Sunday, June 29, 2008

Catching up

Making Sundays a day of rest is a fierce act of the will. I'm tempted to do a million things today - put some of the clean, folded laundry away, round up more dirty clothes and throw them in the wash, straighten shoes by the door, unload the dishwasher. Work never entirely disappears on the Sabbath. There are always hungry mouths to feed. And while my body longs for a long nap under the covers, I also see a quiet moment to spend with Audrey. We're at the table "journaling." She's keeping a journal for the summer. Her most recent topic was, "I am happy when. . ." She writes, "I am happy when I don't get yelled at." I ask her, "Did you get yelled at the day you wrote this?" She says no, and I thank God for the short accounts children keep.

Our vacation was wonderful. I came back exhausted. Traveling with two babies, let's be honest, is hardly a vacation. But how can I complain when the days were cheerfully sunny, I read a novel in its entirety, and Starbucks was within walking distance? I joked with Ryan that the fatigue of sharing a room with two babies on Illinois time could be measured by the size coffee I ordered each day. The week started with tall half-caff lattes. By the end of the week, I was tempted to order up a venti triple shot.

We made wonderful new friends on the flight to CA. A kind face peered around my shoulder as the plane was about ready to take off. "Any time you need a break holding one of those babies, you let me know!" And so it was, an hour later, that our friendship with Chris and Sherry began. Chris is an Allstate agent and was traveling for the same conference. They have two older sons, both out of high school, and they craved some warm baby skin. We, of course, were happy to oblige. We saw them a little throughout the week and discovered, to our jubilation, that they were also on our return flight. Again, Sherry paced the aisle with a fussy Colin, calming him, endearing all the passengers to this squeaky baby. We convinced them to spend the night at our house the night we arrived, rather than start for home in downstate Illinois at 9:30 at night or crash at a hotel. Our big kids had already been tucked in their own beds that night by Grandma and Grandpa, so it was the next morning that Chris and Sherry also met (and fell in love with) Audrey, Nathan and Camille.

Our weekend was full of fun as my step-sister, Kathi, and her husband, Herb, visited. Saturday, we hunted for a dress for her daughter, Elizabeth's wedding. We started at Lord and Taylor at 10 a.m. and left Nordstrom at 8 p.m. with a few stops back home to fill our bellies and feed the babes. I'm happy to report the hunt was a success. Kathi returns home today with the perfect dress in hand. 

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Work-ation

I've mentally been making a list for three weeks now. Then I actually started writing things down. A list in my planner. A list on my laptop. Sticky notes in the kitchen. And now we're finally packing our bags. California, here we come.

Ryan has "work-ation" at a ritzy resort in southern CA. At first, I begged off going along. Even if my mother-in-law could take the big kids, I'd have to bring the babies. That sounded like a lot of work. 

Two things changed my mind. First, a friend whose husband's parents used to live in Dana Point. When she hears we'll be staying at the St. Regis, her jaw drops. We check out their website, see pictures of the pool, and she introduces me to the concept of the cabana boy. Me in a chaise lounge, reading poolside and cabana boy changing diapers. I start to warm to the idea of this trip.

The second (and definitive) thing to change my mind was a simple math equation. (Actuary husband would be so proud.) Go with two, stay home alone with five. Yeah, I'm going.

We leave tomorrow for five days. I'll be honest. It's been heck to pack for this trip. Our biggest outstanding dilemmas are as follows: do we have room for the breast pump? And will we even need it when babysitting at the resort is a hefty $18/hour, 4 hours minimum, plus a $10 fee? And do we take both strollers? One is a simple frame for the infant car seats, the other a legitimate walking stroller. If we get lucky, we just happen upon two extra (free) seats in the airplane, and our babes sleep soundly in the carriers. Unlucky and we're stuck with two carriers, two crying babes on our laps, two strollers, not to mention the rest of our obscene luggage. 

Big kids are already off to grandma's for the night as our flight leaves early tomorrow morning. We had a sour goodbye. I wanted the house clean before we left. We'd been working days on getting the playroom tidied, but when I went down there tonight to check on progress, they were playing a recently invented game of "prop the chairs upside down against the couch and slide down." I screamed. 

Audrey asked me later, "Does this mean you won't miss us when you're gone?" 

For the record, I will miss them. At least a little.



Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Sleep

I woke up this morning at 5:07 a.m. And I'd gone to bed just a little after 10 p.m. No babies in the middle of the night. It's a beautiful thing, sleep that is. Every night as I fall into bed, I think to myself, "This is my favorite part of day!" And it's been perfect sleeping weather this week. We've left the windows open and enjoyed the cool night air. Thankfully, it's the middle of the week so we haven't been jarred awake by the sound of party-ers gathered at the frat house a couple of doors down. No kidding. Some young punk of a kid, just out of college, inherits his grandfather's house when he dies, and now it's party central. Late some Saturday night, I just want to fling open the front door to see them all doing lines of coke in the middle of the living room. That or they've got their own crystal meth lab up and running. I called the police a couple of weekends ago. Either I'm getting old and crotchety or I'm just sleep deprived. Maybe both. But I figure when you're awoken out of a deep sleep by young twenty somethings yelling at each other in the middle of the night in the middle of the street, that's a violation of some inalienable right. 

Our older kids know that it's the death knell if they, for some reason, need us in the middle of the night. My, how self sufficient they become when the sun goes down. Several nights ago, though, Camille opened the door to their bedroom and started screaming for me. "MOMMY!" I was convinced (mistakenly) in my sleepy state that I had a baby at my breast so I elbow Ryan out of bed.  He shuffles down the stairs. She holds up her white blankie. "Is this a white rabbit?" she asks in between sobs. He assures her it's not, and she returns to her bed only then to ask, "Where is my blankie?" "In your hand." And she falls back to sleep.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Dad

I grew up knowing that my dad worked hard for us. Right before my freshman year of college, my dad lost his job. The pressure must have been enormous. How would they pay private college tuition? Once, during that time, I saw my dad in a dream, flipping burgers at McDonalds.

We grow older and give ourselves license to analyze our parents and their failings. But my father did what he set out to do, what his own father had not done for him. He held a steady job, he paid the mortgage payments on time. He provided. And he did it at great sacrifice. He gave up the career that he loved most - teaching - so that he could sit in an eight-foot square cubicle and push paper.

My husband, too, lost his father at 18. And while he may not talk about his own father much, I can imagine the great man that he was. Ryan himself has turned out to be such a fantastic dad. He races out of the office to get home to us by dinnertime. He coaches Nathan's tball. He's teaching the kids about money, doling out allowance and keeping track of interest. (Well, he IS an actuary, you know.) And he's up with two hungry babies, night after night. Enough said.

Like everyone else, I have my moments of complaint. Yesterday, for example. "You don't listen!" I say into the phone. I'm driving home from Saturday morning book club, and he's informed me that he's just put the babies down for their morning nap at 10:30. 10:30? What? "9 and 1," I remind him impatiently when I get home. "Everything revolves around the morning nap at 9 and the afternoon nap at 1." 

I'm up in arms over what's essentially miscommunication and later chiding myself for losing it over something so minor. Thankfully, in the midst of the anger, I didn't let myself say what I was really thinking. Accusations of selfishness. Of laziness.  Of uninvolvement. Because I don't mean those things. 

What I mean to say is that I'm married to the man who's still my best friend, a man who has his priorities in order. A man familiar with investing and sacrificing himself for his family. He's the first and last man I can say I've truly admired. Happy Father's Day.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

School

It's officially summer. Audrey finished her last day of first grade this morning. She was up and dressed early, looking for me to paint her nails an iridescent blue. You know it's an extra special day when she, of her own accord, has put a headband in her hair. She had a great year at Edison, our local public elementary school. Last year about this time, we found out I was pregnant. (Surprise!) Audrey had been attending a private Christian school in Wheaton which we absolutely loved (claphamschool.com). I was on the board, throwing myself headlong into curriculum and whatever else they'd let me do. To most people, it seemed crazy to drive her thirty minutes to some start-up school. But we loved it, and in many ways, I can say that our year at Clapham changed our life. When news of the "baby" hit, we had to rethink things. I wasn't sure I was up for the commute. We decided we'd homeschool, if only for a year, to get our feet back on the ground again. Then we'd revisit the idea of returning to Clapham. I ordered our books, even shopped Ikea for what I thought we'd need. And a week later, we found out it wasn't just one baby - it was two! When I said to Ryan, "Looks like homeschooling's out for us," he returned a puzzled look. "Really? Do you think?"

We chose the public school this year, for too many reasons to detail here, many of which were very pragmatic. It's less than ideal in some ways. But the reality is, we can't hack a long commute in the car and neither are we sure  that spending upwards of $40,00o/year to privately school five children is the best use of our resources. 

I'm sympathetic to other parents who have even fewer options than we do. I think of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, living in one of Chicago's worst neighborhoods. The public school is out. Kids are throwing chairs by second grade. A more academically sound magnet school draws them out of their neighborhood, a community where they feel called to put down deep roots and extend God's love. And the neighborhood Christian school isn't inexpensive. So go the stories for so many families. You want the best for your kids, and in some way, the best feels out of reach. For us, in this season, what's out of reach is school as we want our kids to experience it. Should I reconsider homeschooling? We've thought of it. We basically calculated that a full-time nanny that we'd hire so that I could homeschool would cost less than three children in the local private Christian school.

For next year, Audrey and Nathan will be back at Edison. For all its failings, we're going to choose to thank God for a school which is safe, whose teachers are genuinely invested in their students, and which, I won't lie, is a stone's throw from our front door.



Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Summer

Ryan's guilting me into blogging tonight. "You haven't blogged in a while," he comments tonight. I acknowledge as much. "You know, if you don't blog every two or three days, people are going to stop reading." Dutifully, I open my laptop and try to figure out what the heck I should blog about.

The days sort of blur together. And that's maybe the hardest part about where I find myself today. Guiltily, I sometimes think of what we'd be doing if we didn't have the twins. The pool, the zoo, the park for sure. We've always squeezed the life out of our summer days. 

This summer will be different for sure. My friend is considering buying a Little Tikes pool, one decently sized. It's inflatable and comes with the water filtration system and a cover which locks. She too has a baby at home, and like I, fears what a boring summer afternoon will do to her eldest daughter. And for the bargain price of $150, I might be persuaded.

Why do we fear boredom for our kids? Why is my impulse so great to entertain my kids? Why does guilt nag at me when I call them from their play to clear the table, sweep the floor, or put the lid back on the crackers? As a mother now of five, I'm trying everyday clarify what it really is that I'm called to do (and not do) and then live into that. I've sworn off the job of cruise director.

I did get a little Bible reading done this morning. I like this translation of Psalm 119, from The Message: "I watch my step, avoiding the ditches and ruts of evil, so I can spend all my time keeping your Word. I never make detours from the route you laid out; you gave me such good directions." Every day, I know what needs done: I've got to love and serve my family (and dinner on the table is a good thing, too.) Discerning what to do is easy; doing it is harder. I know too well the ditches and ruts to be avoided. Anxiety. Complaining. Irritability. Selfishness.

For maybe the first time in my life, I want to do something well the first time. No regrets. No looking back and wishing it had been different. And so every day counts. Every mundane, nothing's new, kind of ordinary day .

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Schedule

I feel incredibly guilty. Should I really be blogging in the middle of the afternoon? Camille and the twins are napping, Nathan's resting (after some half-hearted protests), and I have half an hour. I contemplate my options. Fold laundry? Work on our summer homeschooling schedule? (And poor Nathan. I've been building up all the schoolwork I plan to have them do this summer. He asked me a couple of days ago,"Will there by any time to play this summer, Mom?") I'm bagging dinner prep and ditching the housework in favor of a little time to write.

It's day four of our new "schedule." Always some new hair-brained scheme going on at the Michel household, some surefire strategy for whipping someone into shape. A couple of months ago, it was the day I declared, "No more binkies!" I hadn't been confident that the twins were eating well, or for that matter, sleeping well (without my constant rescue of the fallen binky). The pacifiers disappeared, and everyone was on strict orders not to give the babies their binkies. We had a lot of crying those first few days. But I gotta tell you. It worked. They started nursing better, they learned to put themselves to sleep (and back to sleep), and I wasn't running myself ragged up and down our flour flights of stairs.

Ah yes, back to the new schedule. I start the day by waking the babies up at 6 a.m. (OK, who am I kidding? They're already up.) Early birds, like the rest of us. I feed them, and by 7, they're ready for another quick snooze. It's time to get everyone else up (rephrase that -  Audrey up. Nathan and Camille have already found me hiding in my room). A quick shower and breakfast and Bible reading with the big kids. 8 a.m., I wake the babes, and we walk Audrey to school. Home again, babes eat, and at 9:30, it's time for the morning nap (not me, the babes). Camille and Nathan play while I catch up on some paperwork and phone calls. 11ish, babes are up, they eat, big kids eat, and we all play and read books before nap at 1. Today, Camille went down for her nap (after "Big Sister for Frances"), and I had some time for Nathan to read to me. "Flap Your  Wings" - a great little story about Mr. and Mrs. Bird who hatch an alligator egg in their nest. You know it's good when Nathan says,"I think we'd better finish this one!" That brings me to 2:30, time to wake the babes, feed them, change diapers and rally the troops to get Audrey from school. My biggest decision to make in the next half an hour - do we attempt the library, all SIX of us, after we pick  Audrey up from school?

Stay tuned.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Mom

My mom has her mastectomy scheduled for this coming Tuesday. I remember clearly the phone call I received from her only a week before the twins were born. "I found a lump. . .biopsy. .. cancer." The proverbial shoe fell. 

My mom is an extraordinary woman. Yes, like all other daughters out there, I get unduly annoyed with stupid little things about her. How is it that when she comes to visit, I revert to my bratty, adolescent ways? But truth be told, my mom handles life with such optimism and hope. And what life has dealt her hasn't been easy. She lost both parents and her husband before the age of fifty. She grieved the suicide of her firstborn, my brother, who took his life at the age of 25. Most people don't survive that kind of loss. And I know she'd credit her faith in Christ as her only sustaining force.

Now she's fighting breast cancer and doing it with such grace. Despite her chemotherapy treatments scheduled bi-weekly, she's still managed to visit us every month since the twins were born. At her strongest during those visits, she's making breakfast, doing my laundry, and mending and ironing clothes. And even at her weakest, she's managed to hold a baby. Per the usual, she sees the best in all situations. Chemo took her hair but with it, a few extra pounds, too. She's almost gleeful for her new trim figure. Weeks ago, she called. "Jen, I bought a pair of pants this weekend - SIZE 6!" . .

This last visit, her goodbye was tearful. "I enjoyed every minute of the week," she said. "Mom, I was so crabby!" I admitted. It had been an exhausting week - but no excuses. At times, I'd been just plain mean. "You try to do too much," she responds. There it was again, the love of 1 Corinthians 13: "Love believes the best. . ."

I know my mom and I are different in so many ways. But what's really true is that I admire many things about her: her unshakeable faith, her selflessness, her pledge to look ahead rather than back. 

Thanks, Mom, for these gifts you've given. And God's grace to you in the week ahead.