Want to spoil a perfectly sunny Saturday? Schedule your twin daughters in for an early morning Halloween photo shoot at your local Sears photo studio. More a little later…after the ringing stops in my ears and I am able to sit down comfortably without weeping uncontrollably.
Funny scene in the house today. Caragh was downstairs visiting her mother (she had a stroke a couple of years back and is paralysed except her right arm and her jaw which never stops moving…I’ll probably hear about this comment, but what the hell…) and I was taking care of the twins in the living-room. Annalie was on her play-mat and I was holding Story when for whatever reason they both went into total meltdown. Screaming, flailing, wailing, tears flowing, the whole bit.
I’m trying to soothe Story and stop her from freaking out and Annalie is screaming like someone is stabbing her with a spoon. I am trying to warm some milk up in the microwave and watching the longest 25 seconds of my life tick by as the twins continue their scream fest.
I’m feeling frustrated (read as supremely pissed off) and wondering where fuck Caragh is when I really need her to help me, after all, what the hell am I supposed to do when both are screaming like maniacs?
She comes back upstairs (remember that show, King of Queens? Doug and Carrie? that show is based on my life and my house). I am just fuming at having been deserted in my time of need. And then Caragh has the nerve to snap at ME!
“Why aren’t you helping Annalie?”
My response is mean and to the point, “How the fuck am I supposed to help her when I am trying to stop this one from blowing up?!”
And Caragh, never one to miss an opportunity to prove a point smiles divinely and says, “And how do you think I do it all day when you are at work?”
At which point my respect for her grows even more, I melt inside a little, ask for a hug and understand her life just a little better. She really is an amazing mother to our twins.
Yesterday I saw the funniest exchange on Facebook.
First mother; “I buy the best educational toys I can for my baby and all they want to play with is the kitchen utensils.”
Next, “My kid loves to play with the cardboard box his diapers came in.”
Final mom says, “My son likes to play with his penis.”
And you know, that penis is the best toy a boy could ever hope to have. It will be with him for life, hopefully. What more could a boy ask for? ahhh…the years of enjoyment that little guy is going to have…
Last night I met with the people behind the campaign called, “Community against preventable injuries”. They provided me with a fact sheet that made my hair curl…its a figure of speech people. Did you know that preventable injuries are THE leading cause of death for British Columbians between the ages of one and 44? Did you also know that preventable injuries claim the lives of more children in BC than all other causes combined?
These are deaths caused by shit we can avoid…or prevent…preventable injuries! Things like texting while driving, kids running out from between parked cars and get smucked by a moving car, unsafe use of ladders, putting chairs on top of tables to reach those high places in our homes. Think before you act! These things can be prevented!
Every year 440,000 British Columbians are injured and another 1200 are killed (like dead man, killed dead…end) by predictable, preventable injuries. If you were able to predict what the 6/49 lottery numbers would be would you act on that ability? Of course you would. So think about the fact that these injuries and death are predictable! You can predict where and when they will occur. So THINK before you ACT!!
Just gotta send that super important text while your on your way to the grocery store? Why not, after all there is nobody on the road…until that kid who is late for school steps out from behind that parked van. You are looking down and…you have shit on more than one life. You could have predicted that situation. THINK.
Preventable injuries and death can be predicted and can therefore be prevented. Save a life, think before you act.
In order to get a grasp on how many people pop in to visit me and the twins here on our blog on a regular basis, we are asking people to “Subscribe” to the RSS Feed from our site. There is obviously no fee or commitment to continue, it is simply an opportunity for us to get a grasp on the number of readers we have.
To subscribe to Stacey Robinsmith dot com all you have to do is go to the right hand side of the screen, see the thing that says META? Now look down. Now see the thing that says “Entries RSS”? Click on that and then follow the instructions in the box…hopefully that means you will click on the “Subscribe to this feed” option.
Our goal is to get 500 Subscribers signed up by the end of November 2009. We will update you as to how our drive for subscribers develops.
Annalie in full on wail, me in a cameo as me, and Story looking on bemusedly.
It is amusing to look to the right of my screen and see the “Tag Cloud”. For those who may not know, the Tag Cloud shows the topics I write about most frequently. The larger the font for the topic, the more I have written about that topic. I would like to do a long term analysis of that cloud to see how the topics grow and change through the months and years to come.
Notice right now the biggest fonts are being hogged by the topics, sleeping, rough mornings, and diapers. I suppose that sums up my world at this point.
On a positive note, Annalie slept through from about midnight, when I went up to sleep until just before my alarm went off this morning. That is cool for the night time but adds a bit of confusion to my morning routine. See, once she is awake, she demands food. So instead of laying in bed and blissfully listening to Rick Clough and the morning team discuss the business report, Cecilia Walters do the 6:30 local news and then the sports guy…ahhh…the good old days.
Now it is sit straight up, legs around, get up, grab a bottle, warm it up, or not, depending on my charitable feelings, and into the nursery to sit in the glider chair and watch the kid eat. That is the fun part. The tough part is letting go of my 15 minutes of peaceful, slow start to the day.
I just do not like to be awoken from my slumber to the sounds of a “five alarm blaze” start to the day. I remember years ago I was at our family cabin years ago with my father. He got up early and went for a walk. Inside the cabin it is dark beyond dark. And there is no electricity so there is no, absolutely no noise of fridges running or anything. I was sleeping so deeply it was peace and heaven. My Dad came back and pounded on the door, as a joke, and I awoke like I was in a war. My heart was racing, eyes wide-open, full on shit in my pants wide-awake. I have never forgotten that morning.
However, back to the future, once the bottle is in place though, all is back to peace. And then she finishes her bottle, looks up at me with gratitude, I sigh from love, she gives a big grin, a man-sized loud burp just like I taught her and then it is back to bed for her, and off to walk Jimmy and clean the cat shit box for me. The day is rolling. Peace.
Ahh for the simple life; when a baby cries the solution is relatively simpple. It wants either a bottle, it wants to be held or it has crapped the diaper and needs a change. Reminds me of life in my twenties…other than the crapping the diaper thing.
We all went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and the twin that I am responsible for in the night actually slept most of the way through the night. I do recall staggering around the house at approximately 12:40am, looking for a bottle or something…then again at 2:30ish…just a blur.
Annalie would not settle so I lay her in the bed beside me at 2:30 and let her nose into my armpit. Thankfully this was one of the nights when I managed to get a shower and bathe before going to sleep. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened to the poor child.
Anyway, unlike the loaf of bread I tried this with in a pre-baby world, I did not roll over in the nighttime and squish the poor child. The bread thing…I blame the bread’s demise on the fact that it did not have scratchy little fingers that dug into my sides as a defence mechanism. So Annalie and Story are still in their beds sleeping…along with their mother. Unlike me who has already been up and out with poor blind Jimmy (the dog).
And just like Columbo, one more thing, yesterday I finally took the photocopier/fax machine to the mat and managed to send proof that we actually do have twins into Nestle Canada. Once they get that paperwork sorted out we will be part of the Nestle “family”…awww…makes me feel that much warmer and fuzzier this morning. Now we will not have to make our own formula like my best pal chose to do for his kids…
After a tough day at the factory today I went to the hospital to see my father (another story all together). After a brief visit with my father I went straight home.
And what a sight to greet me; partner sitting on the sofa with two crying, nay, screaming babies on the sofa and one very nervous looking father-in-law standing nearby at a loss as to what to do. The girls were simply over-tired and hungry (as always) because they refused to have a long enough nap this afternoon. And who, I implore you, who amongst us isn’t guilty of that small transgression? Anyway, partner is sitting there, basically at her wits end, about to come as unglued as the twins when I walk in the door with my head full of thoughts of my Dad and the stinking mess of a shit-hole hospital he is incarcerated in.
“TAKE A BABY!! NOW!!” is the command. I say sure I will, as soon as I wash my hands. I then trip over my blind dog who is perched near the front door in the slim hope that someone will lead her out and down the stairs so that she can relieve the pressure on her overextended bladder, ignore the cat that is screaming because she is also starving, get to the bathroom, wash my hands while singing happy birthday twice over. Dry my hands, stagger back to living-room, trip over blind dog one more time who is looking off into the future with her spooky white eyes, grab a baby, give that baby back to her mom, grab the other baby (you have to know who your material is going to work with before grabbing the attention of the audience) and raise her in my hands with my arms stretched straight over my head and say, “Whass wrong with my Pink Bean!”
Baby’s face splits into an ear to ear grin, tears stop and it is all good. Beautiful. Freak out beautiful.