Thankful Thursday

I know that in such hard economic times, it has been very easy to remember what I am *missing* in life.

But, I am going to be thankful today for some things that are definitely *not missing* in my life.

Please comment--add on to this list. It is always good to hear the nice stuff from other people. And, while we may not know each other IRL, it's good to know that, no matter how crazy our blogging stories may be, there is still something to be thankful for...even it's small...

I am thankful for:

• The way my boys want to pray at dinner time. It's never mom or dad initiated. And usually Mama's Boy wants to say the prayer and it goes something like this, "Dear God, Thank you for my friends. And my mom. And my dad. And my brothers. All of them. And thank you for the candy the teacher gave me today at school. I REALLY like candy. Amen."
• The fact that I have four healthy sons.
• My job. It may annoy me sometimes, but I love the company I work for, the people I work with and the customers that I am there to serve.
• My dh's job. Thank God for the railroad, unions and seniority. The trains may stop traffic for too long, the union may be self-serving and seniority may be what's keeping him on call 24-7, but together they are keeping a roof over our heads, food on our table and a tiny, tiny, tiny bit of money in the bank. Tiny. Miniscule.
• The relationship that women have, when it comes right down to it. We know each other's heart break, sorrow, laughter and tears, pains and joys. We can say it to each other in a smile. We can see it in the tears that well up in each others' eyes. We might have only known each other minutes, but when we make that "sister" connection, it feels like millenniums.
• Baby dancing. Seriously, nothing is funnier to see right now...not funnIER or funnER (LOL, I know...more fun) than watching the twins bust a move. Cheeks does this shoulder shimmy/shake. Chops gets low, bent knees and all...he looks like he is surfing! Cracks me up. I gotta get that on tape.
• Love. I am thankful for my honey. It's taken us a long time to get where we are today. Painfully long time. Struggling long time. But man, is it worth it.

Why does my mother think I hate her? or, How I inherited crazy from my mom.

I received this text message from my mother today:

*Family Communication #1, Text*
I don't understand what up with you two, you have both hurt me very much.

This was, of course, followed by a quick phone call to my sister, Banana, who is the other one of the "you two."

*Family Communication #2, Phone Call*
Banana: Hello?

MommyTsunami: What is up with mom? Why do we hate her?

Banana: I dunno. She hung up on me earlier.

MommyTsunami: Oh. God. So...I should call her?

Banana: You can try...
I had to, of course, call my mother next. I called, half hoping she wouldn't answer--I could hang up, but caller ID would still get me credit for the call...and half hoping that the phone would explode or a black hole would open up and suck me in before my mom answered the phone.

No one answered. I might get my peaceful evening!

No such luck.

Caller ID warns me to sound cheery. It's mom.

*Family Communication #4, Phone Call*
MommyTsunami: Hello?

Mom: Well, hellllllo stranger.
{translation...you haven't called me in a long time}

MommyTsunami: Hi. How are you?

Mom: Iiiiiiiii'm fine. How are YOOOOUUUUU?
{translation...the only sufficient reason for not calling me in so long is a fatal illness.}

MommyTsunami: Mom, I'm great. Is something wrong? What happened? I got your text.

Mom: I didn't get a card for Mother's Day.
{translation...why do you hate me?}

MommyTsunami: I'm sorry mom. Honestly, I'm broke. I'm counting pennies to buy groceries by the end of my paycheck. I'll make you a card. I promise.

Mom: I bet dh's mom got a card for Mother's Day....
{translation...why do you love his mom more than your own?}

MommyTsunami: No mom. She knows we're broke.

Mom: Ooooookaaaaay. Well, you could have called me at least.
{translation...why don't you love me at ALL?}

MommyTsunami: I did. I called you at about 5 to 3, I know I did because I remember looking at the clock and thinking, "This is usually when she goes to work."

Mom: Well, alright. You're off the hook. I vaguely remember that. But I want a card next year.
{translation...FINE. But it's not the thought but the purchase that counts.}

MommyTsunami: Of course, mom. Hey, the baby is crying. I gotta go. Talk to you later?
{translation...the women in my family are CRAZY. No one is crying. But, I gotta go.}

My House is STILL a MESS? or, Why my house will never be clean.

Today is day four of four full days off. Joyous days of relaxing family time bliss! Had I gone with the original plan (spring cleaning!) I could not say that I've enjoyed my time off with my fam, but...my house would not look like this...

*Day 0, Wednesday night*

I have not even started my days off! There has been no relaxing! I at least deserve to relax RIGHT NOW, since I successfully made dinner for four children, dh and myself. Yup. No cleaning tonight. I will start that tomorrow. Maybe.

*Day 1, Thursday*
Today is going to be a beautifully perfect 81 degrees here in Chicago! I haven't experienced this since last summer and it just happens to be my day off! With the big kids in school, and three days ahead of me, I should DEFINITELY NOT clean today. I should, instead, take a trip to Brookfield Zoo with dh and the twins and enjoy this time that dh and I never have together with just the twins and soak up some sun and have some adventures with the babies. Yup. No cleaning here today.

*Day 2, Friday*
Okay. I really should get down to business and clean today. The big kids at school, I'll bring the twins to daycare. Yup, then I'll clean. Not as hot today either? Perfect day to clean out my closets (which are an overpacked mess) and clean off my nightstands, dressers, countertops, (which are fire hazards in the making). Gonna clean. Oh wait, dh's car is in the shop and he'll need me to pick him up from the dealer, and the dealer is right by his parents' house...we SHOULD go by and say hi, it's only polite since we are in the neighborhood. And we need to make a trip to Walmart for some stuff for the house. And it's time to get the kids. And now I need to bring the older boys to baseball practice. Oh well. No cleaning today? That's okay. I still have TWO MORE DAYS OF VA-KAY!

*Day 3, Saturday*
Text message to dh alerts him of family gathering in Michigan City. Starts at 2pm. I could clean before that, right? But the babies are crabby...I should take them for a calming walk. The house won't be cleaner, but the babies will get a good nap in, I'll get to do some mileage on my Nike+ challenge...everyone wins! Except for cleanliness. Neatness. All that jazz. There's always tomorrow!

*Day 4, Sunday*
Dh got an email yesterday inviting us to a party today. Friends of his. One is a DJ of House music (which dh LOVES). We should go. They came to the surprise birthday party I threw for him last year. It would only be right. And dh needs to put his mother's new grill together over at her house, leaving me sans helper/parent to watch babies while I clean. So, I'll take the babies for another walk, Nike+ challenge, here I come! And then, after, party! So, guess what??? No cleaning for this chick-a-dee!

Oh well. I suppose there could be worse. I mean, the house could be this messy and I could not be able to find time to write about it.

Be Careful When they Ring You Up at Walmart!

Okay. Went in to Walmart with a STRICT budget. So, I carefully watched the cost of ev.ry.thing. Yup. Counted PENNIES even. Chose my cheese based on a $.28 price difference. Had maybe 25 things to ring up. Was watching as the cashier rang everything up. As did another cashier, as my cashier was in training. One thing rang up more than the shelf price. Then two things. Then three...four...five...I kid you not!!! FIVE things rang up costing more than the listed shelf price! About two thirds through my purchase, after FIVE different costing products....I finally had to ask...

Mommy Tsunami: Okay, um, I know this is weird, but, like FIVE things just rang up more than what your shelf prices lists them.

Walmart Cashier: Uh...

Walmart Trainer: Okay, just tell me what and the prices!

Mommy Tsunami: 'Kay. {insert crazy list of products I purchased with shelf prices here}

Walmart Trainer: Is that it? All set.

That quickly? Why? I need to get off this blog and go do some google searching...is Walmart price gouging the unexpecting?

In honor of the humor of being a MOTHER.

Ok. Quick, but hilarious post. Today is Mother’s Day, which really, to me, means celebrating what makes me a mom, which is the kids. I have given birth three times to four children, but I have a son that GOd has blessed me with through my s/o…his first born The Joker.

The Joker is 13. He had not taken too well to the idea a couple years back when this woman (me) had waltzed into his daddy’s life. Not only A WOMAN, but two little boys. And then, before he had time to adjust to THAT…TWO MORE little boys!!!

I understand Joker’s pain. And I adore the Joker. Nothing like his daddy…okay, a LITTLE like his daddy…but shy, more introverted, less sure of himself. And I was that child at his age too. So, we can share that, and he has opened up to me and shared his first crush (Courtney?!?!?) and just recently, this question (which at first I though was a joke that he had made up, which he is prone to do…):

The Joker: Someone at school had asked me this, but I dunno…

Mommy Tsunami: What’s that?

TJ: Well, what’s the difference between a prostitute and a porn star?

Mommy Tsunami: (complete and utter shock, silence, awkward laughter…)

TJ: No, really! It’s not a joke! I don’t know the difference!

Now, let me explain that we are in the car…filled with impressionable children of all ages…and THE THINKER of all of these impressionable children, to my luck, happens to be right behind us eaves dropping in on our conversation…nosey, just like his mother…which only leads to him joining IN on the conversation…

The Thinker: Yeah, I have a question, too…

Mommy Tsunami: (omigodno.pleasedonotaskanything.)

TT: What’s the difference between a popsicle and a fish stick?

Insert lots of wild laughter here.

Wow. Did I escape a sticky situation there. And I am going back to address the FIRST question with the Joker. He is of age that he is curious about thosethings. There will be that conversation.

And maybe the Thinker and I need to sit down, because my question right back at him will be…

What’s SIMILAR between a popsicle and a fish stick!?!!?!?!?!??

Meeting Another Mom on the Edge

Okay. It’s as if the universe read my blog yesterday and said, “Um, no. You are more a mommy than you think and just…keep it real. You’ll find your place.”

The universe is so…Yoda...”Mom you are…”

So, I was at work (Fruit), when a mom came in, two kids in tow and one large belly (displaying DUE IN JUNE in bold bright letters).

The Mom: I need some help. I think I need a new phone. And, I think I need someone to help me see if there is any way I can get any information off of this phone. She spilled her lemonade on it.

Mommy Tsunami:Oh, I’m sure it was just an accident!

TM: I’ve tried everything. I’ve looked online and I’ve had my phone sitting in a bag of rice overnight and nothing! It still won’t turn on. And…I haven’t synced in over three weeks. I’ve lost everything, haven’t I?!?!? I can’t have lost everything. I don’t even know here I’m supposed to be today without that phone.

Mommy Tsunami: Wow…

Insert pause, long discussion about how to PREVENT this from happening again…

TWO HOURS LATER…

I crouched near a kids’ sized table for two hours while TM sat on a chair I grabbed from the back of the store. I made sure that Children 1 & 2 played happily on computers while I entertained mom with stories of wanting to leave my own children in grocery stores and how I threatened one of my 15 mo. old that if he threw away and lost his shoe he’d go barefoot until he was old enough to make the money to buy his own pair.

In a sentence, I did what I could to keep TM from crying. She got teary eyed. But, in the end, we laughed about what a baby’s extra hormones in our bodies can do to us, what it’s like to be THAT responsible for another human being, and how hard it can be to stay sane when we’re doing it…especially when our technology revolts against us with our children.

I spent two hours with her. My teammates looked at me like I was crazy. It was a great two hours of my career at Fruit, though.

Thank you, universe, for sending me that mom.

Taking the Preemie World By Storm

I am a mother of prematurely born twin boys. It is something I never would have predicted in my life. I mean, who would? But, especially after two healthy births. And a fairly normal twin pregnancy…up until 32 weeks.

At that time, right after 30 weeks, I believe, they wanted to do the non-stress tests weekly. On my way home from an appointment, (I believe it was a Thursday…maybe January 31st?) my s/o was driving the car, chockfull of family…the two of us and four of our children (albeit, two unborn). On the expresswar, merging to exit, when all of the sudden a car merging to enter, driving WAY TOO QUICKLY, loses control and spins in front of us.

S/o saw this about to happen and dropped the transmission to neutral.

The car spun right, I mean R.I.G.H.T., in front of us.

A semi-truck was right, I mean R.I.G.H.T., behind us.

By dropping the transmission into neutral, s/o avoided an accident. Narrowly.

But I grabbed my stomach. I winced in shock/pain/anxiety/fear. But he stopped it.

I think the stress pushed a button on the pregnancy.

The next nst was on Monday. I stay for forty minutes or so before they realized I was having major contractions. I didn’t realize. I thought I was feeling braxton-hicks…I was admitted to the hospital. I called s/o. He rushed to my side. Mom (a nurse at the hospital) rushed to my side. They pumped me full of iv fluids and gave me drugs to stop the contractions. Several drugs. And steriods for the babies’ lungs. Just in case.

Nothing worked.

Nothing stopped the contractions and then eventually, Baby B’s heartrate would DROP every time I had a contraction. Fuck. Shit. Fuckshit.

I was scared senseless. I sat in a hospital bed for four straight days. Craning my neck to watch the baby monitors. Waiting. Watching. Straining to see how my precious Baby B was fairing. Worried that Baby A would have to make an appearance too early because of Baby B’s problems. Worried that Baby B had problems. Worried.

His heartrate dropped soooo often. And to what seemed soooo low. I was truly scared for his life. I wanted to cry. I prayed. I wanted my babies to be safe.

NICU doctors explained how the boys were actually going to be BETTER out of the womb than in, especially Baby B. Right. But no guarantees.

I woke up February 8th. I am not going to say I knew that was going to be the day. I didn’t have a clue. More doctor talk. Differentiating doctor opinion. Fuck that. Take my babies out because the heart rate is dropping to the fifties and forties. My MAIN doctor (ob) argued no. WTF?!?!? They were going to leave it up to me.

I left it up to God, I guess.

Because within ten minutes of that doctor “leaving it up to me,” Baby B’s heartrate dropped to the THIRTIES. A whole CREW of docs and nurses ran in my room. My uterus was massaged (well, the baby was the target) and an oxygen mask was placed over my face.

“These babies made the choice for you, I guess. They’re coming today.”

Within 15 minutes, Chops and Cheeks made their appearance. Chops (Twin A) cried right away, and needed a CPAP, but no oxygen. Cheeks also cried right away, and for some reason was cut by a scalpal, and needed nothing.

They were 4lbs1oz and 4lbs7oz.

They were gorgeous.

Cheeks spent two weeks in NICU. Chops spent almost 5 weeks in NICU.

Those were the longest minutes. days. hours. weeks. of my life. NO ONE could have explained to me the emotions, the rollercoaster of preemie mom life. Both babies there, being checked out, going home with n.o. o.n.e. was painful. Going home with one, leaving one behind, was painful. Thinking today is the the day! and having an episode to set you back three days…is painful.

And they are preemies. Everyone guesses them to be at least two months younger than they are. They barely walked until 14 months old. They are not really talking yet.

They get sick. All. The. Time.

But I don’t give a shit. Because they are here. And they are mine. And they are miracles.

And, did I mention they came two months early, just so they could be born on MY BIRTHDAY!

Brats. Gotta love’em. God gave me the best present on the day he gave me life. The chance to give another (two) human being(s) life. I'll probably NOT be able to top that gift, so I won't ask anyone (ERIC) to try. *LMAO*

This poem got me through some tough times. Hope you like it.

How Preemie Moms Are Chosen
(Adapted from Erma Bombeck)

Did you ever wonder how the mothers of premature babies are chosen?

Somehow, I visualize God hovering over Earth, selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation.

As he observes, he instructs his angels to take notes in a giant ledger.

“Beth Armstrong, son. Patron Saint, Matthew.

Marjorie Forrest, daughter. Patron Saint, Celia.

Carrie Rutledge, twins. Patron Saint … give her Gerard. He’s used to profanity.”

Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles. “Give her a preemie.”

The angel is curious. “Why this one, God? She’s so happy.”

“Exactly,” smiles God. “Could I give a premature baby a mother who knows no laughter? That would be cruel.”

“But does she have the patience?” asks the angel.

“I don’t want her to have too much patience, or she’ll drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she’ll handle it. I watched her today. She has that sense of self and independence so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I’m going to give her has a world of its own. She has to make it live in her world, and that’s not going to be easy.”

“But Lord, I don’t think she even believes in you.”

God smiles. “No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just the right amount of selfishness.”

The angel gasps, “Selfishness?! Is that a virtue?”

God nods. “If she can’t separate herself from the child occasionally, she will never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a spoken word. She will never consider a step ordinary. When her child says ‘mama’ for the first time, she will be witness to a miracle and know it. I will permit her to see clearly the things I see – ignorance, cruelty, prejudice – and allow her to rise above them.
She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side.”

“And what about her Patron Saint?” asks the angel, his pen poised in the air.

God smiles. “A mirror will suffice.”

I'm not your average soccer mom

And I’m totally not saying that YOU are. But, it has become PAINFULLY obvious to me that I JUST DON’T FIT THE SOCCER MOM MOLD.

Currently, it is Baseball Mom season. So, for the first time since I had only two almost completely potty trained children (The Thinker was four going on five, Mama’s Boy was two going on three), I have The Thinker (7 almost 8 ) in Rookie Baseball and Mama’s Boy (5 almost 6) in Tee-Ball. And a set of 1 year old twins (Cheeks and Chops).

I HATE IT. Don’t get me wrong. I. love. being. a. mom. But, all this chauffeuring that is currently required of me? All of this self-sacrificing? I don’t know if I mind the self-sacrificing, really…although, didn’t I sacrifice my body and most of my mind for 9 months… nine months times three births… almost eight years already? Or was it that I’ve sacrificed my mind and most of my body? And really, none of those moms and I have A-NY-THING in common! I’m on adult relationship #2, my two older sons are the product of my first marriage, I met and became pregnant by the twins’ father...um, let's just say SOON after I began dating him…I love NIN, Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Chicago House music, Missy Elliott, Guru, Michael Jackson, Janis Joplin and could listen to all of those artists/genres in one twenty minute car ride. I sing AND laugh BOTH at the top of my lungs, I am not afraid to make a fool of myself in public, especially for my children’s entertainment, I am fairly liberal, believe the USA is wrong in most all foreign policy and domestic policy issues…I could go on and on…I don’t know.

I. just. don’t. feel. like. them. I feel like it’s high school all over again. The cool kids are wearing fake/plastered on smiles and when I walk away from their lunch table, both they and I roll eyes.

I don’t feel like I can fake this for forever, but will I have to fake this for forever? Is it the city I am in? Is the age that I am it? Is it that I really haven’t gotten to know these moms?

Well, for this SOCCER BASEBALL mom season ALONE…my crashing waves are the following:

I am NOT happy that I have two back to back practices on Friday afternoons, which I am taking time off of work to go to anyway. I am not happy that Tuesdays mean practice for Joey and a game for Eddie, immediately following the practice or DURING the practice in some cases. At different parks. At which I am expected to be at both…

Did I forget to mention that many of these games begin at 7 or 8 PM on a school night? That in one weekend Joey has three games, one everyday and on Monday? Or that, despite pouring money into the team, accessories, pictures, treat tickets, I am expected to work a concession stand two to three times a season, and to clean up the park before, half way through and after the season…FOR EACH CHILD?

WTF!?!?

Maybe I am strange. I don’t know. I find it odd that every parent except for me said that a 4:30 pm practice is fine on a work day; also odd to me that every parent there with their son was a dad (except for me), EXCEPT for the TEAM MOM (Ring, ring…um, hello? Yeah, 1950’s on the phone and they want their TEAM MOM back)…whose husband was there anyway…right, cuz what kind of woman would know about sports anyway? For the record, the only other baseball mitt in our house is MINE (not dh’s) as is MOST other athletic gear in our house. We recently went to the batting cages, which DH couldn’t pull me out of, I made contact on every ball, and all were playable hits except for one which was foul because I swung at a bad pitch…yes, out of a mechanical pitcher…

So, I can do all of this volunteer work, or I can pay some high school student $20 to do my volunteer work for me. HELL, NO! I barely make that! But, I can’t have my own high school student volunteer for me (um, hmmmm…can you say COACHES’ KIDS?). And then, on top of that, I get this groovy phone call from Eddie’s team’s coach.

It went something like this:

TeamCoach: Hi, Anti-mom, it’s Team Coach and you weren’t on the schedule for Tuesday’s game for volunteering, but you are now.

Mommy Tsunami: Um, it’s Friday afternoon. After 4 pm.

TC: Yes. Hehehehehe.

Mommy Tsunami: And, you want me to “volunteer” for THIS Tuesday’s game?

TC: Yes. Hehehehehe.

Mommy Tsunami: Right, well, there are a couple of issues with that. First, I told you I would not be at Tuesday’s game over a week ago. Second, it’s Friday. After 4pm. And I’m a grown-up. That works. I cannot just be there on Tuesday. That’s not how it works for me. We won’t be there on Tuesday. Third, I will not be paying $20 for some high school kid to make as much an hour as I do.

TC: Well, I’ll send you over a list of parents that may switch with you for another day in the concession stand…

Mommy Tsunami: No. Because that brings me to point number four. I will not spend my two days off from work worrying if some other parent out of the goodness of their heart will switch volunteer work days with me on Tuesday. I get two days off. I won’t spend them making calls. Nor will I pay someone. And I will not be there. So, I don’t know where that leaves us, but that’s the situation.

TC: (Insert cricket noises here)

Mommy Tsunami:: Okay then, I guess that’s it.

TC: Um.

Mommy Tsunami: Okay, see you at practice.

Phone: Click.

So. I can’t help it! I can’t fake it or force it!

WTF.

I’m doomed.