Namely… bullying and intolerance.

I worry about Peanut. I worry about Buddy and Bear too, but let’s be honest… many kids don’t tolerate things they don’t understand. Peanut will be in a wheelchair. She will never be able to move her legs to run and play with her peers. Because of that she will be labeled as different by many of her peers.

I am constantly thinking about this. Will her peers play games that she can be involved in or will they reject her? Will her peers accept her differences or will they point them out as flaws and reject her? Will her peers be able to look past her wheelchair and see that she is just like them or will they reject her?

Eventually, someone somewhere will reject Peanut. Obviously, I wish this wasn’t the case, but again, let’s be honest. Its so easy to reject someone or something we don’t understand. It happens too much and for the worst reasons.

People get bullied for having a disability, for being poor, for being rich, for dressing differently, for being gay, for being ugly, for being pretty, for being black, Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Hispanic, etc… For being a girl, for being a boy, for bad haircuts, for wearing different jewelry, for being an only child, for being one of ten kids, for being Southern, for being blonde, for being an alcoholic, for being a child of an alcoholic, for being smart, for being dumb, for being mentally retarded, for where they buy their clothes, for their religion, for having no religion, for their taste in music, for their love of dance if they’re a boy, for their love of sports if they’re a girl, for their too large or too small private parts, for their braces, for their crooked teeth, for their curly hair, for their freckles, for needing medication, for their acne, for their weight…

For being different.

The worst part is that ‘different’ is so subjective that you can be bullied for just about anything. Anything! It’s insane, but it’s true. It breaks my heart. It infuriates me. It frustrates me. It confuses me.

Bullying worries me so much that I’ve brought myself to tears. Peanut is so beautiful and innocent and bright. I don’t want her innocence taken from her. I don’t want her to lose her positive demeanor. But the biggest thing I don’t want her to lose is her confidence. I want her to love herself and be proud of who she is, inside and out. I don’t want her to be embarrassed or ashamed because someone else can’t see past her wheelchair.

While I was cleaning this morning I noticed a skit on bullying on Sesame street and decided to sit down and watch. It was about Big Bird. He wanted to join the “Good Bird Club” and asked to join, but was rejected over and over again because he was different from the other birds. They picked on him and laughed at him and made him hate himself. It broke my heart. I was watching all of my biggest fears for Peanut in action. It was terrible. I felt so badly for Big Bird. His friends tried to tell him he was wonderful just the way he was, but he wanted to be accepted so badly by the other birds that he didn’t hear his friends.

The Good Bird Club video.

Thankfully, his friend stuck by his side and ultimately helped him see he is beautiful just the way he is. He loved himself again.

While this video absolutely broke my heart, it also gave me hope. While it’s inevitable that Peanut will have to face negativity one day, she won’t be doing it alone. She has me, her Dad, her twin sister, her big brother, her grandparents, her aunt, her uncle, her entire extended family, her godparents, her practically-aunts-and-uncles that are husband and I’s closest friends, and eventually her own closest friends.

She will have an army of love and support. While I won’t have much control over when or how often she may or may not be bullied, I can have a hand in how she handles it and how she builds her confidence.

The biggest inspiration to stay positive is my cousin “L” and her daughter “H”. “H” has Spina Bifida and is in a wheelchair. But let me tell you, that girl is unstoppable if she wants to do something. She is incredible. She’s smart, motivated and positive. I’ve never heard her complain about her circumstances. It definitely hasn’t stopped her from being active. I’ve seen her playing wheelchair basketball, and I’ve seen pictures of her going down a zip-line (while “L” had a minor heart attack watching her to it!). She has been involved in school activities and programs and has kept her GPA up in the process. She has her license, and to top it off, I’m incredibly proud to say that she recently got accepted into a Wisconsin University!

“H”‘s Spina Bifida is a part of who she is, but it doesn’t define her. It had nothing to do with her failure or success. She kept her head up and worked hard and earned everything she’s got today. In all of this, my cousin”L” has been right there beside her as a wonderful mother. She supported her and pushed her to do her best and she was there to help “H” back up when she stumbled.

By watching my cousin and her daughter, I realize that it’s okay to worry, but Peanut’s circumstance shouldn’t define our lives. With love, support and encouragement, she will bypass any possible bullying in her youth and grow up into a confident young woman that loves herself inside and out. That’s all I hope for.

Vinegar is my new favorite cleaning solution. I’m honestly excited to use it again.

Have you seen this stuff in action? HAVE YOU?! It’s insane! I don’t know how I didn’t know about this before…

I’ve had so many issues trying to find a good cleaning solution for my kitchen floor. It’s a really pocky linoleum floor that just loves to collect dirt. It always looks filthy even though I mop the floor pretty often. As a type A obsessive cleaning/organizing kind of person, this doesn’t go over well with me. I can’t just let it go. I know, with a husband, three kids and a dog I shouldn’t even fight it. But I just can’t help it. I hate it.

A while back my Mom told me to run vinegar through my coffee machine and it’ll clean out all of the yucky gunk and make it flow faster. The stink of hot vinegar is so sharp it’ll make your eyes water, but getting free flowing coffee faster in the morning was absolutely worth the suffering. Then a couple of months ago I walked into my in-law’s house to the smell of vinegar and found my MIL wiping down her floor with vinegar. I hadn’t even thought of this!! Genius! I’m probably the last person on the planet to figure this out, but I still had to rave about it now that I’ve finally done it.

It was so incredibly easy and fast to clean the floor. I took a bristly scrub brush (like what you’d use to scrub fingernails or vegetables), a squirt bottle, a sponge and a bucket of hot water. I filled the squirt bottle with vinegar and squirted as I cleaned. I figured it’s less wasteful and stinky this way. I didn’t have to wait for it to soak in or anything, I scrubbed right away and almost immediately the dirt came out. Then I wiped the muddy water away and rinsed over that spot with fresh water with the sponge. Voila.

For the first time in years my kitchen floor was literally sparkling and my Type A was satisfied.
(and now that I think of it, I don’t have to worry about the harsh chemicals from cleaners bothering the kid’s skin now either! Win/win!)

Clean enough to eat off of!

This time my picture was of Remmy. Surprisingly, the picture stirred more than just memories; it stirred forgotten feelings as well. This picture suddenly reminded me of a picture I took of him as a seven-week-old puppy. Husband and I had just bought a house in November, We bought Remmy in January and I was due in February. Most everyone told us it was a bad idea. It really bothered me. Why didn’t they believe in me? I felt like I had to prove to everyone that we could, and would, make it work out just fine.

I remember when this need to prove myself started.

I was shopping with my MIL before husband and I were married. We saw one of her acquaintances and stopped to say hi and she happily announced that Husband and I were engaged. The acquaintance chuckled and said to me, “You don’t look pregnant!” I knew he was joking around but it still really offended me. Without skipping a beat I replied, “Nah. We’re doing it for Love.” I smiled but deep down it had really hurt me. Was it really so unbelievable that a 21 year old wanted to marry for all the right reasons? Why did he have to assume the worst?

From there I felt I had to prove myself to anyone that questioned my motives. I felt undervalued and misjudged every time someone told me I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, do something. Did they think I just came to rash decisions on a whim? Why did everyone question my decisions?

Husband and I were happily married at 21/22 years old while a number of people “supportively” telling us it would be wise to wait. Don’t get me wrong, we had a lot of support during those big decisions as well. And I know many of the nay-sayers were doing it out of love or worry. But still, it bothered me. Didn’t they know by now that we don’t make big decisions lightly?

The truth is that when we do come to a final decision we’ve always talked it out for days, weeks and sometimes months on end. This is what we did when we finally decided to get Remmy. We had talked about it nearly every single night for a few months while I was pregnant. We weighed the pros and cons every day. In the end, despite everyone saying that it wasn’t the right time to get a dog, we decided it was the perfect time for us.

One day I was having a slow day at work and decided to search the employer’s special employee-only ‘ebay’ knockoff website to see if there were any puppies for sale. (I really really miss that website!)

Low and behold, I came across this picture.

oh. my. god. Right?!

He was a Golden Retriever – Springer Spaniel mix. He was a hybrid called a Spangold Retriever. I thought about it, both of those breeds are amazing family dogs and both breeds are athletic and energetic. I grew up with a Golden and my Aunt had a Springer. I knew for a fact both breeds were amazing family dogs. This was perfect!!!

I ignored all clients and dashed to the phone to call husband and tell him I emailed him a picture of our new puppy.

The next day we picked him up. We fell in love with him immediately and worked with him every day to train him and housebreak him before the baby came. He was perfect. When Buddy came he welcomed him with big kisses and snuggles and immediately became his protector. We were a family and he was 100% a part of it. He was just as much our baby as Buddy was.

I’m not saying it wasn’t difficult. It definitely was. Especially when he got older and more active. He’s still a handful today. But it’s what we wanted. We knew what we were getting ourselves into and we happily took on the extra baggage. He was worth it.

Finally. Finally the nay-sayers began admitting at this point that maybe we could handle it all. I secretly fist-pumped every time. *Finally! Validation!*

***

Now I find myself looking back and remembering these feelings when we first bought our home and started expanding our family. I have a different view of it all now. I had so much to prove to the world. I desperately wanted to prove to everyone that I could be a good homeowner, dog owner, mother and wife, but we didn’t have anything to show for ourselves besides what looked like rash decisions. It’s ironic that in my rush to prove to everyone that I was ‘all growed up’ and could make my own decisions, it only made me look more immature.

Now I can understand people’s apprehensions for us when we announced marriage, home ownership, a baby and then a puppy on top of that. I don’t regret anything we did, but I can understand and appreciate the other point of view now. In spite of our rush to get our lives moving, I also hope that our well-intended nay-sayers have seen all that we have accomplished since then and truly believe that we are a strong and capable family.

As I reminisced on old feelings, I compared the two pictures further and realized something else. I noticed how completely Remmy reflects my feelings in the two pictures. At seven weeks old he’s practically pleading to be acknowledged, loved and trusted. In the picture from today he still looks young, but he looks much more comfortable, capable and confident.

Now I see that Remmy isn’t the scared little puppy pleading for affection that he used to be and I’m not the new wife and mother I used to be. We’ve both still got a lot of growing up and “proving up” to do. But we’ve both earned enough to look back at our “puppy days” and appreciate how far we’ve already come.

For those of you that know my husband well enough, you’re probably doing a double take of that last sentence. For those of you that don’t know my husband, here’s a quick story:

In elementary school husband had a life altering experience at the zoo. In fact, it was numerous traumatizing experiences. Every year his school took a class field trip to the zoo.

The nerve.

His description of the events: They went during one the coldest Wisconsin months of the year. The teachers forced the kids to avoid wearing gang colors because the zoo was in the city and they wanted to avoid trouble. This left husband wearing layers of sweatshirts instead of his Green Bay Packers coat. Then, boy did they have the gall, he had to pack a cold, smooshy peanut butter and jelly sandwich that would end up getting sat on at some point or another. Then the teachers had the audacity to force him to fill out worksheets while on the trip.

I know. What an absolutely miserable experience. worksheets and smooshed sandwiches? Forget the awesome opportunity to see foreign animals and not have to be in class. What an awful, awful idea those teachers had to take him to the zoo.

Now, the one thing you can take from this story is that, even as a child, Husband has always hated change. He’s a creature of habit. It’s a comfort thing for him. He has no desire to travel or move away from Wisconsin. He likes to eat the same foods at the same times. He likes to go to bed at the same time and wake up at the same time. He likes the same TV shows and the same hobbies. I could go on…

Now, imagine my delighted surprise when Husband calls me to suggest a family trip to the zoo. This was totally out of the ordinary.

So, he gets home and unpacks the groceries he bought and pulls out a box of hair dye. A box of very dark brown hair dye. Very dark brown. Like… nearly black. He announces that he saw this and thought it’d be fun for me to dye my hair. I could have taken this one of two ways:
A.) Insulted. He clearly doesn’t like me the way I am and wants to change me.
or
B.) Proud. He went way, way out of his typical comfort zone to try something new and exciting.

I went with B. See, I know this was technically my hair he suggested I dye, but that’s the reason I was kind of shocked and proud. He’s very particular about my hair. He likes it long. He likes it a certain color. He likes it a certain style. That’s not to say that he makes me do these things, it’s just what he prefers.

Recently though, I cut about a foot off of my hair because I was just sick and tired of the same thing day in and day out. When I told him what I was doing, he tried incredibly hard to be supportive, but I could tell he was really fighting the change. His first response in seeing my hair cut was, “hmm.” Then he immediately back pedaled when he saw my glare and tried to cover his tracks with some lame attempt to explain away his terrible first impression. “Err… Uhh… I mean…“

*facepalm*

A week later, he brought up my hair cut again, saying, “You know, I don’t even notice that your hair is short anymore.”

I responded, “Oh, really? I actually really like it once I got used to it! Does that mean you like it now?”

*pause*

*glare*

“Wait!”

“Go away.”

*facepalm*

Now comes today. He brought home a box of hair dye that’s not his typical preference. I had to hand it to him. He’s really trying. Now, although this wasn’t my preferred color, we were finally getting somewhere. He’s showing me he’s willing to stand aside and let me ruin my hair even though it makes him cringe a little bit on the inside. I set the box aside to decide on later and we started getting ready for our family trip to the zoo.

We called up a friend to join us, packed up the kids and headed out. (I’ll spare you additional pointless details of our day and just say it was a typical fun day at the zoo with the family and a good friend.)

*****
I will quickly add here that Buddy hasn’t been in public for more than an hour during his potty training. So going from that to an incredibly fun and distracting place for hours on end without bathrooms immediately available was going to be interesting. We figured this was kind of his test to see how far he’s come along. He did awesome! Not only did he not have a single accident, but over a four-hour period he only needed to go to the bathroom twice. Woot!
*****

So, after a day of fun and excitement, we dropped our friend off at home and headed for home ourselves. When we got home and got settled in, husband brought up the hair dye again. Now I had no choice but to decide. While I was proud (extremely proud) that he went out of his comfort zone and was willing to let me try something so different, I was actually fairly apprehensive to dye my hair that dark. Dark brown is very hard to pull off yourself because you almost always end up with jet black hair. I’m not a ‘black hair’ kind of girl. Especially in the dead of winter with pasty white skin. Yech.

I expressed this opinion and he seemed a little disappointed that I didn’t want to use the color he picked out specially for me and got all quiet and glum. I felt kind of bad for shutting him down when he was so excited about it. So, before I hopped in the shower I opened the box and took a good long look at the color. After a couple of minutes I decided I’d go for it. My hair will grow out if I don’t like it, right? The point of this was to show him I’m proud of him for trying and I supported him. (Afterwards I realized he totally pulled the puppy dog eyes on me and I fell for it hard. Damn him for being so cute and miserable.)

Instead of leaving the dye in my hair for 20 minutes the directions called for, I only did 5 minutes. I went from bottom to top so the underneath would be darker and the top would look lighter (or at least not black).  After five minutes, I hopped in the shower and frantically washed it out, praying that it wasn’t black. I hopped out and dried it and… drumroll… it was exactly like the box! I have to say, I actually really like the color.

I’m not going to make my hair dying into some big philosophical life-changing event like Husband’s zoo experiences. But I will say that I’m very happy with the direction that husband is headed. He is opening up to change, and for him, that is an enormous step forward.

*****
After husband realized I dyed my hair for him he hopped over excitedly and examined my hair and noted, “It could even be a little darker and I wouldn’t hate it.”

I know this was a great compliment coming from him, but I really should teach him how to compliment a woman properly… *facepalm*

I hope you enjoy it!

My Five Nifty Thrifty DIY Ideas 

I’m beginning to think husband and I created a superbreed child. Buddy is a child with uncanny insight into mechanical development and has a knack for thinking outside of the box like his father. But he also got his strong will, determination and unbelievable attention to detail from me.

Superhuman.

Instead of getting easily distracted by Elmo’s world mid-fit like he used to, Buddy now makes demands and sticks with it. He isn’t easily deterred. In fact, he will purposely ignore me when I attempt to bribe him with TV, candy and stories. He completely overlooks the temptations that a typical toddler would jump at and keeps pushing me for what he wants. He is beyond persistent.

Then, when he realizes I’m not going to give in to his demands, it’s time for a meltdown. But, instead of having the meltdown and eventually getting bored with it, he holds a grudge. A big, fat grudge. He remembers when his Satan of a mother refused him another sippy cup of milk and gave him *gag* water instead. He remembers, and he plans. He lies in waiting. He waits for the perfect time to strike back. To tell me it is not okay to overlook his age or intelligence because there will be payback, and it will be merciless.

Oh, he does the typical screaming fits with long, drawn out one-sided conversations that are comprised mostly of the word “NO!”. He does the throwing things game and the collapsing-in-the-middle-of-the-store-and-screaming bit. He does it all. But he goes beyond the necessary protocol for a toddler’s typical refusal to behave and listen.

When you’re least expecting it, he sneaks in a stealth attack or he makes a great escape despite our best efforts to keep him contained.

Examples:

Stealth attack: Once, when I dared to gift Buddy with our atrocious well water he went into his typical fit. When he realized I wasn’t paying attention to him, he went into the living room and quietly sat cross legged on the living room floor with his new sippy cup and just examined it from every angle. The level of concentration on his face was amusing to me at the time. His little eyebrows were furrowed. His eyes were moderately squinted in a way that reminded me of someone that was trying to work through a particularly difficult math equation. His mouth was screwed up into a little pout on the side of his face. I left him to his work, assuming he was just checking out the colors and pictures on the side of his sippy cup.

Nope.

About fifteen minutes later I had finished cleaning up the kitchen and turned around to find Buddy standing in the kitchen doorway with a diabolical smile on his face. He was still holding his sippy cup. I eyed him cautiously for a moment, knowing full well the potential he had to pull wool over my eyes sometimes. When I assessed his stance and face and found nothing to be concerned with, I continued on around him and into the living room.

*squish* “Aaaagh!”

I stepped in a puddle of water. I hate wet socks. HATE. Buddy knows this because when he sees me step in Remmy’s water bowl slobbers and throw a fit similar to a toddler, he goes running into the bedroom to fetch me another pair of socks. (He does have his moments of sweetness, I’ll give him that.)

I growled to myself and ripped off my now completely ruined sock and headed towards the bedroom. *Hmm… wonder why Buddy didn’t get me some socks…*

*squish* “AAAAAGH!”

Another puddle of water. I scowled and growled and ripped off the other sodden sock. *Why the heck is there water all ov… OH!* I turned around to find Buddy, still smiling, standing in the midst of a living room full of water puddle land mines. I now noticed the lid of the sippy cup was loose. He figured out how to take it off. With me watching, he took off the lid and dumped another puddle on the floor. “BUDDY! NO!” He, of course, giggled and ran away.

I think he may have inherited my vengeful spirit as well…

Great Escapes: Buddy has a knack for thinking outside of the box. No matter what we do, we can’t contain him to his bed come bedtime. We had to take the railing off of his crib because he figured out how to stack his blanket and pillow to climb out. For fear of him hitting his little noggin we transitioned it into a toddler bed. From there, with his new-found freedom, all hell broke loose. What it came down to was either go back to his room for hours on end and ask, tell, plead and demand that he stay in bed, or put up a gate. After a couple of weeks of trying to talk to a toddler (seriously? talk to a toddler? what were we thinking?) we opted for the gate. He can sleep on the floor after throwing a fit all night for all we cared at that point. We weren’t spending our few hours of evening free time chasing him around.

That’s where we made our biggest mistake. We underestimated him.

What started out as a crapshoot attempt at making a step-ladder with all the wrong objects around his room, became a full-scale escape attempt every morning. I swear he spent that night quietly contemplating his bedroom belongings like a Macgyver baby and created an escape out of things that I would never have given him credit for if I wasn’t positive he was the only one in his bedroom.

Almost every morning I wake up to Buddy climbing into bed with me despite the clearly high enough gate in his bedroom doorway. When I go to check how he escaped, I’ve found a number of escape setups. He’s used his lidded garbage can. He’s used his blankets, somehow sort-of folded to give him height.Yes, I swear my toddler attempted to fold a blanket. He’s used his toy basket turned upside down. But what shocked me was that he put a couple of tin lunch boxes underneath the wicker basket for a more sturdy foothold. My two favorite escape methods to date are his books and his stuffed animals. He stacked them next to the gate. Biggest on the bottom, smallest on the top. Someone tell me… how, how did he figure that out? How did he figure out that would make it sturdiest?

Unbelievable.

Another interesting thing about Buddy is his love of figuring out puzzles. But not just any puzzles. He wants to know how everything and anything works. Buddy has absolutely no reservations about pushing foreign buttons. He loves buttons, levers, switches and everything else electrical and mechanical. He especially loves remotes, electronic devices like DVD players and game consoles (especially turning them off when you’re right in the middle of a game… *grumble grumble*), light switches, doorknobs and anything else man-made that you can imagine.

Unfortunately for us, while this one may be innocent fun instead of spiteful vengeance, it costs us in electronic repairs and hot water.

Why hot water, you ask? Well, he figured out how to turn off our water heater. Yeah. Cold showers aren’t too high on our “fun stuff to do” list.

It’s interesting to watch him operate on a regular day-to-day basis. I’m not sure if he would have been like this without watching me, but he is kind of a neat freak. After I take my shoes off from getting the mail, he takes my shoes and sets them on the shoe rack next to one another. He does the same with his own shoes. If he notices his potty is crooked, he will straighten it so it’s perfectly perpendicular to the wall. He will sometimes clean up his toys without my asking him. The list goes on…

I would have been perfectly content with a child of average intelligence and curiosity. Don’t get me wrong I’m happy to have such a bright son.  I really am… but sometimes he’s just very hard to keep up with. He’s very intense. I know he will grow out of it and grow into an intelligent adult, but this stage just feels endless sometimes. The thing that scares me the most is that it’s not just Buddy I have to keep an eye on. All three kids will get older. This means that if the girls are anything like Buddy, they’ll get smarter and more diabolical as well. Probably more so because they’ll have a mentor in Buddy.

As I have no choice in the matter I guess I’ll just have to keep surviving. In a way I kind of can’t wait to see what kinds of shenanigans the girls can come up with. Will they match Buddy? Will they surpass him? I don’t know, but I pray daily that I will be able to manage the oncoming tsunami of three toddlers under one roof.

*sigh*

Does anyone know where I can get a lifetime supply of coffee?

Wow, what a trip down memory lane. That was such a difficult and overwhelming time of my life. It’s hard to believe it’s going to be a year ago soon.

Just looking at the massive pile of paperwork, ranging from release forms to informational packets on the tens of disorders they thought Peanut had, is incredibly intimidating.

I can’t believe I soaked in all that information.

I can’t believe I kept it together. I honestly can’t.

That first month was torture. Torture on my body, having just delivered twins. I pushed Peanut out first with one push, four minutes later I pushed Bear out after only four pushes. Despite her being only 6 pounds 5 ounces, I pushed her out so fast I tore open and needed stitches. Doctors tell you not to drive or do anything strenuous for the first week or two so your body can heal inside and out. I didn’t have that luxury.

Within 12 hours of delivery I was walking the quarter-mile to the NICU to see Bear, who I only got a glimpse of before they rushed her out of the room to the NICU to intubate her and put her on oxygen. She wasn’t able to breathe on her own. I didn’t even get to hold her. All I could hear was her moaning and gurgling, struggling to get air into her little body.

Within 24 hours of delivery, they took Peanut from me and put her in the NICU, only to send her to Children’s within 48 hours of delivery. They didn’t know what was wrong with her. She wasn’t passing any stool. She wasn’t eating. She was only just barely 5 pounds at delivery and was losing that weight fast. On top of all that, she was paralyzed from the waist down and we didn’t have a clue why.

I walked to see them every chance I got while I was in the hospital still. I didn’t care about the stitches. I didn’t care about how groggy and horrible I felt. I didn’t care about the physical pain because the emotional pain was so overwhelming. One baby can’t breathe on her own, the other can’t eat. I can’t nurse them, I can’t soothe them, I can’t hold them without getting tangled in all the monitor cords. They were helpless and I was helpless to make them better. Every five minutes an alarm went off announcing there’s shallow breathing or a weakened heartbeat. Even though I couldn’t do a damn thing to help them, I stayed. I was eager to help in any way that I could. To feel like I was still their mother. To feel like I was contributing to their staying alive as much as the educated nurses and the machines.

Immediately after being discharged on day two I was driving and walking nearly all day every day for weeks. I had Buddy at home with my Mom, Bear in the hospital I delivered about 20 minutes away, and Peanut at Children’s hospital another 30 minutes away. I would sleep at the hospital where the nurses would come in and ask me to feed whichever girl I was with every three hours, and the alarms woke me up every hour in between. During the daytime I would spend about six hours with each girl at each hospital, holding them and crying over them and getting more and more information piled on every hour by doctors. By the time I got home, I was so worn out I could hardly even look at Buddy, but I did my best to love him and pay attention to him. In a way, I’m glad he was as young as he was. He didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand Mommy was too tired to love him like she should.

Over the weeks, more and more information piled up, but the girls health looked more promising. Bear had been transported to Children’s as well so they could be together. She was eventually breathing without the assistance of machines. Peanut began to eat slowly. Soon she was eating as much as her sister. Slowly, the world began to right itself. I began to see the light at the end of this incredibly long and treacherous tunnel. It was a small light, but it was light. It was hope. It was a promise of better things to come. I didn’t know when I would get there, but just knowing it was there made all the difference in the world to me.

After a little under a month, the girls were proclaimed healthy and were permitted to come home.

Home.

The light suddenly flooded my world.

It was then that I realized that from the moment I delivered the girls, I was thrown into this crazy world and never even thought about hope or happiness. For that month, I just wanted them to live. To survive. To fight. In return I survived and I fought with every fiber of my being. I shrugged off the need to eat and sleep until I absolutely couldn’t last any longer without them and I collapsed physically, mentally and emotionally. Once I was moderately recovered, I did it all over again. I fought. I fought so I could beat the nurses and the machines. So my girls could rely on me. So my girls could come home.

Once I realized this stage of my fight was nearly over, it renewed my will. They were coming home. Our home. Our family was going to finally be together.

Together.

The idea that I could have hope, that I could bring my family home, that we could all be together… I was beside myself. Maybe the girls would be alright. Maybe they really would grow up to be strong healthy women. Maybe we could have a normal life one day.

The fact that I even questioned those possibilities shocked me. I was so burnt out and the possibility of one or both of the girls dying had become such a daily reality that I eventually didn’t question it or fight it. I was ashamed of myself. It felt like I had given up without even realizing it. The day we got our entire family home, I promised myself I would never stop believing in the will of my family again. I would always hold out hope. I would always drive myself to make it to that light at the end of the tunnel.

Slowly, I forgot about those scary diagnosis for Peanut, I forgot that Bear was unable to sustain her life-force without the aid of machines, I forgot that I was too tired to even look at my son, I forgot the hopelessness and helplessness, the physical and emotional pain. I replaced it all with hope, happiness, laughter, love, encouragement and support. If I give up, that gives the family an excuse to give up. I won’t let that happen. I will not let that happen.

Going through those papers has brought me down memory lane, and while it was difficult to relive those first months of complete hell, I’m glad I waited until now to do it. I think deep down I knew I was finally in a good enough place to face that part of my life again. Reading it didn’t bring me down. It made me appreciate how far we’ve all come already and how much better our lives are already.

I think watching the kids growing, developing and interacting has been the biggest contribution to my healing. Buddy is a smart, goofy and happy little boy. Bear is loud and spunky and always looking for trouble. Peanut is strong, determined and secretly silly. They’re so big now, they’re so normal. I don’t associate them with scary or sick or dying. I associate them with spunk, life, excitement and happiness. I’ve begun to find happiness in the simple things again and I’m able to see past the hardships and find a bright future for my family. I may never get to the end of my metaphorical tunnel, but I know what direction to go. I know that now I can go to bed without worrying about my kids health or future. I can wake up feeling excited to spend more time with my smart and beautiful kids. I can feel hope and happiness without immediately turning to fear or uncertainty to squash that happiness.

I’m not dwelling on the past anymore. I’m finally looking forward. My family is strong. My family is happy. My family is beautiful. I can finally confidently say I will never stop fighting for them.

This wasn’t the first time we found him out of bed.

A few other times we’ve found him passed out, sprawled at the top of our stairs on the landing. One time I found him on the floor in his bedroom. I know its normal toddler behavior, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

Husband and I have been getting increasingly annoyed with Buddy when we have to continue to go up the stairs again and again for hours after we actually put him to bed. Other nights he will fall asleep immediately, but suddenly wake up at 10 PM and scream and scream until we finally give in and go settle him down.

This morning Husband found Buddy asleep on our living room floor.

It sucks.

The most recent couple of nights Husband would go up to Buddy, who would be gasping and gagging from crying so hard, and bring him downstairs to cuddle with us in our bed until he stopped crying. Interestingly enough, he would stop crying the second he was snuggled up to one of us in our bed. He would settle down and just lay there, perfectly still and completely silent. He would be awake, but he would just lay there, snuggled tightly against one of us. After he was quiet for about five or ten minutes, we would take him back to bed again and the crying fest would ensue.

Tonight, his hatred of sleeping by himself in his own room really hit me. About 30 minutes before bedtime, Buddy followed me into our bedroom where I changed into my pajamas. Finally I asked him, “Are you ready for bed buddy? Are you tired?” He suddenly stopped crying and just looked up at me. He said “ya!” and ran over to our bed and pointed. I asked “You wanna go to bed?” and he answered with another “YA!”. I waved my hand mildly in his direction and laughed, saying “Ok then, go ahead.” thinking he wouldn’t know what I was saying. Instead, he climbed up into our bed and proceeded to pull back the covers, climb into my spot, and pull the covers up to his chin while snuggling into my pillow. He wiggled a little hand up from under the covers, waved, and said, “Niii-niiiiiight!”

Pff… in your dreams kid. Wrong bed. Obviously we need to step up our game with bedtime and have a little chat about staying in his own bed. I don’t personally have a problem with parents letting their kids sleep in their beds, I just think that once you let a kid sleep with you regularly, they think it’s okay to invite themselves in all the time. Some parents are okay with that, we’re not. We believe you have to make boundaries and enforce them. Something we haven’t been doing… enforcing. Or at least not as strongly as we should be doing.

So, after snapping a couple of adorable pictures, I ousted him from our bed and scooted his little tush up to his own bed. (I know… totally not helping the situation by taking pictures of a boy who loves posing for the camera. But he was just so cute!!)

This daily jailbreak of his got me to thinking. I recently had a conversation with my Mom about my sleeping habits as a kid. I only barely remembered this until we talked about it, and now it all came back to me. I was terrified of the dark, and the scary things that came with the dark. Even at a very young age I was incredibly scared of the dark. I would sneak out of my bed and go someplace where someone else was. At the foot of my parents bed. Next to my Mom on the floor. Outside of my sisters bedroom. At the front door on the floor with our Golden Retriever. I hated to sleep alone. I still do to this day.

I wonder if he’s afraid of something. I wonder if there’s a reason he doesn’t like his sleeping arrangements or if he’s just being a typical toddler. I wonder if he is just realizing how much he loved cuddling. I wonder if he is just testing out his recently discovered rebellious side. I wonder if he hates to be alone just as much as me.

Whether it’s one or all of the above, there’s one thing I know for sure. From what we’ve seen so far, the apple most definitely doesn’t fall far from the tree. Which, in this case, means we’re going to need to invest in out of reach locks for our doors to prevent middle-of-the-night outdoor adventures…

While I think it’s safe to assume it’s company he wants and not an adventure, we’re better safe than sorry.

thump… thump

thump… thump

thump… thump

I sat still and listened for a second trying to figure out if it was Husband or Buddy. They weren’t heavy footsteps like Husband, and they weren’t Buddy’s usual pitter patter of both hands and feet scurrying up the steps.

Another couple of ‘thumps’ later I got my answer. Buddy was coming up the stairs without the use of his hands.

…or a railing.

He was completely upright and relying on his balance.

…while carrying his potty.

I jumped up quickly to grab it for him before he lost his balance. Then I heard sloshing. Buddy had carried his potty, full of potty, up the stairs. I grimaced and looked at the recently newly carpeted stairs expecting a trail of pee spots up the steps, but was surprised to find them perfectly spotless.

Then Buddy squealed excitedly to show me his ‘job well done’ and held up the potty… spilling half of it on the carpet.

*sigh*

(note: husband was on the couch at the bottom of the stairs. Why Buddy had to carry it up the stairs to show me instead, I don’t know.)

At least he didn’t fall down the stairs.

Oh wait, he did that already today.

Yep. we had our first ‘fall-down-the-stairs’ horror moment. In Buddy’s defense, he’s an expert stair climber. This incident happened to be Remmy’s fault. Our dog, God bless him, has absolutely no patience on the steps. He thinks it’s a race the second a foot lands on the first step. All 65 pounds of his massive muscle-toned body comes hurling out of whatever corner of the house he was previously napping in to charge full speed up a full flight of stairs in two bounds.

In this instance, I didn’t actually see it, but I heard Husband yelling at Remmy at the top of his lungs, followed by Buddy’s wailing a few seconds later. I knew it was bad for the fact that I Husband actually yelled. He’s a very calm and collected guy and rarely loses his temper. Even when he does lose his temper, he never raises his voice.

I guess what happened was Husband was going into the basement to do a P90X workout and Buddy was going down with him. When Remmy heard the footsteps, he took off running and charged down the stairs when Buddy was only halfway down the steps. Remmy knocked him down. Husband said Buddy twisted then lost his balance and fell backwards and landed on the back of his shoulder on the bottom step. Then his feet flew over his head, cranking his neck, and he landed in a pile at the bottom of the steps.

All I saw was Husband coming up the stairs with Buddy wailing in his arms. I took Buddy and he curled into me and howled while holding his poor little head. Thankfully he didn’t bite his tongue or break skin anywhere, and he didn’t break his neck!!! He just kept asking me to kiss the big goose egg on his head.

Poor guy…

dumb dog…

All day long I’ve been feeling a little bit off. I had a headache and a stomach-ache and had some major bouts of nausea and I just didn’t feel right. (This is where I pause and inform you all that, NO, I am absolutely not pregnant. No. No. NO. Don’t even think it.)

Husband was kind enough to make dinner tonight so I could try to rest. He went above and beyond his usual delicious dinner. A few minutes in, whether it was the yummy dinner or the fact that the kid’s mouths were too full to continue their screaming rampage through the house, my headache finally began to lift. When we finished eating I asked husband if he minded if I took a shower before the kids go down. (ie: would he mind watching all three for like half an hour so I could make an attempt at shaking off whatever this weird bug was.)

He said sure and I headed into the bathroom. No sooner did I get into the shower when Buddy was hot on my heels, throwing back the shower curtain. I sighed and told him to take off his clothes and he could join me. He squealed and started tearing off his clothes like a madman while I carelessly squirted bubble bath soap randomly around the tub I was standing in and closed the drain. Buddy whipped his toys in the tub, hitting my shins on occasion (I now have two little bruises… the turd) then dove in himself.

After the shower is where things got a little interesting. I turned off the water and heard panting outside of the shower curtain. I pulled back the curtain to find Bear perched against the cabinet smiling broadly as if she was saying, “I found youuuu!” Apparently Buddy left the door open. She got down and came over to the tub as I got out and perched herself against the side of the tub and watched Buddy playing in the water. My “alone time” was really dwindling fast. I decided that I’d just ignore them and keep going about my business. I dried off while climbing around Bear and trying to avoid getting splashed by Buddy who was laughing and thrashing like a maniac now because it was making Bear laugh.

I should also note that our bathroom is tiny. It’s one of those bathrooms where you literally have like a 7 foot by 2 foot area to walk. It’s long and skinny. Your knees could possibly touch the tub while sitting on the toilet. This is the only bathroom in our home.

So, I’m getting dressed in the tiny area between the tub and the toilet while Buddy is thrashing in the tub and Bear is taking up most of the space in front of the sink/mirror. As I’m playing contortionist in the corner trying to get my clothes on, you’ll never guess who comes around the corner to join us. Well… you probably will. It’s Peanut! She comes in, giggling and squealing in all of her glory. She wants in on the action and she wants in on it now!

Now I’ve got all three kids in the room with me. The smallest room in the entire house. So much for my alone time. The girls are laughing and screaming while Buddy puts on a show with his tub toys. He’s throwing them all over the place and jumping around, splashing the giggling girls in the process. I note all of the water on the floor and put on my socks and slippers thinking the rubber-bottomed slippers will keep my socks from getting wet at least. (Normally I’d tell him not to splash, but this was my me time.)

I begin to brush my hair and remember that I’ve been wanting to try to do my hair nice once since cutting my hair considerably shorter about a week ago. I shrug. I may as well just do it. It’s not like I’ll ever get my alone time. *sigh*

I grab some mousse and my diffuser and get to work. I figure that’s the simplest up-do for the time being but it will give me a good idea of what I’m working with. I’ve got one kid wrapped around one foot, and another balancing herself on my leg. After I saturate my hair with the mousse, I maneuver myself slightly so I can at least bend over and turn on the blow dryer. I’m about halfway through and getting comfortable with my complete lack of space when suddenly my foot gets soaked. Not the kind of soaked where it’s kind of annoyingly wet on the bottom of the sock when you step in a wet spot. No. I felt like I was walking through a pond with my shoes and socks on. My slipper was full of water and my sock was disgustingly squished against my foot. I turned around to find Bear standing there with a little container tipped to the side and positioned directly over a small opening at the back of my slipper. She dumped a good 15-20 oz. of water into my slipper. Buddy must have set it on the ledge of the tub full of water. *siiiiigh*

I peel off my sopping slipper and sock, and take off my other ones  and roll up my pants for good measure. I at least want to finish my hair.

No sooner did I get my hands on the hairdryer when Buddy lets out a blood curdling scream. I look at him in the mirror and ask him what’s wrong, but he just keeps screaming like he got hurt (even though he’s clearly okay). I roll my eyes and curse husband for not coming to my aid yet as I turn around to assess the newest situation.

“Ah.” I chuckled. “That’s why.” There were three little poops floating in the tub. Buddy was cowering in the opposite corner of the little floating heathens, clearly terrified of the cursed floating poop. He was freaked. out.

Husband finally came charging in asking what’s wrong and finds me straddled awkwardly over the two girls and Buddy cowering in the tub. I pointed to the tub and Husband laughed. I growled, “Can you please help me with something in here.” He pauses. “What do you need?” *Are you serious?* “Take the girls.”

He dives in and grabs the girls and my legs are freed to assess the situation. Buddy is still screaming in the corner and the poops are beginning to migrate in his direction. He is NOT pleased and starts dancing in place. I grab the container that was used to completely soak my perfectly good slipper and attempted to scoop up the poops. I made the mistake of scooping in the direction of Buddy and they all began dancing and twirling in the water at a dangerous speed towards him. That was enough. He went over the edge. He screamed and dove away from the terrifying floating monsters and nearly drowned himself in the process as his face was fully submerged in water for a moment. He came up sputtering and thrashing and wailing, his entire body in defense mode at this point. He had to escape. He had to escape NOW.

He finally found his bearings and I finally got ahold of his slippery little body and pulled him out, panting and wide-eyed, clinging to me for dear life. I wrapped him in a blanket and we turned and silently watched two of the remaining turds dancing freely in the water. After a moment, I put him down and grabbed his container and scooped up the rest of the poops and flushed them down the toilet.

Saying the floor was soaked by this point would be an understatement. Not only that, but the remaining half of my hair that I didn’t get to blow dry with my diffuser was now hard and stuck to the side of my head.

After I finally cleaned up the floor, drained the tub, picked up Buddy’s toys, changed myself and the girls into dry clothes and got Buddy into his pajamas, I just chuckled to myself. These are the moments you never consider when planning for a family. Although these moments can be extremely taxing and overwhelming, you will almost always find yourself laughing about it afterwards.

What was my lesson learned this time? Don’t ever ever assume the bathroom is my safe zone. I will now always expect adventures, even in the unlikeliest of places.