First published article!

My first essay for So Scottsdale Magazine has been published!


http://soscottsdale.com/issues/2009nov/index.html#/88/

Noah kickin' it old skoll

Conversations with Noah

Below are actual conversations I had with Noah this weekend.

Me: Noah, did you take Brat Pills today?
Noah: No Mommy, you didn't buy me any

**For the record, Noah had a rough weekend with regard to whinning and his overall behavior.  The pièce de résistance was Sunday afternoon at Michael's when he laid on the floor of the frame department and started moaning that he wanted candy.

Later that evening, in the car

Noah: Mommy, I am tryyyyyying to have good behavior.
Me: Well sweetheart, than what is stopping you? (thoughtful pause)
Noah:  My life.
Me: Hysterical laughter, followed by a sudden urge to Tweet.

#1 Fan

What Hannah & Abbie did at school today

And why I now have gray hairs.

Before

After

A letter to our friend Dr. Carter

Dear Dr. Carter (Mommy said we can’t call you Andy):

We wanted to come by and see you on our birthday but we heard you were on vacation. We have never been on a vacation, but Mommy and Daddy said that it may be a while before we get to go on one. We think it has something to do with the fact that the last time Mommy and Daddy went on a vacation they came back with us as a souvenir. Go figure.

So far life is pretty good. Although we may fight sometimes, we really do love each other a lot. We love going places and now that we are *almost* walking life is starting to get a lot more interesting. Did you know that in the bathroom there is this big thing with water in it? When we don’t think Mommy is looking we like to go in there but she always manages to find us before we can play in the water. It’s like she has eyes in the back of her head!

We love going swimming in the pool and we love it when people play with us, especially our big brother Noah. We also like going to Costco because they have carts big enough for both of us to sit in them at them same time. And they give out free food! We went there with our Papa and he got us SIX samples of Mango Mousse. Every time we giggled he went back and got us more. The power of twins. Who knew?

We also like Costco because people know us there. Everyone stops to makes funny faces at us and they ask Mommy the silliest questions. Are we twins (Duh)? Are we identical (No. And we can prove it thanks to the pictures you graciously took)? Are we natural (Do people think we came from a box)? And they also like telling Mommy that “she must have her hands full.” She said that the next time someone says this she is going to ask if they are offering to come over and babysit. We don’t think we are a handful. We are simply little girls that know what we want. . and we go for it.

Anyway, we’re sorry that we missed you on Friday. We just wanted to say hi and thank you in person for helping bring us into the world (nice catch by the way!)

Warmest Regards,

Hannah & Abbie. . . a.k.a. The Foxettes

P.S. Isn’t it amazing how we learned to blog before we learned to read?!

Happy 1st Birthday Hannah and Abbie!

Hannah and Abbie and ONE Today!

Hannah Eve (purple)

a.k.a. Baby A, Hannah-Banana, Hannah-Boo, Hannah-Belle

21 pounds

29 1/2 inches

18 inch head circumference

Abigail (Abbie) Eden (pink)

a.k.a. Baby B, Abber-Dabbers, Abber-Dabber-Doodle, Crabigail

20.1 pounds

29 inches

18 inch head circumference

Hard to believe that one year ago today THIS is where we started.

Mommy

Hannah

Abbie

Finishing the marathon

The first year as a “mom with multiples” has been like running a marathon.

This time last year I was waiting with bated breath for the arrival of twin girls. Up until that point, Dan and I had spent 8 months living from one doctor’s appointment to the next. My days were filled with visits to the OB, the perinatologist, and the hospital for non-stress tests. We worried constantly about all the things that might happen. Would I have to go on bed rest? Would the girls be premature? Would I need a cesarean? Would they have to spend time in the NICU?

In hindsight, I think we were so fixated on “the birth” that we didn’t stop to think about what happened next. And then when Hannah and Abbie were born, we were so busy trying to keep our heads above water that we never stopped to take it all in. I went to a “Moms of Multiples” meeting back in May and when the topic to turned to what we as moms were doing to take care of ourselves, I told the group that I wasn’t taking care of myself. That I couldn’t take care of myself because I was too busy trying to keep my head above water and survive.

Someone once told me that the only people who can truly understand what it’s like to be a “mom of multiples” are moms of multiples. That it doesn’t matter how many children you have, or how close in age they are. Because it’s impossible to know what having two babies is like unless you actually had two babies at the same time. At the time I thought it was bullshit. This wasn’t my first pregnancy. I knew what I was doing because I had done it before. I also knew that I possessed what many other women lack: confidence in my abilities as a parent. That may sound haughty, but knowing that I am a “good” mom (whatever the hell that means) has given me a degree of strength in my thirties that I sorely lacked when I was in my twenties. But the reality is that unless you’ve been in my shoes, you really don’t know how hard it is. You can’t know.

Now that I am literally at the 26^th mile marker of my twin marathon I am forcing myself to look back on the last year of life. In many ways this has been the hardest year of my life. Harder than anything I could have ever possibly imagined. We’ve weathered a lot. Including but not limited to jaundice, RSV, torticollis, physical therapy, more doctors and co-pays than I can count, breastfeeding, multiple stomach bugs, not to mention full-time jobs and the needs of another child. I’ve been peed on, crapped on, and vomited on multiple times. And at the end of the day, I’m still here. My girls are here. Noah and Dan are here. Noah, Hannah, and Abbie are happy, healthy, and thriving. They are loved by family and friends around the world.

Sometimes the greatest gifts we receive are the ones we didn’t realize we wanted (or needed). I can truly say that the LAST thing I ever envisioned hearing someone say to me were the words, “congratulations, you’re having twins.” It was so unexpected and overwhelming, and to some degree that pronouncement is still sinking in because in that moment our lives were changed forever. In ways both big and small.

I can’t go grocery shopping with the twins. Why? Because traditional grocery carts were designed to accommodate one child, not two. Which means I have to take the stroller (however I’m an industrious gal. I can make short trips by attaching a basket to the stroller handles).

Letting one girl cry it out at night wasn’t much of an option because Hannah and Abbie share a room. Teaching one a lesson ends up pissing the other off.

As Dan and I tag-team the girls, sometimes Noah is forced to fend for himself. Which causes me to feel guilty that he is being ignored. I’m Jewish, so guilt comes with the territory.

Everything is doubled. Diapers, clothes, shoes, toys, etc. What we’ve spent in the last year on diapers, wipes, and formula would frighten people.

But I wouldn’t trade any of it. Why?

I love watching Hannah and Abbie play with one another when they don’t think anyone is looking.

I love the look on their faces when I come into their room each morning.

I love how they light up when Noah plays with them.

I love watching them fight with one another. For the moment, it’s still cute.

I love knowing that they will always have each other, and a big brother to protect them.

My mother has always told me that G-d have me my shoulders for a reason. . . and that he will never give me more than I am capable of handling. The last 18 months have rendered this advice true. To this day, strangers will approach me on the street as I am pushing my double stroller and they will say, “Wow! You must have your hands full. Better you than me!” This sentiment used to really bother me. But then I decided to own the sentiment.

“You’re right. Better me than you. Because unlike you, I can handle this with grace and a sense of humor.”

Bring it on.

Training Camp

Yes, I waited in line for about two hours so that Noah could get Kurt Warner's autograph (Cardinals quarterback). And yes, I played the "twin card" and used the girls as leverage so that my dad could get on the field with us (we we in a special area and they weren't letting anyone stand on the grass).

Just as Noah reached the front of the line and was about to ask "Mr. Warner" to sign his shirt my dad leaned over and said, "I hope that you're not signing all those autographs with your throwing arm."

After being a season ticker holder for 21 seasons (and 19 of them losing seasons) my dad can say whatever he wants, when he wants.

The power of twins. . .

We can now add Neil Rackers (place kicker for the Cardinals) to the list of people who have made goofy faces/noises at the twins. Alice Cooper is also on this list.

How I lost Noah's underwear

There is no camp or preschool or daycare this week. So I took the week off from work to hang out with the kids.

After spending some time at the gym, we headed over to Desert Ridge to have lunch and play in the splash pad with friends. Between the two adults we had two 4 1/2 year old boys (Josh and Noah), twins that are *almost* one (Hannah and Abbie), and another baby girl who is about 7 months (Becca).

You could say we had our hands full. And it was hot and humid. Well, Arizona humid.

After lunch my friend took the boys to the bathroom at Paradise Bakery to put on their swimsuits. After they were done playing she offered to take them back to the bathroom to get dressed.

Which is when I realized that somewhere between the bathroom and splash pad I had lost Noah's underwear. So he went home commando. Like I was buying him a new pair for the car ride home.

Except by the time we got home I forgot that Noah wasn't wearing underwear. In fact, I didn't realize it until four hours later when we were at the mall and I looked down and saw Noah's tush hanging out.

I can only imagine the calamity that ensued when some nice couple sat down at down at Paradise Bakery to enjoy a their Turkey Cranberry sandwiches and saw Noah's tighty-whitey's at their table.

Where we're at

Haven’t been writing much lately. In a nutshell there, has been a lot going on and by the end of the day I’m so exhausted that all I have the energy to do it sit and watch reality TV because it doesn’t require me to think, which at the end of the day is what I need most.

The biggest news is that we’ve put our house up for sale. There are a lot of factors that have gone into this decision. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last 18 months, the housing market nationwide had completely collapsed. As just about every media agency has pointed out, it’s particularly bad in Arizona. We purchased our home in 2006 when the market was still hot. Since then it’s lost about 45% of its value. There is no equity, and we’re “upside down” in our mortgage, meaning the house is worth considerably less than what we paid for. From a business standpoint it will take at least 10-15 years for the home to regain its value, and with our mortgage being what it is, we can’t afford to make the cosmetic changes that we’d like to make. For all these reasons, getting out makes a lot of sense.

The situation is bittersweet. A house is nothing more than four walls, but a home is where family is (at least for me). And yet I find myself looking at the kid’s rooms and thinking about hard Dan and I worked to make the spaces “special” for them. . . and how in a few short weeks these won’t be their rooms any more. I remember how my aunt and I struggled to stencil the quotation above the cribs, knowing that it may be painted over by someone who won’t care (or understand) why it was special to me. And I remember the look on Dan’s face when I told him that we should paint Noah’s room two colors, and how hard he worked to get it done for the “big brother to be.”

I lay awake at night wondering if we have made the right decision, and hoping that 3-5 years down the road we will look back on the situation with relief. I’ve gone through a range of emotions: sadness, relief, stress, anxiety, joy, and disappointment. And for a variety of reasons I feel like I’ve failed my kids. But as a dear friend pointed out, “you would be failing your kids by not doing anything. And you’ve chosen to do something.” Like everything else in life, this decision is a risk but one that I really think (hope) will be worth it in the end. But I am also excited about the possibility of moving to a new house in a new neighborhood. Being closer to friends and in a more “family-friendly” neighborhood.

My biggest challenge at the moment is keeping the house clean and organized 24/7 so that it can be shown. And I’ve got my fingers crossed that we will find a buyer. Once we do, Dan and I will start looking for a new place. And in the meantime, we wait.

Dan's closet

This is Dan's idea of "cleaning out his closet." and he also
threatened to take away my iPhone because he says I use it for evil,
not good. :-)

My Baby Can Read!

Last night I was playing on the floor of our bedroom with Abbie, and she kept trying to crawl under the bed and I couldn’t figure why . I turned my back for a second, and not only had she crawled under the bed, but she came back out with this:



Do you think she was interested in the pictures? Or the articles?

Costco with Papa

As you can see, the girls LOVED the mango mousse on special at Costco
today. They each had three.

Priceless

Making dinner (blueberry pancakes) for the family: $10

Making Oreo Balls for dessert: $10

The look on my mother's face when Noah got naked, turned around, and made his butt talk: Priceless.

Paid for in Full

Eleven months after the fact, we have paid off the last of the hospital bills from the twin’s birth. I guess this means they are officially “ours” as they are now paid for in full. Woo-Hoo!

After we made the last payment to the hospital I asked them to send us a final invoice (indicating that the girls were paid for) that we could keep for our records. I didn’t understand what many of the charges were, but there were some that did make me laugh a little.

Oxygen: Which I don’t EVER remember receiving, but okay ($30).

Lanolin Ointment: The teeny-tiny tube of cream that you’re supposed to use for cracked nipples. You know, the stuff I now use on my lips when I can’t find my chapstick ($4.30).

Rupturing My Membranes (breaking my water): Hardly what I would call a pleasant experience especially at $65/per baby ($130). I believe telling Dan afterwards that it felt like I was being sexually violated. Clearly my definition of "a little pressure" was different from Dr. Feelgood's.

Hemorrhoidal Preparation H pads: For the hemorrhoids I was too embarrassed to tell my doctor about. Guess the secret is out now ($23.50).

The Epidural: Which was HANDS DOWN the best money ever spent! ($700). Interestingly, my epidural with Noah was $1,666.66.

Zolpidem: Otherwise known as Ambien. I don’t remember taking four of them (at $8.20 each), but I do remember waking up in the middle of the night as the nurses were trying to put my shirt back on. Why was I shirtless? Because in my Ambien daze the nurses “woke me up” to pump and I proceeded to pump both breasts at the same time for 20 minutes. This actually requires a fair amount of coordination (all the more impressive given my level of klutziness) and I have no memory of it whatsoever. Except for when the nurses were getting me dressed and putting me back to bed ($32.80).

I think I will put these in the baby books. Because every parent should save the receipt.

A message to all who visit

Feeling nostalgic for the past, I started re-reading some of my blog entries from this time last summer. Ahh. . . .the memories.

Anyway, I also took some time to read the comments that people left. Since most people visit without commenting I don’t always know who is coming to the site and reading. Which is why I don’t reveal certain information about myself. . . like our address, where I work, etc. That said, this blog is public and anyone can visit. This leads me to my following statement.

To the random person who commented on a post I made last summer calling me “fat” and a “whiny bitch,” and who said that I should not have “f***ed my man last fall without protection if I didn’t want to go through it [pregnancy] in the summer,” I have this to say:

F**k you. You have nothing better to do than post nasty comments on a stranger’s blog? I have a beautiful family, tremendous friends, a career, and a life full of joy. I also have something you clearly lack: a sense of humor. Get over yourself.

And bite me.

Eleven months ago tonight. . . .

The girls were born. Where did the time go?!

How did we go from this (Hannah is on the left, Abbie the right):

To this:

Weren't they born just yesterday?

And while we're on the subject, where did this baby go?

In the blink of an eye. . .

Another sign that I don't have to worry about the Ivy League

I think this picture speaks for itself. Hannah seems unfazed that there is a piece of cantaloupe stuck to her head.

While the other kids were playing with blocks. . .

My kids were getting shit faced at 7:30 a.m.

Getting ready to leave in the morning involves making breakfast and lunch for everyone, and we do a lot of back and forth to the refrigerator. So image our surprise when we discovered this:

The thought of preschool has driven Hannah and Abbie to drink. They just crawled up and helped themselves.

Working with the buzz, the preschool teachers thought it would be fun to do this:

Twin Tramp Stamps!

Yes. The gave the girls their very own (temporary) tattoo's. Hannah got a butterfly and Abbie got a Dragonfly. For the record, this is not something I would ever have done on my own. However, in the big scheme of things it's not a big deal and I chose to find the humor in the situation. On the bright side, at least we can tell them apart now!

Commando

Dan took Noah to see the Phoenix Mercury play last night. They had a good time and Noah stood five feet away from Amare Stoudamire and didn’t care because he was focusing on shooting baskets at the Kids Area.

They home from the game around 9:30 p.m. and I wanted to quickly get Noah changed and in bed. As he pulls off his shorts it dawned on me: the kid isn’t wearing any underwear.

Me: “Noah, how come you’re not wearing any underwear?

Noah: “Because Daddy didn’t give me any. Daddy, this is YOUR FAULT” (said while pointing accusingly at Dan).

Dan: “Toby, this is so not my fault. I gave him shorts to wear. He didn’t tell me he needed underwear.”

Here is what I think happened.

Noah came home from camp wearing a bathing suit. In the rush to get ready for the game and get out the door, I asked Dan to give Noah a pair of shorts. Which he did. Except Dan failed to realize that one typically wears underwear with their clothing. . .especially if they are 4.5 and going out in public. So Noah dutifully took off his bathing suit, put on the shorts, and didn’t think to tell his father that he wasn’t wearing underwear. And Dan neglected to ask him because Noah didn’t say anything.

Dan and Noah’s underwear seem to be a reoccurring theme in our household. On more than one occasion Noah has been out in public wearing both boxer shorts AND underwear. How did this happen? Noah often wears boxers as shorts when he sleeps. So when Dan asked him to dress himself, he did. And when Noah came back wearing regular shorts he just assumed that Noah followed directions. It’s 100+ degrees outside and my son is wear three layers of clothing because his father didn’t think it was necessary to “check his work.”

Is this a guy thing? Because honestly, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

It's Always Something. . .

Noah was sick over the weekend. Nothing major, he was lethargic with a low-grade fever that never went above 100 degrees. We though it might be a case of “too much camp.” These kids are so busy and doing so much that they come home exhausted. I tried taking Noah to the local Minute Clinic at CVS thinking that he might have a sinus or ear infection but that didn’t exactly work out as planned. I waited in the lobby for 45 minutes before being ushered into the exam room. The guy didn’t ask out names and after I spent 60 seoconds minutes explaining Noah’s symptoms he signaled “timeout” and asked me what my insurance was. I told him, and he promptly replied, “We don’t take that insurance. Didn’t you see the sign in the lobby?” Clearly not (asshole). Do you think I would have waited here with a sick kid for 45 minutes if I had seen it?

But I digress.

Noah was fine by Monday morning. A little tired, but we sent him to camp anyway with instructions that he was not to go swimming. Monday night we discovered a couple of things:

* A girl in his class was also sick. Lethargic with a low-grade fever.

* A kid in the camp for older kids was diagnosed with Swine Flu.

* And the mother of little boy in Noah’s class posted on Facebook that her son also had the flu and they suspected it was Swine Flu too. Also lethargic with a low-grade fever.

So now I am a little worried.

In the meantime, Noah woke Tuesday morning a little hoarse, half the preschool parents are now freaking out because of a potential Swine Flu outbreak, and Noah decided it would be a good idea to announce on the playground in front of ALL OF THE PRE-K TEACHERS that “he was sick but his mommy gave him Tylenol so he wouldn’t have a fever and so he could still go to camp.”

Fabulous. Now I have the entire Pre-K faculty at the JCC pissed at me because Noah is hoarse, may have the Swine Flu, and his selfish mother drugged him and sent him to school (where he can infect the teachers) so she could go to work and earn a living in order to help pay for his overpriced private preschool experience.

But there is a more important question that needs to be addressed. I realize that Noah is bigger than the other kids. That he looks older. And that his language skills are more developed than most of the other kids. But Noah is still 4 ½. Since when do we believe everything that comes out of a 4 ½ year olds mouth? This is the same kid who thinks that giants can use the earth as a basketball and that they like to dribble.

For the record, we hadn’t given Noah any medicine since Sunday. And a quick trip to the pediatrician’s office confirmed that he had a virus. Not the Swine Flu. As a result, Tuesday night was spent on damage control. Which consisted of me reassuring his teachers (via email/Facebook/and in person) that Noah was f-i-n-e and not contagious.

I need a vacation. And a drink with an umbrella in it wouldn’t hurt either.

Fishing for Compliments

It’s not secret to most of my friends that I’ve spent a considerable amount of time over the years visiting pregnancy and parenting message board. During my pregnancy with Noah, online was the only place I could go to ask questions of other moms to be. We didn’t have a wide circle of friends that had children, and then after Noah was born we simply didn’t have any friends in Arizona with kids. We were flying blind, but going online for support made me feel better.

For the most part, I mostly read when I visit online communities. I am not a prolific poster for a couple of reasons. Most of the time it’s because someone else has already said what I would say, or because I am lazy. Over the years, I’ve become pretty savvy about online communities and the personalities that participate.

The Drama Queens: They can’t go to the bathroom without there being some type of crisis that makes it a less than spectacular experience. These moms flip out on anyone who looks at them or their children sideways. Though generally kind and well-meaning, the Drama Queens are almost always worried about something. And more often than not, that something is minor.

The Complainers: Someone is always doing something to make them mad and piss them off. This would include husbands, in-laws, their OBGYNS/pediatricians, teachers, boyfriends, siblings, friends, and other children. The women in this category are notorious for making other people’s problems their problems. You sometimes want to reach out and grab them and say, “Why do you give a shit that your pregnant sister in law is throwing a hissy fit because she didn’t get the stroller she wanted?” The Complainers have also never been wrong about anything. Ever.

The Experts: In every online community there are 2-3 moms who are simply perfect. They are usually BTDT (been there, done that) moms who may not know everything about everything (and will admit it), but people treat them as such. Other members look to them for advice and leadership. Someone can post a question and 15 people and respond with the same answer. But if the 16th response comes from an Expert it will be received as gospel. Other women seek them out for their wisdom and support. And Experts often achieve their status by posting a response to every single message on a board. Their is power is numbers.

The “I-Would-NEVER” Moms: These are the moms who WOULD NEVER give their baby formula. Who WOULD NEVER vaccinate their children. Who WOULD NEVER let their babies “cry-it-out” and who WOULD NEVER circumcise their sons. And Who WOULD NEVER give birth in a hospital with an epidural. These same moms also WOULD NEVER pass judgment on another mom because women need “to make the best decision for you and your baby” (wink-wink).

The Cheerleaders: No matter what someone posts, they are loving and supportive. I used to belong to a community where a member posted that her five kids were removed from the home by CPS. The Cheerleaders rallied around her, reassuring her that she’s a terrific mom (whom they had never met in real life) and that CPS doesn’t know their ass from their elbow (which they do) and that this was all a mistake (which is wasn’t, since the kids weren’t returned for 18 months).

The Attention Seekers: These women have yet to realize that if I Google their screen name I can find out everything about them except their social security number. They relentlessly post personal information (and pictures!) about themselves online. Including but not limited to: husbands, children, fertility history, sex life, political views, financial history, educational background, and place of residence. Many seem to think that knowing someone “online” is the same thing as knowing someone “IRL” (in real life).

Which brings me to a post I saw today. Read the message below and see if you can figure out what category she belongs in:

Discussion title: Ready for summer? Be brave ladies.
Replies:32
From: XXXX
Date: Jun 2 4:06 pm

We have been in the pool for nearly a month now and will practically live in it for the next 4-5mo so I am really excited for lots of swimming as things get really hot around here in Arizona.

Are you ready???? Okie dokie ladies, are you brave enough to show your 2009 swim suit? I went pink, what do you think??? Every year I get a new suit, I love 'em.

And there itwas. Below her elaborate signature and myriad of blinkies (including one designed to look like a House of Pancakes Billboard that said, “Boobie House, open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year) was a picture. Of her posing seductively in hot pink bikini.

She didn’t create this post for feedback on her swimsuit. She was fishing for compliments on how she looked in her swimsuit. That’s exactly what 31 other posters did. They RAVED about how after three kids she didn’t have any stretch marks and how awesome she looked. And while a few other women bravely (stupidly?) posted pictures of themselves in bathing suits and she politely complimented them on how they looked, that really wasn’t the point of her post, was it?

But the pièce de résistance is this: the mom who bragged about quitting breastfeeding so she could get a boob job posted a picture of herself (and her MONSTER "bewbies") in a bikini with the following message, "Good thing I bought those bewbies to even out those big hips! ha!"

Am I missing something? And by the way, if you speak like a baby and refers to your breasts as "bewbies" then I question you maturity to get them in the first place.

Twin Smackdown

Instead of sleeping, Abbie stole Hannah's bee (pacifier). Fighting
ensued.

He's Really a Native

Last night I was watching Michael Jackson video's on You Tube, including the full length "Thriller" video. Noah came in the room and wanted to watch. Since it was 8:30p.m. , I didn't think a 4.5 year old watching zombie's was a smart move (I had visions of nightmares at 3am). But he persisted and I explained that this was just a movie and that these were pretend monsters.

To which Noah replied:

"Monsters don't live in Arizona. It's too hot for them to live here."

He totally gets it.

Who Knew?

That Hannah is a fan of the Jonas Brothers!

It Will Get Easier

When regular people see me out with my kids they tend to say, “Oh, you have twins. Better you than me!” When twin moms see me out in public they say, “It will get easier.”

Did I complain? Did I do anything but acknowledge that yes, I have twins and how cute your twins are?

Being a parent of twins is like being a member of a secret club. Because you can’t truly understand what having twins is like until you have done it. You can try to imagine what it would be like, but it’s not the same. And while there are some similarities to having children close in age, having twins is different because everything is always double. Double the diapers. Double the formula. And yes, double the crying.

There is an instant camaraderie twin mom’s feel when they meet one another. They get it, because they have been in my shoes. The reality is that having twins IS hard. Even if I didn’t have a full-time job, a husband, a house, an older child, and two dogs it would still be hard. And I am hesitant to complain about how hard it is sometimes out of fear that people will think I am being ungrateful for the blessings we have received. I know more than a few families that had to fight hard to have children. So what right do I have to complain when it came so easy to me? That said, why do perfect strangers feel it necessary to say things like this?

Perhaps this is their way of quietly acknowledging that raising multiples is hard and that it is socially unacceptable to talking about some of less glamorous aspects of parenthood. This includes but is not limited to:

* Poop, in general
* Poop all over the bed.
* Vomit
* Vomit all over the bathroom
* Vomit all over brand new car seats
* Regurgitated mac n’ cheese
* Leaky boobs
* Leaky boobs in public places

Now multiply this list by two.

Is it just me or is this post going nowhere? Well, maybe it was going somewhere but someone (Hannah? Abbie?) is crying.

Yeah. It’s 10:03 p.m. and apparently I didn’t get the email about it being “Happy-Happy-Fun-Time.”

Oh iPhone....how I love thee

Another reason I love my iPhone

I can update my blog!

Everybody Loves Raymond (Dan)

Where to begin.

Yesterday afternoon Dan announced that he was tired and that he really wanted to get a good night’s sleep. As opposed to playing Vampire Wars on Facebook until god knows when, he decided that he was going to go to bed by 11pm. Fine.

I feel asleep around 10:30pm. I was so tired that my entire body hurt. Dan eventually came to bed and about a minute after he turned out the light he woke me up to tell me that Noah was calling for me (I sleep with earplugs).

“MOOOMMMYYY. . .I need you! My tummy hurts!”

Noah is many things, including a master manipulator when he doesn’t want to go to bed. And I am weak in the middle of the night. Half of the time, it’s easier to give in so everyone can go back to bed. Not knowing if Noah actually had a stomachache or if he had had a bad dream, I told him he could sleep in our bed. That usually does the trick. And since Noah squirms when he sleeps I offered to sleep in Noah’s room. Noah is happy that he can sleep in our room and I get a bed to myself. It’s a win-win for everyone.

About 45 minutes later Noah comes into his room, wakes me up by whining that his stomach hurts. Next thing I know, he’s getting sick all over the bathroom. And we didn’t quite make the bowl.

Have I mentioned that Dan is still sleeping?

I calmed Noah down and then I woke up Dan. Noah is 50% his kid, which means my problem is half of his problem. And let’s face it. . .at this point I wasn’t completely convinced that Dan was actually sleeping. He’s known for being a light sleeper and I wasn’t sure how he magically slept through the drama.

Dan and I cleaned Noah up and then we surveyed the damage. At which point Dan offered to clean up the bathroom IN THE MORNING.

My husband, whom I love, wanted to let a vomit covered bathroom ferment all night so he could go back to bed. In his mind, this represented a wise and thoughtful idea. He was being considerate of his wife and her nocturnal needs (apparently, we have different definitions of wise, thoughtful, and considerate).

I told Dan I would clean up the mess. He looked at me and said “okay.” Faster than you can say “goodnight,” he had tucked himself in bed with Noah. With a blue bowl separating them. I would never wish for any of my kids to get sick. Yet in that moment all I could think to myself was how AWESOME it would be if Noah puked all over Dan while he was sleeping.

Armed with Lysol wipes, paper towel, a plastic bag and a industrial sized can of Lysol spray I cleaned the bathroom and threw the trash away outside (have I mentioned that I am afraid of going outside alone at night). Now I am WIDE-awake. And every time Noah makes a noise I jump and run to the bedroom thinking that he’s going to be sick again.

Thirty minutes later Dan stumbles out of bed and finds me on the computer.

“Honey, how come you’re still awake? You should go to bed.”

Really. He has no idea how lucky he is that I didn’t post any of this on Facebook. Revenge could have been fun. And public.

P.S. Noah is fine. The reality is that he played hard this weekend and he ate more crap that he should have. These things have a way of catching up with little people at 1am.

I Surrender

5:20am: Woke up.

5:30am: Abbie and Hannah wake up. Earlier than usual, but with this stomach thing they’ve had I figured they were hungry.

5:31am: Abbie downs her bottle like an alcoholic at an open bar. Hannah is more interested in playing than eating. Both girls are happy and in good moods.

5:45am: Girl go back to bed.

5:50 – 7am: I shower and get ready for work. So does Dan. We eventually wake up Noah and get his day going. We also notice a horribly pungent odor emanating from the girls bedroom.

7am: Wake babies. Diapers are nasty, but nothing out of the ordinary (how two cute little girls can produce sucked wicked smells is beyond me).

7:15am: Dan leaves to take Noah to the dentist

7:20am: Both girls start fussing. I give them both bottles. They are happy.

7:25am: Everyone and everything is loaded in the car. Babies are happily chugging bottles while I drive. And I am congratulating myself for getting out the door and mentally going all the things I need to accomplish at work today.

7:30am: Made it to Cactus and Tatum. On the phone with Dan who is lost and can’t find the dentist’s office. And then I hear an odd gurgling sound in the backseat.

7:31am: Pulled the car over. Abbie has puked all over herself and the other brand-spanking-new-overpriced-just-installed-by-the-City-of-Phoenix-Fire-Department car seat. And she’s smiling at me. So not happy.

7:32am: Mopped up the puke as best as possible and turn the car around. Trying to figure out what to do next. Hannah is just taking this all in like it's no big deal. Dan calls to ask me (again) where the dentist’s office is. I tell him that I don’t have time for this and perhaps he should have looked at mapquest last night (as I suggested) instead of playing Vampire Wars on Facebook. Bickering ensues.

7:40am: Get home. Put Hannah in jumperoo. . .where she eventually starts to cry. Strip Abbie down and bathe her in the sink (have I mentioned that I am completely dressed for work and I am wearing white? And I have make-up on and I am having a FABULOUS hair day?). Dress and diaper Abbie. Put her on the floor while I frantically try to clean the car seat.

7:55am: Dan calls to tell me they found the dentist and wants positive reinforcement. Really? So not going to happen. Finish dousing the interior of my car and all surfaces with Lysol.

7:58am: Load everyone into the car. Again.

8:15am: Abbie passes out. Get to the JCC without anyone vomiting. Small victory.

8:20am: Drop Hannah off at her class. Debate whether or not to leave Abbie. I can either take the day off and keep her home, or send her to school and risk her vomiting again. In which case I will have to leave work early and be forced to keep her home tomorrow.

8:30am: Start heading back to the car with Abbie. Who seems happy as can be about hanging out at home with me. Run into Dan in the JCC lobby.

8:35am: I announce in the middle of the JCC lobby to all that can hear that I give up. I quit. I am throwing the towel and going home.

All this drama and it wasn’t even 9am.

Since I’ve been home I’ve played with Abbie, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the car seat, gone through my work email, worked on the laundry, run the dishwasher and checked Facebook. Mind you, when Dan was home on Monday with Hannah he claimed he didn’t have time to change the toilet paper roll in the bathroom because he was “too busy taking care of the baby.”

I want a vacation. Me, a book, and a beach. And no kids.

My Hatred of All Things Mac n' Cheese Continues

On Monday Hannah developed a stomach bug. She had some nasty diapers that morning and was kind of fussy. Dan agreed to take her to school and was going to stop at the drugstore on the way and pick up some special formula for her stomach.

They never made it out the door. Hannah vomited all over Dan. And I suppose I am a terrible wife because there was a small part of me that quietly thought "better Dan than me."

Karma sure is a bitch, isn't it?

Today seemed better. All three kids went to camp and all seemed happy. About 10:30 I got a text from Dan. He wanted me to thank Hannah for giving him whatever it was she had yesterday. The gift that keeps on giving. And because he didn’t feel well, it threw off the entire afternoon schedule, which now had to be revised.

At 4pm I left work, went home, changed my clothes, grabbed bottles, and the diaper bag since I was now taking the twins to Noah’s swim lesson at the park. My beloved friend Jamie (who also doubles as the infant room teacher) selflessly and gracious agreed to meet me at the park and help with the girls. Should have been a piece of cake.

I got to the preschool and went to get the twins first. Abbie was all smiles and happy as a clam (despite having tackled another little boy in her class and making him cry because she wanted his bottle. My dad says this is the Israeli in her). She giggled and was her usual sweet self as I put her in the stroller.

Another teacher mentioned that she couldn’t believe Abbie didn’t get sick too. Ten seconds later she projectile vomited mac n’ cheese. And every knows how much I just LOVE mac n’ cheese!

We cleaned her up as best as possible, got Noah, loaded everyone in the car and sped off to swim class. Which I was late for (again). I pulled into the park and dropped Noah off with Jamie so I could park the car. Just as I was pulling into a spot I heard gurgling from the back. . . it was Abbie. This time she opted to barf all over her brand-spanking-new-overpriced-just-installed-by-the-City-of-Phoenix-Fire-Department car seat. Yeah, there were some four letter words coming out of my mouth.

All I have to say is THANK GOD for Jamie.

The pool was a zoo and she agreed to stay with Noah and bring him back home. I took both girls home in a car that now reeks of regurgitated mac n’ cheese and whatever else Abbie (my human trash compactor of a daughter) shoved in her mouth. Got her inside, cleaned her up, and she was like a ray of sunshine again. Jamie brought Noah home and together we watched Abbie lunge for Noah’s dinner and fight with Hannah over a bottle of formula.

I think she’ll live. And my car now smells like a spring meadow thanks to the half-bottle of Lysol I doused on every surface. I will kill this goddamn stomach bug if it’s the last thing I do.''

What I would do for a margarita right now. I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the State of Arizona right now to make this week better.

Why AT&T Online Sucks

Where to begin?

About a month ago people started complaining that they couldn’t hear me when I was using my cell phone. The phone worked fine, except for the fact that people said it sounded like I was in a wind tunnel. I went to the store, and the store people told me that the phone had gotten wet (perhaps when one of the girls was using it as a teething toy?) and that I needed to buy a new one. I qualified for a discount on a new phone, and after some research, I found out that I could purchase a refurbished iPhone for $99. Cool, right? WRONG!

Refubs aren’t sold in the store, so I had to purchase it online. But when I tried to purchase the phone online I was told I needed to change my phone number. Which I wasn’t going to do. Plus, the store manager told me that changing my phone number wasn’t necessary. So I called AT&T customer service and spent 45 minutes on the phone with a lovely agent who seemed as though she genuinely wanted to help me. Eventually we worked things out, but the system wouldn’t let her process the order. Apparently I needed to also purchase a special data package for the iPhone. . .but the system was undergoing an upgrade and the package I needed wasn’t available (the system is deisgned so that you can't purchase the phone without a data plan). The agent put all of this in the computer and suggested I call back in a few days. And she apologized profusely. And she might have even meant it.

So I called back yesterday to order my new phone. I spent ONE HOUR AND 45 MINUTES on the phone with AT&T? Why? Because they don’t know their ass from their elbow. Here are the highlights of that conversation:

I asked to speak to a manager.

I can get the iPhone, but it’s not in stock.

I asked to speak to a manager (again).

The iPhone was magically in stock, and I was told I could order it.

I asked to speak to a manager (again).

Half-way through the ordering process it was revealed that I was also purchasing an international data package. Which was twice as expensive as the package I wanted and needed.

I asked to speak to a manager (again).

I was told that due to a “systems upgrade” the data package I wanted wasn’t available and that I should call back another day.

I accused AT&T of pulling a bait and switch and asked to speak to a goddamn manager. Again.

And then I got a manager. Who was utterly useless. Surprise!

By this point I was really trying hard not to completely lose my shit on the phone. And while I appreciate the service agents apologizing over and over and over again, the only thing that was going to make me feel better at this point was getting my f***king phone and not having to talk to the service agent. I demanded that they do something to compensate me for my time. All they offered was a transfer to customer care and a $50 credit. They did offer to overnight the phone to me, but I was going to have to pay for it and they would file for me to be reimbursed. Not my idea of going above and beyond.

Then yet ANOTHER service manager got on the phone. . .thinking they can “fix” this problem. And guess what. . . .they couldn’t get me the phone because of a systems upgrade! No shit? Where have I heard that before?

I am not one to give up easily and I am pretty determined to get what I want. But after almost two hours on the phone I pulled out the white flag and surrendered like France.

Out of desperation I went to the AT&T store and spoke with the manager. Who offered to call AT&T online on my behalf and work out the problem with me. Five minutes into the call I had an epiphany: This was bullshit. And perhaps this was G-d’s way of telling me that I didn’t need an iPhone.

And that my friends, is how I came to own the new Samsung Jack. Doesn’t have a built in iPod or Google Maps, but I think I will live (barely).

And AT&T online still sucks.

Noah and the Foxettes

After such a shitty day, how can looking at this picture NOT make me smile???

Abbie, Noah and Hannah!

Hannah-ecdotes!

The cribs in the infant room have Plexiglas over the rails to prevent kids from sticking their hands/legs through them. And, presumably, to prevent other kids from passing toys to one another. Hannah was confused by this, as she got on up on all fours and tried to crawl her way out of the crib. . . while bouncing her head against the Plexiglas at the same time. Didn’t seem to dawn on her that the large, firm object preventing her movement wasn’t going anywhere.

Later in the day. . .

The teacher was packing up some classroom items and using an empty Huggie’s box. One of the BIG boxes you get when you purchase diapers in bulk from Costco (wonder which family the box came from??). Since her sister was asleep and the other baby in the room was busy, Hannah started “playing” with the baby on the box. She was reaching out and trying to touch him. I guess she was waiting for the baby on the box to respond?

I'm assuming we can rule out Harvard.



Here is my girl from today. . . eating edamame!

Twins update! Twins Update!

Since their 9-month check-up was yesterday, I figured it was time for a LONG overdue update on the girls.

As of May 22, 2009:

Hannah Eve

18 pounds, 3 ounces (50th percentile)

28 inches (55th percentile)

Abigail Eden

17 pounds, 8 ounces (25th percentile)

28 1/4 inches (55th percentile)

What is interesting, to me at least, is that Hannah was the smaller twin at birth. Since then, she has always been the bigger twin. Similarly, Abbie was the shorter twin at birth and now she is the taller twin. Our pediatrician said that they look great and that they are verbally advanced. I guess the apple didn't fall too far from that tree. They babble constantly, and they have clearly mastered "mamama" and "dadadadada." And while I was skeptical as to whether or not they understood the difference between "mama" and "dada," the more I watch them in action the more I think they know the difference.

Hannah and Abbie both are little slow in mastering their gross motor skills, but that is to be expected because they were premature. They're hitting their milestones, but they are hitting them on their own schedule. Dan and I have been absolutely amazed at how much they have started doing just in the last two weeks:

Hannah can move from all-fours to the sitting position and in the last 48 hours she has mastered crawling. . . true crawling where she gets on her knees and alternates between moving her legs and her arms. Abbie can crawl too, but Abbie "army crawls" across the room which is different. Both girls also also working on pulling themselves up to the standing position. They get about 3/4 of the way there, but with some more practice they should have it soon. Needless to say, the girls are very mobile. In this area, Abbie is more adventurous. . .and fast! They have also started swimming which has been a lot of fun. Hannah is happy just floating in the water (she has one of these (http://www.shoppaddock.com/swimways-baby-spring-float.html) whereas Abbie (like her brother) is a little fish trying to kick and drink the water.

Finger food is their new favorite toy. Put them in a highchair with a handful of Cheerio's and they're good to go. Hannah especially will eat anything you give her. Especially bagels and kosher pickles (she is a Jewish girl after all). They love their meals. Fruits, pasta, mac n' cheese, graham crackers, cheese, pancakes, you name it!

Their personalities are also starting to come through more and more each day. Hannah is very mellow and laid-back. She's just happy. It's sometimes a bit harder to draw her out, but she is just a very zen-like baby. Abbie not only looks like her older brother, but her personality resembles his too. She has a lot of fire in her and always has a smile (or smirk!) for you. She also has a temper and has earned the nickmame "crabby-Abbie." When she gets pissed, watch out! But overall, they are both good girls and very good babies. Plus they sleep through the night. Always a plus.

And now, we bring you the picture portion of the post. . . .

Hannah

Abbie

Together

Jews in the Hood

You know what’s REALLY annoying? Geeky Jewish men trying to talk to other geeky Jewish men like they grew up together in the hood.

In addition to being the last day of school, it was also pre-K graduation. Which meant that besides all of the other parents who pick up late (like me) the place was swarming with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings and god knows who else who I am sure started camping outside the auditorium at 10am this morning to ensure the best possible seat to bear witness to little Kaileighah’s pre-kindergarten commencement.

As I was walking into the building I saw your typical Jewish preschool dad sitting on one of the benches: mid/late thirties, tan suit, wire glasses, blackberry glued to his ear. Sorta good looking, but in a nebbishy, “nice Jewish boy” sort of way. Probably works in finance or sales. Anyway, he was futzing with his phone when he saw another dad walking into the building. Guy put his phone down, looked up and said, “what up dawg!”

Really? Has he been embracing his inner Randy Jackson from American Idol? And exactly what hood did this guy grow up in? Scottsdale? Northbrook/Skokie/Glenview (IL)? Westchester (NY)?

Yo yo yo. . . I get that these guys were down with one another being that they both had kids graduating pre-K and because they are in the same Tribe and all. But I guarantee you that the closest that this guys has EVER been to the ghetto was the time his roommate’s dad got him floor seats to the Knicks and they got lost in Harlem on the way to Madison Square Garden.

**Dan doesn’t like this entry because he thinks I am making fun of his friends. My was raised in the hood of Fort Wayne, Indiana. . .aka “The Fort.”

Humiliating

Sorry for the serious post, but I have a few things to get off my chest.

Maimonides, (or Rambam), was a 12th century Jewish scholar and physician. Rambam wrote a code of Jewish law (the Mishnah Torah), based on the Rabbinic oral tradition. Rambam organized the different levels of tzedakah (charity) into a list from the least to the most honorable.

8. When donations are given grudgingly.

7. When one gives less than he should, but does so cheerfully.

6. When one gives directly to the poor upon being asked.

5. When one gives directly to the poor without being asked.

4. When the recipient is aware of the donor's identity, but the donor does not know the identity of the recipient.

3. When the donor is aware of the recipient's identity, but the recipient is unaware of the source.

2. When the donor and recipient are unknown to each other.

1. The highest form of charity is to help sustain a person before they become impoverished by offering a substantial gift in a dignified manner, or by extending a suitable loan, or by helping them find employment or establish themselves in business so as to make it unnecessary for them to become dependent on others.

We're in the process of applying for financial assistance to help meet the demands of our hefty preschool tuition bill. We are not poor. We have jobs, and are extraordinarily grateful for them. We make a good income, but like everyone else, we have bills that need to be paid. And daycare for three is not cheap, no matter where you go. But the cost of three in daycare is absolutely killing us financially and we need help. At the same time, it is not feasible for us to live on one income. It is what it is.

The process of applying for assistance has been humiliating and degrading. We have no idea who is on the decision making committee. We have no idea what they look at in making their decisions because there is zero transparency. However, the committee knows everything there is to know about our finances, income, expenses, assets, and liabilities. They know what we paid for our house and how much it's worth. They know the make and models of our cars and their value. They know everything from what we pay for groceries each month to how much we pay for our cell phones to how much credit card debt we have. We've submitted household budgets, pay stubs, tax returns, and a personal statement. And for the record, I don't know a single person who builds their budget using their gross monthly income. As we were asked to do (was the federal/state tax code abolished without us knowing?). Some of these documents have been submitted more than once. Then we had to complete yet another form explaining our finances where we had to "declare under penalty of perjury that the above information is correct."

We have not been treated with dignity as we've been literally forced to beg. We offered to work and donate our time in exchange for assistance. . . because in these challenging economic times agencies and individuals need to be collaborating and sharing resources. But our offer was summarily ignored. We, the intended recipient, have been forced to make our lives an open book. Whereas the donor took full advantage of the luxury and comfort that comes from remaining anonymous.

It sickens me (and yet tragically doesn't suprise me) that a Jewish agency can have such callous disregard for the people they are charged to serve, the mission they have been agreed to uphold, and the history that (allegedly) drives the work. I love the preschool for what it has given my children, and I loathe the agency they represent. Walking into the building makes me physically ill and I can feel my blood pressure rise as there are people I can no longer look in the eye out of shame that they know as much as they do about our life.

I have to believe that on some level Maimonides is rolling over in his grave at thought of what his legacy has become.

Anatomy lessons

Tonight I bribed Noah to take a bath by telling him that Stephen Drew (shortstop for the Diamondbacks) takes a bath the night before every game. He bought it. Did you know that Connor Jackson (Noah's other favorite player) takes a shower before every game? Trust me, I will be adding this to my arsenal too.

Noah then got naked and started yanking his penis for me. Really. This is further proof that no matter what I do, no matter how precious my beautiful son is, at the end of the day he still will grow up to be like every other man I know. Then he lifted it up and started pointing at other parts of his manhood. All the while asking me, "Mommy, what's this?"

This is when I called Dan in to the room.

I will do many things for my kids. I don't do penises.

And while we're on the subject, why isn't the plural of penis, "peni?"

**Upon reflection, I am starting to wonder if talking about my son's Manhood the Internet might be the single action that drives him into a lifetime of therapy.

Why I hate macaroni and cheese

To me, there is NOTHING more revolting that elbow macaroni drenched in gooey-greasy cheese.

I've never been a lover of cheese. When I was Noah's age I was fascinated with the Kraft Singles commercial because each slice included a a full serving of milk (or something like that). I begged my mom to buy Kraft Singles at the store and one day she did. My little 4-year old self was so excited! As she was unpacking the groceries I grabbed those Kraft Singles, tore the wrapper off and shoved an entire piece in my mouth.

Only to realize that Kraft Singles taste like shit. And because Kraft Singles tasted so bad, I came to the conclusion that all cheese was nasty. Let's face it. The texture of cheese is weird, and the taste is . . . gross. Plus it smells nasty. Why would I want to eat something that smells and tastes funky?

It's AMAZING what you can find on YouTube. This isn't the exact commercial I remember, but it is close enought



From that point on I had a love-hate relationship with cheese. I could eat pizza every day of the week and twice on Sunday's and be happy. But to this day, I have never eaten a cheeseburger (nor do I want to). For years I would go to restaurants and anything I ordered was ordered "without cheese." I've picked cheese off of every possible dish you could imagine. . .salads, hamburgers, pasta dishes, etc. As I've gotten older, I've eased up a little bit. I'll eat a Caesar salad. and I no longer refuse four-cheese pizza because it includes thee other cheeses in addition to mozzarella. But a cheese enchilada? Ick. My mom's broccoli and cheese? Gag. Anything with ricotta? Vomit.

This brings me to why I hate Mac n' Cheese. This dish is the embodiment of all things I hate about cheese. The texture and smell make me gag. Ever hear pregnant women say that they have a heightened sense of smell that makes them nauseous? Well, the only food that caused this reaction in me was Mac n' Cheese. Dan would make it for Noah and I would have to leave the room to avoid vomiting.

Come to think of it, this is the same reaction I have when I am NOT pregnant.

And not only is this Noah's favorite meal, but Hannah and Abbie are digging it too. Karma is a bitch when you have three kids who love the meal you despise the most.

A Generation of Heathens

Remember when yogurt was just something smooth and creamy you ate with a spoon?

First there was drinkable yogurt which you drank with a straw. It was like a mini-smoothie.

Next came Gogurt. Yogurt in a tube that you slurped down similarly to an Icee Pop.

Now we have something new: Crush Cup Yogurt.

Dan does the grocery shopping and for the most part he does a terrific job. But he can easily be manipulated by Noah into purchasing things that I would not buy. Such as Crush Cup Yogurt.

Here is what happened.

Noah was eating "breakfast for dinner." Also known as "baseball night" or "Mommy was too lazy cook a 'real' dinner." In addition to his bagel, Dan had given Noah a small cup of yogurt. Fine. But then I noticed Noah was eating the yogurt by squeezing the container and licking it. There wasn't a spoon in sight. Being the good mother I am, I handed him a spoon and told him to eat his yogurt properly. He gave me a weird look, but did as told. When Dan came back into the kitchen I chided him for not giving Noah spoon. Dan look at me and said, "But Toby, it's Crush Cup Yogurt. You don't need a spoon!" Followed by Noah chiming in with, "Yeah Mom, it's a CRUSH CUP." Pardon me!

You know what Crush Cup Yogurt is? Yogurt for children who want to eat like pigs at the trough and the fathers that let them.

I looked it up on the internet and found this gem.



Seriously? This is what we have come to as a society? Spoons are too much much of an inconvenience so now we're going to slurp our food like pigs? When did this become socially acceptable? When the obnoxious kids from the "Suite Life of Zach and Cody" became the spokesmen? This is reminiscent of Ralphie from a Christmas Story. Except his dad was horrified when he ate like a pig.

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/index/?o_cid=mediaroomlink&cid=62365

How did it all end?

Well. . . .

After Hannah had been fed, changed, driven around town, and drugged I gave up and let her cry it out for 30 minutes.

Then I completely lost my shit. Because I don't do well at 3am either. And poor Dan bore the brunt of it.

Then Abbie came into bed with me (Dan was in the other room with Noah who managed to sleep through EVERYTHING). And since we discontinued the better cable channels in an effort to save money she ended up watching an episode of "Bridezillas" that I found On Demand. She fell asleep at 4am. (For the record, where do they find these women?!)

Saturday during the day was a little better. The girls were still a little under the weather but we took them out for some fresh air in the afternoon. Noah got to play at the splash pad with his friend and we sat with our friends and watched. We kept them up all afternoon.

Saturday night they slept for 14 hours. Sunday they were good as new!

Never a dull moment

It's 2:06 a.m.

Both girls are sick and despite being fever-free all day, both spiked fevers tonight. And both decided that sleeping through the night was not an option.

The girls share a room and most of the time this is not a problem. But there are times when we've noticed that they feed off one another. If one is crying the other other will join in for effect (surround sound). This happened tonight. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Dan stayed with Abbie and I put Hannah in the car for a little drive. We thought that separating them might calm them down enough to sleep.

Did I mention that while I was on my middle-of-the-night tour of NE Phoenix the dog (Elie) decided to take a whiz in our bed?

Oh, and the drive worked. Until I got home and had to move Hannah from the car into her bed. At which point she got hysterical. And woke Abbie up.

Noah is missing all the action.

Karma can be a bitch

My friends, colleagues, and anyone who follows me on Facebook knows that I have been having a little fun with all of this talk about the Swine Flu. . . excuse me the H1N1Flu. Since we don't want to unnecessarily punish Wilbur for sickening hundreds of people around the world.

I've spent the last week coming up with new and creative names for the Flu (Babe: Flu in the City, the Piglet Flu), mocking people who are flipping out about the flu, including the fact that there is a "Swine Flu Response Team" at work. I even found a way to connect the flu to an upcoming fundraising campaign that will raise money for the Girl Scouts. . . .instead of "Support the Sash" I think we should go with "Support the Mask" and put the Girl Scout logo on surgical masks. It's fun and topical!

Given all this, I wasn't too worried when I got a call Thursday that the girls were sick and running slight fevers. Out of nine kids in the infant room four had ear infections. My girls just wanted to be a part of the in crowd. By the time Dan picked them up from daycare and took them to the pediatrician they were in bad shape and both had spiked high fevers. When he called me after the appointment to give me an update all I heard was "they are very sick" and "the pediatrician tested them for the flu, but the test was negative."

I think I heard the part about the flu test being negative but in that split second I started worry that the test had been a false negative. And that I was going to have to call the JCC and tell them that "those Fox twins" had exposed and infected the entire school (that would NOT have won me any popularity contests. I suspect there are families who are still pissed that my kids brought RSV into the class). In my panic, my imagination took over and I spent five minutes obsessing over how they could have been infected when the only places they had been were home and daycare. It's not like we had been in Rocky Point (and why we are NEVER going back there is another post for another time). And then I thought, "this is probably my punishment for using Facebook to mock the whole swine flu thing."

And then Dan brought me back to reality by reminding me that their flu tests were negative, that it wasn't going to magically be positive in the morning, and that I needed to pull my head out of my ass. Well, he didn't actually say that, but I am SURE he was thinking it.

Oh, and the girls are fine. They each have bacterial infections and prescriptions for Omnicef.

Dan hates it when I blog about him

But he's not home right now to complain about it so I am going to blog about him anyway.

Far be it from me to complain about the organization of someone else's closet. Because mine isn't the best. I would describe it as organized chaos. . .for the most part I know what's in there and where it is.

However, I was putting laundry away tonight (it was an exciting Friday night at the Fox house!) and I have reached my breaking point with Dan's closet. It's a disaster. I've politely suggested that he might want to clean it out, as I am sure he would be pleasantly surprised by some of the things (crap) he would find in there. However, my wifely nudges (bitching) have always been rebuked. But tonight I realized the mess has gotten worse. Just how bad is it? The pile of clothes on the floor is 2.5 feet high. The pile almost reaches the clothes actually hanging on hangers.

What do you think I would have to promise him with to get him to clean it out? I am open to suggestions.

Eden Bloomfield

Porn star name = Middle name + the name of the street you grew up on.

Let me take this moment to introduce you to Eden Bloomfield (Abbie) our little porn star.

Before she knew how to sit up or hold her own bottle, Abbie had figured out how to take off her clothes. Couple that skill with the adorable birthmark she has on her tushie and appears as though we have a little exhibitionist on our hands. Myspace here we come!

Abbie’s favorite place to strip is in her crib. I got a call from daycare a few weeks ago and they told me (jokingly) that we should consider installing a pole in her room. When I asked why, they told that she had been fully dressed when they put her down for her nap. When she woke up, she was wearing nothing but a diaper. We have had the same thing happen at home too. As demonstrated by these pictures. Trust me, her arm wasn’t hanging out of the sleeper when I put her down for a nap. On the other hand, her flexibility and agility at such a young age is rather impressive.

I added this other picture because it's cute. And because when my sister saw it she asked me if Abbie was wearing lip gloss. I told my sister she was a bit young for Clinique Bonus time.

Dogs as children

I have a new item that I think needs to be included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM IV).

Obsessive Compusilve Pet Disorder. Characterized by ridiculous need to treat your pet like an actual child.

On the way out of Border’s Bookstore last night, a group of friends and I spied a curious site: a woman pushing a dog in a stroller. And slung around the stroller handle was a pink, Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bag.

Really?

All of us live and socialize in the North Phoenix/Cave Creek/Scottsdale area. And this is not the first time any of us has seen someone pushing a dog in a stroller (sad, but true). If you go up to Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall you see this all the time. I once saw a woman totting her yappy dog in baby carrier reminiscent of the Baby Bjorn that I use to carry the girls. Apparently there are a lot of women in this area with too much time and money on their hands who are struggling with empty nest syndrome. These are the same women who disown their children for looking at them sideways, die, and then leave their multi-million dollar estates to Kiki, the annoying Malti-Poo who just crapped in the linen section of Pottery Barn.

But I think the diaper bag is what pushed us over the edge.

I know what I carry in my diaper bag (diapers, wipes, extra formula, diaper creak, flask of alcohol), but what does one put in a dog diaper bag? Milk Bones? An extra leash? A plastic bag to pick up their poop? And really, couldn’t that stuff just fit in your purse?

There is something oddly amusing to me about people that treat their dogs like actually babies. I know that dogs are living breathing creatures with personalities and that for may people they are considered members of the family. But dogs are not people. They are animals (Canis familiaris domesticus, thank you Wikipedia). And unless it’s an assistance dog, I don’t think dogs belong at the mall or the bookstores. Dogs belong in parks, the backyard, or sprawled out across the bed.

Dan and I are dog people. I love Elie and Ginger (most of the time, except when Elie pee’s in the house) but the day I take them for a quick jaunt to Fashion Square and put them in a stroller is officially the day that I will need a 72-hour hold and a Thorazine drip.