JULIE•PERRAULT

Archive for the ‘Parenting’ Category

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Fifteen Minutes of Infamy

In Blogging, Family, Parenting, Twins on October 24, 2011 at 2:14 PM

CNN.com Thursday, October 20, 2011

What started out as a crazy week, just got a little crazier. In addition to taking in a feral dog and seven puppies (story here), on Wednesday I get a call from a CNN Reporter who is writing a story on mistakes parents make.

Her story was about how, as parents, we can do things for our children that we later realize were mistakes. She asked me about mistakes I made. I told her how I used to microwave Claire’s plastic bottles and how I used to feed the twins in Bumbo Chairs on top of the table. We talked for 15 minutes about my mistakes and others she had interviewed. She then asked if I could send a photo for the article.

That night, I briefly mention it to Unnamed Husband not knowing when it would post to their website. Amidst the chaos of four kids, eight dogs  and one MacBook Pro with a cracked screen (thanks to David smashing my i-phone into it), I put CNN.com, the phone call and my parental misgivings out of mind.

The destruction of twins never ends.

We awake on Thursday to Cate throwing up from the stomach bug. The only redeeming factor was that I no longer had to go on a field trip with ten 3-year-olds. Mid morning, I put a movie on for  Cate and David and finally make a cup coffee and sit down at my (cracked) laptop. I check my email and notice several comments on my blog. Hmmm. I go to my blog and see the referring link from CNN.com. I click the link:

Stupid things parents do that put their kids at risk

and a giant picture of me! I laugh so loud that the twins come in dragging blankets wanting to know what’s so funny. I show them the (broken) screen with me on CNN.com, thankful they can’t read. Unimpressed, they go back to the Doodlebops.

I email the link to Unnamed Husband who calls immediately. Laughing together, we both post it to our Facebook pages. Within 30 minutes of the article posting on CNN, I had more hits than I ever had in a day on my blog. I spend the next couple of hours, cleaning up vomit and checking comments made on the article.

By mid afternoon, I had thousands of hits to my blog and had even made a few enemies.

I agree, I sound a bit like an idiot but I still revel in my fame.

Who are these people??? They read parenting articles and yet they want to spay the parents. Clearly they are not parents as they have way too much time on their hands.  Too bad they weren’t around to spay Momma Dog.

The stray dog who delivered puppies under our house - anyone know what kind of dog she is?

Haters will hate but that will not deter my excitement of having my fifteen minutes of infamy.

Pupdate: Here’s a photo of our pups at almost two weeks old. Five more are still available. Call to reserve yours today! Hopefully my new found fame will find these guys a home.

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And Then There Were Two

In Family, Parenting, Twins on October 15, 2011 at 10:50 AM

Ultrasound - 8 weeks 4 days

October 11, 2007 — a date as memorable as my wedding or the births of each of our children.  At eight weeks pregnant, it was my first visit with my doctor for this baby. Based on my other pregnancies for my other two children, Unnamed Husband and I assumed that it would be an uneventful appointment.

After the routine blood work, we head to the exam room to see Dr. P who asks the usual questions: How are you feeling? Any nausea? Any spotting?…

I begin complaining that I had never felt this bad or been so tired. “Being pregnant with a 3-year old and a 1-year old will do that to you,” he says.

He tells us that it is probably too early to hear the heartbeat with the Doppler but he tries anyway. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he send us downstairs for an ultrasound.

We wait for about 15 minutes and gradually panic sets in. The only other time I had been sent for an ultrasound this early was when I miscarried. Does he think something is wrong?

I replay the appointment in my head trying to decipher what could have indicated that something is amiss. I look over at Unnamed Husband to see if he seems concerned. He’s engrossed in the newspaper and I can barely see the top of his head over the sports section. He licks his finger to turn the page and smiles at me. Not an ounce of concern. How can he be so calm? One thing I love about him is that he always thinks everything is going to work out but at this moment, his positivity is positively annoying.

We are called back for the ultrasound and my heart is virtually beating through my chest as we walk to the back. As we wait for the tech to come in, I share my concern with Unnamed Husband who quickly blows me off.

“Everything’s fine,” Mr. Happy says as he buries his nose in the paper again. With every page he turns, my annoyance grows.

Finally the tech begins the routine process,  ”There’s your ovary…, ” she says,

I glance over at Unnamed Husband still reading the newspaper. I scowl at him but he doesn’t look up. I can literally feel my blood pressure rising in anticipation of the awful news.

“There’s your two sacs….,” the tech says.

“What?!? Why would I have two sacs?” Thoughts of a molar pregnancy fill my head.

“Because you have two babies.”

Stunned, I look over at Unnamed Husband who finally folds the paper and puts it away.  We are in total awe staring at the two black circles on the screen and what looks to be Teddy Grahams inside them.

“Well do you see two heartbeats?,” I scream overwhelmed with worry for a second baby that only moments ago did not exist to me.

“There are two heartbeats.” she confirms.

The next few minutes were filled with questions and emotions that my memory can only recall as the muffled speech of Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Wah, Wa wan wah wahnn wa.”

Elated, we stumble back to Dr. P’s office who smiles widely when he realizes that his suspicion was confirmed.

It takes weeks for the news to sink in that we are having twins.

And then there were four.

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Toothless Wonder

In Family, Kids, Parenting on September 20, 2011 at 8:41 PM

The toothless wonder and his x-ray

It seems like every family has its signature injury. Some families always need stitches, others always need casts. We, on the other hand, need dentists.

It started when Claire was about 18 months and I was dressing her in her pajamas. She fell forward straight on her mouth and chipped her baby tooth. I was amazed that she would fall straight on her mouth and never brace herself with her hand. I thought it was instinctual to brace for a fall — apparently not.  Since then we have rushed her to the dentist several times.

The most recent was last year when she was six and ran into a metal rack in the paint store with her mouth wide open. Her two front teeth had been in her mouth less than a month and they were already under attack. Luckily, the bloody mouth was the worst of it and there was no permanent damage.

David and Cate both have several baby teeth that are chipped too. And now, there’s Edwin who could fit a faucet through the gaping hole in his mouth.

He lost his first two teeth this summer and his permanent teeth are just barely erupting through the bottom of his gums. Just this week, he told me that one of his top front teeth was loose. Although I could barely feel it budge, I gasped with excitement and said, “Just a few more months and you’ll be singing, ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth…”

Little did I know that two days later he would knock them out.

With one ill-fated leap onto the sofa, his chompers met David’s forehead and the rest is bloody history. An immediate but brief silence was followed by intense wailing. Unnamed husband leapt into action as I was paralyzed with my hand over my mouth, my own teeth reverberating because I knew what had just happened.

I finally gather myself and comfort Edwin while Unnamed Husband calls our dentist friend. I assess the damage and see the teeth still attached to his gums but dangling like a couple of hanging chads.

Our friend agrees to see Edwin on a Sunday – did I mention that everyone needs to be friends with a dentist?

Pre-pull photo from Unnamed Husband's antiquated cell phone

After a quick assessment, Unnamed Husband and our dentist friend decide that Edwin’s two front teeth should be removed. A little topical anesthetic and a lot of fussing and the teeth came right out.

Post-pull photo. My apologies for terrible photo.

As you can see from Unnamed Husband’s photos, Edwin was not a happy camper. He came back to life later after realizing that he would get a doubly profitable visit from the tooth fairy.

A tiny message from the Tooth Fairy

The tooth fairy visited us that night and left Edwin a tiny note telling him to take care of his new teeth. She found the idea on Pinterest — her latest time-sucking obsession!

Hopefully he’ll heed her advice and this will be the end of our dental anguish.

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Bad Mom Moments

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on April 29, 2011 at 10:33 PM

"Bottoms up, bottoms up"

I’m a firm believer that you shouldn’t judge another mom until you’ve walked all day on her sticky floor. But I must admit, when another mom is having a bad moment, I secretly feel a bit of relief knowing that I’m not alone. Well today, the moms of Glenmore Place have me to thank for lowering the bar.

Maybe it was because of my chaotic day yesterday, or maybe I was distracted by royal wedding fever — whatever it was — I was severely off my game today. Swamped with work and unable to get a babysitter, I was attempting to handle a few things from home, alone with all four kids. As noon approached, I was still in my pajamas diligently working on my computer taking an occasional break to peek at the newly posted royal wedding photos.

We are still in the throes of potty training (yes, I know it’s been two months), so David is playing in the dining room naked. Claire and Edwin have finally gone outside to ride their bikes on the sidewalk and Cate is clinging to my neck like a chimpanzee.

The monkey on my back

After about 10 (relatively) productive minutes, I notice it: the uneasy quiet that any mom recognizes as trouble.

Where’s David?, I ask.

“Dare he is,” David’s twin Cate replies as she points out the window.

I freeze as I look outside trying to process how he got there. Not only is he riding a Dora bike in the middle of our somewhat busy street, he has nothing on except three stickers. I race outside barefoot and yelling like a crazed Wal-Mart mom. His white skin is reflecting in the sun and I might as well be surrendering my motherhood card. I glance right and left to survey the damage, no neighbors or Child Protective Services agents in sight.

Wittle jay bird

Whew. Breathing a sign of relief, I pull him into the driveway, start laughing and wonder if it’s too early for a drink.

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Potty Training Stress Disorder

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting on February 5, 2011 at 11:47 AM

The bane of my existence

Potty Training twins is a torture that no human should have to endure. I have been dreading potty training Cate and David since they were newborns and I was going through Hell training Edwin. If only there was a potty training boot camp, the Perrault twins would be first in line.

This week has been one chaotic event after another. So after being stranded in the storm that hit Dallas, it only made sense to create a little more chaos as the bad weather approached us. As news stories swirled of the in-climate weather and school closings, I prepared  for our own storm – potty training:

Big girl underwear - Check

Big boy underwear - Check

Dora Pull-ups – Check

Diego Pull-ups – Check

Jelly beans – Check

Ice-cold Bud Light – Check

A great thing about having a large family is that you get another chance at things that you didn’t do well with your first or second child — a “do over” of Bad Mom moments.  I told myself that this time potty training was going to be different. The third time was going to be a charm. Or so I believed.

By mid-morning on Potty Training Day, I had lost all control. I wanted to get back in bed and pretend this day never happened. Unnamed Husband came home for lunch and confirmed what I already knew:

I was suffering from Potty Training Stress Disorder.

Potty Training Stress Disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that occurs as you experience the traumatic event of weaning a two-year old from diapers.

Symptoms of PTSD:

1. Lack of concern for your appearance or that of your home.

2. Difficulty getting up from the bathroom floor.

3. Irrationally beating small children for peeing on the floor.

4. Overwhelming sense that you are smelling urine all over the house.

5. Excessively eating jelly beans to numb your feelings of failure.

6. Avoidance of your (Facebook) friends for fear they will tell you how easy it was for them.

7. Sense that your child(ren) will be the first to go to Kindergarten in diapers.

That night, after putting the kids to sleep and self medicating with nachos and beer, I realized that despite the harrowing experience, we had made some progress.

If you know someone suffering from PTSD, offer support in the form of fattening food and alcoholic beverages and avoid saying anything that can trigger additional symptoms – like how your child potty trained himself.

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The Kids on the Bus…

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting, school, Twins on December 1, 2010 at 12:07 AM

Here comes the bus!

The school bus is a rite of passage for kids and a breath of fresh air for mammas everywhere. After two years of wasting time in the carpool line, Unnamed Husband and I decided that it was time for kids to ride the bus home from school. Claire and Edwin were super excited when we announced the news and the preparation began.

Verify with school office. Check.

Talk to first grade teacher. Check.

Talk to pre-K teacher. Check.

Find our bus at school and talk to driver. Check.

After a week of coordination, the big day was here. Claire and Edwin could barely contain their excitement.  Armed with signed notes typed with every detail, we head to school. On the way, we go over the rules:

Stick together.

Sit in the front.

Talk quietly.

Obey the bus driver.

At 3:00 p.m., I pick up the twins from Mother’s Day Out and we hurry home to wait for the bus. Cate and David are as excited as I am. We arrive home, grab the camera and head outside to our stop. We wait for several minutes in anticipation. I could hear the bus before we see it and I alert the twins. They start chanting, “BUS! BUS! BUS!” as the yellow wonder turns down our street.  The bus stops at the corner and our neighbors jump off. As the bus heads our way, the twins wave their arms and I raise my camera ready for the perfect shot. I watch through my viewfinder as the bus passes us unnoticed.

For a millisecond, I am stunned immobile. And then like any crazed mother, I start screaming and chasing the bus.

The driver stops 20 yards away and as I reach the door, she recognizes me from the week before.

Ms. Jackson: Are your kids supposed to be on the bus?

Me: YES! Are they?

Ms. Jackson: No, they never got on.

Me: What do I do? {I know. You are probably wondering, why I’m asking the bus driver. But I had NO idea what to do.}

Ms. Jackson: Go check at school, I’m sure they are there.

I grab the twins, race to the car and call Unnamed Husband who excitedly answers the phone in anticipation of the bus report. I frantically spew the scenario and he calls school while I load the twins in the car. Meanwhile I call my friend whose kids ride another bus. No answer.

Luckily, we live close to school and in minutes, I’m there. I run to the after school program and  before I can say anything the teacher says, “They aren’t here.”

I run to the office, where I bump into Claire’s teacher who was retuning from the parking lot. Her face ashen, so I assume she just got called back to school. We go into the office and both administrators are on the phone — one with Unnamed Husband the other with the School Board office. I listen to one side of the conversation.

Administrator: “We think they may have gotten on the wrong bus.”

School Board Office: {insert Charlie Brown noises here: wangh wah wan wangh wan?}

Administrator: “Bus number 2365.”

School Board Office: {wangh, wan wah wangh, wan wangh, wan wangh, wan.}

Administrator: “Oh, it’s a sub. Well, do you have her cell number?”

School Board Office: {wangh wan  wangh wan wangh wan, wangh wan.}

Administrator: “Well, if you don’t have her number…what will happen, if they don’t get off the bus?”

School Board Office: { wangh wan wangh, wan}

Luckily, our school only has two busses so I call my friend again. She answers, I tell her the scenario and she agrees to get my kids off the bus. I tell the office staff that I think all is well and they explain that the kids are on the bus they are assigned to. I attempt to process why they wouldn’t be assigned to the bus that passes in front of our house when I remember that the crossing guard is watching the twins outside in the car.

I arrive to my friend’s house to find my kids snacking on popcorn and sipping juice, thrilled with their bus ride. They never knew they were lost. I peel them away and we finally make it home an hour after their expected arrival.

The next day, we iron out the confusion and the kids on the bus make it home, safe and sound.

But of course, I forgot to take a picture.

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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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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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