Monday, August 17, 2009


I finally accomplished something. And it's a big one. I mailed out almost 100 thank you letters to all the amazing people who have supported us through the whole ordeal of pregnancy, diagnosis, birth, surgeries, and coming home with twin boys. This feels good for a number of reasons:

1. it perfectly fits my personality -- wait until it's ridiculously late, and then do it all at once while missing out on sleep rather than do a few a day and be done with it several months ago. Why I am like this? Actually, I know the answer -- the payoff is way more awesome. Example: 20 page paper due. Is it really satisfying to turn it in when you've written a page or two for months now, and last night, you really just did last minute edits and layout revisions? Sure, but not nearly as exciting as when you have been up for 32 hours straight, have had nothing to eat or drink except coffee and hard candies, and turned it in exactly 45 seconds before the absolute and firm deadline of 8 AM. What a rush!

2. it's the first thing I've acoomplished in a long time -- other than, you know, producing two babies and caring for them pretty much nonstop for the last five months. I am not what you would call "ambitious." Not in the least. It's a flaw, and I'm aware of it. I have no desire to do big things. I like normal stuff and a normal job and a normal day more than most. But, I think anyone can relate to wanting to accomplish something they set out to do. I really don't like all the "I"s in this paragraph. ahh, another one. It is rather self-centered to think like that. But isn't blogging pretty much by definition, self-centered? hmmm. So, back to the ambition thing. Laziness is very uncool, but is it ok that small accomplishments are enough for me? I feel pretty good to have this relatively simple task behind me.

3. it hopefully lets people know that we did feel the love they sent our way, and we are way more grateful than a five-month-old letter probably expresses. I am overwhelmed at the kindness of which people are capable. It makes me take a serious look at who needs some love right now from me. Who is in a dark place and could use just a little light to be able to find the way out? Is there a little something I could sacrifice that would add up to much more for someone in need? I am inspired by generosity, and it gives me hope for my little ones that the world may not be in quite the spiral of doom a lot of people think it is. I'm a Christ follower, and that's pretty much what it's all about: faith, hope, and love. But, you know what the greatest is, right?

Monday, August 10, 2009

Not a fun weekend. . .

So, I could take a quiz on Facebook to see what kind of mom I am, but I already know. Answer: Often a little crazy. Sometimes too dramatic. Occasionally very fun.

We spent Friday and Saturday at LSU Medical Center with Woody man. It turned out basically to be nothing, but you know how the saying goes . . . better safe, right? Anyone who would read this probably knows that both twins (Jack and Woody, just turned 5 months) have Spina Bifida. Well, due to their hydrocephalus, they both also have vp shunts. On the Discussion Forum I go to often to talk about SB stuff, almost everyone has had their freak-out moments over shunt problems, and many times, that's all they are -- freak outs. I'm still not sure this was the case this time, but one thing's for sure: neurosurgeons are very important (they're sort of a big deal). Too important to come by to see us all day Saturday to let us know that Woody was fine and could go home. It was 7 o'clock before we saw them.

Woody is ok, by the way. He didn't have the classic and very scary symptoms of a shunt malfunction the books describe, but the short version is: his head circumference jumped up in two weeks, and his soft spot is quite full (not bulging, but very full). Worried mama took him to the local pediatrician, who sent us to the hospital clinic, who sent us to ct scan and then admitted us. Then, over 24 hours later, the neurosurgeons said: "He's a big boy with a big head." Okey dokey, then. It's not brain surgery, folks (bu-dum-bum-chhh).
Not a fun way to spend a weekend, but I feel like I did the right thing. I hope when these kids are all grown up, their friends will be all: "Dude, your mom is so cool." I'm sure by then this terminology will be dated (okay; it already is), but surely there will be something equivalent.
But I hope they'll also know that I would waste my life away in a horrific hospital room for no reason at all if it meant sparing them any amount of pain in the long run.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Long Time Coming

I've really intended to do the "blogging" thing for quite a while now, but, like most things I intend to do, it never happened. Like, I intended to get thank-yous in the mail right after I came home with the boys. I also intended to read the four books I've bought this summer and to start writing every day. Oh yeah, and shed 50 lbs. That, too. What is it they say about the road to hell . . . why am I acting like I don't know the answer to that question?

Today was somewhat of a milestone for me, though, so I was inspired to start this, I guess. What milestone, you ask? Well, I was home all day, just me, the boys, and Ellie . . . and I didn't completely lose my ever-loving mind. Yep. That's the huge milestone. Gives you a picture of the last 5 months, doesn't it? Every week day, except on the random days I had friends or family in to help out (thanks so much to you all!), I have looked up at the clock thinking it just had to be close to 6:15 -- daddy arrival time -- to find out it was like 4:00. Today, I looked up to check the time, and it was already 6:00! WOW -- I made it all day without any meltdowns, thoughts of fleeing to the witness protection program, checking the phonebook for a local psychiatrist . . . ok you get it.

Chris walked in, and I was on the floor playing with the cutesy baby boys, Ellie was halfway watching Dora and playing with an empty breadcrumb can, and dinner was cooked and waiting on the stovetop. Seriously. I know Chris was relieved. He asked timidly when he came in from the garage, "Um. Can I go to the bathroom, or do you need me?" I said to him the words he's longed to hear for so long: "Sure. We're good." It was like the clouds had rolled back like a scroll and a voice boomed from heaven: "All is well, my son. Thou shalt go forth and pee freely, for today the heavens hath smiled upon thee."

Indeed, there is hope that we may both, one day, free peely . .er . . pee freely again. Amen.