JULIE•PERRAULT

Archive for the ‘Family’ Category

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When Duty Calls

In Family, Life on November 14, 2010 at 9:45 PM

When a good week goes bad

Several weeks ago I received notice that it was time to serve. Having never been called to jury duty, I was momentarily intrigued. Then it occurred to me how one tiny piece of computer-generated mail could potentially wreck my week. I franticly prepare the week prior – getting ahead at work, planning sitters, listing things I could work on during jury duty. The morning of my summons, Unnamed Husband is reading the paper when he says, “uh oh.”

He tosses me the paper to an article about a murder trial that is beginning jury selection that day. Crap. Who better to be selected for the case of a suburban mom who snapped and (allegedly) murdered her husband?

I hurry to drop the kids off and run by my office before heading to jury duty. Unnamed Husband had informed me of the lengthy orientation, so I intentionally arrive 15 minutes late to find out that they have already ushered a third of the of the potential jurors to the courtroom for the selection of the murder case. Whew. Saved by the (tardy) bell.

My first three hours of duty were surprisingly delightful as I was trapped in the quiet library with wi-fi access, my laptop, to-do list and my book. The next three hours were not as productive. Panel 3 was ordered to the court room to begin selection for a medical malpractice case. Convinced I would probably be dismissed based on Unnamed Husband’s work in the medical field, I still had to endure watching the first 15 potential jurors be questioned. Five were dismissed for conflicts and ten others sent to the jury room.  Then of the remaining twenty left in the courtroom, my lucky number was called for questioning with 14 others. After a barrage of questioning, it was clear that I wasn’t as controversial as some of the others. The judge rattles off the list of the dismissed and I listened intently for my number that was never called. For a brief moment, I was honored to be deemed fair and impartial and then as I headed to the jury room, panic set in.

The bailiff enters and briefly describes what lay ahead: three days of testimony, mouth shut, ears open, phones off. Yikes.

A little after 5pm, we are dismissed and I quickly head for my car and call Unnamed Husband with the news. The reception in the parking garage was awful, but his aggravation is crystal clear.  I tell him about the trial and he tells me about his two hours occupying the kids in the backyard while the painters finish. Crapola. I totally forgot that our living room was being painted. It seems like days since I left the house this morning with rugs rolled up and furniture stacked in the middle of the room. I muster up the strength to remind him that I have a work event in less than an hour and that it’s a Halloween event and the kids need to be in their costumes. Just as I am wincing in anticipation of his reaction, a driver rear ends my car.

Me: I gotta go, someone just ran into the back of me.

Him: This day can’t get any worse.

Me: Yes it can. I don’t have my license. (On our lunch break, I ran to get my flu shot and left my license. The clinic called Unnamed Husband and he texted me to go get it. Which of course, I didn’t.)

I hang up the phone and survey the damage which was minimal. Unnamed Husband had told me to get a police report regardless of the damage and since I was treading lightly I insisted we do so. After 45 minutes, I realize that it is unlikely that I will make it to the event. That suspicion is confirmed minutes later when my car battery dies. The cop arrives, jumps my car and graciously doesn’t give me a ticket after I played the husband-is-going-to-kill-me card.

And thus begins my week.

Three days and $250 in babysitters later, I know way more about hernia surgery and polypropylene mesh than anyone with a BA should. By Thursday evening, juror number 12 is dismissed and the verdict is unanimous – Momma needs a drink!

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One Louse-y Day

In Family, Kids, Parenting on September 19, 2010 at 9:53 PM

School picture 2009

Oh, the excitement of school pictures –a sliver of one’s youth immortalized by a mediocre photographer. School pictures made me anxious as a child and still do even though my only role is to cut a check and send my kids to school nicely coiffed. My anxiety culminated when I was flat-ironing Claire’s hair (okay, I’m that mom) and discovered a louse.

WHAT is this? Then it clicks as I remember the letter we received from the school nurse last week.

We received a similar letter a week earlier.

Head Lice. On school picture day. Nice. Not wanting to alert Claire of my panic, I continue to iron her hair as I assess the situation. I excavate three live lice and I hope the heat from the iron destroys any nits. I send her into the kitchen where her dad is preparing breakfast. As she walks ahead of me, I flag him and pull him into the bathroom for an emergency conference.

Me: Claire has lice.

Him: What do you mean Claire has lice?

Me: What do you mean what do I mean? Claire. Has. Lice.

I realize that I am wasting valuable time and I abort the useless discussion. I immediately check Edwin’s head. Clear. I head to the twins’ room. I check Cate’s head. Clear. I check David. Damn. Another man down. This is not our first battle with lice, so luckily I remember the drill. Quickly, I develop a plan and the deployment begins.

Unnamed Husband brings Edwin to school while I feed the twins and dress Cate. I strip all of the beds and begin washing sheets, blankets and comforters. I fire up the dryer filled with about 20 stuffed animals and load all of brushes and combs in Ziploc bags. I then realize that my hair is wet and I have no brush. I quickly scavenge through the house and find an unused American Girl doll brush. I finish getting ready while trying to avoid thinking about the pile of work I was supposed to do today. Unnamed Husband returns from the drugstore with the least toxic of the toxic combat chemicals.

As directed, I wash Claire’s hair. Wait 10 minutes. Rinse. Wash with Dawn dish soap — that wasn’t in the directions but I remember it worked for Lucy’s fleas. Desperate times, desperate measures. I then begin the process with David. Wash. Wait. Wash. All the while, he screams. Then begins the fun part – nit-picking. Hence the colloquial term, nit-picking is so tedious that it took me almost two hours to finish. I call the school nurse and recount our morning. She tells me that once the treatment is complete she can return to school.

Living the dream...

We arrive at school just before lunch and just in time for school pictures.

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A Girl, A Pig And Some Glue

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on August 29, 2010 at 5:30 PM

Remnants of the piggy bank my dad gave me as a child.

Tragedy struck at our home on Wednesday. Friends came over for a late afternoon play date and my five-year-old, Claire and five of her friends were playing outside while the moms were inside with the younger three. The older kids came in from the heat and went to Claire’s room to play. That’s when we heard the screams. Smeared with tears, Claire comes running in the living room to tell me that her pig is broken. Assuming that it was one of the two small piggy banks she received as baby gifts. I tell her that’s its okay. It happens.

No, Momma. It’s the blue pig your Daddy gave you.

Oh no, not my pig. I run with Claire back to her room to survey the damaged pig. There she lay, crumbled in piles of her own dust. Broken? More like annihilated. Claire explains that they found the pig like this when they walked in.  I bend down to pick up the pieces and my throat swells. There are very few things that I am sentimental about and this pig was one of them.

I’m not sure how long I’ve had her. I don’t remember my Dad giving her to me but I’ve always known he did. I imagine that I was probably Claire or Edwin’s age and it was probably after he returned from a trip.

My friends come to aid in the clean up effort. Overwhelmed with grief but suppressing it for my daughter’s sake, I pick up the pieces just like my mom did 25 years ago when my dad died.

I dismiss my friends’ optimism that she can be fixed and I place the 30 plus pieces on the counter. I recognize this destruction all too well. This was clearly the work of a twin. In their brief two-years, the twins have destroyed this house in ways I never knew possible. Later that night when my husband arrives home, we ask the twins about  the pig. David shrugs his shoulders to his ears — a new move he must have picked up at Mother’s Day Out. When I repeat the question, Cate beams with pride, pats herself on the chest and says, “Cate throw.”

The next morning as I head for coffee I stare at the clay heap.  I am the antithesis of a hoarder, but I am unable to throw away the remnants of my pig and I decide that I am going to fix her. Armed with a fair amount of determination and a lot of Gorilla Glue, I begin the 15-hour restoration process. Over the next three days, Claire and Edwin are enthralled with the tedious progress and the perils of repeatedly gluing my fingers together.

Claire and her pig

By Saturday evening, hope is restored as the pig is in one piece. Although she’ll never be the same, she’s as strong as ever. We return her to the room of a very pleased little girl. This time she’s on the top shelf.

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One Wild Weekend

In Family, Kids, Pets, Twins on August 17, 2010 at 9:02 PM

Girls' Night at the Flora-Bama in Orange Beach, AL

Last weekend the planets aligned and I spent a fabulous 36 hours with old friends. It’s probably been eight years since we have spent a weekend all together.  Between the seven of us, we have had eight marriages, three divorces and 18 kids. So as you can imagine, we have lots to talk about. After plenty of sun therapy and can beer at the Flora-Bama, I woke up early Sunday to return home. On our way out of town, my friend and I picked up the area’s famed Royal Reds and Unnamed Husband was delighted when I called to tell him that I planned to boil the delightful shrimp that evening.

I got home, unpacked and quickly re-injected myself into the usual chaos. Claire and I headed to the grocery store to replenish the depletes and prepare for our shrimp boil. When we returned, the rabid twins were up from their nap. I was putting away groceries when I heard our five-month-old kitten, Lucy make a miserable sound. (For Lucy’s story, go here.) I look up to see her pancaked body fully covered by David laying on top of her. The only thing visible beneath the behemoth two-year-old was her head. I peel David off of her and decide that Lucy is safer outside.

When I put her down at the door, I notice that she is arching her back and won’t step on her left leg. Great, David squished the cat. Irrationally thinking she’ll shake it off, I pick her up, pet her and try again. She tries to walk, but instead arches her back with the same pathetic limp. Panic. I yell at Unnamed Husband to peel himself away from golf and get his opinion. We agree that she is maimed and disagree that we should call the vet. Momma reigns in this department and Claire and I head to the 24-hour animal hospital.

When we arrive at the emergency vet clinic, I describe the flattening, the wild twin, the back problem and the limp. The tech asks me what David weighs. 25 pounds. He then weighs Lucy. 6 pounds. The vet comes in and examines her. She seems to be acting normal and even takes a few steps without limping. He recommends that we x-ray her to check for ligament damage, punctured bladder, etc.

Lucy's innards (Yes, I asked for a jpeg of the image for my blog)

Two hours and $221 later, the vet tells me that she is fine but he thinks she is in heat. Apparently the back arching is a sign and merely coincedental. Having never had a female cat, I am overwhelmed with my ignorance and the giggles. We hurry home for the usual flurry of dinner, baths, bed. Shrimp boil postponed. Unnamed Husband furious.

The next morning, I call our regular vet to ask if we can spay a cat in heat. The sweet girl on the phone says yes but there’s an extra charge. Of course there is.

Welcome home, Momma.

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When Your Vacation Is Not A Vacation

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on July 15, 2010 at 3:49 PM
Florida 2010

We just wrapped up a week’s vacation at the beach with Unnamed Husband’s family. By definition a vacation is a leisure trip or excursion. While enjoyable and full of the usual vacation gluttony, our trip was anything but leisurely. With four kids burning through eight swimsuits a day, more gear than a U-haul can carry and not a babysitter in sight, let’s just say the labor was intense.

I have really great childhood memories of summer trips to the beach and I want my kids to have the same. One of the sweet things about being a child is that you have no freaking clue what your parents go through on “vacation.”

You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m a list maker. So here’s my list of ten signs that your vacation is no longer a vacation:

1. The time spent packing and unpacking exceeds the time spent vacation.

2. You’ve mastered in-car yoga moves stretching to give the kids drinks, snacks, toys, etc. Namaste.

3. You consider jumping off the Mid-Bay Bridge just to escape the scene in the car.

About the time I considered jumping out of a moving vehicle

4. You manage to cook everyone breakfast without taking a single sip of your coffee while it’s warm.

5. By the time you get swimsuits on everyone, and get everyone out to the beach it’s time to go in for lunch.

6. By the time you get sunscreen on everyone else, you’re burned.

7. The kids manage to get more sand on you than there is in all of their crotches combined.

8. You read more on the back of the cereal box than you do of your book.

9. Despite your efforts to stay on top of it, the laundry pile looks like Big Kahuna on ‘roids.

10. There’s more tar balls in swim diapers than there are on the beach.

If they only knew...

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Two, Two, Many.

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on June 25, 2010 at 2:48 PM

Our crew

I have a lot of friends standing on the edge with their two kids, trying to decide if they will take the plunge for Number 3. We’ve actually become the poster family of what can happen when you go for just one more. Our Number 3 has 20 fingers and 20 toes and we wouldn’t exchange them for a crust-free sofa (unless of course it was this one).

Having a big family makes you give up lots of things — privacy, a clean house, a spare seat in the car. It’s made me give up one more thing as well  – caring. Call it a coping mechanism or self preservation. While often I’m drowning in a sea of four kids, some things aren’t as trying as they could be because officially: I don’t care anymore.

I can remember seeing crazed moms of three (or more) with their crust-laden, motley crew in Target. I would look at them with sympathy at how disheveled they all were.  What I didn’t realize at the time, is that mom wasn’t disorganized, etc. In lieu of insanity, she chooses not to care.

My four-year-old is obsessed with a glow-in-the dark Halloween shirt (thanks, Jenny). Now that he dresses himself, he puts it on every day that it’s clean. My first child would have NEVER been allowed to wear seasonal garb six months post-holiday. Now, I’m so freaking excited that he can dress himself, I don’t care if he wears it to the neighborhood block party in May (see photo above).

So here’s my estimation on one vs. many kids:

What your kid eats:

Kid #1 No sugar for the first two years

Kid #2 No sugar for the first year

Kid #3+ No sugar for the first thirty-minutes (of the day)

What your kid wears to her birthday party:

Kid #1 You shop months in advance for the perfect outfit and you even match it to the cake.

Kid #2 You find a cute outfit a few weeks before it’s a go.

Kid #3+ You pull out her best outfit and debate whether to iron it. When she rips it off and decides to go topless, you’re thrilled you didn’t waste your time.

Claire and her first birthday cake

The twin’s first birthday: Cate’s shirtless and Edwin’s in his ghost shirt (in April)

When your kid is sick:

Kid #1 You are a nervous wreck and call the doctor.

Kid #2 You relish in the fact that they want to snuggle and you call your mom.

Kid #3 You hope he doesn’t get you sick and you call the babysitter.

When your kid wakes in the middle of the night:

Kid #1 You jump up immediately and rock him until he calms.

Kid #2 You lay there in bed hoping he settles down and finally get up 30 minutes later.

Kid #3+ It’s the craziest thing – ever since you e-bayed your baby monitor, the babies NEVER wake in the middle of the night!

When you grocery shop with your kid:

Kid #1 You don’t take her shopping for the first six months for fear of germs. Then when you do, you bring your grocery cart protective seat cover.

Kid #2 Screw the seat cover, you take your chances. She wants to suck on the cart handle? Whatever keeps her quiet.

Kid #3+ You get yelled at by the check-out lady for leaving your child unattended while you run to get that item you forgot.

So, for those of you wondering how you would ever stay afloat with just one more…

Come on in, the water’s (extremely) warm.

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Being the Momma

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Pets, Twins on May 9, 2010 at 3:08 PM

The Perrault Five

Hell has officially frozen over. This Mother’s Day, there’s a new baby in the Perrault house. It’s been a long journey down the path de resistance. Unnamed Husband declared this a pet-free home years ago. But those of you who know me, know that I am persistent and can beat-down the best of them. Maybe it was the embarassment of our children cowering at others’ pets. Maybe it was Claire praying to God that one day she could have a kitty. Or maybe it was me, wearing him down at every opportunity.

So Friday, as Claire was in school, we packed the lower three in the car and headed across the river to rescue a kitty. I grew up with cats so I knew that I wanted a short-haired male. Boy cats always seemed nicer and I knew that long hair would eventually enrage Unnamed Husband. As the camo-clad Animal Control worker, escorted me through the kennel area, the smell of urine was overpowering so this was going to be a quick decision. He introduced me to two sets of kittens. The first set were adorably tiny but all he had to say was trailer park and bottle feeding.

Next.

Then there are three precious fuzzy gray and white babies. I ask which was male and he checks all three and hands me one. His wet tale makes me cringe and it’s do or die. Cuddling him, I head for the exit. We fill out the paperwork as the guy tells me about his pit bulls and spits into a bottle under his desk.

We carry our new baby to the car in a diaper box and introduce him to David, Cate and Edwin. They are thrilled and Edwin declares the cat’s name is Edwin the Cat. Panicked about the health conditions he’s encountered, we head straight to Dr. Hackett’s office where we learn that the kitty is in good condition with the exception of being a long-haired girl. Edwin quickly renames her Cate the Cat.

Claire arrives home and her delight makes every whiff of urine worth it. She overrides Edwin, and the sweet fuzzy ball is officially, Lucy.

For the past three days Lucy has lovingly tolerated torture from Edwin and the twins. Cate is the worst — think Darla Sherman from Nemo.

Nemo's Antagonist - AKA Cate

With a diabolic twinkle in her eye, Cate picks her up by the skin on top of her head. After being shoved in the toy oven and a trip down the slide, I wonder if Lucy would have been better off taking her chances in West Baton Rouge.

At least there’s Claire. Still a bit scared, she will only pick up Lucy with a towel. She cuddles her like an infant and Lucy basks in the reprieve from the chaos. We snuggle in the bed with her. Claire loves when Lucy “makes biscuits” and presses her paws on my side as if she’s nursing. Claire says,  She knows you’re the Momma.

Lucy all wrapped up with ClaireEven though my mother’s day request was waking up late in a kid-free bed, I couldn’t help but call for the kids to come snuggle with me. Bring Lucy too.

Because I’m the Momma.

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Greetings from Vomitville!

In Family, Kids on March 6, 2010 at 5:04 PM

David, Cate and I on Day Two of our excursion

I swear when I started my blog, I intended to write about things other than my kids, like marketing, art or even photography and occasionally about my chaotic life. Well, the chaos is all-consuming and knows no ration. My apologies.

I can’t help but fill you in on my recent trip to Vomitville.

This journey begins with my greatest childhood fear. Even though I rarely was sick, I had an irrational fear of vomiting. Some kids feared monsters under the bed meanwhile each night I prayed to God that I would not throw up. (I also prayed that the toilet would not overflow on me — it happened once and I never recovered. More on that later.) Yes, I may have benefitted from a kiddie dose of Ativan, but the point is that I don’t do well when the vomit fairy visits.

I should have seen the signs that she was on her way. The twins started with diarrhea on Saturday night (David) and Sunday morning (Cate). Sunday evening we were headed to my in-laws for my niece’s birthday when David burped in the car and spit up. Weird, I thought, but I ignored it. BIG mistake.

I will save you the gory details that transpired over the next hour but let’s just say that it involved lots of projectile vomit, a dining room of 12 people and a fancy rug. We returned home with a naked baby and a half-dressed mom who couldn’t believe her ignorance. That was Day One of our voyage.

Day Two was more of the same. I held them for most of the day until Cate’s vomit traveled down the front of my shirt and collected in my belly button. My (sucky) washer and dryer have never seen so much activity. I kept having vision’s from  Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. There is a scene where Vivi (Ashley Judd) is on the bathroom floor with four kids vomiting in unison. She is at the end of her rope and I have never sympathized more with a character in my life. I felt her pain then and I was feeling it now.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my stomach began grumbling and I knew the fate before me. I was so certain that I was about to be struck down, that I took a four-year-old prescription of Phenergan in hopes of lessening the severity. That expiration date must mean something, because an hour later I was pummeled. Day 3 was spent near death in bed and Unnamed Husband decided to join in on he fun. Thankfully, my regular sitter was there keeping the babies. She knocked on the door to tell me that she was going to take the babies to her Mom’s house so we could rest. She could have told me she was taking them to Mexico and I would have said, have fun.

Day 4 was spent recovering and Day 5 was filled with intense sterilization. My grandmother would have been proud with the amount of Lysol-ing going on.

It’s now Day 6, the twin’s diarrhea lingers and I am trying to put our house back together. While it probably won’t be our last trip to Vomitville, I’m hoping it’s our most memorable one.

Update: It’s now Day 11 and the twins first day sans diarrhea. We have successfully infected my in-laws (both in their 70′s) and my two, sweet nieces. Yep, we’re that family.

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When 3-year-olds Pray

In Family, Kids, Parenting on January 28, 2010 at 10:03 PM

Little man with some big requests

A friend of mine reminded me what a good idea it is to record our children’s voices. Whenever I use the video recorder, they always act different, so thanks to the new iPhone voice memo feature, I have recorded my kids without then realizing it. Click the arrow button below to hear Edwin’s bedtime prayer a few nights ago.

or click here to download: Edwin’s prayer

For those of you who aren’t fluent in Edwinese, here is the transcript:

Me: Who do you want to pray for?

Edwin: …the people who don’t have no houses, no food, no door…Dey want a nightlight but der mom said no but da dad said yes, but not right now….and da people who have no trundle and want der sister to sleep wit them because they’re scared.
…and da people who have no door, no lights, no pictures and no roof when the rain comes to get their house so mess, so wetty…And no costumes…

Me: And what about the people in Haiti, should we pray for them?

Edwin: Yeah, and they’re bones are sticking out for real…Or you fall down wike a tree….Cuz your bone might break out.

Me: That would be terrible.

Edwin: Uh huh, and you can’t walk anymore. Your arm can’t move anymore.

Me: So maybe we should pray for the doctors who take care of those people?

Edwin: …and your arm going to be like this. [holding his arm like it's in a cast]. It couldn’t move anymore, because the bone help your arm move.

Me: Do you want o pray for all of the people who died?

Edwin: …and the people who died and turned into new people and don’t want to die…but, I don’t want to die, Mom.

Me: I don’t want you to die either. You are going to live a long life.

Edwin: …but…when I grow up wike into a grandma and a grandpa.

Me: Yep, but Memaw and Paw Paw and Nanette are all still alive, so you have a long time.

Edwin: …and the people who don’t have no chairs, and no bulletin boards, and da ones that don’t have no pillows, no bed, no animals and no…and no… boxes.

Me: Okay, good night, say, “Amen”

Edwin: And one more…[he gets up to look around]

Me: One more…

Edwin: …and no football, like this.

Me: Okay, good night.

Edwin: That’s the last one.

If only he was this sweet during the day.

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Stop and Smell the Babies

In Family, Kids on January 1, 2010 at 12:59 AM

Day four in the hospital and feeling better

Monday evening was an unusual evening at our house. Usually the witching hour, 5:00 pm was oddly peaceful. Claire, Edwin and David were still napping, Unnamed Husband was in his office “working” Facebooking (vicariously through me) and Cate and I were on the couch. She had been feeling bad all day and was snuggling like only a sick baby snuggles.

As we lie there,  I realized what a rarity sitting and holding one baby is for me. At 20 months, twins vie for attention. If you are holding one, the other is climbing on board attempting to wedge the other out of position. So other than carrying her or her brother somewhere, I don’t hold them much anymore. So I soak in the moment and her smell and think how nice it is compared to the usual chaos.

I think about how I really need to quit calling them “the babies” as they will be two in April.

I think about how I dislike referring to them as “the twins” and try to think of another term that I can use to reference the two of them.

I think about how this is my last baby and I need to stop and smell her more often.

Then Edwin flies into the room and begins barking orders, speaking in fluent whine-ese. My moment with Cate abruptly ends but the sweet memory sears my heart.

Three days later, I sit next to her as she sleeps and recovers from RSV and Pneumonia. Killing time on Facebook and Twitter, the excitement on the new decade permeates the air – even in the hospital. I think of all the things I need to accomplish and do and decide to write about my 2010 resolutions.

Each year, I usually come up with four or five lofty aspirations and by Mardi Gras I’m back to my old, wretched ways. I realize that I should narrow my focus. So this year, I’ve decided to keep my extra pounds, my nail-biting habit and my inclination not to floss. I’ll probably continue my fair-weather church attendance and my obsession with Gummy Lifesavers. Instead, I’ll resolve to do one thing:

Stop and smell the babies.

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