The Party that Went Viral

It was Super Bowl Sunday--America's first major break with their New Year's resolutions, when it is encouraged to indulge in chips, and brownies, and beer, and anything that hints of fat and cholesterol.  It was a Super Bowl that we weren't too excited to watch because who wants to root for a bunch of pretty boy cheaters and repeat offenders from the previous year, but still we found ourselves counting down to a fun excuse to have people over and indulge in pounds and pounds of cheese. 

But by 3:00 in the afternoon, the soon-to-be party took an unappetizing turn.  Ben realized it first. 

"We have to cancel," he groaned as the kids started to wobble half-awake out of their bedrooms from their afternoon snooze.  "I have a stomach bug."

"Are you sure?" I questioned.

He pulled a flannel quilt over him, curled up his knees, and gave me a half-hearted sarcastic look. 

It was then that I started questioning myself.  That all day fatigue, the random chills, the nausea?!  Within thirty minutes of this moment, we were laying at opposite ends of the couch, quivering under the same quilt. 

And the children ran wild.

We bought ourselves some time.  I crawled to the DVD player and hastily put in a movie before the room's air knocked me down.  The older two were amused for an hour.  But the little one.  Oh, the little one!  Why can't singing cucumbers and dancing tomatoes be of interest to you, my sweet dear!

Jovie showed us toys, she twirled, danced a little jig to the cucumber's silly songs.  But we were too cold and too miserable to give her our usual claps and cheesy delight.  So she climbed on the couch, and she stepped on our stomachs over, and over, and over, and over, vying for our attention. 

"Pack.  Play."  I gritted through my teeth.  Ben was closer.  He was stronger.  So he got up, and put her in the pack n play.  And she wailed. 

What is worse?  The shrill screams of a toddler, or her body diving into our weak stomachs?  We let her escape the prison.

At this point, our hour was up.  The credits rolled, and Hudson turned off the TV.

"Too much TV.  No more," he announced. 

We had read the Berenstain Bear's Too Much TV one too many times.  They had heard my daily mantra: "Too much TV will rot your brains!"  Why are they taking this to heart now!  They never listen to what we say!

The boys began racing monster trucks, which somehow turned into wrestling, which naturally turned into fighting.  Jovie, still mad that her Royal Cuteness was given so little attention, began jumping off the arm of the couch with a triumphant glint in her eye. 

I managed to utter my second coherent thought in an hour.  "Basement.  Now.  Play nicely.  Lots of candy.  Prize." 

The three of them stormed downstairs like barbarians.  We closed our bleary eyes, and rested our aching bodies for a minute.  Maybe two.  The screaming and fighting and pushing began.  Lord of the Flies: Baby Edition had started.

I knew what must be done next: I faked sleep.  Ben, my green-hued hero, pulled off the quilt, stumbled down the stairs, laid his weak body on the loveseat, and acted as guard over the fighters. 

I felt badly.  I had sent Ben down to that cold hell of activity, light and noise.  The moment of guilt passed. I hugged the quilt, which I now held all to myself, and I gave a weak smirk in the upstairs warmth and quiet.

But while I laid in restless peace, the clicking of the clock caught my attention.  The barbarians would be hungry.  But to go into that kitchen with its swirling, sickening sweet smells of the crockpot chili that had been stewing all day?  Oh, the humanity!  I held my breath and with as much energy as I could muster, dove into the kitchen, threw some chicken nuggets on a pan, and dove out. 

We assured our three little balls of fire that on this special Super Bowl Sunday, their brains wouldn't rot, and they finally accepted our plea for more TV.  The three of them feasted on nuggets and chips while the glare of the TV shone in their eyes. 

The clock struck seven, and we convinced them it was bedtime.  Thank heavens the Berenstain Bears didn't write a book about telling time.

Miraculously, they went to sleep.  And we fell into our bed.  We both knew the worst of it was over.  Quiet and rest were upon us.  There was no food in our bellies to keep destroying us, and no children awake to kick us while we were down.  And our fitful sleep slowly turned into more pleasant dreams.

Until the pitter patter of feet woke us up.  1:24 am:  "My tummy hurts," he pitifully cried. 

The party continued . . .   

 

Our Little Barbarians

 



I guess it could be pretty adorable it they ruled the roost.  For like, a minute. 

The Christmas Newsletter You Weren't Meant to See

Life has been busy for us during 2014!  Here's the latest and greatest about our brood:

Hudson and Corbin--They spent much of the year prepping for the 2030 Olympic games in wrestling.

Preschool teacher: Your boys just randomly start tackling each other throughout the school day.  During gym time, story time, craft time.  It's never with the other kids, always with each other.  It's the craziest thing.  Have you seen them do that?
Me: Um . . . like once or twice or yeah. 

Their biggest excitement this year, however, occurred at the doctor's office as they awaited their 4 year old shots.  If you had been a fly on the wall, you would have observed them dancing around the cramped room in their socks and superhero undies, singing Christmas carols, and pestering the nurse: "Is it time to get our shots now?  Is it time?  Is it time?"

Why so much excitement?  Because my stash of bandages comes from Ben's overabundance of bland, boring band-aids in his classroom.  (Yes, I am that cheap.)  But Hudson and Corbin's doctor springs for Spiderman and Scooby Doo clad bandages.  Sadly, the thrill of this amazing event was deflated a bit by the sharp needles which penetrated through two very skinny thighs. Corbin noted afterwards: "I think next time, we'll skip the shots and just ask the doctor to let us borrow some fun band-aids."

 

 

Jovie--Our sweet baby girl.  Her last few months of the year can best be described by this heartwarming incident in October: Jovie woke up screaming hysterically from a nap.  I tried everything to calm her down--Barney, snacks, letting her keep her paci--nothing worked.  She screamed, cried, fell down, and shook her legs uncontrollably.  Something was clearly wrong, so I frantically called the doctor.

 

Me: I'm not sure what's going on with my baby.  She's crying uncontrollably and acting like she has no control over her body. 

Nurse: Does she have a fever?  Is she able to make eye contact?

Me: Her temp feels fine, and she's looking right at me.  But, I've never seen her act like this. I've tried everything.  I can't calm her down!

Nurse: Let me talk to the doctor.

(A minute later)

Nurse: Ma'm, I talked to the doctor.  It sounds like your daughter is having what is called a temper tantrum.

Me: Ohhhhh . . . (Red sweeps up my face as I realize I'm made a rookie mistake.  Except this is my third kid.)

Lindsay--When I'm not making frantic calls to the doctor about my daughter's tantrums, I can be found surviving other life defying adventures.  My greatest claim to fame this year--possibly so great that I want it memorialized on my tombstone--is this: I took my three children to Sunday School and church all by myself.  Aren't you completely impressed?  Are you giving me a standing ovation right now?  Well, you should.  Nevermind that we frantically and gracelessly charged into church 15 minutes late (while my Sunday school class of 2 and 3 year olds "patiently" waited for my arrival).  And we'll ignore the fact that as I rushed to greet my squirrely class of toddlers, I threw Jovie into church nursery with bare feet and crust all over her face while spluttering, "Here are Jovie's socks--I know her feet are freezing.  Sorry--can you put them on?  I'm really not a bad mother.  And she has crust all over her face--could you do something about that?  Ben's out of town, sorry, flustered, super late, gotta go!" 
Let's just say that on the way home, I had to gorge myself on a box of Arby's onion rings to recover from the sheer madness of it all.  And I also realized something very important: Single parents who bring their children to church by themselves, deserve a round of applause.  Each and every week. 

 

 

Ben--I have always prided myself on my ability to multi-task well, but Ben has one uped me this year.  He just can't let me win at anything!  Clearly teaching an overload of several new Latin courses and serving wine on select Saturdays during the warmer months while being a hands-on dad, house handy man, and thoughtful husband was not enough.  He had to go start his doctorate in education to fill in the extra globs of time that were oozing everywhere.  The first semester has ended (only 3 1/2 more years to go!), and we'll call it a success: Ben has gotten high marks, his sanity is still in check, the children still recognize him, and Clairol Natural Instincts is making big dough from my need to cover up the ever sprouting grays that accent my head.  A successful year indeed. 

From our home to yours, Merry Christmas! 



Bluemont is for Lovers

No matter if I drive east or west, Target is at minimum a 25 minute drive.  There are only two fast-food restaurants within a close proximity to our house, and by close I mean a fifteen minute drive. And I have had more conversations then I care to remember that have gone like this:

Person: Where do you live?
Me: Bluemont.
Person: Boo-mont?  Is there a Halloween parade there?
Me: No, BLUEMONT.  It's literally 10 minutes west of where we are standing right now.
Person: Never heard of it.   

Okay, so admittedly, I do have a bit of a mumbling problem.  But Bluemont is a sometimes forgotten treasure nestled on an eastern slope in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  

Bluemont is not close to much, and yet, it is home to much.  It is home to wineries, a popular U pick farm, and the "roller coaster" section of the Appalachian Trail.  It is also home to a diverse group of people--at the top of the mountain you'll find a Montessori school, a yoga studio, and a yuppier atmosphere.  Over the mountain, you'll gain popularity if you drive a pick-up, freely use the word "ya'll," and understand the question, "Sweet or Un?"  One side of Bluemont waves farewell to the rush and busyness of Northern Virgina, and the other side ushers in the slower Southern pace of the Shenandoah Valley.  Bluemont is a town for all kinds. 

                          

For the Granolas:

If you visit Bluemont, you won't be able to find a latte, a library, or even a stoplight.  Bluemont boasts none of those conveniences, but it does boast of this.

(The Overlook near Bear's Den on the Appalachian Trail)

                               
And for our granola-loving, organic-eating families, Great Country Farms (Bluemont's biggest claim to local "fame"), has a variety of pick-your-own produce and an array of kids' activities and festivals.

"Stop reading this blog, get in your car, and drive there now!"

For the Yuppies:

Two wineries call Bluemont their home, and three other wineries are within a five mile drive.  So what if it's a ten minute drive to grab a gallon of milk?  We're surrounded by gallons and gallons of wine.  Let's get our priorities in order, people.

Bluemont Winery

For the Countrified:

There's not many places around here where your tab comes to $28 after a beer, glass of wine, two sandwiches, and a side.  All while listening to some surprisingly good live music.  But if you venture down the mountain and veer right off the highway, that is exactly what you'll find.  Horseshoe Curve is a quirky, tiny restaurant, owned and operated by the same family since 1946.  A reviewer online summed up the place best: "One of the friendliest, coziest places you'll ever find.  If you can find this locals only place, you might as well call yourself a local.  Great, simple food, terrific ambiance and a proprietor who takes pride in her oasis in the Blue Ridge Mountains."

                        

Bluemont is quite simply for lovers.  Lovers of fresh, locally grown food.  Lovers of relaxing Saturdays spent sipping wine amidst breathtaking views.  And lovers of places reminiscent of simpler times and somehow unmarred from the busyness that surrounds us.  So find something to love and take a drive.  Bluemont awaits. 

                        

Wineries: 
Bluemont Winery (No other winery in the area can come close to their views) 
 http://bluemontvineyard.com/

Twin Oaks Winery (a quaint and less crowded option to Bluemont Winery)
http://www.twinoakstavernwinery.com/

Outdoors: 
Hiking the Apalachian Trail
http://alltrails.com/trail/us/virginia/appalachian-trail-snickers-gap-to-blackburn-trail-center   
http://www.bearsdencenter.org/

Cool Spring Battlefield
1400 Parker Ln, Bluemont

1400 Parker Ln, Bluemont, VA,

(A great alternative to the WOD trail--a hidden treasure)
195 acres along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trail for walking, running, and biking.

Eating:
Horseshoe Curve 
1162 Pine Grove Rd, Bluemont, VA 20135

Bluemont General Store (for the ice cream lovers among us)
http://www.bluemontstore.com/

Family Fun:
Great Country Farms
http://www.greatcountryfarms.com/

Bluemont Fair (held annually the third weekend in September)
http://bluemontfair.org/

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

Sweet Summer Goodbye

An Ode to our Summer

Our skin got a bit darker, our hair a bit lighter, and for some of us, our mouths got quite a bit toothier.

We escaped our children for two nights and did something quite unfathomable in years of late.  We each read an entire book without pictures--in peace and with no rush.  

Our hands were stained red, blue, and black from the strawberries, cherries, blueberries, and blackberries we picked.  And then we realized our hands were losing their dark hue, so we picked blackberries again.  And again.  Third time's the charm.

We organized our first garden and ate the fruits of our labor in salsa form, nearly every day.  Blackberry salsa, anyone?

We experienced things we've never done, saw friends and family we rarely see, and rode in the fast lane whenever possible. 

We tried never to sit still, especially around our cousins.  The only exception: when being bribed with ice cream. 

We took family runs, bike rides, and some tumbles along the paved paths of a nearby Civil War battlefield.  And Hudson proudly told anyone who would listen: "I got boo boos on the battlefield."

We never let a lap go empty for long, and we helped polish many a grandparent's reading skills.

We swam in pools, splashed in the ocean, and waded in Lake Michigan.  All while smiling with a shiner on one of our eyes (not from the battlefield but from a certain twin brother).

Summer wasn't always a smooth ride.  There were still tantrums and sickness.  Humidity and overpriced carnivals.  And on more than one occasion we quoted dear ol' George Bailey from It's a Wonderful Life: "You call this a happy family?!"

                       

 

But we'll push the falls and tears in the back of our minds

 

 

 

and instead remember the sunshine, the laughter, and the sweet break from the ever daunting routine. 



 

                

Goodbye, precious summer days.  Time to rest up.  A new season begins .  . .

 

 

Boys

I'm not gonna lie--I never longed to have sons.  A big family, yes.  But my idea of a big family was one full of X chromosones.  When I read Pride and Prejudice and Little Women, I thought the family dynamic of a bunch of daughters seemed just about perfect.  Which is why Ben still gets a good chuckle remembering my eyes widen with disbelief several Augusts past when I learned our twins would be boy and boy. 

My first indication that my dreams of ballet recitals and Barbies would at least be temporarily forgotten was during an utlrasound where I watched "Baby A" (Hudson) plant a solid kick right to "Baby B" 's head.  Their wrestling has since continued to evolve. 

Nary a day goes by where I don't have the joy of witnessing a dozen wrestling matches.  In fact, as I write this, Hudson and Corbin are watching Dinosaur Train while simultaneously headlocking each other on a five minute rotation.  They are rough with each other; they pull hair, sit on each other, and tug on limbs.  And the wrestling has no limits--in the shopping cart, in the check-out line at Target, during Easter pictures, at church.  It is, quite simply, their love language.  There is no stopping it.  

But some people don't understand the joy my boys have in taking down each other.  Case in point:
 
Naive person witnessing the boys' wrestle: "Um,should they be doing that?  Might someone get hurt?"
Me: "Yes, one or both will probably get hurt, scream, and cry.  Boys, try not to get really hurt!  Our health insurance is not what it used to be.  And remember the rule--no wrestling on my couch, just on the floor or ground!"

Ben recently heard on NPR from an "expert" who said it's quite beneficial for mothers to roughhouse with their boys.  And since NPR is full of know-it-all yuppies, it must be true.  So now I'm getting tackled, sat on, and pushed all for good parenting and for the love of my boys.  And this is why I once dreamed about ponies, princesses, and puffy dresses. 

When I'm not refereeing or participating in wrestling competitions, I can be found scrubbing bleach all around the bathroom floor.  Due to the "who can pee the fastest races" and "let's make our pee pee cross in the potty" fun, not much pee actually ends up in the commode.  I feel like I need a hazmat suit every time I enter the boys' bathroom.  Which is why summer is my favorite season ever, at least for the next 15 years.  

My neighbors probably roll their eyes when they hear, yet again, my voice echoing, "BOYS!  Go pee in the woods before coming back inside!  We have people coming over, and I don't feel like cleaning up your mess again!"  The boys have scarred many a young female house guest with their quick drop of drawers and long range shooting practice.  Hudson and Corbin have clearly marked their territory over the whole premises which is the only conceivable reason why the deer have yet to pester our garden.  Job well done, boys.    

No doubt, my boys have changed me.  I can no longer drive down the road without getting giddy with excitement when I see construction equipment and exclaim,  "Did you see that excavator, Hudson?!"  And yes, my vocabulary has expanded; surprisingly, they don't teach you the definition of "excavator" in AP English.  I have learned to laugh at their peeing contests and be calm as I explain for the umpteenth time that peeing on each other while showering is neither okay nor a laughing matter.

And now we have a darling, sweet girl thrown in the boy-centered mix.  A petite princess who wiggles and squirms so much when I paint her nails that my bathroom is now accented in pink.  A little angel who has recently taken to walking around the house growling like a grizzly bear.  A precious cupcake who sees her brothers headlocked in a brawl and jumps right in with a shrill giggle.  Be careful what you wish for . . .

 Three weeks old: The gnawing face plant

Six weeks old: Face plant continues (apparently I didn't feed Hudson enough)

 Ten months old: The takedown

    Three years old: The headlock (a.k.a. Corbin's revenge)

April Showers Bring May Mayhem

May has brought us both flowers and a few memorable adventures.  Here are a couple of them:

Adventure #1: The Dentist

So, first let me emphasize: this was not my idea.  I was shopping with the kids, and all lucidity had vanished.  My phone rang while in the Target check-out line. I managed to wrangle my phone out of my purse while balancing a baby on my hip, holding a stack of coupons in my hand, and making sure the boys weren't pilfering the nearby candy. 

Dentist's Office: We're just calling to remind you of your appointment on Monday at 5.
Me: Oh craaaaackers.  Yeah, my husband is tutoring.  I can't make it; someone has to be here with the kids, and that's their meltdown time. 
Dentist's Office: We have an opening at 10.  Just bring the kids!  We have a movie room.
Me: Uh . . . (The boys are now pulling each other's hair and punching each other over a box of Hot Tamales.)  Sure.  Gotta go.

On cinco de Mayo all four of us made our grand entrance into the dentist's office.  They put the boys and Jovie in a little office room across the hall with a Barney DVD.  The first half went well until I suddenly heard Hudson running down the hall to the receptionist, "JOVIE IS CRYING!  JOVIE IS CRYING!"  He said it with so much gusto that the tray of dental instruments shook.

After the dental cleaning I went to retrieve the boys from the room, and I found Hudson sitting there (right in front of the room's giant glass window) with no shirt.  Naked from the waist up.  He had been chewing on the sleeve, and he remembered that the day before I made him change his shirt after slobbering on his sleeve.  This marks the first time that he has remembered anything I've previously said.

I found his shirt, put it back on, and then went to gather Jovie who had been rescued by the receptionist.  When I strapped her in the infant carrier, she started screaming at the top of her lungs, probably for fear that I was bringing her back to the room to endure another round of "I love you/you love me."  All the while Hudson, my social butterfly, is talking at the top of his lungs about who knows what to no one in particular. 

Me: I need to make an appoint . . .
Receptionist: No, just call, just call.  No problem.  You can leave.
Me: But I had a ques . . .
Receptionist: Just call.  Goodbye!

All four of us were then escorted outside. 

Me: Hey, just so you know, this was not my idea. 

And that's when I realized I was talking to myself.  The door had already been closed.  Tightly.

Adventure #2: Derbies and Races

Jovie and Ben were both entered in races this week--Jovie in a diaper derby and Ben in a 5K, his first in nearly two years.  Although, Ben got the memos mixed up and dressed like he was running in a diaper 5K. Oh wait, short shorts are what "serious runners" wear.  Ugh.

Apparently Jovie is quite humble; although she is a fast crawler, she thought it best not to shine at this event.  Needless to say, she didn't win.  Corbin summarized her race with blunt accuracy when I asked him how Jovie did:

(With a disgusted look on his face) "She didn't do anything.  She just sat and cried.  She didn't even try."

Ben, however, faired much better than his offspring and placed second at the 5K. 

Me: Boys!  Did you see that?  Daddy got second place!
Hudson: Did he win?
Me: No, but he got second!  He beat like 200 other people!
Hudson: (sadly) He didn't win.  The other guy was faster.  Daddy DIDN'T win!

This month I've learned a few lessons from our adventures: answering the phone in a distractible moment is a bad idea, taking three little ones to an appointment is a really bad idea, and if I need a self-esteem boost, talking to Hudson and Corbin is the worst idea of all.  But hey, at least I have two people whom I can trust when asking, "Do these jeans make me look fat?" 

Jovie modeling her participatory diaper derby romper.  Although, Corbin would argue that she didn't really participate . . .

Boys, I know that watching a car drive down the street is incredibly mesmerizing, thrilling, and rare, but could you just look at the camera for two seconds to get a pic?  And . . .  no.

Baby Blue Eyes

 To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still.  

~William Shakespeare, Sonnet 104

Eyes are a beautiful and mysterious thing.  If you can't see someone's eyes, it's often hard to sense their emotion, to understand their thinking, or even to recognize who they are. 

Some people have captivating eyes.  Jovie is one of these people.  Maybe it is partly due to her chubby cheeks and bald head that emphasize those baby blues and long lashes.  But even so, her eyes are simply striking.   I have yet to take a shopping trip to Harris Teeter where someone does not stop to make a comment about her eyes.  And if you know anything about me, it's that I make a lot of trips to Harris Teeter. 

Ironically, a year ago today when our 2 pound 4 ounce daughter entered this world, her eyes, having never opened in the womb, were still fused shut. 

Babies' eyes usually open in utero towards the end of the second trimester.  Most 27 weekers are born with open eyes.  But it took our 27 weeker another two weeks until her eyelids finally broke free. 

The evening when I first noticed a slight opening in her right eye will forever be ingrained in my mind.  The nurse gently pulled her lids apart, and there was an eye.  A few days later, her left lids were gently pulled apart, and there she was, both eyes looking back at me for the first time. 

It was a moment mixed with a strange concoction of beauty and sadness.  A moment that was amazing and miraculous to watch, like witnessing a chick hatching from its egg.  And yet it was a moment that no parent ever dreams or hopes to witness.  A moment that was accented by beeping machines, tubes, wires, the hum of a miniature CPAP, and joy.

Our family has much to be thankful for.  We live in a time and place where babies who are 13 weeks shy of their due date with fledgling lungs, a frail body, and fused eyes, can, one year later, grow into this . . . 

Today our family celebrates God's grace towards us, His healing power, and His love. We celebrate this little girl who a year ago welcomed us with a hushed whimper and has ended her first year with a screechy squeal.  A year ago her eyes were still closed to her surroundings, and now they are wide open, captivating the world, one Harris Teeter shopper at a time.

Happy 1st birthday, our sweet baby Jovie!