A few days ago in the car, The Deuce asked,
We (she and her twin sister, Mad Dog) were born 4 minutes apart, right?
Yep.
Does that mean we're going to die 4 minutes apart too?
I was really surprised by her question.
No. Not at all.
But how can you be sure?
Well, I stammered. Nobody can be absolutely sure when they're going to die, but chances are, you guys WILL NOT die within 4 minutes of each other.
But we were born together, we won't die together?
This was really getting heavy.
Not unless you guys share the same heart. Once someone's heart stops beating, they die. You each have your own heart. They beat independently and won't stop at the same time.
Her questions continued and I tried my best to answer them thoughtfully and on a level her 9 year-old brain could handle. I was thankful when we pulled into the Noodles parking lot for lunch, causing her to quickly change the subject.
I want mac and cheese with chopsticks!
Thank God for short attention spans.
At work the next day, I mentioned this exchange to a co-worker who also has twin girls. I relayed how long and drawn-out the line of questions were and how l struggled to give good answers. He responded,
Thanks for the head's up. Now I'm prepared. If my kids ask me if they're going to die at the same time, I'm just going to say, "yes."
Smart guy.
Me-Time Mornings.
It's 6:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. I've been up for a half hour and have switched out a load of laundry, unloaded and then reloaded the dishwasher and fed and took out the dog -- all before my first cup of coffee.
I feel a sense of accomplishment knowing I've gotten a jump on the day. I feel good being industrious as the rest of my family sleeps. I like the tranquil promise early morning brings. The day ahead is full of endless possibility.
Early mornings are my Me Time. And it's been a while since I had a good Me-Time morning.
Before we moved, I had plenty of them. I used to wake up at 4 a.m. to begin my day uninterrupted and alone with my thoughts. I'd sit at my empty dining table with a pen and paper, sometimes writing posts for this blog, but mostly hammering out to-do lists and meal plans for the week. I used my Me-Time mornings to do chores, catch up on the news and to pay bills. I never minded waking up so early. It was just nice to take care of things alone and without the kids underfoot.
Immediately after the move, I got sick and spent most of my quiet morning hours in the hospital. By habit, I'd wake up early, comb my hair and watch the sunrise. But instead of my typical routine, if I felt well, I'd push my IV cart down the halls and walk the figure-eight layout of the 8th floor over and over. I'd walk and wonder if the laundry room was overflowing. I'd do lap after lap, trying to imagine what was in the pantry and wondering if Mark and the kids were surviving on more than cold cereal and peanut butter. (They were.)
When I came home it took me a while to find my quiet Me-Time morning groove.
Despite the fact we'd owned the house for a full month and a half, I could count the number of hours of time spent alone in my kitchen on just one hand. I was unfamiliar with the layout and would walk around in circles, opening several cabinets before locating a desired item. Even loading the dishwasher was awkward. I'd arrange and rearrange dirty dishes over and over, trying to get every last item in, trying to maximize space.
For a while, I felt more like a house guest than the woman of the house.
But this past week, I've managed to get my groove back. Instead of feeling awkward and out of the loop, that familiar and comforting sense of calm control has returned.
It feels good to be back in the groove. And I appreciate my Me-Time mornings now more than ever.
I feel a sense of accomplishment knowing I've gotten a jump on the day. I feel good being industrious as the rest of my family sleeps. I like the tranquil promise early morning brings. The day ahead is full of endless possibility.
Early mornings are my Me Time. And it's been a while since I had a good Me-Time morning.
Before we moved, I had plenty of them. I used to wake up at 4 a.m. to begin my day uninterrupted and alone with my thoughts. I'd sit at my empty dining table with a pen and paper, sometimes writing posts for this blog, but mostly hammering out to-do lists and meal plans for the week. I used my Me-Time mornings to do chores, catch up on the news and to pay bills. I never minded waking up so early. It was just nice to take care of things alone and without the kids underfoot.
Immediately after the move, I got sick and spent most of my quiet morning hours in the hospital. By habit, I'd wake up early, comb my hair and watch the sunrise. But instead of my typical routine, if I felt well, I'd push my IV cart down the halls and walk the figure-eight layout of the 8th floor over and over. I'd walk and wonder if the laundry room was overflowing. I'd do lap after lap, trying to imagine what was in the pantry and wondering if Mark and the kids were surviving on more than cold cereal and peanut butter. (They were.)
When I came home it took me a while to find my quiet Me-Time morning groove.
Despite the fact we'd owned the house for a full month and a half, I could count the number of hours of time spent alone in my kitchen on just one hand. I was unfamiliar with the layout and would walk around in circles, opening several cabinets before locating a desired item. Even loading the dishwasher was awkward. I'd arrange and rearrange dirty dishes over and over, trying to get every last item in, trying to maximize space.
For a while, I felt more like a house guest than the woman of the house.
But this past week, I've managed to get my groove back. Instead of feeling awkward and out of the loop, that familiar and comforting sense of calm control has returned.
It feels good to be back in the groove. And I appreciate my Me-Time mornings now more than ever.
Who knew?
I never knew my kids were so deep until a recent trip to Target.
Crowbar, meditating on the big red ball.
Mad Dog, channeling her inner shopper.
The Deuce, getting in touch with her bargain hunting side.
Crowbar, meditating on the big red ball.Mad Dog, channeling her inner shopper.The Deuce, getting in touch with her bargain hunting side.These kids never cease to amaze me.
Finally!
Sunday was the first day I felt normal. My energy level was high, my stomach didn't hurt and I even had the motivation to tackle a little light yard work. Sure, I slept like a rock Sunday night, but hey, it's still dramatic progress from even just a week ago.
I've even reclaimed my role as head chef in the kitchen. For over a month, Mark had culinary control, logging more hours in our new kitchen than me. But this week, I made up my meal plan and pitched my flag to regain my turf. Last night I fired up the grill. It felt so good to feed and nourish my family again.
Yes sir, Mom's back in business.
And I'm not the only one who thinks so:
Mad Dog proclaims my recovery to all who pass our front doorstep, via dry erase board.
My doctor cleared me to return to work next week Monday and I couldn't be more thrilled. I never thought I'd miss it so much, but I'm dying to get back. Dying for a project to challenge my brain -- a brain I'm afraid may have turned to Jell-O thanks to all the bad TV I've endured.
When I was feeling so badly, I couldn't focus enough to read books or magazines. Instead, I'd lay in bed and stare at the TV. Wall-to-wall coverage of MJ's death, funeral and aftermath...John & Kate's split and subsequent drama...and even a tribute to Farrah ala 24-hour marathon of Charlie's Angels. (I only made it through two episodes.) From A Baby Story to Bridezillas, daytime's reality shows turn from remotely interesting to nauseating pretty quickly.
And even the news is bad. Who needs to hear the same stories repeated over and over at 4:30-6:30 a.m. then again at noon, then 3 p.m.-5? Hearing the same sound bytes over and over - ACK! I'm glad to have a light at the end of this dreary tunnel. Now that I'm feeling better and moving around, I don't plan to watch much TV from now on.
Routines are good. Working is good. And feeling better in order to accomplish both, is GREAT.
I've even reclaimed my role as head chef in the kitchen. For over a month, Mark had culinary control, logging more hours in our new kitchen than me. But this week, I made up my meal plan and pitched my flag to regain my turf. Last night I fired up the grill. It felt so good to feed and nourish my family again.
Yes sir, Mom's back in business.
And I'm not the only one who thinks so:
Mad Dog proclaims my recovery to all who pass our front doorstep, via dry erase board.My doctor cleared me to return to work next week Monday and I couldn't be more thrilled. I never thought I'd miss it so much, but I'm dying to get back. Dying for a project to challenge my brain -- a brain I'm afraid may have turned to Jell-O thanks to all the bad TV I've endured.
When I was feeling so badly, I couldn't focus enough to read books or magazines. Instead, I'd lay in bed and stare at the TV. Wall-to-wall coverage of MJ's death, funeral and aftermath...John & Kate's split and subsequent drama...and even a tribute to Farrah ala 24-hour marathon of Charlie's Angels. (I only made it through two episodes.) From A Baby Story to Bridezillas, daytime's reality shows turn from remotely interesting to nauseating pretty quickly.
And even the news is bad. Who needs to hear the same stories repeated over and over at 4:30-6:30 a.m. then again at noon, then 3 p.m.-5? Hearing the same sound bytes over and over - ACK! I'm glad to have a light at the end of this dreary tunnel. Now that I'm feeling better and moving around, I don't plan to watch much TV from now on.
Routines are good. Working is good. And feeling better in order to accomplish both, is GREAT.
Home security - Crowbar style.
A few weeks ago, Mark opened the fridge to find this:
A dinosaur infestation - in the fridge!
When interrogated, Crowbar explained that he'd placed the dinosaurs there to protect our food.
Thank God the yogurt's safe.
This is so typical of life with a four year-old boy. You never know what you're going to find next.
Hands off, ladies. He's mine.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Despite being in the hospital for the majority of June, sicker than I've ever been in my life, I am blessed. Blessed with an amazing guy.
Getting sick was completely unexpected. And it came at a time when we were busy with wedding plans, settling into the new house, and transitioning the kids from school to their summertime day camp.
Oh, and laundry had piled up and we were in desperate need for a grocery store run.
As awful as I felt physically, I felt worse knowing that Mark had so much thrust on his shoulders at once. I was confident he'd handle it - he's a clever, resourceful guy - but I was concerned about all the stress he was under. The kids can be a real handful and something like a simple trip to the grocery with the crew in tow can make you want to pull your hair out.
Still, he handled it all with ease. Here's a list of some of what he did while I was down for the count:
Getting sick was completely unexpected. And it came at a time when we were busy with wedding plans, settling into the new house, and transitioning the kids from school to their summertime day camp.
Oh, and laundry had piled up and we were in desperate need for a grocery store run.
As awful as I felt physically, I felt worse knowing that Mark had so much thrust on his shoulders at once. I was confident he'd handle it - he's a clever, resourceful guy - but I was concerned about all the stress he was under. The kids can be a real handful and something like a simple trip to the grocery with the crew in tow can make you want to pull your hair out.
Still, he handled it all with ease. Here's a list of some of what he did while I was down for the count:
- Rebooked all of the wedding vendors (florist, hair salon, tent rental, catering, etc.).
- Set the girls up for their first week of day camp. (Paid fees, packed lunches, bought supplies).
- Took the kids shopping for a Father's Day gift for my ex-husband AND took the kids to his house for an hour-long visit.
- Planned, purchased and prepared meals for nearly a month. (Some family members delivered home-cooked meals to help out, but Mark logged quite a few hours in the kitchen.)
- Single-handedly turned Crowbar's sour-faced morning routine into a daily gigglefest. (The boy wakes up smiling now, instead of fighting me to get out of bed.)
- Bought a fishing pole and set up a tackle box for The Deuce's fishing camp.
- Ran countless loads of laundry and made sure the kids were clean, well-dressed and warm.
- Kept the house tidy and clean.
- Trained the twins to make their lunches for day camp.
- Mowed the lawn.
- Signed several field trip permission slips and handled countless notes from teachers and camp counselors.
- Took the kids to two separate birthday parties - including buying and wrapping the gifts.
- Refereed countless fights, squabbles and arguments.
And, on top of it all, managed to come visit me in the hospital nearly every day. Oh, yeah... all while working full time.
Is there anything this guy can't do?
While I was in the hospital, several nurses asked me who was taking care of my kids for me. When I gushed about Mark and how great a job he was doing, I was told more than once that a lot of patients are filled with anxiety and dread, worrying about their kids. Some have to leave their kids with abusive spouses. Others have their kids bounced around from relative to relative - and aren't sure where they are at any given time.
I had none of that. I cried in my hospital bed, longing to be home again, but those tears weren't out of distrust or worry. They were tears of joy that I can trust Mark to handle everything. And that he could do it all so well.
I don't doubt that the last several weeks have been tough on him. But he's proved that he can not only tread water, but swim. I can tell by the way the kids respond to him now. They're all so much closer than before. They trust him more. Respect him more. Love him more.
So again I say, I am the luckiest girl in the world. I'm blessed with an amazing guy who is amazing with my kids.
Mark, I love you with all of my heart. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I don't know what I did to deserve you.
Back from the dead...I hope.
Let me tell you, pancreatitis is a bitch.
Just after writing that last post, my stomach started hurting again and I found myself back in the hospital for six more days. A CT scan showed my pancreas was swollen and angry and the treatment was to again shut down my whole digestive system.
I got a PICC line (a big-ass IV) so they could administer pain medication and nutrition directly into my major veins. They also gave me medicine to make my pancreas stop producing bile altogether. The plan was to just let everything rest and heal.
While the thought of a third hospital visit in one month's time didn't appeal, I was in so much pain that it was worth it because of the drugs alone. I was able to sleep and sleep and let my body recover.
By day four, the twins' birthday, I began feeling physically better, but emotionally quite depressed. I was still in the hospital and wouldn't be able to see them on their special day. I have a tradition where on my kids' birthdays, I wrap my arms around them and tell them about the day they were born. This year, I had to do it by phone.
After hanging up, I cried my eyes out. I don't think there's anything worse than for a mom to not be able to be a mom.
Not only did I miss hearing their voices and giving and receiving countless hugs and kisses, I ached to make them lunch, give them baths, clean up their messes. Every time I think about it -- even now that I'm home -- I cry.
Thankfully, I was released a few days later and the whole crew came to pick me up. Sitting in the front seat, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of bickering from the back seat -- and it was pure heaven.
I've been home for two days now and feel better than I have in weeks. I'm still very tired and am limited to drinking liquids for a while longer. I am not allowed to drive or lift anything heavier than 5 lbs. -- which means I can't scoop up Crowbar and hold him upside down for a good while longer.
So, I believe that things are finally going to improve around here. I'm going to continue to get better and stronger and slowly begin taking back my mom duties. In fact, I've got a load of laundry going right now. (Never thought I'd be happy to do laundry.)
Finally, I'd like to say thanks to everyone for all of your well-wishes and help during this tough time. I don't think I've ever had so many people praying for me at once. I appreciate everyone's care and concern and want you to know that it's made a big difference in my recovery. Thank you.
~ ~ ~
PS -- I'm planning a post where I'll do nothing but gush on Mark. For over a month, he's run this house like a pro. From laundry and meal prep to tucking in and saying nighttime prayers, he's been simply incredible. I know this experience has brought him and the kids even closer and has made us appreciate each other more than ever.
Just after writing that last post, my stomach started hurting again and I found myself back in the hospital for six more days. A CT scan showed my pancreas was swollen and angry and the treatment was to again shut down my whole digestive system.
I got a PICC line (a big-ass IV) so they could administer pain medication and nutrition directly into my major veins. They also gave me medicine to make my pancreas stop producing bile altogether. The plan was to just let everything rest and heal.
While the thought of a third hospital visit in one month's time didn't appeal, I was in so much pain that it was worth it because of the drugs alone. I was able to sleep and sleep and let my body recover.
By day four, the twins' birthday, I began feeling physically better, but emotionally quite depressed. I was still in the hospital and wouldn't be able to see them on their special day. I have a tradition where on my kids' birthdays, I wrap my arms around them and tell them about the day they were born. This year, I had to do it by phone.
After hanging up, I cried my eyes out. I don't think there's anything worse than for a mom to not be able to be a mom.
Not only did I miss hearing their voices and giving and receiving countless hugs and kisses, I ached to make them lunch, give them baths, clean up their messes. Every time I think about it -- even now that I'm home -- I cry.
Thankfully, I was released a few days later and the whole crew came to pick me up. Sitting in the front seat, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of bickering from the back seat -- and it was pure heaven.
I've been home for two days now and feel better than I have in weeks. I'm still very tired and am limited to drinking liquids for a while longer. I am not allowed to drive or lift anything heavier than 5 lbs. -- which means I can't scoop up Crowbar and hold him upside down for a good while longer.
So, I believe that things are finally going to improve around here. I'm going to continue to get better and stronger and slowly begin taking back my mom duties. In fact, I've got a load of laundry going right now. (Never thought I'd be happy to do laundry.)
Finally, I'd like to say thanks to everyone for all of your well-wishes and help during this tough time. I don't think I've ever had so many people praying for me at once. I appreciate everyone's care and concern and want you to know that it's made a big difference in my recovery. Thank you.
~ ~ ~
PS -- I'm planning a post where I'll do nothing but gush on Mark. For over a month, he's run this house like a pro. From laundry and meal prep to tucking in and saying nighttime prayers, he's been simply incredible. I know this experience has brought him and the kids even closer and has made us appreciate each other more than ever.
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