in the middle of the night…

In the middle of the night
I go walking in my sleep
Through the desert of truth
To the river so deep
We all end in the ocean
We all start in the streams
We’re all carried along
By the river of dreams
In the middle of the night

~Billy Joel, “River of Dreams”

I loved that song when I was in high school.

And now, 12 years later, I find myself walking in my sleep through the land of diapers to the babies in their cribs.  And when I get there?  They are usually crying.  Sometimes, for added bonus, they are covered in puke.

I love it.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I love holding them and rocking them and praying feverishly that they will NOT throw up on me (or Frank or Grandma) and that they WILL go back to sleep easily after their middle of the night feedings.

When I am rocking the girls and NOT praying for positive digestive results (“Dear God, please help Ellie move her bowels so that I won’t have to do that thing with the thermometer that the doctor told me about that sounds so terrible!! And dear God, please do not let Carrie puke down my shirt again.  If she pukes on my shirt, that’s okay, but if she pukes down it, I’m going to have to shower and I really, really just want to go to bed…”), I try to sing to the girls.

Ahem.  I try to sing because I am not a very good vocalist.  I have no ear.  And I have no memory for songs.

So in the middle of the night, I try to remember songs I liked growing up.  And I try to sing them as best as I can.  It usually goes like this, “In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep, to the river of dreams, in the middle of the night, I go walking…” and I realize I am in a death loop with the lyrics and heavens, I don’t even think I have the right lyrics!

When I come to the realization that I am about to permanently lodge a song in my brain with completely incorrect lyrics, I then make up songs for the girls.

“My name is Carrigan, I went to the fair again, I won a bear again, who has no hair again, just like me, I’m Carrigan.”

And Carrie doesn’t really seem to care much.  Singing a song that makes sense or doesn’t make sense does not seem to impact the likelihood that she will puke on me.

For Elliana, sometimes I sing to her, “My name is Elliana, I have a friend Gianna, we went to Tia-juana.”  But that’s as far as I get before I start thinking, “Well, I think it’s Tijuana, not Tia-juana.  And isn’t that where they used to race the horse they made the movie about?  Not Secretariat, but the other horse movie.  The other recent one.  The horse who won all three.  Gosh.  Who was that?”

And so you will find in my Google history that I have googled “Lyrics for Billy Joel’s River of Dreams”, “clumpy baby spit up”, and “horses that won the triple crown.”

By the way, Seabiscuit, the horse I was thinking about, did not win the Triple Crown.  War Admiral did.  But Seabiscuit won more races that year overall and more money.  So, I guess I can tell the girls that little factoid when I am singing to them in the middle of the night, when I go walking in my sleep.

To the river of dreams…

why I didn’t call Meghan back…

My dear friend Meghan called at about twenty minutes to five today.  Oh, the joys of receiving a phone call from an adult!  And, as luck would have it, I just finished changing and feeding the girls, so there was a happy calm over the entire house.  Ahh…. the calm before the storm.

At 4:50 p.m., Frank announced that dinner was ready and I told Meghan, “I’ll call you right back, we’re just going to have dinner.”  Yes, that’s right – it wasn’t even 5 p.m. yet and we were ready for dinner. To say that our biological clocks are a bit off would be an accurate assessment of the situation.

Carrigan was in the bouncy chair and I put Elliana in the swing.  About three seconds into eating, Elliana started squawking.  Frank picked her up to comfort her and discovered that she was all wet.

This was curious because she wasn’t wet when I put her down and she didn’t have any signs that she had spit up. Frank decided to check her diaper upstairs in the nursery.  Mistake number one.

While I was still seated at the kitchen table, I heard Frank discovering the horrors in our daughter’s diaper.

“Oh-oh-ohmygosh!  It’s a blow out!!”

“Do you need help?” I called up the stairs.

“No. But, ohmygoshohmygosh! Oh, ew… eww!!  Ellie! Oh, that is just – that is just EVERYWHERE!  You have got to be – ohmygosh – Ellie!  What did you do??”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Maybe.”  Silence. “Yeah, yeah, I need help.”

I thought I would feel differently about our first blow-out diaper.  You know how you imagine the romance of being proposed to, the joy of your wedding, the bliss of giving birth to your children, etc?  I thought that there would be mass hysteria on the streets below, a soundtrack of terror in the background and some sort of angry monster banging on our front door.  Instead, I could hear birds chirping outside the window, the sound of children laughing as they played soccer on the field behind our house and the roar of our neighbor’s engine as he peeled out of his driveway.  But in front of me was a nightmare of poop covering my child, her changing table, my husband and an escalating number of diapers.  Every time Frank attempted to put a new diaper on it, the stream of baby nastiness spewed forth.

“Ah, um, what can I do?”

“I don’t know – it’s everywhere!  It’s on her clothes!  It’s on my hands! EMILY! IT’S ON MY HANDS!”

And just then, as he was taking off her third diaper, Ellie stopped crying.  I cocked my head to the side.  Time slowed down.  When Ellie stops crying during a diaper change it usually means one thing…

“PEE!” I yelped.

And indeed, there was pee.

For. The. Win.

Frank and I looked at Ellie and she looked at us.  And she started crying again.

“Well,” said Frank slowly, “I think she’s going to need a bath.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah.”

Now, this is where I should’ve cut our losses and done what we knew worked.  I should’ve just given Ellie a sponge bath upstairs and thrown everything in the hamper.

But no, that is not what I did.

My mother-in-law suggested that we give the kids baths downstairs on the washing machine.  Initially I balked at the idea – I’d heard that washing the kids on a counter was dangerous because the tub could slip off the surface.  But after thinking about it, I figured that I could put towels over the washer and dryer and get a nice little bath system set up.

So, I lugged a bath tub, towels, soap, new clothes, a new diaper and a screaming, half-naked Ellie down to our finished basement.  I put Ellie in the pack’n’play and started getting the bath ready.

But her bath tub didn’t fit under the faucet of our slop sink very well.  I thought about using our floor-washing buckets to fill up the tub, but I felt that sent the wrong message to Ellie.  I went upstairs and grabbed our extra-large red tupperware salad bowl.

Frank, who was attempting to finish his dinner, saw me with the red salad bowl.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked mid-bite.

“I’m using it to give Ellie a bath.”

“What?”

“I’m using it to give Ellie a bath,” I repeated.

“Why?  Don’t you have her tub downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you doing with the salad bowl?”

“I’m using it to give Ellie a bath.”

“In the salad bowl?”

“NO!  I can’t fit her tub under the faucet so I’m using the bowl to fill up the tub.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I went downstairs with the red salad bowl, filled up the bath tub, undressed Ellie and put her in the tub.

Ellie looked at me and I looked at her and then I heard the ominous sound of farting in a bath tub.

I looked down and saw that Miss Ellie had pooped in her bath water.

“CRAP.”

She cocked her head to the side as though to say, “Well, now what?”

“FRANK!  She pooped in the bath tub.”

Now, it’s worth saying that Frank does not like giving the girls tub baths.  He feels like he can give them a more thorough sponge bath than a tub bath.

He came downstairs and saw Ellie cold and screaming in her bath towel and me looking at the bath tub and announced he was going to give Ellie a spa sponge bath.

“Whatever.”

I cleaned up the bath tub (lots of antibacterial spray) and started the laundry.

When I made it upstairs, I found Frank and Ellie in the nursery.  Frank had turned on zen spa music and was carefully cleaning Ellie.

And Ellie was not crying.

“See?  Zen baby,” said Frank.

Frank taking care of our zen baby!

Zen baby, indeed.

Meanwhile, sweet Carrie was sitting quietly in her bouncy seat, staring out the window and plotting.  I’m sure she will not let herself be outdone by her sister.

Carrie staring out the window and plotting ways to out-do her sister.

Send help.

Even the stuffed animals in the nursery were appalled by the diaper disaster!

And that is why I didn’t call Meghan back.  Or answer Sue’s phone call.

Sorry ladies!

the one about “The Entity”

Haunted house, much?

Oh, where to even begin?

I suppose that first of all I should preface this post with a warning that my family is just a few bananas short of a full bunch.

That being said, we think our house might be haunted.  Or maybe we’re crazy.  Or maybe it’s a little bit of both.

I submit the following items to you as evidence:

Evidence A: For a long time, I’ve said to Frank that I think we have electrical issues in our house.  I’ve changed the same light bulbs multiple times in a few short months – and then haven’t changed them since in over a year.  Our dishwasher started on fire.  Our built-in microwave stopped working the first two weeks we lived here (and is now the happy home for our tortilla chips and breakfast cereals – don’t judge – we make due with what we have!).  We have light switches that go no where.  Well, that last one is probably more of “user error” than anything else.  Whatever.  Is it electrical or is it… a haunting??

Evidence B: The night I came home from the hospital, but while the girls were still in NICU, Frank had a very strange dream.  In his dream, he heard the bells on our front door jangle, which means that someone opened the door.  Still dreaming, he thought it was me coming home, but then he became aware that I was still in bed with him.  Starting to get concerned, he heard footsteps climb our stairs, walk through our bedroom door and stop at the foot of our bed.  Frank says that in his dream, he felt like someone was menacingly standing over our bed, staring at us.   Before Frank could do anything in his dream, he heard the ice-maker in our freezer start producing ice.  In his dream, he went downstairs and there was ice pouring out of our freezer and filling the kitchen.

Evidence C: My mother-in-law and my mom have been staying with us to help with the girls when Frank is on trips.  One of the first times my mom stayed here, she had a vivid dream of someone standing over her bed, watching her.  I’m not sure whether the “someone” was evil or not – but it doesn’t matter.  It’s always creepy to have someone staring at you while you sleep!

Evidence D: We had a chandelier installed in our kitchen about a year ago.  Within a week, four of the six bulbs burned out.  Sure, this is more of an addendum to Evidence A, but the lights didn’t start burning out until I came home from the hospital.  Perhaps I brought an entity home with me from the hospital?  Never you mind that I was staying in a brand new wing of the hospital, but hey, you never know.

Do I think we have a ghost living in our house?  Eh, probably not.  I think we have some electrical issues and some family members with vivid imaginations.  But just for fun, we’ve named this creepy people-watcher “The Entity” thus ensuring that no one will ever want to babysit our children.

So, who wants to sleep over and find out if I’m right??

the shortcomings of the interwebz

The interwebz is a great tool for communicating sight and sound.

The girls at 2 weeks.

You can see our twins and observe how cute they are (I’m biased, I know).

You could hear the twins, too.  If I was cruel, I would record all of the twins grunting and crying so that you could enjoy their vocal stylings.

But I am not cruel.

But, oh, how sad I am that the interwebz is not a great tool for sharing smells.

Frank bathed the girls tonight and put on some yummy nighttime lotion on their tummies and legs.  He brought them down to me, all fresh and swaddled and smelling like delicious little babies.  And I thought, I wish I could post this glorious fragrance on Facebook.  People would check my status just to enjoy it.

Side note, I wish that the TV had smells, too.  I’ve been watching copious amounts of the Food Network (and by copious amounts, I mean, I haven’t changed the channel except to watch E!) and have often lamented that I cannot smell the dishes that are being created.  Even worse, I cannot taste them.  But I digress…

Alas, I cannot post smells on Facebook.

Although, it’s better this way.  While my girls smell fantastic right now, these young ladies can toot with the best of ’em.  Toots are not something that you would probably enjoy smelling as my Facebook status.

Maybe the interwebz is smarter than I thought…

what is in a name?

When Frank and I were considering names for our twins, we had to come up with four names – two boys and two girls – since we did not know what the genders were of our children.

What initially sounded like a fun proposition turned out to be more daunting than I originally thought.  Sure, we had one “gimme” name – we definitely knew one of our boys names would be Frank the sixth.  Beyond that, we just weren’t sure.

The other complicating factor was that while I’d always thought I’d name a daughter Alleene, it seemed almost unfair to use that name and not have a name of equal importance to share with a second girl twin.  So, we went back to the drawing board.

After several months of text messaging, researching, reading and telling each other horror stories of people with names we were considering, we finally had four names for our children.  Phew.

And, as you all know, we had two lovely little girls and named them Elliana Mary and Carrigan Jean.  I wanted to share with you all (and with our little girls), why we selected the names we did.

Elliana Mary

Frank and I wrote down the name Eliana on the same day and texted it to each other as an option, without knowing that the other liked it.  Eliana is a Hebrew name meaning “God has answered.”  We felt that it was a perfect name after all of the challenges we went through with fertility and losing Lily.  The only problem was that we felt like the spelling was not exactly what we were looking for and so we added an extra “l” to the name to make it Elliana.  Even now when I look at her and think of her name, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God for all that He has done for our family.

We selected the middle name “Mary” after my mother specifically and also after all of the important “Maries” that shaped our family as it is today.

Mary Kay, my mother, is the oldest daughter in her family (like Elliana).  My mom has a vibrant, warm personality and she is fiercely loyal.  Since the death of her mother in 2006, my mom has been the matriarch of our family, bringing everyone together for family holidays and events.  She is the glue that holds us all together.

My mom has a fantastic sense of humor and a tremendous ability to laugh at herself.  Wherever my mom is, there is a gathering of laughter and happiness and delicious food.  Mom is so gifted in hospitality!  In naming Elliana, I wanted to endow her with a name that represented some of the dearest and sweetest parts of my family.

While Elliana is named for my mother, my family has a strong tradition of great women bearing the name Mary.  My mother’s mother was named Rosemary and she was a talented artist and a model.  Rosemary had a knack for entertaining that she passed along to my mother.  As an artist, it was important to her that her grandchildren would be able to spend lots of time drawing and coloring and painting with her.  Her home had a perfect order to it – beds were always neatly made with crisp hospital corners and her closets had a faint smell of mothballs as she meticulously cared for all of her clothing.  Rosemary was a fashionista in her own right and was a talented seamstress who made many of her outfits.  Rosemary even made wedding dresses for her daughters and one of her daughters-in-law (Aunt Judy).

My father’s mother was named Mary Ruth.  While my grandmother Rosemary was born in Chicago and lived in the Chicago suburbs, Mary Ruth grew up in the country and lived in a small town called Roanoke just outside of Peoria.  Like Rosemary, Mary Ruth was born and raised Catholic and her faith was an extremely important part of her life.  Mary Ruth was a kind and sweet soul, always thoughtful and warm-hearted.  She had 18 grandchildren, but when I spent time with her, I always felt like I was her favorite.  Whenever we’d visit Mary Ruth, we’d find her sitting in her easy chair watching the Chicago Cubs and Country Line Dancing on The Nashville Network (now Spike TV – oh, how Mary Ruth would’ve wept!).  While I have many fond memories of Mary Ruth, one of my favorite things to remember is her singing while she scrambled eggs or poured cereal.  She’d invent songs about whatever she was doing in the kitchen and chirp them out as she went about her morning.

Carrigan Jean

We loved names that started with “C” or “K”s, but had a hard time picking a name since we already had a Caitlin, Karen and Kathryn in the family; a myriad of close friends named Kristin and Kelly; and then we have the Kardashian family to contend with (ugh – Kourtney, Kim, Khloe, Kendall and Kylie!).  Frank and I have very little in common ethnically speaking, except that we both have a little bit of Irish heritage.  Frank loves Irish names, so after pouring over all of the options, we kept coming back to the name Carrigan.  The name Carrigan means “spear” and while we did not see any immediate importance of the meaning, as Frank has been reading through the Bible, the word “spear” comes up frequently.  Just searching the word “spear” in the Bible reveals numerous occasions where the word spear was used.  In fact, it was a spear that pierced Jesus’ side confirming that he died.

Carrigan’s middle name Jean is in honor of Frank’s mother, Sandra Jean.  Sandy was also the second daughter in her family and the name Jean means God is gracious.  Sandy is a talented artist who loved both creating art and teaching her children how to create art.  Sandy is one of the sweetest women you will meet – and yet firm at the same time.  Sandy has a gentle sense of humor and is incredibly smart – she is more well read on many world issues than most people and she rarely speaks on anything that she is not informed on.  Her love of learning and interest in world issues was passed along to my husband.  Sandy loves the Lord and has dedicated much of her life to gently sharing the Word of God with her family and her friends.  Our hope is that both of our children will inherit that ability.

Sandy has an innate ability to be content with where she is in life.  That’s not to say she is complacent, but rather she has been able to discern when she can change her circumstances and when she simply needs to weather the storm.

Like Elliana, Carrigan’s middle name embodies several generations of our family.  Frank’s grandfather was named John (from which Jean is a variation) and Frank had many fond memories of spending time with Grandpa John on summer mornings as they went to a local diner for breakfast.  Grandpa John was a great businessman who loved God, his family and his friends.  Grandpa John was known for throwing great parties – a tradition that Frank likes to carry on with an annual K-Fest party.  Fair and just, Grandpa John was also known to get a touch feisty when provoked.

And so my hope is that Elliana and Carrigan would be encouraged by the women that have preceded them and add abundantly not just to our family’s story, but to God’s story.

From a purely aesthetic standpoint, we liked that their names weren’t too “twinny” when you used their full names, but that their nicknames Ellie and Carrie sounded similar.