Stepping Up

Lately I've been feeling like I'm in survival mode (again. See my previous experience here). Though I guess when you have three kids under two, the only mode is survival mode. We're lucky if any of us are dressed before 10 AM. I finally gave the baby a bath today after a week and a half of baby grime started to smell. I have however nearly completed a 1000 piece puzzle and watched far too many episodes of MASH. Survival at it's finest.

So here I was going along thinking life was hard. And then I was looking through my journal and I came across a talk I had written for church 10+ years ago about my paternal grandparents. They were absolutely incredible people. And if I thought my life was hard - wow. My grandmother was absolutely stunning. Just gorgeous. I'm sure she had scores of boys chasing after her, but she fell for my grandpa, who was pretty good-looking himself. They married young, and at age 16 my grandmother was diagnosed with severe rheumatoid arthritis. I can't imagine getting that diagnoses at all, let alone at such a young age. Despite her crippled hands, she faithfully raised six children (5 of whom were boys, and after my brief experience raising a boy, I have some major respect for her). When my grandpa was 52, he broke his neck in a tragic accident and was paralyzed from the waist down. I hadn't been born yet, and so I never knew my grandpa without his wheelchair. Even so, he was the strongest man I have ever known. I vividly remember his hands. As worn and crippled as my grandmother's were, his were large and strong. When my grandma struggled to open cans or brush her hair, grandpa's hands were there to fill in the gaps.

Grandpa loved to garden. They planted their rows of fruits and vegetables far apart so that grandpa's wheelchair could fit in between. I remember going out with him and he'd let me pick fresh strawberries and eat them right there. That was heaven to little four-year-old me. Even as a very little girl, I was awed and amazed by my grandparents. There was never anything they couldn't do together. Grandpa was particularly fond of a story told by Elder Boyd K. Packer, titled "Equally Yoked Together." It's a story of two small, skinny looking oxen defeating a pair of much larger and much stronger oxen in a pulling contest. While the large, strong animals lacked coordination, the smaller team had great teamwork and pulled together at the same time. My grandparents' legacy has become being equally yoked and pulling together. When I think of their lives and trials, it is clear that it would have been much simpler for them to just survive. To forget going to church or gardening or hosting big family get-togethers. But they didn't just survive. Despite their incredible challenges, they thrived. And they were able to do it because they were equally yoked.

Recently I attended a graduation where the speaker re-told a familiar story of a mule who falls into the well. The farmer, instead of trying to lift the mule out, decides to bury him inside of the well. The mule becomes determined to conquer his challenge by telling himself that with every shovel full of dirt that falls, he will shake it off and step up. Eventually, by moving the dirt underneath himself instead of letting it remain on top of him, he finds his way to freedom. What could have buried and killed him ended up liberating him instead, all because of his attitude and determination to keep going.

The story of the mule and my memories of my grandparents have made me determined to do more than just survive. Sure, life is hard. Sure I have three very young children that require a lot (ok, ALL) of my time and attention. But that doesn't mean I have to let the rest of my life fall to shambles. Life is what we make of it. It will never be perfect or easy or trial-free. I don't want to spend every single day waiting for it to end. Life is good and we have so much to LIVE for! Not just to survive for.

So my goal is no more survival mode. Living life to it's fullest every day. Laughing instead of crying, and finding joy in the journey.

It's About Time

It's been a rough month. Juliet is a perfect little angel, thank goodness. She NEVER cries, she sleeps 10-12 hours at night, and she naps most of the day. Sometimes I forget I have a third child because she's so quiet. Caroline is funny and spunky and a little crazy, but she is a people pleaser and she loves helping me with the baby, throwing away diapers, cleaning up toys etc. But she is also newly potty trained. Potty training her was a piece of cake, actually, but now that she is potty trained we have to plan our day around when she needs to use the restroom. But still, Caroline's pretty easy to handle. Charlie, on the other hand, is hitting a rough stage. He was doing so well with potty training, and then he got really sick and now he wants nothing to do with the toilet. Actually that's a lie, he's fascinated with flushing the toilet and climbing on top of it. Just not sitting on it. So he's back in diapers, which is fine. He's not even 2 yet. I'm afraid, though, that he's entering the "terrible two's" much sooner than I had anticipated. He's mastering the art of tantrum throwing with incredible skill. He's not sleeping quite as well as he used to, so it seems like he's always tired, and he only ever wants ME. On rare occasions he's clingy to Forrest, but he almost exclusively only wants Mommy. It's completely exhausting.

And then you put Charlie and Caroline together.. and sometimes I consider it quite a miracle that we are all still alive. My daily dialogue goes something like this:

Get down!

Be soft with the baby.

Don't play in the toilet.

Please get off the dresser.

Don't climb over the back of the couch.

Could you put all of the spoons back in the drawer?

Don't throw food.

Charlie let go of her hair!

Caroline don't bite!

Where are your glasses?

Do you need to go potty?

Get down!

Don't climb on the counter.

Where did you get those scissors?

What is all over your face?

Why is the floor all wet?

No, we can't go outside, it's raining.

Hopefully daddy will be home soon.

Please stay in your crib.

Don't push buttons.

Get down!

Just imagine all of that being repeated 1,000 times per day. Meanwhile the twins' dialogue:

Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. 

Nummy?

Milk!

Treat?

Snack?

Outside!

Oh no.

Ooh a puppy!

Bird! Tweet tweet.

Toot toot!

Slow feet... Quick feet!

Toastie!

A B C...

Mommy? Mom. Mom. Mommy!

Daddy work.

A baby! Hi JuJu.

I love you.

Apple! Nana! Snack!

Dressed? Tubby?

Brush teeth.

Ouchie! Hair!

Ouchie! Bite!

(Mischievous giggling as they move chairs to the counter and climb up before I can catch them)

No no no.

Roar! Woof! Meow! Moo! Monkey!

They are hilarious. But I think they could quite easily keep 5 adults hopping. I absolutely cannot keep them off the kitchen counter. I've occasionally had to resort to drastic measures to keep them safe. These include putting all of the kitchen chairs out on the back patio, putting Charlie and Caroline on top of the kitchen table and moving all of the chairs away so they can't get down, tipping all of the chairs upside down in the living room (but that doesn't really work, they can still tip them back over and move them), and finally just clearing every unsafe or breakable item off of the counter top and giving up on trying to stop them from getting up there.

I had a bit of a paradigm shift the other day. I was spending the late afternoon as I usually am, trying to make dinner and pick up the house before Forrest gets home. The kids were up to their usual climbing and terrorizing activities. Once I eliminated all climbing opportunities, the crying and tantrum throwing began. Mostly from Charlie, but Caroline was also joining in. I was just about to my breaking point (my ears were ringing from all the screaming and hollering), when I decided to sit down and read them a book. And then there was instant peace. Sitting there on the floor in our disastrous living room, one child on each side of my lap and reading "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" for the 7,659th time, I felt a sudden spirit enter our home where the contention had gone. 

Dinner didn't get made that night. I think Forrest ended up making us a batch of pancakes instead. The house wasn't spotless, or even sort of tidy. But I was happy and my children were happy. And most importantly, I was finally making them feel like they were more important than dinner and a clean house. And they are. No comparison.

Later that night I was listening to a few General Conference talks from sisters who mentioned how they wished they had spent more time playing with their children and less time worrying about the endless to-do lists.

Not that dinner and a clean house aren't important. They are important to me, and I know they are important to Forrest. And hopefully, most days I will be able to make dinner, have a clean house, and have happy children. But not all days. And on those harder days, I hope I always choose my children and settle for eating a bowl of cereal for dinner. 

You know those cheesy yet insightful Mormon-ad commercials where the dad is super busy and his son keeps asking him to play catch, and then finally the dad stops his work and plays with his son, and the commercial wraps up by saing "Family - isn't it about TIME?" Like I said, a little cheesy. But so so true. 

Here's to recommitting myself to being a better mom. To being more concerned about my family and the time we spend together than about keeping my home in perfect order. To giving my children more of my time. And to being happier because of it.

It Takes Patience

I am a lot of things. I'm a mom, a wife, a sister and daughter. I'm an avid online shopper, a sour milk despiser, and a fan of The Biggest Loser. I'm a sloppy gift wrapper, a stomach sleeper, and a whimp at amusement parks. There are a lot of things that I am. And a lot more things that I am not. And let me tell you, I AM NOT PATIENT! I never have been. I have what my husband would call the "need-to-be-right" complex. I think my ideas are always the best way to do something, and I get really frustrated when someone tries to do it a different way (something I get from my dad).

So what in the world is a non-patient person doing raising twins?! Trying to learn patience I guess. In church on Sunday we had a lesson about patience, and it was one of those lessons where I sat thinking I was doing a pretty good job at it. I am not always the best at being patient with my husband (I know, I'm working on it), but during the lesson I was thinking about my children and my thoughts honestly were something like this: "I think I do a pretty good job at being patient with my kids.." and ended right about there.

And I think the Man Upstairs heard my thoughts and decided I needed a little motivation to take that lesson to heart. So He sent me yesterday. Yesterday my little monkies decided to climb onto the table and open the nearly full bag of cheerios and dump them all out. Including the dust at the bottom of the bag. And they thought it was hilarious, of course! And they chose to play in their cribs for 2+ hours instead of nap, so they were super cranky. And when I went to get them up from their "nap" I found a little boy with poop spread all over his mattress and clumped under his fingernails. And that was after 5 poopy diapers already changed earlier in the day. While I worked on doing the laundry and cleaning up the now-brown crib sheet, the littles climbed into the dryer and shut themselves in. I opened the door to find Charlie sitting right on top of Caroline. Charlie was thrilled and Caroline looked like she didn't know whether to hit him or cry. Most of the day went about like that. Caroline shut Charlie's hand in the door. Charlie pulled Caroline's hair. They both fell off the kitchen chairs multiple times while climbing onto the table, which I can't keep them off of. They refuse to sit in their high chairs. They insist on feeding themselves with the spoon instead of letting me feed them. I finally sent Forrest a message at 5 PM begging him to come home from work and rescue me. 

And when I think about it, I don't know if the incidents from yesterday were really that much worse than the average day; but for whatever reason, my patience was wearing quite thin. Perhaps it was a not so gentle reminder that nobody's perfect, and that while I am generally quite patient with my children, it is something that I still need to work on. Thank goodness they are so cute in the midst of their mischieviousness! That makes it much easier.

Moments like this make it easier too. They really do love each other!

Surreal

Today marks 10 weeks since I drove my husband to an Army base, kissed him goodbye and drove away in tears. In those 10 weeks we have talked on the phone five times. Two of those phone calls lasted less than a minute, the other three were 20-30 minutes of bliss. I've recieved 20 letters, some short and some long. I've sent 100 pictures of Charlie and Caroline, and showed videos to them of their daddy every single day so they don't forget him.

Later today I will board an airplane that will take me to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, where tomorrow I will get to hug and kiss my husband again. The only word I can think to describe it is "surreal." I can't believe the time has passed. I can't believe we all survived. I can't believe that he will be back home with us so soon and that we can have meals together like a normal family. I can hardly contain my excitement, and I can hardly believe it is all happening.

Everyone says the time flew by for them. And you know, sometimes it did for me too. There were days that seemed a lot longer and harder than others. But in general, the days went by fairly quickly. But when I look back at what life was like 10 weeks ago, it makes it seem like a really long time. Charlie and Caroline hadn't even turned 1 yet. We celebrated their birthday a week early so Forrest could be there. Now they are 14 months old. Caroline wasn't walking yet. Now she is practically running. The babes couldn't talk much, and now they jabber non-stop (with a lot of real words included!). I was only 10 weeks pregnant when he left. Now I am half-way there. When I think about it in those terms, it does seem like he's been gone forever.

But we survived, and the long weeks of waiting are over. I am so looking forward to having him home with me again. I'm just trying not to think about Spring-time when he leaves for the next 10 weeks training, because we'll have three kids then, icluding a newborn. Here's to focusing on the time that he IS here, and not the time that he's not. Wish me luck!

The Silver Lining

With my husband having been gone for five weeks now, I've realized that it's A LOT harder having him gone than I expected. Some days are good and ok, but some days are not. We really miss him, and I am literally counting down every single day until we get to see him again. Did I mention that it's hard to have him gone? 

In an effort to stay positive and keep myself out of a hole of self-pity, I've been trying to look at the bright side of things. The "silver lining" to being husband-less for 10 weeks. And it's a short list:

- Much less laundry, and no work shirts to iron (unless you count the 10 shirts that have been laying on our bedroom floor for the past 5 weeks that have been washed but need ironing..)

- We get to have a long distance romance told through love letters (actually, they usually go something like "Dear Forrest. I threw up 7 times today. Caroline bit Charlie on the face. Love Alfalfa." Not romantic)

- The Army pay is pretty decent. They pay for all sorts of extra things while your soldier is away, like "family separation." Almost makes up for him being gone. Almost.

- I've learned to do all sorts of things that I never would have tried to do before. Like how to change lighbulbs inside of fixtures that I didn't know how to open; how to take apart, clean, and reassemble my vacuum; and how the garbage doesn't magically take itself out to the dumpster - someone actually has to do physically do it! (I kid a little on that last one. But only a little.)

- I have lots of extra time to do yoga, put together puzzles, read and nap. Somehow I still don't have enough time to cook, clean, do laundry, shower or do my hair. 

That's about it. I told you it was a short list! Here's to hoping the next five weeks go faster than the first five.

How He Works

When I was on the track team in college, I clearly remember making it to the half-way point in some incredibly difficult workouts and, despite our sheer exhaustion, a few of us bursting into an off-key rendition of Bon Jovi's "Livin on a Prayer." And that's how I'm feeling today - halfway there and living on a prayer. Forrest has been gone for 5 weeks, and in 35 days we get to see him again, hooray!

You know those days when you wake up early, feeling well-rested and refreshed, and everything goes right for you that day? Well today was not one of those days. I'm finally into my second trimester and I had been feeling much better lately. And then last night happened. It was a rough one filled with a lot of sickness and very little sleep (by me, not the babes. They did great). When I finally dragged myself out of bed I thought the day would be better, because it usually is. But it wasn't. What do you eat when you can't keep anything down? Usually my go-to is ice cream (I know - don't tell my midwife), but even that wasn't working today.

Enter amazing heaven-sent mother-in-law. She kindly checks on me often, and when she discovered I wasn't feeling well today she arrived with a full meal on hand, complete with still-warm-from-the-oven cookies. I couldn't eat much of it, but it was so kind and thoughtful and took the stress off of me to make dinner for the babes. And then as if that wasn't enough, she continued to wash my dishes, clean my kitchen, and pick up the living room. I know, she's incredible.

I am continually in awe of how in-tune with the Spirit people are. I had multiple offers for help today (many of which I gratefully accepted) and had some fresh bread delivered by a neighbor. It is such a testament to me that our Heavenly Father is aware of each of us and what we need, and he works to meet our needs through other people. I am so grateful for those people who have acted when I was in need, even when I wasn't aware of what I needed myself. People are good. And our Father in Heaven is so loving.

One time when I was a teenager, our family piled into my dad's car to make the 13 mile trek home from my grandparents' house. There were more of us than there were seatbelts, so my parents sat in the front and all the girls (I think there were only 4 of us) loaded into the back seat. It was a slightly foggy evening, but everything else seemed normal. The first half of the drive was quite uneventful. And by uneventful I mean that someone probably had their bum pinched, another likely suffered an attack from the tickle monster, and there may even have been a "full-moon" sighting. But let's stick to the facts. Four girls in the back seat makes for a fun time. As we rounded the corner into our little hometown, Ashley suddenly pushed Carlia's head down, opened and closed the car door quickly, and shouted, "Oh no, Carlia fell out of the car!" We all laughed, and my dad jokingly slammed on the brakes. I mean slammed on the brakes hard. So hard that my mom started giving him a hard time. And then the fog in front of us cleared, and less than 10 feet from where our car had skidded to a stop stood a giant black-as-night cow. Right in the middle of the road. There is absolutely no way that my dad could have or would have seen it if we had continued driving. The car went silent, and right then and there I became very aware that our Heavenly Father is aware of us, and that He works in mysterious ways.

I think the way the Spirit speaks to us is different from person to person and from situation to situation. In this case, Ashley and my dad may have been acting on impressions that they thought were silly at the time. But they didn't seem so silly as we sat looking at that cow that could have caused some serious harm to, if not killed, my family. I believe that as we live our lives in line with our Savior, our thoughts and the promptings of the Spirit become one. I am so grateful for those who have listened to their thoughts and the whispers and impressions of the Spirit to reach out to my little family when we've been in need. My point? Act. Always act. Even if the impression seems silly or you are afraid of what people will think. No bad can ever come of sending a text message, making a phone call, visiting a friend or taking a dinner. So go and do.

Wiped Out

Babies poop a lot. And with twins, you get double the poop (yay!). So we made sure we're always well stocked with diapers and wipes. At least three times the amount we think we really need. Maybe that's why this story strikes me as so funny. Though, at the time, I was certainly not laughing.

Forrest has been out of town for work for a while (he's back now thank goodness!), so I've been spending a lot of time at my mom's house. I had taken an entire box of diapers and what I thought was plenty of wipes. But the wipes were in one of those big plastic hard containers - not convenient for travel. So when I packed up the diaper bag for church, I opted to leave the box of wipes behind and grabbed the travel bag of wipes from the car. Then as we sat in church, feeding the babes a snack, some of it inevitably spilled on my dress. So I reached for a wipe. And what did I find? A whopping two wipes, both dry as a bone. I got one wet with water from the sippy cup and mopped up the spill on my dress. And then I spent the rest of church hoping and praying that there would be no poopy diapers to change. Fingers crossed! 

Jump ahead 1.5 hours. Sitting in Sunday School. And my sister hands me Charlie, who stinks something terrible. So I take him into the Mother's Room, which is a small room in the building where moms can nurse, change diapers, rock babies to sleep etc. Usually it's empty. Not today - I walk in to find two other moms there. I don't know either of them. I lay Charlie up on the counter to get him changed and find a massive explosion of brown disgustingness. I use the sink to get my one precious remaining wipe wet and start cleaning him up as best as I can. But of course it's one of those times where he refuses to hold still. I'm talking sticking hands into the diaper, trying to roll off the counter, inevitably spreading poop everywhere. Keep in mind there are still two other moms in this tiny room, all the while having a hushed conversation behind me. Thankfully there are paper towels by the sink, so I get a few of those wet and use them to finishing wiping Charlie and then put him on the ground so I can scrub the counter clean from all the poop. I'm sure the whole process only took 10 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I returned to Sunday school thinking the worst was over.

Turns out Caroline had also pooped, so I immediately went through a similar situation again with her (thankfully the other two moms had left). And then to top it all off, Charlie pooped one last time. Seriously? Usually we go through the entire 3 hours of church with no diaper changes. And of course, the one time I only have two measley little dry wipes, my kids turn into poop machines. Oi. Good thing I can laugh about it now! 

Charlie's Eyes

The last time Charlie went to the Opthalmologist, he was 5 months old. He had just barely started to show signs that he could see. He would follow my lit up cell phone and open his mouth for the spoon. Occasionally it seemed like he could see our faces. But that was about it. The doctor diagnosed him with albinism, and estimated that he was legally blind. We were hopeful that his vision would improve, but there were no guarantees. We were referred to Early Intervention through the Utah School of Deaf and Blind, and Charlie began receiving vision and developmental therapy 3 times a month. 

The vision specialist that comes is awesome! She teaches me a lot of things that I can do with Charlie to help improve his vision and to help him learn to function with low vision. She brings something new everytime she comes and Charlie absolutely loves the toys she brings for him to play with (So does Caroline!). These are some of the toys she has brought.

Now he is 9 months old, and his vision has improved more than we could have hoped for. The first time he cried when I left the room made me so extremely happy! Because I knew he could see me leave. Funny thing to be excited about, I know. But it was so exciting. Now he looks at me and gets excited when I walk into his room, because he can see me from his crib. We'd worried that he would be delayed in crawling because of his low vision, but he has had no problems whatsoever. From his bedroom, he army crawls all the way down the hall to get the vent on the wall in the living room. It is so rewarding to see him have so much motivation to crawl. His high chair tray is tan. And I put tan colored puffs on his tray. He can see them and he chases down each individual tiny little puff with his pudgy little fingers. It's adorable.

We knew he was doing well. So last week when we took him back to the Opthalmologist, we expected to hear good news. But I didn't expect to hear everything the doctor told us. He told us that Charlie had improved so much that there was no reason for him to be in therapy. He said that in the past 4 months his vision has improved from about 20/200 to about 20/80. No longer legally blind. He told us that Charlie's eyes looked fantastic and that he didn't forsee any serious vision problems in the future. That Charlie would be able to grow up just like his sister (except for the light sensitivity). He did prescribe a second pair of glasses with a lighter tint so that he can wear them inside too. But wow. Words cannot describe the joy, relief and excitement that we felt to hear how well he was doing. Of course we already knew he had improved. But hearing good news from a doctor when you are so used to hearing not-so-good-news. Now that is wonderful. 

We are so grateful fo the improvements that our little Charlie has made. He is so smart and is such a happy little boy. I could never imagine my life without him. And without his beautiful little eyes.

Survival

Most days I consider it a complete success if we are all still alive by bedtime. Forget having hair done, teeth brushed, or clothes on. Just stay alive. At least that's what I thought, way back then.. a few weeks ago when I was so inexperienced. So immature. So carefree.

Last week (plus a few days) Forrest came down with a pretty serious tooth ache. Yes, I said tooth ache. A measley old pain in his mouth. After a few dentist appointments, he started swelling up. A lot. I mean A LOT a lot. The kind of swelling that made it look like he had a baseball in his cheek. Poor guy. He saw some specialists and had a root canal done. We thought that would fix it. Ha! Like I said, we were immature and inexperienced back then. He went back to the specialist every other day for a while to get it checked out. Still no improvement. Then on Saturday morning it got pretty bad, so he woke up and called his brother to take him to the ER. How I wish I could have gone with him - but someone had to stay home with the twins. 

I was a nervous wreck while he was gone. He couldn't really talk because it was difficult to open his mouth, so he was texting me all the while telling me what the doctors were saying. Basically, the oral surgeon came in, took one look at him, and told him he was about a hair away from this becoming a life threatening situation. Seriously?! From a tooth. Life threatening. Ya I was terrified.

They debated over whether or not to keep him in the hospital over the weekend until he could have surgery Monday morning (today), but the doctor felt comfortable enough to send him home with in-home health care for the weekend. Believe it or not, that's a little bit cheaper than staying in the hospital. So he came home on Saturday afternoon with a nurse and a bunch of IV equipment in tow. The nurse taught me how to administer the antibiotic via the IV every 8 hours, and then left us to it. Seriously, we looked (and still do) like a pharmacy. Between the IV, equipment, pain killers, antibiotics, anti-nausea meds... it's crazy. 

Poor guy hasn't had a real meal in over a week. Everything he consumes is through a straw. Soup, cream of wheat, pudding, ice cream, and smoothies. That's about it. So the four of us have basically camped out in our bedroom or the living room all week. I moved the twins' high chairs into the living room so that during meal time I could care for all 3 at once. Feeding them hasn't been too different though.. I puree everything for the twins, so now I just make an extra serving of whatever they're eating and give it to Forrest with a straw. For some reason he refused to eat tonight's dinner or pureed chicken and green beans though... weird.

This morning he was able to go in to get his tooth surgically removed and get some of the infection drained out. He was in a lot of pain afterward but I think the swelling is actually going down some. The oral surgeon is hopeful that he will be all healed up, infection free and ready for an implant in the next two weeks. Fingers crossed! 

During all of this we have been so blessed to have such wonderful family and a fantastic ward who have helped with babysitting, providing meals, and coming to lend a hand around the house. Basically we have the best family and friends ever. And I have learned what it is really like to be in survival mode. At least, for me. (I know many people go through much, much worse.) So what will I do with my newfound experience and maturity, you ask? Be grateful for the days when I only have two little people who are completely dependent on me. And always always always go to the dentist at the first sign of a toothache.

When Hard Days Come

Most of the time, the twins sleep through the night. Usually 11-12 hours. Sometimes though, they wake up once. Or twice. Or three times. When that happens, it takes me back instantly to when they were just a few weeks old and waking up every 2-3 hours. At least now it only take 10 minutes to feed them and get them back in bed, where it used to take nearly an hour. But still.. When they have a rough night, I know that means the next day will be less than perfect. They're usually cranky in those days because they didn't sleep well, and so am I. 

So let's say one of those nights comes along, maybe it was last week. I wake up in the morning after a very short night and go in to begin the morning routine. As I'm changing diapers, I find hard little pebbles in Charlie's diaper :(. Boo constipation! So I'm massaging his tummy, trying to help him out a little. You'd think I'd put the diaper back on first, right? But I didn't. Chalk it up to the restless night. As I'm massaging, he probably pees on me first. That's a pretty common occurrence in this household. So I wipe it off as I continue to massage. And then it happens. The massage finally works.. Maybe a little too well. I suddenly find myself covered. And I mean covered. In Charlie's poop. Some people say little baby poop doesn't stink.. Well, try to remember that next time you're covered in warm runny poop that you just massaged out of your baby's bottom! I seriously just stare at him for a minute in disbelief. And then I start to laugh, because I honestly don't know what else to do. And it's a good thing I was laughing, too, because of course Caroline is laying right next to him, and given her knack for finding trouble, she rolls right into the big brown mess. I decide to take a picture and send it to my family so they can laugh - or groan - right along with me. You just have to love times like this :). 

A little later in the day comes one of those sweet moments when my sad, crying baby falls asleep in my arms from sheer exhaustion. Then as I go to put that beautiful sleeping child down for a nap, they let out a giant burp that is almost certainly accompanied by an incredible amount of spit up. And it's all down my front. So I laugh some more, because I don't know what else to do. And they I get cleaned up and remind myself not to bother getting dressed the next day, because it's just safer for my clothes to stay in the closet. 

By bedtime I think we have made it through the worst and it can only go up from here. So I get them in the tub, and get them washed and let them play in the water for a few extra minutes. Just before I take them out, the inevitable "poop in the bathtub" moment arrives. This time it was Caroline. And of course it's not even remotely solid, so it permeates the whole tub and both babies. So I take them out, one at a time, trying to get them quickly before they try to drink the water. I drain our slowest-draining-in-the-entire-world tub and then clean out the mess. Then I fill it up again, and go through the whole process of rewashing the littles.

By the time I get them both in bed and finally sink down into the couch, I probably feel completely exhausted. But as I reflect on the day and all the craziness that came along with it, I try my best to smile and to remember that these moments won't last forever. Before I know it my children will be all grown up and I know I will long to have another day with them as infants. Even if it was another day exactly like this. And so I laugh. And I smile. At least, I try to. And I remember how blessed I am.