How to Shop With Twins

                                                            You can't avoid it forever
Shopping with two brings its own sets of challenges. I avoided it like the plague, picturing every worst case scenario, but we started whittling away into nothing. Six weeks into twin motherhood, it  was time to get to the grocery store, just the three of us.

[Solomia, age 6 weeks, in the cart at Aldi] 

Wear one in a Bjorn

This is how we got anywhere, especially down the grocery aisle. 

[Girls, age 6 months]

Expect the gawking

The shoppers gawk, come running, shout across the aisle "ARE THEY TWINS". It can at times be impossible to navigate the cart through the fans. If I let it, it can be frustrating. But when I brace myself, I realize that these little smiles can brighten up someones day. Mostly older adults are the ones to tell me about all the twins in their family, I realize they might be lonely, and try and give myself extra time for the shopping trip.

[Girls, 7 months]

Bring or buy a snack

Let them dig into the bag of pretzels- it's not the end of the world. 

[Solomia, at 9 months, nibbled through this pepper]

Only one stop

There's no such thing as shopping around for deals- it's not fair to the babies. Besides the occasional stroller walk to the local fruit market, I try and limit grocery shopping to once a week, and one store only. There's no such thing as a quick trip with the girls. Running to get a loaf of bread will take at least 35 minutes. There's only so much time in a day, and hours I can take away from playing with the girls to do errands. When my husband is off of work, I want him home with us, building Lego towers, not making grocery stops.

[Girls, 14 months, and shoes are overrated!]

.

 Ask for help

Even still I'm not ashamed to ask for help. If you're close to me you have most definitely received the text "hey on your way over can you grab a box of cereal and some bananas". Or the "do you want to come over for dinner, can you bring Chinese!"

[Girls, 19 months, loving the double seats]

If you're wondering how to shop with two, let me be that voice of reason, "you can do it!" Just keep calm, keep it simple, bring some snacks, and get a bjorn!

Overnights in the Emergency Department

During the week I am a classic stay at home mom. On fridays I work third shift. The family goes to bed, shortly after I drive to the hospital. Grab a trauma pager. Run until morning.

Imagine any heading you would read in a city's newspaper. "Teen Mom Pregnant by Rape". "Man Assaulted While Sleeping in His Own Home". "Child Hit by Car in Parking Lot, Doesn't Make It". Those are my patients, them and their families. Assessing- who are these people. What happened. Could this have been prevented. What are the living conditions. What are the social factors contributing to this incident. Do you know who did this to you? How long have you been using? Can I bring you a tissue. A coffee. A blanket. I'm so sorry for your loss.

The content is solemn but it doesn't break me. I'm a believer, I believe in the hope of the Resurrected One. But the brevity of my task threatens to unravel me. Capturing every detail for a report to be given to the homicide detective, the child protective service, the floor nurse for follow-up. I'm not good at those details. I'm naturally interested in the big picture, their stories fascinate me. I have no patience for endless intricate details, are you surprised?

I'm also too tired to pry, "exactly what nursing homes have you already been to", when a heroin addict is about to be jumped in the hallway. Yes, it's exhausting. When I think about what time it is, I want to stab my eyeballs out. Then again, I see what it looks like when people actually do that; it's not pretty.

I don't know anything about medicine, but I'm not there to save lives, or change them. I just make an Emergency Department visit 2% more bearable. Picture CSI meets Mother Teresa- that's my job. I feel that my work is bizarre, and almost too abstract to capture here. If I can clarify anything, please let me know. Eventually morning comes. I do what every other mom does- goes home, makes lunch, plays puppets, catches a nap. Don't drink and drive, people. Don't break into houses, you will get shot. Don't hang out the 6th story window. Don't beat your girlfriend- she will break your skull. But if you do, and it happens to be on a friday night in Cleveland, rest assured I'll serve you some coffee.

The Snowball Effect

These quiet snow days make me nostalgic for childhood. My siblings and I were very close, homeschooled, had nothing but time. We raised each other in a way. I have one brother. He is younger than me and I worried about him incessantly.

One night we bundled up and went outside. It started with a snowball, we rolled it as we walked. I pummeled him with routine and scripted questions, accusing him of vices, doing my motherly duty of watching over his soul. Now he is Joe;  then he was Jojo.

"Jojo, are you addicted to drugs."

"No" he would respond, like usual. "I'm nine."

"Jojo, are you having pre-marital sex?"

"I don't know what that is".

"Well have you ever stolen anything"

"I don't think so, sister".

We almost made it around the entire block, no longer rolling but pushing a snowball twice our size. When we could push it no further we left it, at the end of a walkway, and ran home shrieking. The next morning, in the midst of a math lesson, we looked out the window to find the owner of that home using a pick axe to crumble that now frozen barricade.

Now a grown man he has stayed on the straight and narrow, be it my heavy hand, an internal moral compass, or simply common sense. He's everything I had hoped he would be and more. Much like that unmoveable snow mound we created together, he's hilarious, and grounded.

No Need to Floss

    

It was dark by the time I pulled in. Baba was putting the girls to bed, and the lab was clear across town. It was narrower than I had imagined, and each station was filled with gadgets and headlights and magnifying glasses. It smelled of instant coffee. Everywhere you looked there were torches and impressions and ground stone to mix any shade of teeth imaginable.

This strange world is our new livelihood.

His work is that of an artist and a mad scientist, hand crafting porcelain crowns. He quit his day job and bought a business; the culmination of a thousand conversations about how to do ministry and family. We took a deep breath and went all in. Slowly exhaling, we watch the scenes of God's leading and provision unfold. I'm investing everything into this dream of his, believing I hold the power to unlock my husband's potential. I watch other women do it too, put their own need for security aside; there our husbands flourish, limitlessly. Someday I will cash in, there's either a crown on earth or a crown in heaven waiting for me.

Scones

The first taste of chocolate; 

a lesson in kneading. 

There's splashing and stirring, 

flour prints everywhere. 

Baked, big eyes, blowing, '"hot"; 

dancing with girlhood. 

We Got Our Wings Clipped

                

Today marks day ten of bronculitis (that's a cold to it's fullest glory). It's not the relentless flem that's getting us down but the pending cabin fever. This morning I devised a plan to get to the library- we would sneak past the librarians, sit in on storytime, divert the coughing onto someone else's kid. I couldn't work out all the kinks, and realized the girls would probably lose their hand stamp privileges- thus we would all end up back home in tears.

Yes we're knee deep in amoxocillin, tylenol, and thieves oil. We dodged some Ukrainian home remedy voodoo- "wrap baby in heated pig fat", "pour eucalyptus oil down their nostrils", "layer clothing until children are like cabbage". We politely declined, all we have is to wait.

By now the struggle to stay entertained is real. I've found tricks up my sleeve that I didn't know were there. The q-tips in the tub trick. The dinosaurs in the stroller trick. The tutus on the teddy bear trick. Wrote a song and dance entitled "Eat Your Cheese".

This is our third bout of illness this season. But I'm thinking were just caccooning, that come spring we'll emerge as butterflies, perfectly sharing, perfectly potty trained, and using three word sentences (like "go, dog, go")- we're working on it ;) Enjoy some pics from our shut-in activities!

Their first baking lesson!

                       

snack time!

100 baths

 Our books of choice right now, they're trying a bunch of sounds out from "Go, Dog, Go"!

Googly Eye Game instructions: let the girls play with googly eyes. Spend the entire first part of their nap searching the house for them. Bonus points if you say a prayer that you don't find any in a diaper!

A package arrived from some [great]grandparents- red moccasins!

Girls are eating their bananas in the lids of their bubble bottles- nifty storage. 

Solomia is a big bad wolf. She howls like a wolf too "ooow!" Anya is Little Red Riding Hood. In our rendition of the story they happen to be best friends. 

Threading pipe cleaners into a strainer- the finest of motor skills these girls have!

Were working on coloring only on paper :)

drumset- just like dad's!

3-D dot stickers- the best Dollar Tree find

puppets

One of our favorite Christmas gifts- thanks Joe and Ky!

I'll say "do you want to do a puppet show", and they'll run to their theater, put the puppets on and say ""hi!"

Tried to do some laundry. Came running up to find that the girls got in some baking ingredients. Anya was super upset about it- tried to sweep it up. Solomia just continued to eat brown sugar, unfazed. 

endless remedies

so grainy, too classic not to post, we're trying to teach them to do some chores. They can put their legos away, throw their diapers out, and put their clean folded clothes into a drawer- all crumbled up!

[and now we sleep]

It's Sunday, about three in the afternoon. The whole house sleeps, but my the week was some kind of crazy. My husband, a preacher, burnt the midnight oil, and the candle at both ends, as they say. The price of writing a sermon is unbelievable. We feel the weight of it in every unwashed dish that accumulates and every evening walk that's just me and the girls. The light is on in his office before and after work, books piled high, French Press on empty, for days on end. Then there's that pensive look, the half-hearted smile, pleading "is it done yet?" Not yet Sweetheart.

He doesn't preach often; we dread it when he does. It always goes exactly the same way. He preaches his sermon, first in Ukrainian, then in English. He explains the text and why it matters. He presents the gospel clearly. Then we go home, say a few "I'm sorries", and sleep, simple as that. And life is normal again for a couple months.

Why do I share this snapshot of our lives? Only because it's just that. I don't have any profound lessons learned or advice to any ministry families. We don't even have a long list of people coming to faith. That's what life in Christ is yeah? Just do what we're called to do, that's it. Insert dramatic shrug, and pass the batton.

More Than I Can Chew

I was hungry and starting to feel the onset of the shakes. Rummaging through the kitchen I found the end piece of a very round and large loaf of pumpernickel bread. I covered it in salami and cheese, and topped the open faced sandwich with an entire mashed avocado. It was delicious. I devoured all of my  favorite things in just a few bites, and most of it landed on my face or the table. Good Lord if anyone saw me I would die. I looked up and there in the other room was my youngest daughter, those little eyes piercing straight through me. 

Do as I say not as I do will be my motif. 

Don't worry about what people think of you.  Don't bite your nails. Don't let the dishes pile up. Don't perpetually bite off more than you can chew. Yet nobody will know and inherit my shortcomings like my girls. Because just when I think no one is watching ... there their little eyes will be...

The Giving Garden

About six months ago my husband and I moved from an apartment in a historic part of the city to Parma, an ethnically dense town with working families. We live close to church, hoping to be a gospel light to Ukrainians, a people held captive by religious tradition, with no concept of salvation by the cross of Christ. 

Just the other day our family was on a walk. We had gotten root beer from the fruit market, and were pushing the stroller home when Bogdan greeted some neighbors we had never seen before.

Dobriy Den he called out to an older couple. They approached us and we spoke over the fence.

Their faces were worn by the sun, their hands rugged with work. 

The men argued theology in words I don't understand. He invited my husband to sit. She showed me pictures of their grandchildren, cooed over the girls, and showed me back to her garden. There she loaded me with parsley, more than I could ever know what to do with. She gave me tomatoes, basil, green onions, and garlic. She explained that if I planted the cloves I would also have garlic plants, and then she said In the springtime I will help you plant a garden of your own. 

 Come anytime, they said; we're not American. It's an interesting thing when you meet somebody that shares with you like family, especially with only a little more than a zip code in common.

The Time Keeper

It struck me the other day that the bay window in our living room keeps the time almost perfectly. While it's still dark, I watch the neighbor pull his green van out of the driveway. I wash bottles and pacifiers to be ready for the day. When the boy with large glasses gets on his bike for choir practice, it's time for breakfast. The morning passes in a blur of diapers and tummy time, but I know it's noon when Jimmy John's delivers to the house with the big round bushes. Soon enough appears a young woman, thin and covered in tattoos. She walks by with her is a bunch of children in a wagon. We too must go on a walk of our own. The mailman comes, Mama needs more coffee. As a carpool drops some kids home from school, I stop reading stories for it's time to put on dinner. The babies sleep, the green van pulls back in, I know my husband will soon be home.  The day closes with a walked pair of huskies and an older woman having a smoke in a burger king uniform. Finally the window goes silent, it's time to sleep, the day is over. It has nothing left for me, yet beckons us to contentment- for in only a moment the green van will pull out and then pull back in again, and before I know it my girls will be grown. So for now I cherish the baths, the finger puppets, the little shrieks of laughter. The seemingly endless mundane is one of the sweetest gifts I've ever known.

Babies.

                     Back in the fall we decided it was time to grow our family.

We hoped they would have my eyes and his humor. We even dared to dream that we could have twins.

"Be careful what you wish for", my midwife said.

My husband takes good care of me, and five and a half months later we're growing at the speed of light. 

Our whole world can't wait to meet them. Our family and friends have been so kind and helpful 

(ex. a whole stack of baby books from a friend at school). 

It Was Puzzling

        For our anniversary my brother-in-law gave us a bag of puzzle pieces.
                                   It was a nice gesture, we like puzzles. 

  

Soon we realized it wasn't just any ordinary puzzle. Some images started to look familiar. 

There were some strange and ambiguous messages.

It even got a little weird.

Then it came together.

                                                A friend is someone

who knows

                    

the song

in your heart

                     

                                                          and can

sing it back

to you

when

you have forgotten

the words.

In conclusion, a picture is worth a thousand words

But a thousand pieces is worth more than I ever imagined.