It's a ... TWINS!!

Less than 48 hours ago I was preparing my heart for the viewing of ultrasound #2 [pregnancy #2] without my husband by my side.  His flight out of Wisconsin was delayed and would be landing just minutes after the appointment started.  We decided to make the best of the situation with a date night where I could reveal the sex of the baby with a fun surprise.

The "reveal" bag that held the secret of all secrets. 

As I positioned myself on the examining table, I gabbed to the male technician that I was nervous to be there without my husband and that I would be a mess if he had news that the baby was unhealthy.  I continued to ensure not a moment of silence was left unfilled.  I talked, while he went to work in search of Baby Anderson, of things I can't quite remember now. Those things I was busy saying went fuzzy when the technician happily teased, "Well, I've sure got news for you.  It's not bad news, but it's news.  You've got twins!"

I looked to the screen and so clearly saw two beautiful babies somehow, miraculously inside of me.  Hands, feet, hearts, heads multiplied in wonder. Tears slowly rolled down my cheeks while my face went slack and I stared in complete awe. In disbelief, despite the proof, I uttered brief questions: "Really?".... "Really?"... "Twins?"

My obgyn had confirmed, at least three times all thanks to my pestering, that what he and I were seeing on the 1st ultrasound [nine weeks before the 2nd viewing] was definitely, absolutely one baby.

Seeing two babies in a motion of black and white was nothing short of a shock. It topped the chart for life's most stunning moments.

I cried and I cried.  During calm moments I would ask grounded, technical, and logical questions, but then my mind would drift to the big picture and I would cry.  I cried with the same happiness I felt the 1st day I held Thomas in my arms and felt completely unworthy for something so very good.  I cried in mourning for birth and career plans dissipated in thin air like a lingering fog which has finally lifted.  I cried for the chasm of my knowing and Paul, on the plane or in the airport, so very unaware.  I cried in exhilaration for something too beautiful for words.

The technician and I talked about twin types and twin terminology and mothers' reactions to finding out they're having twins at the 2nd ultrasound and mothers finding out they're having twins at the 2nd ultrasound without anyone by their side. We looked for evidence of the sex and found it quickly on Baby B and what seemed like ten minutes later on Baby A, who was much lower.  Both boys! More tears! A swarm of boys in my house and a vision I had never imagined in my life.  Tears of happiness overtook me.  Even with all my talking and crying, questions and exclamations, the technician shared something amusing with me, "You're taking this very well!"

And these guys took it well too.

Two hours after finding out life wasn't what it had seemed, I was relieved to watch my dear husband and son catch up to speed with the help of a white bag and two tissue wrapped surprises within.  With the first outfit, "A boy.... Yay!... A brother!"  And then the look I'll never forget.  Paul and I didn't need to say anything.  His suspicions about the other item wrapped in tissue paper, the second outfit, were confirmed when I slid the ultrasound picture across the table.

Penning closure for this experience is impossible.  The shock is still reverberating as I type.  However, while this story sprung from the separation Paul and I experienced with one of the most special and life-altering moments we might ever know, its life will be in the drawing of us closer together.  Not knowing what's up ahead is terrifying, exciting, and exhilarating simultaneously, but there's as much a force of peace within me, knowing I get to share every bit of this adventure, this new un-imagined life with four other precious souls I can call my own.

Celebrating Star Vitamins

As parents, we feel both excitement and anxiety for seeing our traits, habits, and attitudes spill generously into the hearts, hands, and minds of our children.  We hope they'll continue a tradition of spontaneous adventures but we fear they'll follow the lead of our slippery spending habits.  We're proud to boast of their charming personalities but pray they won't inherit dad's dyslexia or mom's insecurities.  We silently cringe for difficulties we've already faced or publicly exclaim, "Oh yeah! My kid is so me!"

This aspect of parenting made its noise this week.  I started coming down with a cold on Monday.  The day care pick-up conversation with Thomas went as follows:

Thomas:  "Why you come?"  [Translation: Why did you come earlier today?]

Me: "I'm not feeling very well."

Thomas: "You want my star bitamin? It will make you feel better!"

I laughed but later that evening Thomas wasn't thinking it was so funny.  At my second complaint of this progressing sickness, he actually insisted I get up and go get his star vitamin.  And so I got up, explained to him I needed to take my own vitamin, and opened the bottle with relish at his conviction.

When Thomas talks about his star vitamin, it's a testament to my husband's character.  When our new vitamins, which Paul had picked out on Amazon, arrived a few months ago, I popped open the bottle, choked down my pill which tasted like a mix of vegetables gone wrong and something something surprise from a dumpster, and I swore the suckers off, later recanting my swearing thanks to Paul's persistence to see the educated purchase through.

But one look at the star vitamin marketed for our dear child, this thing the size of a quarter and the weight of a newborn baby, and I was making all kinds of ridiculousness behind our child's back. "He won't ever eat that!"... "Did you check the size of this thing when you bought it?"... "That's seriously for a kid? He's gonna die!"  All the melodrama and more I could muster up.

Paul worked his magic to no avail for days.  Thomas, likely entertained by the parade of his inept parents, watched as Paul talked up the vitamin, putting Thomas through a psychological battery the likes only capable by our nation's bravest therapists.  Paul never gave up, despite my laughing, scoffing, and general smug attitude of dude-you've-met-your-match, and made his breakthrough a couple weeks later when, of all things, Thomas was sold on the idea of the star vitamin being broken up into several pieces as decoration for his toast.

And to my lingering amazement, Thomas now asks for his "star bitamin" to eat whole and on most days begs to eat two of which we have to pleasantly decline.  And yes, I'm sure God is laughing at me, the doubter, each time I have to tell Thomas, "No. It's only good for you to eat one star vitamin a day. You can have another one tomorrow" and his reply of a drawn-out "Ooooo-kaaay, Mom."

Stars are often symbols of the bright and beautiful.  The star vitamins in our life bears with it my husband: his seeking out of what is best for his family, his need to know and research, and his ability to sell anything to anyone. But it was today's conversation with Thomas that brought the star vitamin's symbolism, of Paul bearing good fruit in his family's life, even closer to home.

Once again, post day care pick-up:

Thomas: "You still sick?"

Me: "Yes, I'm definitely still sick."

T: "Maybe... maybe... maybe your bitamins not work.  Maybe your bitamins .... your bitamins are no good."

M: "Um. Ha. Yeah. Maybe."

T: "You take daddy's vitamin when we get home.  You throw your vitamins in the trash. They're garbage.  Daddy's vitamins will make you feel better, Mommy."

Paul is in Wisconsin today.  If he was here while I'm sick, he would know to watch for me because I don't have the best history of taking care of myself when I'm down and out.  He would insist I drink water, rest, eat healthy, take a bath... and so on until he was completely satisfied and convinced that I was in a best odds situation for a quick and happy, relatively, recovery.  Thomas has definitively picked this care of others up from his father and along with it this wonderful attitude that there's always something to be done to make our situation better.  [Paul's still working to make a believer out of me.]

I'm so grateful to count my blessings at the end of the day for the good which has been fostered.  On another day, I'll sort through all those fears for tricky traits and habits needing broken.

Today is a day to celebrate star vitamins!

Student Concern

My students have had a lot to say since finding out I'm pregnant.  I think they speak for themselves.  In italics I've included the responses I kept to myself.

"You're four months already? You waited four months to tell us?!"
                     Let's just pretend I'm getting fat.  That and let's get back to work.

"Mrs. Anderson, have you picked out any names?"
                     Yes. Your name. And I'm going to tell you and only you.

"You're gonna have a girl. You're carrying high."
                    Tell that to my bladder.

Apparently, the 8 pounds I've gained at this point are equally divided between my belly and my hair.

"Did you and your husband want this baby?"
                  [No response for this one. Just sadness that so many students have asked it.]
               
"Oh, you're gonna be one of those cute pregnant ladies!"
                 Keep going.  I'm listening. 

"I have a suggestion for names if you have twins."
                  Twins?! Woah. Back up and get off the crazy train!

"Don't make her shut the window. She'll miscarry."
                  No and yes. Just do what she says.  She will now act as my bodyguard.

"Can I touch your belly? Pleeeeeease?"
                 Um. What???

"Mrs. Anderson, have you been tired and sick lately?"
                 Ain't nobody got time for that.



[*You can infer from this post that I'm often left speechless by my students' interest in anything other than the subject of English.  However, I'm eternally grateful for their respect, care, and thoughtfulness.]

Sinking into Chairs & Flailing in Water

I arrived at college very assured of my athletic abilities.  As a runner in high school, I was competitive and fueled by an insatiable appetite to improve.  My felt strength, both physical and mental, served as a great portion of defining myself.

And as fate would have it, I met one of the most wonderful girls my first year in college, Megan Smith, who would unknowingly humble my inflated sense of self.  She, like me, knew of her impressive capabilities as an athlete.  Only she wasn't a runner.  She was a swimmer.

I can't quite remember the origins of her teaching me how to swim, but I would bet it was a mix of late night hyper chatting so characteristic of college free time and my incessant, driving desire to learn.

On a string of Sunday afternoons our Spring semester, she dedicated time at the campus pool, teaching me how to breathe, turn, and carry out the form of particular strokes.  She played coach and I played a very convincing student.  The kind of work required in the pool offered little transference from that of the woods, tracks, paths, streets that I knew so well.  Our first session left me nearly speechless.  I admitted to her that I had underestimated the demand on a swimmer.  Dang, this is tough. I'm dying in there!

I think back on those memories and I'm very grateful Meg took the time to humor my fascination and patiently offer me a chance to learn something just because.  She fostered in me an appreciation of swimming and multiplied my desire to seize chances to learn.

Which is one of the million reasons I would get myself into the mess below [staring at a computer screen full of spreadsheets, data, and specifications for the two and a half hour drive to my parents' home for Christmas]

History repeats itself.  I jumped into learning something outside my comfort zone last year and soon after found myself miserably inept.

My drowning took shape inside of a cafe on a cold night this past Fall.

I sank into a leather chair in the middle of the coffee shop, laptop glaring at me from its perch on my thighs, while I tottered between shouting into the phone frantically and whispering statements of self-deprecation. My husband heard my panic, my scattered questions that started with stems like, "How the heck do I...?", "Well, how would I suppose to know...?", "And, really, I'm telling you I have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING, SO HOW IN THE WORLD....?", and my need for a slap to get it together.

His patient response?

"Ashley, as long as you don't think you can do this, you won't be able to.  Stop saying that.  You can do this.  You are capable!"

The same dialogue I had given to my students so many dozens of times in the past.  Light bulb.  So this is what it feels like to fear you won't learn, to fear that there's no use trying, and to be embarrassed for being behind, lost, and so desperately confused.

I had taken on a second job grading assessments for my husband's company.  Essentially, I signed on to help ensure an individual can accurately and effectively write code as requested.  It pales in comparison to the complexity of what my husband manipulates, reads, writes, and/or manages.  Knowing that I would have a stand-by tutor, bolstered my confidence in picking up the work, but my enthusiasm for this new mental challenge dwindled quickly when I realized I had the computer skill set of a woman who has been hiding in a cave since birth, technology a pulsing mystery of machinery completely fuzzy, foreign, and frightening in her understanding.

And I say this because the questions I had to ask my husband in the beginning were not detailed questions or questions of divergent thinking or questions to affirm my accuracy.  They were questions about about how to capture a screen, manage documents efficiently, and questions about the map of code in front of me which read as some fragmented, nonsensical archaic language.

Months later and my hypothesis is playing out.  Learning something new, just because, is building new connections in my brain.  I'm feeling a new pulsing strength, even amid an apprenticeship in all things humbling.

My husband offered words of encouragement and once I calmed down and broke past the I-just-can't-do-this barrier, answered my specific and logical questions.  Despite adoring my husband, it is my trainer, Craig, that I owe the greatest bit of gratitude.  He has the gentleness of a saint paired with incredibly explicit instruction, clarity, and persistence.  Signposts of all great teachers! I'm indebted to these two wonderful men who have given me the chance to dabble in something new, allowing me to take a risk with time and resources we all work so hard to preserve.

*    *    *    *    *

I think it is important for all of us to consider what new ways we can challenge our spiritual, mental, social, and physical capabilities.  Our new journeys can be in things that branch from what we're already doing, or they can be in planting new seeds, unsure of what will exactly come of that.  It is never too late for us to learn something new, or too early.  It is never impossible.  And it is always fruitful.

I see all things connected even when they appear random.  When we push ourselves to dive into something new, we can be frightened that we'll sink, flap around in the water to the amusement of everyone else, or maybe the scariest of all, just prove mediocre, but there is something so exhilarating in having opportunities which we allow to surprise us rather than simply saving ourselves for those things wherein we feel so very safe.

What might you allow yourself to learn if you weren't worried of its direct usefulness in your life?  What hobbies do others engage in which intrigue you?  What is something you heard, saw, or read today which could serve as a springboard for further discovery?  Have you also found yourselves sinking into chairs or flailing in water but empowered all the same?

It Feels Good to Be Me

It feels good to be me... again... because whoever I was during the first three months of this pregnancy [#2] was a whole lot of not me.

The first trimester was a frightening parade of nausea and fatigue.  I felt like I kept trying to climb out of a pit of despair, toward the light of a freedom where I wouldn't worry about opening the fridge or blacking out at 7:30 pm, only to fall back again and again.

I'm about three cups of coffee shy of appearing awake here. I'm also clinging to my husband  for support.

My second trimester has welcomed back so many happy facets of my life.

I'm ahead at work rather than behind.  My inbox has no more than two or three emails when I leave.    When a new need pops up in my classroom, I'm ready rather than reactive.  My work there brings me joy instead of dread and that means so much to me.

I can cook! To plan, buy, and orchestrate the happenings of the kitchen feels essential to my core.  My husband is a great cook, but I'm often home first and my inability to move or smell or live like a normal functioning human being during the first trimester meant a lot of me trying to scramble to find something not too expensive but also not too processed to pick up for dinner.  It was miserable.  I come alive in the kitchen. The colors, the smells--I'm so happy to be back!

Strawberry rhubarb coffee cake.  *Strawberries are the 1st and only pregnancy craving I've ever had.

I have the energy and focus to solve problems or make decisions with my husband. There were weeks on end when I would just beg Paul with, "Can we please just talk about this later?" Ugh.  I sounded so whiny and yet I felt that I had given over and over and beyond at work and didn't have a single iota of brain work to give at home.  Story of one "working woman" mommy who is also pregnant.

I'm working out! Someone suggested to me during the 1st trimester that I would feel better if I was exercising--which would be brilliant if I didn't feel like death warmed up. While she was very sweet and definitely right, I stared at her with some awkward not-sure-what-to-say-expression, but on the inside I was shuffling through very inappropriate responses [shouting, punching, shouting while punching] to choose.  Luckily, I didn't have the energy to carry out any of those urges.  But now? Now I'm working out! I'm hitting up the YMCA for a little baby bump on treadmill action, pulling double takes from my compadres who need to confirm that yes, indeed, that woman is walking for two.  My legs strut fast enough and long enough for me to sing praises of endorphins on Twitter like the drugged up on a good life momma that I am.

And finally, the ultimate end cap to the so-flipping-glad-to-be-in-the-second-trimester blog post ---I'm in a good mood!  I'm not sure what else to say here other than I'm humble and human enough to admit that I experienced a good dose of depression for the first couple of months.  Hopefully you haven't touched that darkness, the one which is so bad you will yourself to tell the people very closest to you to keep you accountable and keep an eye on you because you really, really [and you're grabbing their hand or looking at them straight in the eyes or you just sound like you've gone off your rocker a little because you want to drive home your point] don't feel like yourself.  My heart goes out to women and men who feel that burden as a typical, ongoing part of their life.  It was difficult for me to endure for just a very short amount of time and I think I will be dedicating much of my prayer time this year to individuals who carry that cross currently and/or continuously.

He does this puzzle every night and associates states with family members: Aunt Moira lives here,  Lizzy and Anna live here, and Daddy works here [there are a lot of those states].

And it's a very good thing to be yourself once again.  Everything is such an apparent gift.  The taste of marinated steak.  A clean kitchen.  Indulgence time that goes a little something like: bath + ice cream + homemade pedicure = 'I feel pretty' lyrics swarming up in my soul.

And time with my curious child who wonders, "Mommy, can you take the baby out right now?".  Hmm.  Maybe in a few months.  I'm happy right where we are!

Disappearing Act

The last half of last year was a doozy.  I was acclimating to my new job and trudging through a sorely fatigued and nauseous first trimester.

At some point with this blog forever ago, I had promised myself I wouldn't write until x, y, and z were done because writing is the cheery on top and all.  It's a loud sign of laziness to be writing when I've got dishes to do.  So for all the times you've visited here [have you??] or checked in to see if I was writing, you can just imagine that I was tip-toeing through my laundry room as if I were one misstep away from a complete collapse.

And while I do very much care to be a steward of my belongings and responsibilities, I see my wrangling of words as necessary a priority as flying into action as the default toddler-poop-on-little-curious-hand exterminator. Well, poop on anybody's hand is a bit of a trump card, but right after the poop and a large dose of hand soap---writing!

While I was flitting about far away from this blog the past six months, I would sum up my exciting life with the following unrealized blog titles. Enjoy!

Why Your 1st Year at a New Teaching Job Will be More Difficult Than Your 1st Year Teaching

The Isolation of a Christian Heart

Downton Abbey--What, What!!

My Rib Popped Out of Place And Now I'm Pregnant!

Sleepy Time

Oh Look! A Color Palette

Introvert Intervention

Popcorn, Chicken, Orange Juice and Other Mishaps On My Way to the Toilet

[A post about vomiting we should all be grateful I didn't write]

My Sister Sticks Around For a Month

It's Not About Me... I'm Free!

<among a smattering of other invisible posts about funny things my son says and my reoccurring revelations to rise up and live my best life.>

Here's to less unrealized blog posts in 2013 because I've gotta have some kind of pot of gold at the end of the what's-with-my-laundry-never-getting-fully-finished-rainbow! 

Living with Answers

It has taken years for me to settle into my skin, but as I do I find joy.

Approaching my 28th birthday means a step into being happier with who I am and that much more free of all the qualities I may not be destined to be.

I find I'm always struggling to answer certain questions.  Should I work or should I stay at home with my child/ren?  How do I reasonably achieve balance in my very hectic life?  How can I preserve and nourish my faith in environments which don't appear designed to do so?  And often my focus on these questions has me tormented to levels that I will likely find laughable in my 30's.  Or at least I hope there's some sort of positive take away from it all. Because if not, that's a lot of fruitless torture.

In 2013 I want less searching and more responding to the answers I've already been given. Answers like...

I know that the likelihood of my husband and I being happy with each other rises and falls on whether the dishes are clean but will appear as something else... like our ongoing argument on whether it is dish towels or paper towels which are the superior option for cleaning our kitchen.

I know if I miss Mass and find excuses to busy myself away from Reconciliation my soul feels so very dark.

I know that on any given day regardless of my job description, I can still make innumerable happy choices to read one more book to my son, to encourage him to laugh, and to help him form habits of a healthy mind and spirit--by picking up his blocks and saying excuse me after he fake burps at the dinner table in front of our guest.

I don't need to ask what the perfect job is for me or where it will lead me.  But I do need to write.  It is my charism, no matter how untrained or unread or unwilling.

I know that sacrifice is a good thing, something I need to embrace and resist much less.

I don't need to ask for the perfect way to be a wife.  My husband has told me over and over again.  He wants to engage in deep conversation, question the cosmos, argue, debate, reach for truth.  That answer has been in my hands for years. And I think he said something about playing one or more of those XBOX games too.

I already know how painful it can be to be an introvert, how uplifted I feel when I am making soup, and how alive I am when I know that the people around me are cared for and loved.  I know that a walk around the block is better than any long held intention to reclaim a runner's body and I'm aware that if I don't take the trash outside and leave it rather in our garage, gangs of mice will overlord that place where we use to park our cars and of which I now have sweaty nightmares about.

Living in response to the many answers already provided is sometimes just no fun .  Actually, that's why, despite the torture, asking the questions is such an easier task.  Responding to the answers means fixing the shoddy paint job in the bathroom which has my proverbial signature all over, working on the blasted budget even when I'd rather take a Saturday nap, and pulling out the video camera to capture whatever it is that this life is right now.

I have faith that my soul will find rest in Christ.  In responding to what is at my feet, He will shed light on what I need to know when I need to know it.  And in the end, I can at least say I took out the trash.