Sunday Driver

Forgive me readers, it's been FOREVER since my last blog.

So I promised myself I'd wait to write about something cheery and colorful, possibly lighthearted and giddy for my next post, however, after a couple months of not posting a single word, I came to the harsh realization that those words aren't coexistent in my life right now. And with that said, I shall now turn my comical, sarcastic, emotionally challenging, draining and completely frustrating every-day life into a mish mosh of words (which hopefully form complete sentences) for you to enjoy...because one of us has to, damnit!

I kid, I kid.

Well now that I've painted a delightful picture of what I feel my day to day life is like, I would like to erase a percentage of that picture and throw in some rainbows and unicorns because not ALL of my day is one that someone might witness and whisper to their friend "can you imagine having twins???" There are moments of my day, like 4:54 pm today, while racing down State Line from Gigi's house, that I found my eye drawn to a single tree who's tallest branches caught the light of the setting sun and it's bright red and orange leaves were glowing incredibly bright and beautiful. And by 4:55 pm my thinking had become completely irrational. I now hated this tree. I hated this tree as I passed by it simply because it did not have 16-month-old twin boys in the back of its car, one of which is screaming "baba, baba, baba!" which was his way of telling me that he was NOT done with the dog we saw while waiting out a showing on our house at Poppy and Gigi's house and he would appreciate me turning around and going back so he can watch it sit on the driveway again...which continued for a solid 20 minutes and became his first official temper tantrum. Ok, so I'm mad at this tree and I'm trying to be all poetic and deep and find some connection to this tree and why I picked this tree to look at and how this tree's life could possibly parallel mine...and that's when I realized I wasn't really angry at this tree, I was really just angry at ANYONE or ANYTHING that didn't have 16-month-old twin boys, one of which was screaming "baba, baba, baba!" in the back seat, and a house for sale with 35 showings and not a single offer to date and 2 days of headaches because I can't unclench my shoulders from my neck from all the stress of this lifestyle!

Counting to ten, moment of silence please...

So Jason and Noah stay at my parent's house for Sunday night dinner and I schlepp the babes home to feed them a crumb-free dinner (showing in the morning) and some toy-free play time before an early bed time because they're both coming down with something.

And then there are moments of my day like this...6:15 pm and both boys in their diapers waiting for "jama time"...Micah walked into the family room, stopped in front of me and randomly started pretending he was rubbing lotion on his belly and Zach joined in by helping him rub his arms and then they both just started falling on the floor acting like they hurt themselves and like that, I fell in love with them all over again. They work me to the bone and run me so raw my nerves feel exposed but MY GOD my kids are awesome.

"It's Probably Just Teething" means NOTHING

Teething, schmeething. Does it REALLY matter why my 15-month-old boys have diarrhea? And does it REALLY matter whether or not they have a virus, are teething, or ate something bad, especially when it doesn't change the insane amount of awful diapers I am faced with all day? I'll answer that for you..no. No it does NOT matter. What does matter is that this has got to end. There is not enough zinc oxide in the world to schmear on their tushies or non-alcoholic wipes to keep them from screaming...(which at times leads to me screaming). There is not a high enough dose of Prozac or "happy places" for my mind to go right now. And this is the worst part...ok, I half-laugh at this ONLY because it's truly the icing on the cake... the "kick, roll and crawl away" technique that they both have mastered right after I just applied a half cup of thick white diaper rash paste and a pile of cornstarch in their diaper and only had enough time to fasten one side. Mmmmm. Love that.

Wait, I have to go back to the cornstarch comment I made...incase anyone doesn't know...my brother, pediatrician and saving grace to my sanity for one solid year after the twins were born, has always sworn by using cornstarch in the diaper for diaper rashes. Forgot this trick until last night's Google-fest which I titled "parenting tips tricks home remedies severe diaper rash." Apparently lots of people know about cornstarch. And someone even recommended putting it in a pan and frying it for 30 minutes until it turns brown for an even FASTER diaper rash recovery. I drew the line at that one. I will NOT spend 30 minutes cooking cornstarch. I will, however, spend 30 minutes reading the comments made on that post just to make myself feel more justified having NOT wanted to waste my "mom time" last night in the kitchen. So, plain cornstarch was going to have to do. And I'd love to tell you how that's working, but I've only used it once and it's too soon to tell.

Side note...will someone please buy our house? I will throw in a kid at no extra cost and even keep a bedroom furnished for them. Three kids to choose from. Your choice. Ugh...I am SO over this whole buying/selling experience. I'm sitting on the couch and out of the corner of my eye I can already tell I have to mop the floors...again...incase someone comes to show the house. Which you know they won't since I'm going to mop and perfect everything. I LOOOOVE our house looking like a stage-home that only hints at the idea of children ACTUALLY living here, but to GET there is such an ordeal. Truth be told, I kind of like the challenge every morning. Not gonna lie. When I put the twins down for nap #1, I walk downstairs and feel like I have been put to the test. Like my house is saying "Oh yeah? Try to clean up this one, Loren. Dare you." And then I kick it's ass. Every time. No exceptions. In the house vs. Loren scenario, the OCD Mom always wins.

My Bipolar Weekend

After a total bipolar weekend of one day feeling like there is no end in sight, not enough caffeine in the world to keep me energized and truly believing my Prozac had been swapped with a placebo (on top of the weather being cloudy and rainy) and the next day being the most blissful . . . kids happy all morning, minimal whining and injuries, sunny skies, spontaneous house showing . . . I can only conclude the following:

"Never let them see you sweat" is a genius tag line. It's true in all facets of life. Mine, in particular, with my 3 little monsters. I can't act irritated, even if I am. I can't show frustration, even if I want to rip my skin off. And I can't expect to sit, read the paper, drink my coffee, eat my breakfast or go to the bathroom without at least one of them attached to my leg at all times. And that's on a good day. Attached to the leg I can handle. It's the whining, constant need for something and insisting on climbing on my lap and being held while I'm in the bathroom (and while we're there, I would just like to add that if the twins aren't fighting on who gets to sit on my lap, they are either arguing over the door being open or closed which usually ends up in finger injuries or I am dealing with my 5-year-old thinking it's beyond awesome to shut the door, turn off the lights and turn the fan on. All of which occurs in the 12 seconds I get "to myself" while I take a quick pee pee break).

So back to not letting my guard down . . . I think the biggest difference in this weekend's moods is, well, me. It's always me. If I'm nasty, they're nasty. And that could NOT happen today. No way. Not after yesterday. When Noah opened my eyes at 7:15 this morning, I had a new plan. It consisted of exhausting my brain by 10 am (twin's nap time) with constant ideas for the kids to entertain themselves. It's a game I like to call "playing defense". New breakfast food, dining room table made into a fort housing all of our "babies" and stuffed animals, balls of all sizes and textures bouncing around and voila! New kids. Which, in turn, led to a new me. Thank god. I am now ready for Monday. Bring it.

SOS

So we bought a house. A gorgeous, big, tuscan-style home that sits one block away from our current house just waiting for us to move in...some day. Which leads me to part II, our current home...the one we still own. Yep, two homes. Good times. With our house for sale, my schedule since August has been as follows...

Put the twins down for their first nap and madly scurry about cleaning up the mess from the morning disaster. Wash dishes, clean the floor from microscopic Cheerio crumbs and tiny dribbles of milk throughout various parts of the lower level. Make the beds, prep each room, start some laundry, wash my face, get dressed, check email, check Facebook, prepare a snack for the twins when they wake up and that usually sums up my "free time" while they sleep. All of this with the hopes that we may or may not have a showing that day. And you know it's true, the ONE day I decide to not make the beds or clean up the kitchen before they wake up, we'll get a showing with a 30 minute notice. Thus, I take no chances.

Since September, with Noah in school, it has made it a bit easier to get the house ready for a showing, but seriously, my entire day is spent wondering if we'll have a showing, when that showing might be and strategizing new and innovative home organization to hide all our shit so the families that come through the house think it's actually going to stay this way once they move in. Truth be told, it's highly unrealistic, although I secretly love how it's all working out for my OCD, for a family with three kids to live like this.

Twins just woke up...

The Million Dollar Question

At least once a day, whether I'm at Target (which I probably am), at the gym or running errands with all three boys, I am constantly stopped and asked what I like to call, the question of the year, which is "HOW DO YOU DO IT?" And no matter how many times I respond to this question, I receive great satisfaction watching the facial expression of the person who sometimes wishes they wouldn't have even asked...as I smile with pride and say "Prozac and caffeine."

Not Our Best Week

I swear a tiny and obnoxious black cloud followed Micah this week. Poor little Moo. He has endured more accidents the past three days than the entire year of his life combined. To recap a few of his injuries (names will remain anonymous to protect the innocent)...While all 26 pounds of him were being tossed into the air, a slight and very important miscalculation was made as to WHERE he was being tossed and the top of his head ended up RIGHT into the doorjam...lovely. The following day he crashed heads with his cousin leaving a bruised temple and later that SAME day Zachy and Noah (accidentally) smashed his middle finger in the closet door...and actually made it click shut. Eeek! Now his finger is purple. Um, yeah. The next day we had Linda, our babysitter. I suggested a very calm day for the boys, however, I received word that Zachy had now BIT Micah's arm, which was not only a first for him, it was just over-the-top. So here we have a bump on the head, a bruise on the temple, a purple finger and a ridiculous circular bruise on his forearm with well-defined teeth marks. OMG, he looks sooo good. So that brings us up to this morning, where a mysterious 90 degree bruise mark made an appearance on his cheek. Now he either crawled at a super fast pace into the corner of the stairs or did a handstand on the corner of his crib, looked down and fell on his face. You think that sounds impossible? I should have posted the bruise mark. What is going on with him?!?! Thank god his eczema cleared up a few days ago. Good god.

PARTY OF FIVE

Well, here we are. Party of five and still alive! We made it through the first year with twins. It's still debatable whether the twins are more deserving of a celebration or Jason and I are for surviving this year.

I spent the day yesterday reflecting on what happened exactly one year ago today. I was in the basement, which was a huge deal right there. To get my pregnant body down and then up the stairs was a nightmare. I would lean on Jason on the way down and then have him push me up as I panted, moaned and complained the entire flight. Nothing makes me happier today than to remind myself that those days are over. And although physical exhaustion may come and go in my life, there is NOTHING more physically demanding than being 36 weeks pregnant with twins. Nothing.

So I'm in the basement with Jason, Noah (who was 3.5 then) and this guy putting laminate on the bar top and I decided that my cramps were annoying and I wanted to call and complain to someone about it. I chose the nurse at my OB's office. Totally not prepared for what happened next...she sends me to the hospital. I knew I wasn't in labor. Jason knew I wasn't in labor. Everyone knew I wasn't in labor. But somehow, dare I call it a miracle, my OB comes in about an hour into my monitoring, claps his hands and says, "hey, lets have some babies!" Jason and I looked at each other and then at him and then at each other again. I remember asking him, kind of under my breath "am I in labor?" and his reply, which was a miracle in itself was, "there's a labor pattern and that's good enough for me so lets get those babies out." Um, ok. One minute we're complaining about getting out of there to have dinner and get Noah to bed on time and the next we're figuring out how to get him home to get my bags (which we didn't even bother bringing), the cameras and to call our families so we could get ready for my c-section which he said would be in an hour!!! A few words going through my head: thrilling, horrifying, excited, scared, shocked and oh...my...god!!! Parents came up, Noah came up, Jason makes it back with plenty of time to calm me down...and the next thing we knew we were welcoming Micah Jordan and Zachary Lewis into the world and into our lives.

And here we are, one year later.