Being a Mama to Twins

It has been a while since my last twin post. In lieu of Mother’s Day, I thought I would share how my life has changed since being a mama of twins.

Prior to my pregnancy I was a planner and researcher. I spent so much time analyzing the best way to do things. Then I set to getting them done; in a perfectly productive manner (much to my “go with the flow” husband’s annoyance). I always had a plan in place; and had to follow that plan to the letter. Spontaneous to me would be letting my husband choose a restaurant….from a carefully chosen list.

Then this happened:

Since I had an ectopic (tubal) pregnancy months earlier, an emergency ultrasound was ordered. We had our first photography session at eight weeks:

Needless to say, we were a bit surprised.

I had an awesome pregnancy. So awesome that if I could guarantee every pregnancy would be as good as this one, I might do it over. *Maybe we’ll talk twin pregnancy in the future.

Back to mothering twins. It seemed that the moment I found out about Thing 1 and Thing 2 (we didn’t find out the sex, so these were the names of our growing fetuses) I let out a huge breath of air. It was as though God was reminding me that he is in charge, so stop planning.

Like most pregnant women, I was not myself. I was more relaxed, nicer, more understanding. I went with the flow (it may have been that I was just too big to fight the current).

Then after forty weeks (actually 39 weeks, and four days), these little buggers decided it was time to make their appearance. The day before their scheduled arrival (cesarean).

After a few short days, the hospital decided it was time for us to go home.

That is when my whole world turned upside down!

Before I go any further I want to say this first; I love being the mama to these wonderful boys. I feel so blessed each and every day, and I would not change a single thing.

Back to the upside-down-world… I had visions about what kind of mom I would be. I had concrete determination about how we were going to parent these little blessings. But God had other plans.

Motherhood is nothing like I had imagined it. In the beginning it was almost unbearable. Of course, I looked put-together. It seemed like I was adjusting. I appeared to be handling this new role. But I was an absolute mess!

Things didn’t get easier until I gave up. I didn’t give up on the family, I gave up trying to force my plans. Once I threw in the towel, and started ‘going with the flow’ things sort of fell into place.

It is still so very hard for me to adjust to each new obstacle mothering brings, but I finally feel like I can handle change. We are well into the toddler stage, and EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. presents something new and albeit challenging, but now I just cope.

I can comfortably tell people that motherhood is the most awesome and rewarding thing I have ever done.

There will be steep hills you have to battle to climb. But please don’t keep your focus at reaching the top. Instead, soak in each and every experience on the way.

One Year of Blogging, and Day 15 Update

Today marks a year since my first post. Has it really been a year?

I decided compiled a short list of lessons learned from this past year:

1. I used to have a problem. I would start projects, but never get around to finishing them. (Need proof? Look what I found when cleaning out the spare bedroom closet.) Knowing that there are a few people anxiously waiting to see something has helped me overcome this problem.

Notice the size? 6-12 month! This was intended for the boys’ first Thanksgiving, two Thanksgivings ago…

2. Being a stay at home mama is hard work! Before children; I worked. A lot. I usually had a fulltime job, a part-time job, and was in school. Our house was pretty clean, life was organized, and dinner was a breeze.

When the boys made their appearance into my life, my organization and productivity skills went into hibernation. I can now say that those skills do return… eventually.

3. I need lists in my life. Enough said.

4. The posts I had the hardest time writing, were the ones that helped me the most (and were some of the more popular ones.) (Don’t know what I’m talking about? Here’s one.)

5. I absolutely LOVE my readers! I could not even imagine life as a stay at home mama without this technology. I have been so fortunate to receive encourage, tips, and praise from this community. Thank you!

I have been tempted to go back to those earlier posts and start clicking delete (they are so embarrassing). But, looking at those posts helps me remember the season I was in and the desperation I felt. As I watch my little guys grow more each and everyday, I tend to forget that I am growing right next to them.

Enough sentimental rambling. Here’s an update on Project #15 (surface clean the living room and kitchen):

I know what you are thinking, “this looks like all of the other living room before pictures.” Sadly, this is what the living room looks like everyday before naptime.

Lastly, I found more stuff to get rid of:

What posts would you like to see more of? I know this little space of mine is a hodge podge of topics. What do you enjoy reading the most? Or do you like the unpredictable variety?

Thanks again!

Lessons From Great Grandma’s Kitchen; Recipe Organization

Recipe organization is something I have been struggling with for a while now. I even made corralling my recipe chaos one of my 30 by 30 goals.

Like most recipe hoarders, I have a stash of recipes that are spilling out of folders, notebooks, and drawers. This doesn’t even include my abundance of cookbooks that I need to weed down (hmmm… do I see a 31 by 31 goal…). Don’t forget to throw Pinterest in there.

I had this idea that I would digitize and organize my recipes. After many unsuccessful attempts I gave up (quite a few times). The thought of starting up my computer, then searching for a recipe all but drained any kitchen ambitions I had. The worst part was when hubby would ask, “could you make that dish you made….? You know it had….?” I realized that I was not keeping track of recipes that my family liked.

One of the best things about cooking with Grandma was pulling out her green metal recipe box. I would flip through the 3 x 5 index cards adorned with Grandma’s penmanship and years of cooking smudges. As I grew older our time together in the kitchen grew far and few. One habit that never ceased was requesting to look through Grandma’s recipe box.

I have recently accepted that digital isn’t for me. I have taken to Grandma’s recipe organization; the green metal box. Each recipe in Grandma’s little metal box had been tried, tested, perfected, and family approved. No magazine clippings shoved in there.

I still have my overflow of paper. I still add to my Pinterest boards. But when I find a successful recipe (meaning a recipe that my family will eat again), I handwrite the recipe on a 3 x 5 index card, and tuck it safely into my very own green metal box. (Do you know how many garage sales we went to before we found a green metal box?)

This method has been working so far. I guess I just wasn’t meant to be a digital cook.

How do you organize your recipes?

*Did you miss the first lesson from Great Grandma’s kitchen? Here it is.

Kitchen Lessons I Have Learned From Great Grandma; part 1

Celebrating 90 years.

I am one of those fortunate people who had the opportunity to know my great-grandparents. Our family would take the two hour drive to Lake Orion every Sunday for a visit. They also took us kids (usually separately) for a whole week during the summer.

Great Grandma was a wise woman. Additionally, like most people from her generation; she knew her way around the kitchen. For the next 4 weeks I plan to post lessons I have learned from that simple and inviting kitchen in the city.

Here goes, the first lesson:

Shortly after I learned to read, I became more interested in helping in the kitchen. Mom, dad, and grandparents all received my “help”. One summer while staying my week with Grandma and Grandpa, Grandma had decided it was time I learn how to make pancakes.

We were having breakfast on the picnic table. The neighbors and their children were invited. So you can imagine the honor I felt receiving the opportunity to make most important part of breakfast, the pancakes.

Grandma handed me the 3x5 index card, covered with her beautiful scrawl. I immediately started getting out ingredients, bowls, and utensils. I knew what I was doing, I have helped Grandma, and mom and dad (who both learned how to make pancakes from this very woman, in this very kitchen).

I measured and poured. I stirred and mixed. I cooked and flipped. All the while Grandma looked over my shoulder with a proud smile on her face, letting me do my thing.

We all sat down at the picnic table in the backyard. There were at least 8 of us. Everyone dove in, putting a pancake on their plate. Smoothing butter (the real stuff, no Can’t Believe in this house), drizzling with syrup. I did the same, cut off a piece, and took a bite.

YUCK! This was my very loud internal thought. I looked around at everyone else, waiting for their horrified reactions.

No reactions were to be seen or heard. In fact, I was told “good breakfast.” I did observe additional syrup going on all the pancakes though….

After breakfast, while cleaning up I asked Grandma why the pancakes tasted so bad. I did use her recipe, and they tasted nothing like the pancakes I was used to.

Grandma let out a little chuckle. “You didn’t read the recipe.” she went on to explain that I put salt in for sugar, and vice versa.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“If I stopped you, the same mistake will be made in the future. Now, you will always read the recipe thoroughly.”

“Why did everyone still eat them, and even say they were good?”

Although there were many kitchen lessons learned during this experience, here’s the most important lesson I took from that day:

“They were gobbling up the love you put into those pancakes, not the salty flapjacks. Besides, any meal you don’t have to cook yourself is a good meal.” Grandma is very intelligent…and matter-of-fact.

What is your earliest memory in the kitchen? Any life lessons learned?

I Spoke Too Soon

Hubby left for work this morning with one request. “PLEASE take a nap when the boys nap.”

I love the ‘me’ time that naptime brings me. I look forward to being able to focus on things that I enjoy (like sewing). I like being able to have the house look normal, even if only for the few hours the boys nap. I enjoy having the time to prepare dinner for the family without frequent breaks to break up a wrestling match, fill a cup with milk, or to move things up even higher; out of reach from my growing toddlers. I LOVE naptime.

Why the request for a mama nap? Well… remember when I mentioned the other day about how blessed we were. You know, because the boys have (mostly) slept through the night since they were little? We are usually very leery of sharing this information, it seems as soon as we do- they make us want to eat our words.

Tuesday night, the very day I hit publish, Zeke woke up in the middle of the night. He’s getting the runny nose junk. No problem, we just brought him into our bed and he fell right back to sleep. Last night on the other hand, Zeke woke up, and proceeded to wake Xander up. Bringing two toddlers into mama and daddy’s bed is not a good idea. (Remember the previously mentioned wrestling matches?) Especially when dad has to work in a few hours. I brought them downstairs, where they decided to party the night away. And the morning.

That’s parenthood. I’m off to take a nap.

Why Journaling Is On My To-Do List

If you have been reading for a while you may have noticed that journaling for my husband and kids is always on my to-do list. I still haven’t done it.

If it is something that is continually put off, why is it on my list?

Because of a gift I was left. The night before my wedding I was given this:

It’s from my dad. He left one for each one of us, my mom (actually she had several), my brother, and I. We had no idea they even existed, mom found them by accident. They are not anything fancy. Just a notebook in the color that represented us in my father’s eyes, emblazoned with his art/handwriting (to me his handwriting will always be art). They weren’t even wrote in regularly.

But WOW!

What a gift to get on the eve of your wedding. I literally walked around with cold spoons over my eyes the morning of our big day.

So why have I been dragging my feet on starting them for my husband and children?

Honestly, I’m not sure. Sometimes I think I’ll just remember everything and tell them. Stupid, I know. Sometimes I feel like it is a ‘death sentence.’ If I write down my thoughts, feelings, and dreams to my family; I might die too. I know this is irrational thinking, my journal was started at least ten years before dad’s accident (just a guess- he didn’t date it). Sometimes I feel that those feelings are mine, not to be shared. This is purely selfish, something I need to work on- breaking down my wall. Other times I get paralyzed, my perfectionist takes over and tells me, “You know you’re not going to be regular about journaling, so why bother?”

Enough excuses! This is very important to me. It is important that even after I am gone (hopefully a very, very long time from now) that my family knows my love for them. It is important that they know my feelings, dreams, insecurities, proud moments, and everything in between.

I may forget to tell them. I may tell them, and they may forget.

I want to have a gift to share with my family, just like the gift left for me.

So I start. I start a journal for each one of my men. Just like mine, theirs’ get emblazoned with my art, and written with my hand.

I am not going to beat myself up about regularity. I am not going to guard my heart. I AM going to be deliberate about recording our memories.

What gift had the most impact on your life?

The Story Looks Up. (a little more about me)

I have tried to pick this story back up quite a few times. And then deleted the posts. The last Letting You In post left off at my dad’s memorial. I wanted, err…felt I needed to continue the story because dad’s death is not the only reason why my life has changed so much in the past couple of years. I’m just having a problem continuing in a story format like before. It didn’t help any that I wrote the series around the holidays. This made it even more emotional for me. I have decided to continue (finally), but I’m just going to bullet some highlights. Here goes:

• School- I finished the semester (despite my teacher’s kind encouragement to take the semester off). I not only finished, I earned myself a spot on the Dean’s List. An accomplishment I am very proud of given all the circumstances I had to face that semester.
• Marriage- We had our wedding, a week and a half after burying my father, and in the midst of a busy school semester. It was the most beautiful wedding ever. I know I am biased, but people are still talking about it.

• Honeymoon- We took our honeymoon a month after our wedding. (After the summer semester of school was over.) I am a planner, my husband is not. We decided to take off without reservations, or a concrete plan. We went where our GPS took us (Pennsylvania), checked out each town’s legacy, and had the most wonderful vacation ever!
• Work- I started working at a nursing home. I’ll never forget the day of my interview. I was offered the job about 15 minutes in. I tried to call dad with my exciting news, left a message for a stranger.
• Nursing- Validated for the (extremely long) waiting list for nursing clinicals. I’m still waiting…
• Family- My mom bought a house closer to us (about a block from me, and about two blocks from my brother). My brother (who also had major life changes during this time) left for his second deployment. Thankfully he is home, safe and sound.

Next week I’ll tell you my pregnancy story.

What do you want to know about me? (If it’s nothing, and you feel these little tidbits waste our time you can let me know that too.)

Letting You In, part 5

I was supposed to be studying for exams. I was supposed to be ordering flowers. I was supposed to be to my final dress fitting. I was supposed to be tallying up RSVPs. There was so much that I thought I was supposed to be doing.

 

Planning a funeral was not one of them.

 

My creative energies have never been tested so much. This memorial needed to represent my father. I focused on the details, finding jobs to keep the family focused on remembering this great man. I guess this was part of my grieving process.

 

For instance his urn was a motorcycle gas tank. It was from my little brother’s first motorcycle. Dad had it saved in the garage, “scrapbooked” so he could hold all the precious memories alive. Levi (my brother) meticulously sanded it down, and painted it flat black. One of our favorite memories. Ask dad his favorite color, “flat black,” was always his response. He even went so far as to spray paint an old International pickup truck flat black while mom was sleeping. We then put an ‘In Memory’ decal on his urn.

 

We had decided to wear jeans, a ‘God’ T-shirt, and dew-wraps. You see, dad lived his life for God. He ministered in a way different from the typical pastoral figure. He ministered through living. He always had on a God shirt. It was typically black, and looked like any other biker T-shirt, until you read it. This always drew questions, in which he was always prepared to answer in an inviting way.

 

He led and participated in many ministries. He was a “Biker for Christ.” He did prison ministries, helped out at soup kitchens, and went with the church teenagers on their mission trips. He was weeks away from becoming an ‘official’ pastor.

 

I’ll never forget the first time he preached in front of the church. At the time our church was still ‘traditional.’ Dad stood at the front of the church with a black T-shirt emblazoned with bold white letters; “SATAN SUCKS." This was my dad.

 

This day he was nervous. To add to this nervousness, he had hecklers! Yes, hecklers AT CHURCH! The old ladies did not like his shirt, one even told him to turn it inside out. His nervousness led to pacing, and a view of the back of his shirt. JESUS SAVES. You could feel the sigh of relief and acceptance as everyone sat back and listened to his message.

 

Back to his memorial. This was by far the most powerful day of my life. I know in most circumstances, especially ones like ours, people are defeated. Questioning God’s purpose, and even existence. I felt empowered. At the end of the day I knew dad had served his purpose.

 

The day started out wet. A wet, rainy day; how fitting. There were bikers from all across the country (family, and friends he had made in his ministry) riding to this memorial. And it was raining. Hard.

 

I’ll never forget standing in the church parking lot that day. The rain had let up, and was barely a drizzle. All of a sudden there was thunder. A loud, continuous, rumble. I think I heard it before anyone else, or at least I had registered what the sound was.

 

The tears started to flow, rushing down my face like the rain we were wiping from our windshield earlier. My soon-to-be-husband wrapped his arms around me tight as we waited.

 

The thunder got louder and louder. And here they came. Motorcycle after motorcycle. Pouring in from both directions, merging together in a single file line. Somber faced. Filling the church parking lot. Remembering my father.

 

To this day, I get butterflies when I hear the familiar rumble rolling down the highway.

 

The church was packed. The pews were full. The family center, equipped with video feed, was loaded. People were standing everywhere in between. In over thirty years of service, this was the largest turnout the pastor and his wife had ever seen.

 

The service was so fitting. Upbeat music. Dad’s story. God’s story. An invitation to Christianity.

 

Towards the end of the service the pastor invited people to ‘tell their story,’ to remember Dave. This is how I know dad served God’s purpose for him. So many people, some I had never met, stood up and shared how dad led them to God. And we only heard from the sanctuary! The family center was just as energized! People came up to me weeks, even months later sharing their story.

 

That’s it for today. I’m starting to feel like I am rambling. Come back next week to read more of “my story.” Thanks for bearing with me on this challenging trip.

 

Wondering what’s going on? Here’s part 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Letting You In, part 4

I was working. Well, not really. Business had slowed right down, there was a regular customer, and my fiancé. We were all chatting while I cooked dinner for my customer, when Brian’s phone rang. My phone was just ringing, but I didn't get to it in time.

“Its your mom.”

“Hello,” I answer.

“Your father was just in an accident.” My mom is frantic. It sounds like she is running.

“What happened!”

“A deer. It jumped right out of the ditch. There was no time to react. This is bad. I need you here, now!”

“Mom, where are you? Did you crash your bike too? Are you okay? Why does it sound like you are running? Did you call 911?”

She did crash her bike too. But she was physically okay. She ‘laid’ her bike down, and landed in the ditch. (That is her term, ‘laid down.’ I personally think it may be hard to lay a bike down going 50 mph.) She had called me while running to dad. She put his glasses under his nose, he was breathing. No coratid pulse, but a slight femoral pulse. (Mom is a RN). She performed CPR until the ambulance arrived.

I called my brother, he didn’t answer. My customer took over the bar (don’t worry, he is friends with the owner). My fiancé went to my brother’s. I raced to the hospital.

I have never drove so fast in my whole life. The hospital was about 25 minutes from where we were, and I think I made it in 10. (I did at least have enough sense to put my flashers on.)

It seemed like the longest drive ever.

When I was about five miles from the hospital, the helicopter was arriving. I got a sense of panic and relief all at once. Panic because this IS really bad. Relief because, “he must be alive.”

My stomach still drops every time I see a medical helicopter.

I finally arrived at the hospital. I threw my vehicle in park, and ran as fast as I could. I had lost my sandals along the way, and left my car running in the parking lot. When I got to the entrance, I knew he wasn’t going on the helicopter. The responders’ faces told a sad story that I wasn’t ready for. I remember screaming “DADDY!”

They were in there. A whole team trying like hell to save him.

I truly believe this. My mom used to work in this very emergency room. With these very nurses and doctors. A couple of my classmates were working. Some were my parents’ Christian biker friends. Some went to our church.

They tried.

I’m sorry, but I have to continue next week. I hope you understand, this is not some ploy to get you to come back, this story, my story, is a hard one to write.

Need to catch up? part 1, part 2, and part 3

Letting You In, part 3

Where were we… I was taking an extra-full load of college classes, bartending two nights a week, and planning a July wedding.

While working on Wednesday night, I had a couple surprise visitors. First my parents came in. They were on their motorcycles, taking a ride around the thumb. (We live in Michigan, ‘the thumb’ is actually a place. Beautiful drive actually.) They had just visited my brother and his (pregnant) wife, and had stopped in to see me. Shortly after that my soon-to-be husband came in.

Things were slow at the bar, so we had time to chat. We started talking about the final details of the wedding. It was only 17 days away! Gasp!

Dad was wondering what I wanted him to wear. “Nice jeans and one of your good t-shirts.”

“I can get a suit or a tux.”

“I want my dad to give me away, not a stranger in a suit. I don’t think I have ever seen you in a suit.” So it was settled. (I was more worried about the people who are talking about coming, that have not sent in their RSVP. How can we make sure we have enough food and drinks?)

We chatted some more, and when they were ready to head home, my fiancé and I walked them outside. What a beautiful night. We gave our hugs, said our good-byes, and watched the two Harleys rumble toward home.

Twenty minutes later I got the worst phone call imaginable….

I hope you are enjoying these posts, or at least tolerating them. I am so sorry for chopping it up so much, just bear with me, you’ll see the difficulty I face writing these.

Miss part 1 and part 2? There you go.

Letting You In, part 2

Where was I? I had decided to be a nurse…

I went to the college to sign up for classes. By my calculations, I could finish up my remaining prerequisites in the upcoming Spring-Summer semester.

I met opposition. The guidance counselor did not think it was a wise idea to try 18 credits in the condensed semester. He told me that most people have trouble with 12 credits, the most success coming from only taking 6 credits. The issue was that by taking these classes now, I would be on the outrageously long clinical waitlist a year earlier than if I were to stretch it out. The consoler told me, “You will not do good, and will more than likely fail. Why waste your money?” After I insisted on taking all 18 credits this semester, he made a note on my file along the lines ‘warned student about difficulty of course load.’

Things were going great. I was fortunate to make friends with some like-minded students going into the nursing program. I was getting great grades, keeping up on all my reading, homework, and class projects, working two nights a week bartending, and planning a July wedding. I was set on proving that ignorant counselor wrong.

Then the unthinkable happened….

…to be continued.

miss the first post, I’ve got you covered

Letting You In, part 1

I started this blog to help me see through the cloudy chaos that my life has become. I have a strong feeling that I am not the only person dealing with these struggles. BUT…. right now, it just looks like a chaotic blog. I have to-dos, goals, cleaning, mommy-hood, crafts, and of course cooking. Well, this is me right now- a big jumble.

That’s my problem though, I have neglected to share much about myself. You see its hard, opening myself up. I even have a hard time letting those close to me in. Of course its bad, but sometimes it seems better for everyone involved if I just bottle everything up and deal internally. This is a problem area of mine that I am committing myself to work on- sharing me. No matter how scared I am. Here goes (a little):

My life changed so much in just over two years time; most of it occurring in two months time.
I was working as a teller at a bank. I was good at my job. In fact, I was even told that I had a chance to be a supervisor in the near future. Sounds great, right? Nope. I was very unhappy and unfulfilled.
My soon-to-be husband had been prodding me to go into nursing, something that had been a part of my inner debates for a while. I decided to ‘get my feet wet’ before I took the plunge. I signed up for a two week Nurse Aide Certification class. After completion, I had a good feeling that this was the direction God wanted me to go in. So I registered for the few classes I needed for validation into nursing clinicals, put in my notice at the bank, and cashed in my 401K.

To be continued…..