JULIE•PERRAULT

Posts Tagged ‘Twins’

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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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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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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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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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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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The Truth About Twins

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on October 18, 2009 at 11:49 AM

IMGP2111The twinfants are officially 18 months old. While, I am not one to celebrate “half” birthdays, I feel like I now can breathe a sigh of relief. The worst of the baby stages are behind us: nursing, teething, not-sleeping. And while we are still faced with the daily destruction that two wild beasts bring, it’s definitely a milestone – because despite my worst fears- WE SURVIVED! So in honor our sweet twinfants, here are 18 truths about having twins:

1. Apparently there are rumors about how twins are conceived.  It never fails, one of your husband’s friends will start looking at you with a creepy smile imagining how you got pregnant. Just roll with his dirty fantasy.

2. You think you were sick with one baby? Get ready, sister – HELL awaits you.

3. Some think that having twins is getting two babies for the price of one. Reality: it’s two babies with one pregnancy that’s twice as bad with three times the weight and quadruple the varicose veins.

4. So your water broke? Brace yourself, because if your husband hits a speed bump on the way to the hospital, it can break AGAIN.

5. Chances are, the twins won’t go home with you from the hospital, but trust me – its okay – they’ll make up for lost time later. Enjoy your sleep while you can and know that they will come home on a perfect three hour schedule.

6. Twins have a need to sleep together. They will find a way to snuggle. Once they can move, keep an eye on them.

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David snuggling (smothering) Cate on Christmas

7. You will burn through diapers like Paris Hilton burns through BFF’s. The good news is they are experts in synchronize pooh – getting it over with all at once.

8. Twins generate attention like a pregnant Kardashian. Bring them out in public and be prepared to talk to the masses. Oh, and strangers will have no problem asking how they were conceived.

9. People will ask if twins are identical regardless if they are boy/girl and look as similar as Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito. It’s not their fault, blame the public school system.

10. My friend, Amanda first told me about “twin talk” and I was in awe. They really do have their own language…I would relate it more to dolphin noises than actual talk, but whatever.

11. Forget the arm weights. Carrying two baby carriers and/or two babies does more for your arms than P-90x ever will.

12. Two babies are not twice the mess, they are: 2(MESS)3x∞

Team Destruction

Team Destruction

13. The chance of getting a decent photo of both of them after they can move is slim to none.

14. Twins invented the game, “divide and conquer.” One twin will be very sweet, snuggling with you. Meanwhile, the other is throwing your makeup in the toilet.

15. Feeding twins only requires one spoon. They have no problem sharing cups either, they actually prefer it.

16. If one gets sick, the other will follow suit. Probably from all of the cup and spoon sharing.

17. While they may share food and beverages, they won’t share toys…buy two of everything or watch them go to blows.

18. I was initially worried about our twins having their own identity, but then I realized they have the most entwined relationship. They are two little lives forged as one and that is perfectly fine for them.

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Hand in Hand

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God Bless The Heathens

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on September 19, 2009 at 11:19 AM

DSC_0056We attempted church last Sunday. All of us. After a slacker summer, it was time. We have been holding out going as a family, hoping our church’s nursery would reopen soon. The lady who voluntarily babysits at our church recently “retired.” So rather than torture ourselves, My husband (who requests to remain unnamed on my blog) and I will go separately, leaving all four kids at home.

It’s been months and no sign of the nursery reopening, so we thought, What the hell? How bad could it be?

BAD.

So here’s how it went down:

We get everyone dressed and all look nice — except Edwin. Apparently, I do not know how to dress a three year old for church. Last time he went, he was in a Jon-Jon.  I tuck his polo shirt into his elastic waist pants and with little time to spare, we vow to get him some church clothes. After frantic packing of sippy cups, books, and other paraphernalia, we embark on our spiritual journey.

Appropriately enough, it’s raining so Unnamed Husband drops off the girls.  I walk into church (late, of course) with Cate and Claire (17 months and [almost] 5 years). Our usually half-empty church is brimming with repenters. As the opening hymn is ending, I scan left, then right. Baptism. Damn.

We head to the back and find a partially-empty row and my hopes of  buffer rows are squashed as people are directly in front and in back of us. Unnamed Husband, David and Edwin (17 months and 3 years) join us. We sit and Edwin asks loudly, “Mommy, what is dis place?”

First Reading: Cate starts coughing. Then like dominos, Edwin and David fall victim to the cough and the hacking begins. I try to remember if any of them were coughing before now — I can’t. The triple coughing continues and I cover David’s mouth. My hand is covered in spit. I can see the woman if front us cringing as if swine flu droplets are wafting her way.

Second Reading: Juice and Snacks. I pull out the reserves early in hopes that the coughing will subside. I try to ration the twins but they begin squealing in frustration. LOUDLY. I give them the bag. They fight and spill half on the floor. They finish the bag and drop to the floor for the rest. Seconds later they reemerge and polish off the juice.

Alleluia: We stand and David hurls his juice cup at the pew in front of us. The lady bends downs and picks it up as if she is picking up a used Kleenex. I feel her pain.

Gospel: David begins playing peek-a-boo with the lady behind me. I feel a moment of relief now that he is being pleasant. It’s short-lived as I notice the thick strand of green snot hanging from his nose stretching to my shoulder. I swear no one was sick an hour ago. Luckily I have wipes and clean his nose. Noticing the snot all over me, I wish I wasn’t wearing black.

Homily: Cate has been whining and thrashing herself in hopes that Unnamed Husband will put her down so they exit the pew for a break in the back of the church. I try to focus on the message but realize that I never heard the gospel reading thanks to the snot debacle. A baby several rows up makes a loud, Enghh sound. David answers with a similar sound thinking it was Cate. The mystery baby and David call back and forth to each other for several minutes.

Preparation of Gifts: Fidgety Edwin asks, “When we gettin’ outta here?” He begins playing with the large bangle on my arm. David tries to take it, a squabble ensues and the bracelet spins like a dreidel in Hanukkah. It comes to rest two pews up and the poor lady ahead of us works diligently stretching her leg to retrieve it.

Sign of Peace: After offering the sign of peace to my family, I turn to the woman behind me with extended hand. She waves politely as she has no intention of partaking in our germ fest. Who could blame her. Rejected, I turn around and simply wave to the others nearby.

Communion: Unnamed Husband and Cate return. As we rise for communion, I discreetly threaten Edwin and we walk to the altar without incidence. Whew.

Prayer after Communion: Edwin has been messing with the kneeler since we arrived so he is thrilled when I pull it down to kneel. The babies flock to the floor, and escape through the open space the kneeler has just created. I pull David back easily. But Cate is out of reach, one row ahead. Edwin and Claire begin giggling uncontrollably and I can’t help but laugh too. The further she goes the more we laugh. She finally returns on her own and…

I am ever so thankful.


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