Friday, October 29, 2010

My House is Not as Filthy as it Seems

If you find yourself at my home at any given time on any given day, please know the following. I swear it's all true.
At some point within the last month all the paperwork on the kitchen table was dealt with and cleared off.
Within the last three days the floor was mopped and not sticky.
Within the last two days the floor was swept free of cheerios.
Within the last 24 hours all the dishes were washed and put away.
Within the last six hours the countertops were wiped off
Within the last four hours the high chairs were clean and free of food bits.
Within the last three hours the Tupperware was put into the cupboard and the toys were put away - not necessarily at the same time.
Within the last two hours at least one stray bottle was rescued from behind furniture.

When you come to my house and it appears that we live in squalor, as the cheerios crunch under your feet and stick to your shoes, as you trip over toys and I clear a spot on the kitchen table in front of an overflowing sink, please remember the house is not as filthy as you think it is. I have twin toddlers you see, and my home is as clean as it can possibly be.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

My First Treadmill Since the Kiddos

The hubby keeps offering to buy me exercise equipment, and I keep telling him I simply don't have the time.  He does that, "Make it a priorit y" speech, but if he wanted it to be a priority, he'd take the kids to the park for an hour so I could exercise.  Anyhoo, he wound up borrowing a treadmill from his friend and I dutifully agreed to let the household fall apart around me to use it for half an hour when the kids nap.  Here's what happened.

I put the guys down to nap, looked for actual socks and lace-up shoes for about twenty minutes, got them on my feet, and faced the treadmill.  I started it up, cranked it to a whopping 3 - my previous life's standard setting - and immediately, huffing and puffin, cranked it back down to one.  At this leisurely pace, I started to sweat and even felt a little stitch in my side.  I'd been going for about four minutes.

That's when I saw it.  Our cat, who has been ill, sauntered into the middle of the living room.  Perhaps she sensed the guys were safely asleep.  I saw her start to squat.  I leaped from the treadmill, swooped down to scoop her up, missed her entirely, and fell headlong into the sofa.

I had forgotten the treadmill gives me something like sea-legs.  Stumbling as if drunk, head throbbing, I bounced back from the sofa and went at the cat again.  One thought pounded through my brain.

THAT CAT WILL NOT SPRAY DIARRHEA ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHERE MY BABIES CRAWL AND PLAY

I fell straight onto my face, stubbing my toe on the coffee table.  Luckily for me, the dog got in on the fun and chased the cat around until she finally jumped over the gate into the laundry room where the litterboxes are.  The carpet was unsoiled.

I took my pulse, called it good, turned off the treadmill which was still running, took a deep breath and got to work unloading the dishwasher.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

We Survived Our First Stomach Bug!

I'm so relieved!



A week ago, I was struck by severe digestive-system distress.  In the interest of maintaining a polite conversation, I will leave it at that and spare the details.  I was extremely sick for a couple of days, but did not run a fever or anything. I felt a little motion sick and had an off-and-on headache, but mainly I was just having tummy troubles.  This is why I figured the issue was my gallbladder.  I've had trouble with it, and assumed that I had eaten one too many double-cheeseburgers and my body had finally decided to cut me off. 

I realized during this time that there is no sick leave from my job, and my two little bosses have a zero-tolerance policy toward absenteeism.  I struggled through taking care of the two little men and barely survived.  Once the war with my body had been waged, I armed myself with low-fat recipes and shopped for a couple of weeks worth of wholesome meals.  I rejoined our little society.

A few days later, K was pretty much refusing to eat.  I chalked it up to normal toddler eating fluctuations.  He was still taking formula no problem, so I didn't fuss over it.  Then bedtime came.  H went to bed fine, but K couldn't get comfortable.  Suddenly he spewed like the demon child he sometimes is!  The poor guy had a hard time with it, too.  He sputtered and coughed for a long time after, as we tried to suck the remainder out of his sinuses.  We tried to give him more formula, which he denied, and finally were able to put him to sleep.  Again, I figured it was one of those things.  I thought he had eaten something that disagreed with him.

Then 2 a.m. came, and H woke, crying, hiccoughing and fussing.  I picked him up and brought him to the living room to rock with a bottle of water.  Over the next three hours he proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach onto my chest, my arm and my back.  I was so proud at managing to not let any get on his jammies during the first event, but by the end of the third event both of our pjs were in a disgusting wet pile on the laundry room floor.  He finally settled and went to sleep.

The next morning, the guys seemed to feel okay but I decided to forego eggs and cereal for their breakfast.  I chose instead to just go with bottles.  At this point I was horrified at the idea that I had fed them something bad.

Was it the carrots?  They were in there a long time before I steamed them.  Maybe they were actually rotten?  Was it the yogurt?  It's that 'whipped' kind.  Maybe there's an evil chemical in that.  Was it their chili-mac?  We'd been working on it for a couple of days.  Maybe it tipped over into the not-good spectrum. Was it the chicken Hubby and I had for dinner?  Had I contaminated their bottles or something with raw chicken germs?  Had I essentially poisoned my babies? 

Bottles went well, both boys finished, then H smiled at me and Bluhhhhg! Out it all went.  Now I was worried.  Part of the blessing of ones so young is that you can lean on formula when other feeding options fail you.  If he couldn't keep down formula . . .

This is when Hubby finally came out of our room - Not wearing his suit.  He looked at me and said, "Okay, so I think it's safe to say it wasn't your gallbladder."

Once we knew what it was, it became a simple matter of management.  I was immeasurably relieved to find that H could, at least, hold down water.  I made a trip to the store to get Pedialyte for the guys, Immodium and Pepto and 7-up for the husband.  (Being patient zero, while having a certain amount of guilt, does have its advantages.  I couldn't imagine going through this while being sick myself.)

We went from water to pedialyte, to formula.  Last night I even, daringly, offered them yogurt.  This morning they had rice cereal for breakfast.  By lunch their appetites had returned and they were happily feeding themselves carrots and apples.  It was like a mini version of how you introduce babies to food, condensed into two days.  A lot of the experience was like having infants again, but easier because everything in the world is no longer an emergency, and because I kind of know what I'm doing these days.

This illness didn't come with fever and the guys overall seemed to feel okay.  Thank goodness!  This could have been a lot more difficult than it was.  They were droopier and crankier than usual, and I was up with H again last night.  He didn't actually spew but did sound kind of urp-y.  I am counting my blessings that I never had to change sheets in the middle of the night.  I know I could never do that without waking the other guy.  If sheets had been 'compromised,' I may have just slept in the chair with that baby.

Now the guys are playing in the tupperware.  The husband, shaky but alive, went to work today.  All the vomit clothes have been laundered and folded.  You would never know anything had happened. 

The Most Hurtful thing Hubby's Ever Said

"maybe the kids would be better off in daycare"

I guess this is husband bashing week for me.

My husband is vehemently opposed to babyproofing. He says that instead of babyproofing the house we should house-proof the kids by teaching them. I agree to not go overboard. I want my boys to explore and experience and sometimes that will result in scrapes and bruises. To me, however, some babyproofing frees the guys. It let's them get into things and explore without mom standing over them all the time.

While the guys were still pretty immobile I spent a weekend while Hubby was out of town doing very minimal proofing in he kitchen. I put most chemicals in the laundry room,others in a high cabinet. I removed all breakables from the lower cabinets and tried out a lock on the silverware drawer. When the husband got home all hell broke loose. He was mad that HIS kitchen was rearranged, he couldn't find anything, etc.

We agreed that I would do no more in the kitchen and essentially would not do anything that would inconvenience Hubby. For a while, I blocked off access to the kitchen with boxes and portions of a play yard. Hubby was always annoyed and the guys got too big for that anyway.  It helped to keep them contained, but they could get through the barricades when they tried.  Meanwhile, we were tripping and such getting into and out of the living room.  Hubby found this situation intolerable.  Now we keep doors closed but the guys have free reign of the living room and kitchen areas. They're learning to walk and often wind up with scrapes and bruises as they explore their environment. Hubby and I try to take this in stride, viewing it as part of growing up. Sometimes, when a guy gets a pretty bad bruise, I worry that Hubby will come home and ask why I wasn't watching, but that never happens.  Every time hubby comes home and there's a new bruise, he comforts me and says it is normal and fine and I'm doing great with the kids.   He says there is nobody else he'd trust with them and that if he didn't think I was doing great that we'd put the kiddos into daycare.

Over the weekend, however, H had pulled out the drawer under the oven and then slipped and banged his head on the corner of it.  He's fine - just a red mark - but he did cry. Hubby went OFF all over me, yelling that the kids are getting hurt all the time and I need to keep the place safer. I said I'd need to buy a gate to block off the kitchen and he said that was preposterous, that we don't need to buy a bunch of crap. I reminded him of the babyproofing I had wanted to do but that he had fought against and won.  I asked what, exactly, he wanted me to do to keep the kids from getting into trouble and that's when he said it.

"Maybe we need to put them in day care. Maybe they'd be better off."

Later he apologized but wow that stings.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Is he Too Impatient to be a Dad?

When I was pregnant, I thought I would be the impatient one with the kids and Hubby would be a model parent. As it turns our, my patience springs eternal while he seems to get frustrated easily.

This goes all the way back to when they were tiny, when he would insist that they COULD hold their own bottles, they just didn't want to. I saw it again when they would drop their pacifiers and were too little to pick them up and would cry. He would say, "We CAN'T keep giving them a binkie every five minutes. It has to stop. You have to let them cry sometimes."  He would just get so frustrated!  His attitude about things like this have always bothered me.

So last night Hubby had his spit cup sitting on the end table. (I know - gross, right?  I swear we're not total rednecks, but we do a pretty good impression of them.)  Now, I have learned to keep anything spillable up on the countertop but he flat out refuses to make any allowances for the kids. After shooing H away three times, he became distracted and before we knew it H had pulled the cup onto the floor spilling nasty tobacco spit on himself and the floor. I ran to clean him up and get the floor cleaning stuff. I started swabbing at the floor while Hubby, in a loud accusing tone, asked if we had any stain remover.
"I've got it right here."
"But how much is even in it?"  He's exasperated now, probably because he knew we were running low.
"it's full. I refilled the bottle. "

Why get so annoyed to the point you assume we're out of stuff? Umm let's see. Is it the BABY's fault, or the person with the disgusting habit that requires him to have a cup of spit available at all times?

E motioned for me to get out of the way so he could clean the carpet. He said something about it being a two thousand dollar oops. Lately he's all bent out of shape about the carpet. We have three cats a dog and two babies. Our carpet didn't stand a chance. I know this and usually see the humor in the situation. The Hubby, however, gets annoyed.
The thong that really bothers me is I suspect his real frustration was being interrupted in the video game he was playing on the phone.
He gets annoyed in the evenings when they're tired and wound up and making lots of noise so he can't hear tv. He was annoyed when I tried to babyhood because it was an inconvenience. He gets annoyed when they won't eat. He gets annoyed that the house isn't clean nut then is annoyed when I try to clean after the boys go to bed instead of watching a movie with him. He is CONSTANTLY ANNOYED! It's getting hard to be around. I feel like I'm just a bother in his life and I don't want the guys to feel that way to. I've written this on my phone so I'm sure parts of it are illegible. I'll edit to Dix and aadd a pic when I get to my computer.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Babies Playing Tag!

So this has been one of 'those' days.  It hasn't been a horrible day or anything, just particularly draining.  Hubby is working from home this afternoon, and that makes the guys a little more ornery.  They can hear his voice, but he's in another room and that bothers them.  Plus, H has not let me out of his sight today.  If I go into the other room to change K, he sits in the hallway and cries.   (I can't let them run free in their own room or they dump out the humidifier and pull the wires out of their monitors.)  Even when I go to do laundry, which is just behind a baby gate where the boys can clearly see me, H stands at the gate and cries.



This is very very sweet and I know it's just because he loves me and is feeling poorly for whatever reason.  I don't mind at all, but it is EXHAUSTING. 

So I find a minute when H is busy with a toy to run and get the laundry out of the dryer.  Suddenly, I hear K squealing with laughter.  I peek around the corner, and I will try to describe what I saw.

K was crawling as fast as he could around the chair.  H was following him.  Every time K looked behind him and saw H there, he would squeal with laughter and crawl faster.  He crawled behind the sofa, then peeked back around the corner of it to se H still following him, and would squeal with laughter again.  This would make H stop, sit up, grin really big and sometimes giggle.  This went on for almost ten minutes -- K crawling around and behind things, H keeping up, and then them both laughing when K stopped to see H still behind him.

I am still tired and stressed, the kitchen isn't any cleaner and the laundry still needs folding, but there is a glow on the rest of the day.  I feel sorry for everyone who does not have twins.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Twitter @twofertots

I got a twitter account @twofertots

Friday, October 1, 2010

H is Walking!

H is walking. He's not walking long distances or all the time, but it is definitely a walk. It is no longer pairs of shaky stumbling steps. He is upright and in control, and stops to sit rather than fall down. He has done it often enough that I no longer get misty eyed when it happens. It's so exciting! My little man.

K isn't walking yet but he can stand without holding on so we feel walking is not far behind. Meanwhile, he is doing things I think only other mothers can understand my excitement over. For one thing, he Claps. To me this is as exciting as walking. I know it's a cognitive milestone. Also- this might be wishful thinking but I think he's signaling when he's done eating. See, when we finish a meal I say, "all done!" and do the baby sign for finished. But then I applaud and tell them they've done a good job. Well, the past few meals k has started clapping as we near the end of the meal. Is he telling me he's full? The thought of that does make me weepy.
Thy both are getting better at turning pages and putting things into and under other things. They got so good at taking the pans out of the cupboards and banging them around that we had to install a pot rack to preserve my sanity and our tile floor.
They are getting so big and smart! Obviously they're both geniuses.