A fairy Tale-Ode to Tinker Belle

                                                                        
                Tinker Belle was born just one minute before her twin brother, so she gets the next post.  She was absolutely tiny to us.  With Princess coming in at 9 pds., and Tank bringing up the rear at 7 pds. 12 oz., Tinker Belle’s 5 pd. and 3 oz. body seemed pretty intimidating.  In fact, the specialists’ inability to get a good measurement on her made them believe her to be smaller than she was, which prompted the birth of my duo.  Granted, I had 13 pds of baby crammed in there along with their individual living centers, so I am amazed they could actually see anything.  I always imagined the next shot to look like one of them had their face pressed to a window, possibly knocking and asking for help.  Anyway, back to Tinker. 

                While I was thrilled at her healthy birth weight, she seemed so little to me.  Before I ever even got a look at her, one of the assisting nurses made the comment, “Well, she’s not small at all!”  We were relieved to hear it, but couldn’t imagine what a “small” baby was in her opinion if Tinker Belle wasn’t.  Tinker Belle’s personality has always been very chill.  She’s just calm for the most part.  While my other two children wear their feelings on their sleeves, Tinker Belle has an awesome poker face.  It’s hilarious to see strangers try to make her smile.  Grown up people make absolute fools of themselves in front of her, and she never even smirks.  I love it.  I’m not saying that she doesn’t express her emotions; I’m simply saying that you don’t know what that emotion is until she explodes into either screaming or laughing. 

                                                                         

                Tinker Belle is also my clingy baby.  At a recent six months old, this characteristic developed.  I knew she loved her mommy especially, since she offers me plenty of smiles, but she is now one of those babies who cries when I leave the room or demands that I be the one to hold her if I’m in the room.  This makes it difficult when her brother wants me also, and impossible when her brother AND sister want me along with her.  Dean and I make it work though.  All of our children love him so much that, if they can’t have me, they are satisfied with Dada, and sometimes he’s the one with three babies hanging off of him.  Tinker Belle is more like Dean than the other two.  She’s reserved, more quiet, and happy to watch the other two being the clowns.  She’s the only one of my three children who wakes up happy.  The other two wake up crying, because….well I guess they just cry a lot.  Tinker, however, wakes up and coos to herself for a while.  As long as she’s not left there for too long by herself, she’s pretty ok with whatever.

                When the twins were born, nurses and doctors alike all said that they would not be surprised if Tinker Belle caught up or even surpassed her brother in weight very quickly.  However, at six months, she was in the 1th percentile.  She weighed only 12 pounds and 12 ounces.  The doctor, taking into account her growth chart, dainty build, and healthy fat deposits on her little cheeks and legs, says that she’s fine, just dainty.  Considering the fact that Princess is only in the 15^th percentile, I’m guessing that it’s just the way they are made.  There’s nothing wrong with being tiny as long as you’re healthy.  It’s just not normal in our society; we are used to chunky babies like Tank.  She’s delicate and beautiful.

                When I made it to 36 weeks and 3 days, I was thrilled.  I thought that meant that the twins wouldn’t have any problems.  I was wrong.  While Tinker is not a sickly baby, she had an underdeveloped suck, swallow, breathe reflex, and she has had to struggle with reflux pretty badly.  (The post about living your nightmare goes into this issue more.)  Therefore, she sleeps in a bouncy chair, even now, to keep her from refluxing in her sleep.  This is the only issue that seems to bother the doctor, which means it worries me terribly, of course.  We are actually going to try to transition her into her crib in a propped position again tonight, so pray that we actually sleep a little.  Every night when I put her to bed I pray this line within the prayer I say over her: “God, she is Yours.  You love her more than I am even capable of loving.  Your will is perfect, and I trust in Your will.  I pray You protect her from harm, but I know that You will do what is best for my child whether I can see the truth in the situation or not.”  If you have a child who is sick, maybe you should try that prayer.  Saying it is easy; meaning it is hard.  If you’re like me though, you’ll get so tired from trying to control things that are impossible for you to control, that your will will be broken and you will surrender that which was never yours.  Sad, huh?  Well, at least I can see my flaw.

                Tinker Belle is such a blessing.  She is so different from me that I can truly appreciate her personality from the outside looking in.  She is often the little calm in the middle of the storm in our family.  Anyone can tell by the way she looks at her siblings, especially her twin who is obviously her favorite person in the world, that she loves them in such a special way.  It’s just amazing.  I know that God will use her in our family in a special way.  This is my prayer for Tinker Belle:

“Dear God, I praise you for my little Tinker.  You blessed me with more than I have ever expected.  I know that when I prayed for a second child, I prayed specifically for a boy.  My heart sings Your praises for knowing that I needed Tinker Belle.  She is so special, tiny yet strong.  Her love for her siblings is so beautiful.  I know that she was specially made for a wonderful purpose.  I pray You lay Your protective hand over her.  I pray that she loves You more than she loves anything else.  I pray that her quiet, reserved personality serves You well.  You are truly an awesome God.  Guide me as her mother.  Help me to teach her to love You first.  Use her in an awesome way.  I praise You, I praise You, I praise You.”

Once upon a time...the story of Princess

            When people meet Princess, there are a few comments made that we are pretty used to hearing: 1). She is beautiful.  As her parents, we obviously think she is exceptionally gorgeous, but it’s more than just her physical appearance.  She has a vibrancy about her that is obvious and just adds to her beauty. 2). She is intelligent (which we also agree with), and 3).  She sure can speak well! (I think numbers 2 and 3 are linked pretty closely.)  All of these are true.  In addition, our Princess is headstrong, manipulative, a horrible eater, and a born “bossy butt” (a phrase I have adopted from my mother). 

            When Princess was born, I had to work hard not to idolize her.  She was this wonderful little combination of Dean and myself, the fruit of our loins, so to speak, and I loved her in that way that I described in an early post as being held captive by my love for her.  She was/is spoiled horribly in many ways, but she has a sincere personality that helps her get out of sticky situations.  She is tiny for her age, despite being a whopping 9 pounds even when she was born.  Dean and I joke that she looked like a little sumo wrestler in her diaper when she was a newborn.  It didn’t take her long to prove that she would not be big in stature, but in personality throughout her life.  She is in maybe the 15% in her height and weight, but that doesn’t mean anyone pushes her around.  “Though she is tiny, she is fierce” (William Shakespeare/A Midsummer Night’s Dream).  She’s also loud, so while she might not be seen in a crowd of three year olds, she WILL be heard.

            When I was pregnant, I prayed to God that she be healthy, smart, and beautiful.  I know that looks shouldn’t be important, and maybe it was a prideful thing, but I distinctly remember praying that.  Sure enough, she turned out all of those things, and I began praying obsessively for her health to remain and for her to learn to love Christ above all things.  We tell her constantly how good, nice, smart, and beautiful she is, because, as teachers, we see the harm that can be caused when a child is not told those things (or, sadly, told the opposite) at home.  I don’t want or mean to make her conceited, and I definitely don’t want to make her believe that looks and intelligence are the most important things to focus on, so I constantly remind her that loving Jesus is the most important thing we do in life.  It’s hard to learn to balance these things in our lessons to her, but we sincerely try.  It is important to me to build her confidence because I know that the world will try to tear it down.  It breaks my heart to think that one day someone will tell my precious little baby that she is not _____ enough (i.e. pretty, smart, etc).  I do think, however, that she has the personality to persevere in a world so mean.  She’s a little fireball.

            Princess began talking in complete sentences at barely 18 months old, which my mother soon told me was extremely early.  I was pushing her in the buggy at Wal-Mart, and she looked over and said to me, “I want that.”  I knew right then I was in trouble.  I looked at my mom who burst out laughing because she knew what I was thinking.  She hasn’t stopped talking since.  She has always spoken clearly, so other people could actually understand her.  Being so tiny, she was a source of awe to those around her.  They just couldn’t believe a baby so little could speak so clearly and have such a large vocabulary.  People have asked for tips to help their kids or grandkids speak so well, but the only thing I can say is that we never really baby talked to her.  Honestly though, it’s nothing we did; she’s just a born talker.  She does have an extremely country accent, which is hilarious because Dean and I do not.  I’m not exactly sure where she picked it up, but I have my suspicions.  At the same time, she will look at someone with her little accent and say, “I just don’t feel very well.”  What three year old uses “well” correctly?  It’s even cuter to hear, since it sounds something like, “I don’t feyul very weyull.”  For those of you who live in the Appy Mountains, you’ll be able to translate the accent better than those who are not.

            Princess’s best friend in the world is Sissy, who was 18 when she was born.  Strange, I know, but very true.  She has always had a special relationship with Sissy, even though she was only about 5-6 months old when Sissy started college five hours away.  I’ve already shared that I am horrible at playing and Dean has to make up for it, but Sissy is great at it too.  She is completely uninhibited about playing with little children.  She will be as loud and wild as Princess whenever they are playing.  Princess always thought that Sissy was her age, not a grown up, and honestly, I still don’t know if she completely understands that Sissy is an adult.  In addition, Princess’s best friend list includes: Tumpy (my middle nephew), DillDill (Athack from way back’s son who was born just 3 months after her), and Tater (my oldest nephew who tries to tolerate her).  All boys.  We put her in dance this year, and she finally made some friends who were little girls.  Dean has a cousin whose little girl takes dance as well, so she’s pretty good friends with Tay now.  She knows other children, of course, there are kids at church who she plays with, and she loves the children of all of my friends who live near and far.  In Princess’s world, though, the adults in her life are often enough.  Mommy, Daddy, Sissy, Nana, Papa, Memaw, Pepaw, Papaw, and Mamaw (and the twins) are plenty.  I can’t wait until the time that my three babies are all best friends.

            Here is what Princess has taught me in life: 1) Our children cannot become our idols.  God gave them to us for our enjoyment, for us to raise them to love Him, and to teach us what unconditional love means.  2) She helped me see how simple life can be. 3) She helped me see how complicated life can be.  4) She helped me learn that self-control is a learned aspect of life for all of us that must be taught while young.  5) She taught Dean and me both how to not be selfish.  6) She helped me learn that no matter what, God’s will is perfect.  I’m sure there are other things she taught me, but these are the lessons that come to mind. 

            This is my prayer for my special little Princess:  “Dear father, bless my baby.  Teach her to love You.  Help me to guide her to You always.  Take her strong will and turn it into a determination that will serve Your kingdom well.  Taker her beauty and use it for humility to You.  Take her intelligence and turn it into knowledge of You.  Guide Dean and me in the raising of her.   Help us to always seek your will in even the small decisions that will affect her life.  We praise You for the time you have given us with her, and we pray for her to have a long, healthy life.  She is so special to us and those close to us, and we praise You for her special little personality; please guide it into one strong enough to withstand the meanness of the world and always stand up for You.  Help her to always keep her faith strong.  We praise You, we praise You, we praise You.”

Mommy Tantrums

            If moments of failure are when we learn our best lessons, I must have learned a huge lesson last night.  It came in the form of “Leanna’s” appearance.  Leanna is what my mom used to call me when I was in trouble. (My middle name is Leanne, but it wasn’t enough just to use that, she felt the need to mutate it.)  Anytime I have one of those moments where a grown woman throws a fit of three-year-old proportions, I think of it as an appearance of “Leanna”. (Yes, I know the quotation marks aren’t necessary, but I like the way it looks.)  It was one of those moments where every part of me wanted to find an innocent household appliance to physically assault.  You can be proud that I did not throw anything, hit anything with my fist, or fling myself to the floor and thrash around.  Don’t think I didn’t want to, but luckily I held it together at least that much for the sake of my poor husband who had to endure said tantrum.  I did, however, say things I shouldn’t, portray an attitude unpleasing to God (and my mother), and speak to the man I love in a hateful tone (I mean REALLY hateful, not just a little). 

            Too often, I try to justify my bad behavior with the fact that I am almost always sleep deprived.  None of my children (three year old included) sleep through the night consistently.  Don’t bother giving advice; I have tried every published method out there.  The twins are doing better for the most part, but when they have a bad night, they tend to do so at the same time and for several nights in a row.  Even then, if they both wake up only twice, it means the house is disrupted four times, add in once for Princess, and I have been awakened five times throughout the night.  Dean can sleep through more than I can and tends to fall asleep faster, but he by no means gets that much more than me.  For some reason, if I tell him not to worry about getting up with the twins at night, he doesn’t so much as roll over.  If he tells me the same, I wake up, prepare the bottle for him, and hand it to him.  I guess I just can’t help myself.  Last night was a particularly bad night.

            Dean has been sick lately, and the medicine he is on makes him sleepy, dead to the world sleepy, sleep through a tornado sleepy, you get the idea… After two nights of no assistance, I was just about to the point of sleeping in a recliner with my children in my lap just to get some sleep.  Add to that the stress of a long work week, Dean’s mysterious illness, and other small added stressors, and I was in a bad place mentally.  The twins fell asleep in their bouncy chairs early, so I thought that meant a good night was in store...yeah, right!  They slept for about an hour and a half, and then woke up screaming.  If ever you have been stressed by the sound of your infant screaming for reasons you can not discover, not to be comforted, you know where I’m coming from.  Now take that and double it, add it to you at your most tired, throw in you at your most stressed, scatter some dirty clothes on your floor, drag out four loads of clean laundry that need to be folded, and you’re there.  I’m pretty sure I had an eye twitch.  I decided to put Tank in his bed to “cry it out”.  I put Tinker Belle in her mini crib after she fell asleep sitting up in my lap, exhausted from her nighttime scream.  Dean picked Princess up off the couch where she fell asleep in the midst of two crying babies and carried her to bed.  Then, we settled into our bed for the night.

            When putting the mini crib in our room, I wanted it to be conveniently located to me so that I didn’t have to get up and down to tend to the baby in it.  However, that means that getting out of bed requires me to crawl to the foot of the bed and get down from there.  Tank decided to play his chances at outlasting me and screamed at the top of his lungs (in case I couldn’t hear him) for no less than 30 minutes straight.  He cried so hard that he almost vomited.  When he finally stopped, I flipped on the video monitor to see his position in the bed.  (I can’t just leave it on, because it has been shorting out lately, adding to the stress as I lie there and imagine him in a dangerous position.  You know, because cribs aren’t built to keep babies safe or anything...) I couldn’t seen him, so I got up out of bed for the third time angry.  (Oh, did I forget to mention those other times I got up when I went in to peek at him crying?)  When I say I was angry, I mean it.  I was sincerely angry.  I was angry that I was tired.  I was angry that I needed to sleep so that I could go to work the next day rather than being home with my kids.  I was angry that my kids don’t sleep and other people’s kids do.  AND, if I’m being honest, I was mad at Dean for being sick and my kids for not sleeping well.  I know these feelings are horrible, unfair to those around me, and ungodly, but it is how I felt.  ENTER LEANNA:  When I got up, I mentioned a little more loudly than necessary that it was in fact the third time I got up MYSELF, verbally resigned myself to never ever sleeping again, threatened to hook myself to a caffeine tap around the clock, stomped (oh yeah, I’m not joking) down the hall, peeked in on Tank and realized he had been playing opossum on me.  He didn’t even look around before he started screaming again.  I picked him up and began asking him why it was that he wasn’t sleeping and felt the need to cry.  I got no answer.  Too tired to fight it, I just took him back to bed with me.  I had already begun to feel remorse for the way I acted towards Dean when I went to get Tank.  It may not look like much in writing, but there’s a certain body language that lets a husband know when his wife is throwing a fit.  I think both twins had a little bit of a bellyache, because they fussed most of the night on and off, which added to the anger and the remorse at the same time and further confused my spirit.  We slept with the electric dust buster running most of the night.  (Go ahead and laugh, but I promise it works.) 

Although I apologized to Dean (and God) as soon as I got back with Tank, the fit took all night and most of the morning to fizzle out completely.  I was still angry that I was so exhausted.  Throughout the workday, I tried to put things back into perspective, so that when I got home I could give my family the best of me.  Isn’t that what they deserve, after all?  I had to go to the store before coming home, because we were almost out of everything including: toilet paper (I was praying that last roll would last until I got home), paper towels, trash bags (we had actually been out of those for a couple of days), and other miscellaneous items.  I chose the Dollar General store because it is faster than Wal-Mart.  I was looking for a bill organizer (which I can’t function without) and stumbled upon a book in the book section (Dollar General even has one!) titled Managing Your Moods by pure chance.  The forward is by Mary Graham and the book was put out by the Women of Faith ministry.  I couldn’t even pretend that God didn’t put that there just for me; it couldn’t have been more obvious if he had thrown it down and hit me in the head with it.  You have to love our heavenly Father’s sense of humor.  I mean, of all the titles…. Anyway, I knew immediately that I would buy it, and I flipped to the back cover just to see what it said.  Mary Graham was quoted on the back: “God has created us as emotional beings, capable of a wide range of feelings.  Obviously, His desire is that those feelings to not control us.”  Okay, God, I hear you.  I flipped through the inside, and couldn’t help but stop on the chapter titled “Temper, Temper”.  The main verse for the chapter was Proverbs 21:19, which states, “Better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and angry woman.”  OKAY, God, I HEAR YOU!  It’s true though.  When Dean is mad, while it’s not pleasant, it’s not explosive.  He gets quiet, voices his anger, and goes outside to work it off or turn it into an ulcer, or whatever it is he does.  When I get angry, I am ANYTHING but quiet.  In fact, I can’t say enough.  I can tell you why I’m angry on several different levels and in several different ways if I don’t feel you understand me enough.  I hate it, though, that I can’t seem to keep control over Leanna.  Not only is she unpleasant, she is uncontrolled, which is what this control freak hates most about her.  Also, she leaves me groveling to those around me, which I HATE to do.  I know that part of my spiritual growth is learning to tame Leanna into something lovely and humble.  I don’t want to get rid of her spunk (I think of her as the type to cut off the guard’s ear in defense of Jesus, just like Simon Peter in his love for the Master), I just want to harness her energy into something glorifying to God.  Maybe then, I won’t have to rename her, she could just be Rea.  I hope that this post doesn’t just act as a humorous moment in your day.  While I obviously don’t mind laughing with you at myself, I want other women out there to know they are not alone in their fits.  We live stressful lives, after all.  Sissy sent me some scripture the other day, and one of the verses I loved the most said, “I will seek peace and pursue it” (Ps. 33:14).  It resonated with me then, but means so much more today.  I have been her mentor for a long time, but God has grown her into a wonderful accountability partner for me.  I’m so glad that sometimes she is now the mentor, not the mentee.  It helped me realize that sometimes I need to pursue peace rather than unleashing Leanna on the world around me.  Maybe you need to make the same promise to yourself. 

For those of you who are known for your mommy tantrums, let’s make it our goal together to be better.  Here is my prayer for us all who suffer from Leanna syndrome: “Dear God, we love you.  Forgive us for our anger, led us through our stress, and comfort us in our despair.  Help us to seek peace and pursue it.  Help us to show love, not anger.  Help us to control anger even when we feel it is justified.  Help us to be more like you.”

The man, the myth, the DADA!!

I was thinking the other day that each member of my family gets little individual attention on the blog, so I’m going to dedicate a post to each of them.  I will start with Dean, since without him, this little family wouldn’t exist and I met him first.  I have explained before how we met and the beginning of our relationship, so I’ll focus on his personality and character.  If there’s anything people say about Dean after meeting him, it is that 1. He is a very hard worker, and 2. He is very quiet.  It is definitely true that Dean is a hard worker, maybe even too much of a hard worker; it is also true that he is unusually quiet for a young person in this day and time.  

  

Dean loves to farm, but he knew he needed a job that would support his farming habit (as well as a wife and three kids), so he went to college to get a degree.  Originally, he wanted to become a veterinarian.  However, his talents were in History and Art.  It took him awhile to decide what he wanted to do, but in the end he graduated with a degree in History, one class short of a degree in Art, and an education endorsement.  It was never in his early plans to become a teacher, but I think it was God’s will that he did.  He has become one of the best History teacher’s that I have met.  I know my opinion doesn’t mean much, but his students’ testing scores and the fact that he has received his school’s teacher of the year award several times proves that he is good at what he does and that his students love him.  He takes pride in his paying job and just as much in his second job.  Dean is an intellectual farmer.  By that I mean that to him the best part of farming is solving the puzzles of different situations that arise.  We don’t grow produce, rather, we raise livestock including: cows, goats, and sheep.  (By we I mean him, of course.)  His favorite things to do: put up hay and fence (with his hands, no less).  I will never understand enjoying that kind of physical exertion, but I’m glad he does something he loves.  He sees the farm as a generational gift started by his parents.  He desperately wants at least one of our children to carry on after him, and I assure him constantly that with three kids, there will definitely be a nature lover among them.  

            Dean, in general, is very quiet. I am, if you haven’t already guessed, the spill your guts to the stranger on the bus type of gal.  Dean, however, usually leaves people wondering if he even likes them.  He isn’t rude of anything, but he doesn’t say much, and he’s not much of a fawner.  My friends have, over the years, had to explain to their new boyfriends, husbands, etc. that Dean simply doesn’t say all that much to begin with, and it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like someone.  More than anything, he’s just reserved.  (I will most definitely have this entire post approved before posting it, just in case I “say too much that doesn’t need to be said”.)  Now, I know you’re wondering how someone could be a wonderful teacher while being characteristically reserved.  Easy answer; he’s a great actor.  Around our children, his parents, and myself he is actually very talkative and opinionated (I’m assuming this is the real him).  Around my family, he is a less outspoken and very objective when it comes to debates.  In social situations, he is a complete wallflower.  He doesn’t say much at all, even if prompted.  At work, he is a first class actor.  He is loud, a tricksters, controlling, and almost cocky acting.  Why?  When I asked he just said that it was because that is what the kids respond to best.  Simple man, simple idea.  He’s brilliant on so many levels.  I believe he has this alter ego in order to protect himself.  Therefore, even when acting, he is being himself, reserved.

            We were young, searching, and wounded by the world when we met.  He always loved me in a simple way, which is what this complicated girl needed.  I needed a man who could support me, and he was strong enough to do so.  I’ve always been a little wacky, so he knew exactly what he was getting into when he married me.  We dated for three years before we got engaged.  He stuck with me through my sick of high school phase (we met in Oct. of my senior year), my “intellectual” phase (in undergraduate school), my new wife phase, my slightly insane new mom phase, and so on.  Two weeks after he proposed, my parents moved, and I became a nomad.  I lived between my brother’s house (which was closest to Dean), college, and my parents.  It was hard on both of us, but he always supported wherever I felt like I needed to be at the time.  That is what he is especially good at, being supportive.  That is not to say he just goes along with whatever I want, but when he agrees with an idea or feeling, he supports me wholeheartedly.  When he doesn’t, he gets quiet and pouty for a while, and I know he doesn’t agree.  He was the first man I ever dated who could be honest, faithful, and completely committed while giving me room to breathe, even those times when I didn’t really want space.  He let me be my own person while we slowly melted into one being.  

            As a Christian woman, I believe that my role in the family is in submission to my husband.  I knew this when I began dating Dean and as I prayed about the idea of marrying him.  In all reality, he is very easy to submit to because he is a very cautious decision maker.  He takes his role as our family leader very seriously.  He makes decisions VERY cautiously, and he always discusses his decisions with me, even when it is about something like purchasing a piece of farm equipment that I have no idea about.  He is a wonderful, loving husband and father.  I’m so glad that I begged him to have kids, because doing so made him an even better Christian and husband himself.  He is good at the parts of parenting where I am lacking, especially at playing.  I’m a horrible pretender and I just can’t play for very long in a way that is fun to a three year old.  Dean, on the other hand, is awesome at play.  He can even manipulate a three-year-old girl into playing a game manly enough for him to enjoy.  (He has that way about him with the girls, even though he doesn’t know it.  You wouldn’t believe how many older women over the years have made catty comments to me about how they’d give me a run for my money if they were younger, or how many little girls think he’s the most handsome Prince they’ve ever seen.  He’s clueless as to why of course, which makes it even more endearing and keeps me from assaulting the elder.)  

            I know that this post may seem strange considering that my blog is mostly about the chaos of my life, which is primarily generated by factors other than my husband.  However, Dean is the kind of man who is strong enough to let me put our whole life story out there for the world and stay back in the shadows, out of view.  In our church, he is the media man.  He sits in the crow’s nest and runs all of the Power Point presentations for the service.  Most people tend to forget he’s there.  He doesn’t mind, and he definitely doesn’t want attention drawn to him.  That is one of his most attractive characteristics for me, being able to play an important part that isn’t glorified constantly.  I think allowing him to be a background worker in this blog would totally misrepresent our family, though, so I wanted to make sure he is given the credit he deserves.  We are not perfect as individuals or even as a couple, but we desperately love each other and rely on God for the success of our relationship.  It takes a strong confident man to be the eye of this storm, and I couldn’t imagine relying on anyone else. 

            For those of you with strong men to lean on, I will send praise to God with you for that man.  For those of you looking for a husband, I will pray God sends your perfect match in his time and way.  For those of you in a relationship that is struggling, I pray.  Early in our marriage, I read something that led me to begin praying this, “Dear God, help me to love Dean as I should.  Help me to love him better.”  This wasn’t my whole prayer of course, but I made it a habit in my daily prayer time.  I challenge you to pray the same.

Too many babies at the dr. office?

     As a mother of three children, I have been faced with the choice of making separate doctor appointments for the trio or taking them individually.  I have a three year old and 6-month-old twins, so while it would be easy to take my oldest child separately, the twins always have vaccinations and check ups due at the same time.  Therefore, the doctor office assumes I would want to bring all of my children or at least the twins to the doctor together each time we take them.  In fact, if one twin is sick with an ear infection, they automatically look in the other twin’s ears as well (if said twin is present of course), which actually sets my mind at ease more often than not.  This seemed like the perfect set up at first, but I’m beginning to wonder.  When I roll into the office with all of my children, the appointment lasts longer than with just one, which one would expect, but I’m not certain about how much attention each baby/toddler gets.  My primary pediatrician is wonderful, and since he has known the babies since birth, he does a pretty good job at keeping them separate along with their different needs.  Still, there are three children in one examination room, so the distractions are loud and constant.  Even I, who goes in with a prepared list for each child individually, tend to get distracted from one child to mention something about another (who has become loud at that moment).  Let me set the scene for you….My husband and I get all three children into the exam room.  Our youngest girl is snoozing, so we only take her twin brother out to get weighed and measured.  When we get back, the nurse begins the standard procedure questions, during which the three year old interrupts about 400 times to ask if she would be getting checked or needed a shot and proceeds to cry about how she doesn’t like shots.  While this is happening, our youngest girl wakes up, gets angry, begins to cry, and must be picked up.  The nurse is distracted by the size difference between the two twins(Bubby is 6 pounds heavier), which prompts a discussion about said size difference.  We finish the questionnaire, we think, and restart the process with twin sister.  During her turn, twin brother needs to be fed, older sister climbs on to the table, off of the table, back on the table, wads up the paper cover sheet, touches the floor (which sends me searching for hand sanitizer), and then begins asking when she is going to be weighed, why she won’t be weighed (she was only there for the flu mist), and begins to get upset about not being weighed when the twins get to get weighed (as if they didn’t scream the entire time themselves).  Overall, the poor lady did a pretty good job.  She only messed up on the measurement of twin brother’s head (which sent the doctor in search of his head measure thing to correct it, since it was evidently measuring as so massive one should be worried).  Dr. Baby Genius (our nickname for him of course) enters the scene.  He checks little sister’s ears, then he checks big sisters ears because she’s right next to him and asking questions nonstop, then he goes back to little sister’s ears.  He listens to little sister’s heart, then he stops to listen to big sister’s heart since she is right next to him and continually asking if he is going to check her soon, and then goes back to little sister’s heart.  After little sister gets checked, the doctor begins on brother, and big sister begins playing with the toy in the corner left for such a reason.  It’s not quiet, but at least she’s distracted.  This continues and the visit only lasts around an hour and a half total.  We go through the list for each and I don’t think we forgot much, so we leave.  Of course, there were a few things we wished we had mentioned after the fact, but mostly, we are just glad to be out of the office and on our way.  However, I can’t help but wonder if they would get better medical attention if seen individually.  For instance, at the doctor’s office we constantly hear from all of the health care professionals statements such as “We see a set of twins that are __ years old and they..”  Granted, individual babies and children don’t get mentioned at all, so maybe it’s a blessing and not a curse.  Honestly, I don’t know which is better, but I do know that one stressful, long, loud visit seems more convenient that three separate ones.  I’m thinking of trying it out individually just to see if we feel that the treatment is better or more thorough, but who has time to do that when we have three kids to raise?

Multiple meltdowns

            Let’s set the mood, shall we?  On Mondays, I rush home, get Princess and take her to dance class.  This particular Monday, the duo was pretty grumpy when I came in.  I tried to hold them both a little before running back out the door with Princess to make it to her class in time.  The great thing about Monday is that I have 55 minutes all to myself while dance class takes place.  If the weather permits, I like to go for a walk.  I have a few friends who sometimes join me, but I don’t mind going alone if no one is available.  It is 55 minutes (minus drive time) that I do not have to feel guilty for having, since I’m technically multitasking.  Since having the twins, finding time to exercise is even harder than before and sometimes I convince myself that it’s just not worth the guilt.  Today, I dropped Princess off and headed to our walking trail where I met up with two friends.  The walk was great, and I felt pretty good about this being the second time in three days that I actually got to exercise.  I picked Princess up and dashed back home because there is only one hour between the end of Princess’s dance class and the time our youth group (Dean and I host and lead a youth aged small group on Monday as well) begins.  That gives me about 40 minutes when you subtract pick up and travel time to get home and fix dinner for around 5-8 people.  (Imagine “I’m Every Woman” playing in the background.)  It’s an absolutely packed day.  When we were driving home today, Dean sent me a text asking if Sissy could help me until small group started so that he could go out and tend to the livestock.  I should have known right then that all heck had broke loose at home, but this silly girl didn’t think too much of it.  I walked in the door, where Dean met me with a crying Tinker Belle, handed her to me, and all but ran out the door.  Either he was afraid of being late for his own small group, or a common sense instinct had set in and he had chosen flight over fight with two 6 month olds.  Tank was also screaming in the living room, because Dean had walked out of the room (an interesting new phobia he has developed.)  So I get home from my relaxing and exhilarating walk to be met with a stressed out husband, grumpy babies, and a dinner that wouldn’t cook itself.  Sissy did come in to help even though I know she had places to be, God bless her heart.  We switched babies back and forth like some crazy circus act while I cooked dinner and washed bottles at the same time.  Not an easy evening.  The youth kids came, and I’m pretty sure the experience itself was better than any abstinence speech I could ever give.  However, in the end, everyone ate and the duo actually stayed quiet during our lesson (the same cannot be said for Princess, but…).  Tinker Belle, due to teething we believe, has screamed bloody murder on and off all day, and small group was no exception.  Someone please tell me, what do you do for your child when NOTHING you do comforts her?  Well, I think Dean and I have both teetered on the edge of insanity ourselves this evening, but at the moment, all I know to do is rock her in her bouncy chair while she cries and intermittently attacks the little teddy bear paci holder is has in there with her by chewing his arms (while I blog about the experience of course).  Maybe one day I’ll learn how to keep a one child meltdown from becoming a two to three child meltdown and sometimes (though I hate to admit it) even a mommy and daddy meltdown.  If you have ever been there, or ever find yourself here, just know you’re not alone.  Here is some encouragement for me: 1.  Tank is asleep in his bed, 2. My awesome husband is cleaning the kitchen, 3.  Princess has somehow managed to fall asleep next to me, 4.  I've been wanting to have a new post this week anyway, and 5.  Eventually, all of my kids will have all of their teeth. 

I thank God for the chaos of today, for I know that without it, my life would be empty.