The bittersweet taste of April 19

**a re-post from a previous birthday**

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I sort of love this day -- it's my birthday.
I love the sweet birthday wishes from everyone; they make me smile and feel happy and warm and loved. Thank you all so much for that. It's the day I feel truly Grinchy...by which I mean my heart grows three sizes. (Oh, no worries, it will shrink back down in a couple of days and I'll be back in Curmudgeonland)

I sort of hate this day -- it's my birthday.
I am older but seldom wiser, crazier even without cats, and more GET OFF MY LAWN YOU LITTLE BASTARDS.
It also (and more importantly) marks the tragedy of the OKC bombing in 1995. All those lives lost needlessly, those children in the daycare...for what? Because some whackjob wanted revenge against the federal government. I believe in Hell and I am bloodthirsty enough to hope that McVeigh & Co rot there.
My kids were still in the NICU on April 19, 1995, and after the bomb went off, bomb threats were called in to the Children's Hospital and I nearly went out of my mind when one of the hospital administrators tried to explain why they were not (yet) evacuating. I couldn't even get down near the hospital to visit my babies that day.

But I am glad that people remember the tragedy and pay tribute. I'm glad that some of us still drive with our car headlights on in remembrance of those lost 168.

And I'm glad that people care enough to remember my birthday.

It's a happy-sad day.

Things I SHOULD Say

Just to counterbalance my last post...things I don't say often enough and shouldn't assume that you already know.
(#YIIAY Lisa)

1. I don't hate you. Mostly.

2. Your posts always make me smile with delight at your happiness.

3. It is utterly comforting to know I can ask you for anything, any time.

4. I'm glad I met you.

5. Your friendship sometimes makes me a nicer person.

6. I sincerely appreciate you and all that you do for me. In fact I like you well enough that I'd probably appreciate you if you did nothing for me ever.

7. Sometimes the laughter at your posts is what gets me through the day.

8. I truly value you and I'm happy you're in my life in some small way.

9. I hardly ever want to headstab you.

10. I do love you. For reals, yo. In a totally non-sexual way. Except maybe you and you...how YOU doin', baby?

11. Most of these are probably about all of you.

On being full of thankful.

A few days ago someone posted, "What are you thankful for this week?"
and my first thought was...nothing special.

WHAT?! NOTHING SPECIAL?!

What I mean is, there was nothing different about my level of thankfulness.
Every single morning that I open my eyes, I am thankful.
For the sunshine or the rain.
For my kids.
For coffee.
For family and friends, and the love and support they give so generously.
For love and forgiveness.
For the kindness of strangers.
For the food in our bellies.
For the roof over our heads.
For having a vehicle to drive.
For central heat and air.
For the ability to still be able to take care of my son, despite the back pain and arthritis.
For my daughter's job.
For the ability to work for myself, on my own schedule, and mostly at home to be with my boy.
For an income that, while tiny, is still enough to cover the bills.
In short, every day I am thankful for all that I have, all I've been given, all I am blessed with.
EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

So yeah, I'm glad everyone is thinking of things they're thankful for on this special day...but for me I'm thankful for nothing special...just everything.

Reflections

Aaaah Valentine's Day.

That love-fest of a day in which I snuggle on the couch by myself and watch romantic comedies like My Bloody Valentine (the original one from 1981!) and eat chocolates which I stole from my kids, who actually got Valentine candy  and drink a whole bottle or maybe two of wine.

And I reflect upon past Valentine's Days...

...like the one where I was dating that clown I met online.
No, seriously, like a real clown. With the makeup smile and big pants. And MAGIC TRICKS, like pulling a quarter out of my... ear.
And BALLOON ANIMALS! Actually he did make me a cute balloon thingy for Valentine's Day, it was two little balloon lovebirds surrounded by a big balloon cage heart.
And NO, he did not wear the clown makeup on our dates.
Except that one time. But we don't talk about that.

...and the one where Valentine's Day came WAY too soon after we just started dating, and I didn't know what to do. I mean it was only like our 3rd date - I got him a card (a funny one, of course, no mush)...then I panicked. Do I have to get him a GIFT? And what do I get him? Plus also THIRD DATE! That's like the sex date, right? So ... do I get him a box of Trojans and wrap it up in sparkly heart paper with a card that says "Guess who's gettin' lucky tonight!"? Do I vajazzle? Stick a red bow down my pants?
I ended up giving him a tiny stuffed "heart" bear with candy hearts attached to it...that I had actually bought for MY SON.
OMG.
I'm embarrassed just thinking about it.
On the other hand, he bought me a really nice gift basket with bath stuff and lotion. So clearly he thought I needed to smell like something called Moonlight Way (which frankly reminded me of cat pee juniper bushes).

I don't know why I'm still single, do you? I KNOW, I AM SUCH THE CATCH!

But then I always finish the night thinking about the BEST Valentine's Day, which was sad and sweet and scary and excellent all at the same time.

Valentine's Day 1995.
The day I first laid eyes on my children.

You see, they were born on Feb 13, the day before V-Day. They were 3 and a half months premature (which, if you read yesterday's annual birthday post, you already knew - and if you didn't read it, what the hell is wrong with you? Scroll down when you're done here)...and I wasn't allowed to go from my hospital (University Hospital) to Children's Hospital (where the NICU was) until the next day.
Of course I was so full of morphine I barely noticed. (also? HOORAY FOR MORPHINE! ♥)

Valentine's Day I was wheeled through a series of connecting tunnels and hallways to the Big Scary NICU, where I had to scrub my hands and arms for 10 minutes before I could even go in and still wasn't even allowed to touch them, except to cup my hand over their bottom & legs - which wasn't even a handful.

And there were these two beds with hot bright lights over them - sort of looked like where they keep the burgers warm at McDonald's, you know the metal thing with the heat light? Like that.
And there were these two red, scrawny, ugly, spider-monkey-looking babies with folded down ears (!!!) and covered in tape and tubes and wires and IVs and O! they were beautiful and scary and pitiful and hurting and painful to look at and my heart broke and bled and loved.

Given less than 50% chance to live, they turned 18 years old yesterday.

Best. Valentine. Present. EVER.

All Growed Up.

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"18 and Life to go" --Skid Row

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Dun dun DUUUUUN! Time for the Annual Birthday Post! I'm actually re-writing it (a little) this year, because those of you who've known and read this blog since 2005 are probably tired of the same story and pictures. You can always re-visit the old one here if you want.

Also? OMG I HAVE 18 YEAR OLD CHILDREN. Pretty soon I'm going to have to stop pretending to be 29. Only not this year, I'm not quite ready for THAT. Baby steps.

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THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 14th.

I know, right? These children clearly get their lack of patience from me.  They were born at 24 weeks, or about 3 and 1/2 months early. They weighed just over 1 lb. each, and were about a foot long. I'm talkin' teeeeeny tiny. Micro-preemie, I think is what they are called now. 

Anyway, this is my boy, at about a month old:

I woke up the morning of February 12th, headed for the bathroom, and after about 5 minutes I called out to the baby daddy, "Either I've lost all control of my body functions or my water broke".

I'll give you a hint - my functions were still under my control.

So natch we rushed to the hospital, where the stupid ass snot face condescending nurse (actually I love nurses in general, but this one? NOT SO MUCH) had me lay on a gurney for an hour and then said that I was fine, no fluid was "leaking" (I know, gross), and the pains in my back and belly were just muscles stretching, NOT CONTRACTIONS...and then she tried to send us home. 

Me being me, I caused a scene.

Hey, guess who ended up being right about me being in labor?

Here is my little girl, at about a month old:

The doctors tried to stop my labor for 24 hours, but apparently my kids were having none of that. On the 13th of February, my boy arrived in the usual way - of course, I was knocked out for the entire thing. My daughter was still safe and secure in her bedwomb -- the idea was to let her 'cook' a little longer (which would have been weird to have twins with different birthdays, right?).  So they were wheeling me into recovery when Miss Contrary's heart rate dropped to zero, and they did a SUPERFAST emergency C-Section to get her out. Evidently she didn't like being alone.
So it was like Twins Two Ways, with extra Mommy Staples.
This is also where I discovered my love of morphine.

Their ears were still folded down (WEIRD! I didn't even know ears did that until my kids were born. It was like puppy ears or something), and their lungs were not completely developed, and their little hearts were working overtime/doubletime.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did.

Thank you, God.

Thank you for this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)

and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 1/2 months)

The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.

Fortunately they got my stubborn genes as well as my temperamental ones, because my kids wouldn't listen to percentages; they were all YOU DON'T KNOW ME! I DO WHAT I WANT!
Their hearts were overworked, their lungs were and are covered in scar tissue, they are cursed with keloid scars as well as scars from perc lines and central lines and a million little junkie scars on arms and feet from being pricked with lancets every hour. They have scarred veins, they had damaging bleeding in their brains, preventing brain growth. And yet...
        

Becca's first day home from the hospital! Nearly 4 months old and barely 5 lbs. I still have this amazingly tiny dress - I swear it's barely bigger than Barbie size. Those booties she has on? The foot part is less than 2 inches long. Each twin came home attached to oxygen and an apnea monitor - whenever we all went anywhere together it looked as though we were leaving home for a month, so laden were we with electronic equipment, oxygen tanks, diaper bags, strollers...which is partly why I became the hermit I am today. #Lazy

Here they're about 7 or 8 months old, I think (did I ever mention that I am TERRIBLE about labeling pictures? Because I am). Clearly Becca was already trying to wear some sort of tiara:

One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib.

When Becca was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:



Josh had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow... until that time I gave him a buzz-cut and he's been sporting a Greg Brady WhiteBoy 'Fro ever since. IT IS OUT OF CONTROL.

There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think THIS twin or THAT twin would make it through the night. There was six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital. For awhile I thought they were going to name a wing of the children's ward after us, or at least keep "our" room in reserve.

There was RDS and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.

There were staph infections and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt whilst in the NICU - he of the tiny little brittle bones. There were breathing treatments and nebulizers and oxygen tanks and constantly changing medications and seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

All that and so much more...and I continue to be amazed that here we still are, 18 years later.

How could I not believe in a higher power? In miracles?

I love you, my babies. I'm STILL thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.

You still make me laugh, you still make me cry, you still make me want to smack you upside your silly little heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times ten million.
Happy, happy 18th birthday.

In Honor Of VD, a re-post

Aaah Valentine's Day... a day for laHOvaHERS.
As you head out for (or maybe wrap up) your fancy schmancy red-hot date, let's just take a moment to...
consider the possibilities.
To that end, I offer you a re-post of mine from long ago.

10 Things The Romance Books Don't Tell You How To Handle

1. Skidmarks
2. Morning breath
3. The first time you fart during sex
4. Smelly feet
5. What happens when you fix beans & cornbread for dinner, and then sleep over
6. The first time you have to poo when he/she is at your house.
7. All sorts of body odors in all sorts of places
8. A little something hanging from your nose (or his) when you're on a date.
9. Hairy backs on otherwise perfect-for-you men
10. First Date Food In Your Teeth


YOU. ARE. WELCOME.

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Some of you wrote to ask why I didn't haul out the annual birthday post for my kids...well, I had originally decided to re-do the whole thing but when I sat down to write, it kept coming out as more of a post about me, about the struggles our little 3-person family has had, and I didn't want it to be like that.
So next year - it's a biggie, EIGHTEEN! - I will overhaul the post and make it bright and shiny and new.
But thank you for asking. 
And the kids and I thank you for all the birthday wishes yesterday.

Sweet 16

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEET 16s!

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'Tis time for the annual birthday post. Mostly I'm too lazy to re-write it, but I did at least put a new picture at the bottom.
Actually today I'm sitting here wondering how I got old enough to have 16-year-old chilluns. (YES THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S ALL ABOUT ME ME ME!)
AND how I've managed to not completely ruin them (yet) despite my very best efforts.

Anyway, if you've read all this (several times) before, I give you my permission just to skip to the bottom & see the latest picture and my bit of addendum.

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THE DUE DATE: June 4. But oh no, my impatient children arrived February 13.
Yeah, that's pretty early.

Born at 24 weeks after 24 hours of labor, which the doctors tried to stop.
My son came first, in the usual way. (in this picture he was actually one month and one day old)




As they were wheeling me to recovery, my daughter's heart rate dropped to zero, and she was removed by emergency C-section fifty-six minutes after her brother was delivered. (and she is one month and one day old here)




Barely over a single pound each. Barely 12 inches long.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did.
Thank you, God.

For this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)





and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 or 4 months)




The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.
Fortunately they got my stubborn genes.

My girl here is about a year and a half old, this is one of my favorite pictures of her~she looks so pensive.




And here is my sister with two skinny little babies:




One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib..




And she always....




...always has loved him best.



(yes, her mouth is blue...she was putting eye shadow on. On her lips. Yep. You should have seen what she did to me earlier that day with lipstick...whilst I was catnapping on the couch.)

When she was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:





Already trying to fill mommy's shoes, trailing that damned oxygen hose behind her (that I tripped on a thousand and one times):




Here's my little guy at about 6 or 7 months old, when he finally got to come home from the hospital...




He had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow...





























There was a lot of bleeding in their brains. There were under-developed lungs and folded ears and they looked like scrawny little red spider monkeys. There were central lines and ventilators and beds under heat lamps like the burger shelf at McDonalds. There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think this one or that one would make it through the night. There were enlarged hearts and lungs covered with scar tissue and a million little junkie scars on arms and hands and feet and ankles from blood tests and central lines and perc lines and blood-gas testing every hour. There was six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital.
There was RDS and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.
Staph infections and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt - tiny little brittle bones.
All that and so much more...
and yet, here we are today, 16 years later.

How could I not believe in a higher power? In miracles?

I love you, my babies. I'm thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.
You make me laugh, you make me cry, you make me want to smack you upside your heads.


If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times ten million.

Happy, happy birthday.

Gifts you WANT to have returned

The gifts of love and friendship.
Always returnable, never a wait in line or a hassle at the counter.
No rude salesclerks or paperwork to fill out.

So this is the time of year when people typically post their favorite posts of the previous year (well, clearly I like ALL my posts or else I would not publish them, DOY) or they post their RARELY KEPT New Year's Resolutions (and we all know that I prefer "suggestions" over resolutions)...but something way better came up and I want to tell you about it.

2010 was not an incredible year for me. I mean, it was okay, but mostly not. There seemed to be twice as many life-bumps as usual, including but not limited to:
2 days before I was to leave for BlogHer AND my first ever trip to NYC... the transmission went out on my car
Which led to me not getting to go to BlogHer
AND having a non-refundable airline ticket, so, you know, money down the toilet
AND not getting to see any of my online friends in person this year at all
So no car, no trip, no friends. No money. No fun. Boo.
Then I borrowed my stepmom's truck...and squirrels ATE THE WIRES.
AND I got a 3/4 inch splinter straight up through the ball of my foot.
Plus of course the everyday stress of raising a couple of teenagers by myself and working all the time and dealing with disabilities and changing diapers and and and ...
None of these things are hugely tragic, just stressful, disappointing, and...well, painful.
So I'm glad they're behind me. I hate to complain, but srsly I was nearly at the I CANNOT HANDLE ONE SINGLE OTHER THING point.

But see, there are these people....

You know, as much as I despise people in general, it is apparent that in regard to bosom pals (heehee, I said bosom) I have chosen most wisely. In fact, when it comes to friends, I can state willingly, honestly, emphatically that I Have The Best Ones.
They persist in liking me despite my best efforts. Clearly they're somewhat insane.

Oh sure sure, I'm sure you think your friends are better, but they're really not. Sorry.

See, a few weeks ago I wrote this post about the iPad and finding some apps for kids with disabilities - and the thought of being able to actually COMMUNICATE with my son after 15 years of guesswork.
I mean, it's disheartening at times, not knowing what to do for him, not knowing if he's hungry or tired, if his head hurts or he's just thirsty or wants attention... for kids with cerebral palsy and mental retardation a lot of the childraising is just making it up as you go along and hoping for the best. It's hoping that he understands when I say "I love you", even though I know I'll never get to hear him say it back. It's wonderful and terrible and terrifying and humbling and heart-breaking.

My friends read the post and understood.

And for Christmas, they bought my son and me an iPad and gift cards to buy an app that will allow my son to TELL ME WHAT HE NEEDS.
If you're saying UNBELIEVABLE! to yourself right now, that's exactly what I said when I opened the box. Right before I sat down and put my head on my desk and cried like a little girl.

You may not understand how incredibly HUGE this is, for both myself and my boy, but that's okay. *I* know. And there have not been big enough, good enough, words invented yet to convey how thankful and appreciative I am.
All I can say is thank you, thank you so very much, with the whole of my heart.
And? I love you back.

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This post dedicated to:
Alicia
Don
Wendy
Rob
Jay
Loretta
Beth
Natalie
Jen
Mark
Jeckles
Amber
Marc 
Heather
Jami
and
Lisa
The Friday Night Live Gang