Alone, and half-dead, while everything rests on my head.

I’ve joined a few facebook Mom’s groups. They were especially helpful when I was too tired to think for myself. There were questions I had in the moment that needed to be answered right now. I would have called and asked my mom but it seems I remember more about my mom’s pregnancies than she does these days. After the seizure episodes, diagnosis and medication, she’s forgotten a lot of things.

Since there’s always new Moms on the group a repeat question comes up, whenever a Mom is about to be left alone with her twins for the first time. That moment leaves most with anxiety and many with outright panic. I too remember too well the “go home” date on my hospital board being repeatedly changed to the following date. I was admitted for a C-section on a Tuesday and released the following Monday. I was coached through the hospital birth by a good friend, Maureen, who had been my prayer partner and companion on a spiritual journey for a couple years prior to my marriage. She kept tabs on the babies along with my sister Kim, while I spent time in surgery and the recovery room.

I spent a week in the hospital while my babies stayed in the special care nursery. We stayed at the hospital so long because of me not because of their pre-maturity. First, there was the C-section, then the huge blood loss. Then there was the HELLP syndrome (skyrocketing high blood pressure) to deal with. I was on Mg for about a week. Then there was complete constipation induced by the pain meds which left me in horrendous pain for 3 days. I hadn’t eaten for 2 days and was trying to function, while on Mg and while in horrendous pain. I didn’t succeed in feeding my babies every 3 hours and a few nurses were cross with me for not keeping up. I was easily confused by the bad charting of the feedings and mostly felt lost and neglected by the staff.

Sunday night or Monday night I knew I was being discharged the next day. I was quite frightened inside but too sick to make much of a fuss about it. A few friends and relatives were lined up to come over and help arrange the house and bring food. One friend spent the night with me, for the first night. After that, things went silent at my house. I slept in the couch and put the twins in the crib my friend donated to me. I got up to breast feed, then laid back down to rest. Everything was quite a blur. I didn’t even care that the crib still had the unwashed sheet that came with it from my friend’s storage unit. I had two preemie outfits on the babies and they wore them constantly. I didn’t give them baths. I had tunnel vision toward fulfilling absolute needs. Baths were unnecessary because unbathed babies don’t die. Unfed babies die.

After the first day of stop-ins and moving home from the hospital, things fell silent till the first weekend. The 4 hour feeding rotation stretched on and on broken only by the heavy truck movement outside in the morning and the hour or two in the evening when people stopped by here and there, after work. There was a lot of alone time. The house seemed to go completely silent. My computer didn’t work, so there was no distraction from the large silence. But with the silence came a song of comfort. It was an old hymn we used to sing at church, “God will take care of you. Through every day, ‘or all the way. He will take care of you. God will take care of you.” If it were not a song that came from the Spirit and spoke to the depths of my soul, it would have been the words of a trite excuse, from some stingy soul, for withholding a gift that would have ministered to a desperate need.

In the silence, I heard a song, a song that the Lord spoke to me. I was in no position to proclaim to everyone the goodness of God. I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Some may have described this as the low point in my spiritual life because I didn’t read the Bible, nor did I make any effort to seek out God. All I did was lay on the couch and sleep and feed my babies, while listening to the song and the vast silence of the Spirit, which enveloped me. There was a peace and a calm that stilled the worry. There was a quiet decision about what I would attempt to accomplish and I did only that.

House Projects Update

So, before all this snow arrived and somewhere close to a month ago, I decided to be the early bird one Saturday. I woke up with the sun an began my sidewalk crack-sealing project outside, while the twins slept. I bought this compound that consisted of tar and other chemicals that smelled like a newly paved road. You were supposed to melt it on an campstove and pour it in the cracks. Just my luck the campstove ran out of fuel so I brought the pail inside and put it on the kitchen gas stove. Then I went outside and in my sleepy stupor I stayed outside too long. I got occupied with the stuff I was working on.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that the strange noise I was hearing was the fire-alarm inside my house. I ran inside. The house was full of smoke and the fire alarms were wailing away. Coughing, I ran to the stove turned it off and began opening windows. The can on the stove was still on fire. I didn't quite know what to do to extinguish the fire, so I just grabbed the can with a hot pad and threw it out the open window, where it landed in a brush-pile and started it on fire. The alarms continued to wail as I ran around coughing and setting up in-and-outs for air movement. Then my babies began to wake up and wail. The door to their bedroom was closed so they weren't breathing the fumes like I was. I went in to hold them and soothe them and get out of the smoke. Eventually, the fire-alarms quieted and the smoke cleared but the stench remained.

To this day, the soot remains. I've not had time to attack it and I've been trying to finish the last project. However, as I considered the horrendous soot that first week. It was everywhere! I resign myself to call the insurance company for assistance in the damage clean-up. It's taken a month for everyone to do their numbers but finally, I think this week will be the week the cleaners come out and clean everything. I just have to pull all the stuff out.

I guess this goes to show how stretched I've become. These kinds of accidents don't happen to well rested people. I guess nearly burning down my house has become a blessing in disguise. I've needed the help for quite some time. Now, I'm getting it in a way I hadn't expected.

Immigration: an ongoing case.

Mom of 3 pending deportation.

I was directed to an article today. A mom of 3 is ordered to leave the country.

A number of issues are involved in this case. Naturally, the broken immigration system is an issue. Second, is the issue of slavery/prostitution/exploitation and trafficking of women as sex slaves. Third, is the IJ's, ignorance--as representative of the population--of the previous issue as being a legitimate issue.

A few comments:

1. The comments to the article are always appalling and representative of the common ignorance to immigration issues and other horrendous living conditions that exist across the globe.

2. People repeatedly refer to the other illegal immigrants out there getting away with being illegal. Often reference is made to how come all the hispanics are not being deported. This only goes to prove my previous comment. Anyone how makes this comment, has never known or been close to this "typical hispanic immigrant."

The logistical reason why illegal Hispanic immigrants are able to stay is that they have purchased a new identity--the identity of someone who sold his identity on the black market. That identity, a ss#, is used by the "illegal immigrant" for work and for staying purposes. Taxes are collected off of it. Social Security tax in particular. Generally, when an "illegal immigrant" uses this ss# they have to use it in a particular way because if it is used in such a way to attract attention such as an accounting issue, it could be discovered that the ss# is with the wrong person. So, as it works with any business, there is no issue with regular deposits. The Social Security Administration, for example, has no reason to scrutinize, incoming funds. They would rather scrutinize out-going funds and therefore to avoid even the smallest chance of that, the "illegal immigrant" holding a valid U.S. identity does not collect social security or often they don't collect tax refunds. So really the people who are mad about "illegal immigrants" not paying taxes don't know what they are talking about.

What this Mom does not have is a fake ID. She has her real ID and a denied petition for asylum. That is why she cannot stay and all those "illegal immigrants" can.

3. No matter how heartbreaking this case is...ICE, Immigration and the IJ do not care. Politicians in Washington cannot do anything unless the law is changed to provide a permit for people to stay or a path toward citizenship. Families are torn apart every day on account of immigration laws. Numerous "illegal immigrants" get deported their children get processed through CPS and are adopted out to American families. Citizens are the only ones who can use their representative power to urge their representatives to vote and put new laws in place, and to repeal old laws that don't work. Here is a list of repealed laws. However, most citizens have turned their power of representation over to the law as it is and becomes, and large companies and those who hold large dollars dictate any new laws.

A Paid Vacation

How marvelous! I received two days of paid vacation. I finally feel human again.

After 3 years of working for every hour of payment received and sometimes not working for a paycheck at all, I finally have made it into the paid vacation club. It's a very exclusive club. I even left a better job, just for the added benefit of getting one or two more paid vacations more than I would have otherwise, for the next two months. On Black Friday, I dropped my twins off at daycare and came back to the house with hopes of tackling a project. However, I was so exhausted and with the weight of constant responsibility lifted off my head, I collapsed onto the couch and slept for 5 hours. I'd been struggling with a cold and other sickness since the beginning of the month. Finally, I was able to catch enough of a break to do some damage to the grip of illness on my body.

Today, Sunday, I have finally reached the end of washing clothes and cooking and cleaning out the things growing in the fridge. Everything is washed. The floor is cleaned. The toys are put away and the dishes are caught up. Rarely, is this all accomplished at once.

I never thought this would ever happen to me but housecleaning is the last thing on my to-do list these days. I keep my job, first. Second, I work on resting so that I can keep my job. I then wash clothes. After that it is a toss up between making food and washing dishes. Everything else gets neglected. I've even at times neglected bathing the babies because it was too much work. I certainly have neglected bathing myself. I don't even have the presence of mind to remember my longest stint of not bathing.

If you see me on my couch too often for too long--I am resting. Interestingly enough, I have also been recovering for much longer than I realized. It was a bit deceiving when I went to my ob for a 3 week post par-tum check-up and my ob said, "Clean bill of health!" At the time it didn't ring true in any shape or form but I thought to myself, "I must be well because she says I'm well." Then I tried very hard to be well. But I did notice how I did not feel like doing anything. I felt very lethargic. I just sat on the couch. I remembered that I had preemie clothes for my babies at the bottom of the steps but could not conceive of putting forth the effort to go down to get them.

Then I got better and better. And I thought, "huh, it feels like I can climb a ladder now." And it feels like I can maneuver this power tool." This has been more recent than I care to admit. Last year a friend invited me to Zumba, I couldn't conceive of it. Now, it doesn't feel like such a mental block.

I am still recovering it feels. Just doing so in bits and pieces as I can.

Suddenly, they speak.

Two weeks ago I had the girls evaluated because they were not speaking. Two ladies from St. Paul Public Schools came out to evaluate. The twins did really well with their motor abilities but not so much with the speaking. They are 21 months and they really should be calling me Mama and be verbal in other ways.

Yet it seems the holiday weekend was their breakthrough. Today, at nap time I asked them if they wanted to go night-night. They both said, "No," repeatedly and plainly. I then asked them if they wanted to eat. "Eat they repeated and went running to the kitchen. "What shall we eat?" I asked. "Apple," they replied.

No issues in comprehension there.

Today, Glory was exercising her climbing ability. I was in the other room when I hear something that sounded like what I've said to her repeatedly, "Get down." I hear it again and I go to inspect what is going on. There she is climbing onto the couch arm and up the shelving unit, saying to herself, "Get down." It was my turn to say, "Get down."

Cute things Glory and Gracie are doing now.

So, I have this made up word that I use with the girls.

Aye, aye—official definition: to soothe, by patting gently or cuddling.

When they are rough with the kitty, I tell them, “Aye, aye, kitty,” and they pet the kitty nicely, instead of slapping. Last night Glory fell over backwards on the floor and Gracie stood there watching her cry in surprise. I told Gracie, “Aye, aye, Glory. Go say aye, aye Glory.” Gracie toddles over to Glory, bends down to rub her belly, then grabs her hand to help her get up. So, sweet!

Both the twins like to slap their own belly when I strip off their shirt. It’s really cute.

The girls are using the word “owie,” a lot. When I change their diaper it’s, “owie.” When I change their clothes it’s, “owie.”  Their food is owie. The cold is owie. So, last night as I was changing Glory’s clothes it was owie again. And since she was bare, I slapped her playfully and said, “owie.” Then, I slapped her hand and said, “owie.” Then I slapped her belly and said, “owie.” She caught on right away and giggled contagiously as I slapped her bare skin everywhere. Glory has a very acute sense of humor and a contagious giggle.

Along with the owie theme, Gracie has been batting her mouth and crying, “owie” for the last 3 days. The drool is running like a river. She is teething something fierce. Almost nothing will relieve the pain of teething bicuspids.

Last weekend, my sister Kimberly offered to run to the Just Between Friends sale, in my stead to score snow pants, winter coats and snow boots. She saved me much time and headache. I was so grateful. I was also surprised by my little girls’ reaction to her purchases when she got home. Glory and Gracie were all eyes and ears when we got the purchases out of the bag. They very much knew that these were their clothes. Gracie lifted the hangers of sweaters and tops, inspecting the items and talking about them. We put on their new coats and they walked around the house looking down at them, talking in their baby chatter. Even the next morning Gracie went to pick through her new clothes again, holding them up, looking at them and chattering about them.

On occasion I have had the battle of the wills with Glory about what she should and should not be doing. She looks at me. I look back at her. She looks back at me and I stare her down, evidencing disappointment in my face. Sometimes it is just too much to stare back at in defiance, so she just closes her eyes.

The days when it is easier to switch to autopilot.

There was the day, my first Mother’s Day as a mother. I didn’t want to think about it I didn’t want to celebrate it. I just wanted it to pass like any other day. While I loved being a mother and loved my newborn twins, I didn’t want to commemorate—which was only a few small steps from—commiserating my predicament as a new mother. Yet, I felt a spark of joy when my sister-in-law came over and delivered flowers.

Days like today when I’ve got a fierce headache and just want to sleep. I will go to daycare and just pick up the twins, go home and feed them whatever they want to eat and will try to sleep on the couch as they play around me throwing toys and household items alike onto the floor and into the garbage.

There are the days when I miss my husband so badly, I could turn into a mournful wail. Instead, I quickly divest myself of the longing dreams and visions of companionship, pop some ibuprofen, drink a tincture of cramp bark and count the items on my to-do list and the money in the bank. Two nights ago I called him at 2 am, after waking. My thoughts spinning in circles, next to two babies snoring through noses full of mucus. I paid $2.50 for a 5 minute call. I told him I just wanted to hear his voice but really, I wanted so much more.