Because I'm A Lunatic, That's Why!

Do you ever do things and then wonder why you did them? Things like getting out of bed in the morning, eating an entire box of chocolates, or telling someone when she asks exactly what you really think of that outfit?

I sure do. Today it was calling up Hubby in his office (he works in an office in the back yard behind the house-- why do I feel compelled to use the phone rather than walk out there? see the title, please) to tell him in a not completely kind tone of voice to quit wearing his damn shoes in the house and thundering down the hall and waking up the Beans during naptime. Was I reasonable? No. Was I nice about it? No. Did I care at the moment? I'm sure you can guess the answer to that. What that was, you see, was a ride on the Freaky Postpartum Roller Coaster. It's a ride I get to take daily. Several times. Do I know when I'm getting on? Nope. Are there signs showing me I'm in line for it? Nuh-uh. All there is is the sudden realization that I'm at the tippy-top of a steep incline and then there's the maniacal scream rushing from my throat as I careen down the hill at a thousand miles per hour taking everyone down with me on a terrifying ride.

Is it really that bad? Well, I'm still married so I guess it could be worse. But what really gets me is that my attitude goes from happy, organized, moving right along to this:

Crushed, devastated, demolished, destroyed. With no warning whatsoever. When the horror of the ride passes and I climb off the Freaky Postpartum Roller Coaster and wonder why I did whatever I did, the only logical explanation I can come up with is, "Because I'm a lunatic, that's why!" With all the nasty things getting said to everyone else, there's no reason for me to be left out, right?

My mom's been trying to be very helpful about this. She thinks the reason for my mood swings might be menopause. This is the same woman who encouraged me to wear muumuus while freakishly, gigantically pregnant with the Beans (as if I wasn't sad enough about the state of my body, I should have made everyone who looked at me as miserable as I was). Now, I love my mom but she had to know that when the word "muumuus" escaped her mouth aimed in my general direction she was going to lose a ton of points with me on the Listen-To-What-You-Say-O-Meter (for the record, I think my response was something like, "A muumuu? Seriously, a muumuu? No! You wear a muumuu, you muumuu-head! Don't say that to me again! No muumuus!!!). And now she follows it with "menopause". I'm 32 years old. I didn't even require an amniocentesis. Menopause?

So at this point, I have to look at everything that's happened over the last year: job loss (job change, I guess, without ANY pay at all), house loss, move, birth of TWO children, 180 degree lifestyle change, Hubby's diet (please don't ask about that one yet because I'm not ready to go there)... I suppose I could cut myself some slack. Because after all, any one of those events occurring on its own would be enough to get Normal Me a little edgy. Two would probably get Normal Me into a consistently pissed off mood and three, well... I'm pretty confident that it isn't early menopause. I think it's just Normal Me adjusting to life in the Beans' lane.

And while that sounds an awful lot like a lame excuse, at least I never advised anyone to wear a muumuu. There's just no excuse for that. But if I do ever suggest it to one of my daughters and she asks why I would ever say such a thing, I just tell her-- Because I'm a lunatic, that's why! And I have the history to prove it.

The Climb To The Top

I'm afraid of high places. Last weekend Biscuit and I drove out to Greenbrae (which, by the way, was much further from our little burg than I thought) and we had to cross the Richmond- San Rafael Bridge. Aside from affording a breathtaking view of the bay and San Quentin prison, it offers a rolling, Zen-like, up-and-down crossing that's an awful lot like the very worst nightmares I've ever had.

When you get toward the crests of the two rises, you can't see over the top, so while driving along with three of my children in the car, I couldn't be absolutely sure that there was road on the other side. Compounding the issue was an apparent blood-sugar crash. Biscuit said it was fun watching me freak out and say the alphabet in every language I know (except sign language because nothing could pry my hands from that steering wheel-- absolutely nothing).

It looks pretty innocent, doesn't it? Here's what it looks like from the inside:

That is, unless you're me and suddenly struck by the fact that my kids and I are, like ten miles above the surface of the water and if the big one hits right now, we're all plunging to our icy doom in the depths below. All I can see in my crazy little head is this:

Anyway, we got what we needed from Greenbrae and headed home (back across the dreaded bridge again, of course) arriving all together and with all the parts we had when we'd left. It was unfortunately with that experience fresh in my mind, however, that I noticed the other day the branches of one of the trees in the back yard heavy with fruit. Pretty, deep red, round, juicy fruit with tongue-tieable green stems. I picked all I could with my feet planted firmly on the ground-- about twenty cherries. Not too impressive. Knowing that my dad's penchant for cherries and my awesome next-door neighbor's request for cherries would both go unsatisfied with only twenty of the little tresures, I reluctantly admitted to myself that it was time to get out the ladder.

Hubby and I walked around the side of the house to retrieve the subject item. We carried it over to the patio beneath the tree and set it up. Oh. My. God. At that moment we made a great discovery. We learned that our house is not only home to the laziest toilet in the universe, it also boasts the oldest, Ricketiest Ladder on Earth. It belongs in a museum next to Bronze Age artifacts. The Church could feasibly label it a relic. I'd bet even people in Tijuana would think it was old and scary. Needless to say, I was not getting on that ladder. Nope. So what happened? Are the cherries still on the tree, weighing down the branches with their now decaying flesh, nothing more than snacks for the birds? Of course not!

Hubby trained as a fireman. Did you know that? I did, but it's one of those things about him I keep forgetting along with the fact that other people occasionally find him funny, handsome and charming. He tells a story about how he once climbed a forty-foot ladder that was sticking straight up in the air, hooked his legs from the rungs and dangled from it WITHOUT USING HIS HANDS. The very thought of this makes me want to lay down flat on the floor and weave my fingers through the carpet and clench a big mouthful of it between my teeth. Which was pretty much what I wanted to do while I watched him climb the Ricketiest Ladder on Earth and wobblewobblewobble on it while picking the cherries from the upper branches of the tree, dropping them (and not a few leaves and sticks0 into my waiting bowl below.

He got a big bowlful before the spiders started their earthbound descent and I (the Party-Pooper) declared that whole game officially over. He climbed off and we folded the Ricketiest Ladder on Earth and carried it (I got the uninfested end) back to its hooks on the other side of the house, where it will stay and I can pretend it never existed. Because even though it's marvelous to eat cherries that came from our own (rented) tree I've decided it isn't worth watching my husband plummet to his doom to get them. I'll just drive to the store and buy some.

Unless I have to drive across a bridge to get there.

Nine Months and Lotsa Teeth!

Pooki finally met someone she doesn't like. We went to the doctor yesterday for the Beans' 9-month checkup and, surprise! They had to have a shot. This really was a surprise for Mommy because I thought we were going to get a bye on this visit. Apparently not.





The Beans have ALWAYS done very well with the whole shot deal. In fact, Pooki hardly cried at all for her first few and right after she was done, she even smiled at the nurse who gave it to her, seemingly forgetting for the moment that she had anything to even cry about. But yesterday was different. For the first time, the doctor himself administered the vaccine. And the Beans were none too happy about it.





Normally, Pooki is all smiles all the time for all people she sees. Miles and miles of smiles. Pipsi is also a cute little smiley Bean, but the recipient usually has to earn smiles from her. Pooki's smiles are free and she's nowhere near stingy with them. But let me tell ya, she had no love whatsoever for the doctor yesterday after the exam and subsequent needle stick. Non at all! The funny thing was, even after she quieted down, the entire time Doc was examining Pipsi, Pooki never took her eyes off of him. Poor little Beans. And Hubby is a little peeved with me because somehow he ended up holding down both Beans for shots with the doctor and Mommy got to do all the comforting. I didn't do it on purpose, Booie! Not really on purpose, anyway.





They were over it quickly though and aside from a little drowsiness seem to be suffering no ill effects at all. Pooki has lots more teeth coming in and yesterday I saw that her top right lateral incisor as popped through. Lots and lots and LOTS of teeth! But, here are their numbers in case you're interested:





Parker
19 lbs, 1 oz


28 inches tall


45 cm head circumference





Piper


20 lbs, 2 oz


28 1/2 inches tall


47 cm head circumference





Yep, Pipsi has surpassed her big sister, size-wise. Pipsi tends to eat more and is waaaay less picky than her sister. After all this time of the Beans weighing within two ounces of each other this is a pretty significant difference! And although neither Bean was at her happiest yesterday, Doc says he has absolutely no complaints about either super-healthy Bean. Pooki's borderline iron-deficient and just needs only one little drop of a supplement each day, but that's normal with twins, he says.





It's hard to believe they've gone from this


To this


in under nine months.

But of course, children grow. That's what they're supposed to do. And now we have three months for Mommy to prepare for doing the holding-down for the next round. That is, unless it somehow works out otherwise...

Why I've Been Away

An entire week has past since I posted last. And that's kind of a rhyme about spending my time. Let's set the cutesy stuff aside for a moment. I have some serious matters to discuss.

Pipsi's second tooth broke through Saturday, 5/17, and Pooki's second upper tooth (her fifth altogether) made its appearance yesterday, 5/18. No flesh on any part of my body is safe. Or anybody's body, for that matter. I hope they won't be the biters in preschool but I have little faith that that wish will be granted. Oh well. As long as the Beans brush them and eat good food with them, I suppose that in general I welcome all of those cute little teeth. Cute yet oh so sharp. And, since there are now teeth in their cute little mouths, we can now expand their menu to include that old favorite standby for little finger and mouths-- the ever-popular Cheerios!

Parker likes telling hers stories and singing to them:

And Piper seems to keep losing hers:

But all things considered, solid foods have been a raving success. Or maybe I should say the Beans have been a raving success at solid foods. I think I much prefer the sound of that.

So, other than new teeth and the accompanying new foods, why have I been away? I haven't! I've been here! Here where it is SO HOT!!!!!! It got up over one hundred degrees twice last week. So it must have been heat-related dementia that compelled me to have a garage sale on the HOTTEST SATURDAY OF THE YEAR. That's it. If I ever needed any confirmation that I'm utterly out of my mind, I think this was it. Even Biscuit thought so. At one point, about an hour into it when the driveway was still covered in Craps he said, "See? I told you this was crazy! Nobody wants our old Craps!" He was, however, a marvelous help and I couldn't have done it without him, especially because since last week's skates-to-keester escapade I still am not getting around with my usual spunk and zip. But by the end of the day, Biscuit graciously, proudly bestowed upon his mother the title, "Vanquisher of Craps" which is without a doubt the highest compliment he has ever given me. And then I think about this:

It makes me feel SO GOOD! Why? Why does an empty driveway make me feel good? Let me show you why!!!

TA-DAAA!!!!!!! So yes, maybe I have a broken ass. And maybe my kitchen floor is covered in what were once Cheeri- but are now Squishy-, Mushi-, Soggios. And maybe I am covered in freakishly tiny bite marks that make me look like I was attacked by geriatric bats who forgot their bat dentures back at the cave. But the Starship Margaret fits in the garage. And I am a rock star.

Let me ask just one favor of you. See that little gate to the right of the garage? Don't ever look behind there. And please be cool enough not to ask why. Because I think you already know.

For the Mom Who Has Everything

To be short, sweet and to the point, this was the most fun Mother's Day ever. The Frisbee went over the fence, the Beans ate everything, Biscuit was in rare form, and Hubby came through like a champ. And when a day begins like this:




how could it do anything but get more fun by the minute? Let's put it this way-- Biscuit bought his mom flowers from school on Friday which means he thought about Sunday before it happened. That's forethought, something I've wanted to see in him all my life and the best gift ever. Then I got to caffeinate from a butterfly mug, thereby infusing myself with all the positive powers of both coffee and beautiful winged insect. Finally the skates. They have sparkly purple wheels. SPARKLY PURPLE WHEELS!!! Do you have any idea how much fun it is to push the Beans along in their SUV stroller on skates with SPARKLY PURPLE WHEELS through the park with Biscuit (on Rollerblades) and Hubby (being pulled along by Katie on his Rollerblades)? Yes, we were quite the sight I'm sure. But it was without a doubt the most fun I've had in a looooooonng time.

Surprise Party!

Up until last night, Hubby loved surprise parties. He loves parties in general, truth be told, particularly birthday parties. And he loves birthday parties because he likes to receive presents. But any party involvong presents is just dandy by him. Surprise parties too. And most of the time, surprises are fun. Good surprises, that is. Like getting a $9.00 refund from the Toyota dealership because we overpaid on DMV fees. That was nice. Or the doctor telling us that we were gestating not one but TWO babies in my womb. Yes, some surprises are doozies, but usually fun.

So, I suppose it logically follows that our kids like surprises too. That must be the case because it was Pooki, not I, who threw the surprise party for Hubby last night. I don't remember whether or not I've mentioned this before, so please forgive me if I'm repeating myself. Pipsi is a very dramatic pooper. She will groan and grunt, turn red in the face and get all teary-eyed. I can hear it from the other room and very quickly smell it. Even when there isn't much in her diaper. Pooki, on the other hand, is another story.

Pooki is the stealthiest pooper I've ever known. She has the best pooping poker face ever. She sometimes doesn't give a single signal that she's done the deed other than a faint whiff of nasty when I pick her up. But even that's tricky, because I've noticed that the only thing that gives her away is her out-of-character nonchalance. Ordinarily, Pooki wants to be into everything. She's climbing on me, pulling on my clothes, chatting away, climbing the walls of the Playground, climbing over Pipsi, wanting to play with whatever Pipsi has in her hands, wanting to be picked up... you get what I mean. And then suddenly she'll start acting like Danny did to Sandy in front of his friends at school in Grease.

"Oh, no, that's cool, I'm good over here. I'll just play with this thing... what is this? Oh, here's Red Circus Box. I'll just chew on that, never mind me," Or, "Hey, no problem, just leave me here in my high chair! I'm comfortable, I have Stick Frog and Little Fuzzy Orange Goat. I'm happy, it's all good." The problem with this is that I'm so distracted by everything else I'm just grateful that she isn't screaming or crying or dropping something or barfing or sneezing or one of the myriad other activities in which she so thoughtfully engages in order to keep me constantly occupied. So sometimes she sits in it.

There I said it. I don't do it on purpose! The second I know she's poopy we're in there cleaning up. But sometimes I just don't know. Poor Pooki.

Anyhow, last night Pipsi made her usual to-do and Hubby took her into the nursery to clean her up. We were getting ready to take a little evening stroll, so I asked him to take Pooki and change her too so I could do some laundry (I don't know how I do it-- choose between two such fun activities I mean). Fortunately, I got to be in the room for the surprise.

"OH! UGH! Pooki pooped too!" Poor Hubby was caught completely unprepared. In the past several weeks, the Beans have become VERY active during diaper changes. Mommy uses the Diaper Changing Fairy toy to remedy this. She keeps the Beans occupied (read: docile and on their backs) but Hubby isn't familiar with this tactic so he had a squirming, writhing, twisting, turning Pooki on his hands-- along with about ten pounds of poop. By the time I got to the changing table it was on the changing pad (naked-- stripped of its pad from a previous poop catastrophe), all over Pooki including her hand which was wildly waving about, and Hubby.

It was a fun party. Wish you could have been there. Like all parties, even surprise parites, it came to an end. And the cleanup was a real bitch. But, Hubby did get a present-- just not one he was hoping for.

Introducing Anna

Anna's here! After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Anna finally made her debut the night before last (5/5). Her full name is Anna Nothertooth and we're expecting several more just like her in the months to come. She makes her home in Pooki's mouth and will be seen playing her role as Pooki's right front incisor until she falls out to make room for the new and improved front right incisor who will assume her place in about five years. Welcome Anna! We hope you enjoy your stay. Pooki's happy. When Pipsi asked her what she thought about Anna Pooki replied, "All the better to eat you with!"

Anyhoo, in addition to Anna's big show, it's been a busy week here in Beandom. We visited the doctor on Friday (because I wanted to make sure it was just sniffles and not allergies) and he said that alas, the Binkies must go. He said (and I paraphrase here) that constant Binking is jacking up Pooki's mouth. And we can't have that. So Farewell Binkies! We love you, but now with Anna and her highly anticipated companions, there is not enough room left in Pooki's mouth for all of you. Sorry. Under the bus you go. Considering the circumstances, Dr. Stephen's pronouncement came at a relatively good time. He said to just offer it to get the Beans to sleep and since both Beans were having a hard time breathing through their noses, it was a good time to cut waaaaaay back on the Bink.

And the Beans have handled it splendidly. Far better than Hubby and I feared, in fact! Now that their mouths aren't as preoccupied, they're babbling much more, giving Hubby reason to say, "Oh, man. Once they start talking they're never going to stop."

True, but better this than no talking which is what we frequently get from the teenage members of the family. That's us-- feast or famine.

And we had another fun event on Friday. I had to run into the kitchen for something (probably to wash off a Binkie or maybe to get a tissue) and returned to the nursery find this:

Surprise, Mommy! Look what Pooki can do! So now, lowering crib mattresses and removing mobiles jumps to the top of the priorities list, leaving Craps to multiply further in the garage. Don't worry Craps, you know you're staying here on borrowed time.

And we had yet more excitement in abundance as the weekend advanced. Cruddy though I felt, a Costco run was necessary. We were almost out of everything. Unfortunately I had neither the energy nor the inclination to load up the runny-nosed Beans into the Starship Margaret and trek across to universe to Consumer Mecca and navigate that chaos with the Beans' double-wide stroller. Enter Hubby and Best Friend. Best Friend and her daughter (the best babysitters EVER) came over and relieved me of Bean Duty for a couple of hours so Hubby and I could enjoy an exotic getaway together. He took my hand and guided me through all the hustle and bustle of the crowded marketplace where we saw all different kinds of people-- happy kids, crying babies (not ours!), harried people, bored husbands, blinged-out housewives. The tang of various aromas wafted under our noses as we experienced food fragrances from all over the world and had at our fingertips the option to purchase vaccuum cleaners at a hundred dollars below retail, cases of eco-friendly bottled water, ten-pound blocks of hard-to pronounce cheese varieties, backyard play structures, wetsuits, discounted nicotine gum, gallon-size bottles of vodka, and cases and cases and cases and cases of diapers and wipes. We got the diapers and wipes and I seriously contemplated the vodka but in the end, decided on just the necessities. Besides, if I buy that much vodka, I'd have to drink that much vodka. And at the moment Ny-Quil is enough for now, thank you.

We got home and Niki and Natali had the Beans sleeping, right on schedule. And Niki the photographer got some great pictures to show me how happy the Beans were while we were gone.

Okay, so Pooki isn't smiling. But she's studying, see? That is a studious expression on her face. What's nice to know is that we were able to weather this cold thing pretty well. Hubby and I really wanted to get them all the way through their first year without one but hey, that's the way it goes. And when it went, the Beans kept trucking right through it. We still have some residual runny noses but all in all, the Beans can now add " fought off the first cold" to their childhood resumes. Along with "standing".

Way to go Beans!

Beans at the Mall

In the event you find that your social life is lacking, just have twins. Because even though babies don't learn to talk for quite a while, you'll find that everybody else does (talk- to you and about you). Suddenly people you don't know stop you on the street and ask after the twins by name because they know your next-door neighbors and now, you're friends with them too. Hubby and I can never have enough friends so we like that. But I guess if one has a more misanthropic bent on life, never mind having twins. Or children for that matter.

Anyway, the deal is, EVERYBODY has something to say when they see the twins. And sometimes when I'm out with the Beans people say things to which I have absolutely no idea how to respond. Because I really do want to be polite. But seriously, what should I say when a woman asks, "Did you have them yourself?" What the hell does that mean? What are you asking me? All I could think to say to that was, "Um, no. I had them at the hospital," which felt like a really stupid thing to say and looks even stupider in print. When I got home I realized I'd left my wedding ring at home and perhaps that's why she had such a quizzical look on her face and the entire conversation became funny as hell.

Other times I say too much and instantly wish I could recant my statement. Like last month when I told a guy off for calling me "Wide Load" while I was pushing the Beans in their double stroller. Yes, obviously it came out wrong and you didn't mean it like that but no, I'm not going to be the bigger person about it (pun intended, thank you) because as cool as I generally am about that stuff you just picked to wrong day to slip up. And you should know by now, since you're over the age of ten, sir, NEVER to call ANY WOMAN "wide load" or you will suffer terribly.

Anyway, the other day I was on the receiving end of the TMI ejaculation and lemme tell ya, it wasn't pretty but it sure was good for a laugh. I was at the mall (read: Craps Emporium) doing some Mother's Day shopping (got it all done on Tuesday-- what an organized machine I am) when I turned the corner in a shoe aisle (hey, I'm a mother too) and almost ran over an employee sitting on the floor.

"Oh! That brings back memories," she said. Memories of what? Did you get run over by a double stroller last week?

"Mine are... " she looks up at the ceiling and finds a number. "Twenty-nine yesterday!"

Oh, cool. Fellow twin mom. "Really? That's great! And you made it through-- way to go!"

Yes, they're both done with college and ensconced in careers and she's very proud. Since I have her attention for a second I ask whether the store has the style of shoe I'm looking for. Sure they do! She takes me over to the display and leaves me with some kind-hearted words of encouragement, for which I thank her, and steps into the storeroom in back.

I looked over the shoes for a couple of minutes and suddenly out of nowhere a voice over my shoulder, VERY close to my ear-- uncomfortably close, as in completely in my personal space, says, "So, did you try breastfeeding?"

I yelp in surprise and drop the shoe in my hand, bobbling it a few times to keep it from landing on the Beans' heads, a task at which I am barely successful, and I turn around and it's the twin mom from the floor with a big smile on her face.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you!" Oh, you didn't scare me, I think to myself. I always have disembodied, floor-dwelling shoe women's voices whispering in my ear about breasts.

This makes me laugh. "No problem," I reply and wonder how quickly I can get out of there without being completely impolite because I'm not going to be able to keep the laugh monster at bay. What would be worse, I wonder-- turning around and walking away right this instant or staying and explaining why I'm rolling around on the floor in need of a new pair of pants because, by the way, I've wet them from laughing so hard.

"Six months," she says proudly.

"Oh wow, breastfeeding?" I ask, just to clarify.

"Yep. And when I quit they looked like oranges at the bottom of a coupla tennis socks!" and she swings her cupped hands down back and forth at about her waistline. Then she laughs rather loudly and then stops as suddenly as she began and just stares at me.

"Well, whatever it takes to make healthy babies," is all I can think to say, and I'm struggling so hard not to laugh at the whole situation because by this point, I don't want to offend anyone uninhibited (read: unstable) enough to strike up a conversation about her breasts with a total stranger in the shoe department at 1:30 in the afternoon while(I assume) completely sober.

"They get better, believe it or not. Just give them a year or two."

"You mean..." I gesture up around my chest region. Again, just to clarify.

She gives me a conspiritorial nod. She knows. It happened to her. To her own breasts.

"Well good, I was just about to give up hope," and I grab the closest pair of shoes I can find, bid her good day and head to the nearest checkstand.

I place my stuff on the counter and the girl behind the register (who is about nineteen) says, "Oh, I hope I have twins! I want them SO BAD!"

And now I know just what to say, because this is the response I've come to use for that statement which is, "Well, if you're lucky enough to have them I hope you have as much fun with yours as I have with mine."

And I mean it. On so many different levels.

New Tooth!

Pooki cut her THIRD tooth yesterday!!! Surprisingly, it's another bottom one. I thought for sure we'd see one on top before another on the bottom, but I guess Beans just like to keep Mommy on her toes.

And we are on our toes here, because along with a new tooth, we seem to have a BeanBug in the house too. Coughing, sneezing, runny noses-- we'll see how it goes...