Stepping Off To School

(Those who know me well know that as the day counts down, I will have things to say.)

To My Sweetest Ashlyn & Caedance

For five precious years I've had the joy

to be at home with you.

Everyday brought it's up and downs,

but together we welcomed each new view.

The new things that you learned or said,

every accomplishment you both made.

I had a front row seat for each success,

and made memories I hope won't soon fade.

Now this year you're off to school,

to start adventures away from me.

A time for you to grow and to become

the two gracious ladies I know that you'll be.

I can't say I'm prepared to see you go,

nor ready to drop you off that first day,

but know thateven if my voice should crack,

 I'm more proud of you than I can say.

You both have come so far indeed,

from being two premature and tiny babies.

You've met your challenges with spirit and spunk,

and are now two grand and glorious little ladies.

So forget whatever tears you see

that may be trickling down my cheek.

Because this is the first of many steps;

on the path to the future that you seek.

Lots of love.

Mom

For Whom The School Bell Tolls

Another calendar page has been flipped, turning July into August. I think there has been a part of me that has been positively dreading the month of August. Never mind all the nice things that may occur in it, I have grimaced and cringed every time the mere name of it has been mentioned in my hearing. And now it is here. Time to face the music. Or rather, the tolling of the school bell.

The first order of business to attend to has been to show the girls when they'll be starting school. They awake each morning with the same greeting ready on their lips: "We're not going to school today are we?" No matter how much enthusiasm I muster for it, I can't seem to get them past this particular hurdle. So on August 1st, we marched down to the kitchen and did the ceremonial "Flipping Of The Calendar Page" ritual that ushers in each month at our house. We sit down at the table, look at the month gone by and talk about what fun things we have done, events, visits, vacations, and the like. THEN we flip the page and stare at the blank month ahead; little boxes just waiting to be filled with activities. Endless possibilities waiting to be realized. We always begin by learning the name of the new month, and spelling it, then we count how many days it has. Once that is done, I point out important dates or holidays that will happen. For August, that big date is the 23. The first day of school. We put a circle around it and marked it with a smiley face, then stood back to look at it. Amidst all the the blank boxes, it stood out. Plain as day. No denying it now. It's on the calendar, demanding recognition. I. Am. Here.

Normally life picks up again after a Flipping Of The Calendar Ceremony. You just move on. Back to playing. Back to cleaning. Whatever. Waiting for the next month to sidle itself right in. Not so with August; it's been different. There is a definite sense of counting down that comes with this month, for us and I'm sure for parents of schoolagers everywhere. And I'm nervous. And the girls are nervous.

I am pleased to announce that I've come around a lot since my initial entries of First Day Terror. You'll be pleased to read that I no longer abhor the very thought of sending them to school, no longer shudder at the site of the building, or tear up when walking down school supply aisles. In fact, since Safety Town gave me the glimpse at my future of a daily 2 1/2 hour break, I've been pretty peppy and upbeat about the whole thing, actually. During the one lovely week, I was able to envision all of the things I'd finally be able to accomplish, like, reading for fun...er.....I mean, cleaning and keeping up with housework, of course.

And most of all, there is a sense of wonderment that I'll be able to walk through a whole store without saying, "No. Don't touch that. Please Leave That Alone, or Do you have to pee?" What will that be like? Truth be told, after 5 1/2 years of struggling through stores in a parade of phases, I'm not sure how to approach this new one. First I was the lady pushing the double stroller with my left hand while pulling the car behind me. Next I was the lady with two toddlers (each on a leash) running in front of me while I pulled a cart behind me, constantly getting it caught in the lines of the leashes. After that I morphed into the frazzled looking mom trying to catch one or both children as they ran away from me, often times leaving the cart aisles away from where I was, leaving me to have to find it again when I'd collected both giggling girls. (After a few too many of those episodes, I regressed back to the lady with the double stroller and cart phase, with the only difference being that my once happy twins were replaced with screaming ones). And at last, I've become the lady with a cart in front of me and two little ladies strolling beside me, only occasionally make mischief in the produce aisle. Progress is a beautiful thing.

And now I'll be the lady with the cart. Period. Wow. A normal shopper. What will that be like? Can I do it? Will I like it? Time will tell on all of it, I guess. But here's to hoping for many happy (and calm) shopping trips. Here's to hoping that the girls do well in their classroom and enjoy their days there. (Here's to hoping they remember our motto Make Healthy Choices So We Don't Get Sick). And here's to looking ahead for the next Flipping Of The Calendar Ceremony we'll share on September 1st; for all the good memories will remember for August, and all the exciting, upcoming things we'll have to look forward to in the months ahead.

Letter Of Complaint (long overdue)

I feel the need to explain myself.
 It seems that many people see twins who are dressed alike and feel personally affronted and offended. They see it as their responsibility to come up to the mother in question and point out, in their expert opinion, the cosmic error of her ways. To these "Deputy Child-Psycholgists" I have but one offering: "Yes. I dress my twins alike. No, I don't feel bad about it. So there." (You can't see it, but I'm sticking my tongue out right now.)

When you find out you're having twins, two things go through your mind in quick succession: 1). Crap! How did that happen? Mixed in equal parts with 2.) giddy glee at your new found SuperPower: Egg Splitter or Egg Shooter, depending on the type of twins you're having. You spend the rest of that particular appointment swaying back and forth between complete joy and utter terror. It's not until you get home, toss out all the "What To Expect" books because it becomes quite clear THEY don't know what to expect either, and really sit down to think about this whole twin thing that you can calm down. Once that happens, then and only then can you fully appreciate the rare and wonderful opportunity you've been given to do something that apparently annoys a lot of complete strangers: dress your twins alike. Yes folks, that's right. Even before our multiples are born, we're hard at work plotting our future dressing sins. Mwah-ha-ha-ha.

The thing I never fully understand is what the problem is for other people? In response to their unsolicited advice, I always ask them if they have twins or are a twin, and let me tell you friends, at least 95% of the time,they do not and are not. So why the fuss? Look, my day is pretty hectic enough without anyone coming up to me and announcing that my girls will never develop an identity because they are always the same. One lady asked me if I knew they were individuals with different brains. Really? ARE they? How very kind of her to point that out, as I was surely in danger of having never guessed that myself. You see, dissenters, parents of multiples may be many things: we're tired, we're a bit spacey, we may be a little slurred at times (from sleep deprivation), and its entirely possible that due to the time constraint of caring for two or more human beings, we may even be dirty. However, we are not stupid. We are all quite aware that our babies are separate individuals with likes an dislikes that may be as far apart as the oceans. So please don't imply that we don't.

It never fails to amaze me how few of these rude, albeit possibly well-intentioned persons, never stop to think of the possible reasons WHY a parent of multiples may choose to dress them alike. I can't speak for the masses, but I can tell you our own reasoning. First, our twins have always preferred it. When items are bought in different colors, there will inevitably be a war, with one claiming she wants THAT shirt and the one wearing it strutting around in glory at already having it. Second, next time you take your darlings to a playground and let them disperse, think of how much easier it would be to track them if you were looking for just one outfit. Sure, I could equip my girls with a honing device that beeps whenever they come within a certain range of me, but I think my way may be a bit cheaper. Next (and perhaps my most glorious reason of all).....just because. Because I can. Because life with multiples is hard and seeing two little munchkins in matching duds just puts a smile on my face. And I'm worth it. Enough said.

The next time you are in the mall and see two nameless sweeties prancing around in matching garb...rather than choosing to attack the poor parent, try offering some words of encouragement instead. Like, "Gosh! Those your twins? Wow. You still look sane! How do you do it?" or "You look a lot more pulled together than most parents of twins. What's your secret?" or my favorite, "You are a Super-Hero", which always brings a smile to my face since I have that hidden superpower of being The Egg Splitter.

Safety Town

When the girls were born, nearly 6 years ago now, I'm not sure what grand plans my mind had. But I am pretty sure it didn't include the rather intense amount of "Letting Go" that I'm finding myself having to do. Oh, I knew they wouldn't stay my babies forever. I wasn't dumb or anything. But I suspect that somehow I could choose to keep them tiny & precious for a lot longer that time seems to have granted me.

I'll be taking them to Safety Town this week, and those of you who know me well know that I am not totally geared up for this event. Sure, I want them to be safe. I think "Safe" and "Kids" go very nicely together. It's not that. It's that it is one step closer to "Let Go" day (aka Kindergarten), and I'm none too thrilled about it. For all the fun I know they'll have, I find myself holding them a little tighter these days. Wanting to let them go, but not wanting to at the same time. Ready. Unready. Sure but unsure. After some intense soul searching while scrubbing the floor (isn't that when most Stay-At-Home-Moms seem to do their soul searching?) I assessed that if it were socially acceptable & healthy for them, I would keep them right here with me, glued conveniently to my hip. I'd always know just where they were. Who they were with. What they were doing. Handy, yes, but lucky for everyone it is neither acceptable nor particularly healthy for me to handle it that way. So out they'll go. Fly birdies fly. But.......one step at a time, please. I can't do it all at once. I'm not meant to, I don't think.

Safety Town marks the first tentative step. (Let's hope it lands on solid ground.)

Still Counting Down

I find myself completely amazed that time, capable of such high speeds already, is able to speed up even further when the approach of a dreaded event draws nearer. Even as I write this, the great Cog Of Time is chugging its way around to that most dastardly of occasion: the first day of school. And not just any regular first day of school,mind you, but the girls' first EVER day of school. Bleh.

I think you'll be happy to know that I'm at least somewhat more at peace with the whole thing. Somewhat. Is that saying something? I think it is. We went out the other day and let the girls pick out their book bags. For some inexplicable reason, that shopping trip felt symbolic and important. As the girls raced up and down the aisles of bags, my eyes stayed glued to their every movement, mentally recording each "oooh" and "ahhhh" and "WOW!!", and greedily storing the data for later dates yet to be announced. (You never know when you'll need a Mental Slide Show to perk up a dull day, or remind you that your fast-growing-kids were once little, after all).

After the book bags came the ceremonious "Gathering Of The Supplies". I looked on as each picked out the glue, crayons, scissors, pencils, and markers that will fill their time at The Office. Remembering my own Kindergarten experience, I think ahead to all the fun they'll have doing seat work or being a classroom helper. I remember those days and I am excited for them. Sad for me, but excited for them.

So now it all waits. Sitting in the hall closet, yet unused by awaiting service. My eyes get a little misty every time I open the door and see those back packs in there. I envision the inevitable morning rush; grabbing a bag, swinging it on a child's back, and racing to the car. Just trying to get out the door on time. "Let's GO, girls!" But for now, everything is still. Silent. Unhurried. Unrushed. Waiting. Is there excitement in that, or dread? I think I've upgraded to "Both". I'm content enough to say "Yes, they're going to school" but am also greedily grabbing every moment I can (like shopping for supplies) for now.

People continue to tell me, "You'll be fine, mama, don't worry". But I hope I'll be better than 'fine'. I hope that I'll feel a sense of accomplishment at having brought 2 kids through infancy and toddler hood, while preparing them for school without the aid of Preschool or daycare. I'm proud to say I was here. Every minute. A part of each success and each failure. That part of me, the one whose chest is pushed out with pride, is ready to see how well they do when set upon the world en force. Of course, there is still that other part, let's call it The Inner Mommy, who is not quite ready for this momentous approaching day. Here's to hoping that the puffed out chest gal is able to push aside the whimpering sad-face on d-day........

Menacing Birthday Strikes Again!

You may not notice it to read my words, but I am a whole year older now, having just had a birthday. Does that extra year add some wisdom to my words? Am I more relateable now with that little 2 tucked behind the 3? Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell, I suppose. 

One of the first things that strikes me when my birthday rolls around each year is just how much that day has changed for me. I have no doubt it's the whole "Grown-Up" thing, but when you're a kid, the day revolves around you entirely. Properly. As it should. Somewhere along the way, that changes entirely. These days, my birthday continues to be locked in the orbit of Ashlyn & Caedance, revolving steadily around the great sun of their childhoods. And I can't say that I mind this, not totally. The "Adult" in me says that this is just being responsible and that I am a good parent. However, the "Not-So-Adult" in me stomps her foot, pouts, and wails, "WHAT ABOUT ME!!! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!".  Alas.

This year I was on my own with the girls since Dan was unable to take the day off work. Not that I mind this, mind you. I don't. What I DO mind is when my little ones wake up on the far, far, FAR end of the very wrong side of bed. It's a rare magical duo who can be tucked into bed as Sugar & Spice, and then transform in the night to their alter egos, Snippet & Snarly before morning. Ta-DA!

Between their grumpy mumbles of general displeasure, I tried to keep my own spirits up (it was my birthday after all) while getting us all ready for the day. It seemed to be going well until Tooth brushing time, when one began "painting" the other with blue toothpaste. Paintee became Painter and swabbed the paste all over her sister in a Avatar-ian sort of way. Lovely. Amidst their wails of disapproval, I scrubbed them down and promptly kicked them out of the bathroom, telling them to go downstairs and get their shoes on.

As I continued to get ready, I heard the tell tale "thawump" of the heavy floor-vent in the living room being jostled back into position. I dashed down the stairs in time to see The Snarly-Sisters take off into the family room. Peering into the grate I saw two My Little Ponies, jammed and staring woefully up at me, silently lamenting their uncooperative role in this crime. I fished them out and resettled the grate. With purpose, I strode to find The Culprits, who were hiding in their family room lair. Each spent 6 minutes in time out. Each used that time making faces and growling back and forth on their separate couches. Each found a way to painstakingly pick at my frazzled and fraying nerves.

I decided that the cure for this bountiful Birthday Bliss (it WAS my birthday. Wasn't it?) was to get out of the house and hopefully free ourselves from the Grip of the Grumblies. Our destination was Lodi Outlet Mall. A good place that cleverly combines running outside and shopping. A magical world, really. As soon as we pulled in, Caedance began describing the soft pretzel she should be getting. I had already told her that we would not be getting soft pretzels today because we were going out to lunch instead. She moaned that it was the ONLY thing that was good and that it was her "Favorite and her Best". I informed her that we still weren't getting pretzels. And so started The Tantrum. 

It was, in the history of Dickinson Twin Tantrums, perhaps the biggest, most powerful Tantum on record. Starting off as mere sobs which, when ignored, grew into more menacing growls which, when still ignored, morphed into large screams and wails of upset. When she got out of the car, the Tantrum went from merely a vocal show into an entire performance, with flapping arms and stomping feet. Face twisting between a pout and fiery rage, she screamed and shouted about not getting a soft pretzel. I, taking a deep breath and remainig calm, informed her that she needed to collect herself or be put into Time Out. Her answer was a swat at me, accented with a growl.

"Time Out it is then", I said guiding her to the nearest walkway. I set her against the railing and walked a few feet away to stand. I could see her. She could see me. She was safe. I was watching. First she flailed about, whapping the air and kicking her anger out. Then she flopped down on the ground and kicked some more. When a lady passed by, she started to scream, "She's going to step on ME!!" After the lady passed by, she stood up and pounded at the air, stomping her foot. Next she got desperate and she began to call out to passerby to help her.

"My mommy is putting me in danger!" she screamed to a passing couple who looked at her with bemusement. "In DANGER! Help me! Help MEEE!" I stood on. Watching. Waiting. As people passed by the showstopping performance that was Caedance's tantrum, they cast glances at me that clearly said, "You poor thing! You are a good mom; nay! A GREAT mom. In the annals of history, your perseverance to uphold your decrees will be looked upon with admiration and sheer awe." Well, that's what I hope they meant, anyway. The looks could just as easily been interpreted as sneers, I guess.

After 6 very long, very loud minutes, I went over to her and spoke in a calm voice that belied my inner upset. (IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!) Anger spent, she quieted down and, before my eyes, transformed into my Little Girl again. Humming the tune to "Ding-Dong the Witch Is Dead", we walked along and finished our day of shopping with some mild success. (Sale at Gymboree). My mother took the girls to her house for the afternoon and so the rest of the day was spent at peace.

Later that night, I sat in wonder, looking back at The Day That Had Been My Birthday. Where were the accolades? The well-wishes? The attention? Sigh. Memories of birthdays past flitted crossed my mind's keen eye. Double sigh. But even as I missed some of the traditions that marked the birthdays of my youth, I was able to appreciate the new traditions that were forming in these early years of Motherhood. It may not have been a banner birthday, but it was another notch on my experience belt. Another lesson learned. A test passed. (I didn't freak out when Cae through the fit!!!) As I drifted off into an exhausted sleep, I found myself smiling in spite of the day's stresses and imagined misfortunes. Content.

I woke up raring to go the next morning. Decided it was going to be a better day. (And decreed it my holdover birthday from the day before). Ahhhh. 32. Here I am.

I'm not ready to see them go.....

This post is for me. It's a chance for me to just think. To not worry about how it begins or how it ends, or worry if I worked in a solid storyline and then tied it up all neatly up in the end. It's for me to sit and think. So please bear with me.

These last few months have been rough for me as we gear up to send the girls to school this fall. When people find out they're starting school, they give me these looks that say, "And isn't mommy so glad?" It seems to be the common assumption that I am happy to see them trudging off to school. That it brings me joy to open the door, kick 'em out with a book bag on their backs, and a "Go learn something!" on my lips. Honestly, I thought it would too. When they were born....gosh, sometimes it hurts to think about "when they were born"....I sat and practically lusted after the day when I'd have any amount of time to myself every single day. In the haze of those sleep deprived early years, nothing seemed more exciting...or further away. So I plugged forward, everyday. And somewhere in the whole "moving forward" part of things, something changed for me and now I'm just not so ready to open that door for them. Not just yet.

I know what school is. I know what it does. I know it's a step they need to take. A step away from us and towards their own futures. And I want that for them. I dream for them, I always have. Big dream. Successful ones too. And this is where it starts.

So why does my heart have to hurt so much right NOW? Everywhere I look in this house I see those early years flashing in my eyes. Little hands forever reaching up and grabbing breakable objects, the year the Christmas tree had to be gated up and they still managed to knock it over, a little sprite managing to get herself up on the top of the dining room table, laughing and full of pride with her feat. And the pictures. Good grief. I have this thing about never ever throwing away a picture of them, but I'm running out of room in albums, so I will sometimes stash them in odd places. Then one day, when searching for the garlic masher, I find myself finding a handful of pictures from when the girls were 10 months old and getting into Desitin. Or our first real vacation with them, smiling on the beach.

I've been blessed to be here with them. To stay home and be a part of their every single moment. It's been hard, I won't pretend that it hasn't been. There have been days when I wasn't sure I could make it. Days when it was all I could do to will myself to not curl up in the corner. On those days it was very easy to remember that there was a time when I was certain I would NOT be a stay at home mom. Not me. I'd have my kid and be back at work because that's why I went to school and by golly, I wouldn't give that up for nothin' or no one. Of course, somewhere along the way my heart melted to these two and thus I found myself navigating some rough days on stormy seas of twinfancy and toddler hood.  But somehow, even during those bad days, there was a purpose. I knew that my being home was right for us. It may not have been my choice in the beginning, but it was the right choice.

I can honestly say that I've "Been There" for everything. I didn't miss one thing. First words, first steps, first foods, first boo-boos...all etched in my minds' eye. And I realize how precious that is. It's funny though, in a way, that I thought that all that "Being There" would somehow make this next step...letting go...easier. That I'd be more than ready to share them. But it's not making it easier. And I'm not. Not totally, anyway. I find myself counting down days Start Day. Mentally trying NOT to think about how many Saturdays are left before I say, "This is the last Saturday before they start school" or trying not to picture that first morning when we'll load up the van and go; book bags on and ready. And I really try not to think about that first time walking back into the house after dropping them off. Alone.

I know people think I'm over dramatic on this. I tend to be on a lot of things, but this is hard for me. I FEEL it too much. The 3 of us have, it seems, just adjusted to each other and formed this great bond. Our days are no longer spent in a tug of war over power. They no longer seem to insist on trying to push the limits, and I no longer feel the need to constantly restrain them from being themselves. Or holding them back. And they've blossomed. And I've had the privilege to watch them! And just when it's all getting good and rolling along at a great pace, it's time to send them off? Why is that?

Another thing that worries me about this new stage (and this could be a novella all of its own) is my place in this whole scheme. I used to see myself heading back to work right away and picking up my career. But. Now I'm not so sure I see myself in that role just yet. I can't imagine a job that I want to share my precious family with. My time with them, the work I do with them, my place HERE. I'm not ready to split that with any other entity. Not yet. My heart may change, I know. I'm willing to allow that. And I'm open to it. Maybe what's happening here is that I feel there are too many changes coming at me. The girls in school and (so people assume) my going back to work. But I'm not there yet, darn it. My place is right here. Doing what I don't know, exactly. But I guess I'll figure that out eventually. And when there is a time that I feel ready to go back, I'll do it. But I worry, what if I never want to go back? I worry.

We're keeping the option open for homeschooling them after first grade. To try it out and see if it works for us...IF we feel that would be best for them. Right now, they're all for it. And honestly, that's helping me get through this present trauma. The idea that maybe, just maybe it'll be one year and then they'll be back here and we'll continue working together, like we are now. Just maybe. But what if? What IF they don't want that after a year of school and friends? And if I'm being really honest with myself, that terrifies me too. Maybe even more than anything else, it's that. The rejection that would be to me. The choice they'd make for friends over ME.

Reading these words back I see how this all sounds. Whine. Whine. Whine. Whine. But I warned you, didn't I? I said this was for me and so it has been. I'm not sure I feel any better by it. May need to crank out a few more of these rants for any true cathartic feeling...but it's a start. It's out there and that's something to me because right now, I feel like I'm surrounded by other people who think I should be glad to see them off in this phase. I'm so thankful that I have 2 healthy girls who can go to school and who do thrive and who have the capacity to learn and love to learn. And, as I said, I'm aware of how precious a gift I've been given that I've been here for them. With them. Everyday. Maybe I'm just not ready for change just yet. Oh.....I will be. It always happens this way. Before any big change. And like every time before, I'll jump the hurdle and move forward. We all will. But for tonight...this night...I'm going to be thankful for my babies, (because that's what they'll always be to me), and for this summer that we have to fill with memories. And I'll try to be excited for what I know will be a great year for them. An exciting start on the rest of their lives. (I'll try).