I’m in the mood to deviate from regularly scheduled programming and give a little tribute today. My friend Kirsty is pregnant with her–let me check–her fifth child. Seriously, I still have Christmas letters hanging on my pantry door; it’s better than a rolodex.

Just a few days ago, Kirsty and I were 5 and 7, and we had just met but she wouldn’t come over for a sleepover, because my mom had dark hair like a witch. (Did I mention she was five?) Flash forward to three days ago: my daughter and I walked under some trees toward a play yard at the YMCA, and she said, “Look, we’re in a forest! Where is the witch?” Honestly, Mother Goose needs to lock Hansel and Gretel in the naughty files until kids are old enough to understand “pretend”, whenever that is. (I don’t deviate well; this is getting abstract already.)

Kirsty and I were just as different as we were alike, but we hit it off. She was all wholesome, country farm girl, with Norwegian blond hair and good constitution, and I was all skinny, city girl transplant, with mousy brown hair that belied my Swedish roots, and an asthmatic wheeze every time I stepped out into the country air. Kirsty stuck to her guns on everything, and calmly breezed past any adolescent silliness in our early teens. I wanted to be liked more than I wanted to be right, and would take any dare just to prove I could. Our moms took us to pick blueberries one morning, and I spent the whole day practicing my new “cool” speech, peppering every sentance with at least five “like’s” and a few “totally’s” for good measure. She never let on that she noticed.

There was a time where we did everything together. We took baton lessons, and twirled them together in a parade. We played “house” and modeled ourselves after the prettiest lady we knew, a woman named Carolynn. Kirsty was “Carolynn” so I took “Caroline”. She rolled her eyes, but let me copycat. We took figure skating lessons; her dad coached us in softball. We got our first job at Hammer’s Berry Farm together, making $3.50 an hour picking strawberries. We made things and showed them at the fair. I showed sheep because she did, and wheezed my way through the fair barns every year so I could be a part of it too. The 4-H ladies thought we were sisters, because we “looked just alike”. I didn’t understand how anybody would think I could look like Kirsty, but I stuck my skinny chest out and took the compliment like I owned it.

Have you ever had a friend take you out to dinner just to apologize to you? Kirsty did that for me. She was barely sixteen at the time, and to this day it still stuns me that she had the maturity and bravery to tell me she was wrong about something and apologize humbly to my face, then pay for my dinner. It’s top ten one of the kindest things anybody’s ever done for me.

I used to say that if it weren’t for Kirsty’s calm, measured presence in my life growing up, I’d have probably done a lot of stupid experimenting that I’d have to warn my kids about one day. But as much as I wanted to avoid getting in trouble with my parents, I wanted to avoid disappointing Kirsty more. I hope my children have friends half as good as she was growing up. They’ll be just fine if they do.

And now, somehow these two scrappy little girls who could drive a snowmobile full speed into any swamp and come out alive are all grown up with husbands and babies. And she’s about to have her fifth! If I was still that little kid who would take any dare, I’d say we’re in a race and she’s winning 5-3. (So would my mom, actually. Get with the program, Kari!) But fast-forward twenty years, and all I can think is, “All these blessings couldn’t have happened to a better girl.” Her kids will rise up and bless her.

I don’t see Kirsty much, and I almost never call her, but I know she reads my blog sometimes. So, here’s to you, girl. Go, Kirsty. You rock. Like, totally. Besides, I got twins.

(I will never grow up. Truly. I never will.)

The boys had their six-month photos taken at 7 months, because their big sister’s birthday and Easter were at six months, and I couldn’t pull it off before then. It’s all good. They were probably sitting up a little better this way, anyway. Anna Kathryn got her 3-year picture taken, too. I can hardly believe my little girl is three!

I have to say, whoever came up with the Freecycle idea was really thinking. People get on there and post about curbside giveaways or needing a new bed for a needy family, and it seems like there’s always somebody who can use the junk or has what’s needed.

I’ve been getting onto our local Freecycle to ask for formula coupon checks. My boys will drink Enfamil, Similac, GoodStart, and any other generic brand out there, and a lot of people who are nursing their babies get these formula coupon checks in the mail they can’t use. With a bit of financial wrangling and lots of coupons, I have been able to buy name brand formula for as little as a third of the price I pay for Costco and Sam’s Club brands. The coolest thing has happened when I’ve asked for coupons, though. People often email me back offering cans of formula, too, that they just have sitting around and can’t use. So there are some nights that John and I drive all over town picking up formula absolutely free. I am so incredibly grateful for all the generous people who have remembered us and offered their formula. My friend Julie sometimes picks up formula or coupons for me in her area of town. Ladies at church bring me theirs if they can’t use it. People have been so generous that I absolutely can’t wait until my boys are past a year and I can return the favor for others.

I took this picture in honor of the givers:

I’m so glad the twins will drink anything! They’re growing so fast, and
I can hardly believe that they’re eight months old already.

William Swingin’

Stephen Snoozin’

Have I mentioned yet that William crawls?

He’s been doing so for a few weeks now, but I haven’t had a chance to post pictures yet.

Stephen gets on his hands and knees, but is content to stay in one place for now.

It’s happening so fast. AK was still just scooting at 9 months, and here William is crawling before 8 months. I had assumed the twins would be slower at getting to their milestones, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. Just today, John pulled out the baby walker from the attic, so William can practice pulling himself up on it. He’s been climbing on top of stools, pillows, and anything else he can get ahold of, falling off, and getting back on without a fuss. He’ll even pull himself up and stand against the couch or our legs. Funny how each of my kids are so different.

My long and lanky Stephen has no interest yet in crawling or walking, but he loves to talk and giggle, and is very concerned that his toys are his. I call William my “actor” and Stephen my “interacter”. That’s about the best one-word description for them there is. Stephen will giggle over nothing, just to get me to giggle back. When I put them in bed together to play and William crawls all over Stephen like a blind kitten, Stephen laughs his head off. William doesn’t even notice he’s got a captive audience–he just sees what he wants to do and does it. We tried to get it on video last night, but stupid me walked around the corner with two bottles and they shifted interest–the boys were on the floor playing with a wooden spoon. William had it, and was holding onto it with one hand while crawling about minding his business. Stephen pivoted in place following William around and taking the spoon away. Every time William absently took it back, Stephen burst into crocodile tears until he could yank it back to his own posession. Not once did William cry or seem concerned–he just took the spoon back and kept exploring. It drove Stephen crazy! John and I were fascinated by it–they obviously have two very different personalities. I can’t wait to see how they develop.

I uploaded these pictures a week ago and forgot to post them. John and I went to a Mothers of Multiples Club (MOMC) pool party recently with the kids. We enjoyed talking to other parents of twins and triplets; it was a nice time. Well, the part when Anna Kathryn didn’t almost drown herself in the pool was nice.

When we got there, AK wanted to swim so badly, she couldn’t wait for John and I. My back was turned to the pool for a minute so I’m not exactly sure what happened, but when I turned around to put my eye on her, I saw her completely underwater, flailing her arms. It happened within seconds! She had just been beside me a moment before. So, I jumped in after her fully-clothed, and then held onto her in the water until John could get in with his swimsuit on. There was no way I was letting her get back out until she was calmed down and having fun again. I’ve spent two summers getting her excited about the water–I’d really hate to see it all end with one little accident!

Fortunately, when she went under, she kept her mouth shut and didn’t try to breathe in. I guess all that practicing last summer must have made a dent. Within an hour, she was brave enough to try floating by herself.

The twins got in the water briefly, but mostly they preferred to watch and be watched. They were good boys. William was a little embarrassed that I gave him the wrong hat.

Once AK felt good in the water again, we let her run around and try out the family’s trampoline and their inflatable water slide. With triplets and a set of twins, they figured they might as well just own one!

I finally uploaded my Mother’s Day pictures. We had lunch at Jen’s folks’ house with all the family. Then we dashed home for a quickie nap and packed everybody up to get to church in time for baby dedications. John’s dad has some great shots on his camera, but here are the few I got:

Omie with her grandchildren.

Me with my three.

The baby dedication was neat, but tiring with three children. We had to be there by 5:15 for pictures with the pastor. Then we had to sit with all our children in a hallway outside the sanctuary waiting for the 6:00 service. By the time we were ready to go in, AK had tired of all the little games I could think of for her to play to avoid boredom, and was anxious to move. They filed us in through a side door where we waited again for our cue to come up front. See AK holding John’s hand? She’s saying, “I want to sit on a chair and watch the movie, Daddy!” at the top of her lungs. They were projecting us on the monitors and she wanted to see it better. Fortunately, the sanctuary is so big is swallows up sounds like that. The only people who noticed that our three-year-old was trying to get away were the ones in the front row. One lady opened a pack of Mentos and handed one to AK. She stood still long enough to finish it, then tried to escape again. Right about that time, the relatives were asked to stand with their families for prayer. So Papa Bill took over with Anna Kathryn and all was well. My arms were screaming by then from holding both babies while John took on AK. Crazy.

Turns out that it was just our little drama, though. The congregation missed the whole thing. There was a little titter throughout when the boys’ names were called that “it’s the baby Jesus’s!” from the Christmas Play. So anyway, a highly distracting baby dedication. Guess we should have practiced ahead of time.

I have to put this out there for posterity–it was sad and adorable at the same time.

My babies all caught a stomach virus a week ago, and then gave it to me. We suffered in shifts–Stephen first, then William, then AK, then me. By the time I took these pictures, William was so tired from throwing up, he couldn’t hold his head up, but for some reason he still wanted to practice crawling. So he ended up in this position:

The towel is to catch any more messes. Stephen was done throwing up, but still under the weather. He giggled every time William sneezed or moved a muscle.

I let them play naked for a few days to save on laundry–they were leaking out both ends for a while. It’s crazy to me how happy they were for sick babies. They never cried in misery–not once. Anna Kathryn did though, and begged to go to bed. Here she is lying on her third layer of towels, sound asleep. She got really angry at her purple trash can that I lined for her use. I think she blamed the trash can on her misery. “Put it over there, Mommy. I’ll just d’row up on the towel..” Oh, no you won’t. We took all her dolls and stuffed animals away and let her choose one plastic toy to sleep with. She chose a tiny plastic tiger. Looks like it did the trick.

Leif came over the afternoon they all decided to get sick. He somehow avoided getting messed on or sick from it. He stayed through the whole thing without turning tail and bolting, which I have to say was impressive. I think if I’d have been there with somebody else’s kids throwing up, I’d have made my excuses and found friendlier air to breathe. He was a good sport though.

There’s nothing like dealing with three sick children who are YOUR three sick children. John and I didn’t want to go to bed; we just wanted to hover over theirs all night and keep watch. The parental instinct goes into high gear at a time like that. We all weathered the storm, though, and everyone was well a few days later for baby dedications.

I’ll post about that later. John says Anna Kathryn almost didn’t make it to her fourth birthday, bless her heart.

…will find you out.

If she hadn’t gotten herself dirty, she never would have told on herself. It’s to my benefit that my daughter doesn’t like being messy. She came around the corner slowly, holding her fingers out to me. “Mommy, it’s all dirty!” She was moving carefully, like she’d rather not even show me, but the mess was too much for her to take. “What is it, Babe? Did you hurt yourself?” “No, I’m messy.” Sure enough, there was a pile of brownish paste sitting on top of the fingers she held out carefully. Tool light in color to be my first thought, but I checked her pull-up anyway. Nope. “Show me where it was, Anna Kathryn.” She led me towards my bedroom, reluctantly explaining, “It’s from your makeups, mommy. It got on me.” Aaaaahhhh!! That’s what it was. My foundation cream. I found my makeup bag open with bottles and wands half unscrewed, and put her under the light. I wanted to laugh, but I had to discipline first. “Did you look at yourself in the mirror, Baby?” She did then. She had drawn eyebrow pencil into a uni-brow on her forehead, and there was a huge glop of the light brown stuff smeared on her cheek. It looked like a deformity. I looked all over the house for my camera to immortalize the offense, but it was buried in my huge mommy-bag, and I didn’t find it until later. I disciplined her, but she caught the grin on my face, and we shared a laugh and a hug.

I still remember the time my friend Kirsty and I found Steph’s coverup tube and thought it was lipstick. We were 12, and didn’t know any better. When we showed up with tan-colored lips and a confused expression on our faces, Stephanie burst out laughing.

Live and learn.

This morning a blood-curdling scream was heard across the neighborhood. It was repeated again and again, as though somebody was dying a horrible death.

Right about that time, John burst into the bathroom with bleary eyes and bug spray and killed the three-inch cockroach I’d just frightened. We are considering putting out a sign for the neighbors:

It was a roach. Sorry about the noise.

My boys are about to crawl. You can read it in their body language, and in the frantic excitement on their faces when they see something just out of reach. William rolls himself until he’s almost there, then gets on his hands and knees and launches himself forward, skidding on his belly like a plane landing without it’s wheels. Sometimes, he actually crawls a step or two before the crash landing.

William

Stephen sees a goal and scoots himself madly backwards until he’s stuck.

Stephen

Thus the need for the crib bumpers I just bought. I had hoped to get by without them, but no such luck. I bought flexible, breathable bumpers that the boys can pull down if they want to see each other–or me.

William

Since I sit at my computer beside their cribs when I work, they spend their crib playtime alternately checking out their toys and making eyes at me.

With the new bumpers, Stephen has found the one crack through which he can see me. He watches me intently until I look up and he catches my eye–then he giggles.

Stephen

Thing is, I wish they wouldn’t crawl. I need them to stay immobile forever. I need them to never see the granola crumbs AK leaves on the rug, so they will never use their little fingers to pick them up and eat them. I need them to not climb on my furniture, or eat the stuffing out of my decorative pillows. I need their little heads to avoid bruises from the sharp corners of my side tables. I need a little fairy dust so my snuggly, huggy babies will be Peter Pan forever–always mine. Always happy to see me walk into the room, pick them up, and kiss them all over.

But alas. Next week I’ll probably gate off the living room and let them have at it. It’s going to be a crazy ride, but I’m going to cherish every minute of it. Until those dimples get covered by peach fuzz. Then I’m going to panic.