Silly Complex's

Motherhood brings on a lot of unexpected things. I think some of the most unexpected things for me are those silly little thoughts and complex's. What's most interesting is, when faced with certain situations, you feel things that you never dreamed you would. For example when we were faced with unemployment a couple Christmas' ago, and needed insurance because of our upcoming bundle of joy, we talked about my husband enlisting in the army. I, of course, felt the expected things like nerves, being anxious and wondering if I could handle being an Army Wife. But, along with that, came a feeling that people might think I was selfish to risk my husbands life just so we could have money and benefits. I don't know why I felt that way. I certainly don't think that of any woman I know who's husband has joined the army. I mostly just admire them and their strength. But still I felt it, and I never expected it.

I can't say I ever expected wanting to be pregnant-- and I mean ever. Nor did I expect wanting another baby so soon after having twins. But here I am with three kids, 18 months apart. It's not something I would recommend, but I have to say I personally like it.

Now that I have been pregnant it's hard to go back to those days of simply having a monthly cycle. Now so many mixed emotions have to come with my monthly gift. Even now, when I may be on my way to thinking of another baby but certainly not ready for another pregnancy, I find every month I'm anxious to know if that lovely thing will show it's face. It doesn't help that the symptoms are the same. I get moody, thirsty, my chest swells a little, tired, etc. These signs show their face and I start calculating when my last period was. I'm usually a week away. Then the tension starts.

"Is it going to come? Do I want it to come? Will I be happy or sad if it comes?" These are the questions I always ask myself.

Usually it's right on time. I can handle that. I know it isn't our time to be pregnant and I'm OK with that. But then there are the months that it's a little late.

"Just take a test," my husband says.

I hate taking the tests. I don't like to take them unless I'm 95% sure they will say yes. I don't know why. I'm really not ready for another pregnancy. But even so, it's the same now as it was right after I had the last one, I don't like to see the negative result on that test.

This happened this month. I finally decided to take the test. I was pretty late. Seconds after the test read negative my monthly gift showed up. I mean really. Does taking the test somehow trigger it? Not only did I waste the money, but I wasted emotional stress.

Sometimes I wonder if I feel this way because my moodiness and tiredness being linked to bringing another miracle in this world would at least bring about a greater sense of worth.

It's bad enough that each month I have to face the fact that my emotional outbursts have no merit, but I've also been struggling with being a little backed up lately and this brings on another whole set of fun complex's. Realization of this problem came about when it got so severe one morning I visited the emergency room. Ever since I've really had to watch my diet and try to take in a lot of fiber. The problem is no fun, and one of the most embarrassing things I've had to deal with yet. But that's not the worst part. Along with it comes nausea, aches in my hips and back, hot flashes and movements in my tummy. This makes the problem itself much more difficult to face. Feeling pregnant is so much easier to handle when it's about bringing a child into the world-- not about being unable to go to the bathroom.

Another complex I'm facing lately might seem a little strange to some. I have three beautiful boys. And I mean beautiful. I know this sounds like bragging but my motherly adoration's have been confirmed on several occasions. My OB commented on the twins all the time. He even said they could date his daughter. All of my boys have been mistaken for girls on several occasions. And I get told a lot that they should be in a magazine.

My youngest one in particular is one of the most beautiful babies you've ever seen. I used to look at him when he was a newborn and just think, "You are so nice to look at. I could just look at you for hours."

He has fair skin, blue eyes and blonde hair. He gets mistaken for a girl even more than his brothers did. The problem with this is that he was supposed to be my girl. When I got pregnant with him I just knew I was going to have a girl. OK maybe I didn't know it would be a girl, but another boy just didn't sound right. When I found out he was a boy my heart dropped. Not simply because he was a boy, but because I felt I had lost my girl. When we finally met him last September I just looked at him and thought, "I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you're not a girl, but it was just so hard to get you here. Couldn't you have brought a sister with you?"



I don't spend my days wishing he was a girl. There were very colicky times when I may have wished I hadn't had that crazy idea to get pregnant. But I honestly don't wish him to be a girl. But still when he's mistaken for one my heart sinks a little. Here these people think I have two boys and a girl when really I don't know what it's like to have a girl at all. To them I do, but I know I don't.

Sometimes I look at him and say, "You're just too pretty to be a boy."

I get a little sad again. Sometimes I find it hard to look at him. I know that sounds crazy but it's true. I guess it just reminds me that, pretty as he is, I still don't have a daughter and I may never have one.

We've had a rocky road this baby and I. When we first met I wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of our family. We struggled through the first 3 months. Both hoping things would get better. I let his Dad take on a lot because I just didn't have the patience I needed for him. He wanted constant attention. He always wanted to be held, couldn't be left in a room alone and just seemed really needy compared to his brothers. I'm just not that type of mother. I like kids that can entertain themselves. That can be content while I get a little work done. I play with my kids, but we can all enjoy it more if I'm not thinking about all the stuff I need to get done. When we came out of the colicky and indigestion haze I found I had a son who was completely enthralled with his mother. How this happened? I do not know. But I'm glad because it helps me feel that I wasn't so terrible to him. Maybe there were moments of love and happiness. He some how came to feel safe and content with me amid all the screaming and crying. And that brings a little comfort to me.

I love all my boys. Most days I'm perfectly happy raising three gentlemen. Even if sometimes my silly little complex's say otherwise. I can't ignore them. It's probably not a good idea to smother them. I guess all I can do is just acknowledge them and try to figure out how I really feel.

Nursery Days

Our church has a nursery that the little kids enter when they are 18 months old. The kids play in there while the parents go to their other meetings. It sounds lovely right?22 Well, getting my kids to go to nursery was a huge trial. I cried over it several times. Almost every week I'd come home saying, "I'm not doing this anymore. They can just come to the meetings with me." I guess my situation was a bit more exhausting considering my husbands work schedule has him gone every Sunday. But still the transition to nursery is not a fun thing.



Growing up in the church I had known about the chaos that could ensue when children were first left alone in nursery or primary. The general rule, that my family always agreed worked best, was to just leave the kid crying or not. Chances are as soon as you left, the kid would calm down and all would be well.

This rule has worked well for me with babysitters. I just tell the sitters the plan, make sure they are OK with the idea and then execute. I usually come back to find all was well.

Well, this rule didn't work well with nursery. The boys would cry and cry until they finally came and got us.

The leaders told me that I needed to sit in nursery with them until they got more comfortable in there. I didn't like this idea. If I'm going to be in nursery than give me a nursery calling. I mostly didn't like it because I didn't know what the boundaries were. Should I help my kids? Is that what the leaders want? In my mind, having worked as an aide at a school, I'd prefer the parents to stand back and let me handle it. That way the kid learns to respond to me and not just the parents. But what if the leaders didn't agree. I also didn't know if I should just be a fly on the wall or if I should help with the other kids. The whole thing was a raging conflict that left me exhausted every week. This sort of thing is especially hard for a person obsessed with doing things the right way all the time, like me.



I tried to ask friends what they would recommend, or what they think was expected and they didn't know either. I told my mom about my frustrations and she said in so many words, "As long as you're in there with them they aren't going to learn to adjust. You need to be out of the room in order for them to get used to it. Otherwise you're going to be stuck in there." I agreed. But leaving them wasn't working. The leaders tried to find times for me to just sneak out. But this just added to the boys insecurities. Every time the door opened they would quickly scan the room. Sometimes I'd sit outside the room, in case there was a problem, and every time the door opened my boys would just cry. The sound of the door opening had become a trigger to them. It seemed to make them feel scared and it definitely upset them. I felt overwhelmed, exhausted and out of my league. I couldn't solve this problem.



Then one Sunday a neighbor put a thought into my head. She said that they would go in and sit with their kids and instead of sneaking out they would tell the child they were leaving, assure them they would be back and then they would walk out. This sounded like it could work. So I tried it. It didn't work great, but it worked better.

I then decided what we needed was a good routine. After all the solution to all other chaotic things in our lives was schedules and routines. Well if anything was chaotic nursery was. I would bound up the stairs, dragging the twins while holding a baby, a car seat and a diaper bag. I would them try to free one hand to open the door and shove the twins in. Binkies, toys, blankies? I didn't have time to check to see if they still had these in hand. Obviously this was part of our problem.

So I came up with a plan. First we would walk up to nursery calmly. We'd set our stuff down. I'd ask the twins to put their toys, blankies and binkies away. I would then talk to them about all the fun they would have in nursery and I would assure them I would be back to pick them up. Well we tried it one week. And it worked. I just had to talk to them until they were ready to walk in themselves. They did wonderfully in nursery. I was so happy and proud of my boys!

Of course, not all problems are solved. There were still weeks they wouldn't go. The leaders and others would try to help. But this would only make it worse. The boys would get nervous because they would think they were being forced to do something they didn't want to do. The leaders would ask me to come in with them, but I just thought, "I'm not stepping foot in that room again. I appreciate you trying to help but please just let me can handle this."

I'd shy off to a corner and try to talk to them and calm them down. When that didn't work I'd take them to class with me. I wouldn't give them snacks or toys-- they had to go to nursery to get those. And I would make them simply sit there and they weren't allowed to move. Everyone was impressed with how well behaved my children were. Little did they know I was actually upset with them. Finally they would get bored and then I could convince them to go to nursery.

Now the boys walk into nursery no problem. I can't always get their binkies away from them, but I don't complain. I'm glad we found our own little solution. I don't know why I expected anything else from my children. After all they have a defiant mother who doesn't like to be forced into things. The decision had to be there's. Thank goodness we figured that out. I think this will be a great stepping stone for all of us.

Welcome to Thomasville

It all started when we spent A Day Out With Thomas. Now every day is A Day Out With Thomas. Yes, we have a new obsession at our house. And if any of you have little boys I'm sure you've experienced it too.



The boys have realized the Thomas and Friends craze. And we have too.

Now don't get me wrong. I think it's a cute show. I like it more than other things that are out there. Especially the new ones that are computer animated-- I can understand liking these more than I can understand liking the model train ones, but that's only because when I was little I didn't like shows where the characters mouths didn't move. What I just don't get is what is it about this show that causes my kids to be completely and utterly obsessed. They eat sleep and breath Thomas. Every word that comes out of their mouths is either "Thomas" or "Grandma". You turn it on for them and for the next 30 minutes they'll yell in your ear, "It's Thomas!"

We need to get our hand on some Thomas toys so I can distract them with those every once in a while. We have one Thomas, that we inherited from a nephew, and I bet you can guess how well sharing that one Thomas between two obsessed kids went. Luckily the less obsessive one would be happy with one of the freight cars. We finally got another Thomas toy and I thought, "Great now they can each have a Thomas." I should have known better. My little twin has an obsessive personality-- just like his mom. He carried both Thomas' and when I asked him to give one to his brother he would say, "No, No, No!" Since both Thomas' were gifts from Grandma, and neither one was given a specific owner, I didn't feel bad insisting that he share.

I think the worst, or at least craziest, part of the Thomas obsession is how it affects me. I actually get excited when I hear the theme song. I now know the order of the engines number 1-8. I have my favorite episodes and my favorite characters. And the worst part, about being a parent with a child that has an obsession, is I want to buy them everything Thomas-- it used to be everything Cars. I just love how excited they get about it. It makes my day!

Well here's to hoping we survive the Thomas days. At the rate I'm going it looks like I'll have plenty of boys to live through it with.

Beware of Saturday the 14th

For who knows how long there has been a superstitious belief that Friday the 13th is a day of bad luck. Well I am here to put those fears to rest. The real day to worry about is Saturday the 14th. It's true! When I was a young preteen my friend and I made the discovery that Saturday the 14th really was a day not to be messed with. And that still holds true. Now, I'm not a superstitious person, but I still find it odd that most of my Saturdays the 14th are filled with incidents of bad luck.

This Saturday the 14th proved no differently.



The day started like any other. I noticed it looked stormy outside, but within an hour it started to clear and I had hopes of enjoying a lovely spring day. I woke up the children and found the baby to be soaked. That's OK though because his diapers sometimes have a hard time making it through the night. I cleaned him up and got everybody breakfast. Then I went to change my twins. They smelled of pee. I discovered the problem. The cloth diaper they were wearing was not packed for overnight. I was going to just change their clothes and call it good, but they smelled so bad I threw them in the tub to take a quick shower. Then I put there clothes in the sink to soak. One twin didn't like the shower so I got him out quickly. The other wanted to stay in. I went to check on the twin that got out. He had peed on my bed. I guess I will be changing my sheets today.

As I pulled the sheets off, and went to throw them downstairs, I stepped in a puddle of water. My immediate thought was the twin in the shower, but he was not the culprit. The truly guilty one was the overflowing sink which I had left on, in order to soak the boys clothes. The bathroom was flooded beyond words. I grabbed some towels. I began to get a little frustrated at this point.

I went downstairs and threw the bedding in the washer and went to clear off my memory card. We were going on a fun outing and I wanted to be sure I had room enough for all the new pictures. While that was a joke and a half. My husband just switched computers and I had to do a little song and dance to finally get the pictures switched over. Then I heard a crash. The baby had fallen off the bed.



I went upstairs to make sure he was OK and sat him back on the bed, towards the middle. Then went downstairs to complete some more tasks before it was time for us to go on our outing. Well I found the boys' room had reaped some of the flooding from the sink upstairs. There was a nice sized puddle that I had to clean up. And then I heard another crash. The baby had fallen off the bed again. I went upstairs and sat him on the floor this time.

Finally my dad come to pick us up and take us to a local grocery store that was holding a "Pirate Party", in celebration of the new "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie. See, my husband was at work all weekend so my Dad came to help me get there all in one piece. I was a little frazzled and apologized for not being ready. I started to put the baby in his car seat when I noticed some red stuff all over his cute pirate outfit. What had I given him that could've gotten his outfit all dirty like this. Then I realized it was blood. So I cleaned up the outfit, found the cut on his finger and cleaned that up as well. Then I went to get the twins shoes and came back to find that they both had pooped. I changed their diapers and out the door we went.



That bright sunny day, I was telling you about, had now turned back into a dark and cloudy one, literally. There was thunder and lightening the whole drive to the grocery store-- which was in a different city. One lightening bolt came so close I swear it hit the freeway.

We finally arrived at the "Pirate Party". We had just gotten everyone out of the car when a big gust of wind came up and wreaked havoc on all the cabanas and blow up toys they had set up. One man walked by and said, "We're shutting down!"

Well my mom got the boys some tattoos. I took a picture of my nephew by the pirate ship, and someone brought me a plate of food. My mom asked if I wanted to get a picture of the boys by the Pirate ship I said sure, but in doing so I lost my uneaten plate of food to another gust of wind. The employees were anxious to get the Pirate ship down, so with all the fuss, to get the boys to look and to not throw fits, I didn't get a very good picture.

We migrated inside and my mom helped me clean up my shirt-- which was now stained with blood from the baby and some chocolate from the Popsicle the twins had. She apologized for the mess with the "Pirate Party" and for not telling me to come sooner. I told her, "It's just been that kind of a day. This just goes along with the rest of it."

After sharing my woes with someone, and enjoying a nice lunch, the rest of the day didn't seem quite so bad. Even when the baby pooped up his back and the weather decided to be bipolar it still didn't get me down like it did earlier. It's funny how the bad seems so horrible when I'm going through it, but as soon as its over I can't help but think, "That was it? It's over? Why did I get so upset?"

Where is My Fairytale?

I don't live in a castle with servants waiting on me hand and foot. I don't dress in pretty dresses, wear a smile and dance and sing to my children-- well at least not everyday. My husband and I get by on cloth diapers and homemade wipes. Yet still I look at my life and feel I'm the princess who found her prince.



Cheesy as it may sound. Corny as I may be. I can't help but enjoy daydreaming of waltzing with my handsome prince in a grand ballroom while an orchestra plays our song. And knowing that, at my request, this dream can come true, as long as I'm willing to substitute our fine living room for a ballroom and my old 90's style stereo as an orchestra, is just icing on the cake.



So maybe I didn't get the ideal fairytale. Perhaps to the world it doesn't seem as though I'm living the dream. But somehow all my handsome princes make me feel just like those princess' I idolized growing up.

Yes, at times I feel more like the wicked old step mother than the princess. Sometimes even a magic mirror cannot make me feel young an beautiful. Life is hard. There are times I wish I could fill out my resignation and put in my two weeks notice. But the hard times make the happy times all the better.

I Understand

I was standing in line at a fabric store. My plan was to run in and out quick as can be. Well, the store had other plans. Who knew in the middle of the week, on a sunny afternoon, the fabric store was the place to be. I had to grab a number, and wait to be called, to get my fabric cut. I was two numbers away. Well that's not too bad right? I thought about backing out. It was nap time and I just wanted to get my kids home and to bed. The time was drawing near when a nap would be obsolete and we'd have to just skip it and wait till bedtime.

Then I was only one number away. "OK," I thought, "I can wait. I'm sure I'll get called any minute."

Well I waited. . .and waited. . .and waited. . .and. . .You get the idea. I started muttering things under my breath like, "I should have never come in here", "This is ridiculous", "One number away and they can't call it". My husband, who had time to go and fetch the car, came back in and I told him all about my frustrations. Then finally they called a number! Well, it was the number after mine. Then something wonderful happened. The lady standing next to me says, "Here that's my number. Trade me so you can go."

Well she ended up being able to keep her number because mine was the one before, but still what a lovely gesture.

It was later that I thought, "Now that is truly how one should help a stressed mom in a stressed situation."

Sometimes people confront mothers in an attempt to protect the children, but this usually just frustrates moms more and doesn't really improve the situation. I think instead of accusing or lecturing one should simply say, "Do you need a hand?"

Now I am not one that can do this. I am one that usually notices needs around me, but my shyness keeps me from acting. Luckily I have a wonderful husband whom will offer the help for me when I mention the need-- though I am getting better at offering myself.

I'm usually one that doesn't respond well to lectures or counseling. I don't like to feel as though I'm the only one who has experienced the emotions and frustrations of motherhood. I truly respond best to people when they simply say, "I understand."

And even though the words never came out of my Good Samaritans mouth. I feel her actions said it for her.

Picture This. . .

. . .the boys have shut our bedroom door. I assume they are doing some form of monkeying around. I open the door. One little boy is kneeling on the bed surrounded by throw up. I throw my hands up, cover my eyes and hope the sight will go away. Because if it doesn't it means we have a long night ahead of us. Well the scene is still there, and my husband and I went about trying to find the best way to clean things up. I have to say my husband's damage control is much better than mine. I call my mom in hopes that she can take the other twin-- one sick kid is better than two and I think the baby, with his stinkier than usual spit up, had already been sick-- but it's too late. We change his diaper to find that wonderful virus green colored poop. The same poop his brother, who just threw up, had earlier. We kept them in our bed for half the night. We went through two sets of sheets, two showers and a change of pajama's for each parent and each kid. When we thought that it had passed we put them downstairs. Boy was that premature. The other twin spent the other half of the night throwing up. Another change of clothes and another set of sheets. Even so, I'm happier to get it all over with in one night. I spent the night nauseated. It wasn't a good night to splurge on Costa Vida. The aftertaste lingered in my mouth and didn't mix well with the other events of the evening. It was so unappetizing I finally had to get up and rinse with Listerine so I could fall asleep. The twins woke up with the runs, but no more vomit thank goodness. I'm glad to change poopy diapers because when the mess is down there it's easier to contain. Ugh! Sick kids, that's all I have to say.

Of course, this post can't just be about sick kids. That might be boring. Besides with my slacking off from blogging lately I do have some things to catch up on.

Don't you love the emotions of a mother?

My friend said, "It's funny what makes a mom happy. My son came upstairs and told me he threw up and I was happy to find out that it was just a little bit on his pillow and it wasn't hard to clean up."

The other day I realized that it makes me happy when my baby wakes up earlier than he's supposed to and I go in his room to find he's pooped. Yes I'm happy there's poop because it means there is a reason for him waking up and it has a simple solution.

I also find it funny that if either of them are hurting each other I get extremely angry. Especially when I come upstairs to find the twins have done something mean to the baby. I get so upset and be sure to put the child in time out and have them apologize. But sometimes I get too upset, and then I immediately feel bad for the child that is getting punished.

Seriously, sometimes I have so many emotions coming at me at once I don't know how to feel.

Well since I haven't been very good at posting lately I'll include another thing in this post.

Just a little update

The baby is now 6 months old and suddenly has become the annoying little brother. The twins don't think he should be touching or doing anything. He was even pulling on my pant's leg one night and they got mad.

Even though little brother doesn't get much kindness the twins have sure been cute to each other. If one wakes up before the other he walks around the house yelling the other's name. If he gets something like a bib, a blanket or shoes he starts looking for his brother so he can take him his.

The baby is getting better, and happier, everyday. I still have "I want to rip my hair out" days. And, I just have to tell you, he has the most awful cry in the world. My nephew even commented on it one day. He said, "I don't like the way that baby cries. It scares me." Instead of tummy troubles now we seem to be having constipation troubles. I've tried switching up foods but he still seems a little backed up. The Doctor recommended trying a low iron formula-- which we're yet to do because I'd rather eat a bee than switch formulas with this child. Then I remembered that several people I know, who have had similar problems with there babies, have used prune juice. Time to give that a try. Of course, if he does get too backed up I always pull out the Dark Karo syrup. I mix some with a little water and it gets them moving every time. And if nothing else works we'll switch formulas.

The boys have now come to an age where they have to do what their brother does. If I wash off their brother's binkie they want there's washed off. If I pull a new binkie out of the drawer for one the other one must have a new binkie too. If one needs a refill on his drink then the other one must get more to drink too, even if his cup is full. The worst part is with toys. I can no longer squeeze buy with just getting each of them their own toy. If we want to buy them something we have to plan on buying two.

And now just a funny story

The other night we were having pizza. I gave the twins each a slice and one wouldn't eat it. I started eating mine and he asked for some pizza. I pointed to his tray and said, "Look you have some." He folded his arms and turned up his noise. He wanted some out of the box. "Fine!" I said. I took his pizza, put it back in the box, waited a few minutes then said, "Do you want some pizza?" He said, "Pizza." "OK," I said. I then took the exact same piece I had just taken from his tray and handed it back to him. You know what happened? He ate it!