Adventures in Vacationing

My husband and I just returned with our boys from our first ever family vacation. The destination? Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It was absolutely wonderful. The weather was beautiful, the boys were fantastic and everything went exactly as planned.

Welllllll, almost.

Being a former teacher, I like to plan. Perhaps over-plan. I can't help it! I believe it's my way of subconsciously compensating for the fact that I canNOT think on my toes. When an emergency arrises, I can respond rationally only if I am the only one expected to have an answer. Otherwise, my mind goes blank. I admire the fact that my husband can do this and does it extremely well. We make a good team. I plan it all, then he fixes it when it doesn't go that way ;)

I really wish we didn't need to test our ability to work as a team on the first day of vacation, though.

We arrived at the resort about 7:30pm. The boys did pretty well on the airplane, but were beginning to give us a countdown of their good behavior after getting the rental car, picking up some baby gear from a friend, driving more than an hour and then picking up some take-out from an Italian restaurant. We got to the front of the gated community with our rental car packed high with luggage and Italian food, and gave the woman our name. "Hi, we're the Sauers," we told her. We even spelled it. Our friend had reserved everything for us to stay for ten days. We just give them our name, they give us our ticket and it's off to paradise. But as the girl looked through the reserved tickets, she seemed confused. "S'cuse me," she said, "what was the name?" We spelled it again. She sorted through the reserved tags a few times and shook her head no. "Maybe it's under my maiden name," I suggested. My family had rented this villa for years from a friend; perhaps she forgot and saved it under that name. No. It wasn't there.

Perhaps we should have turned around then.

Thankfully, I had our friend's number in my cell phone and thankfully, she answered. "Ohmygosh," she belched, "I forgot to make the reservation! I'm so sorry!" You just can't be mad at someone who apologizes to you in a sweet southern accent. I handed the phone to the female guard who emerged from the door a few moments later with a tag that read our name. Phew. Problem averted. Relieved, we continued toward the house, anxious to eat our Italian then give the boys a bath and usher them off to bed.

Ben in front of our villa, the one on the left - paradise!

The boys were exhausted. And hungry. So we decided that I would begin to feed them their dinner while Andy brought all of the luggage into the house. The boys were excited about their new surroundings, so I'd load bites of spaghetti into their mouths as they continued to run throughout the house, room to room, exploring their new digs for the week. Andy made about four trips bringing everything into the house. Suitcases, two playpens, two umbrella strollers and all of our carryons. He unloaded the fresh milk we had bought in the refrigerator and our ice packs in the freezer. The poor guy was exhausted.

We sat down to eat together when Andy started itching his ankles. Between bites, he'd itch. Then he went white. "Min, did you see that?" he asked, with a panicked look. I looked at his ankles and noticed these tiny, black bugs that appeared to jump when you got close. No. It can't be. But could it? Then, there was no denying it.

They were fleas.

It was 8:30pm at this point, an hour past the boys' normal bedtime. My only thought was getting these boys to bed. "We can't stay here," Andy said. "We're gonna get eaten alive!" I still couldn't wrap my mind about what was happening or what we should do from there. We were going to be here for ten days. We were going to go swimming. Sit at the beach. Go out for dinner every night. Fleas were not part of the plan! Where's that easy button? The one where we push it and everything just falls into place? This is NOT what I had pictured. This is NOT how it was supposed to go down.

Once Andy was confident they were fleas (and after I noticed some of them on my babies' NECKS,) I was on board to leave. Thank GOD my husband could think clearly and sprung into action. We called our friend - who was completely humiliated over something she had no control over - and plugged in the nearest hotel into our GPS. I made a few calls and tried to keep the boys off the floor while Andy lugged eeeeeeeverything back into the car. Ten minutes later, we were on our way to the Holiday Inn Express. We gladly put $89.95 room fee on our credit card and hoped this was the last bit of excitement for the day.

Apparently, our friend's daughter stayed in the villa all summer. She and her boyfriend's dog. They hadn't realized he had fleas, but I guess our timing was perfect to come and discover all of the newly hatched babies. Lucky for us.

I'll spare you the ugly details about how Andy and I were at eachother's throats, trying to manage in our own ways. He wanted to go to Home Depot to get an extermination bomb-kit for fleas and I wanted to go straight to the hotel... boys were screaming... yeah, it got a little ugly. But thank God, we made it.

The boys didn't go down until after 10pm that night (where we used another mattress to shield their playpens from our bed so they wouldn't see us and go down on their own) but at least we had a comfortable bed to sleep in. The room even had a refrigerator for the boys' milk! After a good night's rest, we took showers and felt a lot better. We unplugged the phone for Ben while Jack occupied himself with the remote. They never knew this wasn't part of the plan. They were having the time of their lives! Our stay even included a nice breakfast in the morning and the boys enjoyed their food as well as mingling (or flirting) with the southern locals.

Andy met the Orkin man there around noon. We were soooo grateful our friend acted quickly in getting someone to exterminate the place and verify that they were, in fact, fleas. So after the boys woke up from their nap and we made a trip to the grocery store, we were back in the villa by dinnertime that same day.

Me, Ben, Jack and Andy for our traditional tree portrait (thanks for the self-timer and a steady branch!)

All in all, everything worked out just fine. But man, what a way to start your vacation! It just goes to show you... it's good to plan, when it doesn't work out, be sure you have a quick-thinking husband, a GPS, a cell phone and a credit card to dig yourself out of trouble!

Thankfully, that was all the drama we had during our stay. We relaxed, enjoyed the time with the boys, and soaked up all the sun we could. It really was my favorite vacation yet. Well, if don't count the first two days, of course ;)

Another Day with Boys

This story was just too funny hilarious shocking scary that I had to share.

I took the boys to Target this afternoon to look for some things for our upcoming vacation in a few weeks (hooray!) The boys were great in the stroller, munching on Goldfish and sipping apple juice long enough for me to get what I need and get home. We stopped for gas on the way back, so I kept passing back Goldfish in their open hands to keep them settled. Another minute and we'll be home.

Just as I was about to turn onto our street, I heard Jack cough. Like the kind of cough he does right before he throws up. Oh, no. Not in the car seat. Not now. I reached my hand back just in time to get the first load out of his mouth. I emptied it in the plastic bag next to me and almost made it in time for the second launch. Empty. Reload. Poor baby emptied his tummy three times with just about everything he had consumed today. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. Not only is the smell in the air, it's all over his body, his seat and my hands. Guess he had one too many Goldfish.

I had one of those 'where do I even start' moments before reaching for some napkins and cleaning what I could off my hands. When I pulled into the driveway, I went for Jack first and wiped what gobs away that I could just so I could unbuckle him. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. The clothes had to go. I stripped him down to a diaper while Benjamin watched with wide eyes. The humidity was climbing, raising the temperature in the van quickly; I had to act faster. I left everything in the van and took my diaper baby to the other door to get his clean brother. And we walked into the cool apartment.

I immediately called my husband. What should I do? Should I go down to the car and try to clean it all out? Gosh, I don't want that smell to seap into the seat! But what would I do with the boys? Should I just wait three hours until he got home? Thankfully, he could think clearly. "Put the boys in the play pen and go downstairs to see if you can get the seat out. Then you can clean it upstairs and keep an eye on the boys." Okay. Sounds like a plan. I can do that.

I put them in their own play pens, side by side, and went back down to the van. My goal was to bring the seat upstairs. But never having done it before (I know, I know, it was always my husband's thing,) I wasn't sure if I'd be successful. So I struggled for less than a minute before I realized that I'd just have to wait until he came home. I wiped up any chunks I could and went back upstairs. I called him on the way to give him an update.

I was still on the phone when I walked back into the house. "Ohmygosh," I said, looking at the play pens. I scared Andy, not having any idea what I was looking at. Both boys were in the same play pen. In the one I put Benjamin in. Could Jack have crawled over? It didn't even seem possible. "They're in the same play pen! I could have sworn I put them in separate ones..." Andy laughed when he realized what had happened. Somehow, Jonathan had managed to climb over the railing of his play pen and into his brother's, which was separated by a six-inch gap. Ohmygosh. Ohmygosh. They love to climb, but I promise, they have NEVER done anything CLOSE to that!

I started going nuts, wondering what would have happened if he hadn't made that little jump. Gosh, I don't even want to think about that. And I might not have even heard him for at least a minute... aye. I can't even think about that.

But I had to take a picture (or two) if not just to reassure myself that I wasn't making this up!

Jack is standing on a toy in Ben's play pen, though I assure you, there weren't any toys big enough to stand on in his play pen.

It only took another moment for him to test out his new skill in going back to his original play pen. Poor Ben had to wait for mommy to finish taking the pictures before I could get him out.

And he's almost in!

They're even better climbers than I had thought! I guess the play pens aren't a safe option for us anymore. I have found my life as a mother of two little boys to be in a constant state of transition... moving out the swings, moving in the Bumbos... taking out the Bumbos and replacing them with the highchairs... turning the couch around to keep them from climbing and emptying the books from the bookshelf so they can. Ah, the joy of boys :)

I Care About Your Fiber (and Everything Else)

Have you seen that commercial? The one where the guy comes in the break room, sees the girl eating Fiber One cereal and begins this whole dialogue about, "I care about your fiber." Another guy, who seemingly had a crush on that girl says, "I've cared about your fiber for a while." At least I think that's the jist of it. I tried finding it on You Tube with no luck, so I guess you'll have to settle for my vague storytelling skills ;)

That commercial made me think about how much we care about those we love. And what they eat. What they do, how the do it, etc. It's one thing to care about these things for our husbands - making sure they drink enough water, eat enough vegetables and not too many sweets - at least as much as we can assist someone else in making good decisions ;) But I believe this fact is magnified a gazillion times when it comes to our kids. Our babies.

Sure, we care about their fiber. But as moms, we care about even MORE than that.

We wonder about their sugar, preservatives, and vegetable intake.

We question the difference between homemade chicken broth vs. boullion, pasturized milk vs. organic, and feel guilty about giving them Goldfish crackers rather than carrot sticks.

We think about if they're exposed to enough books, have opportunities for learning and get enough socialization with other kids.

We wonder if we're feeding them too much macaroni and cheese and not enough avocado, watermelon and mango (and for the record, I have never even offered my boys mango before!)

We don't know if their language development is normal, their fine motor skills are on-point and their ability to understand when we say 'no.' Are we getting outside enough?

We are unaware if other kids the same age are using utensils, feeding themself out of a bowl or pooping this many times a day.

We question our role as a mother, wife, friend and daughter and all that has led up to this point.

And we're professional worriers. I mean, who else is going to be concerned for our kids, right? It's just us. We're it. And we've got to do our best because we've only got one shot at this thing.

Gosh, as if we didn't need more pressure.

Motherhood is tough, for sure. And I don't necessarily anticipate it getting much easier. When I do look back on the past fifteen months, I am amazed at how far we've come. How much we've learned. I do take a lot of confidence from that. Sleepless nights, countless questions for the pediatirican, feeding two babies every three hours, pumping after every feeding... yes, we have come a long way.

I never realized just how much my mom did - how much she sacrificed for us kids - until I became a mom. The moment our pregnancy test came back positive, I felt the same excitement she did and began to sense the huge weight of responsibility that I had just undertaken. Then I saw her in a new light of appreciation. She had the same conversations with Dad about how proud she was of us, how cute it was when we make that little elephant sound and wondering how she was going to make it through that day. And she did it. And she did it well.

Millions of other women have added their names to the ranks of sacrificial, nurturing and loving moms. And they've all had the same goal: to do the very best they could in raising their children.

I suppose there will always be a part of me that will wonder whether or not we're doing everything alright. If we're providing the very best we can for those we love. And I'm sure I'll mess up. I'll have bad days. I'll get discouraged and compare myself to the other moms that appear to have it all together. I'm only human; it happens. But I hope that I will always be able to remind myself of the fact that I really am doing the best I can. Despite the lies I might have come to believe, I am the absolute best mom for Jack and Ben. Each of us are. And if we're doing our absolute best, there is nothing better we can offer those we love.

Jambalaya: Our New Favorite

Summertime is a horrible time to use the oven. So instead, I'm constantly looking for new recipes that only use the stovetop. Taste of Home is my favorite cooking magazine and always has fantastic homemade recipes; that's where I found this. Let me tell you, taking thirty minutes from start to finish, it's been our favorite this summer!

Jambalaya Skillet
1/2# boneless skinless chicken breast, cubed
2 T. butter
1# smoked kielbasa or Polish sausage, halved lengthwise and cut into 1/4" slices
1-14.5 oz. can stewed tomatoes
1 c. chicken broth
1 medium green pepper, diced
1 medium onion, diced
1-1/2 c. uncooked instant rice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. hot pepper sauce
- In a large skillet, cook the chicken in butter over medium heat until no longer pink. Add the kielbasa, broth, green pepper and onion; bring to a boil. Stir in the rice, salt if desired, and hot pepper sauce. Remove from the heat; cover and let stand for 5 minutes. Yield: 6 servings. Recipe taken from Taste of Home.

I use brown instant rice and if I'm planning on giving some to my boys, I'll leave out the hot sauce completely and we put as much (or as little) as we'd like. I also use diced tomatoes rather than stewed tomatoes. I'm not always a big fan of spicy things, but I love to douce my jambalaya in hot sauce! I've also been anxious to add shrimp too, but I'll have to save that for next time. With this meal, we never have leftovers for the next day. Enjoy!

Imagination Gone Wild

Normally, I am not a very imaginative person. Creative, yes. Imaginative, no. That probably sounds like the same thing, but I think they’re actually very different. I like creating things out of items in front of me: scrapbooking, photography, those kinds of things. But I have a very difficult time creating something out of nothing. This makes me a very poor storyteller, a bad liar and more likely to watch National Geographic than the Science Fiction channel.

Anyway. I have a point.

The boys and I went to the playground this morning for a playdate with my MOPS group. It starts at 10am, which is difficult for two little boys with a naptime of 11am. But still, we had a good time and came home by 12:15pm to take our nap.

They were both falling asleep in my arms when I heard the doorbell. Oh, well, I thought. If it’s the UPS guy, he’ll just have to leave the package. These guys are exhausted and have to sleep. The boys continued to keep their head down and I thought we were home free. Then the doorbell rang again. And again and again and again. Obviously, whoever was at the door really wanted to come in.

The boys wouldn't let me put them down - typical - so I scooped them both up and looked out the window. Hmm, no UPS truck. No car in the driveway. Who could it be? All the while, the doorbell is going nuts and by now, they are feverishly pounding on my door. Huh?

I walked down the stairs, poked my head around the corner and saw the top of a man's head through the upper window of the door. "Who is it?" I yelled, readjusting my 25 pound boys on each hip. No answer. I yelled again. No answer. I thought I heard him scribbling something on the door, but he never looked up. So I took my sleepy boys back up the stairs, locked the door to our apartment and attempted to get them back down again.

No luck.

In frustration, I called Andy to see if he was expecting anyone today. "No," he said, confused, "not that I can think of." He was pleased that I hadn't opened the door, but wasn't sure who would have tried so hard to get our attention. He ran through a short list of men that would have matched my sketchy description, but neither of us could figure out what any of those men would be doing at our house in the middle of the day.

That's when I started to get creative. Err, imaginative. My mind went crazy, thinking of the possibilities of a man following me home, trying to get into our house and plans for robbery or harm to my boys. I haven't ordered anything online and wouldn't be expecting anything in the mail. Gosh, he knows I'm alone. The van is in the driveway - of course someone's in the house! He knows Andy's at work. What would I do if I was in danger? My parents live a half-hour away. Could the police even get here fast enough? I amazed myself with how imaginative I got, even creating an attemptable escape plan if I felt it was necessary.

My boys were far away from a nap at this point, so I finally mustered up enough courage to go downstairs again (this time, without the boys,) so I could see if he left anything with all of that scribbling. I took my cell phone and after I made sure the boys would be alright without me for twenty seconds, I went down.

And guess what? It was FedEx. Our tenants were being sent a package. Apparently, it was from Verizon so he couldn't just leave it at the door. Someone had to be there to sign for it. Ugh.

I called Andy immediately and let him know my findings. He was relieved, too, especially since I'm pretty independent and don't get rattled like that very easily! Why I couldn't see his truck, he didn't wear a company hat or why he didn't answer my question to see who was there, I'll never know. But I do know that I'm not going to let my mind wander too far next time. I think I grew three new gray hairs in a matter of ten minutes!

The boys did go down for a nap... two hours later. Oh, well. At least their rest allowed me a breather and a few minutes to type out proof of my crazy - and sometimes, irrational - imagination!

Over-the-Top Praise

As a mother of twins, I am always reminded of what it means to have two kids the same age. They fight over the same toys, scream when I'm holding their brother as well as bite, push, kick and pull hair when they feel their space closing in. Whoever said people were born perfect and only corrupted by the world never had kids. We are born sinful and it is OUR job to train them how to act differently!

No one said this would be easy.

In an effort to train my boys to do good, I admittedly go a little over the top. Whenever I see them doing something we've been working on - putting a toy in the toy box, sharing something with their brother or stroking his hair rather than pulling it - I emphatically go nuts. "Yeeeeeeeeah, Benjamin!" I shriek while clapping and patting his back. "Good boy! What a good boy you are!"

They love it.

Ben smiles and looks at me as if to say, "Oh, yeah? Well, that's nothing!" Then he does the same thing, anxious to see if he gets the same reaction and smiles incessantly to learn that once again, he has earned my over-the-top praise. Sometimes, he'll come over to me when I hadn't been payin attention and start clapping. Knowing that I probably missed a good deed (and not wanting it to go unnoticed,) I'll go through the whole song and dance. 'Cause he certainly did something to deserve it.

It is our job to help guide our kids toward what's right. Not a school, the community or their relatives. Those institutions will only reinforce what you've worked hard to establish. And we can't leave it to them. If I did that, my boys would have numerous bald spots on their head, teeth marks on their arms and bruises from thrown books on their faces. Other people would watch them and say, "Well, what are you gonna do? That's just the way they are." Only because that what we've allowed them to do.

But it is difficult. It's a lot of work. For me, it means trying to give my boys independence, but staying on top of them to be sure the wrestling stays playful and the biting isn't too frequent. When they do bite, I sternly tell them "No, we have to be nice to our brother," and then physically remove them from the incident. Sometimes, I have to do that five times in less than a minute. But eventually, they catch on. Eventually. The point is that they're learning what is acceptable and what is not.

I am not where I want to be yet, but I feel good about the direction we're headed. It's a long road ahead of us, but if I can hang in there, the lessons learned and character gained will be life-long. Eventually, I won't need to go nuts when I see them put a book on the bookshelf where it belongs. But for now, my boys need a cheerleader. Besides, I'm having way too much fun to stop!

The Allure of the Forbidden

You all know what I'm talking about. "Don't touch this... don't don't there... don't do that." It doesn't matter what it is. Look at Adam and Eve! That apple was taken from the ONE tree they weren't supposed to touch! Here's the truth: if you were told NOT to do it, that is, without doubt, the one thing you want to do.

This fact is enhanced with children.

I've read that parents should create one room in the house where your kids are free to play without hearing the word "no" at every turn. Sounds reasonable, right? But with a two-bedroom apartment, we only have so much room to give up! So I've designated my dining and living rooms for this purpose.  There are two gates to separate the dining room from the kitchen as well as their bedroom. I only let them into the baby-proofed kitchen when I feel like cleaning up all of the Tupperware they so happily through about the room. They have free reign in their space and seem more than happy to play within its limits. Most of the time, anyway.

Our couch is at the end of the living room and my boys love climbing up, jumping on and sliding off of our couch. I had to adjust my strategy when they started getting so confident. "Alright, I can't keep this from them forever," I thought. "If they're going to climb on this, I better teach them how to get down." Finally, they learned. I don't even rush over when I see them making their way down anymore. They've got it.

Then, they started going toward the arms of the couch. Oi vey. This made me a lot more nervous because it's a long way to fall and they almost always wanted to go down head-first. Definitely not. So I've been trying to reinforce how to go down these high arms feet-first. Admittedly, this has been a lot harder than just going down off the seat of the couch. And they know it.

Whenever I see them headed toward the arms (usually to play with the light switch,) I rush over to help guide them down. Now, they expect it. They've learned that the fastest way to get mommy's attention (as well as her presence) is to head toward the "forbidden," which will undoubtedly, send her running. And.it's.driving.me.nuts.

Yesterday, I came in from the kitchen to see Jonathan on the couch, running from side to side. No big deal. I've matted blankets and foam mats on the floor beneath him in case he fell. But when he saw me, he smiled that mischievious little smile and immediately ran to the arm of the couch. That little stinker.

Now, I'm normally a pretty relaxed mom. I let my boys fall because I want them to know how to do it correctly. I'd rather have them do it when I'm around than experiment with greater heights when I'm not. I do all I can to make our surrounding a safe one, so when my boys fall, I know they won't get more than a bump or a scratch. Plus, there's no way I can humanly be in two places at once. If my boys are going to be adventurous, they're just going to have to learn how to get back up and keep going.

Jonathan knew that I would rush over to his aid and assist him in his maneauver toward the ground. But this time, I resisted. I didn't want him to expect me to be there. He teased me with a smile for a few moments as he suspended himself in the air (feet-first, I might add) with his feet dangling toward the ground. I just smiled back, casually flipping through a picture book. He waited another moment, disappointed that his trick didn't yield any fruit. So he let go. His feet hit the floor and then he fell back, hitting his head on the foam mat.

I knew he was fine. All moms know the difference between the smack-WAAAAAAAH cry and the bump-waaaaaa cry. This was definitely the latter. He whimpered a little and walked over to me with his head in his hand. I held him and hugged him, then set him back on his feet. He watched Ben play and then ran over to join him.

Aha, I did it!

By ignoring his cry for attention, the allure had vanished. Somehow, the forbidden had become not as much fun. This was yesterday. He's tested me two more times today, but I did the same thing and eventually, he lost interest. Yesssssss.

Now, I'm not saying that we should ignore our babies' cries for help and I am NOT saying we should always let them fall just so they know how it feels. But there is something to be said for ignoring those times when we know we are being tested. When we are being watched. Our kids want to know the boundaries. They need to know the limits. But sometimes, I think a more natural consequence is appropriate than any consequence we could create.

Especially when you have two very curious, mischievious little minds like I do :)

Life on the Plateau

I am amazed at how much my life has changed in the past few months.

• 
  
  22 months ago... we learned I was pregnant. We were ECSTATIC!
• 
  
  20 months ago... we learned there were TWO! We just about fell on the floor.
• 
  
  15 months ago... I wasn't sure how much bigger I could get! I slept most of the day away, growing my babies and getting excited about their arrival!
• 
  
  14 months ago... my babies arrived on our 2nd wedding anniversary! Sleeping, cooking, cleaning and shopping were all things of the past.
• 
  
  13 months ago... I wondered how on earth I could ever do this by myself. I didn't feel like I had enough arms.
• 
  
  11 months ago... they started sleeping through the night. So did I; it was even better than I remembered. I stopped going to my mom's every weekday and learned how I'd manage on my own. It was a lot of work, but I was feeling good.
• 
  
  6 months ago... they got their first cold and we started rocking them to sleep with a bottle. We knew it was going to be a hard habit to break, but in that moment, it was all we could do to stay sane.
• 
  
  5 months ago... they started crawling. I rearranged my house to keep two busy little guys out of danger.
• 
  
  4 months ago... they started standing. And climbing. I moved the furniture again. And again.
• 
  
  2 months ago... I found a whole new life outside of pumping. The boys started walking and I gained confidence in leaving the house.
• 
  
  1 month ago... we started a new bedtime routine where the boys fall asleep on their own, rather than having me and Andy rock them to sleep and then carefully lay them in their cribs. This has brought so much more peace to our home and a longer night's rest for all of us!

Life is good. I'm able to do stuff around the house during the day and can plan for quiet activities (or sleep) when the boys are taking their nap! The boys are beginning to keep eachother occupied a few moments of the day and they enjoy sitting in my lap to read a book. I venture out a few times a week and organize playdates. I take pictures of my friends' kids and go to the zoo. My body is feeling normal and I'm starting to cook nice dinners again - or at least not grilled cheese ever night - after a loooong absence! I'm organizing our apartment and giving loads of stuff to Good Will. I'm organizing papers and throwing away junk. It feels good. Real good.

I feel like we've reached a plateau. We're coasting right now. Enjoying the flatland and storing up energy. But I can't help but think that this may be the calm before the storm.

I went to the park with some friends from my MOPS group today and was talking with Mandy about her 2.5 year old son, Nathan. "Your boys are so good," she commented, "I miss that stage." She went on about how independent her son wants to be now and how he refuses to take naps anymore. He's super active and potty-training has been a headache. "I'd give anything to be back where you are right now," she said, laughing.

Hmm. Point taken.

So I'm enjoying this plateau right now. I'm doing everything I can, resting whenever possible, knowing that my feet will be busy on the way down the hill. This period of rest will not last forever, but it is getting me ready for the next part of our adventure. I don't know how long it will last, but I will enjoy it while I can :)

An Adventurous Summer

It's been an excellent summer so far! I have really enjoyed being with the boys and adventuring outside of the house a few days a week. Here are just some of the things we've been up to:

We've gone to at least four different elementary school playgrounds for playdates with our MOPS group

We've eaten some Anderson's ice cream cones and made a HUGE mess of ourselves (but it was oh, so worth it!)

We went blueberry picking

(Although we found it much easier to just eat the blueberries out of Mom's container)

We've been playing peek-a-boo

We've been finding new things to climb

We've spent a lot of time enjoying our front porch and awning, including once where we watched the kids skinnydip in their kiddie pool. In. Their. Front. Yard.

We enjoyed corn on the cob, all by ourselves!

We've been sharing creamsicles on these hot, humid days

We enjoyed some time with Dad in our inflatable pool in the backyard

We've gone to the zoo at least four times

We've been finding new ways to make new messes. This one's compliments of a (sealed?) bag of Kix cereal.

Here's a recent visit to the zoo where we dug for dinosaur bones

We got together with some of my college friends and their daughters

We spent time with their grandpa and cousins

We enjoyed my sister's new house and her two sons

In addition to the activities these photos illustrate, we've gone to friend's houses for playdates, gone grocery shopping together, had dinner with family, enjoyed fewer naps and a longer bedtime and even did a photoshoot for a good friend and her 11-month-old son! Life has been good.

Mindy, why so adventurous? What's the reason for all of these outings?

Simple answer.

I'm not pumping anymore!!

Eighteen Years Later

Andy and I took the boys to our favorite restaurant the other night. We are very blessed that Jack and Ben do really well in public... at least so far. Armed with a few McDonalds toys, a cup and a straw and plenty of food, they allow us to enjoy a night out while not having to organize a babysitter!

We sat in a table against the wall and quickly began unloading our goodies. The family next to us was just beginning to leave when they noticed our little guys. The oldest lady in the group said, "Oh, my word! Twins!" You could hear the excitement in her voice. Wherever there are multiples, there's an instant bond. "My grandsons are twins, too! See?" She turned around and pointed at her two eighteen-year-old grandsons with their hands in their pockets. They had been celebrating their high school graduation. The boys smiled politely and awkwardly shifted their weight; this was not the first time they had been pushed into the spotlight.

"Aren't they such a blessing?" the mom asked me. "Oh, yeah. Such a blessing," I admitted, "but a lot of work, too!" I added that last phrase at the last second, expecting to get an I-know-exactly-what-you-mean response. Instead, she said, "No, I never saw it as work. It was always a lot of fun."

It's not work, huh?

Gee, that's funny.

I always felt like these guys kept me on my toes.

Most days, I feel like I'd have an easier time working full-time.

But I must be wrong.

Obviously, caring for two busy toddlers is a cake walk!

Either I'm doing something terribly wrong or that mom has some serious memory issues!