Happy New Year!!!!!

I hate New Years. Especially this New Year. I hate New Years because it's all about organization and self-improvement. Isn't it? Everywhere you look, every magazine cover "Lose 20 lbs. by Valentine's Day!!" "This Is the Year to De-Clutter!!"

Normally I manage to resist the pressure- I proudly stay fat and slovenly. But this year I feel the need for some self-improvement and de-cluttering.....But lest you think I bought in to all the New Year's propaganda, these are not, in any way, New Year's Resolutions. I've been feeling the need to shape up and clear out for a while. And, dear god, did I start a big ol' ball rollin' with that one.

I decided a while back that I wanted an elliptical. I just wanted a little small, cheap, unobtrusive one. But Matt was appalled. This was one venture that he was not going to let me cheap out on. (An aside here- I still think we could have gotten a perfectly good one for half the price on Craigslist, but was outvoted by the masses due to lack of warranty. Psssssh, warranty, schmarranty...) So he spent a month or so diligently researching ellipticals, and when winner went on sale for New Years, we used our Christmas money (thanks lovely family!!) to buy it. We were most grateful to The Old Man for being our delivery man, and now I have a HUGE behemoth of an exercise machine in my playroom, and it hurts. Seriously, today was day one, and it kicked my ass!!!!

The upside is that it forced a major playroom overhaul. I am talking de-cluttering on an epic, furniture-moving, multiple trashbag/donation box-filling, get this crap outta' here, scale. A new toy storage unit made (most) of the baskets that held toys unnecessary. Old toys were tossed or donated, same for books, home decor stuff, everything under the sun. I took a big load to Goodwill today and I have another one to take. And while my house is still torn apart, and filled with boxes from Christmas, it is slightly more organized.

And here's the really funny part- I'll be having family and friends over for lunch tomorrow. Yup. I'm nuts. But my attitude is, I'll have it (the parts you can see!) fairly clean, and everyone that's coming over has already pretty much seen us at our worst, so they'll probably forgive a little disaster. Hell, they knew disaster was inevitable if they were coming over here! And I do this every year. It's the one holiday that I host despite my tiny house and chaos, and I love doing it. I love cooking all the old soul food, and my grandmother's banana pudding, and having almost all the people I love gathered in our home. So mess be damned, the collards are done, and the black-eyed peas are on!

I wish all of you out there in my little cyber-community, those of you who are kind enough to care about my life, or even if you just find it funny enough to read, a happy and blessed 2011. (Although you may just not be able to look away from the hot mess that is our household. That's okay) But all of you, whomever you are, wherever you are, may this be your best year yet, I hope this is the year your dreams come true, I hope it's your happiest year so far!

What a Holly, Jolly Christmas!!!

I think Santa's getting ready......

One of my fancy snowflake ornaments that I made this year.

Boy toys galore!!

The twins' haul- not bad, not bad at all.

All is calm, all is bright

Just what I wanted!!!!

Will's feeding his new baby a bottle after a ride in the doll stroller!

Merry Christmas, everybody!!!! I'm sitting here watching it SNOW- in Georgia, ON CHRISTMAS!!!!! That is totally unheard of- hasn't happened in a hundred years. And yet, big fat snowflakes are falling outside the window, capping off what may have been a perfect Christmas. The boys got a pile of cool stuff from Santa and great stuff from the assorted grandparents/aunts/uncles, so they were happy as pigs in mud all day.
Matt got some cool stuff. He'd already gotten his big surprise from me a couple of weeks ago when I took him to see Cirque Du Soliel, so he got smaller stuff today, but it was pretty great stuff. I, on the other hand, got FAAAABULOUS stuff. Seriously, I was the Christmas queen this year. Tickets to go see West Side Story, my favorite musical of all time, from my FIL, a huge, expensive, gorgeous, fancy-girl pocketbook from my MIL, a sparkly ring from Matt, and my parents I got this awesome painting of a cow that I've been coveting. It's like, the sweetest cow face you've ever seen. So me, the cheapest girl in the world, got theatre tickets, art, jewelry, and a designer purse! Damn, I feel fancy, kind of like Cinderella- thanks Fairy God-parents!!!! (Hopefully it won't all turn into pumpkins at midnight!)

And as if the fanciness wasn't enough, my sister gave me and my mom and my youngest sister possibly the Best. Gift. Ever.- a girl's weekend at a cabin in the mountains! She's already booked it!! How cool is that? A whole weekend's break from the nuthouse, hanging out with my very best girls? My sister rocks.

And now it's snowing. Seriously- could it get any better? I hope all of you had an amazing Christmas. I hope you felt as lucky and blessed as we did. And I hope that your kids got quieter toys than ours did. My mother bought them little plastic recorders- they're louder than a whistle. Thanks, mom......



PS. Hays celebrated Christmas with us, even though he's woefully underrepresented in the picture department. Not only did he get lots of toys, he got a fever as well : ( So he was slightly pitiful all day- but overall, it was a pretty darn good sick day!

Better late than never! Merry Christmas everybody!

It's the Most Exhausting Time of the Year

Ah, Christmas, a time filled with joy. It's wonderful and nostalgic for adults, magical for children, and exhausting for mommies! I didn't realize until I had a family of my own how much goes into making Christmas happen. When you're a child you just take it for granted that sparkly ornaments and lights wink from every corner, piles of presents pop up overnight, and elves magically appear in funny spots all over the house. But have a kid and all of a sudden you realize that you have become the magical elf that makes everything merry and bright!

The other night as I was wrapping presents, I asked Matt, "When Christmas comes around and you don't have to do anything but show up, does it make you glad you're married?" He was like, "Uh, yeah, sure, I guess." He'd probably never given it much thought, but he should! I'd love to hire a wife for the Christmas season. Imagine it, having someone to do all the shopping, decorating, wrapping, cooking. Someone to buy the perfect teacher gift, address a million Christmas cards, bake for the coworkers, bus drivers, neighbors, etc. Heck, I'd be happy if I could just have someone that would remember to move the elf on the shelf to a clever new hiding spot each night!

But since no one has come up with a rent-a-wife operation (well, they probably have, but I couldn't afford to hire one anyway), it's all on me. And though I complain about it sometimes, I wouldn't have it any other way. Because even though it's exhausting, it's so worth it. Seeing my kids' faces on Christmas morning makes it all worthwhile- even though all the credit for that goes to a jolly fat guy. I'll stand back and smile knowing that I am Mommy, and I make magic happen. Then I'll go take a nap.

After Midnight....

It's midnight on Sunday night and I should be snuggled up in my cozy bed sleeping soundly. Why am I in the drafty playroom blogging instead? Because Hays and Matt are out on a little ER adventure, and I'm anxiously awaiting their return, that's why.

Hays was fine this morning- eating, playing, driving me crazy- the usual. This afternoon I went to run some errands with my mom and got a call from Matt saying that Hays had thrown up twice. We figured he had a little virus, but later in the afternoon, he seemed fine. He didn't throw up any more and ate a huge dinner. We thought it was weird and kept musing aloud, "I wonder what made him throw up?" But he went to sleep with no problems, so we kind of shrugged it off.

Fast forward to 11:30 pm. Matt and I were picking up the playroom, getting ready to go to bed. Matt found a battery operated candle lying on the floor- minus the battery. A quick search around the floor turned up the casing to the battery, but no battery. We searched every nook and cranny, but couldn't find it anywhere. With a growing sense of dread, I called the poison control center to let them know that our two year old possibly swallowed a button battery, and to see what steps we should take. They recommended an immediate x-ray. Apparently, that particular type of battery can separate easily- particularly if it's sitting in a child's stomach, and the leaking battery acid can burn a hole in the child's stomach.

We really hated the idea of waking up our soundly sleeping baby and taking him out in the frigid cold, but we hated the idea of battery acid burning holes in his internal organs more. So I woke the little guy up as gently as possible. Gave him some milk, bundled him into his coat, and sent him and his daddy off into the dark, cold night with Stinky monkey, cozy blankie, and his chocolate milk. So now I'm just waiting (and blogging) to hear the results of the x-ray. Chances are, the battery is somewhere in a hidden corner of the house, and this was a pointless middle-of-the-night excursion, but what can you do?

**UPDATE**
According to the x-ray, Hays did not, in fact, swallow a battery. So we totally woke our kid up and drug him out in the middle of the freezing cold night for nothing. Yay. But such is life. We couldn't take the chance. But the question remains, where the hell is that battery?????

**UPDATE- Part Deux**
So after my last update, they tested Hays for strep, RSV and the flu. Turns out, he has strep. Poor baby. The silver lining on that little cloud is that we caught it early, so he didn't have to sicker and sicker for the next day or two. He's on antibiotics now, so he should be right as rain in a day or two. Of course, he'll miss the last day of preschool tomorrow (picture me sobbing uncontrollably), but he'll feel better. Now we're just crossing our fingers and toes that no one else gets strep, because that's some nasty funk.

Adios, Paci

Let me start by saying that I am aware that almost three years old is too old to still have a pacifier. I know it, and if you'd told me that I would allow a child of mine to still have a paci at almost three years old, I would have called you a dirty, rotten liar. But that was before I had twins. I confess, we did not break Will of the paci habit by two as I swore I would. So what, sue me. Part of it was laziness- it was so much easier to put him to bed when he had a paci, it soothed him when he was sick, and quite frankly, there were days when shoving that paci in his whining mouth was the only thing that kept him alive at 5:00.

Plus, I had a bit of an emotional attachment to Will's pacifier. I know that sounds odd, but back in the dark days of his early infancy, there wasn't a lot that could bring comfort to Will, but that baby loved his pacifier. It was the one thing that never failed to soothe him. And then we discovered Wubanubs, the pacifier with a Beanie Baby-like stuffed animal attached to the end of it. We bought a red dog we named Clifford for Will, and it became his constant companion. I couldn't be at the hospital with Will all the time, but Clifford could. And while I'm not suggesting that a stuffed animal pacifier is a suitable stand-in for a mother, it did give me some measure of comfort to know that he had his Clifford. He always had something that made him feel safe, secure and soothed. I loved Clifford about as much as Will did, and when the paci part fell off, I kept Clifford for sentimental reasons. (Though once he didn't have the paci part, Will had little interest in it.)

And while my other kids had lovies, Will only had his pacifier. Mason was a paci baby, but he also had his beloved stuffed dog, Buddy. So when it was time to take his paci, I didn't feel too bad because he still had Buddy to sleep with. And Hays was never really into his pacifier, but I can't imagine putting him to bed without Stinky Monkey. But Will never really developed a strong attachment to a particular animal or blanket, so all he had at bedtime was his paci. It seemed sort of cruel to take it away. But cruel or not, damned if I was going to be one of those moms that lets her five year old walk around with a paci. (And if you are one of those moms, I'm sorry. I hate to judge you, but honey, it's time to lose the binky)

So Matt and I made a plan. We were down to one pacifier, and we were already limiting it to naps and bedtime (or major illness). We agreed that when that paci got torn up or lost, we were done. We were not buying any more under any circumstances. About two weeks ago, we noticed that he'd bitten a small hole in it. It was in no danger of coming apart and choking him to death at that point, so we let him keep it. But we knew the end was near. The end arrived yesterday.

He got up from what was supposed to be naptime, but which was actually jump on the bed and play time, with a paci mangled beyond redemption. I told him, "Uh oh, Paci is broken. We have to throw it away." He gave it a kiss and hug, told it bye-bye and threw it away. He didn't seem at all distressed, but I wondered what bedtime would bring. I was able to conveniently push that off on Matt because I had to take Mason to a thing at his school. I expected to hear tales of woe, great wailing and gnashing of teeth. But actually, Will did okay. There was a little bit of crying, but not much, and he fell asleep fairly quickly. He did wake up early this morning and cry a little bit, but he went back to sleep. And while I figured naptime today would be a bust, he only asked for his pacifier once, and fell asleep within 15 minutes.

So we are officially a pacifier-free zone. I'm proud of him. A little wistful to see one more vestige of baby-hood cast off, but proud nonetheless. And very, very grateful that it has gone much more smoothly than I anticipated. My baby's growing up.....

Dog Days

Tess in her heyday as our beloved dog child (excuse the freaky, glowing eyes)

Tess in her current pitiful, second class citizen state. Note the huge, mangled hot spot on her flank.

Tess. Sigh........ Tess is our dog. Matt and I got her almost a decade ago, not long after we made the move to Athens. We were young, in love, and living in sin- obviously it was time to adopt a dog child. There was no question about it, we were going for a shelter dog, preferably a large breed since I hate little yappy dogs. Much to our delight, we found an 8 month old lab mix that a shelter was giving away free because the dog had asthma. Never one to shy away from a good deal (free asthmatic dog? Awesome!) we adopted her despite the fact that she was wheezing, painfully skittish, flea-ridden and had the worst teeth imaginable. She didn't seem like such a bargain when we got her home and took her to the vet- his exact words "Take her back where you got her. This dog's about to die." She'd apparently had pneumonia over and over, and her lungs were ravaged. But despite the vet's dire predictions, she rallied after a course of steroids and antibiotics, and became one of the most loving, loyal dogs we could have ever asked for.

And we adored her. She had baskets of toys, we never went anywhere without her, hell, she even had a Snow White Halloween costume. She was our beloved dog child. Then, we had our first human child. Things kind of went downhill for Tess after that. I mean, we still loved her, but in our sleep-deprived haze, we often forgot to feed her, make sure she had clean water, and forget walks or trips to the dog park. As Mason got older and slept more, things improved for Tess. She never returned to her glory days as top dog, but at least she wasn't starving and thirsty.

Cue the twins arrival. Oh lord, if she thought things were bad when Mason came along, it's a wonder she didn't give up when the twins got here. If I had been her, I would have packed my chew toys in a hobo bindle and set out for greener pastures. (Who are we kidding, by that point, she didn't have chew toys anymore!) Now, not only was regular feeding out the window, our house was so full of people and stuff that she was frequently yelled at for being underfoot. Poor dog. Things have improved slightly. I remember to feed her most days, and she's learned to stay out of the way. But now she has to suffer the indignities the twins heap on her, including, (but not limited to) using her as a step stool, attempting to ride her, and poking her in the eye while saying "dog's eye?"

I think that the stress is getting to her. Over the past year or so, she's started to develop terrible hot spots and she's chewing herself bald and bloody. Today she had the mother of all hot spots, seriously, her flank looked like it had been mauled by a bear. I finally gave up and took her to the vet. He claimed it was a flea allergy, but I'm not convinced. Either way, I shelled out $150 to get her partially shaved, the hotspots treated, antibiotics and steroids and different flea medication. I hope it works, but really I think she just needs a vacation. A quiet place where no one will step on her or smear her with jelly. A house free of shrieking and screaming and fighting. So when I give up and run away to Tahiti, I'm taking Tess with me.

Just Another Manic Monday

This is the text I sent to Matt yesterday around 5:30:

I am in hell. No nap, Hays peed on the tree, Will painted himself with poop, and they've been whining and fighting all afternoon. Come home!!!!

The day got off to a promising start. Hays told me he needed to "teetee potty" and, sure enough, he did. As a reward for being such a big boy, I let him wear big boy underwear instead of a diaper. I was monitoring him closely and taking him to the bathroom every 30 minutes to avoid any accidents. Just as I was marveling at how well he was doing, and patting myself on the back for having such success with potty training, I hear "uh-oh." I look over to find Hays standing next to the Christmas tree, watering it in a most unconventional fashion. Well, to be fair, he was really watering the floor, the giant tree cage, and the tree skirt, though I think he managed to sprinkle a branch or two. So much for the potty training success.

As you can imagine, I was relieved to put them down for a nap an hour or so later. I breathed a sigh of relief as I closed their door and reveled in the anticipation of an hour or two of peace. Yeah right. Apparently they had already reached a decision that they were not napping, and no amount of stern admonishments or spankings would convince them to do otherwise. So I decided that I'd show those two punks who was boss. I might not be able to force them to sleep, but I can by god keep 'em in their room. Well, Will decided he'd show me what he thought of that plan by using poop as a means for creative expression. It was no where near as bad as the epic poop incident that happened several months ago. (If you feel the need to revisit that particular adventure, here's the link http://theamazingtwinadventure.blogspot.com/2010/02/theres-story-thats-been-told-for-years.html) but it wasn't good either. He was completely covered, so it was obviously bath time for the poop monster.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of screaming, fighting, running, biting and a massive mountain of laundry to fold and put away. At one point my mom stopped by to give the kids a book she'd bought for them, and all I could do was sit and fold clothes while she dealt with the hellions for a bit. She told my sister I looked like I was catatonic. I wasn't really, I was just trying to have an out of body experience in the hopes that I could block out all the crazy surrounding me, and let my mind sunbathe on a beautiful beach somewhere. Unfortunately, it didn't work. And my mom could only take 30 minutes or so of being in the frenzied monkey cage that I call home, so she abandoned me. That's when the SOS text was sent to Matt.

He eventually came home (after forwarding my desperate pleas to his boss so they could laugh at my pain. Jerks.) I drank a glass (or two) of wine, got the kids to bed, and fell on the couch in an exhausted stupor. One more day down. Only 16 years to go......

Have a Holly, Jolly Thanksmas

Mason in front of this year's winner.

Will examined the branches to make sure the tree was fresh....

While Hays decided to hide in the tree.

Will had no problem sitting on Santa's lap. Hays, however, was a different story...

Mason liked Santa. But poor Santa looks quite weary. Was it Mason's list? The post-traumatic stress of the twins? We'll never know, but I think Santa could use a drink.

Hays loves animals- especially donkeys

Hays was laughing with delight at the donkeys

I know this is blurry, but it was too funny not to post. Will was looking at the chickens, and every time they would shake their feathers, he would laugh and slap his knees like it was the most hysterical thing he'd ever seen!

Hays likes chickens! (But not as much as Will!)

Will decided to help Daddy with the lights

The tree in all of its finery!

We're still decking the halls, but I can definitively say that Thanksmas was a success. The weather didn't really cooperate with us, but we refused to let rain, wind, falling temperatures, and a whole lot of mud get in the way of our Christmas tree mission. We didn't make it to the tree farm until mid-afternoon, so we spent the morning assembling the giant tree cage, pulling out boxes of decorations, and doing the fancy garland around the front door.

Once we got the tree (we picked the first one we saw!), the kids saw Santa- some enjoyed that more than others- and they checked out all the animals at the petting zoo. Hays was particularly taken with the donkeys, while Will thought the chickens were the funniest darn things he'd ever seen. We got the tree home, unloaded, and upright in the giant tree cage with remarkable ease. We were actually surprised at how well everything was going- until we remembered that we had no lights to hang on the tree, because we threw out all of our old, half-burned out strands last year. Sigh. I knew it was too good to be true. So Matt had to make a light quest to Walmart while I whipped up a pot of butternut squash soup for my decorating crew that would be arriving shortly.

We had a lovely dinner with my parents and Matt's mom, then after we got the twins safely tucked away in bed, we decorated the tree. Decorated may, actually, be an understatement. This thing is dripping with ornaments- almost to the point that you can't tell there's a tree under it. But it's sparkly and pretty! Now I just have to finish all the other stuff and we'll be ready for the holidays!

Happy Thanksgiving and Stuff!

Over a week since I posted- yikes! (but lord knows, I've done worse). Everyone has stayed fairly healthy, so that's the good news. We got hit by a small stomach bug, but it was a 24 hour thing and seemed to get less severe with each victim. By the time I got it, it was just a general feeling of queasiness. Will has been 100% healthy all week long, and he's back to his usual shenanigans. While I'm grateful for good health, I wasn't so glad to see the return of his hijinks. I'd almost gotten used to him being calmer and more compliant over his month of illness, so I was kind of unprepared for him to come raring back, into everything he can get his hands on.

The craziness was magnified by the fact that Mason had the whole week off of school. I tell you what, three boys are LOUD. And my three boys are incredibly loud. There were days where I thought about hiding out in the bathroom with the door locked and a bottle of wine!! But I had to resist that temptation, because there were errands to run in preparation for Thanksgiving. I had the usual grocery store, Target, Walmart things to do, but I also had to take all three boys to get a haircut by myself. (We did not go to the beauty school- I've learned my lesson) Our regular hairdresser was closed the day before Thanksgiving so I took them to some chain store. Whereupon I waited 20 minutes, threatening their lives the entire time to keep them in chairs and out of the displays of hair products. Then I attempted to wrangle the twins during Mason's cut, keep Will in the chair for his, and bodily restrain a crying, screaming Hays for his. That was an adventure that I have no desire to repeat at any point during the rest of my life.

And today was my favorite of all days, Thanksgiving. I, for the first time ever, did the turkey. I've been reading recipes and techniques for a month. I'd even done a practice run on a turkey breast. But no matter how well-prepared you are, it can still be kind of nerve-wracking to roast the bird for the feast for the first time. There are so many things that can go wrong- overcooking it and winding up with a dry, tasteless turkey, or worse, undercooking it and everyone winds up in the emergency room with food poisoning! Luckily for all of us, I did neither. It turned out beautifully. In fact, everything did. It was a smaller crowd for us this year. My grandmother's been in and out of the hospital for several months and just wasn't up to making the trip out here. And honestly, we weren't up to carting the kids down to Macon. So my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents had Thanksgiving there, and we stayed here with my parents and sisters. We missed the big crowd, but it was kind of nice to have a really laid-back holiday as well.

So now we're gearing up for Thanksmas. Mason's already got his tree in his room up and decorated, and we'll be getting ours tomorrow (as long as the weather cooperates). Matt and I will be busting out the giant tree cage and all our holiday finery. The twins were really taken with Mason's tree, so I hope the tree cage will keep them out of ours. They wanted to touch all the ornaments, and Will kept kissing it and saying, "High five?" I've got a lot of ornaments that might not survive an exuberant high five, so I'm really counting on the tree cage!!

You Get What You Pay For

I've been in desperate need of a haircut for a while. My hair was seriously long- most of the way down my back. And when I had time to blow dry and flat iron it, I absolutely loved it. Really, I felt like Rapunzel. But, let's be honest, how often does that actually happen? Once a week, or if I'm feeling really fancy, twice. But on all those other days, it looked like a scraggly mess, so a haircut was in order.
Yesterday the twins finally went back to school after two weeks. Those three blissful hours were going to be the last ones I had to myself until the week after Thanksgiving, so I was bound and determined to get that mop cut. The problem was that payday isn't until Friday, and we've done the majority of the kids' Christmas shopping over the past week, so money was a bit on the tight side. I decided to go the frugal route and get my hair cut at the beauty school. It's only $5, and I've had it cut there before and the girl did a really good job. I'm thinking she was an A student, or a lot more experienced, because yesterday's cut didn't go so well.
I asked the girl to trim about three inches off, leaving it well below my shoulders (I told you, it was really long) and cut some long, loose layers in it. She slooooooowly got started, trimming a tiny section at a time. I didn't mind too much, after all, I wanted her to take her time and do a good job. But I'm pretty sure a snail could cut hair faster. Then she got to work on the sides. After 45 minutes of cutting she says, "Okay, how does it look?" Ummmmmmm, not so good since the right side is a good inch and a half shorter than the left. So she tries to even it up, then tries some more, then tries a little more. At this point I'm starting to get quite worried about the amount of hair she's cut off. We're already way past three inches, and I'm afraid if she keeps trying to make it even, I'm going to wind up with a pixie cut! Then she says, "I'm really sorry- this is not my area of expertise." Wow, so not what you want to hear from the girl that has scissors in your hair. And honestly, if giving the most basic of haircuts isn't your area of expertise, what the hell is???
So I finally told her, "It's okay honey, let's quit while we're ahead." By then, I had resigned myself to paying a professional to fix this mess, but the girl said, "I can get my instructor to help me." I agreed, and the instructor came over to help guide her through this disaster of a haircut. The instructor gave up on coaching this hapless hairdresser within a few minutes and decided, much to my relief, to finish it herself. With obvious, palpable relief, the girl handed over her scissors, and after one hour, six inches and an instructor, my hair was finally even. Then, that crazy girl asked the instructor, "Now how do I go about putting layers in her hair?" I practically leaped from the chair exclaiming, "Oh no, never mind the layers! Really, it's fine. Let's just leave it one length!" Layers, dear God, I would have been bald!
So I got my haircut. It's (significantly) shorter than I wanted it, but I can still put it in a ponytail, and that's all that really matters. But I have learned a VERY valuable lesson. There are many ways to save money, but a $5 haircut shouldn't be one of them!

Lucky

I have seen a light at the end of the tunnel of illness, and I'm pretty sure it's not a train!!! Everyone's feeling better, Will's coughing has subsided and I think we might be getting well (at least until they bring home some other bug from preschool.) And since you guys have been so incredibly patient with my bitching and moaning, I'm going to take a day to post gratitude instead of attitude.

Yesterday I had a day where I felt so very lucky at so many different times during the day. Lucky to the point that I had to offer a quick prayer of gratitude to God. The first was at the grocery store. I was behind a family with three young children, who were carefully adding up every penny to try to stay within a strict, and very small budget. At the end of their tally, they had to tell their kids to put some things back, and my heart went out to them. I know it must have been tough to tell their kids that there were things they couldn't buy for them. Now, we certainly don't buy our kids everything their hearts desire, but when I made my grocery list this morning, I didn't have consider every dime. I could just make a list of the things we wanted and go get them without worrying if I could pay for them. This hasn't always been the case, and may not always be the case. But yesterday morning, it was, and for that, I was very grateful.
Thank you, God, for giving us the means to provide for our family. Thank you for helping us keep them fed, clothed, healthy and happy.

Later on, my best friend came for a visit. We met up with my mom and Paige and had such a fun afternoon together. We had lunch and did some shopping, talking, and lots of laughing. It was such a fun day spent in the company of women that I love so dearly. And it was much needed, since we've all been dealing with some hard times lately. It was so nice to put aside illness, worry, sadness, and just have fun together. Thank you, God, for blessing me with amazing friends and family. Thank you for the strong, wonderful women that surround me and inspire me.

Then I came home to sweet, loving, funny children, and a kind, supportive, wonderful husband that looked after them all day so I could go and play. Not all men would be willing to do that (though they all should), and I'm grateful to have one of the ones that will. And even though my kids are crazier than drunk puppies, they are so cute and funny and I love them so very much. Thank you, God, for my family. They make life worth living, and I am very glad that they are mine.

My mother and sister joke that whenever their own lives get hard, they just think, "Well, it could be worse. At least I'm not Cameron." They're joking (sort of), but I get it. My day to day life isn't always easy, and it's certainly not calm. But it is full and rich and very, very blessed. And while there are certainly days that I would run away to Tahiti in a heartbeat, I'd always come back (after a few peaceful days in the sun, and many tropical cocktails). I am grateful for this crazy life, and I will leave you with the words of my cell phone's ringtone- Lucky I'm in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where I have been, lucky to be coming home again.

Things Are (Hopefully) Looking Up

I'm going to say, with VERY cautious optimism, that things are getting better. We had the last of the shots from hell today, and Will did amazingly well. I mean, he cried, obviously- you would cry too if someone was shooting liquid flames into your leg. But he only cried for a minute, and he didn't freak out the minute we walked in the door of the doctor's office (though he did whimper a little). And the shots have done their job and cleared up his nasty ear infection.

He's still coughing up a lung on a several-times-daily basis, so our pediatrician sent him to have a chest x-ray just to rule out lower-lung pneumonia. That meant another fun-filled trip to St. Mary's, but thankfully the x-ray showed no signs of pneumonia. He's just still got a ton of congestion that's making him cough. The good thing is that he doesn't have to take any more antibiotics. The bad part is that we're doing every single thing we can possibly do, and we just have to wait it out.

Will was pretty wiped out after this morning's adventures in medicine, but not too wiped out to go to Walmart to get a new Elmo movie. I promised him I'd buy him a new one since he's been such a tough, brave boy through those nasty shots. In fact, he's been so tough and so brave that I bought him two new Elmo movies! I'm hoping that he'll keep on improving steadily and we can put this crappy month of sickness behind us. And then everyone has to stay well for a while. Seriously- has to- Mommy can't take any more!!!

Bringing Out the Big Guns

Did you check in hoping to hear good news? Sorry, haven't got any. We found out that the antibiotics we've been forcing down Will twice a day have been about as effective as gumdrops. They haven't touched his nasty ear infection, and the congestion has started to settle in his chest, hence the raging fever. In a last-ditch effort to keep us out of the hospital, the doctor gave him a shot of Rocephin, which is a heavy duty antibiotic, and he'll have to go back for two more shots over the next two days. And these aren't just little nothing injections. These are thick solutions given with a giant needle that burn like the flames of hell going in. It's so bad that he can't even walk for a while afterwards because his leg hurts so bad. And we get to do it two more times!!
Holding that poor screaming baby down on the exam table is just about more than I can bear. And it's made worse by the fact that he cried "Ow, ow, ow" all the way out of the doctors office. Is your heart breaking? Well this will just send it right on over the edge- all this happened after my poor, sweet baby looked at me and asked in this hopeful little voice, "Yummy medicine?" Oh yeah, it practically killed me. Matt's taking him for tomorrow's shot because I just can't bear to do it three days in a row.
He came home from the doctor and fell asleep on the couch almost immediately. He slept through Hays marching through the living room yelling and banging on a tupperware container with a turkey baster. He only woke up because he was wracked by a horrible coughing fit. At which point I got to subject him to a hose nose and a giant dose of disgusting steroids! And this is what we'll be doing, over and over for the next three days in a desperate attempt to avoid the hospital.
It seems like it's never ending. And the worst part is, if he gets sick again, I have to take them out of preschool!!! Not preschool!! Please don't take away my blissful six hours of freedom a week!!! Of course, he's only been twice in three weeks because he's incessantly sick. And quite frankly, if keeping him out of school means we never have to go through the Rocephin torture again, I'll freakin' home school him if I have to. I can't stand to watch my sweetie hurt anymore. He has been through too much in his short little life already, and I just need him to get well and stay well.

You Can't Fire Me, I Quit

Misery at its finest

Okay, I give up, I can't take it anymore. Somebody is going to have to come into this cootie cave and take care of these sick-o children because I have had all I can take. I have cleaned up puke at least once a day for over a week now. Today, I had the fun of cleaning up puke puddles THREE TIMES!!!! I'm serenaded by a symphony of coughing from sunup to sundown, and I can't take it anymore. My poor Will is sick as a dog and just can't seem to get better. He's been coughing for two weeks straight, and it's gotten so bad that it leads to the aforementioned vomiting at least once a day. And as if that wasn't enough fun, he's had a fever ranging between 101* and 103* since Friday. Antibiotics aren't doing anything but giving him killer diarrhea, and I don't know what to do anymore. He's going back to the doctor tomorrow morning, which will officially make 6 trips in two and a half weeks. Yay...........

Hays has been sick, too. But in light of Will's extravaganza of illness, Haysie's snot and fever barely register. Oh, and just for the record, I've managed to catch two colds in two weeks as well. So on top of dealing with sick, whiny kids, cleaning up after puke-fest, and being woken up seven times in seven hours, I've gotten to do it all while feeling like crap! Oh, and let's not forget my stupid dog, who, due to some sort of allergy, skin condition, or just general stress from living in this hell-hole, has been chewing herself bald and bloody. And when she's not chewing, she's frantically rubbing her dirty self against my living room chair while whining pitifully. I swear to God, it seems like it's never going to end. And we're only at the beginning of cold season!

My mom asked me tonight if there was anything she could do to help. I told her I needed:

A. a nanny

B. a trip to Tahiti

C. Someone to take these sick pitiful kids off my hands

And that worthless girl could not provide any of the above! So come on, beloved readers, surely one of you is incredibly rich and wants to provide me with household help or a fabulous vacation, right? Anybody?????

Damn you, Halls, you've decked Thanksgiving!!!!

This weekend I have seen no less than six Facebook posts about people putting up their Christmas trees. Christmas trees? What???? Did I miss something? Isn't it only the first weekend of November? I mean, seriously, I know Christmas comes earlier every year, but the first weekend in November????????? Call me Scrooge, but I am not a fan.

It's not that I don't love Christmas- I do. It is, as the song says, the most wonderful time of the year. It's absolutely magical and joyful, not to mention, sparkly. And since I'm drawn to shiny things like a raccoon, Christmas decorations are right up my glitter-strewn ally. I get just as excited as everyone when it's time to break out the tinsel and stockings (Hmmmm, I just realized that could apply to either a strip club or holiday decorations.....) But in my house, it's not time yet.

One of the things that makes Christmas so special is that it's only here for a brief time. And frankly, a month is plenty long for me. If I put up a tree now, it will have become a part of the scenery by Christmas day. I won't even notice it anymore. If anything, I'll be ready to get it down just so I can have that corner of my living room back! But if it's only up for three or four weeks, it's still special and fun. If I turn on Christmas carols now, I'll be ready to punch Rudolph right in that red, glowing nose by December first!!

But the main reason I don't decorate early is because I feel like Thanksgiving gets robbed. It gets squished into this whole holiday hoopla with Christmas and New Year's, and doesn't get the appreciation and celebration it so rightly deserves. I've said before on this blog that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It's all about family togetherness and decadent food, and it brings with it the promise of the Christmas season. I adore that day from the parade in the morning, to the huge family gathering in the afternoon, right up to the lighting of the Rich's great tree that night. When the soprano hits that high note on Oh Holy Night, and that tree blazes into all its glowing glory, the Christmas season officially begins for me. But not one moment before. I want to fully embrace Thanksgiving day and take that time to count my blessings, enjoy my family, and humbly thank God for all that He has given me. So while I'll be decorating, it will be with pumpkins, gourds and fall leaves. You won't see one speck of Christmas cheer around this house until November 26th.

Now if you're one of those early decorators, that's okay- to each his own. I fully respect your right to deck your halls as early as you want to. (Unless you start in July like Hobby Lobby. I'm sorry, at that point, I just can't be your friend.) But I'm stickin' to my guns. We'll welcome Christmas with open arms- just as soon as we've polished off the turkey and pumpkin pie.

Birthday Wishes for My Sister

Here's me at 19 and Paige at 6 with Elizabeth and our cousins

With the madness that's gone on around here this week, I let an important day get by me without comment. My tiny baby sister turned 19 on Monday. I'm not really sure how that's possible, because if she's 19, I'm far older than I care to acknowledge. She was born when I was in the 8th grade, and I vividly remember coming home from school to find a note on the door telling me to go next door to the neighbor's house because mom was at the hospital. I don't know how nearly two decades have come and gone since then, but apparently they have, because now she's 19 and a freshman in college. So here's what I wish for her this year, and the next few years to come.

I hope that she will make friends that will last a lifetime. The kind of friends that, 15 years later and miles apart, will still be her best friends. The ones that know her better than anyone and will always be there to laugh and cry with her.

I hope that she will fall deeply and truly in love for the first time. Even if she discovers, like I did, that your first love isn't necessarily meant to be your forever love.

I hope that she gets everything she wants. But if she does and then realizes it's not actually what she wants after all, I hope she'll fearlessly go down new paths, following new dreams.

I hope that there will be few struggles along the way. But when she does struggle, I hope that she'll come out of it stronger and wiser and even more confident in who she is and what she believes.

I hope that she will challenge herself to get out there and do new things- even things that scare her a little bit.

I hope that she will get in trouble from time to time. But not too much trouble!! Not anything that will leave her scarred for life or with an arrest record, just enough that she'll have some great stories to tell.

And finally, I hope that she will be happy and blessed. I hope that she will wake up some days bubbling over with joy at the sheer wonderfulness of her life.

So, happy belated birthday to my baby sister- may you get everything you wish for!!!

The Halloween from Hell

Don't let the smiling faces in the cute pictures fool you- this was the weekend from hell. It should have been an awesome weekend, and it would have been if things had gone according to plan. But when do things ever go according to plan? Here's what was supposed to happen. Saturday morning, Matt had to go into work for a few hours. He was going to come home in the afternoon to take the kids to the big trick-or-treat bonanza that takes place downtown. Then his mom was going to come over and babysit the kids so we could have a lovely date night dinner and a movie. That would be followed by a relaxing Sunday, ending with me taking Mason trick-or-treating in Yaya and Grandaddy's neighborhood. Sounds lovely, right? Here's what actually happened....

Matt headed out the door at 6:30 a.m. He was working on a big moving project for a client, so we knew it would take a while, but no one could have predicted how long it actually took. We were scheduled to take the kids downtown at 4:00, but I started to get concerned when I still hadn't heard from Matt at 2:00. 2:30, no Matt, 3:00, no Matt. By then it was obvious that he wasn't making it home in time to take the kids. Luckily, my mom came over to help me get them ready and came with us to the awesome trick or treat fest that our town holds each year. That was actually really fun. The kids all had a good time, and even though Hays refused to wear his puppy ears, they all looked really cute in their costumes. But the fun ended there.

We got home around 5 and my mother in law was coming to babysit at 6. I called Matt to make sure he was at least going to make it home in time for date night. His response was, "I hope we're going to be done in an hour." Considering that he was thirty minutes away and that they're NEVER done in an hour, I knew with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that date night wasn't going to happen. I called Pat to let her know that she was off the babysitting hook. She kindly offered to bring dinner over for the kids and give me a hand, but I foolishly said, "No, that's okay. I'll just feed them here and eat take-out with Matt later." The kids, having been promised McDonald's with Nana, outright refused every dinner suggestion I had. When I called my mom to complain about the disaster my evening had become, she offered to meet us at the Mexican place nearby.

I hate taking my kids out to eat. It's always much more trouble than it's worth. But I was hoping to salvage some small piece of the evening and make the kids happy, so against my better judgement, I agreed. It wasn't as bad as I thought. It was much, much worse. I have never, ever seen my children behave as badly in public as they did that evening. Mason was impossible. He wouldn't listen, messed with everything on the table, just made a general pain in the ass of himself. Hays was out of his mind- screaming and refusing to eat, and when he wasn't doing that he was making a disastrous mess and getting into everything in sight. Will was actually fine. He just made an epic mess and got silly with Mason, but he was the best of the bunch.

It doesn't sound that bad, but honestly, you just had to be there. It was awful. It was so bad in the first five minutes, that when the waitress came to take our order, I didn't even order. I knew I'd be so busy trying to wrangle the evil demon that had taken over Hays, that there was no hope of actually eating a meal. By the end, all mom and I could do was laugh, but it was that laughter bordering on hysteria that you do when things can't possibly get worse. But they did.

I got the kids home, bathed and into bed. I poured myself a jug of wine, Matt finally got home and we settled for Chinese instead of a fun date. I was exhausted and collapsed into bed around 11:00. An hour later I was awoken by a crying Mason, barking like a seal and gasping for breath. Croup, for the second time in as many months. Twenty minutes later after sitting in a steamy bathroom and giving him a hit of Will's Albuterol (doctor approved!) we were back in bed. An hour later Hays wakes up crying. And hour after that, Will. Then Hays. Then Mason, crying barking, gasping. Oh yeah, it was quite a night.

Sunday morning started with a trip to the urgent care center for Mason. Steroids for the cough, Tylenol for the fever. The usual. We get home to find that Will is coughing an awful lot. I try to give him Robitussin- he throws it up. Wait a while and try again- he throws it up again. We give up. He feels fine, he's just coughing, so figure we'll just wait it out and keep an eye on him.Matt's mom had offered to watch the kids so we could go to lunch since our date night had been thwarted, and we took her up on it. That was lovely. We had a nice lunch (during which we were only interrupted by one work-related phone call), then a trip to Target to scout out Christmas presents for the kids. As we're leaving Target, Matt's mom calls. Will is coughing badly and can't stop.

When we get home, he's coughing his brains out. Matt's mom has successfully given him Robitussin and we gave him a breathing treatment, but the coughing continues. Then he throws up the Robitussin. Off to St. Mary's we go. When we get there, his oxygen levels are fine, he has no fever, and the coughing levels off some. He still has bad coughing fits, but it's not so constant. They do a chest x-ray and give him a breathing treatment, but determine that it's post-nasal drip from allergies, and not a relapse of pneumonia. We're on our way home with a prescription for very strong cough medicine in time for me to take Mason trick-or-treating!

Trick or treating was great. My mom, my sister, Paige, and I took Mason around the neighborhood. He collected his fill of candy, then headed back to my parent's house to hand out candy with Grandaddy. I got to hang out with my mom and sister for a while, and at least the weekend from hell ended on a high note.

Well, for me anyway. I came home and got Mason to bed and fell into bed not long after myself. Poor Matt was working from home until 4 am, got up 3 1/2 hours later to start the grind again, and God only knows when he'll get home tonight. So I'm on my own all day today with all three kids. Yay. And there's no school tomorrow because it's election day. Double yay. Surely things will get better? Right??????

Mason's Awesome Faux-hawk

This week is Red Ribbon week at school and the kids have a dress-up theme for each day. It's been fun. Monday was sports jersey day, Tuesday was tie-dye (which led to our first attempt at tie-dying a t-shirt. It was messy and fun, and successful!), Wednesday they wore red, and today is crazy hair day.

Mason wanted a mohawk, so I did my best to punk him out good! We used some super-hold gel that felt like elmer's glue and the hair dryer to make it stand up as much as possible. It's a little droopy, but he still looks pretty darn cute!! Now I have to go wash his favorite jammies for pajama day tomorrow. I wonder if I can declare it pajama day for me as well?

Mom, You're Embarrassing Me!

You know when you have kids that one day they're going to find you incredibly embarrassing. Even when they're itty-bitty and think that you hung the moon, you know that the day will come when that will all change. I knew it would happen with Mason, I just didn't think it would happen when he was six! But lately, Mom's not quite as cool as she used to be.

It was brought to my attention a couple of weeks ago when we were coming home from soccer practice. Mason suddenly piped up from the backseat, "Mom, I don't like it when you talk to the other moms at soccer practice." I asked him why. "Because I just don't. It makes me feel weird. You're too loud when you say 'hey' and it makes me kind of feel like I hate you." Ouch. So I asked him what he thought I should be doing. "Nothing. You should just sit there and watch me and not talk to anybody." I told him that just wasn't going to happen. I tried to explain that I get precious little time to talk to other moms, and like it or not, I'll be taking every opportunity I get to have a real conversation. He wasn't thrilled with that, but he didn't say anything more.

Until this Saturday. We were at the soccer fields and this time it was a game. I was cheering for his team- nothing out of the ordinary, just "Go Michael! Good job, Robert," etc. But then I get, "Mom, I don't like it when you cheer." Dang, man, slap a muzzle on me and sit me in the corner why don't you! I had to fight the childish urge to cheer for everyone else, but stay quiet as a mouse when he was on the field- since it's embarrassing and all. (Though I admit to chilidishly responding, "Well, I don't like it when you do cartwheels on the field!) I kept cheering, but only when they did something really great like score a goal. Now, I did jump out of my chair and yell, "YES!!!! Go Mason!!!" when he scored a goal, but that was pure reflex.

The good thing is, even though we're in the beginning stages of finding your parents utterly humiliating, we're still only at the beginning. He still loves us for the most part. He came off the field after scoring two awesome goals and hugged me and sat in my lap. So thankfully, we've got a ways to go before he refuses to acknowledge me in public. But even when he gets to that stage, I'll still be there, cheering him on- even if it embarrasses him to death!

The So-Called "Twin Bond"

Lately I've been pondering the mythical "twin bond"- whether it actually exists and if my boys have it. It's hard to say. I wouldn't say from watching them on a day to day basis that they have some deep, psychological connection. For the most part, they each kind of do their own thing. They have remarkably different temperaments. Will is an outgoing charmer. He's busy and into everything and usually has a smile on his face. Hays is quieter and more self contained. He's moodier than Will, but he can also entertain himself for remarkable periods of time. He'll spend 30 minutes running his Hotwheels up and down the window sill, during which time Will will have dismantled the kitchen, escaped out the back door and hot wired the car.

But just when I think they couldn't be more different, I notice odd connections. Pooping for one. I swear to God, 9 times out of 10 they poop within five minutes of each other. (I don't know if that's a psychological connection or weird coincidence. Probably TMI either way...) And when they're sitting on the couch together, they usually wind up sitting side by side, leaning on each other, even if they start at opposite ends. But while those things certainly don't prove the idea of a twin bond, there's no denying they're connected.

I rarely go anywhere with just one boy, but when I do, he's always looking for his brother. The other day I took Hays to the store with me and left Will and Mason home with Nana. Even though he was very excited about a trip to the store "jus' Haysie and Mama" he still asked "Where Will?" as I was buckling him into the car. As we were walking into the store, he was looking around calling, "Wiiiiiiiilllllll!" And as soon as we left he told me, "Go home see Will!" Now, I don't know if this is due to the fact that they're twins, or just a natural result of being together all the time, but they definitely don't like it when the other one is not around.

Twin bond or just plain old brother bond, it puts a long standing worry to rest. When they were born and then spent the next five months separated, I worried that untold damage was being done to their special twin relationship. I was afraid that they would never have the closeness that twins are supposed to share. But I don't worry about that any more. When I watch them work together to get into something they're not supposed to, I know that regardless of how different they are, they're still two peas in a pod!!

Back to School and other Fall Fun

Can't have Halloween without a tombstone or two!!

Pumpkin gravyard, perhaps?

Lovely pumpkin/leaf/gourd thingie

Our Halloween display!

My very festive fall leaf garland and wreath

The twins finally went back to school this week! It was glorious. They haven't been in two weeks, and I was oh so ready for them to go back. They'd settled in really well at school and had gotten to the point that there were no tears when I left. I wondered if we'd have to start all over after after our two week sabbatical, but luckily that was not the case. They were very excited when I told them Tuesday morning that they were going to school. It went something like this:

Me: Boys, guess what? You get to go to school today!

Twins: Yay, school!! Miss Angie! Miss Diane!

Me: Yes, you get to see Miss Angie and Miss Diane! School is awesome!

Hays: School awesome!!

And it was indeed awesome when they ran into their classroom, hugged their teachers, and said, "Bye mom!" without a single tear!! And I had, for the first time in two weeks, three quiet hours to myself. Of course, I wasted it by coming home and mucking out the playroom, but at least we're down two giant bags of broken toys and junk!

Now we're counting down to Halloween. We've got our front porch decorated, and Mason's got his costume (Mario of Super Mario Brothers). The twins almost have costumes. I decided that I wasn't going to shell out $40 or so for crappy costumes that they'd probably refuse to wear anyway, so I have to make costumes. Will is going to be a fireman. He's wearing a fireman raincoat that was Mason's when he was little and a red plastic fire chief hat that currently resides in the dress-up box in our playroom. Cost for his costume- $0. Hays is going to be a dalmatian. I've got to get a white sweatshirt and sweatpants for him, but I already have black felt to make spots and puppy ears. Cost for his costume- less than $10. That I can live with! Our town has Halloween festivities downtown where all the merchants pass out candy. Since our little guys are a bit too young for trick-or-treating, this daytime celebration is perfect for them. I'm planning to use cardboard to decorate their little wagon like a firetruck and use that to pull them around downtown. We'll see how it works- I don't really have a whole lot of confidence in my artistic ability to pull of anything that even remotely resembles a firetruck, but it's worth a shot.

Mason's True Colors Revealed....

My favorite monster

Seriously, how freaky is this???

We roasted marshmallows Saturday night after we finished decorating the front porch for Halloween. Our neighbors, Charlotte and Diane, came over to roast marshmallows with us. Charlotte brought her very cool, and very realistic, horns. Mason was very excited to wear them, and they really brought out his inner demon!!

Coughing, Coughing, and More Coughing

It's been a looooooong week around here. Will's been getting progressively better. He feels better and has more energy each day. The problem is that he still has a horrible, racking cough that strikes him several times a day. At it's best, it's incredibly annoying. At it's worst, it chokes him to the point that he's gagging and his lips are blue. Obviously, it's scary and upsetting to him, and he just cries, "Mommy, mommy" until it's over. Just imagine how frustrating it is to hold your coughing, gasping baby over and over each day, knowing that there's not a damn thing you can do to help him. It's awful, and it's been happening all hours of the day and night for the last seven days. It's maddening and exhausting.

And as if the coughing fits weren't enough, it's been an endless cycle of medicine and nebulizer treatments (or as we call them, hose noses) I swear, every time I turn around it's time to force another spoonful of antibiotics, or steroids, or cough medicine down his throat. And if I'm not doing that, I'm fighting with him to keep the mask on while I administer yet another hose nose. All of this punctuated by incessant coughing! It's enough to make a mom lose her mind!!!

I just keep telling myself that it won't last forever, and doing it at home beats doing it in the hospital. But it's very little consolation when you're by yourself, day in and day out, trying to be the nurse and the mommy and the cook and the housekeeper. (though from the current state of things, it would appear that the housekeeper took the week off. But hey, something's gotta give!) Hopefully we've only got a few more days of it sounding like the tuberculosis ward around here. I'm not sure I can take it for more than a few more days, so I'm crossing my fingers really hard.

My New Blog

After thinking about it for a while, I started a new blog. It's called "What Cameron's Cooking..." and as the title would lead you to believe, it's all about what I'm cooking on any given day. I love to cook and collect awesome recipes. I especially love to cook for my friends and family. Since many of you are too far away to come for dinner, I'm sharing the recipes I love. So now, not only can you read about all the craziness of daily life, you can feel like you're sitting at our dinner table (minus the twins throwing food at you). There's a handy dandy link to your right, click on it and join us for dinner!

Screw You, Three!

I've been a member of a message board for twin moms since the day I found out I was expecting twins. I came home from that fateful doctors appointment and went online in search of someone to talk me down from the ledge of panic and fear I was standing on. I found a great group of girls that did that and more. Over the last three years we have shared confidences and given advice, and while I have only had the pleasure of meeting one in person, they have truly become soul sisters. I realize that, as with any online community, any of them could actually be creepy guys in a dark basement with pictures of their "kids" coming right out of the frame they bought at Walmart (that would actually explain a lot about one girl, but that's another story for another time). But creepy guy possibilities aside, they're awesome and I love 'em.

I checked in yesterday to see that one had posted a thread asking if anyone had started planning for their twins' upcoming third birthdays. That stopped me in my tracks. Third birthday? THIRD BIRTHDAY?????? How can they be turning three?? And how can they be turning three so soon that we're talking about birthday parties? Three is so old. A three year old is a preschooler. Not a baby, not even a toddler, a preschooler. And Will and Hays are my babies. Two I can handle, even 2 1/2, but three is out of the question.

I am not ready for them to move completely, irrevocably out of the baby stage. Plus, three means that I absolutely have to get them potty trained, and that is a monumental task that I'm not sure I can fully face. We've been dabbling in potty usage, but I have not committed to hardcore potty training. That's okay at two, but unacceptable at three. Plus, three year olds need to know their colors, numbers and ABCs. Mine still insist that everything is red, count "1, 2, 2, 5, 8...." and Will sings "A, B, C, D, D, D, D..." (Hays has a little better handle on the ABCs, but I'm still not sure he's at 3 year old level).

And plus, I'm not ready to let my sweet babies become big boys. I love my cuddly, snuggly boys that still say, "Mommy hold you" every day, and I am not ready to let that go. These guys are the last stop on the baby train for us (unless we win the lottery or science finds a way to guarantee a girl) and I'm not in any big hurry for it to end. Sure, you can do more with big kids, and big kids are really funny and insightful, but babies are SO SWEET!!!!

So I'm boycotting the third birthday. I'm keeping them two, and that's all there is to it. I'm not quite sure yet how I'm going to do that, but I'm going to find a way!

Home Sweet Home

We're home, thank goodness, and Will is MUCH better. We were released around 7:00 Monday evening. Will had had a pretty good day, and his sats were staying in the mid-high 90s even when he was sleeping. He was still feeling pretty crappy and laid around most of the day, but he didn't have any fever and wasn't requiring any oxygen. I spent the whole day praying that we would all be sleeping in our own beds that night!!!

Admittedly, it wasn't a very restful night. I was coughing my brains out, Hays was waking up over and over (the pediatrician thinks Hays and I both had walking pneumonia as well) and we had to give Will nebulizer treatments every four hours. But I'd rather have a sleepless night at home than a sleepless night in the hospital!

Both boys were pretty puny yesterday and spent most of the day lying on the couch watching tv. Will had a bad, bad coughing fit in the morning. It lasted about a half hour and had him turning purple from time to time. I was scared to death that we would be heading right back to St. Mary's, but the pediatrician reassured me that it was to be expected, and that a bigger dose of cough medicine would help. It did, and though he did a fair amount of coughing throughout the day, he stopped turning bluish-purple!

And today, they both seem just about back to their normal, rambunctious selves. They have a little less energy than they usually do, but not much less. They have more than enough to fight, play, and attempt to take the house apart, so I think they're on the mend!