Experience under the belt

Today is a typical day. Wake up, get the kids ready for preschool, take them to school, spend the "free-time" while they are at school, running errands and cleaning house, then pick them up, etc. etc.  It is pretty typical except for the fact that today is my birthday and it is also the day of my great-grandmother's funeral. I am not at the funeral, but my thoughts are with loved ones who are.  Subsequently: I am happy. I am sad.  I am grateful. I am reserved. I want to sing. I want to cry.  I want to accomplish everything on my to-do list.  I want to sit on the swing outside and just listen to the birds sing.  Truthfully, I really don't know how I feel or what I want to do, but it is my birthday, and I've always loved celebrating birthdays, whether it be mine or someone elses, so I promise to make this a day of memories, not just for me but for my loved ones.

It so happens that among the many, many happy thoughts and wishes posted on my Facebook wall this morning, was one from a long-time friend who posted: "Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be 21 again with 20 years of experience under your belt? Hope you have a great day." 

Of course, the same friend who inspired this post later wrote, " I like it. Very cheerful idea for a person that is as old as you are (hehehe)!"  Yeah. OK.

So, how does it feel to have 20 years of experience under my belt?  I started thinking about it and it really stirred some honest thoughts and reflections so many, in fact, that I wanted to write some of them down, so that, perhaps, when my kids are 21, they can see that life can be so much more than what you think you know at the time, more than who you know at any given point in time, and certainly less than any given problem you may be experiencing at the time. 

20 years ago, I thought that turning 21 was going to given me the social freedom to have a beer or mixed drink wherever, whenever and with whoever I wanted.  At 41, I'd trade a single glass of wine or a premium beer for a keg of cheap beer, and I'd choose an intimate conversation with a few close friends over a smoke-filled bar anyday.

At 21, I was naive enough to think that by choosing to vote as an Independent, there was enough "rational" thought in the selection process by everyday folks, that the truly worthy candidates would emerge to lead our country to greatness.  At 41, I still believe we live in the greatest country in the world, but I am saddened by special interest groups and the appearance that only the richest and most power-driven seem to rise to the top and be supported by our electoral system. 

At 21, I struggled with religious dogmas and feelings of shame for not believing everything that churches taught me I should be.  I would never have guessed that I would eventually discover that my spirituality would evolve and allow me to find peace in everyday practices and thoughts or that I could claim my own religious freedom and still be a member of a church.

At 21, I dreaded the thought of staying home alone on a Friday or Saturday night.  At 41, it sounds like heaven.

At 21, I thought I was fat, that I needed to lose 20 pounds to be attractive and to feel good.  At 41, I laugh at that and wish I would I could weigh and appreicate what I did at 21.

At 21, purchasing a cute little sports car was the goal.  At 41, having the mini-van paid off is the goal.

At 21, I thought that menstrual cramps were bad.  At 41, I've known the physical pain of arthritis, tendonitis, plantar facsiitis, and a host of other "itis-es."  I also now know that an angry gallbladder or late-life of case of fifh disease can make bloating and mood swings seem like a cake walk.

At 21, I could and usually did stop by my grandparent's house on a whim just to say "hi". At 41 I cherish the memories with them and hope that I can somehow convey to my children how special they were to me.

At 21 I would have never believed that I would get more excitement out of a new cooktop stove than a new outfit.

At 21, I thought 41 seemed really, really old.  At 41, having recently celebrated my great-grandmother's 100th birthday with her, and now on the day of her funeral, 41 seems really, really young. 

At 21, I couldn't imagine that the man I would fall in love with would face throat cancer the year of our engagement.  At 41 we celebrate his 13th year of being cancer-free.

At 21, I thought that when the time came to have children, it would be easy.  At 41, my twins have just turned 4 and not a day goes by that I don't realize what miracles they are.  Not only can getting pregnant be difficult, but sometimes staying pregnant can be just as challenging.

At 21, I thought I'd have a successful, high-power career affording me a luxurious lifestyle.  At 41, I feel successful when I can manage to keep the house clean for more than 24 hours and I claim success when a good coupon and a great sale combined together result in a bargain.

At 21, it would have been impossible to convince me that some of my closest friends at the time would be those I no longer talk to or have a connection with. At 41 I remain grateful for friendships forged during high school and college, while also cherishing newer ones that have resulted over the years. 

At 21, I loved my parents, respected them but thought they were over-protective.  At 41, I am trying to teach my children to love others and be respectful while not being too overprotective.

So here I am, pretty far into April 19, 2012.  It's still a typical day, well except for the part where I actually got to go out to lunch with my husband and have a beer in the middle of the day.   The kids are now outside playing with their dad.  The timer is going off in the kitchen, which means it's Ayden's turn to ride the favorite tricycle, and Amelia's turn to get off.  The house is still a wreck, even though I'm expecting company in just three hours.  And as I steal away a few more minutes to finish writing down these random thoughts, all I can think about is how blessed I am. 

I really don't think that 20 years ago, I had the peace of mind to be thankful for such simple things - a grown-up drink with my lunch, a few hours to clean the house in quiet because the kids are being watched outside by their daddy, friends who care to enough to take time from their day to wish me a happy birthday, sipping a good glass of sangria or eating my favorite cake with friends. and the list goes on.  I admit, it isn't quite the life I imagined at 21.  But at 41, in many ways, it's better.

Following my instincts

This past January, I was faced with a difficult decision of whether to make a quick and very inconvenient trip from Kansas City to Twin Falls, Idaho to celebrate my great-grandmother's 100th birthday. I struggled for months preceeding the event and watched airfares jump around from high to higher, as I tried to figure out whether such a trip was feasible economically and logistically. I also considered the impact it would have on my husband and 3-year-old twins.

No doubt, I wanted to go. I hadn't seen my grandma since 2007 when my parents, husband and I had flown in and surprised her on her 95th birthday.

(2007) Surprising grandma for her 95th birthday.


My father has always been steadfastly devoted to the care and concern of Grandma, with he and my mom doing what they could to make her life easier from afar and especially during visits. They made futile attempts to persuade her to move to Missouri with them so they could spoil her. She felt she was needed in Jerome...the town where she had spent the majority of her life. Each fall my parents would journey west often to spend time with my dad's dad first and then always with Grandma. Often I would tag along or fly in to the little terminal in Twin Falls to meet them. Each visit she would cook and clean in preparation of our arrival, almost always making daddy's favorites; cole slaw, potato salad, banana nut bread and cake.

I grew up understanding that my Grandma Burn's cooking was where the bar of excellence was set, and rarely in my attempts to make her "fabulous fudge" or homemade cinnamon rolls, did I or my own mother reach it, at least not according to my dad's standard. Rarely has anything turned out as good as Grandma's, But I continued trying anyway because I knew that her cooking was truly something emotionally comforting to him and a connection to fond childhood memories he had shared with her.

Grandma lived independently until she had a bad fall about four years ago. It was during her recovery that she moved to an assisted living center...and I emphasize the word, assisted. My visits ceased around the same timeframe when I became pregnant with the twins. I don't remember the last phone conversation I had with her, because her hearing began to fail, and it also became nearly impossible to have talks by phone.

As her 100th birthday approached, I remained undecided on whether to go. I tried convincing my mom to go with me. She declined with the intention to celebrate later in the year, when she and my dad would go on their annual trip. I weighed my options, trying to decide whether to fly into Boise and stay with relatives or spend the extra money to fly directly into town where she lived. Every option seemed to involve spending a lot of money and very little time actually being with Grandma. Weather was also a factor. Winters in the northwest are unpredictable. Even upon deciding to go, a winter blast could mean impassable roads or stranded at an airport. Could I risk that? I began to inquire whether anyone planning to attend could connect us through Skype so that we could attend virtually. Another option that was shot down.

About ten days out I decided it was not feasible to go to the celebration and that the money I would be spending could better be used on a family trip to see her later in the fall with my parents as well as my husband and kids. Afterall, I really wanted Ayden and Amelia to meet their great-great grandma. The cost of airline tickets made it impractical for all four of us to fly.

As I tried to reconcile my feelings with my decision not to go, It was not sitting well. Then I saw a third-party discussion on Facebook between family members questioning whether I would be going. I interjected letting them know I would not...and as i did, it not only felt wrong, it deeply saddened me. I began to feel like I was missing my chance to be with her when I needed to go.

Suddenly a new idea surfaced, and acting upon what I considered to be my last option, I asked Harold if we could drive as a family to be there. Although his response was less than enthusiastic, his supportive reply of, "if it is that important to you" gave me the green light I had been seeking. Suddenly I felt my heart lighten a bit. My parents thought we were crazy. I went into high gear preparing for the road trip and packing for the twins driving entertainment; we were attempting a straight-through 22-hour drive. It WAS a bit crazy, but it felt right.

After making sure the weather forecast was favorable for winter travel through mountains, we left at midnite Friday. About 17 hours into our drive we hit our first snow storm. So much for forecasts. Visibility was minimal and the sun was setting. As we slowly progressed through Utah, the weather worsened. Finally, less than 10 miles away from the Idaho border and about an hour away from our hotel, where my grandpa was meeting us, our straight-through drive came to a halt. The Interstate was closed due to drifting snow from the mountaintops and hazardous road conditions. Unbelievable! Exhausted but determined to get there we accepted the setback and backtracked to a town with a decent hotel.



The next morning we forged on. By early afternoon, although we were sleep deprived and famished, we reached Grandma. I can not say she knew who I was. It seemed as though she was reaching into her memory trying to piece together who we could be. It didn't matter to me.



Amelia with her Great-great grandma Burns

40 yrs. earlier - 4 generations, my grandpa, dad & great grandma



I introduced Grandma to her great-great grandchildren, and Amelia took to her strongly and immediately. I was surprised when Amelia asked, "may I sit on your lap.". Frail as she had become, Grandma obliged and with great reservation I lifted Amelia to the same lap that had held me so many years ago. I sensed that Grandma was enjoying herself.

 The two hours allocated for her birthday celebration whirled pass. As much as I would have loved to whisk Grandma away and have her all to myself, I toured the room, visiting with relatives whom I hadn't seen or spoken to in decades. In some instances I met cousins for the first time. We also set up a skype session on my tablet and connected with my parents back home. The two hours allocated for the gathering wasn't nearly enough time. I will forever be grateful to my kind, patient huband who stood on the sidelines, snapping pictures, keeping control of the kids and supporting me as I tried to make the most of being there.

I had hoped that I would be able to return to Grandma's facility the next day to visit some more with her on her actual birthday, but the forecast indicated that another major storm was tracking towards us. While Harold and the kids rested at the hotel that night, I returned with my grandpa, a cousin and her husband, hoping for a more personal time with her. Grandma was so tired from her party she slept during our visit. I talked to her as she slept and I held her hand...and in a way, I knew it was probably going to be my last time to be with her. It wasn't something I would have ever said outloud, but I suspected that she had met her goal. Many, many times in her last decade of life we would talk and even joke about how she intended to live to be 100. We never talked about 101 or beyond.

Upon returning home I posted a request on the Facebook page of grandma's retirement home, requesting that they provide Skype as a service so long-distance families could stay connected to their loved ones. To my surprise, not only did they respond favorably to my request but within a few weeks my parents were able to set up a Skype visit with Grandma. Little did we know this would be our last interaction with her.

Last Thursday I received an email from my aunt letting me know that hospice had been called in. My heart told me that Grandma would be gone before the weekend was over. She passed the next evening. Once again I was having to decide whether to make the trip to honor her and support my family. Again I struggled with the scenarios of how to make it happen. My parents booked their tickets before knowing details and then we learned that the funeral was scheduled for the morning of my birthday. Ugh. Another factor: my little boy began demonstrating symptoms of an ear infection. It was as if I "knew" before I decided, that this was not my time to go.

As sad as I am not to go, I don't have regret, instead, I feel joy in the fact that I followed my instincts back in January and was able to celebrate with her. I am content knowing that Ayden and Amelia had the opportunity to meet their great--great grandmother and that thanks to my wonderful husband, there are beautiful pictures of us with her as well as with their great-grandfather. And finally, I am proud that I helped initiate Skype between her and my parents. Not only did my parents get to see her recently but in a way, we were the test family for more families to have a wonderful way of connecting with loved ones.

When Thursday rolls around, and I turn another year older, instead of celebrating my birthday, my thoughts will be with Grandma as well as my family who are at the funeral. We will each be celebrating the memory of an amazing lady who experienced 100 years of living, loving and doing for others....it just so happens that I will be celebrating her from afar this time. I love you Grandma....and always will.

I've Literally lost my identity!

My driver's license is lost (perhaps somewhere between Chicago and KC on the way back from vacation)?  My passport is expired and must be mailed off for renewal.  I need it in 8 wks but I haven't sent off yet because I thought I could use it at the driver's license bureau as a form of ID.  Today was the day I was gong to get my replacement driver's license (and finally update my address while at it). As I'm dropping my kids off at my mom's,  I call to doublecheck  and see what I need for a lost ID and change of address.  Turns out a passport must be current for them to accept it.  Crap. I drive back home again to retrieve the safe doposit box keys.  I then drive over to my old bank across town in search of my birth certificate and social security card in the safe deposit box. Thank goodness those forms of  ID don't expire until you do. (notice a pattern here? All of driving it is taking to get a replacement driver's license?)
Suddenly I remember I can't get into the safe deposit box without ID.  But alas I have my old passport.   I hand it to the attendant hoping it doesn't matter if it is expired.  I'm in and find my birth certificate but no social security card.  Dang it. So now in my possession, in a highly secured institution, I am holding an expired passport, an original birth certificate, a marriage certificate and every other freaking important document that belongs to either my husband or me that says I am who I am, but without my social security card  I still can not get my driver's license. So once again I get behind the wheel of my car and drive home in search of me.

Luckily, my social security card was exactly where I thought it was at home.  Not where it should be, but where I remember it being. 

Okay, now here's what I find ironic: the National Passport Center accepts an expired passport as the only necessary form of ID for renewal  by mail without seeing you.  You don't even have to prove that the picture you're providing as a renewal picture is still you.  The state of KS won't accept an expired passport even as a 2nd form in person. I could travel the world on my word that I say I am still who I say I am, but I cannot be reissued a state license even with proof of national identification....for a card that is still current and already in the system.  Even more ironic - I'm driving all over town trying to gather my identify before going to bureau for a replacement card.

At least the bank let me use my old passport to get into the safe deposit box.  I didn't point out the fact that it was expired.  Had she known I was going to close the safe deposit box account she may not have let me use it.  Now where would that have gotten me?  Not far, well, at least not without a driver's license.

Lessons we've learned on our Adventure...so far

So the days have passed quickly since leaving KCMO last Wednesday.  Even with the best intentions to post updates on a blog, co-managing seven children under the age of three means that there is no time to do that.   However, yesterday Courtney posted a Facebook status update that inspired us to add to it.  I would say that the following sums it up, but there is so much more...so very much more.  But here is a start:


Courtney Eiterich: 

I have learned a few life lessons this week.
1) sextuplets is not an option
2) potty training should be left to professionals
3) must have a "respite" even on vacation. (for you TV)
4) why is it called free time? You have to pay a sitter.
5) sometimes time is measured in naps
6) at 3, life is good.
7) makes you appreciate 9 (miss you aydan)

Sonya Hooper:
‎8) Meltdowns will occur. Whether it you or the children depends upon the time of day and whether snacks are involved.
9) After 6 days your methods of handling conflict may very well change. For example, when a child runs to you and says, "so and so hit me", on day one you might say, "was it an accident" or "did you tell him/her that that was not nice". By day 6 you find yourself saying "So."
‎10) Never leave home without a cel phone, band-aids, extra underwear, the potette and plenty of snacks

Bethany Pedigo:
‎11) Never, ever feed the geese (they're mean)
12) Singing is a GREAT way to get seven children under the age of 4 to sit still... for about 3 seconds.
‎13) when it comes to pooping in the potty, a 17 month old girl can show up any 3 year old boy out there - go Audrey go!

Sonya Hooper:
14) It is possible to bathe 7 children in ten minutes if Bethany does it and we tag team drying and dressing.
15) You can't have too many "Mater" trucks.

Potty on in Paducah

According to the cars navigational system and the old-style AAA trip tick we have on hand, it should take twelve hours and thirty minutes to reach our destination. Ummm. Well in that case we should be there by now. Instead we are just on the other side of Paducah, Kentucky. Just over half way. Oh yeah.

So the first leg of our trip lasted a "little" longer than expected. In case you've ever wondered it is possible to take more than four hours to get to Columbia from KC and that is without any stops other than gas and potty breaks.  We took a lot of potty breaks. I guess that is what happens when three of the four kids that are travelling are still in training mode.  Crossing our fingers....no accidents so far.

Ready for the second half of our trip we stopped in paducah, Kentucky and had what you might call a potty party. Each kid took a turn using the. Potette, a portable potty that transforms from safety ring to a free standing potty with disposable bags.  While we regrouped and refueled at a convenience store each kid did his or her business successfully with the mini van door open. Who would have thought that a plastic trash bag with what looks like a glorified sanitary napkin would be one of two saving graces. (Of course the other being a dual DVD entertainment system that can run two different movies simultaneously.) Telling others the premise of our adventure during our stop certainly gave them a good laugh.  What can we say? Potty on in Paducah.  

Wow! That's Crazy!

Here we go. T- minus seven hours and counting until Courtney and Sonya's "adventure" begins.  We're taking a roadtirp from Kansas City to Kingsport, Tennessee. Not just any roadtrip, but a 12 hour funfest with just the two of us and our four three-year-olds.  When I've mentioned our plans to others, without fail, the response has either been "Wow!" and/or "That's Crazy" (with a few variations including "Wow, that's crazy.", "Are you crazy?" or even "Wow, you're crazy."

It makes me chuckle to think about it.  I wouldn't call what we are doing a vacation.  Really, now. Did you hear the part about FOUR  three-year-olds? 

We are going to visit another mom of twins with another set of 3 year olds, plus a one-year-old who recently moved from our area to Tennessee.  Yes, that's right: 3 moms, 3 sets of 3-year old twins plus a one-year-old.  So while we expect to have a great time reconnecting and enjoying each others company, to call it a vacation doesn't really seem fitting. So we began calling our impending trip "our adventure." 
I think the only real vacations to be had while we are gone will be those experienced by our husbands staying behind.  I already warned my love that if he took a week of vacation from work while I was gone, I would likely return to kick his butt.   He jokes (and he better be joking) that he and his friend are heading west to visit Arches National Park and to see the premier of the final Harry Potter movie while we are gone.  Those would NOT be wise things to do in my absence.  Don't get me wrong, I want him to have a relaxing time while he gets a quiet house to himself for the first time in three years, but seeing the last HP movie without me would cross the line.

Back to the point at hand, I must be a little crazy. Because, truth be told, I am really looking forward to our  adventure.  And now with bags left to pack and a departure time estimated at 6 a.m. the wow factor and craziness is getting even closer.  Wish us luck!

Days of fashion faux "blah" and binkys

A couple weeks ago I was having a hard time finding a t-shirt that was stain-free.  I’ve given up buying cute clothes because my daily routine of taking care of the kids and the activities that come with it don’t justify anything more than $5 t-shirts and stretchy sweats. My wardrobe is boring and comfortable, the kind Stacy and Carson of “What not to wear” would be horrified over and have a field day with.  In fact it is probably beyond fashion faux-pas and more like fashion faux-blah.   It’s not my preference to look so hum-drum,  and to be honest  I hate was has happened to my so-called figure since hitting the 30s and having twins, but its where I am at right now.   (originally written 12/1/10)

On the day of my stain-free t-shirt quest, I remember composing amusing thoughts in my head of just how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t find something without at least one spot, stain or tear in it.   It seemed subject-worthy  at the time and I intended to wrap some structure around it for future composition consideration.  Then, later that night I found myself in the urgent care with my 2 ½ year old son who was having trouble breathing.  At 4:30 a.m. he was admitted to Children’s Mercy hospital, put on oxygen for the weekend and treated as an asthmatic.  I found myself making the 4 a.m. phone call you never want to impose upon a best friend, asking for babysitting help so that my husband could leave Amelia sleeping and join me at the hospital.

The days that followed involved very little sleep for any of us.  My parents stayed at our house caring for Amelia who repeatedly asked “where is my brother?” and Harold and I limped and ached through the weekend trying to get snip-its of rest on the bolster sofa in his hospital room.  Fashion was the last thing on my mind as we adjusted to the situation at hand.

Ayden has always been the more laid-back twin, but as he regained his vitality and began getting restless in the hospital room we witnessed a more conversational side to him.  We knew Amelia was always talking for him, but having them separated for the first extended time-frame gave us a new view to the little guy’s “character.”   At one point when we were able to wheel with him an oxygen tank into the play room and let him explore a bit. He found a play phone; unprompted, he picked up the receiver, dialed it and said, “Hi Sissy. I miss you.”  My heart leaped forward.

Shortly after Ayden was admitted I remember thinking that it might be our chance to finally wean him off of the pacifier he was still allowed  to have during naps and bedtime, especially since he was wearing an oxygen mask.  Silly mommy.  Once the mask was changed to a canula nose tube, he wanted his binky almost constantly.  I couldn’t refuse a baby that was not feeling well, in an unfamiliar environment and sleep-deprived.  I just knew it was going to make the giving up process that much more difficult when the time came.  I had sometimes referred to Ayden as a binky fiend.  He’d suck on the thing non-stop if allowed and had also been known to hold two in his mouth simultaneously.

A few days after being released from the hospital Ayden’s coveted binky appeared to be lost.  I had purchased a set of spares in case of a 911.  Reluctantly I popped open the pack and swore both to myself and Ayden that this was absolutely his last binky.  I threatened that if he chewed holes in it, “too bad.”  Within two days we were surprised to see a gaping hole in the “new” plug.  Surprisingly that night he agreed to throw the binky in the trash and go to sleep without it.  I promised him a special treat in the morning if he could sleep through the night without the binky.   Hearing the incentive, Amelia agreed to do the same with hers in return for a stuffed pig and a treat the next day, but just before lights out, she reconsidered and said “here you go” handing the pig back and expecting her binky.

I didn’t know I could be so proud of a 2 ½ year old for sleeping through the night and giving up something that had been so important to him….that is until two days later, when last night Amelia also agreed to also give up hers.  Within two days, my two toddlers were sleeping through the night without their familiar aids.  Although, Amelia did inform her Daddy last night “I need something to keep my mouth shut.”  Thankfully, some yogurt and a swig of milk sufficed in getting them off to sleep.

 I knew though that I had to keep my promise to her and once she fell asleep, in the cold of the night, I was off in search of a motorized Diesel engine to accompany the Percy train that Ayden had received as a treat. 

This morning, as they both slept in late, even without binky’s, I stood at the kitchen counter wearing one of my stained t-shirts trying to figure out to how put a battery in the motorized Diesel and wondering not only why in the world such a tiny toy would need a size C battery, but where in the house one might be.  I couldn’t have been happier.  This is where I am at in my life.  Helping my children forge independence, proud of their accomplishments, and dealing with the fact that while my wardrobe doesn’t qualify me for the title of “fashionista” life is what it is. And in my mind, it is pretty darn good.