Marriage= Yoga Pants

Yesterday I was browsing around our MSN homepage and I came across this tarot card compatibility meter thing. I'm not a big believer in horoscopes, and I know next to nothing about tarot cards, but since all you had to do was enter your birthday and that of your significant other, I gave it a whirl. Like I said, not a big believer, and yet, the results were surprisingly accurate. Matt and I both got the "high priestess" card (probably because we were born the same year). I have no idea what the high priestess stands for, but this is what it said:

Two peas in a pod describe this cozy and secure union where you both truly prefer being a twosome to being a solo unit. A natural ease and rapport exists as you virtually read each other's minds. Consideration and compromise come readily in this union where the priority will be on harmony. While peace reigns when two priestesses get together, making a decision or taking action can be an ordeal. The double yin energy creates a tendency for passivity, an all talk no action union. To move forward, it might pay to take turns playing the role of The One in Charge. Your challenge is to take the love you freely share with each other and translate it it into real world progress. After all, if you two had your way, you would spend your entire relationship snuggled under the blankets in a remote cabin getaway."

And though it's certainly a generalization, it's basically true. We do genuinely like being together. We've known each other forever, and we know each other so well that we definitely have a bit of a mind-meld going. We're not great at making decisions- we once drove around for a full hour trying to decide where to go out to dinner. But that mainly happens with the little, unimportant things. On the bigger, more important things, someone always takes on the role of "The One In Charge." (Sure, 99% of the time it's me, but he's okay with that.) And as for the whole remote cabin thing- well of course we would, our kids couldn't find us and bug us if we were hiding out in a remote mountain cabin! Since that's not really feasible, it mostly translates to "If you two had your way, you'd spend your entire relationship sitting on the couch after the kids were in bed watching bad reality television."

And while it's fairly true, no one would call it particularly exciting. But you know what? That's okay. Maybe it's not exciting, but it's comfortable, like a good pair of yoga pants. And let me tell you, there is nothing that I love more than yoga pants. Sure, you probably won't go on any big adventures in them. You won't have a wild night in the club in them. No one will think you're sexier than a supermodel in them. But nothing makes you feel more comfortable, more at home, more secure in your own skin than yoga pants. And while you can try on something else, and go do all those wild exciting things, at the end of the day where do you want to be? That's right. At home, on the couch, in front of bad tv, in your yoga pants.

So I'm beyond grateful for my comfortable, happy, harmonious, yoga pants marriage. Never in my life have I felt more loved, needed, and certain that I'm doing exactly what I was born to do. Truly, what more could you ask for? And if you want to try the tarot card reading yourself, here's the link:

http://glo.msn.com/horoscopes/tarot/love

I hope you have someone that fits you like your favorite pair of yoga pants. Or if that's not your style, the pair of jeans that makes your butt look great and makes you feel like a sexy beast. But stay away from anyone that fits you like sky-high stilettos- sure, it starts off super-hot, but it's going to be nothing but pain at the end!!

Keeping My Ego in Check

I know, I know, I took my blogging sabbatical to ridiculous lengths. Sorry. Summer was long, hot and boring, and I just didn't have the writing vibe, even though two major events occurred. The first was the birth of my fabulously adorable nephew, Sawyer, at the beginning of August. My sister birthed the world's biggest baby (9 lbs. 9 oz.) with only an epidural, making her pretty much Wonder Woman. And at 8 weeks old, he's easily the cutest, sweetest, most wonderful baby ever. And Sawyer wasn't the only new man we welcomed to the family. Matt's mom married the kind and wonderful Dr. Jeff at the beginning of September. He's a great guy, my kids love him, and he's a real live doctor who will come over long after the pediatrician's office has closed and look in my children's cruddy ears. Bonus!!!! So a big, belated blog congratulations to Elizabeth and Michael, and Pat and Jeff. And now the weather is finally starting to cool down, and the kids are back in school, and I actually feel like writing again. Unfortunately for you, I'm going to start out by complaining.

If you've been hanging around here for a while, you know that the twins had a rough start in life that led to developmental delays and therapy of all kinds. As babies they did physical therapy, and I was so proud when they "graduated." They also did some speech therapy, and I was also proud when they no longer qualified for speech therapy through early intervention. It felt like they might be moving past the delays. They weren't.

I knew their speech wasn't progressing like it should be. Mason was astonishingly articulate at their age- anyone could understand what he was saying. The only person that consistently understands the twins' speech is me, and I only get about 85% of what they say. And it hasn't just been speech, it's behavior too. They just don't have the maturity that you'd expect from 3 1/2 year olds. They seem more like "old 2's" than mid threes.

Once school started back, I couldn't really ignore it like I was desperately trying to. We went to orientation, met the kids in their class, saw a few familiar faces from last year's class, everything seemed fine. Until the moms started talking about when their kids turned three. Everyone was at least four months younger than the twins. Some kids weren't even three yet. It was obvious- My kids got held back.

And they should have. Developmentally, they are right where they belong. Unfortunately, that's about six months behind where they chronologically should be. So I agonized and worried about it for a month. You know, "What's wrong with them? What am I doing wrong? What does this mean for their future?" Had a few nightmares about them flunking out of preschool, the usual crazy-mom obsessing kind of stuff. But my fear of hearing the worst kept my head in the sand. I didn't want to hear that they truly were delayed, because in my mind, that means I failed them. Basically, my ego was standing in the way of me doing what was best for my children. So I decided to pull my head out of my ass and try to do something about it.

We had an appointment with the school system speech therapist today. It wasn't great. The kids were fairly uncooperative- Will's on steroids for the 9000th bout of bronchitis, and the 'roid rage is out of control- and they made it as hard as they possibly could for the therapist to evaluate them. The bad news is that their articulation sucks, and their sentence structure isn't really as advanced as it should be. She pointed out what I already knew, they act and talk like old twos instead of mid threes. They've always been about six months behind developmentally, so she said that the good news is that they are progressing, it's a delay, not a disorder, and you can fix a delay. We've still got to go through more formal evaluation stuff before we're approved for therapy, so we're going back next week.

This is good. It's good that they're going to get the help they need to function at their correct age level. And I just keep telling myself that, because at the moment, I feel like a big, fat failure of a mother. And I realize that's kind of dumb. Having children that are developmentally delayed doesn't make me a bad mom. Mason is really advanced for his age, but that's not because I'm the world's most amazing mother. Our kids are who they are. They each have strengths and struggles, and I have to remember that those don't define me as a mother. True, they are my life's work, and certainly a measure of their success rests on me. But I have to remember that sometimes they're going to fail and fail and struggle, and instead of worrying how it reflects on me, I need to focus on helping them get up and get back out there. My job isn't to present the face of the perfect mom to the world, because I'm not one, and trying to pass myself off as one won't fool anybody. I'm disorganized, impatient, kind of overwhelmed, my house is messy, I yell too much and I rack up ridiculous fines at the library because I'm too lazy to return books on time. I am miles and miles away from perfect, and I need to be okay with that. Because in spite of my imperfection, I love my kids more than life itself. I will do anything and go anywhere to give them whatever support they need to have a wonderful life. I will not equate needing help with weakness, because my kids deserve better than that.

So keep your fingers crossed that they'll be approved for speech therapy, and it we be a great thing for them. I'm praying that this is going to be a big year of growth for them. I'm hoping that by this time next year, we'll be amazed at how far they've come, and that I'll be laughing at myself for worrying that getting held back in preschool will lead to ongoing school setbacks to the point that they're the only fourth graders with a mustache!

Garden Envy

I've been gone for a week. Did you miss me? We had a sun and fun-filled week at the beach, and I promise that a photo-heavy post about our adventures will be coming soon. But until then, enjoy my latest tale from the home front.....

I am a terrible gardener. Really, really terrible. Part of it is that I just don't have a feel for plants. I don't really know how to take care of them, I never manage the perfect water ratio, I don't know when to cut them back to maximize their fullness, and I'm too lazy to learn. Really, my lack of horticultural success can be summed up in two words- I'm lazy.

I don't know if you've ever been to Georgia in the summer time, but I don't recommend it. It's roughly as hot as the surface of the sun, with the added bonus of humidity so thick you feel like you're suffocating the moment you step out the door. And our yard seems to be blessed with a particularly voracious breed of mosquito large enough to carry off small household pets. It's unpleasant. And the only truly sunny, plant-appropriate spot is really inconveniently located at a far, underused corner of the yard. It takes actual effort to get out there and water it, so I don't.

Every year I vow to do better. I plant stuff in the spring with visions of glorious herbs dancing in my brain. Then I water it good for a week or so. Then it gets hot and I slack off. Then it gets hotter and I give up all together, leaving the poor, parched plants to the mercy of elements. A few valient specimens manage to straggle weakly along with only the occasional rainstorm providing a much-needed drink. I feel bad about it, but only when I look at them. And since they're in the aforementioned underused corner, the guilt isn't strong enough to ensure their survival. Like I said- lazy. But yesterday, I went to visit my sister and her lush jungle of herbs, tomatoes and okra inspired me. It was awesome. I was jealous. I coveted her basil. So I decided to give the herb garden one more try.

Now, I'm not stupid. I know that if I plant them in the same place, they will die. So I decided to switch things up. I had some planter boxes filled with good dirt left over from last year's lackluster tomatoes. I hadn't bothered to plant anything in them this year, so I decided to put them to work. I transplated the basil, mint, rosemary and chives that were barely clinging to life. I also added some more basil, dill and a jalapeno pepper plant. And here's where I made the change that might, just might, allow them to survive. Rather than leaving them in the sunny Sahara of the yard, I moved the boxes onto the deck.

It's not as sunny, but I had a basil plant up there that a friend had given me, and it was doing beautifully. Well, until Mason sprayed it with a whole can of Deep Woods Off, it was doing beautifully. (He was trying to keep the bugs off.) Had it not been the victim of pesticide-based murder, it was showing great potential. And it was close enough to the air-conditioned house that I actually watered it, and used it in spaghetti sauce. And if I only have to walk onto the deck to water them and use them, and if they're directly in my line of sight so I can't ignore their pitiful wilting, I might take care of them. So I think the relocated herb garden might just stand a chance. We'll see. If not, I'll probably just have to give up my dreams of fresh herbs and accept my black thumb!

Proud to Be an American

I love, love, love the 4th of July. It's fairly laid back as far as holidays go, but it celebrates some of the best things in life- love of country, fireworks, and barbecue. And I can't help but embrace any holiday where a cookout is required fare! Being good, patriotic Americans, we hosted a cookout of our own. It wasn't anything huge or elaborate, just another family and our favorite bagger from Publix (long story), but it was fun.

The steadily dripping rain killed my plans for a cute outdoor setup. So instead of a cute tablescape under the party tent, we had grownups with cocktails in camp chairs staying dry while the kids had the run of the house and yard.

I don't think anyone minded the lack of a festive table too much. We managed to stuff our faces just fine without it! And it did nothing to diminish the awesomeness of the piece' de resistance- the cake...

It looked like a regular, kind of festive cake, but it had a hidden surprise. When we cut into it, we revealed........

An American flag!!!!!

That's right. Every slice was a flag. How freakin' cool is that?????

After cake, it was getting dark enough for sparklers. We decided to throw caution to the wind and give all the kids sparklers- even the twinados. Hell, if giving three-year-olds flaming sticks isn't good parenting, I don't know what is.

They loved them, and Hays only burned one finger a tiny bit, so I consider that a success. And the older kids managed their sparklers with nary an injury.

Well, there was a near-fatality involving Mason and a rubber monkey. But hey, if you give boys fire, somthing's going to get burned.

Once it got dark enough, it was time for Matt's awesome fireworks display. Okay, so it doesn't exactly rival the one at Lenox mall, but the kids sure were excited.

Everytime Matt would light one, Hays would dance the whole time it was sparking and burning, then Will would clap and scream "Yay!!!!!!!!" when it was done. It was hilarious every single time. As we were watching our kids cheer on the fireworks, I looked at my friend, LeAnne, and said, "This is so much fun!!" And it was. Seriously, it was perfect. It was so small-town Americana, and we talked about how wonderful it is to be able to raise our children like this. If days like this don't make you love America, nothing will. Hooray for tiny towns, good friends, happy, healthy children, fireworks, and flag cakes, and the men and women that keep our wonderful country safe!!

Living In Gangsta's Paradise

My house is in shambles. Not just the messy, stuff everywhere kind of shambles. The literal, falling-down-around-your-ears kind. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. It's structurally sound (as far as we know) but it's fairly decrepit, and growing more so by the day.

First of all, it's a fairly old house- built in 1969. (Sorry to those readers who were built in '69 or earlier. I'm not calling you old. 40 isn't old for people, just houses.) And it's not a terrible house. It's small, and it's fairly boring architecturally speaking, but it's okay. It was by far the best of the bunch in our meager price range when we were looking to buy our first house four years ago. And we were proud to get it. We were even more proud after we converted the carport into a snazzy addition, slapped on a new roof, and painted everything that would stand still. Then the bottom dropped out of the housing market and we watched all that lovely equity fly right out the window.

But we're (mostly) okay with that. Except when the tax assessment comes. Then we have to decide if we should cry, tear out our hair, or just get really, really drunk. But otherwise we don't worry too much about it. After all, what are you gonna do?? The big things we can deal with- it's the little things that are getting to me.

I currently have two big holes in my kitchen cabinets. They used to be drawers, but they completely fell apart, leaving gaping holes behind. My in-laws were going to replace them and install new doors on all the cabinets as a Christmas gift. But then the oven died, and since eating trumps kitchen appearance, they replaced the oven for us instead. Maybe next year.......

I also have a hole in the bathroom ceiling. Well, it's not really a hole, more just a completely open view to the non-working bathroom fan (and its 40 years of accumulated dust and grime). It went out on us a few weeks ago. Matt tried to fix it, but it's a bigger job than he can manage, so we have to leave that to an electrician. In the meantime, the clip holding the vent cover broke, so now the cover hangs down forlornly, giving us a bird's eye view to the inner workings of the bathroom ventilation system. It's lovely.

All the other appliances are working at the moment (knock wood.) But working doesn't necessarily mean they're functioning properly. Take my washer for example. There's something wrong with lid. It doesn't catch, so after it's done filling with water, it just sits there until you hit the top of it- then it goes into the wash cycle. Mason loves it. He came running in today when I was putting on laundry asking, "Is it time to hit the washer? I want to hit it!!" My sister says it reminds her of that show "The Middle." And while that show is funny, it's not really what we aspire to be.

And yet there's not much we can do about it. We don't have the money for major improvements, and the kids find a new way to destroy something every day. Just this morning, Will decided to make his time-out in his room productive by peeling a huge chunk of paint off the door. And my dog thoughtfully contributed to the science experiment that is the playroom carpet by puking on it not ten minutes ago.

So it's a constant shambles, and getting worse by the day. It makes me nuts, but I'm trying to focus on the bright side. At least we have a house. It keeps us warm in the winter, cool in the summer, and dry in the rain. It shelters my children, and gives them a huge backyard full of mud puddles to play in. And during those five minutes a month that it's actually clean, it's fairly cute (peeled paint and bio hazard playroom carpet notwithstanding). I guess we've achieved the American dream....

I Haven't Fallen Off the Earth, I'm Just Lazy

Why, oh why, is it so very hard for me to blog during the summer? It's not because there's nothing going on. It's actually been a busy, fairly interesting summer so far. Mason turned seven and the world's most awesome ninja-themed birthday party. We had it in the backyard, and I spent a month making props for games, decorations and party favors. It was seriously awesome- he said it was the best birthday he's ever had. It totally deserves a post of its own, but since it's probably won't get one, you'll have to settle for a couple of pictures.

I made the karate kid headbands for all the kids. Oh yeah, they were cool.

He got a real, honest-to-goodness ninja suit for his birthday.

Happy ninja family!!!

In the week after the birthday party was over, the twins spent as much time as possible outside. They love playing in their pool- especially if they can do it naked. Those boys LOVE to be naked. It frequently looks like we're running some sort of preschool nudist colony over here.

While they were finding as many opportunities to strip down as they possibly could, I was busy getting ready for Matt and I to go out of town. We took a kid-free trip for five whole days, not just out of town- out of the country!! Okay, so it wasn't much out of the country, but we did cross the border into Canada. We needed passports and everything!! Matt was attending a business conference in Toronto, so his awesome boss let me tag along. We spent a couple of days at Niagara Falls....

Then we went to Toronto and spent a couple of fun days there. I got to meet up with a friend who took us around the cool parts of town. And I got to hang out and relax while Matt did the boring conference stuff. It was a great trip. And the grandparents survived five whole days with the boys. They took 24 hour rotating shifts, and I left 13 pages of notes detailing anything they could possibly need to know, so they made it through relatively unscathed.

Since then, we've just been trying to survive the ridiculous heat wave. The kids had a week of Bible School. Well, Mason did. The twins struggled through two days before I finally gave up and decided that they just weren't quite ready this year. Maybe next year....

Mason is at cub scout day camp all this week and he's getting to do all sorts of cool stuff. He's become a big fan of archery. He'll probably want a bow and arrow, but I think we all know that it would have disasterous consequences in this household. He'll probably want a BB gun too, but that's not happening either. Around here "You'll shoot your eye out" isn't just a warning, it's a guarantee.

And now, we're just a few weeks away from beach week!!!!! Woohoo, I can't wait. As long as my sister's baby doesn't decide to make an early appearance, it will be a great trip. But I've already told her to make it very clear to him that he'd better stay put until we get back. If he messes up our vacation, I will dislike him forever, no matter how cute he is. So he'd better just keep that in mind......

Oh Summer, How I Loathe Thee

Well, we're two days in to the first week of summer vacation, and I can definitively say, I freakin' hate summer break. I hate it with a fiery fury. Don't get me wrong- I like it in theory. A couple of months to take it easy, sleep in, no homework, no afterschool activities to rush to. In theory, it sounds lovely. In reality, it is not.
Summer around here means twins that have suddenly decided to wake up a full 45 minutes earlier than they normally do. It is 10 minutes later than I have to get up on school mornings, but 10 minutes doesn't count as sleeping in. So we get a very early start to a very long day. There's 10 times more noise, 15 times more fighting, 65 times more whining, and 147 times more mess. I'm not sure how just one extra child at home all day can create so much more chaos, but boy can he. And it's already 97* outside and it's only going to get hotter. That definitely limits our playing outdoors time, and that is not good. Not good at all.
So I hate summer vacation. I know there are mothers out there that love it. I can only assume that they have older children, better children, or they're taking some really good drugs. But as I dragged three hyper kids through the grocery store, two of them roaring like lions at every person we passed, all I could think was, "How much longer until school starts back???"