Triplets

All the time. Every day. Usually several times a day...people ask if our kids are triplets.
Maybe I am being too technical. I don't know. I just know that to call them triplets makes me feel like we are dismissing our baby girl, Addy. I don't want to do that.
When they were babies, I tried to get out of saying "yes, they are triplets" by dodging the question. I would quick ask the asker a question instead.
How old are YOUR kids? What were their names? Or I'd make a comment about the weather. Or the cracks in the sidewalk. Anything.
Once, I remember some guy asked if the kids were triplets, and I answered, "Not really," and kept walking. Away. He yelled after me, "Um, you can't NOT REALLY have triplets. They are, or they aren't!" So, I turned, glared, and replied, "They are not triplets. They are quadruplets. But since one of our kids died, I don't like to have to explain that to every person I meet." He quickly shut up, and mumbled an apology.

It is a conundrum. I can say, "No, they are not triplets" and feel bad that I have to explain our losing Adeline to someone who just wants a happy answer. Or I can say, "Yes, they are", and feel horrible for dismissing our daughter.
My solution (not necessarily a good one, but a solution none-the-less) is this:
Curious Stranger: "Are they triplets?"
Me: "They are all three years old" (or "They are all the same age").
The person ends up looking confused, but asks no more questions. Usually.

Today, someone asked the all-too-common question, and B piped up, (with way too much delight), "Yup, we are TRIPLETS!"
And something inside of me cringed. And I wanted to cry. And I couldn't smile at the guy who was saying something about how full my hands must be.

I could teach my kids (and have tried....to no avail) that they are quadruplets, but that people assume they are triplets, because they don't know Adeline. But is that really fair for them to have to explain to everyone anyway? And do people want to hear that from a three-year-old?
I am at a loss as to what to do with that question....especially now that the kids can answer for themselves....and they have been taught by everyone else that "Yes, we are indeed triplets! Look at us! Aren't we cute!!?"

Eh, heck. Maybe I need to just suck it up and get over it, but it doesn't necesarrilly seem that easy.

Ode to Mwankies

We had a nurse once. A neonatal nurse. She was cute. And nice.
She prayed for our kids (more than we had the energy to sometimes)....and she encouraged us with good news (when there was some).
When there was bad news, she broke it to us gently.

She patiently gave B, who really just wanted to be left alone, his space.

Z was spoiled rotten most nights. He cried when she was around, because he knew she was his girl!
"His Jane", we used to call her.

She gave them their 1st book. One that declares how they are specially and wonderfully made.

She and her husband were the first people we trusted to watch them for a weekend away.

She came along on their first camping trip.

And she gave them their life-long comforts.....their blankies, or what the kids have lovingly deemed their "Mwankies".

Almost four years later, they still WILL NOT sleep until their Mwankies are safe in their beds with them.

Thanks again, Teresa.

We love you tons.

Assertive

I once was worried that Z was too nice, and not assertive enough.
When he was younger, he would let other kids take his toys. A shrug and a blink, and he was off to get another toy.
If someone was crying because they dropped their ice cream on the floor, Z would give them his.
Tonight, when there was one piece of pizza left, he eyed it for a second, and then asked, "Mama, do you want that pizza?"
I told him I didn't.
He then said, "Can I have it?" What three-year-old thinks of his mom (or anyone but himself) first when it comes to toys or food?

So, I worried that he might be too nice. That he might get taken advantage of.
Today, he showed me otherwise:

B hit and kicked him.
After being sent to his room to think of a better ways to handle his frustration,
B finally came out, gave Z a hug, and said, "I am sorry for hitting you."
B started to walk away.
Z didn't let him go that easily, "What about you are sorry for kicking me?"
B muttered another "Sorry" over his shoulder as he walked away.
Z pointed to the ground in front of him, and demanded, "Come over here and say it."

Well. OK. I would say we have no reason to worry then.

Questions and Three-Year-Old Answers

We bought the Table Topics Question Box for Families. Here are some of the questions (and answers) so far:

What would you like to be when you grow up?
Z: A lion
B: A bear, so I can bite Z, cuz he will be a lion

Where would you like to work when you grow up?
B: I want to work in a church, like Papa.
Z: In the city, in the shiny building!
Mama: What would you like to do in the shiny building (assuming that he’s already aspiring to be a big, city guy…)?
Z: I will clean the floors with my brush.
Mama: Oh, right.

What is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for someone?
S: Let them in my room. (Shows where three-year olds' priorities are…)

What would you want to eat at your ultimate birthday party?
S: Gingerbread, but sugar is my best food.
B: Raisin Bran
Z: Cereal with milk in it, mom!
(Do we need to get out more?)

Nursery

Last week, B whined and cried and yelled at me the whole time I was teaching the preschool class at "Kid's Klub".
I told him he would need to go to nursery the next time.

He was careful to listen and ask nicely for things all week. He said "please" alot.
He informed me that he was behaving. As in "Mama, I am being hayve."
Always followed by, "So I don't have to be in nursery at church."

Since I knew he remembered, I had to follow through.

One week later, when the other kids went to class, B kicked and screamed as I pulled him to nursery and quickly slid out of the inward-locking nursery door.

I felt so bad.

But I was glad that he would learn about consequences.

After class, I went to get him, waiting to hear all kinds of "I'm sorry" and "I want to come to class next time".

Instead, the boy was beaming:

"We played out on the playground. I got to eat a Twinkie!"

S was suddenly sobbing, "I want to go to nursery next time, Mama! I don't want to go to class!"

Choking Hazard

Our church joined with another church to do Wednesday Night "Kid's Klub".
The preschool group heard about the son who ran away, ate pig slop, and wasted all his money. He then came back to say he was sorry. The only interesting part for kids is the pig slop and the party that was thrown at his return.

I decided we should have our own little party, so I bought gift bags for each kid.

I filled it with (make sure you read this, because there will be a quiz at the end. Seriously):
2-3 Tootsie Rolls
2 Animal Capsules (the little pill-shaped things that turn into big animals when you put them in water.
1 box of Candy Dots
2 Suckers
1 Cars Marker and Stamper

Here is your quiz:
What is wrong with the list of above objects? Anyone?

Here is one of those instances when I think I need Ritalin or I wonder if I am slightly mentally-impaired....

We are getting out of the car, and K holds the two "pills" (aka animal capsules) in his hand, and says, "If you take the red one, you see how far this rabbit hole really goes....If you take the blue one, you will wake up and it will be like nothing ever happened." (a quote from his favorite movie, The Matrix)

That made us think, "Shit! I just put two, small, swallowable capsules into a bag filled with mostly candy. How many kids are going to think that those "pills" are candy, swallow them, and grow a sponge animal in their stomachs?"

And then we said shit again.

I ended up calling all of the preschool parents to say, "Um, yeah...so your kid's teacher is a little mentally deficient, but um....just wanted to warn you about the choking hazards I gave to your kid tonight. Ok, um, bye. Thanks."

So, did ALL Of you catch the problem? Am I the only one that does stupid crap like this?

Tattoo

When we moved to this church, I knew I would love the old lady that sat behind me in the sanctuary.

She sang really loud.

She talked even louder. Sometimes I could hear her over K.

When I reminded her of my name for the 5th time, she said, "I just can't remember that name. I'm going to have to get it tattooed on my left boob."

I introduced her to our kids. She repeated each of their names very slowly, laughed, and announced, "I'm really glad you didn't name me!"

Soon after we moved here, she found out she had cancer. She broke the news by saying, "I'm gonna die soon. We better get to know each other quick." A wink and a smile followed.

She went on bed rest, and I brought her some food. She rated her food gifts from 1 to 10, and she told me I got a zero.
When I told her I felt bad, she smiled, and said, "You need to be tough if you want to be on my team."

K had visited there one night, and didn't really mention it. The next day, she whispered, "I was dancing and partying with your husband last night! It was such a good time!" She deemed him a good dancer, and demanded I make it a goal to see just how good he really was.

She called my husband her boyfriend.

She died less than a month, I think, after they discovered her cancer.

I didn't get to know her very long, but I did learn this from her:

It is OK to let people know who you REALLY are right up front. If they don't like you, well...then you got that out of the way right away. No pretending necessary. If they do like you, well then....good....we'll have lots of fun being who we really are together.
I needed to be reminded of that when we moved to this church, because I didn't meet the expectations I think people have for a pastor's wife. I don't sing. I don't smile all the time. I don't wear dresses to church. And I don't have the youth group over every weekend.

I was starting to think maybe I needed to work on some of those things...

Then I met Pat.

Now, I'm working on not mentioning my boobs until at least the time AFTER I introduce myself.

Also? Don't ever try to search for an image of "B**b Tattoo" in Google. Sheesh!
I should've learned. Once, I was searching for an image of my favorite band, Bare N*ked L*dies. That was a shocker too.

Tidbits of Wisdom from B

Miss Erin (the kids' teacher) said she is working on teaching the kids about appropriate responses to their emotions. For instance, if you are angry, you should Stop, Breathe Deeply Three Times, and then think of Something That Makes You Happy. I, being the teacher-supporting mom that I am, decided to follow up at home:
Me: "B, what would you do if someone took a toy from you at school?"
B: "I would knock him down. And throw rocks at him."
Me: "Is that what you've been learning at school with Miss Erin?"
B: "No, we hafta do that though..."
Me: "Um, I'm pretty sure you don't have to do that. Do you think you can think of a better response? Or no?"
B: "Nope", (with that "I'm right, you're wrong" look on his face).
Me: Silent, still trying to figure out how to respond to my kid's smugness...
B: "God helped that little guy knock the giant guy down with stones though....So I hafta..."

Oh. Right.

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B: "I like fish, Mama."
Me: "I do too."
B: "Yup, you hafta take off the fins, and eyes, and mouth, and teeth, and tail, and then we like fishes, right?

Sure, that sounds really appealing.

Annoyance

Things I have been annoyed at lately:

1. I gave the kids a treat, saying, "Good job staying dry all day!" (This is really a bribe for Z, who has been peeing his pants again. The other two just get free treats because of Z's recent potty mishaps.) Z exclaimed, "Thanks, mama!"

And then peed on the floor of the living room as soon as he finished his treat.

2. Last night, I went to bed early, because I was fall-on-the-floor tired. I woke up to notice S's bathroom night light wasn't on. I got up to turn it on. I couldn't fall back asleep. Finally, I drifted off, only to have S wake me up two times to tell me she had to poop. I then woke up to the fan doing some weird clicking sound. I turned it off. K had a nightmare, and woke me up yelling at some crazy sleep image. An hour later, B and Z woke me up to say they were scared and needed to be prayed for. Z woke up at 530 am, turned on the light (which is also B's light) and started playing. S told me she had to pee at 6 am. Z and B were up at 730 am, not only laughing WAY too loudly, but jumping as hard as they could off of Z's bed.

My Babies

Just a little over three years ago, my babies were tiny, tiny. They couldn't breathe on their own. They couldn't eat without being tube fed. They couldn't regulate their own temperature.

Today, they headed off to school. PREschool, but still.

I had nightmares all night. B getting beat up and no teacher to notice. S having to pee and not knowing who to ask. I dreamed they wouldn't let me even come in to see their classroom. "We need our privacy", the crazy, green-haired desk lady spat...

I always have to poop when I am nervous. I was almost always late to Speech class if it was my turn to speak. I had to poop first. And right before my wedding. Right before I got baptized. As soon as I get pulled over. And today. Our kids were late because their mom was so traumatized by the idea of her kids going off to school that she had to run back and poop.

Do you want me tell you how it was when we got there?

It was fine.
The kids start school by eating breakfast together. Baldwin is the poorest community in Michigan, and most schools try to assure good concentration by starting the students out with a good breakfast.
They get to serve themselves....it is all served family style. They think they are big.
They sang and listened to Miss Erin read a story.
They chose between painting and dress-up or blocks and sand toys.
They played with stuff at the science table.
They played outside on the swingset.
And they brushed their teeth. Twice.

They loved it.
Preschool was not nearly as traumatizing for them as I might have imagined. I am ok now.
So are they.

Cats

DREAM:
S was crying suddenly. Her brothers weren't even around to blame. She was standing at the entrance to her room, looking in.
And crying.
"Mom, why didn't you save me!?" she sobbed.
"From what?"
"From the cat that was peering (she really did say peering) in my window! He was mean!"
Apparantely, if I understand the whole picture, S opened her eyes last night, and at first she "just saw the door with the light by it." But on second glance, she noticed a cat peering into her window. She quickly shut her eyes tight only to have the cat snatch her up and carry her out of her bedroom. Although the cat didn't DO anything to her, it was decidedly "very mean". She knew of its evil intentions because of its "tiny knees and tiny eyes!" Also, the cat was clear. It had no color at all.
Thankfully, the cat did eventually place her safely back in bed, but she is terrified now that he will return.

REAL LIFE:
S couldn't pee last night before she went to bed, so I tried to have her go at around 1030pm. She opened her eyes while I was walking to the bathroom with her, but then never opened them again the whole time I was with her. She sat, eyes closed, sleeping (what looked like peacefully) on the toilet. I gave up and returned her to her bed.

I guess, instead of waking completely or being totally asleep, S just mistook me for a kidnapping cat with tiny knees and tiny eyes. A clear, mean cat, no less.

Geez.

And They Named the FISH Skinny!

Here is a run down of what Mr. Beeks ate for lunch:
1 1/2 egg and cheese sandwiches
1/2 sloppy joe
1/2 muskmelon (minus three small spoonfuls for the rest of us)
2 cookies
and a glass of milk

So then....why does he look like this? (Just in case you can't distinguish the chubby from the skinny, Z is far left).

S is still awake right now. It is 1230 am. Because I told her she could read until I returned to switch off her light.

I forgot.

Do I Sound Crabby?

We arrived at the campground just in time to put up our tent....before it started to rain. And rain. And rain. And rain. It rained the whole time we camped. From Saturday afternoon until Monday noonish when we finally gave up hope. We threw all of our muddy belongings into the van and went home.
Two of our kids spent most of the weekend crying about being cold. If not that, then their bodies hurt. And while I did not sympathize at first, I soon found out that they were sick. Both S and B had fevers, and when we finally sought out shelter in a restaurant, S puked on their wooden floor. S spent most of both nights wheezing and coughing, and saying she couldn't "breathe good". And I spent most of both nights administering her inhaler.
On the morning of the 2nd night, Keith and I and S and B were all crammed on the slowly-flattening air mattress we brought for the TWO of us. It has a hole in it now.
Mr. Beeks, or Z, was quite oblivious to the cold and rain, and was happy to play with his Frisbee, to listen to our friend Juanito's highly-creative stories, run around kicking mud, or just kick back by the fire. (This obliviousness to negative surroundings is what makes it almost impossible to discipline the kid! I still have not found a consequence that effects him in the slightest. And I just have to be thankful that he is mostly a happy, although mischievous, kid.)
Our kids each took five hour naps yesterday and today, and don't really seem to be recovering yet at all. I am actually awake right now, after going to bed at TEN, because B spent most of an hour crying because his "feet, mouth, back, peeny" hurts. This crying of his woke up Z, who then had to be comforted back to sleep. Now B is asleep. I am not.
After eating two cookies, I decided the next best thing to more cookies would be to blog.
The pics I added here are borrowed from Karen, because my camera is well past being taped shut (because I dropped it too many times) and turned on and off after every picture (because the battery no longer charges right). A new one was supposed to arrive a week ago. It will not arrive unti the 3rd of September. I tried to get a discount for the inconvenience, because I am cheap like that. The "limited warranty" states that no discounts will be given for delays in shipping. Geez. They covered everything.
I am supposed to be studying for an exam. I haven't started yet. I think I need about 20 hours just to find the answers, let alone study, and I keep putting it off. Procrastination makes me nervous AND crabby.
Let's end on a happy note, shall we?
Despite the rain and cold, I was happy to spend time with friends. I love a good chat beneath a big ol' plastic blue tarp. I love a good soul-bearing around a campfire. I am happy to have friends that I can be honest with....that I can be myself with (which was mostly crabby this weekend). I would camp again, just to get that "friend time". I like people. Even in the rain and wind.

Differences

The differences between
and Mama activities (aerobics)
































and Papa activities (knife throwing)

Body Image

Did I mention the conversation I had with S in the shower, not that long ago?
S: "Mom, you have boobs."
Me: "Yup, so do you."
S: "You have LONG boobs."
Me, in thought only, "Stupid breast pump anyway!"

and then today, it was...
S, standing all contorted-like, with her stomach puffed out in front of her...
Me: "Whatcha doin'?"
S: "I'm sticking out my tummy, like you!"

Thanks, babe.

Skinny and Pee

A teenage church member recently grew tired of his mandatory science project, a reddish-purple betta fish.
The fish soon found himself riding in the Foisy's van, as the Foisy kids delighted in their new housewarming pet. The fish's name is Skinny Skahwie.
This is the second time today that K has dropped three pellets of fish food into the misshapen bowl (misshapen from when I tried to microwave the germs out of the plastic plants and rocks). He shrugs, and says that our (the kids and my) neglect of poor Skinny is precisely why we will never get a dog.

-----------------------

Did I ever mention that S is totally potty-trained? I don't think she has had one accident, ever, from the first time she ever peed on the potty. We potty-trained B in October, NINE months ago!

We meant to train all three kids at the same time or soon after each other, but Z kept peeing on the carpet every time he was sent to time out*, and S just never, ever, (no matter how long we had her sit) peed on the potty. Ever. Since October of last year.

Finally, last week, I told her she would wear big girl undies regardless of how many times we had to change them.

We sat her on the potty every two hours. She never peed on it. She peed on the floor BY it. She peed in her pants right after she pulled them up. She peed naked. She peed in the bathtub. But never, ever on the potty.

This went on for three days, I think.

Then, as we were leaving for the beach, she exclaimed, "I need to go pee first before we go!"

She went. On the potty.

My friend said she couldn't describe the look on S's face if she tried...delight, surprise, pride, fear?

And from then on, she has stayed dry. All the time. No diapers during the day. No diapers at night. She goes into the bathroom by herself. She wipes herself. She pulls up her pants. (It took B EIGHT months to go into the bathroom without me. But good job, B, for being potty trained for nine months!)

So, S is "big now, and [she] can ride the bus soon."

And I am happy.

*Z was trained soon after we moved to the new house, in which there is an abundance of TILED time-out locations. When he realized I didn't care if he peed on the tile, he soon gave up that cute, little, floor-wetting game, and decided to just stay dry.
(Edited to add: Z recently had a small spell where he did start peeing again, but I ignored him AND his wet pants...and the problem quickly took care of itself. Thank God for tile floors and a place to play outside!)

Baldwin Beach People

We were the obnoxious people on the beach.

Looking skyward while chasing a low-flying seagull, S fell and kicked great piles of sand onto a nearby sun bather's towel.

Z later threw an empty pop bottle at the same towel. The sand-filled "weapon" blasted the unsuspecting woman smack in the stomach.

Z found a feather, and K and I looked up to see him tickling an elderly man's ear with it. The man was trying to talk on his cell phone.

B threw grapes to ONE seagull, which resulted in a quick "Caw" to all (and i mean ALL) of the nasty bird's buddies. Soon, we (and our not-so-happy beach neighbors) were thoroughly emprisoned by a circle of waiting and greedy seagulls....many standing guard while some thickened the air around us; all yelling and glaring at us with beady eyes.

S peed in a hole we dug for her.

I shook out my towel right in the wind path of our OTHER fellow sun bathers.

Z threw a frisbee at someone's head and missed by a half foot.

S ran around the beach naked.


Then we went home.

Skater Boy

This is "Papa on his skateboard". You captured your Papa perfectly, B! You are an artist, for sure!

I WAS Going to Title This Post "Home, Sweet, Home", but That Would be Dumb and Tacky

After I cried about how nice the home looked, I asked people what they thought would be an appropriate thanks. Some suggested an open house.

The open house is this coming Sunday.

We finally have our furniture, so Keith and I are no longer standing or leaning on the counter to eat dinner. I am sitting on our couch right now.

We have renters for the next two years. They are good renters. They are nice. They are renting, because they recently started a business and want to save money. She is an admitted near obsessive-compulsive. Her friend says she never stops cleaning.

Ever.

Usually, I would empathize with a person with issues, but when the person is renting our house, I feel like saying things like, "Sure, I totally understand your urge to clean the dirt you CAN see, but even more....think of all the nasty things you CAN'T see...the bed bugs, the germs, the ticks and lice and the possible puke particles that were wiped off of your hands and onto the counter top when you came home from shopping. Yup, I totally understand your need to clean. Think of all the dirt that can accumulate in just mere seconds!"

So, now that our house is safely rented, we have moved our furniture here, and I can finally share some Before and Afters. I took seven Before Pics in all, and then my computer crashed, and I lost all but three. If anyone has any Before Pics in an email that I sent to them, will you send them back? Thanks so much.

And again, I say, "Way to go, Guys-That-Worked-On-Our-House! You are awesome!"