to recover and then looks up to see all three kids now jumping on the bed.) Okay – everyone get down NOW. I said NO JUMPING!

Eleanor: Dupping!

Kate: (Changing tactics.) Hey – who wants to watch Curious George?

[Children continue to jump on the bed.]

Kate: Who wants to watch The Wiggles?

[Children continue to jump on the bed.]

Kate: Who wants milk?

[Children continue to jump on the bed.]

Kate: Who wants cheese?

[Children continue to jump on the bed.]

Kate: Who wants popcorn?

[Children continue to jump on the bed.]

Kate: Okay – who wants candy?!

[Children scream, “candy!” and trample each other in an effort to get to the stairs first.]

[It is now 9:30 a.m.]

Epilogue: I took them to McDonald’s for lunch.

Items of note:

  • My children have to scream everything they say.
  • Almost everything I say to them begins with “Okay.”
  • Eleanor repeats everything I say as if she’s my own personal pirate crew.
  • George is the quietest of the three (when he’s not shrieking like a girl).
  • Oliver was naked for most of this story.
  • Chris only really made a cameo appearance in this story.
  • I let them watch entirely too much television.
  • I spend entirely too much time talking about poop.
  • My children think food is love.
  • There is a reason that I work full time.

Insecurity Blankets

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In a previous post, I mentioned George’s obsession with his blankie. This started a few months ago and has recently peaked in an ongoing power struggle that more often than not concludes with George doing a victory lap around the playroom with said blankie wrapped around his head.
In the beginning, the blankie didn’t leave his crib. It was for sleeping only. The first sign of our current descent into madness was when we would get him out of bed and he refused to put it down. But we were still able to hide it before leaving for daycare or weekend plans, so it was just a matter of transporting it back up to his room. Then he had to start this irritating cognitive development thing where he puts two and two together. That’s when he realized that when the blanket wasn’t in view, it still existed somewhere in the house, and that the sight of one of his parents racing up the stairs with something stuffed under their shirt was a clue as to where it went.
Now he’s onto us. Just try to coax him to hand over his blankie and and he’ll give you a look that clearly says, “you’ll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers.” Trickery is now the only option, and I have a new item on my daily to do list: “steal blankie from George.”
In all honesty, I do understand George’s love for his blankie. I had one myself. Even when I was a teenager, I would put the pathetic little scrap that remained over my pillow at night because I still liked the feel of it against my cheek. Then I left it a my friend, Alyssa’s house right before she left to spend the summer with her father in California. By the time she returned, it was nowhere to be found. I can only assume that its value was not recognized, and someone threw it away. It was a little sad – but I let it go without too much remorse. My blankie had lived a good life – much longer than most.
I think this cuddly object obsession that is so prominent a theme for small children (blankets, stuffed animals, special pillows and the like) is just an early shade of something very basic and human. We live in a chaotic world and we all need something to help us stay anchored. We battle insecurity every day – mainly over where we fit into society. Whether it’s high school, the boardroom or the neighborhood moms group – we often need something tangible to make us feel safe or connected. As teenagers we have strong connections to our friends, at work we get identity from our achievements, and with other moms we define ourselves by our parenting. George just wants his blanket.
Sometimes I think it sounds very appealing to go back to this simple set of priorities. If just holding a blanket made me feel good about myself, I’d drag one around too. But as I’ve grown up, my security blanket has become my family, my marriage and children, my sense of self worth. A piece of fabric is no longer enough. But what I do have is more than enough, and my anchor is just being able to remember that every day.

Parenting Skills at Their Best

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I try to limit the potty training references since I have some readers without kids – and one of the perks to not having children is NOT having to spend your day talking about poop. So I’ll warn you now that it IS going to come up in this one. And it’s not going to be pretty.

On Monday evening, I arrived home alone with the kids. Chris had to drive separately that day, and as usual, he had metro problems delaying him by at least an hour. Now, I am home with alone with the kids quite a bit since Chris has to travel for work. But I’ve been finding it increasingly more complicated since the twins ceased to be blobs (that’s right all you Angelina haters – babies do start out as BLOBS) and have joined their older brother in his daily mission to make me a lunatic.

Actually, it’s been a while since anyone would call George and Eleanor “blobs” – but in the recent past, they were far more sedentary. Approaching their second birthday, they are now a force to be reckoned with, and taking your eyes off of them for more than a minute can result in nothing short of global thermonuclear war. Or at least a toilet paper trail from the bathroom that circles the first floor ten times.

The first half hour was a whirlwind of the usual chaos – a blur of kids playing, crying and climbing on furniture while I tried to make dinner, get the daycare bag emptied and start lunches for the following day. It’s impossible for me to remember the exact sequence of events up until the first minor crisis – but that that pretty much sums it up.

Once everyone was busy eating dinner and watching (surprise, surprise) yet another Wiggles DVD, I ran downstairs to change a load of laundry. Suddenly, I could hear Oliver calling to me, “Mommy! Mommy!” But it didn’t sound like he was upset, so I yelled, “just a minute” a few times until I was done. When I came upstairs, I realized that he was calling me to let me know that he had to go potty. He is really only 75% potty trained and still needs help getting through the process. So all I could do was hustle him into the bathroom as quickly as possible and hope that he could at least “finish” on the potty.

Though I was fairly sure he was done, I settled him on the toilet anyway and then ran to answer the phone. It was Chris. He was calling to let me know that he was still stuck on the metro and would get back to me once he was in his car. At this point, my half naked son walked into the kitchen to announce that he wanted ice cream. I asked if he was finished on the potty and then realized that not only was he finished, but he had the subject matter smeared all over his rear end (must have happened when I was pulling down his pull up). I instructed him to “stay right there” (which he didn’t) while I ran for the wipes. Then the phone started ringing again. I ignored it.

While I was cleaning off my three year old, I heard little voices coming from the bathroom. Great! Now the twins were in there, and most likely throwing things into the toilet. After another directive for Oliver to “stay there” (which he didn’t) I ran to find the twins and was relieved to see that they were only trying to climb onto the sink and not anywhere near the toilet. “Okay – everybody out!”

Once I got Oliver clean and busy with an activity, I saw that it was time for the twins’ bath. They raced up the stairs yelling “water!” and happily scampered into the kids’ bathroom. While simultaneously running the water, getting the twins undressed and blocking them from the tub until they were in fact naked, I saw that I was going to have a big problem on my hands… George must have run into his bedroom at some point, and was now clutching his blankie.

George is obsessed with his blankie, and I spend quite a bit of time tricking him into letting go of it so I can throw it upstairs while he’s distracted. I thought I had accomplished this when we got home, but my efforts were foiled by his wily reconnaissance. Now “Linus” wanted to bring the blankie into the tub with him. He is a toddler, and neither willing nor able to listen to reason. And since his current vocabulary consists of “car, truck, train, bus, more and thank you,” there was no point in trying to engage him in discussion about it. I had to forcibly remove the blanket and put him into the water kicking and screaming.

Eleanor splashed happily while George wailed and tried to climb out. I just washed him off quickly and then set him free to reunite with the blankie. Knowing that he had left the bathroom and could, that very minute be peeing all over the second floor, I rushed through Eleanor’s scrubbing. George and his blankie returned within minutes and I was just in time to stop him from throwing the paperback that he was aiming at the water. This was the final signal for bath time to be over, and against Eleanor’s vehement protestations, I pulled the plug. Within seconds I had two naked toddlers in Oliver’s room (where we have all of the bedtime books). One was crying (Eleanor) and one was trying to sneak out the door (George). I closed the door, placed myself in front of it and started stuffing them into their pajamas.

At this point, Oliver decided to come see what all of the commotion was about and tried to open the door. After a few seconds, I realized that he couldn’t get in, and that’s when it hit me: the door was LOCKED. The previous owners installed the door knob to Oliver’s bedroom so that it locked from the outside. I gratefully took advantage of this when we moved Oliver to his toddler bed, and found it comforting to know that I could lock the door and not worry about him wandering the house while I slept. But it never occurred to me that I could get locked in with him on the OUTSIDE.

Never one to panic, I responded to Oliver’s increasing anxiety with comforting promises that I would “fix it” and a lot of the ever popular, “in just a minute.” All the while, I was running through possible action plans. Climbing out the window was not an option since it would be a three story drop, but I thought a neighbor might be outside. So I opened the window and started calling for help. No dice. Everyone was inside their air conditioned homes.

Meanwhile, Eleanor sensing the terror in Oliver’s cries to get in, started crying even louder – which in return increased Oliver’s anxiety. George was furious that I had closed the window (because, you know – that was so much fun), and started crying as well. Great – now I had thee screaming children.

I considered trying to break the door down, but after one half hearted attempt, accepted the fact that I was not the Incredible Hulk. Then I remembered that there were a few wire hangers in Oliver’s closet. DUH – all I had to do was to use the end of a wire to poke the little hole in the door knob and spring the lock. Chris showed me how to do this in our old apartment when I used to worry about Oliver accidentally locking himself in the bathroom.

Within a minute, I had a red-faced, hysterical Oliver in my lap and equally upset twins climbing all over us. Once I had everyone somewhat calmed down, Oliver started dragging us out of the evil room that had kept us away from him for the TEN MINUTES that this drama probably took to unfold. I knew that only one thing could snap everyone out of their hysteria. So I asked, “hey – who wants ice cream?” And then all was golden.

While the twins should have been settling down to sleep and Oliver should have been preparing for his own bath, we sat around the kids’ table exclaiming over the miracle that is ice cream while traumatic events quickly disappeared from our blessedly fickle short term memories.

Good times.

Hip Young Girls, Other Mothers and of Course, Mormons

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I’ve had a few pleasant surprises over the past couple of days. All related to other blogs that I read and enjoy regularly. I’ll tell you about them in the order that they occurred.

First of all, I must admit that I didn’t completely adhere to the “no internet activity not related to work” restriction that I placed on myself for Wednesday. No – I’m too addicted. I wrote most of my Wednesday post in the morning when George woke up at FIVE A.M. None of my kids have been known for their good sleeping habits – but it’s been a while since I’ve been up quite that early… Anyway, he wanted out of the cage and would not be ignored. So he played with toys and I played on the computer until the rest of them woke up. Then on my lunch break – I finished the post and visited my bookmarked favorites. Normally I’d say that what someone does on her lunch break is nobody’s business but her own – but one of you actually busted me in comments. So I felt a confession was necessary.

The first pleasant surprise that I had as a result of my addiction to the internet was that I was “quoted” on one of my favorite blogs, Daddy Likey. Daddy Likey is written by a woman in Oregon. I have no idea how old she is, but my guess is that she’s a lot younger than me. She is definitely less suburban than me. I was going to say “hipper than me” or “cooler than me,” but that makes me sound like a thirty-something suburban mom – oh wait I AM a thirty-something suburban mom…So she’s definitely hipper AND cooler than me. I was thinking of how to describe her site – but here’s a better idea. Her profile says, “Daddy Likey is a blog about fashion. But sometimes I write haiku about chlamydia.” How can you not want to read that? And if you’re not sold yet, she lists her interests as “giant aviators, as in sunglasses – not large pilots.” Anyway, I just randomly commented on something she wrote and she posted it as “comment of the week.” Huge honor – and kind of makes me feel little more hip and/or cool.

Then I saw that one of my new AllMediocre friends, But Why Mommy gave me this little blogging award:

I’m not entirely sure what “Brillante Weblog – Premio-2008” means, but I’m taking it as a compliment and a warm welcome to the AllMediocre group. But Why Mommy is one of the many blogs created by women who once spent their day dealing with difficult clients at work, and now spend their day dealing with even more difficult clients at home (actually, “boss” may be a more accurate label than “client”). One thing I like about this mom blogger is that she’s creative and keeps an Etsy storefront called Renee Designs. I love that she makes time to keep something for herself (a topic that I’d like to write about on another day) even though her official job is taking care of her family.

The rules of this award are that you are supposed to:

  1. Put the logo on your blog,
  2. Add a link to the person who nominated you,
  3. Nominate 7 more bloggers.

This is a little challenging since I have no idea if anyone I nominate has already gotten one of these…kind of like chain letters you know. Here is my list (in no particular order):

Anastasia from The Gift. I love that she has challenged herself to write every day no matter how uninspired she feels. As a working mother who also puts 100% of herself into the time she spends with her children, she has very little me time. I’m so glad that she chooses to spend that time writing “for me.”

Tricia from Reston Mom. The research and thought that she puts into parenting and then writing about parenting can be a little intimidating sometimes. One would think that she’s perfect (which to me is just another word for boring). But as her neighbor, I know that she’s a lovely person AND not afraid to put her flaws on display. I think she’s now up to her fifth post of Mama Exposed (although I think my favorite was when she posted pictures of the mildew in her shower – now THAT I can relate to).

Linda from Monkey Business. Linda happens to be another neighbor of mine. She is a stay at home mom/writer who probably uses every second of her free time writing for Monkey Business, DC Metro Moms and various other parenting-related websites and magazines. She is also working on a book about raising children close in age (her kids are not quite 16 months apart). As a mother of three kids close in age (all born within 1.5 years), I really want LInda to publish that book soon…

Ainsley from Chattahoochee Mama. I just love Ainsley. She was another neighbor (I know – enough with the neighbors already – I promise, this is the last one), but recently moved to Atlanta. Ainsley is yet another Super Mom and she is my inspiration for healthier living and taking time to enjoy the moment. She posts numerous pictures of everyday life with her kids, all expressing her joy in being a mother – a feeling that we tend to forget when we’re rushing from one responsibility to the next. Thanks for the daily reminder Ainsley.

Kacy from Everyday I Write the Book. HELLO! How could I not include this woman. She makes me laugh every day. And while I have never met her in person, I can just tell that she’s a good friend, a great mom and that crazy lady who always keeps things interesting. Oh – and she’s Mormon. As one of my recent commenters said, “Kacy isn’t a Jack-Mormon? Oh my garsh, who’d a thunk it?” (Having spent most of my life on the East Coast, I’m not familiar with this accent allusion. I think it must be a Utah thing, and I’m fairly certain that it’s very funny.)

Anna from An Inch of Gray. I discovered Anna’s blog a few months ago, and I just love her writing. The post that made me want to read more was a beautiful tribute to her mother. I know for a fact that if Anna lived next door, she would be one of my best friends. She’s funny and thoughtful and not afraid to open her heart to strangers. And isn’t that the foundation of this whole blogging thing?

Betsy, Leslie and Sondra from Little Miss Know-It-Alls. I have been lurking this blog for a while. It’s written by three friends, and their relationship and loyalty appeals to me just as much as their funny stories. Betsy in particular always makes me laugh (example). It’s obvious that they are just blogging for themselves and for their friends and family – but I think even random strangers like me can get a kick out of the Know-It-Alls.

Whew! This is getting to be a really long post! So I will keep it short on this last surprise that made my day. If you’ve been reading my blog this week, you will have noticed that I was busted by the Mormons after writing a post about how funny they are (you know – since it was “news to me”). As I don’t personally know anyone that is Mormon, and I’ve been assuming that the five people who read my blog are friends and family in the same boat, it didn’t occur to me that I might possibly offend anyone. Apparently I wasn’t the stealth lurker that I thought I was and I actually commented on some blogs I like that happen to be written by Mormons. And that’s how they found me…and let me know that my anonymity was an illusion.

Luckily, Kacy and her friends understood that I was fully making fun of myself, and have been incredibly gracious about it. In fact – I think I got more hits from Provo that day than any other city. So they even sent me some readers. Here is the exciting part though, they’ve actually extended an invitation to me to write a guest post for Light Refreshments Served. I’m very honored by this since I admire all of the contributing writers and enjoy their posts daily. Though what to write is a bit of a dilemma since this blog has a real community tone and features some more serious discussion along with the funny writing that initially caught my attention. No one knows me, I can’t tell funny stories about Mormon-related topics and I was informed that I can’t be “racy.” It will hard not to come across as frivolous and somewhat random if I just tell a funny story that has nothing to do with the usual topics. And although I’ve never thought that I relied too much on curse words or alcohol and coffee references in my own story telling, for some reason, I’m feeling a little limited… I’ll have to give it some thought – let me know if you have any suggestions.

Kate and Oliver’s Excellent Adventure: Wrap Up

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10:30 p.m. on Sunday, the flight from Miami to Dulles
The Big Piece of Poop

So how was the rest of the trip? Really great actually. Everything was 100% better with Mom home. We had tons of time in the pool, went to see the Key West fireworks right on the water, and even made a second trip to the Butterfly Museum. That last one wasn’t my choice, but Oliver and I happened to be passing by and he got so excited when he saw the sign that I couldn’t say no. What did we have to do anyway? It’s not like we had previous engagements.

The only problem with these great experiences (butterflies, fireworks) is that Oliver doesn’t understand that we can’t do them whenever the mood strikes us – like we can jump in the pool, watch the Wiggles or rip off our clothes and run around naked (that would be him, not me – must be something about Key West, I had a hell of a time trying to keep clothes on that boy). So the morning after we went to the Butterfly Museum, he marched out of the bedroom and said, “butterflies please!” And of course, if we got into the car to do something really fun like buy groceries or pick my Dad up at the shop, he would be convinced that we were going to see butterflies. Then the same thing happened after we saw the fireworks. He just couldn’t understand why we weren’t racing down to the pier to catch the next showing.

I think that the Fourth of July fireworks may have been the most exciting event that Oliver has ever attended. And even with the crowds and last minute plans, it all went quite smoothly. Although we did have a slight delay in our leave time due to Oliver having a “number two” accident in his pull up. Anyone who has used pull ups with their kids will know that they are not engineered to accommodate much more than a pee pee accident. If the pull up isn’t positioned perfectly on Oliver’s fairly impressive backside, the coverage isn’t quite adequate. Basically, not only did I have to clean up the messy pull up, I had to clean up a little mess on the floor. At least I knew about it and handled it before Oliver could “help.” It never ceases to amaze me how someone who has zero inclination to pick up his toys will suddenly become my best helper when there is poop on the floor. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until someone walks over and hands you a piece of poop.

Sorry about all of the poop talk, but it’s a minor miracle that I’ve managed to write this blog for the past two weeks without mentioning poop. It’s like the real theme of my life right now with two toddlers in diapers and one preschooler potty training. I should have named my blog “The Big Piece of Poop.” Okay – enough about that – even I’m grossed out, and I’ve actually let my kids puke in my hand.

Back to the fireworks – it was spectacular. Matt stayed home with Mom, so it was just Dad, Oliver and me. Oliver had never seen them in person before, so we weren’t sure if the loud noises would scare him. They didn’t, but he did seem to get a kick out of putting his hand on his head and saying “ouch – hurt my head.” Not sure where that came from – but as long as he was happy, I was content to say, “oh no – are you okay?” (which is the expected scripted response). One thing that struck us as rather odd was that he insisted on calling the fireworks “addition.” The minute they started, he was exclaiming, “Oh look – addition!” After a few questions about what he meant, we just went with it and said, “wow – addition! Look at that one!” My mother figured it out the next day – she asked if he could be saying “magician.” I didn’t think so – it would be more likely that he’d just say magic or hocus pocus. But when I asked, “Oliver, can you say magician,” he gave me a huge smile and said, “addition!” My mother is the original Baby Whisperer.

One other interesting incident from the Fourth is that as we were leaving our parking place, we were accused by the driver behind us of hitting his front bumper. My father was driving, so I would be the first one to ask if he did hit the other car, as well as become skeptical if informed that he did not. But I was in the passenger seat and can attest to the fact that I did not feel anything that resembled significant impact. Okay – here is the interesting part. When the angry man came over to our car to complain, my father just looked at him and said, “no, I didn’t hit your car.” When the man animatedly pointed behind him and said that both he and his wife felt it and he could see the mark on his bumper, my father said, “no, I did no such thing.” And then we drove away. Now if it were me driving, I would have been outside comparing bumper scratches and arguing about whether the man’s scratch was silver (like our car) or in fact white. I would be trying to smooth things over, worrying about what those people thought of me and beginning to question whether I may have actually backed into them without noticing it…. But not my Dad. He just says, “no idea what you’re talking about,” and drives away. It was just that easy. This really gives me a new perspective on my overwhelming sense of responsibility in the world. I may just adopt this novel attitude. Tell me that my membership expired last year? I’m sorry but your computer must be mistaken. Claim that I didn’t give you the full payment due? You must be wrong, since that was definitely a $20 that I handed you. Ask me why there is a big piece of poop on the floor? Poop? What poop?

We had a lazy weekend of long walks and swimming. Dad taught Oliver to blow bubbles in the water and do a sort of underwater half swim – redeeming himself for instigating that “push grandpa in the pool” game. And we even all went out to dinner on Saturday night. I’m really going to miss everyone when we get home. We had a terrible reason to have a wonderful time. But as I’ve said before, we’re taking things one day at a time and only considering one outcome in which Mom will be well again. In the meantime, I’ll have to bring the twins down to see her since she won’t be able to come to us in August as we had planned. And I can’t wait to see those little guys! I may have to wake them up when I get home.

9:30 a.m. first morning back at home
We’d Like to Welcome You [Back] to Munchkin Land

I am SO tired. I knew that I’d need to take a personal health day to catch up before heading back to work tomorrow – but I had no idea how much I’d need it. We didn’t get in until midnight, didn’t get all of our bags (need to deal with that today) and didn’t get to bed until almost 2 a.m.

This morning I was welcomed home by George and Eleanor who appear to have aged about five years over the past week. I forgot how chaotic they make things. I let Oliver sleep in so I was alone with the kids after Chris left for work, and the twins didn’t stop moving or talking for a second. And they have both added many new words and phrases to their repetoire while I was gone.

Eleanor has been my naysayer for a long time now. The answer to any question will always be “no.” “Do you want a waffle?” “No.” “Do you want to color?” “No.” ”What are you reading?” “No.” “Why do you have a diaper on your head?” “No.” Chris said that he worked on this with her over the weekend, and every time she said “no,” he would say, “yes.” So after a while, she caught on and started to work “yes” into her answers. Unfortunately, she’s now just combining the two, and instead of saying “no” will say “no-yes.” We’ll have to teach her to be more decisive before she starts dating…

George wanted to wake up his big brother, so I let the twins run into Oliver’s room when it was time for him to get up. They just climbed up on his little bed and made a toddler pile. It’s not easy to wake Oliver up in the morning. His circadian rhythms seem to run along the lines of staying up late and sleeping late (if you consider 7:30 a.m. late) – so I often feel like I’m trying to get a teenager out of bed in the morning. He pulls the covers over he head, rolls over and whispers, “sweeping” (which means “sleeping”). But he couldn’t resist his little brother poking him in the eye. Yes – it was just too much fun. So the three had a big roughhousing reunion with joyous shouts of “Oller!” from the twins and delighted giggles from their big brother. I’m so happy to be home with my little people.

Mini Me

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Now that my toddlers are becoming little people and aren’t little babies anymore, they’re really starting to pick up on our behaviors and mannerisms. Initially, they’ll have inherited traits that will provide the foundation for their personalities – like Oliver, my three year old’s tendency to fight change. But it’s the little day-to-day quirks that most surprise and amuse us.

Just the other day I caught Oliver doing something that I now realize I do all the time. He wanted something out of the refrigerator and when I said no, he pretended that he didn’t hear me and opened the door anyway. Then he very seriously put an index finger to his chin and said, “Hmm. Let’s see….” And then I couldn’t escape it – every time I opened a door or a drawer to select anything, I’d catch myself saying, “Hmm. Let’s see…” He definitely got that one from me. He’s also taken up a quirk of mine that goes back to my college days. In my junior year, I lived across the hall from a group of lacrosse players. They were pretty friendly even though I didn’t know them well. A few weeks after moving in, I noticed that whenever I would see one of them, they’d always say, “Oh, HI Kate.” I’d just return the pleasantry – but after a while, I realized that they were making fun of me. When I finally asked what this “oh hi” business was about, they explained that I never just said “hi” or “hey” – it was always, “Oh, HI.” Since I’ve never much enjoyed being the butt of a joke, I made a concerted effort to stop saying that. Apparently it didn’t work. Whenever someone of note enters a room, Oliver will look up and say, “Oh, HI!”

All of these connections that I find between Oliver and me have been a pleasant surprise since before the twins were born we all thought he was exactly like his father. But that just goes to show how young personalities develop and change over time. I’m sure that in a few years, when he’s more of a little boy playing on sports teams and doing guy stuff, we’ll think he’s more like Chris again. And that can continue to change – it’s impossible to get everything from one parent. This is the reason that it drives me absolutely crazy when people insist that one of my twins is more like me and the other is more like Chris. George and Eleanor are still three months away from their second birthday and they have already changed so many times. I just let people say whatever they want and agree with them. It’s not worth the effort to correct them, but whenever possible I say that my children are going to try out a lot of different roles as they grow up and I’m always going to support them in that. Especially if they resemble me.

And I love now seeing the circularity of this in how I resemble my own parents. I swear that when I hear my never ending voiceover in the hours of video footage we take of our children not doing the adorable thing they were doing five seconds ago, I sound EXACTLY like my mother. In fact, while growing up I always identified more with my mother. I was more artistic and less athletic, I was a little reserved, I tended to think a lot about what I was wearing and I was creative with my accessories (I’ll have to post some embarrassing photos of that sometime). But Dad had to get more than just his genes in there.

Now that I’m older I see SO many behaviors that make me Terry Coveny’s clone. Just like my Dad, I must provide a solution for any given problem I hear. If you told him that you felt like you may have missed out on some opportunities in life, Answers Man will ask you a few questions and then take you through a step-by-step plan for how to think positively, take some risks and get more out of your future than you did in your past. There’s no venting with us – we are a strictly problem-solving operation. I also make it my mission in life to carry every shopping bag into the house in one trip. If I have a pile of ten items to transport from one room to another, I will engineer a construction that I can carry all at one time. I may not be able to see where I’m going, but damn it, I won’t waste precious minutes running back and forth. I need that time to clean up the mess when I inevitably drop everything. And of course, as implied above, I take myself VERY seriously . I will not be mocked (I’m getting a little better about that one – it’s all about growth).


So it will be interesting to see which of my children comes down the stairs wearing a rhinestone pin on a vintage scarf (hopefully it won’t be George – but you know I’ll be supportive if it is) or crashes around a corner with something that resembles the leaning tower of Pizza. Even in their most infuriating teenager phase when Chris and I want to move away and not leave a forwarding address – We will never feel completely honest in any form of criticism. Secretly, we’ll always know that they got it from us.