Tag Archives: Twins

Clothed In Righteousness

19 Dec

Dear Stacy, and Mom, and every other Mom I talked to today,

Thank you.  Thank you a thousand times over.

As you know, today I suffered from a severe case of Irrational Mommy Guilt.  It began at approximately 12:07 this morning when my head finally hit the pillow after an evening of rehearsals, church, more rehearsal, cutting pineapple into stars, transforming strawberries into santa hats, assembling snowman heads out of styrofoam cups, and frantically finishing last-minute gift knitting.

At that fateful minute I realized two things, 1)  I never finished knitting Peter’s Christmas sweater and 2) my daughter didn’t own a beautiful, sparkly, preschool-program-worthy Christmas dress.

The tears, phone calls, and monopolized conversations you all endured are precious to me.  I thank you, because despite the materialist, covetous, prideful nature of my problem, you gently forgave my weakness, shored me up with your words of encouragement and offers to help, and met me with your own parental misgivings.

You are dear women.  Models of motherhood.  Sisters in Christ.

So with you, I share my joy.

Preschool Program

The dress is more beautiful than I ever could have hoped for.  Sleeves.  It has sleeves.


And I promise, there are sparkles on there.  Cele wasn’t going to leave the store without sparkles.  Talking her down from the glittery, taffeta, rhinestoned purple number was a chore, though.

Pete and Cele

I didn’t photoshop this with some “soft” filter. That blur is just powdered sugar residue left over from my Mommy Guilt about holiday candy.

And although the sweater is not technically finished (I’m going to uncharacteristically not point out it’s raw edges to you, though.) (The armholes.  I totally haven’t put the ribbing on the armholes yet.  I can’t help myself.) he was thrilled to finally be able to wear his “brown.”


And the tie, “like Daddy does,” was the real star on top of the tree.

The best part of the evening wasn’t their clothing, though.  And it wasn’t my fleeting sense of Mommy accomplishment.  It wasn’t even three-year-old giddiness at new duds.  It was hearing my children remind me that the Maker of everything came as an itsy-bitsy baby, held in his own mother’s arms, which probably rocked a little less violently than preschool hand-motions might lead you to believe.  And that his coming as a man was for the purpose of forgiving my sins.  My sins of worrying about tomorrow and fretting over clothing.

And that’s the Joy I want to share with you, too.

In the Love of His Incarnation,

Cele and me

As soon as I pulled this photo up I realized that I lost one of my earrings. So, if you see it hanging around school . . . but I’m not worried about my clothing. No, not at all.

Second First

3 Sep

Do you remember this picture?008

Did you notice this in the background?Cele Closeup

Yes, this girl needs to go to school.  And whatever she needs, her brother needs.  Therefore . . . 015

I bring you a second “first day of school” post.  This one involves a classroom more than beanbag’s throw away from their toybox, a teacher who was not present at their birth, and classmates who don’t all share genetic material.024

That’s right, The Twins (formerly known as The Babies) are headed to preschool this fall.

They get to move their name tags from “home” to “school” while we get two mornings of “homeschool” to ourselves.020

The boys have been prepping them for the joys they will have under the tutelage of this delightful woman.023

And while they, and by they I mean Pete, might miss Mamma a little bit, 029

it helps to know that Daddy is just a short walk down the hall.026

The Pits

5 Dec

What do a cherry pitter and Christmas tree lights have in common?

Cherry Pitted Lights

Nothing.  That is, until they fall into the hands of Evil Twin Genius.

_________________________________________________________________________________words worth

A Laundry List. Literally.

1 Jun

Things to wash today:

  1. A quart of freshly cold-pressed coffee out of the kitchen rugs and seven towels used in the clean-up process
  2. A cupful of milk out of Abraham’s favorite blanket which unwisely joined him at the breakfast table
  3. Cinnamon sugar out of all the placemats, sprinkled there by a two-year old with a love of climbing, unscrewing, and shaking
  4. A quarter of a bottle of cherry body wash out of the bathroom rugs.  No laundry detergent needed.
  5. Yogurt out of the bibs, long-sleeves, and hair of the twins who generously shared “bites” with one another
  6. Various types of shampoo and conditioner out of the other bathroom’s rugs after the twins discovered the storage cabinet more fascinating than the toilet.  I’m not complaining about this one.
  7. wet, dirty socks from unshod children and a dreary June day

I’m just thankful that there’s no blood-stained laundry.  Jerry took care of all of that yesterday.


I forgot one thing. Nope, two.

23 Mar

The other day when I typed up the list of super-duper-life-changing March events I knew something was missing.  It didn’t hit me until I was listening to NPR today, and they were talking about the Health Care Bill and all that hoopla.  My memory immediately skipped to that warm March day two years ago when I watched President Obama use no less than twenty pens to put his John Hancock on the historical document.

What?  Your’e having a hard time believing that the signing of the Health Care bill was really that important in my life?  Well, you’re mostly right.  The bill itself, well, let’s just say we will not be lauding or debating it here at this blog.  In case you haven’t noticed, that’s not really the kind of ship we run around here.

But it is important to me, because I have vivid memories of sitting in the waiting room at St. Mary’s Hospital watching the live news feed and thinking that it would be an interesting historical memory to share with my future son or daughter.

I was wrong.  But only about the word “or.”

A few minutes later the ultrasound technician showed me this:

and our lives changed forever.

I remember more tiny details about that day than any other.

I remember that when I asked the tech if I could call my husband while she changed the paperwork to reflect twins she said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop you.”

I remember that the first word out of my beloved Jerry’s mouth was, “Interesting.”

Aha! It's Friday, and this is a book. I did manage to work it in!

I remember that I had to repeat myself several times before either my mom or sister would believe me.

I remember that I went to Blimpie and bought myself a 12-inch sub and could hardly keep myself from announcing to every person in the restaurant that I was having twins.

I remember explaining to the Simeon that we were having twins, just like the ones in the Beverly Cleary book Two Times the Fun, even though there was a set in his Kindergarten class, and others at church he knew.

I remember saying the word “Twins” outloud over and over trying to make it seem real.

I remember showing the ultrasound picture to everyone who would look.

I remember understanding the concept of being so excited I couldn’t sleep for the first time in my life.

And yet somehow I missed March 23 in my list.  I ‘ve been forgetful ever since.


It Could Be Worse

25 Jan

The baby gate alone was sufficient for the rest of the children.

All I can say is that it’s good we got Pete and Cele as twins and not Pete and RePete.


Us too! Us too!

7 Jan

I know it’s Grab Bag Special Saturday, but I need to jump on my sister’s band wagon.  But to appease all you schedule followers I’ll throw in a picture from our recent trip to Nebraska and tell you how it illustrates my point.  Or hers.  Our ours.

That,  friends, is my beloved husband.  You might wonder what’s going on around him.  In short, a lot.  I don’t want to go into it right now, but I will tell you that it has something to do with this picture.

Sorry, Mom.  I like this image so much I can’t help but use it multiple times.  I do promise a post about the whole event that brought on this behavior, but for right now let’s concentrate with the same diligence as this guy:

You know what he’s reading, right?  Yup, Hunger Games.  He started it that morning.  He finished it that night.

Meanwhile nine children combusted in joy around him.  One of them burst into a fever right before his very eyes, and yet he was able to work even that to his advantage.  He simply swooped up the child in question, plopped him on his lap for a necessary and long nap, and bode his time in Panem.

I fell prey to the series in a similar way a little over a year ago.  I was painfully recovering from the birth of twins and suffering three hour feedings around the clock.  The Hunger Games were the only books that could simultaneously act as a pain reliever and middle of the night stimulant with no harsh side effects.

Well, there was that whole side effect of getting absolutely nothing else done for the duration of the books, but it was easy to pass that off on being a mom to newborn twins.  People totally bought that excuse.

What’s your’s?



8 Dec

Things I (We) Love:  Our Twins

Now, don’t get me wrong, outside of the clever Thing 1 and Thing 2 reference that can be made, I typically think of them as people not objects.  Also, while we’re making sure everything is crystal clear, regardless of what you are about to read, I do love them.  Very, very much.  That’s why they are allowed to stay.  Otherwise, they’d be off to boarding school faster than you can say “Cat in the Hat.”

For your reading enjoyment, with a heavy side of “Whew!  I’m sure glad I’m not her!,”  here is a brief rundown of what our 15-mo-old Twins were able to accomplish today.  Please keep in mind, that despite my propensity for exaggeration they did do each and every one of these things in the last 24 hours:

  • Peter tackled the cat.
  • Cecilia took Pete’s cup at breakfast and then acted as if she was giving it back to him, only to pull quickly away everytime he reached to regain his milk.  A delighted “No!” and guilty smile shaped her mouth.
  • Pete pulled our good serving platter, bowls and several other large, breakable items out of the china cabinet.
  • Cecilia fell off the desk.
  • Peter stood on the dining room table.
  • They emptied a bag of 72 individual teeth flossers on the bathroom floor.
  • Peter unplugged the TV, DVR, computer and Christmas tree.  Numerous times.
  • They pulled out the entire contents of a newly opened Kleenex box.  They must have meant them as gifts to me, because I found the pile under the Christmas tree.
  • Peter tried to clean the toilet with the back scrubber.  Then he threw in some bath toys for good measure.
  • Cecilia threw the nativity scene down their changing table.
  • They stole butter knives out of the dishwasher and toddled around the kitchen wielding them.
  • Cecilia nabbed a yam from the potato bin and gave it a tour of the house.
  • They removed the few remaining ornaments from the bottom of  our already top-heavy Christmas tree.  Despite what I said earlier, I fear it could topple.
  • Peter sharpened pencils.
  • Cecilia ran interference.
  • Peter sharpened scissors.  In the pencil sharpener.
  • Cecilia squealed in delight, or warning.  It’s unclear.
  • Peter tried to help Thomas with his math manipulatives.  They were both working on subtraction.

You’ll have to forgive the lack of pictures.  I was a little busy.  No!  Wait!  I have this one from exactly a year ago.

I think I’ll just stare at that for awhile.


The Shepherd’s Lament

7 Dec

He tended his sheep, and was able
To make do with the bright plastic stable,
.         But hands tickled his belly,
.         Threw him through air, so smelly.
Bethlehem’s too near the Twin’s changing table.


Sorry We Didn’t Call

28 Nov

Did you ever wonder how this blog got it’s start?  Well, for our trip down Memory Dirt Road today I will tell you.

Usually after a very busy weekend Stacy and I would send an e-mail with headings of the notable events. They served as an informational peace offering in lieu of all the phone calls we should have made.  At some point we decided the e-mails were so fun to write that we should go worldwide, and voila! the blog was born.

So today, I am recreating that apologetic catch-up for all of you out there.  We’re sorry for any missed blogs last week, please accept this really long rambling, but headed, post instead.

Computer Kaput
During our Thanksgiving Festivities I carefully placed my laptop in our bedroom, seemingly out of harms way, when somehow a wee toddling lad (or lass, but my money’s on the lad) made his way into the room, pulled it off the nightstand, and caused the screen to crack against the clamp that attached to the body of the computer.  The clamp was our solution to the screen’s persistent flicker. Its imprint spread darkness across the bottom third of my viewing area, and in the days since the incident, the blackness has edged up toward the tabs and menus at the top of the window, giving me a sense of drowning in my browser.  That’s a pretty valid excuse for not blogging, yes?

But at last I can breathe easy because my darling husband had a revelation:  he could hook my laptop up to another monitor we have in the house.  So, now my lap top is actually a desktop, that is sitting on the kitchen counter, which makes it a countertop, which seems like a whole niche of computers that someone really ought to think about marketing to accident prone moms like me.

Parenting Strategy of the Century
I don’t think my heading is any exaggeration, but I’ll let you judge for yourself:  Instead of normal Sunday School the children were in the church yesterday morning rehearsing for next week’s Advent Service.  Thomas, our somewhat change-resistant child, is having nothing to do with this mix-up of location and routine.  They had to bring him to me at the organ.  He sat next to me sobbing about how he missed Sunday School and the story, and he wasn’t going to do this service, and that he would only go back up with his class if I came along.  Since organ is not such a handy “pick up and move to a new location” kind of instrument that didn’t seem to be workable – but then inspiration hit.  I quickly grabbed a piece of scratch paper, and drew this*:

It’s me, of course.  What?  You were thrown off by the chicken feet and penguin hands?  Or did the smile on my face seem unnatural to you?  It doesn’t matter, because Thomas knew it was me.  And off he marched, with me crumpled up in his hand to go sit with his class for the rest of the rehearsal.

So, when do they hand out the Parenting Grammy Awards?  I need to find someone to make me a dress with uneven shoulder pads and some serious skirt flare.

136 Cubic Feet of Christmas
At our house it’s not Black Friday, it’s Evergreen Friday. Every year we go out to Prince Tree Farms and yell “Timber!”  We love the nice folks out there, and their tree prices cannot be beat – our tree cost less than $0.10 per cubic foot (a half pence more to have it shaken, drilled and tied.)  This year I had my dear husband cut off the top of a rather large tree.  I don’t know why he agrees to do these things for me.  It’s nuts.  But he and his brother sawed that forest dweller down and we drug it home.  It’s a monster at over nine feet high, and nearly eight feet wide.  It’s possibly a wee bit crooked, but only if you fail to tilt your head.  So far, it is adorned with white, gold and orange lights, like all good Christmas trees.  In my defense, the second box of lights looked gold, it was named amber, and I’m sure I’ll grow to love them.  Probably around Jan. 6.

Grab Bag Saturday Make-up Session
Here are two pictures of Stacy and I decorating our 1980 Christmas Tree.  For your protection, and her’s, I have blocked out my sister’s training pants.

Prepositional Milestones
The twins learned not only how to climb up and on things, but in them.

51 Guests
At our house this weekend!  And I’m only slightly exaggerating.  For real, there were twenty-six people at Thanksgiving Dinner and another twenty-five for a Sunday dinner to catch up with out-of-town friends.  But, in all honesty, our family alone makes up over a quarter of each group, and we can’t exactly be called guests.

This is what made both events possible:  Everyone else brings wonderful food, lends gracious and hospitable hands, and warms our house with their presence. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.  In the meantime my husband might go cut down a second spruce.

Big White Rectangles
The newest trend in birthday cakes at our house is one I can completely get behind.  The boys want plain, old, regular, boring cakes with a literary tie-in, and a cheap toy plopped on top.  Okay, what they really want is cake and toys, but if you fill in the blanks the rest of it works out great.  Thomas requested an Indian in the Cupboard cake for his Sixth.  Here it is:

And he didn’t seem at all disappointed that Little Bear and Boone were still “plas-tick” and didn’t come to life.  Whew.

No e-mail to our Mom is complete without a weather report, and I want you to feel like you’re getting the Real Deal here:  It was SO NICE all weekend long.  Nice like over 50 degrees, nice. Nice, like we cut the tree without experiencing frost bite, nice.  Nice, like I over-dressed for my runs by wearing a long-sleeved  shirt, nice.

Nice, like the boys got in a game of Charlie Brown football on Thanksgiving, nice.  Nice, like you could stand to be out in the rain without thinking it was horrible, nice.  Okay, the rain was actually not that great, but still, overall, nice.

I Should Quit
Most e-mails end with some explanation about how we should attend to our children, or our husband, or our houses, or our jobs.  In this case my children are asleep and/or helping Jerry with the downstairs Christmas tree, my house is clean because we had all this company, and I’m not at work, so . . .

Don’t worry, I’ll quit boring you now.  Hope you have a lovely week.  Back to our regularly scheduled blogging.  Maybe.

*The above picture was a replica of the replica of me.  Apparently I was thrown away shortly after playing the last chord of Joy to the World.