Remember When?

2 years ago today, folks.....straight from our old CaringBridge page. Holy crap.


SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16, 2006 06:00 PM, CST
We are parents! As of 10:18PM and 10:51 PM last night, James "Yancey" Stribling, IV and William "Foster" Stribling have arrived. And boy are they tiny. 1 pound 14 ounces and 2 pounds, respectively, these boys have a lot of growing to do. Tracy delivered them via C-section last night after progessively worsening preeclampsia symptoms that came on quickly. She was so strong and was concerned only for the babies - amazing. I (Jenny) was able to be in the delivery room to see the babies come into the world - both came kicking and screaming (literally), which was a sight and sound to behold. Both have little heads of hair and are tiny but adorable.
The NICU team here at Scott & White Hospital in Temple are wonderful and kind and positive and patient and detailed in their explanations. They knew who we were and were ready for us - they have already gotten my name on the babies' placards as the mother, and we have been treated so very well in this regard.
Although we won't be able to hold the boys for a while, we have been able to be with them as often and for as long as we would like ever since last night, and this will continue as long as they are here. We can touch them and kiss them, but their nervous systems are so fragile right now, we try not to do that too often. There are many things that we will be facing very soon - medical information, decisions, possible complications - the list is endless.
But for now, we are so thankful to God for the miracles that are our baby boys.


SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16, 2006 04:52 PM, CST
Today was a good day. We learned a lot about all of the wires and probes that are helping the nurses take care of the boys. Foster was cold this morning, so they kept a sign on his isolette that said "Brrr....I'm cold...please keep lid closed while I warm up...Love, Foster." Yancey got a second dose of surfectant for his lungs, and that should help him breathe better in the coming days. Foster's breathing is still pretty darn good - the nurses say he is showing off.
We are often reminded by the nurses, though, that the first 2 days are like a "honeymoon period." Things seem stable, but around Day 3, those stable values often get worse before gettin better. So, we are trying to prepare for that.
Yancey and I each took a temperature and changed a diaper today. Yancey said I looked like I was trying to diffuse a bomb! Both boys like to sleep on their tummy, but Yancey curls his legs under him while Foster kicks his legs all the way out. It's funny to watch. So, for today things have been good at the end of the day.

Pavlov's Dog

Watching my family pass The Cold around for 4 months has made me nothing if not hyper-vigilant. Yes, the boys still have It, but one is now almost well while one is newly sick. I am very much in tune with their every sniff, snort, sigh, cough, moan and rustle. I know when it is time to go upstairs and administer love or medicine, and I know when I can sit downstairs - muscles clenched - to wait it out. Snotty Snotterson and Stuffy McStufferstein have earned their weight in Mother-lesson gold. In fact, I am so in tune with symptoms that I drooled when Pavlov rang his bell tonight.

I was talking to my sister on the phone this evening - after a particulary snotty episode with Foster who was trying (?) to go to sleep - when I realized that Annie was drooling. Not just a little bit either. A lot of drool. Which, even though I basically suck snot out of noses all day long (and feel triumphant about it), totally grossed me out. Then it freaked me out. Yancey had just walked in the back door, so I started motioning to him (while talking on the phone to Katie).....pointing to the dog.....mouthing (sotto voce) "she's drooling....she's Drooling!" Can't you see, man? She's DROOLING! Something is wrong - she's been stung, she's had a stroke, she's going blind! Yancey dutifully walked over, accepted the paper towel I had on standby (I am nothing if not prepared for a symptom), and pronounced Annie........hungry. The two bison burgers he had recently deposited on the counter seemed to have accounted for her drool. Ummmmm. OK. But, if she *had* been suffering from a malady, I would have been ready!

Short and Sweet

I am 38 years old, and yesterday I pulled my child's hair. On purpose. He and his brother insisted on running in circles around me and laughing as I sat Indian-style on the floor (wait, am I still allowed to use that term?) pulling my hair every time they got around to the back. I laughed at first (yes, a mistake and thank you very much Parenting magazine for pointing it out), then I tried telling them that pulling hair made an ouchie for Mommy. No sympathy from those two. Then, I got stern. When that didn't work, I spun around on my butt and pulled my child's hair and said (maniacally) "SEE? SEE? Now THAT is an ouchie!!" Oh my Lord, how the mighty have fallen.

And the worst part? He looked so totally bewildered, like he might cry....then burst into peals of laughter.

Can A Day Start At 9PM?

Whew. Another one bites the dust. Another day, that is. I didn't think it was possible for Yancey and I to barely speak to each other during a day in which we weren't angry with each other. Today, though, I was proven wrong. Y4 is taking oral steroids - sort of a "reset button" for his chest stuff that's been ongoing for a few months. We are happy for it, but the side effects (per the pulmonologist) are "grumpy, moody and hungry" and we had yet to see the hungry. Of course, as soon as I told Yancey what the side effects were, he kindly asked how long *I* had been on oral steroids. Ha ha ha. I would add a couple other words to the end of that, but they aren't safe for the blogging world.

Foster woke up cute as a button this morning, talked a blue streak, and ran downstairs and hid behind his high chair with Monkey to read a little book. Laughed his butt off. Yancey.....well, he cried. Another lovely side effect of these meds (I HOPE) is that he wakes up in the AM (and from naps) crying hysterically and telling something to go "awayyyyyyy." Please Lord, don't let me be poisoining that little guy (she says half-jokingly). It's too cold outside to play, so we muddled through. Steak & Shake for lunch was pretty easy. Although with no makeup, bad skin, and a bad new haircut OF COURSE we saw someone Yancey knows (we always do). I'm sure that nice man and his 12 year old son were thinking Yancey could have totally done better.

Then, we were "those people" in the grocery store around 5PM. We had no clue why Y4 was screaming, and Yancey was trying to push Foster in the twin stroller by himself, but Foster kept trying to climb out. So, stroller out to the car, Yancey on Mom's hip, Foster in grocery cart, Dad pushing from the sides because Foster wants to Drive. Got everything we needed, but Yancey screamed the whole time. So, I took him to the car to watch Monsters, Inc. and drive around the parking lot while Dad and Foster checked out. Yancey kept wanting "MOVIE OFF" but every time I turned it off he wanted "MOVIE ON" all while crying like his heart would break. Then, when we got home, he wanted "MOVIE ON" for an hour. Then he asked for oatmeal. Now THAT I can do! He ate 2 and a half packets. He's 20 pounds. Good Lord, I guess that's the "hungry." Bath and bed. Thank you Jesus. I realized that all day, Yancey and I had that "hunker down" mentality - don't look to either side, just keep going whatever you do. We didn't talk much, although we did look at each other and laugh bewilderdly (a word?) many times. Thank God for the 15+ years we have behind us.

So, now we sit with a wreck of a kitchen and a couple bottles of red wine open (with scotch on standby). Somehow, we have made it through this day without filing for divorce. I credit the "not talking" portion of the day for that. Now, we are watching football, and I am reading the new James Patterson book - short chapters, easy story - just perfect. And, as I type, Yancey has actually built a fire. Ahhhh.....now the day begins.

Mine. To Have and To Hold.

The word of the day is "mine." Specifically, "mine mine mine...Mine....MIne...MINe...MINE MINE MINE!!!!!" Also, "Hold It." And, "Have It." Lord knows I am glad the boys are talking (remember how I was convinced they would *never* say Mommy and would call me Jenny?). But, this is a little much. No matter how many times Yancey and I try to explain that, "No, those pop beads are not YOURS, they belong to Mommy and Daddy who are nice enough to let you use them," they just don't seem to get it. Everything is Mine. And, whatever I have, they both want to Hold It or Have It. Sweet little things saw me talking on the phone and both started saying, "Hi Mimi! Hi Mimi!" but the minute I offered to call Mimi and got her on the line, they both wanted to Have It (the phone) and wouldn't say a word other than a high pitched scream. They also want to have and to hold the shower head in the bathtub, the steering wheel of the car, my purse, a spoon and open jello container (ugh), the stroller, my Coke*, scissors, the pen at the doctor's office, and a glass of wine. Who taught them to say those particular words anyway? Probably the same people that taught Foster to say, "one more time." Now, that's a good one. Especially around 8:15PM. Ahhhhh. Talking. But, should I be surprised? The apples have *definitely* not fallen far from either tree on that one.

Today also marks an occasion for me.....4 years ago today I entered the hospital, pregnant with twins, and was placed on bed rest for what ended up to be the biggest, scariest, saddest roller coaster ride I had ever been on. As most of you know, we ended up losing those beautiful twins at 21 weeks, and I came (relatively) close to joining them. If you don't know the story, it is not a happy one in any respect but one**. That one respect is Yancey. The words To Have and To Hold have never been more apt. From talking me through a totally doped up 24 hour labor and delivery with promises of Caribbean vacations and continued love with or without children.....to nursing me back to health then driving 120 mph to get back to the hospital again when the ambulance came to get me....to working through the intricacies and fears and hopes of gestational surrogacy....to giving me a puppy for my birthday the same day we met our potential surrogate, in case the meeting didn't work out (it did!).....to being my absolute rock (along with my sister) when I called him in tears saying the boys were about to be born over 3 months too early and we had to leave NOW.....to getting back on a Texas-bound plane with me after the engine blew 30 minutes into the flight (still hysterical to me).....to standing beside me for 3 months nursing those little ones and doing copious amounts of laundry and running completely random errands (I still don't know what all he was doing, especially during a *tornado*)....and finally to being the most loving hands-on Dad there is. Yep. Mine. To Have and To Hold.

*Note to Aunt Susan - they both say, "Coke! Have it!" You have done your job well.
**The narrative was better saying there was only one happy part of that crazy time, but there were actually several.....renewed faith....kindness of strangers....above and beyond from family and friends....and a true and real belief that life is, in fact, good.

Love Y'all! Happy Belated Thanksgiving!!! Hope yours was good. Mine was AWESOME but somehow, more tiring with almost 2 year old twins. Go figure! ;-)

"Mommy, Shoulders"

Well, well, what have we here? A couple of uninterrupted hours while Yancey is out at a dinner somehow related to fishing and the boys are in bed. Although, it's not totally uninterrupted because I have the monitor 3 inches from my face in case I miss something. You see, the boys have The Cold (the same Cold they have had since September), and they are just getting over The Stomach Bug (their first ever). I just want to say that there is nothing quite like walking into a bedroom at 7:30AM to a stench that can only be described as Decaying Mummy With Bad Breath Who Decided To Poop All Over His Sheets. Times Two. Oh My Sweet Lord. It is in that specific moment when one realizes that she is an adult and can't turn around to say, "Moooommmmm, something stinks!!!"

So, on Monday morning (after taking Thursday and Friday off for a vacation to the beach with our good friends - sans kids) with work clothes on, hair and make-up done and 20 minutes away from a long work day....I stripped 2 cribs, Cloroxed everything in sight and hoped to God I didn't miss anything on bodies with baby wipes or accidentally pick my nose. Jasmine *definitely* picked a good day to be running late. But, thank goodness for a hands-on Dad. Yancey put on his robe and ran around acting like he couldn't hear anything I said, making me yell back at him, "FOSTER HAS POOP IN HIS HAIR - WHAT PART OF THAT DID YOU NOT HEAR???"** The boys started crying and it was on. Have you ever run around throwing crap (ha, literally) into the washer all the while trying to make it a game so your kids don't get "potty issues" later on? No? Well, you are missing out my friends. I only wonder how Yancey's parents got through the weekend with Vomit Boy Yancey and Soon To Be Sick Foster. Clearly, they are pros because I don't recall them recounting any running around, crap throwing or screaming. I could learn from them.

So............the twins are in bed, asleep, symptom free for over 36 hours. Ahhhhhhh. No thanks to Benadryl which apparently jacks Yancey up and makes him run around pulling books off shelves and talking to himself until he comes down enough to hit the sack. Funny to watch, though. (Ooo, is that wrong?)

And, as I was cuddling Foster (the one who doesn't let me cuddle him much but turns into a puddle of syrup when his Dad shows up), he started patting my shoulders. So cute. Little guy, head on my shoulder, patting me. I thought, "Oh, how cute" and whispered sweetly how much I loved him. Even teared up a little. He whispered back, "shoulders.....shoulders....Mommy, shoulders." I thought to myself, WTF? Then I realized, he was singing Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes. Even snuggling, the kid has a mind of his own. Thanks, Foster.

The vacation was wonderful and fabulous and englightening. Did you know that people build 20 million dollar houses? For THEMSELVES? Wow. Kiawah Island is so gorgeous in November, but I can damn well bet it would look prettier from the 3rd floor balcony of a $20M house. Who knows someone that knows someone? My people will call them.

**In Yancey's defense, he said I was mumbling.

People Are Weird

As the election results come rolling in, I am thinking less about who will win and more about what I saw at the polls. Not because I don't care who wins but because I have heard more than enough about what will happen when *insert either name here* wins. I have very strong beliefs about the person for whom I voted (and many more about the person for whom I did not), but since I've heard enough, I'm sure you have too.

My point (and I do have one - thanks, Ms. Degeneres, great book by the way) is that I am shocked about people's behavior at the polls. I can't seem to shake it. OK. People feel free to heckle one another in movie theaters (shhhh, sit down, turn that phone off). They get into verbal and physical fights about sports teams (GA/FL anyone? UNC/Duke? Oh God, I hate Duke). They argue during protests - standing face to face, spitting distance even, straddling an imaginary line that neither group will cross. They picket outside buildings. They boo players on their own teams for poor play. They flip people off in traffic (or worse). They argue politics with their best friends over wine-soaked, too-late-served, supposed-to-be-their-one-night-away-from-the-kids dinners. Ummm, maybe that's just me. But you know what they *don't* do? At least where I live?

They DON'T act ugly at the polls. I stood in line for 4 hours* to vote last week, and there were so many people there I couldn't even begin to count them. All ages and races - some there with friends or family (including really little kids) and some there alone. And, I live in a huge city that has seen its share of conflict among its citizens. Not ONE person talked politics that I could hear. Not one argument. Not one discussion of the "issues" that was forged out of the false camaraderie you feel when standing next to someone for 4 hours. The only thing that I saw people get testy about was other people using their electronic devices in unapproved areas - something we were told often not to do. I mean, people TATTLED on each other for that. But no political pressures. People were nice to each other, held each other's place in line and (GASP) let people ahead if they needed to pick up their kids (I actually saw that one).

Don't you think that's just the slightest bit weird? I mean, I know you can't come to the polls armed with fliers or a well-edited speech, but still!? In this election, so personal to so many, not one argument in a line that wrapped around the outside of the Federal Building (not to mention the astounding serpentine line they had working inside)? Seriously, what does that say about us? Do we all feel so respectful by the time we get to the polling place that we just want to do our thing? Is it like after 9/11 when everyone felt closer to his fellow man? Or, are we all just so into our books or Sudoku or whatever that we just want some peace and quiet? Actually, that's me. For real. Four uninterrupted hours reading my book, people watching and planning the next 5 years of my life was heaven. Except, I did no 5-year planning - just reading and watching.

But anyway. I am glad I voted. I was caught off guard by the emotion I felt as I did so and had to take a deep breath as I got to my machine. I realized that while I had stood in line 4 hours to vote, that was a hell of a lot shorter than my grandfather spent fighting in WWII (or that my grandmother spent keeping the home fires burning). It was a hell of a lot safer environment than many "democracies" provide to their voters. And, it is a monumental election - no matter what the outcome. I am proud to be an American, and I am proud and thankful to have the ability to vote. And you know what? No matter who wins, I am determined to live my life. I want to be a good wife. I want to raise kids that will be happy and self sufficient. I want to be true to what I believe. And I will. So, Hail to the Chief and all that. But as for me, I'll be living my life. God Bless America.

*Yes, Yancey made fun of me for voting early in fear of long lines. And by "made fun of" I mean he chastised me for not voting on Election Day. In his mind, that's the day we all vote. That's the day it happens. That's the day. Serves me right that he voted today and waited all of about 30 minutes. Whatever.

What I Wouldn't Give For A Good Inner Arm Pinch. Sort Of.

Wow. Halloween. With twins. Twins who are clueless about the holiday.

I am lucky to live in a neighborhood that goes all out for Halloween. We live right at the triangle intersection of 2 streets, and every year the whole neighborhood gathers there for costumes, food and fun. And wine. The Varsity catered the event (for you non-Atlantans, Google it, it's an institution) and everyone ran around chasing their kids. We always do a little parade..... although this year we had a fire truck leading the parade, and the driver didn't realize that the "parade" was only supposed to go around the little triangle, like, 3 times. God bless him, he took off with sirens blaring, down the street and a buch of people followed until they realized how far away he apparently intended to go! The parade petered out, and we all were soon back milling around and hoping the fireman hadn't driven too far away with no followers. Come to think of it, did he ever come back? Maybe he wasn't leading a parade so much as rushing to a fire? Hmmm.

The boys were adorable in their costumes, but of course, the reason for them went totally over their heads. But that's OK. Foster sat and ate 2 hot dogs - in the bun, like an adult - and thought he was the Mayor of the party. Yancey ran up onto a neighbor's porch and refused to leave. We pried them away from hot dogs and porches and took them in their wagon to 3 houses to Trick or Treat. Baths, bed, candy eaten (by parents). Halloween - CHECK.

But, what I really wanted to tell you about was the fact that Foster has learned the art of the full on, physical tantrum. Going totally stiff then flailing around when picked up. He'll kick and scream and flail and scream ad nauseum. Yancey and I have been with the boys all day today, and between the Foster Flail and the Yancey Annoying Scream, we were done in by about 9:30. Yeah, 9:30 AM. Patience was thin, but we made sure *they* had a full fun day. But still, we were over it all day long.

Then, as they settled in for the night, it hit me. Almost 2 years ago, I was in a hospital watching that Flailer fight for his life. He lay there, no bigger than a 20 oz Coke Zero bottle, doing his damndest to breathe, to swallow, to regulate his own temperature. We couldn't touch him (or his brother, the Annoying Screamer)...we couldn't comfort him....we couldn't do anything but watch. And be amazed. At how he was *determined* to grow and heal and breathe. It struck me that 2 short years ago, I was praying that God allow my sons the ability to live a fairly normal life, but today, I was hoping that they would just calm the hell down. Well HELLO Jenny, those children that wore your ass OUT today were born determined as hell and you had just better thank your lucky stars that that was the case. You may be annoyed or tired or flabbergasted or feeling the need to pinch them on the inner arm where it hurts the most (although you never really would), but you need to settle yourself down and Thank God Above that they have that much fight in them. You know what I really think? I think that God planned this all out knowing Yancey and me from the inside out. He knew which children would come to us and in what way. And, he figured he needed to give us some perspective Up Front to get us through the more trying times to come. Huh. Who would have thought I would have ever described *anything* post-NICU as "more trying." Time heals all wounds I guess.

Happy Day After Halloween!!

What? Who? When?

Y'all, I am tired. I mean t-i-r-e-d.

Yancey was out of town for 3 nights (Thurs-Sun.....so that means 2 full weekend days by myself which is exponentially harder than weekdays when the boys might be in school for a few hours) and the boys traded off on me with who had The Cold. You know The Cold, the one your kids give each other (and you) from September through God knows when. Foster decided to include a fever with his this go round, and while he was all sick-cuddly-cute, Yancey 4 took that opportunity to become needy and Mommymommymommymommy. Oh, how the healthy can manipulate. By the way, the sick-cuddly-cute conveniently stopped at 9:30PM when Foster woke up screaming because he couldn't breathe. Sick, yes. Cuddly-cute, hell to the no.

Dorothy (Yancey's mom) was here 2 nights to help with dinner/bath/bedtime (God bless her), and then when Yancey 3 got home his sister, Susan, came by to visit and help with the boys' dinner. I think I was coherent for about 45 minutes during all that time, and I feel certain that my in-laws think I am a lunatic. I found myself wheeling around, calling both boys by the wrong name (sometimes calling them Annie) and telling them that I was going to sell them to the gypsies if they didn't straighten up (yeah, Time Out doesn't work so well around here).

We spent our days going to the park (with about 3000 Kleenex on hand), to the bookstore (leaving germs for everyone else to enjoy) and to the zoo with Katie and Hunter. My motto: If you are well enough to be a pain in my butt, you are well enough to get in the car and go somewhere. Look no further to wonder why I am tired. Two heathen children running around the zoo screaming, "EH phant EH phant, RAFF, RAFF (giraffe)" then fighting over who sat where on the train and carousel, then one deciding that the carousel jaguar going up and down was just too much and he wantedoffrightnow then wondering how in the hell to find the exit when both boys are taking off their shoes and socks and throwing them at the animals as we pass. Jesus. Meanwhile, Hunter (who is 2) was the picture of perfection - I think he even said the Latin name for gorilla while sketching in a moleskin journal. And, he ate oranges without complaint. I put the boys in bed each night with a gigantic sigh of relief. Then I cleaned up the upstairs landing, the kitchen and the sunroom. Then at about 10, I had a glass of wine, read 3 pages of my book, found some eggs on Facebook (whassup Hatchlings?!) and stumbled to bed.

OK, so what is my problem? There are women (many family members included) who do this every single day. Their husbands travel for work, or they are divorced, or they simply do it because they love it (or believe - tired or not - that it is the best way to raise their kids). I don't do this every day. I jobshare, so I work either 2 or 3 days a week, and I have help 4 days a week (Jasmine - the angel from heaven that has been with us for a year an half). No shame in my game - I like the help. But, DAMN......there are people who do this without losing their temper or patience (much) and can juggle shoes, socks, lunch, snot and fevers without batting an eye. Not to mention actually *cooking* for their husbands and kids.

I have always found it slightly patronizing to hear people say, "Wow, I could never stay at home full time with the kids - it's just too much." Although, ummm, yeah, I've said it. But, I have *totally* not been patronizing my friends! When I say it, I mean that I would be calling 911 to find out what to do when I have "accidentally" locked both kids in the closet. When other people say it though, somehow I hear, "I could never go that long without adult interaction. I am just too sophisticated." But that's not what I mean at ALL! I just mean that I am too weak, impatient and easily angered. So, I am trying to find a way to impart my own truth to y'all and to myself - that I 100% believe that parents (women or men) that stay at home with their kids are full-on, no holds barred, absolutely and totally my heroes. They probably never find themselves wheeling around in their sunroom calling their kids the wrong names and saying, "What? Who? When?" when their sister-in-law asks how their day went. I applaud every single one of you.

PS - Yancey told me that I can't post anymore about my car because if I tell you any more about what I did, no one will ever buy it.

PPS - Yancey would also like for me to clarify the statment, "I have help 4 days a week." He would like the record to show that I have HELP 7 days a week, in the form of a husband. Duly noted. (Author's Note: Except when he's on a golf weekend.)

Miss Mellie

My favorite movie of all time is Gone With The Wind. I have a list in my head of my Top Five favorite movies (and a sub-list of my Top Five Black and White movies), but Gone With The Wind doesn't count. It is not on the list because it is The Ultimate. I have always identified with Scarlett O'Hara. I read the book in 6th grade (and again and again later), and I have always felt (more like hoped) that I was like Scarlett -- opinionated, headstrong, willful, determined, intriuging, etc. Never thought I was a great beauty, like she was...but I like to think I would have made a dress out of curtains if the occasion warrented. Plus, Rhett Butler is hot.

I never liked Melanie Wilkes. She snatched up Scarlett's one true love and married him. Never mind that Scarlett was wrong about Ashley being her one true love - at the time, she thought he was. Plus, Melanie and Ashley were cousins. I know that the Wilkes' always marry their cousins, but that always seemed gross and wrong. But, the real problem was that Melanie was just simpering, "mealy-mouthed" (to quote Scarlett), forgiving to a fault, wore a lot of grey and was so completely unselfish that it just bugged me to no end. Yancey and I have fought about this (yes, sometimes we fight about fictional characters - together 15 years, what can I say?).....he says Melanie is a saint and a wonderful woman. Although he says that to get my goat, I know he really believes it deep down.

So tonight, I have come to a worrisome realization - I am afraid that I now more resemble Melanie than I do Scarlett. In the course of a typical random evening conversation, I behaved in a way that was clearly unselfish and actually reflective of feeling quite content. I thought for a bit and asked Yancey, "Have I become Miss Mellie??" He knew exactly what I was talking about (although Gone With The Wind was not part of the conversation at all), and he responded maddeningly (take note, men - this is maddening). He said, "Ummmm.....I can't answer that. Melanie is a fictional character, and you are a real person. Totally different." I know he was hedging. He knew exactly what I was asking. Have I lost my edge? Have I lost my feist, my fire, my recklessness? This could be devastating!

[Don't tell anyone, but I should mention, that over the last 5 years or so I have come to admire the quiet strength and uncompromising faith and loyalty that Melanie possessed. She stuck by her friends and family no matter what. She forfeited her own personal health if someone else was in need. She took the side of the underdog. She took money from the prostitute for the good of The Cause. Blah blah blah. Yep, still annoying.]

Is it because I'm inching closer to 40? Do we all turn nice as we age because we don't want the hassle of kicking up a ruckus all the time? Do our kids so totally exhaust us that we just look on smiling because we are bone-tired, but to the outside observer we seem seem peaceful and content? I honestly don't think I have it in me to be Scarlett Stribling, mother of twin-boys-about-to-turn-two-who-like-to-stand-on-tables. Is it possible to be a hybrid? That seems to be a popular concept these days. Perhaps I could be "Scarlanie" or "Mellett." I'm not sure that will appease me, but I'm going to think on it.

God help you poor people that just read all of that. Sorry.

The Streak Is Over

I am not the most graceful person in the world. I have been known to break a glass or two.....to marvel at bruises and wonder how they got there....to bump into cubicles at work....and even to walk into a chair that had been in the same position for about 7 years, thus breaking my toe and having to wear a big ugly shoe brace for 6 weeks. And then, 2 years later, to stub the same toe on the same chair.

But, for the last 16 years, I have managed to never - not once - damage my car more than a slight scratch. Sixteen years ago, I backed up and ran into a telephone pole. Panicking, I put the car in drive, heard a scrape, put it in reverse, heard another scrape, put it in drive - scraaaaape, put it in reverse and floored it. Not something I am proud of, but I hadn't had my license long and, like I said, I panicked. Today, all you have to do is replace that telephone pole with a sharp metal plate on a post about 8 inches above the ground and you know *exactly* what happened at about 9AM outside of (of course) a Starbucks. **Oh yeah...you should probably also replace the 76 Oldsmobile Cutlass Convertible with a BMW that we like to call my "I Got Out Of The Hospital Alive" car.** Turn right....scrape....go backward....scrape, scrape, scrape, panic, floor it. I never even saw the sharp plate (don't even ask why it was there (who cares) or why I didn't see it (no clue)). I raced down Peachtree late to a meeting but just HAD to stop to see what had caused that God-awful noise back there. Oh. My. God. Racer X had clearly come up beside me and pushed the button that made the blades pop out of his tires which then drug a giant gaping hole down the side of my car. Oh. My. Not-Nice-Word. God. I called Yancey all hysterical, and once I described it in terms that he could understand (he doesn't know from Speed Racer) I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Now, I have had all day to ruminate over this, feel nauseous and cry some more. And, I have come to the conclusion that all of that emotion comes from 3 things: 1) Having to tell someone that I had wrecked my car 2) Hurt pride and 3) Mortal embarrassment. That's it. Nothing else. The car is mine and it's paid for. I wasn't drunk. I didn't hurt anyone. We'll figure out the repair cost. I have taken care of #1 by telling absolutely *everyone* I know. Get it out in the open, let people laugh and say, "Holy Crap - I've NEVER seen anything like that - it's like a little tiny tornado hit your car and bent steel!!" But (2 and (3 have haunted me today. Perhaps you don't feel as proud or embarrassed at 16 as you do at 38. Well, that's ridiculous - of course you do. Introspection over.

Yancey just told me that I am overreacting - right after I freaked out that a snake or a chipmunk would get into that hole in the running board thingy and crawl into my engine and either die or pop out of my A/C vent. I agree that I am probably overreacting, but I'm just sayin'....that's how I feel about all of this. I don't have any profound reasoning behind it, but I thought if I put it out there, someone might understand (or take pity).

Wine has taken a backseat to champagne, Thai food and a movie tonight (thanks Yancey, you always know how to make a girl forget mortal embarrassment - unless, of course, you caused it). Unless someone's car gets Racer-X'd in Iron Man, I may be OK tomorrow.

PS - Why does a days-away-from-38-year-old woman still have to look up how to spell embarrassment?

Good Housekeeping?

So.....the 20 year reunion was the bomb!!!! I saw so many friends and laughed about so many things! Several of my friends have moved home to Big Lex (although we all swore we would get the heck out and never return), and it was a nice reminder of how wonderful small town life can be. We sat on our friends' front porch(es), drank tons (especially the South Carolina-brewed-sweet-tea-infused vodka called Firefly - go find it and buy it!) and remembered the olden days. Many things were rehashed, forgiven and rediscovered. I *highly* recommend going to your reunion - even if you think noone will remember you or that you have gotten fat or that you have grown "beyond" that time in your life. Trust me - you haven't, they haven't. And everyone is looking at life through hind-sight-rose-colored glasses. So, just go!

Anyway...tonight was a night of fun and friendship with my neighborhood amigas. Better known as Bunco. A dice game that is mindless and fun and therapy. Yancey came home from his golf lesson to our 14 year old next door neighbor minding the boys while her Mom and I sat a few doors down drinking wine and watching our cell phones for any signs of trouble. Thankfully, nothing called us home from our night with 12 friends, all eager to hang out and relax and laugh. Not to mention that $120 was on the line ($10 each). I have won Bunco once in about 8 years, and tonight upped my winning streak to TWICE ....Yippee!!!! I got home, and when Yancey asked (as he always does because he knows I never win) where my winnings were......I whipped them out of my (still really unneeded) bra and waved that money around like it was our new 401K (actually, with today's market, it might be!). So, all in all, a good night.

So, as I am winding down, I grab a magazine and start blindly turning pages. I am intrigued. How to organize your junk drawer.....your pots and pans....how to find a Halloween costume for unusually small 2 year olds.....how to find makeup that is easy to put on and cheap. I am LOVING this mag. Then, I look at the front, and it is Good Housekeeping. GOOD HOUSEKEEPING people!!! This is my Mom's magazine (love you Lee-Anne but, still!). This is the magazine that is in the dentist's office, but it's 3 months old. What??? How am I relating to Good Houskeeping? An hour ago, I was funny, irreverant, cussing like a sailor and thinking I was but a young pup.

So, as I retire for the night, I realize that I am still that crazy 17 year old blue-eye-lined girl from Lexington, NC but I am also the almost-38-year-old wife and mother of twins. I relish my time with my friends, but I also search out ways to make my life and my family's life easier, more creative and more fun in general. So, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that while In Touch, US Weekly, People, Vogue and Elle are necessary for me to feel "in tune"......so is Good Houskeeping. Ouch and Hooray.

Love Y'all!!

It Snuck Up On Me

My 20th high school reunion is this weekend. How did that happen? I mean, I know the science. The Earth revolves around the sun (right?)* and years go by. But, how did I become older than most of my teachers were back in high school? And, why on Earth am I this old with 2 very young and very energetic kids. And another thing -- why do all of the old pictures of that era show myself and my girl friends with gigantic hair, blue eye liner, and stirrup pants while my guy friends appear as if they could walk through my door today perfectly stylish? Clearly a conspiracy of some sort. I'm going to think on that.

So, I've been ruminating a lot lately about those hysterical years during the mid-80s. Bon Jovi...California Coolers...Skoal Bandits...Prince...Madonna...Capri Cigarettes (that cost 95 cents a pack - if you smoked, of course)...Cruising (in my hometown, at least)...ahhhhh....the memories. When I look back, they were heady times. But, through it all, I had a plan. The Plan. College, then job, then family, then Happily Ever After. Ummm, yeah.

So, the college thing worked fine. Then things got a little sticky. The Plan to get a job sort of derailed when I was told that in order to take part in Interview Day at UNC-Chapel Hill (where the likes of Goldman Sachs came to cherry pick the best of the best), I needed to cut my hair and buy a navy suit. For some reason, that just ticked me off to no end. So, to my Dad's chagrin, I skipped Interview Day and graduated a very happy (if seemingly unemployable) English major. The Plan then changed (but it was definitely still The Plan) to a year of travel and school in Europe then back to the US to attend grad school. Yeah, that didn't happen either.

Not that I felt good about it, but I moved to Aspen, CO and applied/was accepted to grad school in Atlanta - still stubbornly trying to stick to The New Plan. Aspen, oh Aspen. Soon, I deferred grad school. Later, I wondered why grad school had ever been The Plan. Three years later I moved to Atlanta with Yancey - who would *many* years later (you were slow, my dear) become my husband. Wifehood was rockin'. Starting a family, not so much. Twelve years later, I am planning to attend my reunion.

Over these 20 years, I have remained closeclose friends with those blue eye-lined girls from high school, and we get together often. Those weekends quickly move from "How is your life?" to "Who brought the Eagles and Poison CDs?" Lots of laughs, lots of booze, and countless recountings of who did what with/to whom. I always leave those weekends feeling like I am a success. My life didn't go like I planned it at age 18, and you know what? Thank God.

While this reunion has given me lots of opportunity to be mystified as to how Age 37 has snuck up on me, it has also solified in my mind the fact that this life is the one that was meant for me. I am glad I spent time in Aspen, learning that one doesn't always need a Plan (although if you looked in my day planner right now, tomorrow is planned down to the hour). I am glad that I married someone who challenges me. I am glad that I have 2 crazy boys who, in the end, were my Plan all along.

Now all I need is gas to get me to NC and back.

*Before I posted this, I actually did ask Yancey to be sure the Earth *does* revolve around the sun.

Why Do I Even Try?

Short and sweet.

In an effort to feel young and hip, I had my fingernails cut short and painted that almost-black color that you see in all the magazines. You know the picture - young starlet with lots of bangles and braided bracelets clutches her Blackberry, Starbucks cup and keys......and you see The Nails front and center. Those are the nails that I have. I must say, I was pretty impressed with myself.

Then, as I was taking the tray off of Yancey's high chair yesterday, I jumped back in fright because I thought I'd seen a bug crawling across the tray. Turns out it was just one of my young and oh-so-hip fingernails in my line of vision as my hand moved.

Why do I even try?

Again, With the Gas

I promise not to talk (much) more about the whole gas thing in GA, but it is really getting on my nerves. It's the same premise as making a "run" on a bank. If people were just getting gas according to their normal gas-getting schedules, there would not be the shortage there is. Even CNN is reporting that the panic is affecting this "crisis" more than the actual pipeline disruption. And if *I* am quoting CNN (not my fave network), then you know it is serious up in here. So, people.......PEOPLE.......please please PLEASE stop panicking! Stop cutting in line to get gas. That is really rude, and eventually, someone is going to get shot doing that (thank God Yancey doesn't carry his gun in his car - she says sort-of-semi-jokingly). Seriously - I've HAD it with you people!!

Oh, DING, I have just realized that I am not so much of a People Pleaser (view previous paragraph) as a "Rule Follower." Yes, that is *much* more the gist of who I am. Follow the rules. Wait in line. Take your turn. Tell the truth. Be fair. Don't go more than 9 miles over the speed limit. Do not water your plants (or for God's sake neighbor-who-I-shall-not-name do NOT set up a waterslide in your front yard) during a water restricting drought. Do not pretend to be sick so your spouse has to get up both weekend mornings with the kids (no comment). Do not read the end of a book before you are supposed to. Do NOT look for your Christmas presents before Christmas Day. Oh my gosh - have I always been this way? This is sort of annoying and borderline personality disorder, isn't it?

Oh well, at least the odds of me getting shot in line while waiting for gas are a lot lower than some other folks out there. That's something at least.

PS - I will no longer talk about the gas issue in Atlanta. Unless, of course, it causes me to miss my upcoming 20th High School Reunion. Then, some heads are gonna roll.

People Pleasing and the Gas Crisis

I just erased a gargantuan entry about how I am a People Pleaser and how it pisses me off that people take advantage of that. I figured that you guys don't need to read that crap - that is for my therapist (if I had one).

Soooo....anyhoo. Atlanta has no gas. Hilton Head Island has gas, but The City Too Busy To Hate is apparently The City Too Busy To Get My Ay Ess Ess Some Gas. I was driving home from work today, my eyes peeled for a convenience store that actually had The Elusive Liquid, and - miracle of miracles - I found one!! Evidently, the gas had just started flowing, as they were putting the little plastic numbers back up on the price board right as I pulled in. I only got half a tank, so as to leave a little more for my fellow man. Smugly driving on to pick up Annie from Doggie Day Care, I realized, "DAMN IT - I am a people pleaser yet again!!!!!" Everyone else at that station was filling up his car, and some were even filling up extra gas tanks in their truck beds or hatchbacks. But, I felt the need to be a good citizen, to take no more than I truly needed. Is this a woman thing? A Southern thing? A co-dependent thing? What????? Because now, in defiance of whatever it is, I am sitting at home telling Yancey he can get his own damn dinner (although he's already started making us both dinner) and that the laundry ain't going to do itself and that I am getting a manicure tomorrow and that I want Starbucks at breakfast. He's like, "What in God's name are you talking about?"

Awwwwww hell.....I don't know. But, if it makes you happy, I'll give you some of my gas.

Love Y'all!

Ummmm....yeah

So, I was talking to my dear friend, Glynis, just now and I recounted a story to her about tonight that would probably bear including here based on my last entry. If only to redeem myself in my own mind.

Yancey worked late tonight, and I did the whole nighttime routine w/the boys. Fussy fussy fussy because they spent today at preschool, but still, we had some moments with both of them in my lap in our chair reading Goodnight Moon (which will probably end up on my headstone, I've read it so much).

I was kissing their heads as they babbled and saying, "I love you." Foster was mimicking me, which was cute, but I thought he was just practicing sounds. So, when they were both in their beds, and I was at the door telling them to blow me kisses and "I love you," all of a sudden Foster peeks up and says, "Wuv woo." OMG - my last nerve just got a lot stronger.

Love y'all!

What The World Is Like When You Can't Talk

Well, let's just jump right in, shall we?

I am just going to say it......right now, I like one of my kids more than the other. I *love* them both equally, and I truly hope I treat them both the same. But, at the end of the day, I am happier to put Foster in the crib for night-night. I vascillate between thinking this is probably normal (actually, Parenting magazine says it is, so detractors can suck it) and feeling like I am the Wickedest Witch of the West after all we've been through.

*Actually, you can just tack on "after all we've been through" to any statement I make when I am feeling guilty about not being Caroline Ingalls (REPRESENT, my 1970s sisters!!)*

Anyway.......Foster is walking a thin line right now on the filament that is my last nerve. So, in the moments when I agonize over not having the infinite patience that other mothers must have, I think about what his world must be like. The kid can't talk. He is very verbal and loves to say words and mimic and point and verbalize. But, he can't say, "Yancey is hogging the spotlight, and that is pissing me off." Or, "You guys have been sitting in those 2 chairs for an hour, and I am so bored I think my brain is turning to wood." So, what else is he supposed to do but hit, bite, cry, stand on his table, eat ice off the floor like the dog and flip his highchair over and stand in between the legs crying because he is "Tuck" (i.e., stuck.....PS - he's not stuck). Is it because I waited too late to have kids? Do people who are parents in their 20s have more patience or interest in diversion? Hell, are they ever even tired?? I know I wasn't tired in my 20s! Hahahaha - I had a blast, didn't you?? ;-) Ahhhhh, Tuaca and Jim Beam and a shift that didn't start until 11:30AM. Good times.

Anyway, so I started wondering what my world would be like if I couldn't communicate with anyone around me. I included not typing or writing or using signs - because it's not a fair comparison otherwise. OMG - I almost hyperventilated. Then I had a sip of wine and said a few words out loud and realized it wasn't *really* real. But, man oh man, what a world would that be?? And, why do they make little people who can't talk have to interact with big people who ONLY talk? I mean, we don't know what to do with that. We try to put words in their mouths and end up sounding ridiculous ("I think you are feeling frustrated because your brother took the lacing string away and stuck it up his nose. I validate you and think you are a big brave boy for taking your lumps in timeout when you bit him.") And, if you think that's what I really say, think again. It's more like "Oh PLEASE, just stop crying already. Are you mad? Sad? Frustrated? Hungry? Wet? Oh yeah, you can't TALK! Never mind - I'll just get you a snack - how 'bout that?"

So, at least I am trying to think about what it must be like for these little guys....they are so smart and fearless, but they can't tell you anything about it. Now that would just suck. So, now that I've gotten that off my chest (and they've been in bed, quiet, for a good hour) I think I feel more relaxed and zen about my approach.

Until tomorrow.

Love y'all!

Well, well, it's been 9 months - how the hell are ya?

I guess I got carried away with my life and neglected to write anything more on this site. That will be remedied soon. Now that I have recovered my forgotten password and remembered that I actually have a site to write on. More soon.

Ummmm......What Am I Doing?

OK, I have no idea what I am doing. I am moving to this lovely blog spot to free up space at CaringBridge.org, where my former ramblings are stored. CaringBridge is for folks that are supporting ill children or loved ones, and I just couldn't use their free service in good conscience anymore. I'm giving like that. Since noone knows the address of this site, I'm going to keep this post short......so I can go back to drinking wine (mixed with club soda - old WeightWatchers trick - and I say "old" since I haven't done WeightWatchers since 2002), eating dinner (at 9:30PM) and watching Ninja Warrior with Yancey. By the way, have you *seen* that show!? It is hard core!! I thought it was just another funny subtitled People-hurting-themselves show, but nooooo....it's horribly difficult, and apparently, the people that lose are devastated for years! Ha ha ha - what fun on a Sunday night!