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.

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.

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.

]]> http://julieperrault.me/2011/09/20/toothless-wonder/feed/ 0 julieperrault Edwin teeth img053 img056 tothfairy http://julieperrault.me/2011/08/15/they-had-me-at-shellac/ http://julieperrault.me/2011/08/15/they-had-me-at-shellac/#comments Tue, 16 Aug 2011 02:43:16 +0000 julieperrault http://julieperrault.wordpress.com/?p=932 ]]>

My nails looked this fabulous to me. This photo is from http://www.essie.com/nail-colors/

Last month, I was perusing Facebook — my usual Sunday morning ritual –when I noticed a post from Woman’s Hospital announcing a mommy blogger contest. Without hesitation, I entered the contest because: #1 – I love that place, #2 – I am quite competitive and #3 – I have a tendency to create my own chaos.

After submitting a blog entry, I found out that I was chosen to be one of seven weekly bloggers. I announce the news to Unnamed Husband who immediately replies:

That’s great. When are your going to have time to do that?

Annoyed with his negativity, I confidently claim that I’ll find the time, all the while I’m thinking to myself:

Seriously, when am I going to find the freaking time to do this?!?!?

Considering that I have blogged 30 times in two years, the reality of me finding time to blog weekly should be interesting. If nothing else it should prove to be good fodder for my weekly post.

A few weeks ago, the Woman’s marketing team responsible for executing the blog invited us to an informational lunch. We arrive to swag bags and Shellac manicures. While I had heard of Shellac from my always in-the-know sister, I had not tried it yet. Honestly, I think my last manicure may have been for my wedding 10 years ago. My nails are terribly thin and I am a habitual picker so manicures last me all of two days.

At the meeting, I try to pay attention to the discussion but I am distracted because my nails look so good. They are so thick and shiny plus they were completely dry. No more fumbling with your keys trying not to mess up your nails. I’ve been Shellac’ed and I’m never going back.

Tickled, I return home to Unnamed Husband who generously kept the kids. He immediately asks if I will get paid to blog. I respond my flashing him my newly Shellac’ed nails and tell him about the meeting. Shockingly, he was not nearly as impressed as I was.

A week later, I had diligently worked on upcoming blogs as well as peeled every bit of Shellac off. Oh well, it sure beats my previous record of two days. I’m now on my second Shellac-ing and it’s been nearly two weeks.

Each Monday, my blog about our usual chaos will post here: http://themommygoround.womansblogs.org/ If you Like Woman’s Hospital on Facebook, you can also catch the updates there.

I will continue to update my blog as often as time allows. I know one thing — I won’t have to wait for my nails to dry.

Friday night went off with a bang and almost instantly the years between us dissolved as the decibel level skyrocketed.   Trying not to be the control freak that I am, I rode with a friend who doesn’t necessarily share in my thought that anyone 20-years out of high school should not be out past midnight. So my sound judgement gave way to her possession of the keys and we rolled in at 2am.

Saturday night was the highlight of the weekend and Unnamed Husband (who also graduated in the same class) and I were both excited. Not wanting to repeat the mischief of the night before, I vowed that I would not be over-served or home past midnight. Apparently my commitment was quickly drowned by drinks, 80s music and a homecoming-esque photo backdrop.

After tearing up the dance floor and my feet (in four-inch heels), we arrive safely at home a little after 1am. I walk my sitter to the car and get a brief recap on the kids while Unnamed Husband checks on them in their rooms. Moments later he comes out of Edwin’s room laughing at how he was sleeping. I go into to see and he is upside down with his head hanging of the foot of the bed. Unnamed Husband adjusts him just as Claire - sleeping in the trundle below – wakes up. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she begins to tell us that Edwin lost a tooth.

What?!, I ask wondering why my sitter failed to mention this.

Yep, it’s under his pillow. she says.

Just then, Edwin lifts his head and in a drunken smile shows the gaping hole from losing his second bottom tooth. We settle them both back into bed and panic sets in wondering how the tooth fairy is going to pull this off on such short notice.

The little guy and his missing teeth

Once I confirm that the fairy was equipped with cash, I make a plate of nachos that could not have tasted nearly as good in daylight hours. Convinced that slumbering was now in full effect, I creep into the room to make the transaction. Navigating the trundle and an additional child proves to be as difficult as maintaining my balance while containing my giggles. Minutes later, success ensues and I greet my bed with open arms (and limp legs.)

I wake to chaos just a few short hour later. After about 10 minutes, I realize that the clanging in my head is actually Hungy Hungry Hippos and I threaten Unnamed Husband with my wrath. This goes on for hours and finally I concede that nothing productive will take place on this gloomy Sunday.

Mid-afternoon I sneak in my first nap in years. While fabulous, it was way too brief as I had to peel myself up for a birthday party. I wash my face and get dressed as Unnamed Husband showers also preparing for the birthday party torture.

Claire comes into the bathroom with her disheveled hair and lavender unicorn pajamas that only a grandmother would buy. She proceeds to tell us that our neighbors came over to drop something off.

Did you open the door?, I ask.

Yes, Me and Edwin (who is also still in his pjs!) both did.

Did they ask for us?, I ask cringing.

Yes, I told them y’all were in the bathroom.

A tad horrified, I remind myself that it’s a once-in-20-years experience.

See ya in 2021!

Senior Trip 1991

20th Reunion 2011

Attempting a family portrait in North Carolina

The usual chaos of our household has subsided a bit as summer is in full swing.  The tightly scheduled school year has given way to calm(er) days of slow(er) mornings and good times.  In about a six-week span this Spring: one of our kids had surgery; one had the chicken pox; one had lice (yet again!) and all four had the stomach bug. Needless to say, we have earned some tranquility.

Here’s a quick glimpse of our summer so far:

River Rattin’:

Good times with great friends on False River is definitely one of our summertime favorites.

Edwin and Claire soaking in the golden hour

Two wheelin’:

We came home from work to discover that Edwin had successfully ridden his bike without training wheels. Horrified that he did this with the babysitter, we grabbed the camera and hit the pavement to recapture his big moment.

Unnamed Husband hits the pavement with the little guy

Swim teamin’:

This summer activity is actually a bit torturous for the Momma. In the spirit of summer, we take one for the (swim) team.

Swim team fun

Costumin’:

The days are long and what better way to pass the time…

Cyndi Lauper and the Super Hero Misfits

Waterfallin’:

Best. Vacation. Ever. A week in Cashiers, North Carolina was exactly the relaxing, family vacation we needed. The 11-hour drive was manageable, restoring hope that traveling with our kids won’t always be torturous.

Lake Glenville

This may be Unnamed Husband's finest moment

Day Trippin’:

Despite the heat, we a had a great time picking blueberries at Equiterra Farm in Clinton and then driving over the new bridge that connects St. Francisville and New Roads.

Blueberry picking

The newly constructed Audubon Bridge

Sweet treatin’:

With eight pounds of fresh blueberries, we have made smoothies, muffins, pancakes and this cheesecake. Despite my inability to bake, I was able to reach my culinary peak with this little slice of Summer.

The fruits of our (blueberry picking) labor

"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.

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.

Preparing for a new year

[twen-tee, ih-lev-uhn]

My anxiety of a new year has less to do with resolutions and more to do with syllables. Twenty-eleven just does not roll off the tongue like twenty-ten; Adding two more syllables over night is cumbersome and makes the transition of a new year even harder.

The last time we had a five-syllable year was 2007 but we were coming off four-syllable 2006 so it wasn’t quite as painful. Before that, it was 1999 and I would imagine we were too busy rocking out to Prince to notice.

1977 was the mouthful of the 20th century weighing in at a hefty seven syllables. But back then, people ditched the century and rolled with a mere ’77. That doesn’t seem to work with ’11.

On a positive note, 2011 has lots of interesting dates. Usually there is one date per calendar year where all of the numbers are the same.

9/9/99

1/1/01

2/2/02

3/3/03

But this year brings:

1/1/11

1/11/11

11/1/11

And the craziest date in the past one hundred years:

11/11/11

I bet the wedding reception halls are already filling up.

It will also make for a grand Veteran’s Day observance which commemorates the end of WWI which ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month” of 1918.

Cooking up a little New Year's tradition

Despite the extra syllables, 2011 should be a good year. I’m keeping my same resolution as last year: Stop and Smell the Babies.

The peas and cabbage are simmering – here’s to a great year!

The Binswanger grandchildren ca. 2008

Our house was built in 1949 and despite the fact that it is over 60 years old, we are only the second owners. Even though we’ve lived here over seven years now, our neighbors still refer to our home as “the Schudmak’s house.”  The Schudmak’s built and loved this house and lived here until they died, so apparently naming rights still belong to them.

Living in “the Schudmak’s house” comes with many perks like the large storage room, the greenhouse and the camellias. But my all-time favorite benefit of living here is receiving the Binswanger’s annual holiday card. While we probably never should have opened that envelope addressed to the Schudmaks back in 2003, committing a federal offense was worth it.

The professionally designed card comes from an extended, Northeastern family consisting of three brothers and their children, grandchildren, a few horses and several well-bred canines. Each year, we are greeted by a fabulously orchestrated photograph of 30+ well-wishing Binswangers in matching outfits. We dissect the professionally designed card, noting additions and (sadly) losses to the family. We admire how much the kids have grown and wonder what happened to the horses.

The back of the card

A glimpse into their adventurous lives, their card has become part of our holiday tradition. Every year, we wait in eager anticipation of our favorite holiday greeting, hoping that they do not learn that the Schudmaks died. When friends and family come over, they sift through our cards looking for the Binswanger’s.

The themed greeting gets better and better each year. This year’s Facebook themed greeting highlighted the Binswangers with snappy status updates like:

Whitney loves living in San Fran and working for the Old Navy Brand.

Zach is living the dream while a sophomore at Wesleyan.

Elizabeth is traveling in Indonesia.

Ahhh, the fabulous Binswangers. To know one, is to love one.

I hesitated posting this as I know I may be risking my love affair with this clan. So here’s my pathetic attempt to woo the Binswangers:

Dear beloved Binswanger family,

Your family is beautiful and very blessed. We have enjoyed watching you grow over the years and we would be honored to receive your holiday card addressed to us (at the Schudmak’s house).

xoxo,

The Perraults