Five Plus Two Equals Seven

How twins are made - Courtesy of my aunt!

My friend Jenn is pregnant with twins. When she told me chills went up my spine and tears welled in my eyes. Not tears of sadness, just a complete overwhelming of emotion for my friend. It's going to be a wild ride for her and her family, and I can't help constantly thinking about what I need to tell her, give her, and do to support her.

She's worried, of course. Worried about the health of the babies, worried about fitting them into her space, worried about her other kids. Lots of planning, lots of anxiety, and lots of anticipation. It will be so great! She has many friends and lots of family eagerly waiting to help, along with a supportive husband and excited children. Lucky babies!

I've already told her the worse part, the sleep deprivation. Thankfully this only lasts a couple of months. The best part? Way too many to count! Looking at them nestled together in there bassinet as infants, the way they play and talk to each other when they're older...all awesome! Having twins is so much fun!

When the twins are born, she will also have five children...a handful! Go Jenn Go!

Man, Woman and Child's Best Friend

Willie 1994-2010

This has been such a hard weekend. The tears which flowed freely have slowly been replaced by an empty void. No wagging tail to greet us at the door, no lumps of fur to trip over in the night and no warm pillow to lay on as we watch TV. Tough on all of us. We miss Willie so much.

The timing wasn't exactly perfect. Friday morning we had a weather-related two-hour school delay and Steve left with Willie about an hour before the kids were to leave for school. I had to take Trent to the eye doctor to fix his glasses and the plan was I to drop them off at school before I got home. Unfortunately, plans change and the doctor's office took a lot shorter than I expected, so I came home and planned to let the kids get on the bus. Steve walked in about five minutes before the kids left, thinking I had already dropped them off...without Willie. Predictably, tears from Trent and sobs from Kyle. I ended up taking them to school (they still wanted to go), and talking to Kyle's teacher just to let her know about the morning's unfortunate events.

Kyle's day was filled with a New Year's party at school and he immersed himself in a two hundred page book when he got home. Once he was told it was time to turn out the lights and go to sleep, the sobs returned. A year and a half ago when our dog Spencer died, he was sad but Willie's death has been totally different. I'm not sure if it's because he knew more about how Willie died or if just his striking wisdom and maturity, but the news of Willie's death has really hit him hard. He asked for a lock of Willie's hair to remember him and interestingly Steve was given one at the vet's office. I think he thought it would give him more comfort than it did, but death is kinda that way.

I remember when my dad died the warm thoughts, words and prayers people were so kind to offer for comfort. The outpouring of love was amazing and I swear I will always remember how fortunate I am to have the best friends and family, especially during tough moments. But after 4 years I have learned one thing about grief, nothing makes it easy. A hug is comforting, but the pain of loss lingers forever.

As Kyle's mom, watching him go through this is heart-wrenching on so many levels. Knowing he understands death, knowing he's growing up, and, above all, knowing he's going to go through this again, it's all I can do to keep myself from crumbling to the floor with this knowledge and not being able to do anything about it.

A long time ago, I kept a journal of quotes which really hit home with me. The journal is long gone and the only one I remember is one from "The Little Prince":

One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed…

The deeper we love, the deeper we grieve.

Nobody Said This Was Going to be Easy

Kyle reading with Willie.

Tonight has been the hardest night of my all my nights as a parent. I haven't had many, so the competition isn't stiff. I'm not talking about hard nights like when my father passed away or the night I found out he had cancer. Those are obviously the worst, most terrible, hope I never have to go through that again nights. Tonight has been the hardest to handle as a parent, watching your child wrangle with the realities of life...and death...and not being able to protect him.

Our beloved dog Willie has taken a turn for the worse tonight. He's an old dog, 15 years as of Christmas Eve, and nothing less than a member of our family. I noticed he was increasingly not feeling well throughout the day and tonight he has gotten so he can't get up. We have put him on a comforter with room for the boys to snuggle with him. No one has left his side since we noticed he couldn't get up. Willie is deaf so words of consoling wouldn't do much good, but I explained to all of the kids that the best thing for them to do would be to pet him and show him they love him. It's just a sad, sad night.

The hardest part was watching Kyle wrestle with these emotions. I might have made a mistake tonight telling him that if we take him to the vet tomorrow, we may have to put him to sleep. I'm not sure if that was the right thing to do, but I felt like Kyle understood how much pain he is in and the loving thing to do would be to put him our of his misery. Tears and sobs followed, with choking unintelligible words. I sat there with him, one hand rubbing Kyle's back and the other rubbing Willie's head, feeling quite helpless. My little boy wanted me to protect him, save him, and I couldn't. Once he was able to calm down, he said he thought we should put Willie to sleep. Heartbreaking.

One ray of sunshine throughout this has been to love and compassion my children have shown towards our dear dog Willie tonight. We took some photos of the boys with him, Kyle taking a book and reading with him all night, and Lance's answers to all Willie's woes. He first asked me if we could give him a pill to make him feel better, washing it down with some Sprite (a trick he tried with Lance this afternoon after an allergic reaction to an apple). Before he went to bed, he was convinced Willie had a splinter. If only!

So I leave you with a very sick dog and hope that some miracle has him up tomorrow. Until then, I will share these sweet photos with you.

Trent (top) and Lance with Willie.

PS Thank you Kathleen for your kind words of wisdom from which this entry is titled.

Boxed Up Memories

A cherished box, under the tree for only just a moment.

I have a small shoebox which I bring out every Christmas. It is full of very old ornaments from my grandmother's tree which I inherited in 2005. I have never seen these ornaments, except for on my grandmother's Christmas tree. I imagine inside are glass ornaments delicately wrapped in tissue, some probably too fragile to handle. Possibly, quite possibly there are some broken ones in there. It has gone through our move in 2006 and is moved out of my Christmas decoration box on a yearly basis, so it would be hard to imagine the at least one of the ornaments not making it.

Which is one of the reasons I don't want to open it. I don't want to see the breakage, the finality of it. I want to imagine my grandmother's hands wrapping each one, knowing she was the last to touch it. I want to see my Grandma, touch her, be with her, but all I have are ornaments...well, really, a box of ornaments.

I reason with myself that it would be foolish to put these cherished ornaments on my Christmas tree and put them in harm's way. (Have you met my two year-old Luke?) In fact, opening the box would probably open up some feelings I would rather push aside. Especially at Christmas. I miss her to my core, she was taken before I was ready. She would love to see these wonderful children of mine running around full of life. I have to believe a part of her is running around with them, though this is more of a pleading thought rather than an expression of faith.

So another year passes without opening the box. The lovely brown and white of a decades-old Montgomery Ward shoebox will hold many hopes for me for another year.

One day...maybe when I am a grandmother.

Merry Christmas!

Baby Momma

As I mentioned before, last week was the babies' birthday. We celebrated with Phil and Joyce, Steve's parents, with some cake and presents. It was a great time!

Phil and Joyce were thoughtful enough to get Luke a big truck, to which he says, "Big truck!" each time he plays with it. His vocabulary is really expanding with new words every week. So fun!

Kate's language is coming a little slower, so when they gave her a baby doll she didn't have a name for it. So she kept calling it "Momma," which I thought was super-cute because it's what she calls me.

Unfortunately the baby's name is now "Baby Momma." Yes, the derogatory name for unwed mothers is now what my daughter calls her baby.

Nice.

Kate with Baby Momma.

Difficult to Admit

Last weekend was Kate and Luke's second birthday. My feelings about this are very complex. While I am excited they are growing older and more independent, a part of me begins to realize I am losing my identity. For the last two years, plus a couple of months after we found out we were expecting twins, I have been consumed with them. From the bed rest and pre-twin anxiety to the sleepless nights and juggling two babies plus three children, motherhood has been all-consuming.

I used to be very proud of my organization and crafty projects, but now am proud of lesser accomplishments such as daily showers and the occasional clean sheets. When I was teaching, my colleagues would tease me about always having "my ducks in a row." I even was presented a wonderful figurine of ducks by my principal at a staff meeting, her version of Teacher of the Year. As our family has multiplied, the craftiness, cleanliness, and organization has dwindled and I've been okay with this. Really.

But now the babies are getting older and it hard to admit I'm starting to feel a little lost. Gone are my excuses to order pizza for dinner, to ignore the dog hair on the carpet and the piles of laundry in the baskets. My expectations are higher now which is where the problem lies.

I can't be defined by the cleanliness of my house, I need more than that. Motherhood, of course, is the most loved and most important job I have, but I need some things which define me, excite me and make me happy. For the past two years, I have lost my sense of self and now is the time to find it again.

This may be a long journey.

Special Visitor

We have had special visitor to our home the last couple of days. She's really cute and doesn't say much, but we love her. The boys decided to take a couple of pictures, this is the best one:

Actually we don't know if she's a boy or a girl but praying mantises have a special place in my heart. I just think they are really cool. Not that I would EVER touch one, I think the girl chromosomes I have would prevent that from happening. I also just recently learned from my

10 year-old entomologist they have stingers, so I am DEFINITELY staying away!

This summer, Steve and I were out on a date at a lovely restaurant with a great outdoor patio. (If you live here, you know where this is!) We should have been having great child-free conversations, but I couldn't keep my eyes off this baby praying mantis which kept hanging around.

Plus I hear they are good luck, and who doesn't need some extra luck! I hope she sticks around for a while!