Getting Martha Stewartized

Going domestic.  Not too many moons ago it seemed almost impossible, especially to those who knew me in high school.  I mean, I am the girl who under "Future Plans" in her senior yearbook wrote,    " . . . marry a sweet Christian guy who can cook and clean."

God apparently felt bad about not blessing me with domesticity, so nearly seven years ago I did marry a sweet Christian guy who could cook and clean.  And although Ben didn't enjoy it, he put up with me and helped me along during our first five years of marriage. 

But since staying at home last year, I decided I better get into domestic gear.  It is, of course, part of my job description, and I would hate to suffer a pay cut.  And slowly but surely, my dinners have transformed.  There are still days when piggies in the blanket show up on our dinner plates, but so do bowls of homemade tortilla soup, freshly prepared spaghetti sauce, and creme brulee bars.

Now that my meals have graduated from kiddie to young adult, I thought it time to begin a new tale on my domestic journey.  Recently I decided the time had come to graduate from sewing buttons to making (with a whole lot of help!) my first skirt.  Sewing?  Me?  Yes, it's true.  And today along with the rhythmic hum of the sewing machine, I felt like I could hear a beautiful melody being sung by the heavenly host celebrating my small victory.  Either that or it was the sound of them fainting from shock.

So Martha Stewart, watch out.  There's a new crafty diva in town.  And she's got a new self-made skirt and bread baking in the oven.  Well, maybe just a new skirt.  Let's not go crazy.
 
Corbin modeling my new skirt:

Modeling my new skirt with Hudson, one of my little sewing distractions .  . . er, helpers.

Poetry According to Hudson and Corbin

January is a pretty drab month.  Christmas is over, and dark, chilly days still lurk ahead.  To combat the winter blues during my five years of teaching language arts, I would always save my favorite unit of the year for January: poetry. 

And yes, I can hear your groans through my computer's speakers.  The groans that remind me so much of my classroom full of squirrelly poetry-hating students.  But, just as I told my students year after year, so I will say to you: poetry can be fun.  Seriously. 

So, as an ode to my previous days as a teacher and as a way to battle through this cold winter day, I've created two poems that I envision coming from the brains of my 13-month-olds.  And in the dreary days to come, the boys will continue to add poetry to their collection.  :)   

Here goes:

Reflections of the Winter Season: Part One
By Corbin, Hudson, and Mommy

A Limerick: "Our Horsey"

For our birthdays we got a horse
We love to ride it of course
It rides so fast
What a blast
'Til we fall because of the force

"If We Were in Charge of the World" (structure of poem created by Judith Viorst)

If we were in charge of the world
We'd cancel naptime,
Doctor's visits,
And days when Daddy has to go to work

If we were in charge of the world
We'd get to spend more time with our grandparents and cousins
We'd have two of every toy in the house
And we'd fill every room with a thousand bouncy balls

If we were in charge of the world
We wouldn't have long car rides
We wouldn't have cold milk
We wouldn't have food that has to be chewed
Or parents that take photos of us in our diapers with stupid looking hats
We wouldn't even have photos

If we were in charge of the world
We would get boxes full of tissue paper for Christmas presents
Our parents would still let us drink from a bottle at mealtimes
And two guys who sometimes forget to nap
And sometimes forget to sit still in Mommy's lap
Would still be allowed
To be in charge of the world

Mr. Elephant

What's got curly gray hair, smells like a mixture of sour milk and saliva, and has a matted, flattened tail due to an overdose of love?  That would be the "man" of the hour in our sweet little kingdom-- a guy we like to call Mr. Elephant.

I always thought it was the cutest thing when kids  toted their "loveys" from place to place.  When my two little bald-headed trouble makers were born, I was crossing my fingers that one of them would find the stuffed animal of their dreams.

So, I got "lucky."  At about seven months, Corbin developed a deep, manly bond with a stuffed elephant (slightly ironic that my lean little man would love a stuffed image of the world's fattest land animal).  And then reality set in.  The grossness of a stuffed creature that is gnawed, spit up on, sneezed on, and snotted on day in and day out.  The anxiousness of having to carve out an hour of my day once a week to wash Monsieur Elephant without Corbin realizing it.  And the fear that haunts me at this moment . . . misplacing this smelly little monstrosity.

And now I sit.  Staring at the Ebay page.  My frugal, thrifty pride fights against the reality that a lost Mr. Elephant tragedy could have for our family.  But pay $10 for a second Mr. Elephant?  This stuffed little thing that I know was only a few dollars?  My finger hesitates over the button.

I cave.  Mr. Elephant II (or Dr. Elephant as we have decided to name him) will be arriving in 3-5 business days.  And I give a sigh of relief.  A future elephant-sized tragedy has been averted--peace on earth will continue.

Mr. Elephant's Christmas portrait:

It's hard to get a pic of Mr. Elephant where he doesn't look like a piece of mangled prey hanging from his predator's mouth.

A Year of Great Joy

When you’re pregnant with twins, you get a lot of sarcastic and negative one-liners:

 “Better you than me.”

“Good luck with that!”

“Oh, you poor thing.”

And of course, you also get a lot of colorful adjectives predicting what your first year with twins will look like:

“Sleepless.”

 “Crazy.”

“Hellish.”

After all the talk, the worry brought on by others, and the scary predictions, I can think of only one word when I reflect on this last year: joy.  From the moment my baby boys entered this world with two hearty screams for two very tiny babies to this present moment as they chatter away with each other in their cribs delaying their afternoon nap, this year has birthed a joy that I had yet to experience in my first 27 years. 

And yes, this year also flirted with craziness, sleeplessness, worry, and even a few times with utter desperation.  But when I stand back in reflection, those difficult moments fade next to the vibrant laughter, fun, and joy that I’ve experienced being a mama to my two little men. 

Thus, I sit here with misty eyes realizing this first year has come and gone for Hudson and Corbin.  Time has run away from me, and now I must say goodbye to a beautiful twelve months.  But God-willing, parenthood will continue for many years, and I can be assured there will be more joyful adventures ahead.   

November 25, 2010

Hudson Calvin born at 7:55 a.m., 5 pounds 2 ounces, 18 inches long

Corbin John born at 7:57 a.m., 3 pounds 1 ounce, 16.5 inches long

November 2011

Oh, how my boys have grown!

   

Blessings All Mine

A dear neighbor recently lent me a book written by Ann Voscamp entitled "One Thousand Gifts."  The book is about the author, who is a farmer's wife and the mom of six, and her journey as she dares herself to create a list of one thousand blessings in her life.  Throughout the book, she learns to find joy and give gratitude in the seemingly small and forgettable moments of life.

And so, I have taken this challenge on myself.  It hasn't been easy and I'm not very far on my list, but I'm determined to look at my life a bit deeper, even when feeling overrun by cleaning dirty bums, shaking bottles, picking up a sea of thrown peas and Cheerios, and scrubbing an endless amount of dishes.  (Boy, do I miss my dishwasher sometimes.)  And even in the beginning weeks of this little "experiment," I have been humbly reminded of the gems hidden within life's routines.

Here are just a few of the blessings that I have "rediscovered" the past few weeks:

Those still moments when the babies lay against my chest with sleepy, heavy eyes.

Sales and bargains--knowing God will provide.  You don't need to be rich.  (Hudson modeling one of Mommy's consignment sale purchases.)

 

Long weekends spent with the company of loved ones. (The boys with their Aunt Angie and Uncle Andrew.)

The boys' giggles as they play in their crib together.

Football and Frills

My life is full of contradictions.  I spent much of my childhood collecting Barbies, wearing dresses, and dreaming up names for my future daughters (guess I jinxed myself on that one); yet, I also spent many hours sorting through my Batman comic books, playing with my Hot wheels, and bawling my eyes out while watching Rudy (a contradiction in itself considering that it's a sports movie).  I don't have one athletic bone in my body (ex. I was one of two girls cut from JV basketball.  Ouch.)  Despite that and despite the fact that on most occasions I would much rather find myself in a theatre than at a sporting event, football has always fascinated me.

So this past week, excitement buzzed through our little cottage, as the football season commenced.  The nagging has ceased, and peace has returned; instead of glaring icicles at Ben for his endless viewing of ESPN, I'm right there beside him, eager for the games' highlights.  And unlike most loving  parents, we're not talking about our children after they've gone to bed.  We're discussing our fantasy football lineups.

So for a few moments on fall Sunday afternoons, I will put my femininity aside while I energetically cheer on my players, yell at the slackers who dare to call themselves football stars, and jump around like a fool when my favorite teams make a touchdown.  And then I will remember who I am and return to the couch, curl up in my pink fuzzy blanket, put on my furry lamb slippers, and continue watching the game. 

My two future football waterboys (sorry boys, football is too dangerous to play for my little men):

 Hudson's like his Mom--he's not afraid to cheer quite vocally.

 Hudson, for the umpteenth time, stop tackling Corbin!!!

Back-to-school! Not exactly . . .

This morning as I was still half asleep with two wide-eyed and bushy-tailed babies crawling around my feet, I kissed Ben goodbye and wished him good luck on his first day of classes. It was then that reality set in for me.  For the first time in 25 years, I am not headed back-to-school.  From prancing into preschool many moons ago to waddling into my own classroom last year with a warning for my new students: "I am pregnant and hormonal.  Don't make me angry."--I can't remember a time in my life before school.  Until now.

As strange as it sometimes is to look back on what my life used to be, this morning I began to realize that my day with two nine month old babies appears strangely similar to what I've done for the last six years . . . teaching middle schoolers. 

Case in point:

1. Lunchtime is like spending 25 minutes in a jungle.  Last year it involved weeding through a sea of kids and fighting over the use of a microwave with my 13 year old students.  Now it involves scarfing down a sandwich with one hand and picking up soggy half-chewed food with the other.

2. Dress code violations galore!  Last year boys with droopy drawers and girls with short skirts went running if they saw me in the hall with a warning slip.  This year I spend my day with two kids who I think purposefully mess up their clothes so that they can chill in their diapers. 

3. Nonstop noise.  Have you ever walked through a middle school hallway at 3:00?  Enough said.  Now instead of screechy laughs and squeals, my day sounds and looks like a kiddie casino. Apparently, toys that make annoying sounds and flash lights into baby's eyes are good for their development.

4. Grades.  The end of my day used to involve unleashing my red pen on a pile of papers.  Now it involves this conversation:
Ben: How were the boys today?
Lindsay: Pretty good.  I give Hudson a B+ and Corbin an A-.
Ben: Not bad.  But room for improvement.
Lindsay: Yeah, we're shooting for an A+ tomorrow.  If naptime goes better, it's possible.

This list could continue for pages and pages.  From foul odor to whining to short attention spans, I've realized today that my babies are either child prodigies or that most middle schoolers revert back to babyhood.  Unfortunately, I think the latter is probably the case. 

So, although the boys and I are not technically going back-to-school, for now, our home is our classroom.  The content is different, but the students are just a little smaller and a little balder.