A couple of years ago, when the Kindergartner was a preschooler, he started asking questions about Thanksgiving. No doubt, they were talking about the holiday at preschool, and he wondered how we planned to celebrate.
"Will we get a turkey?" He asked.
"Yes." I told him.
"We will?" He asked again.
"Of course," I said.
We must have had this conversation a dozen times in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. Finally, shopping day arrived and I should have suspected something when he jumped in the van without complaint to go to the grocery store. (He hates grocery shopping.)
We got to the meat department, and I said, "Okay, buddy! It's finally time to pick our turkey!"
He looked at the mound of frozen turkeys and exclaimed, "But, Mom! These turkeys are all DEAD!
Needless to say, he didn't eat any turkey that Thanksgiving.
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Monday, July 12, 2010
missing life
“No. I don’t want to,” the preschooler said, shaking his head.
“But doesn’t it look like fun?” I asked, pointing to stack of canoes.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked down. He didn’t want to put on a life vest and climb into that canoe.
I assured him it was okay that he didn't want to go, and sent Llama Papa and the noisy boys off in canoes with my Aunt and Uncle. The preschooler and I walked back to the boathouse, and I asked one more time.
“Why don’t you want to try the canoe?”
“Well, it’s too long.”
“We don’t have to go for a long ride. We could just paddle over to the dock. Wanna try it?”
“No. I don’t have my swimsuit on.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We won’t get wet. We’ll stay dry in the boat.”
“Then why do we need to wear those vests?”
“Those are just-in-case vests. Sometimes the boat tips over by accident and we wear the vests to stay safe. But most of the time, almost all of the time, you stay perfectly dry in the boat.”
“Oh. Well. Oh. Okay. I changed my mind. I want to try it.”
We flagged down Llama Papa’s canoe as it headed around a corner, and climbed in. The preschooler grinned as he sat down. We paddled around Stoney Lake, swapping stories with our family in the other canoe and racing toward a mama swan and her babies. We enjoyed the fresh air and sun and time together floating around. The preschooler loved it.
And to think he almost missed it.
Fear holds us back sometimes without us even noticing it. We don’t have the words to describe it, but it’s there. And sometimes we just need someone to ask us the right questions so we can move forward. Life is short. Too short to be held back by insecurity and fear.
Surround yourself with people who ask good questions. People who listen. People who encourage you to try new things and be your best self.
You’ll be glad you did.
“But doesn’t it look like fun?” I asked, pointing to stack of canoes.
He shrugged his shoulders and looked down. He didn’t want to put on a life vest and climb into that canoe.
I assured him it was okay that he didn't want to go, and sent Llama Papa and the noisy boys off in canoes with my Aunt and Uncle. The preschooler and I walked back to the boathouse, and I asked one more time.
“Why don’t you want to try the canoe?”
“Well, it’s too long.”
“We don’t have to go for a long ride. We could just paddle over to the dock. Wanna try it?”
“No. I don’t have my swimsuit on.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We won’t get wet. We’ll stay dry in the boat.”
“Then why do we need to wear those vests?”
“Those are just-in-case vests. Sometimes the boat tips over by accident and we wear the vests to stay safe. But most of the time, almost all of the time, you stay perfectly dry in the boat.”
“Oh. Well. Oh. Okay. I changed my mind. I want to try it.”
We flagged down Llama Papa’s canoe as it headed around a corner, and climbed in. The preschooler grinned as he sat down. We paddled around Stoney Lake, swapping stories with our family in the other canoe and racing toward a mama swan and her babies. We enjoyed the fresh air and sun and time together floating around. The preschooler loved it.
And to think he almost missed it.
Fear holds us back sometimes without us even noticing it. We don’t have the words to describe it, but it’s there. And sometimes we just need someone to ask us the right questions so we can move forward. Life is short. Too short to be held back by insecurity and fear.
Surround yourself with people who ask good questions. People who listen. People who encourage you to try new things and be your best self.
You’ll be glad you did.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
God is trying to kill me
I was about half way to Bloomington for Hearts at Home when a light appeared on the dashboard. “It’s like a parentheses with an exclamation point in the middle and a squiggly line on the bottom.” I told my husband on my cell phone.
“One of the tires needs air,” he said. “You should stop as soon as you can.”
And so I stopped at the next gas station and Llama Papa patiently talked me through the process of checking the air pressure and filling up the low tire. “I’m sorry,” he said more than once. “I should have checked out the van before you left.”
I was just amazed I was able to figure it out, and grateful the rain had stopped.
And then I tried to start the van again. Nothing.
Great.
I went in the gas station and talked with the gals working there. “Did you leave the lights on while you checked the tires?” She asked.
I nodded.
“It’s probably the battery. Give it ten minutes or so and try it again.”
We chatted while I waited and munched on a Milky Way bar that I purchased because, you know, eating chocolate seemed like the right thing to do.
I tried the van again. Nope.
The helpful gas station lady asked another customer, Fred, to take a look at it. Kindly, he did. “Doesn’t sound like the battery,” he said. “It might be the fuel pump.”
A few more phone calls home and we had a plan. Llama Papa would come pick me up and I’d carpool the following day with a friend. I was volunteering both days, so I called and let them know I wouldn’t be there until Saturday.
Then I settled into my van for an hour-long pity party while I waited for my husband to come and rescue me.
It had been a long week. After three interviews in a matter of days, Llama Papa and I were cautiously optimistic that he might be offered a real job. But no. He was their third choice.
I chatted with my friend on the phone and we laughed together at the misery of it all. “You know what’s really funny?” I told her, “I was listening to that Casting Crowns song, Praise You in the Storm, remembering that God really does have a plan for us. And right now, this is it. I was just thinking, Lord, I do surrender to your plan. And then my stupid van breaks down. What IS that?” (Except maybe I didn’t say stupid because, being the spiritual giant that I am, sometimes I swear when I get stressed out.)
We laughed and agreed God wasn’t trying to send me any hidden messages, because if He were, it would be that He’s trying to kill me.
Llama Papa arrived in good time and proceeded to—I am not making this up—start my van on the first try. He offered to trade vehicles with me, and I continued on my way to Bloomington after all.
I’m glad I did. Hearts at Home rocked.
And I’m convinced that God isn’t trying to kill me after all.
“One of the tires needs air,” he said. “You should stop as soon as you can.”
And so I stopped at the next gas station and Llama Papa patiently talked me through the process of checking the air pressure and filling up the low tire. “I’m sorry,” he said more than once. “I should have checked out the van before you left.”
I was just amazed I was able to figure it out, and grateful the rain had stopped.
And then I tried to start the van again. Nothing.
Great.
I went in the gas station and talked with the gals working there. “Did you leave the lights on while you checked the tires?” She asked.
I nodded.
“It’s probably the battery. Give it ten minutes or so and try it again.”
We chatted while I waited and munched on a Milky Way bar that I purchased because, you know, eating chocolate seemed like the right thing to do.
I tried the van again. Nope.
The helpful gas station lady asked another customer, Fred, to take a look at it. Kindly, he did. “Doesn’t sound like the battery,” he said. “It might be the fuel pump.”
A few more phone calls home and we had a plan. Llama Papa would come pick me up and I’d carpool the following day with a friend. I was volunteering both days, so I called and let them know I wouldn’t be there until Saturday.
Then I settled into my van for an hour-long pity party while I waited for my husband to come and rescue me.
It had been a long week. After three interviews in a matter of days, Llama Papa and I were cautiously optimistic that he might be offered a real job. But no. He was their third choice.
I chatted with my friend on the phone and we laughed together at the misery of it all. “You know what’s really funny?” I told her, “I was listening to that Casting Crowns song, Praise You in the Storm, remembering that God really does have a plan for us. And right now, this is it. I was just thinking, Lord, I do surrender to your plan. And then my stupid van breaks down. What IS that?” (Except maybe I didn’t say stupid because, being the spiritual giant that I am, sometimes I swear when I get stressed out.)
We laughed and agreed God wasn’t trying to send me any hidden messages, because if He were, it would be that He’s trying to kill me.
Llama Papa arrived in good time and proceeded to—I am not making this up—start my van on the first try. He offered to trade vehicles with me, and I continued on my way to Bloomington after all.
I’m glad I did. Hearts at Home rocked.
And I’m convinced that God isn’t trying to kill me after all.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
when things go wrong
Here’s a paradox: some of our happiest memories as a family are created when things go wrong. Is this true for you too?
Thankfully, we didn’t have any big problems on our recent trip to Disney…just the typical “stuff” that happens when you’re traveling. Here are a few of the highlights that we’re still laughing about:
Chicken. All I have to do is ask Twin A. if he wants some chicken and he busts up laughing. We were eating at Paradise Pier one night, and he ordered a “toddler” serving of macaroni and cheese—the only size they sold—and when he opened the box, there was a condiment-sized cup of macaroni in it. Like, three bites. Not even enough for our toddler.
We laughed, and the two of us walked over to the Chinese stand, where he ordered teriyake chicken and rice. The cashier asked if he wanted an adult portion or a child’s portion, and we wisely asked to see the difference in size. When the cashier held up a teeny tiny white box, A. started giggling. “The adult portion, please,” I said before busting out laughing. The two of us stood there and laughed until tears came out of our eyes.
And then—the story gets better—the chicken was really gross.
He ended up having some of the rice for dinner, and then eating a bowl of cereal back in the hotel room.
Did we pay a small fortune for strange food that never actually got eaten? Yes. But, oh the memory. We still laugh every time we hear the word, “chicken.”
And then there was Legoland in the rain. We bought bright yellow ponchos and celebrated that there were no lines for the rides. The boys huddled under a table at lunchtime and we all laughed at the absurdity of staying at the park in the rain. But we stayed and we laughed and we had a great day together.
Planning is an important part of vacationing with young children, but just as important, I believe, is the ability to be flexible. Things happen when you travel that you have absolutely no control of, and it’s important to be able to take them in stride.
Can you make the best of things and laugh together as a family when things don’t go according to plan? These are the stories your children will love to tell—the “remember when…” stories. They’ll remember the good times too, but the hard stuff—the time you ran out of clean underwear and had to wash it out in the sink—that’s what memories are made of.
Thankfully, we didn’t have any big problems on our recent trip to Disney…just the typical “stuff” that happens when you’re traveling. Here are a few of the highlights that we’re still laughing about:
Chicken. All I have to do is ask Twin A. if he wants some chicken and he busts up laughing. We were eating at Paradise Pier one night, and he ordered a “toddler” serving of macaroni and cheese—the only size they sold—and when he opened the box, there was a condiment-sized cup of macaroni in it. Like, three bites. Not even enough for our toddler.
We laughed, and the two of us walked over to the Chinese stand, where he ordered teriyake chicken and rice. The cashier asked if he wanted an adult portion or a child’s portion, and we wisely asked to see the difference in size. When the cashier held up a teeny tiny white box, A. started giggling. “The adult portion, please,” I said before busting out laughing. The two of us stood there and laughed until tears came out of our eyes.
And then—the story gets better—the chicken was really gross.
He ended up having some of the rice for dinner, and then eating a bowl of cereal back in the hotel room.
Did we pay a small fortune for strange food that never actually got eaten? Yes. But, oh the memory. We still laugh every time we hear the word, “chicken.”
And then there was Legoland in the rain. We bought bright yellow ponchos and celebrated that there were no lines for the rides. The boys huddled under a table at lunchtime and we all laughed at the absurdity of staying at the park in the rain. But we stayed and we laughed and we had a great day together.
Planning is an important part of vacationing with young children, but just as important, I believe, is the ability to be flexible. Things happen when you travel that you have absolutely no control of, and it’s important to be able to take them in stride.
Can you make the best of things and laugh together as a family when things don’t go according to plan? These are the stories your children will love to tell—the “remember when…” stories. They’ll remember the good times too, but the hard stuff—the time you ran out of clean underwear and had to wash it out in the sink—that’s what memories are made of.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
the REAL plane
Even after our exciting news, we had a fairly low-key Christmas day. We were over at Grandma and Grandpa Llama’s house, just hanging out. The kids played games and watched movies, while we talked, read, and drank coffee. In the early afternoon, Llama Papa took the preschooler home for a nap while I packed up all the gifts.
After an early Christmas dinner (or late lunch?), we headed home to do our final pack. At this point, the kids started getting excited.
Will we go on an airplane?
Will we stay in a hotel?
Will we go to Disneyland tonight?
How long will we stay?
Uncle Llama drove us to the airport, and as the kids marched in with their backpacks, I was grateful we were flying on Christmas day. The airport wasn’t very crowded, and we didn’t have to wait in any long lines. The noisy boys looked so old, helping us roll the luggage and get checked in.
They must have looked shifty, too, since security asked them all to take their Mickey Mouse sweatshirts off and run them through the scanner. (But they didn't ask Llama Papa to, which I found curious.)
The preschooler was excited to fly on a real airplane.
All in all, they were awesome travelers. Of course, they were all exhausted and happy to kick back and watch movies and play video games. We checked in late at the Disneyland hotel and after exclaiming over the cute little shampoos with mickey mouse ears, and jumping up and down a few times, we all collapsed into our beds, excited to wake up the next day and continue our Christmas adventure. Well, after reconfiguring our sleeping arrangements a few times. All you families of five will be able to relate! :-)
To be continued…
After an early Christmas dinner (or late lunch?), we headed home to do our final pack. At this point, the kids started getting excited.
Will we go on an airplane?
Will we stay in a hotel?
Will we go to Disneyland tonight?
How long will we stay?
Uncle Llama drove us to the airport, and as the kids marched in with their backpacks, I was grateful we were flying on Christmas day. The airport wasn’t very crowded, and we didn’t have to wait in any long lines. The noisy boys looked so old, helping us roll the luggage and get checked in.
They must have looked shifty, too, since security asked them all to take their Mickey Mouse sweatshirts off and run them through the scanner. (But they didn't ask Llama Papa to, which I found curious.)
The preschooler was excited to fly on a real airplane.
All in all, they were awesome travelers. Of course, they were all exhausted and happy to kick back and watch movies and play video games. We checked in late at the Disneyland hotel and after exclaiming over the cute little shampoos with mickey mouse ears, and jumping up and down a few times, we all collapsed into our beds, excited to wake up the next day and continue our Christmas adventure. Well, after reconfiguring our sleeping arrangements a few times. All you families of five will be able to relate! :-)
To be continued…
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Christmas magic
I didn’t think I’d really be able to pull it off, but I did.
Talk about a covert mission. I did all the planning during the day while the kids were at school, and on Christmas Eve, Llama Papa took the kids out while I packed.
On Christmas day we drove over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house—where Santa had left our gifts—and proceeded with Christmas as usual. Which is to say, loud chaotic joyful fun with the cousins while we ate cinnamon rolls and opened presents. I could hardly wait until the last one.
After all the packages were opened, Llama Papa left the room and came back with 3 more gift bags. We set up the video camera and waited while they opened their final gift—matching Mickey Mouse sweatshirts.
“We’re going to Disneyland!” I told them.
The boys just stared at me.
“Today! Our plane leaves today and we’ll be there for a week!”
“Oh,” Twin A. said, going back to his magnet building game.
“Boys! We’re going to Disneyland today!” I tried again.
They all smiled and nodded, but there was no shrieking or jumping up and down. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but looking back, I’m glad. Going to Disney without expectations is a good thing.
To be continued…
Talk about a covert mission. I did all the planning during the day while the kids were at school, and on Christmas Eve, Llama Papa took the kids out while I packed.
On Christmas day we drove over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house—where Santa had left our gifts—and proceeded with Christmas as usual. Which is to say, loud chaotic joyful fun with the cousins while we ate cinnamon rolls and opened presents. I could hardly wait until the last one.
After all the packages were opened, Llama Papa left the room and came back with 3 more gift bags. We set up the video camera and waited while they opened their final gift—matching Mickey Mouse sweatshirts.
“We’re going to Disneyland!” I told them.
The boys just stared at me.
“Today! Our plane leaves today and we’ll be there for a week!”
“Oh,” Twin A. said, going back to his magnet building game.
“Boys! We’re going to Disneyland today!” I tried again.
They all smiled and nodded, but there was no shrieking or jumping up and down. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but looking back, I’m glad. Going to Disney without expectations is a good thing.
To be continued…
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
unexpected
What a day.
I’m sitting here next to Twin A. writing on my laptop while he sleeps comfortably in his bed. At the hospital.
Not where we thought we’d be tonight.
We were at my sister-in-law’s house and the cousins were all playing on the playground across the street from her house when A. fell off the monkey bars and started screaming bloody murder. He broke / dislocated his arm. I won’t describe the break here except to say that it was really bad.
(Llama Papa actually passed out while the ER doc examined A. For about thirty minutes, I was afraid he would be admitted too! Thankfully, he's fine.)
Long story short, I’m here with my boy after a long day at the hospital and surgery to put his arm back together again. (With three pins!) His surgeon anticipates a full recovery.
I feel like I should say something profound, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. I can't rehash the details of the day's events, not yet. This mama is exhausted—physically and emotionally. I feel like I need to just crawl into the corner and cry for a good long while, preferably with a large stash of chocolate, but that will have to wait.
So until then, I’ll just say that I’m grateful for my amazing family, who steps in without being asked and does whatever needs to be done. (Including putting my toddler down for his nap and showing Twin B. such a grand time!) I’m grateful for good healthcare and health insurance. And in this moment, I’m grateful for the quiet of this hospital room, and the grace that’s been here with us all day. God is good.
I’m sitting here next to Twin A. writing on my laptop while he sleeps comfortably in his bed. At the hospital.
Not where we thought we’d be tonight.
We were at my sister-in-law’s house and the cousins were all playing on the playground across the street from her house when A. fell off the monkey bars and started screaming bloody murder. He broke / dislocated his arm. I won’t describe the break here except to say that it was really bad.
(Llama Papa actually passed out while the ER doc examined A. For about thirty minutes, I was afraid he would be admitted too! Thankfully, he's fine.)
Long story short, I’m here with my boy after a long day at the hospital and surgery to put his arm back together again. (With three pins!) His surgeon anticipates a full recovery.
I feel like I should say something profound, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. I can't rehash the details of the day's events, not yet. This mama is exhausted—physically and emotionally. I feel like I need to just crawl into the corner and cry for a good long while, preferably with a large stash of chocolate, but that will have to wait.
So until then, I’ll just say that I’m grateful for my amazing family, who steps in without being asked and does whatever needs to be done. (Including putting my toddler down for his nap and showing Twin B. such a grand time!) I’m grateful for good healthcare and health insurance. And in this moment, I’m grateful for the quiet of this hospital room, and the grace that’s been here with us all day. God is good.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
not my final answer
What a day.
I babysat for a friend this morning, so I had the toddler and an eleven-month old. The toddler was so excited when she came over, exclaiming, “Can we keep her?” By lunch he changed his tune. “I don’t like her.” Nice. And I don’t like you, buddy. (I’m kidding. Sort of. Don’t send me hate mail.)
Holy cow, I’m tired.
A few days ago, my friend, Em, asked a question on facebook. When do you clean? Or something like that. We all chimed in with our schedules and routines, but this woman has an almost three-year old and a six month old. Honestly. I wonder now, was she really asking us, how the hell do you ever do anything?
Because that’s how I felt today. Like I couldn’t even pee, let alone sweep the floor.
Things got really interesting when I tried to put the baby down for her morning nap. I was rocking her and just as she dozed off, the Toddler ran up the stairs and yelled, “Can I get myself a drink?”
“Sure.”
The baby’s eyes popped open.
A few minutes later, the same thing happened.
“Can I have a snack?”
“Yes. You can have a snack.”
The baby was wide awake. I finally gave up on the whole nap thing and we came back downstairs. And found this.
That would be a leftover baked potato. What a great snack, don’t you think? I mean, why go for the apples on the counter or the actual snack box in the pantry when you can have a cold, leftover baked potato?
And the drink? Don’t take the sippy cup of milk in the side door of the fridge. Go ahead and pour blue kool-aid all over the floor.
Perfect.
So, Em? I’m officially changing my answer to your question in light of the day I had today. When I had two very small children in my house, as I did today, I didn’t get much cleaning done. I just did the best I could every day, and that was that.
When the baby’s mom came to pick her up this afternoon, I breathed a sigh of relief. She’s still alive and in one piece and on her way home. And then I remembered my own motto, or shall we say goal, when the twins were small:
Everyone alive at the end of the day.
Sometimes that’s good enough.
I babysat for a friend this morning, so I had the toddler and an eleven-month old. The toddler was so excited when she came over, exclaiming, “Can we keep her?” By lunch he changed his tune. “I don’t like her.” Nice. And I don’t like you, buddy. (I’m kidding. Sort of. Don’t send me hate mail.)
Holy cow, I’m tired.
A few days ago, my friend, Em, asked a question on facebook. When do you clean? Or something like that. We all chimed in with our schedules and routines, but this woman has an almost three-year old and a six month old. Honestly. I wonder now, was she really asking us, how the hell do you ever do anything?
Because that’s how I felt today. Like I couldn’t even pee, let alone sweep the floor.
Things got really interesting when I tried to put the baby down for her morning nap. I was rocking her and just as she dozed off, the Toddler ran up the stairs and yelled, “Can I get myself a drink?”
“Sure.”
The baby’s eyes popped open.
A few minutes later, the same thing happened.
“Can I have a snack?”
“Yes. You can have a snack.”
The baby was wide awake. I finally gave up on the whole nap thing and we came back downstairs. And found this.
That would be a leftover baked potato. What a great snack, don’t you think? I mean, why go for the apples on the counter or the actual snack box in the pantry when you can have a cold, leftover baked potato?
And the drink? Don’t take the sippy cup of milk in the side door of the fridge. Go ahead and pour blue kool-aid all over the floor.
Perfect.
So, Em? I’m officially changing my answer to your question in light of the day I had today. When I had two very small children in my house, as I did today, I didn’t get much cleaning done. I just did the best I could every day, and that was that.
When the baby’s mom came to pick her up this afternoon, I breathed a sigh of relief. She’s still alive and in one piece and on her way home. And then I remembered my own motto, or shall we say goal, when the twins were small:
Everyone alive at the end of the day.
Sometimes that’s good enough.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
lost in translation
A Brit, and Aussie, and an American walk into a bar…well, not really, but it sounds clever, doesn’t it?
Actually, I just flew in to the Brit's house for the weekend to catch up with my friend who's visiting from Australia for a few weeks.
When I first met D, my Aussie friend, back when we lived in California, I realized that even though we technically speak the same language, communication is not always straightforward.
One time she left a message on my answering machine, “Hey! Do you mind bringing supper for the group tomorrow night?” I listened to the message and thought, “Well, she has some nerve…asking me to bring supper for the entire group!” (We were in a bible study group together that met at her house.)
When I called her, I asked what she had in mind—spaghetti maybe?
“Nah, just a packet of cookies or something.”
Of course. Supper. A light snack.
And so we learned to overcommunicate everything to avoid misunderstanding.
I found myself chuckling yesterday at all of the ways we clash cultures. The Brit has a teenage daughter who asked for a “ham toasty” for lunch. I expected some kind of grilled cheese sandwich, or at least, ham. Nope. It was two pieces of toast with some turkey in the middle. A ham toasty.
Last night we had the loveliest curry for dinner--er, tea--and I noticed everyone used their knifes except me. For curry over rice. How they put up with this barbaric American, i'll never know. But I'm glad they do. My life is richer for knowing them.
Now, I’m off to the coffee shop to get my morning caffeine fix. Not that I don’t enjoy a cup of instant coffee now and then, but, well, um. Right. I’ll be back.
Actually, I just flew in to the Brit's house for the weekend to catch up with my friend who's visiting from Australia for a few weeks.
When I first met D, my Aussie friend, back when we lived in California, I realized that even though we technically speak the same language, communication is not always straightforward.
One time she left a message on my answering machine, “Hey! Do you mind bringing supper for the group tomorrow night?” I listened to the message and thought, “Well, she has some nerve…asking me to bring supper for the entire group!” (We were in a bible study group together that met at her house.)
When I called her, I asked what she had in mind—spaghetti maybe?
“Nah, just a packet of cookies or something.”
Of course. Supper. A light snack.
And so we learned to overcommunicate everything to avoid misunderstanding.
I found myself chuckling yesterday at all of the ways we clash cultures. The Brit has a teenage daughter who asked for a “ham toasty” for lunch. I expected some kind of grilled cheese sandwich, or at least, ham. Nope. It was two pieces of toast with some turkey in the middle. A ham toasty.
Last night we had the loveliest curry for dinner--er, tea--and I noticed everyone used their knifes except me. For curry over rice. How they put up with this barbaric American, i'll never know. But I'm glad they do. My life is richer for knowing them.
Now, I’m off to the coffee shop to get my morning caffeine fix. Not that I don’t enjoy a cup of instant coffee now and then, but, well, um. Right. I’ll be back.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
shopping and toddlers
It’s like pickles and peanut butter—they’re both great, but they just don’t go together very well. Now, usually the toddler is a good sport, and we have a nice time shopping.
Today was not one of those days.
He didn’t take his nap, which happens now and then. (Especially since he needs to nap early, so he’s up in time to walk the noisy boys home from school.) The plan was to have a snack, do homework, and head to the shoe store. (Buy one, get one half off!)
This is usually a fairly simple process. Measure feet. Pick out shoes. Try shoes on. Buy shoes.
Not today.
Today it was, “pull shoes out of the box and try them on without even checking the size because Mom is totally busy chasing our wild maniac toddler brother around the store to keep him from destroying things.”
Yeah. One of those.
I declared defeat after about twenty minutes, and we headed to the van. “We’ll have to come back later, guys. Without your little brother.”
About halfway home it sunk in, and Twin A. said, “You mean all of that was for nothing?”
“Yup,” I confirmed.
“Oh, come on!” He moaned.
I couldn’t agree more. Now on to the dinner hour. Always an adventure!
Today was not one of those days.
He didn’t take his nap, which happens now and then. (Especially since he needs to nap early, so he’s up in time to walk the noisy boys home from school.) The plan was to have a snack, do homework, and head to the shoe store. (Buy one, get one half off!)
This is usually a fairly simple process. Measure feet. Pick out shoes. Try shoes on. Buy shoes.
Not today.
Today it was, “pull shoes out of the box and try them on without even checking the size because Mom is totally busy chasing our wild maniac toddler brother around the store to keep him from destroying things.”
Yeah. One of those.
I declared defeat after about twenty minutes, and we headed to the van. “We’ll have to come back later, guys. Without your little brother.”
About halfway home it sunk in, and Twin A. said, “You mean all of that was for nothing?”
“Yup,” I confirmed.
“Oh, come on!” He moaned.
I couldn’t agree more. Now on to the dinner hour. Always an adventure!
Monday, March 16, 2009
big mac attack
I saw my first Bulls game on Saturday night. I’m not a huge sports fan (and by huge I mean not at all unless it’s MY kid playing), but it was fun.
We went with friends from Intervaristy. They received a donation of fifty tickets to the game by a generous donor who wanted them to be able to connect with supporters in a unique way, and we enjoyed hanging out and doing something we wouldn’t normally do. ($46 for EACH TICKET? REALLY?)
The crowd was jazzed. (And by jazzed I mean they could have been a little bit quieter so I could talk to the woman sitting beside me without shouting.)
The whole night was fun, until the end. The Bulls won the game 97-79 against the Hornets. Which is great, right? Except we all had these cards in our hands that said if the Bulls won by 100 points, we could exchange our card for a free Big Mac. So as the clock ran out, people started chanting, “Big Macs! Big Macs!” And then this poor guy (who probably makes quite a lot of money) took a shot and MISSED, and as the clock ran out, the crowd booed. Loudly.
And I thought, didn’t their mothers teach them anything?
Is this what America has become? Our team wins and we boo because we don’t get a free Big Mac?
We went with friends from Intervaristy. They received a donation of fifty tickets to the game by a generous donor who wanted them to be able to connect with supporters in a unique way, and we enjoyed hanging out and doing something we wouldn’t normally do. ($46 for EACH TICKET? REALLY?)
The crowd was jazzed. (And by jazzed I mean they could have been a little bit quieter so I could talk to the woman sitting beside me without shouting.)
The whole night was fun, until the end. The Bulls won the game 97-79 against the Hornets. Which is great, right? Except we all had these cards in our hands that said if the Bulls won by 100 points, we could exchange our card for a free Big Mac. So as the clock ran out, people started chanting, “Big Macs! Big Macs!” And then this poor guy (who probably makes quite a lot of money) took a shot and MISSED, and as the clock ran out, the crowd booed. Loudly.
And I thought, didn’t their mothers teach them anything?
Is this what America has become? Our team wins and we boo because we don’t get a free Big Mac?
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Nice try...
"Hey!" I said to the noisy boys this morning, on the way to their basketball game. "I'm going to stop by the library today and see if we can borrow the CARS movie for family fun tonight."
"Awesome!" Twin A. said.
The noisy boys saw the movie in the theater when it came out and loved it, but haven't watched it since, and our toddler has never seen it, but loves the character "Mater." He will go nuts over the actual movie.
"B. will love it, don't you think?" I asked the noisy boys.
"Totally," Twin B. said, "And if they don't have Cars, why don't you pick up Batman instead?"
Right. Because that's a totally even exchange. Cars. (Rated G) Batman. (Rated PG-13)
Nice try, boys!
(Lucky for us, they had Cars. I love our library!!!)
"Awesome!" Twin A. said.
The noisy boys saw the movie in the theater when it came out and loved it, but haven't watched it since, and our toddler has never seen it, but loves the character "Mater." He will go nuts over the actual movie.
"B. will love it, don't you think?" I asked the noisy boys.
"Totally," Twin B. said, "And if they don't have Cars, why don't you pick up Batman instead?"
Right. Because that's a totally even exchange. Cars. (Rated G) Batman. (Rated PG-13)
Nice try, boys!
(Lucky for us, they had Cars. I love our library!!!)
Friday, January 9, 2009
skills
The other night Llama Papa and I were both crashed on the living room floor watching our three boys run around, when the toddler decided to give Daddy belly kisses. He lifted his shirt up and gave it his best slobbery try, and laughed hysterically, though the sound effects weren't exactly what he had hoped for.
Twin B. was observing this, and immediately stepped in to provide big brother guidance. "Here, B. Let me show you," he said, "You do it like this," and proceeded to give Llama Papa a loud and long raspberry kiss, much to the delight of the toddler. Twin B. sat up and said proudly, "Don't worry, I can teach you how to do it. I've got skills."
It's good to have skills. And a sense of humor.
Twin B. was observing this, and immediately stepped in to provide big brother guidance. "Here, B. Let me show you," he said, "You do it like this," and proceeded to give Llama Papa a loud and long raspberry kiss, much to the delight of the toddler. Twin B. sat up and said proudly, "Don't worry, I can teach you how to do it. I've got skills."
It's good to have skills. And a sense of humor.
Friday, December 5, 2008
first snow
Monday morning we woke up to a fresh blanket of snow. Oh the excitement! We pulled out all our snow gear (no small feat) and did a happy dance while we walked to school. And after school, being the fun Mom that I am, I suggested we go sledding.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
We had snacks and bundled up and headed for our favorite snow hill. The big one. And that’s where my plan began to unravel.
The hill itself was great. The noisy boys enthusiastically grabbed their sleds and ran to the top while I walked with the toddler. Very, very slowly.
By the time we got to the top, I wondered if maybe I should have taken the boys to a smaller hill, since sledding was a new thing for our toddler.
I climbed onto the red sled with him and off we went down the hill. He loved it. “Fast! Fast! More fast?” he said when we got to the bottom. Of the really big hill.
We started the long climb up and were about a quarter of the way there when his boot slipped off the first time. The snow was deep and his hand-me-down boots weren’t a perfect fit. So I put boot back on, letting go of the sled in the process. Great. Back down the hill I went, to get the sled. Then up the hill again, with the toddler and his retarded boots. We were about halfway up when the toddler sweetly asked, “Mommy carry you?” He was tired.
So I carried the toddler and the sled up the very big hill.
It was a long afternoon.
Thankfully, the promise of hot cocoa lured everyone off the hill.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
We had snacks and bundled up and headed for our favorite snow hill. The big one. And that’s where my plan began to unravel.
The hill itself was great. The noisy boys enthusiastically grabbed their sleds and ran to the top while I walked with the toddler. Very, very slowly.
By the time we got to the top, I wondered if maybe I should have taken the boys to a smaller hill, since sledding was a new thing for our toddler.
I climbed onto the red sled with him and off we went down the hill. He loved it. “Fast! Fast! More fast?” he said when we got to the bottom. Of the really big hill.
We started the long climb up and were about a quarter of the way there when his boot slipped off the first time. The snow was deep and his hand-me-down boots weren’t a perfect fit. So I put boot back on, letting go of the sled in the process. Great. Back down the hill I went, to get the sled. Then up the hill again, with the toddler and his retarded boots. We were about halfway up when the toddler sweetly asked, “Mommy carry you?” He was tired.
So I carried the toddler and the sled up the very big hill.
It was a long afternoon.
Thankfully, the promise of hot cocoa lured everyone off the hill.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
trying to be fancy
A few years ago, missionary friends were coming to visit, and I really wanted to make something special for dinner. My husband suggested grilling steaks or ordering pizza, but no, I wanted to make something fancy.
At the time, my twins were toddlers, and I didn’t have time for fancy.
Never mind that, I went to the market and picked up some beautiful halibut steaks, salad, and a loaf of fresh bread. Pulling out a recipe for peppered halibut, I rushed through the recipe, opened a bottle of wine, and warmed the bread.
We gathered around the table to enjoy our meal, and our friends dug in enthusiastically. And then Maria’s face turned bright red and she reached for her water.
Oh no.
I took a bite of fish and the pepper was beyond overpowering. I may as well have served a plate of black pepper to eat with a spoon. It was really that bad.
I immediately apologized and suggested we eat something else, but our missionary friends soldiered on. “Oh no,” Maria said politely, “it’s good!”
But she couldn’t breathe.
I learned an important lesson that day: there is a time for fancy and a time to order a pizza or make sloppy joes. A simple meal prepared well is much more enjoyable than a fancy meal you don’t have time to make. I also learned that the little box of black pepper in my cupboard is not a substitute for freshly ground pepper. Not even close.
For more tips on what doesn’t work, head over to Shannon’s for this week’s special edition of What Doesn’t Work for me Wednesday.
At the time, my twins were toddlers, and I didn’t have time for fancy.
Never mind that, I went to the market and picked up some beautiful halibut steaks, salad, and a loaf of fresh bread. Pulling out a recipe for peppered halibut, I rushed through the recipe, opened a bottle of wine, and warmed the bread.
We gathered around the table to enjoy our meal, and our friends dug in enthusiastically. And then Maria’s face turned bright red and she reached for her water.
Oh no.
I took a bite of fish and the pepper was beyond overpowering. I may as well have served a plate of black pepper to eat with a spoon. It was really that bad.
I immediately apologized and suggested we eat something else, but our missionary friends soldiered on. “Oh no,” Maria said politely, “it’s good!”
But she couldn’t breathe.
I learned an important lesson that day: there is a time for fancy and a time to order a pizza or make sloppy joes. A simple meal prepared well is much more enjoyable than a fancy meal you don’t have time to make. I also learned that the little box of black pepper in my cupboard is not a substitute for freshly ground pepper. Not even close.
For more tips on what doesn’t work, head over to Shannon’s for this week’s special edition of What Doesn’t Work for me Wednesday.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
LLama Momma on the road...
I have a confession to make: I’m directionally challenged. In a big way.
If someone tells me to go north on such and such a street, I have no clue what they’re asking me to do. “So, left at the KFC or right?” I need to clarify, confessing my utter lack of orientation most of the time. Maps are of little help, as I often can’t find myself on them or figure out which way to travel once I’ve found myself.
People are usually surprised to know this about me. Or at least, they pretend to be surprised, which is a kindness, I suppose.
At Calvin, L.L. Barkat climbed into my mini-van, despite my warnings that I have issues in this area. She is a kind, brave soul. Having dinner with her was a highlight of the festival—she is every bit as energetic and articulate in person as she is on her blog. And, as I mentioned before, brave. She kindly describes our adventure in her post Looking for Lil. Which reminds me, I need to look up the meaning of the word “lichen.” (See? I told you she was articulate!)
I attended the festival with a poet friend, and as we drove through Indiana on our way home, well, home for me, to the airport for my friend, my driving challenges took a new twist in the form of the tollway.
I should back up here and say that I live in Illinois. I am only too familiar with the tollway. As an I-Pass user, I don’t think about it often, but the reality of tolls is always with me, hanging on my windshield.
So as I approached the toll in Indiana, I noticed the sign for I-Zoom or I-Pass. I chose that lane, noting the speed limit of 5 mph. In Illinois, the speed limit is usually 20 mph, and you just zip right through the lane.
But apparently in Indiana, they expect you to stop. Like, completely.
Too bad I didn’t.
And now I fear that my poet friend may need some kind of therapy to recover from our sweet fellowship.
You know those little bars that block some toll lanes, lifting after you pay the toll? They’re quite resilient. Should you hit them, they just spring right back into place.
Not that I would know anything about that.
If someone tells me to go north on such and such a street, I have no clue what they’re asking me to do. “So, left at the KFC or right?” I need to clarify, confessing my utter lack of orientation most of the time. Maps are of little help, as I often can’t find myself on them or figure out which way to travel once I’ve found myself.
People are usually surprised to know this about me. Or at least, they pretend to be surprised, which is a kindness, I suppose.
At Calvin, L.L. Barkat climbed into my mini-van, despite my warnings that I have issues in this area. She is a kind, brave soul. Having dinner with her was a highlight of the festival—she is every bit as energetic and articulate in person as she is on her blog. And, as I mentioned before, brave. She kindly describes our adventure in her post Looking for Lil. Which reminds me, I need to look up the meaning of the word “lichen.” (See? I told you she was articulate!)
I attended the festival with a poet friend, and as we drove through Indiana on our way home, well, home for me, to the airport for my friend, my driving challenges took a new twist in the form of the tollway.
I should back up here and say that I live in Illinois. I am only too familiar with the tollway. As an I-Pass user, I don’t think about it often, but the reality of tolls is always with me, hanging on my windshield.
So as I approached the toll in Indiana, I noticed the sign for I-Zoom or I-Pass. I chose that lane, noting the speed limit of 5 mph. In Illinois, the speed limit is usually 20 mph, and you just zip right through the lane.
But apparently in Indiana, they expect you to stop. Like, completely.
Too bad I didn’t.
And now I fear that my poet friend may need some kind of therapy to recover from our sweet fellowship.
You know those little bars that block some toll lanes, lifting after you pay the toll? They’re quite resilient. Should you hit them, they just spring right back into place.
Not that I would know anything about that.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
the one where I scream for my life
What fun! We spent the long weekend here and had a blast. Traveling with kids is always a mixed bag, and on Saturday I was thinking, “Was all of this work worth it?” when Twin B. declared, “This is the happiest day of my entire life!”
It was worth it.
We shared a condo with good friends who have three boys the same ages as ours (6,6, and one-and-a-half). I know, weird. Ang and I met in a craft store when our twins were all babies. We literally came around the corner of an aisle and head to head with our double strollers. We became fast friends, and our boys have grown up together.
All four noisy boys loved the water slides and just hanging out together. When I asked them what their favorite part of the trip was, Twin A. said, “Going on the slides with my friends,” and Twin B. said, “Going on that big slide with you on the raft and watching you scream for your life!”
Um. Yeah. That about sums it up.
We got over a foot of snow while we were there, which was really something. Llama Papa had quite a time digging us out of the parking lot to go home, but once we were on the road, we had no problems.
Well, no weather induced problems anyway. And nothing that couldn’t be temporarily fixed by a bag of fruit chews.
It’s good to be home.
It was worth it.
We shared a condo with good friends who have three boys the same ages as ours (6,6, and one-and-a-half). I know, weird. Ang and I met in a craft store when our twins were all babies. We literally came around the corner of an aisle and head to head with our double strollers. We became fast friends, and our boys have grown up together.
All four noisy boys loved the water slides and just hanging out together. When I asked them what their favorite part of the trip was, Twin A. said, “Going on the slides with my friends,” and Twin B. said, “Going on that big slide with you on the raft and watching you scream for your life!”
Um. Yeah. That about sums it up.
We got over a foot of snow while we were there, which was really something. Llama Papa had quite a time digging us out of the parking lot to go home, but once we were on the road, we had no problems.
Well, no weather induced problems anyway. And nothing that couldn’t be temporarily fixed by a bag of fruit chews.
It’s good to be home.
Friday, February 15, 2008
fugitive llama
I love getting my errands done early. After stopping off at the post office this morning, I ran to the gas station to gas up my minivan for our weekend trip to the Dells. I swiped my credit card, went to fill up, and realized that I hadn’t pulled forward enough to reach the gas tank. So I got back in my van, pulled forward, and then pumped the gas.
I gathered up trash while I waited, scooping up stale goldfish crackers and raisins from the floor of the van.
Then I put on the fuel cap and drove home.
Twenty minutes later, I was on the phone with a friend when another call came in. From the City. I almost didn’t answer it. “Probably the police department raising money again,” I thought.
“Is this Mrs. Llama?” the police officer on the other line asked me.
“Yes.”
“Do you drive a blue Caravan?”
“Um. Yes.”
“I’m at the Shell station. You drove away without paying.”
Oh. My.
I grabbed baby b. and headed back to the gas station. Apparently, when I pulled forward, it cancelled out the credit card. Apologizing profusely, I handed the guy my Disney Visa. Baby b. just smiled at the guy, who then apologized to me because I had to come back out in the cold.
I’m just glad I picked up the phone. Can’t you just see the headline now?
Fugitive, gas-stealing Llama on the loose! Rumor has it, she spends her days doing laundry and hanging around with a destructive, but smiley, toddler. If you have any information on this Llama (including pictures of her messy house) call Crime Stoppers today!
I gathered up trash while I waited, scooping up stale goldfish crackers and raisins from the floor of the van.
Then I put on the fuel cap and drove home.
Twenty minutes later, I was on the phone with a friend when another call came in. From the City. I almost didn’t answer it. “Probably the police department raising money again,” I thought.
“Is this Mrs. Llama?” the police officer on the other line asked me.
“Yes.”
“Do you drive a blue Caravan?”
“Um. Yes.”
“I’m at the Shell station. You drove away without paying.”
Oh. My.
I grabbed baby b. and headed back to the gas station. Apparently, when I pulled forward, it cancelled out the credit card. Apologizing profusely, I handed the guy my Disney Visa. Baby b. just smiled at the guy, who then apologized to me because I had to come back out in the cold.
I’m just glad I picked up the phone. Can’t you just see the headline now?
Fugitive, gas-stealing Llama on the loose! Rumor has it, she spends her days doing laundry and hanging around with a destructive, but smiley, toddler. If you have any information on this Llama (including pictures of her messy house) call Crime Stoppers today!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
assertiveness training
I’m probably the only Mother on the planet who purposely taught her two-year old to throw a fit. But that’s exactly what I did when the noisy boys were toddlers. I had noticed a disturbing trend at playgroups, mostly with Twin A. He was so easygoing that other kids would grab his toys, push him down, whatever, and he wouldn’t make a peep. While I was grateful for his sweet nature, I didn’t want to set him up to be bullied his entire life.
And so I taught him how to assert himself.
“I’m playing with this right now.”
“I’ll give you a turn in just a minute.”
“Don’t push me.”
“May I please have a turn?”
I was remembering these lessons this past Saturday. With Llama Papa busy on household projects and baby b. up early from his nap, I gathered up the three boys and headed to one of our favorite play spots--the children's museum. One of our favorite areas to play is the air / ball / boat section. The noisy boys can literally spend hours there.
And so they settled in while baby b. toddled around, squealing happily. Twin A. manned the cannon, stuffing fuzzy balls in and shooting them out into the wooden boat while Twin B. built air-ball shooters out of pvc pipe. Everyone was having a great time until Twin A. realized that the kid in the boat, a boy about seven years old, wasn’t throwing the balls back out. He was hoarding them under his jacket on the floor of the boat. At my prodding, Twin A. boldly asked him to throw the balls out. Please.
But the boy didn’t want to throw the balls out.
And so I asked him if we could please have a few of the balls. (There were over fifty fuzzy balls in the boat at this point.) He grudgingly obliged.
“Maybe if you explain the game to the boy, he’ll understand and want to play,” I offered, handing the confiscated balls to A.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think he wants to play. I’ll just move the cannon.”
And so he continued with his happy play. Other kids joined him and they simply shot the balls at other targets, away from the boat.
This was a good reminder to me. Sometimes we need to confront people. And sometimes we just need to move the cannon.
(By the way, for you local Moms reading: this is prime children's museum season. The closer we get to Christmas, the emptier the museum gets. I'm not kidding. The week before Christmas this place is empty! So take a tip from the Llama Momma: shop online and skip the mall. Go to the museum instead!)
And so I taught him how to assert himself.
“I’m playing with this right now.”
“I’ll give you a turn in just a minute.”
“Don’t push me.”
“May I please have a turn?”
I was remembering these lessons this past Saturday. With Llama Papa busy on household projects and baby b. up early from his nap, I gathered up the three boys and headed to one of our favorite play spots--the children's museum. One of our favorite areas to play is the air / ball / boat section. The noisy boys can literally spend hours there.
And so they settled in while baby b. toddled around, squealing happily. Twin A. manned the cannon, stuffing fuzzy balls in and shooting them out into the wooden boat while Twin B. built air-ball shooters out of pvc pipe. Everyone was having a great time until Twin A. realized that the kid in the boat, a boy about seven years old, wasn’t throwing the balls back out. He was hoarding them under his jacket on the floor of the boat. At my prodding, Twin A. boldly asked him to throw the balls out. Please.
But the boy didn’t want to throw the balls out.
And so I asked him if we could please have a few of the balls. (There were over fifty fuzzy balls in the boat at this point.) He grudgingly obliged.
“Maybe if you explain the game to the boy, he’ll understand and want to play,” I offered, handing the confiscated balls to A.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think he wants to play. I’ll just move the cannon.”
And so he continued with his happy play. Other kids joined him and they simply shot the balls at other targets, away from the boat.
This was a good reminder to me. Sometimes we need to confront people. And sometimes we just need to move the cannon.
(By the way, for you local Moms reading: this is prime children's museum season. The closer we get to Christmas, the emptier the museum gets. I'm not kidding. The week before Christmas this place is empty! So take a tip from the Llama Momma: shop online and skip the mall. Go to the museum instead!)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Happy unBirthday
six years ago
I woke up with a bachache––the same backache I’d had for two weeks. My belly was enormous. Pulling on my huge maternity pants, I realize this is the last week I can wear them. Unbelievable.
At Bible Study, I can hardly sit in my chair, my back hurts so much. “Don’t be a baby,” I tell myself. I didn’t want to be one of those whiny women, complaining all the time about aches and pains. After all, I want these babies more than anything. I wasn’t about to start complaining about the pregnancy.
My BSF leader pulls me aside after class. “Are you okay?” She asks. The tears come without warning.
“My back,” I explain.
She wraps her arms around me. “Call your doctor. Today. Right now.”
“But it’s normal,” I tell her. “Back pain is normal when your belly is this big.”
“It is normal, but there’s also a lot that can go wrong in a twin pregnancy.” She is a nurse in addition to being a BSF leader.
“I have an appointment this afternoon. I’ll mention the back pain.”
When I get home, I check on the turkey thawing in the fridge. I clean my bathroom. Something inside me knows there is something wrong.
“I’m sorry for the discomfort,” my doctor says, “I just need to make sure I’m feeling what I’m feeling.”
Minutes later, I’m in a wheelchair. My doctor tells a nurse to call labor and delivery. He pushes my wheelchair down a hall, to the elevator. Walking briskly, he explains, “You’re in active labor. We need to stop the labor. Now, we just saw the babies on the ultrasound. You're at 26 weeks. The babies are almost 2 pounds and they do have a chance. But we’re going to do everything we can to stop this.”
“But I need to go home,” I tell him, “I’m making the turkey tomorrow.”
My doctor pauses and comes around my chair to face me, kneeling down. “Sweetie, you’re not making any turkey tomorrow. You’re not leaving this hospital until these babies are born. Nobody will care about the turkey. They’ll get a pizza or something. It doesn’t matter.”
And so it was. Nobody cared about the turkey.
Once the drip of magnesium sulfate started, I didn’t care about much of anything. Between the hot flashes and extreme nausea, I just held on through that long night. Prayers bubbled up from my soul; prayers I couldn’t think to pray, but they came groaning out of me anyway. “Please, God.”
He was present during that first long night, and on that strange Thanksgiving day. He was present.
And He heard. He answered. And my babies did not come on this day, six years ago. And the noise I hear right now in the next room is a sweet reality.
Happy unBirthday, noisy boys. Today I celebrate God’s faithfulness to you both; to me. Surely He gave me the desire of my heart that day. And I am so grateful.
I woke up with a bachache––the same backache I’d had for two weeks. My belly was enormous. Pulling on my huge maternity pants, I realize this is the last week I can wear them. Unbelievable.
At Bible Study, I can hardly sit in my chair, my back hurts so much. “Don’t be a baby,” I tell myself. I didn’t want to be one of those whiny women, complaining all the time about aches and pains. After all, I want these babies more than anything. I wasn’t about to start complaining about the pregnancy.
My BSF leader pulls me aside after class. “Are you okay?” She asks. The tears come without warning.
“My back,” I explain.
She wraps her arms around me. “Call your doctor. Today. Right now.”
“But it’s normal,” I tell her. “Back pain is normal when your belly is this big.”
“It is normal, but there’s also a lot that can go wrong in a twin pregnancy.” She is a nurse in addition to being a BSF leader.
“I have an appointment this afternoon. I’ll mention the back pain.”
When I get home, I check on the turkey thawing in the fridge. I clean my bathroom. Something inside me knows there is something wrong.
“I’m sorry for the discomfort,” my doctor says, “I just need to make sure I’m feeling what I’m feeling.”
Minutes later, I’m in a wheelchair. My doctor tells a nurse to call labor and delivery. He pushes my wheelchair down a hall, to the elevator. Walking briskly, he explains, “You’re in active labor. We need to stop the labor. Now, we just saw the babies on the ultrasound. You're at 26 weeks. The babies are almost 2 pounds and they do have a chance. But we’re going to do everything we can to stop this.”
“But I need to go home,” I tell him, “I’m making the turkey tomorrow.”
My doctor pauses and comes around my chair to face me, kneeling down. “Sweetie, you’re not making any turkey tomorrow. You’re not leaving this hospital until these babies are born. Nobody will care about the turkey. They’ll get a pizza or something. It doesn’t matter.”
And so it was. Nobody cared about the turkey.
Once the drip of magnesium sulfate started, I didn’t care about much of anything. Between the hot flashes and extreme nausea, I just held on through that long night. Prayers bubbled up from my soul; prayers I couldn’t think to pray, but they came groaning out of me anyway. “Please, God.”
He was present during that first long night, and on that strange Thanksgiving day. He was present.
And He heard. He answered. And my babies did not come on this day, six years ago. And the noise I hear right now in the next room is a sweet reality.
Happy unBirthday, noisy boys. Today I celebrate God’s faithfulness to you both; to me. Surely He gave me the desire of my heart that day. And I am so grateful.
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