Around our Table

Last Sunday, I did the grocery shopping for Thanksgiving. I knew the store would get more crowded later in the week, and in light of Covid I only wanted to make one trip. 

The checkout lady, examining the contents of my cart asked if I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner. 

'Yes I am,' I enthusiastically replied.  

'Well, good luck,' she said. 

It must have been a question and answer on repeat this year - a different form of check out line banter giving the sales people a chuckle. All too many awe-struck women and men passing through, trying to decipher what they were going to do with the contents of their cart when they got home. Here we go again. Another experience, chore, and potential disaster to add to this abnormal year. 

I took the woman's well wishes in stride. Luck? I didn't need luck. I had my Grandma Fischer's recipes, my Dad a quick call away, and my detail oriented husband by my side. We would surely be successful in our dinner preparation. 

I started cooking on Wednesday morning, in lock step with the processes and patterns my Dad was executing in Pittsburgh. Boiling and stirring the cranberries, running them through a sieve, then reheating the juices until it thickened enough to put in the mold. I made Pumpkin Pie and cranberry bread with the kids. I coaxed the neck and giblets out of our still slightly frozen fourteen pound turkey while simultaneously holding back vomit from pure disgust at what I was doing. I chopped celery and onions, made some already stale bread staler, and then simmered the aforementioned, and apparently edible, turkey parts as the base for gravy. 

On Thursday, I tossed the bread, vegetables and stock together, stuffed the bird, baked and basted, baked and basted, baked and basted; I said a little prayer as I removed the jelly from the mold and shouted halleluiah as it finally slid out; I peeled and mashed potatoes, made the corn bread, and set the table with our good china and linens. 

In my experience behind the stove, there are some dinners that just seem to click. When everything miraculously goes right. This was one of them. I smiled with pride as we sat down to eat a beautiful feast.

What happened next can best be described by Peter's statement, 'who knew the hardest part of dinner would be eating it.' There was a fight over who lead the prayer and a fight over who went first giving thanks. Mary filled up her plate but didn't like or eat most of it. Bobby said he wanted meat, not turkey. Margaret put her feet, tap shoes and all up on the table. The babies cried and cried. And five minutes later everyone was asking for ice cream. I gave everyone a better behavior speech and dismissed the kids to the basement until Peter and I finished.  

Despite the dinner table chaos, the food was great, the champagne even better, and seeing Peter joyfully fill up his plate three times made it worth the effort.

***

After the argument over who went first, we did end up sharing the words of gratitude that Mary made us write on pieces of paper in her hand crafted 'thankful cup.' 

Peter pulled his out and said he was thankful for the twins and the big helpers we have: Mary, Bobby and Margaret.

I said I was thankful for my kids' school and coming off of stellar first trimester report cards, all the progress they were making.  

Mary and Bobby both expressed thanks for their mom and dad while Margaret drew a square, surely representing something, but she wasn't around to defend herself when her piece of paper was drawn.

There were a couple others, but these are the ones I remember. 

While I contributed one thing, my appreciation this year goes much further. 

I'm thankful for the help we've had over the past two months, including visitors who braved the Covid cooties in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois just to hold a baby and offer me another hour of sleep. 

I'm thankful for my job, my company and the gift of maternity leave. 

I'm thankful for the roof over our heads and a yard big enough to contain the energy of my children. 

I'm thankful for our health. 

I'm thankful for my family ... 

for my friends ...

 

and perhaps most importantly my faith and the ability to practice it again.  

I'm truly thankful for this year. Despite the loss we've all felt, no matter what depth or dimension, I think it's brought forward our humanity in a novel and necessary way. It's exposed our frailty, our failings, and some of our greatest fears. But in the face of it, we've experienced ingenuity, resilience and compassion. It's a year that could bring us together in a way we never have before ... when and if we choose to accept that path forward. 

Lo. 

             

Slimer

My kids start discussing Halloween costumes months before the holiday. Generally, I prompt the debate with suggestions on a theme. They were super heroes one year, Greasers another, Robin Hood and Tinker Bell before that. But my persuasive power is waning. They've become too independent for my off the wall ideas. Instead, they flip flop back and forth on more personalized choices each week leading up to Halloween. I tend to order their final selection as close to the holiday as possible to prevent a change of heart at the last minute. 

This year, Bobby was the most indecisive. He originally was set on being something scary. He had visions of a skeleton, then a bloody vampire, then a frightening Frankenstein. But the options for skeleton weren't scary enough, vampires required too much crafting and make-up and he distrusted my ability to deliver, and Frankenstein bordered on babyish. His words, not mine. He finally chose an inflatable, electric green Slimer costume ... 'but only if Dad goes as a Ghostbuster.' Okay. Ordered. And there's no backing out now. 

My parents were in town when the costumes arrived. The kids dug into the Costume Express box, claimed their characters, and immediately put them on to parade around the house. Bobby was the clear favorite, and we laughed and laughed as Peter came down in his adult Ghostbuster costume to match his little sidekick. I couldn't wait to take pictures on Halloween.

On the 31st, as fate would have it, Bobby decided he didn't want to be a big green blob anymore. Instead he wanted to go as his two-year old self, good old Super Man. The costume was snug to say the least, but he argued that he could see better and run faster in it. Fair points. But I spent $50 on Slimer, buddy, come on! 

No dice. He was suited up and not looking back. 

So instead of the perfectly planned, theme-oriented cast of characters that I envisioned that evening, I found Rapunzel, Hermione, a too-tight Super Man, a Ghostbuster, Ketchup and Mustard. A motley crew, but a happy one. 

Halloween felt normal. And everyone that I talked to said the same. It was an almost eerie reminder of what life was like before the pandemic. It was refreshing: to focus on trivial fights over costume selections, to decorate the house, to see the kids run off with their dad collecting candy, to experience the sugar high and bed time low of Halloween, to celebrate like we always have and photograph the memories. It felt like the world was in order. 

But if Halloween was defined as normal, Thanksgiving will be characterized as abnormal. 

As the virus spreads, allegedly propelled by Halloween parties, the CDC has said not to travel. So we aren't going to Pittsburgh. And for the first time ever, I won't spend a holiday with my family in a given year. 

In my state, we are encouraged to only dine with those in our household, or to keep the celebration size to six people. We have seven under this roof, so Slimer might have to eat outside. Just kidding, buddy. 

To that end, the officials advise to eat outside if you can. In the upper midwest, that is typically not an option in late November. 

My Grandma's heirloom recipes call for a 14 or 15 pound bird I think. With only five of us eating the solid part of dinner, I'll need to pare down the portions.  

The restaurants and bars are closed, so no Thanksgiving eve revelries.  

There is a telecast of a virtual Macy's Day parade. I don't even know what that means. 

And while I have my reservation for Mass on Thursday, I'm praying they don't close the churches by then. 

This litany of change is what the world is focused on. The new abnormal. The departure from the familiar. The differences, inconveniences and sacrifices. But similar to how we got through Easter, I've been reflecting on the good that has come from the pandemic inspired shifts. Perhaps the normalcy we all miss needed a change. 

For example, don't you wonder how you ever ate a piece of cake after it was blown all over? Or took M&Ms from the communal dish at work that you know was handled by unwashed hands. The prescription of public health measures in our society is long over due. I actually feel like we might not get sick this fall - and we always get sick in the fall. And winter. And spring. 

I've found that people have learned to cope with humor more than ever. And the stuff going around online is hysterical. 

I've never talked to my high school and college friends as much - even though it's not in person, we've made efforts to call each other, zoom and text like we never have before. 

I've also gotten closer with my community and the families in our neighborhood - the friendly faces on my walks make my day. 

Working from home, prior to my maternity leave, made me more productive on the job and at home. 

Smaller gatherings have replaced chaos with intimacy. 

And I've appreciated the blessings of an open school and church in an unimaginable way. I can't thank our teachers and Parish staff enough. 

So basically, I think Bobby was onto something the moment he said he didn't want to be Slimer for Halloween. He was tired of being slimed this year. Instead he reached for something super. Because in this pandemic, we need more heroes, less Slimers, more smiles.  

Lo. 

  

Momercise

After two or three weeks worrying about the size and corresponding survival of my babies, a period of time when they slept more than ate, the twins decided to wake up. 

And eat. 

And eat. 

And eat. 

Which meant Peter and I lost the ability to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. 

There were nights, when we were feeding babies at 8:00 PM, 9:00, 10:30, 12:00, 1:00 ... you get the point. Round the clock. If one was sleeping, the other was eating. And just as I would settle back into bed, the other would wake up, grunt, poop, and want to eat more. Then I'd pump, do dishes, and try to go back to sleep, only to start the cycle again. 

The portrait of marital love and devotion became Peter and I, sitting side by side on the love seat in the nursery, heads back, eyes closed, bottle feeding and burping babies with the slightly soured smell of spit up misting the air.  

While the idea of napping with the babies is great, it becomes difficult with three other kids who want their activities to carry on: the soccer games, bike rides, school pictures, homework, block parties, playdates, dance classes, piano lessons, and of course pumpkin picking all vying for your attention.

 

 

(But I've got to say, in return, the three older ones have become great helpers.)

So I find sleep where I can. My body has a newfound ability to go into REM sleep for the 15 to 30 minute stretches I can afford. I've also been sleeping in a bit, going against the title of this blog. And I've frequently chosen sleep over exercise. 

I ask myself though, do I really need it given the hustle of mom life? There's a reason my grandma, a mother of eight, stayed so trim without a daily exercise regimen. Running after multiple children and keeping the house in order all day is definitely a work out. 

To illustrate, I've put together this 10-circuit 90-minute full body work out that starts at 6:30 AM for me. (yes, I consider that sleeping in.)  

Circuit 1: Arms and boobs: Arm raises holding four once bottles for fifteen minutes while pumping. 

Circuit 2: More arms and a little back. Burp babies, change babies, lay them back down. Repeat until everyone stops fussing.  

Circuit 3: Legs. Down the stairs, make coffee. Up the stairs, put a pacifier in. Down the stairs, set out breakfast, pack lunches. Up the stairs, Bobby can't find his sporty pants. Down the stairs, Margaret needs someone to sit with, draw face on Pumpkin and put next to her. Up the stairs, Mary doesn't want to wear tights, look through drawers for leggings. All the way down to basement, get laundry out of dryer, find sporty pants and leggings. Up the stairs, someone needs milk. Up the stairs again, finish getting Mary and Bobby dressed. Put a pacifier in. Down the stairs and breath. 

Circuit 4. Legs. Repeat above cause something obviously went wrong. 

Circuit 5. Dehydrate. Sip already cold cup of coffee. Energize. Eat a handful of Cheerios. 

Circuit 6. Full body. Wrestle Margaret out of her dance costume and into something she can wear to school. She doesn't like what you picked out. Repeat. 

Circuit 7. Back. Pull overflowing garbage bag of diapers out of pale and lug outside. 

Circuit 8. Abs. On hands and knees, scrub off jelly that has fallen on floor, been stepped in and then been smeared around the first floor on a pair of someone's tennis shoes. 

Circuit 9. Sprints. Up and down the stairs three more times because Bobby forgot his socks, Mary forgot her text book, and then Margaret forgot her purse, which you argue she doesn't need, wasting five valuable minutes of your morning.  

Circuit 10. Cool down. Lunches in back packs, fill water bottles, hugs, kisses, hoist children into mega automobile. 

And done. Breath.  

With all this said, something clicked this past weekend for the babies. They started to sleep 4-5 hours at a time and wake up in sync to eat. Peter and I slept. It was glorious. 

That same svelte Grandma that I mentioned used to say, 'this too shall pass.' In the moment, when you are suffering the tortuous pangs of not sleeping, it seems like it never will. That frustration will get the better of you. You cling to the invaluable help that you have, and remind yourself again that the moment is fleeting. 

 

The moment passed this weekend. And as it did, I went for a run.  

Lo.

Twin Tips

When you're about to be discharged from the hospital ... 

... after you've been through labor and delivery, after you've been told the Nursery is closed due to Covid, after you've sweat through the hospital sheets at night trying to get at least three or four non-consecutive hours of sleep, after the hearing, car seat, and genetic disorder tests, after anxiously running back and forth to the NICU, after the lactation consultations, initial vaccinations, and birth record paperwork, after you've Facetimed with crying children who just want you to come home already ... 

... somehow you are supposed to pack up the piles of health-related reading material, drive home, remember everything you've been told to do to ensure your teeny tiny babies thrive, and execute the plan.  

Even with significant mom experience under my belt, even with my parents there for physical, spiritual, and loads of laundry support, the first week at home was rough. Between attempting to retain what I was told by the healthcare providers, stressing about Jacqueline's weight, and trying to remember which baby was fed how much at what time, I was stressed and overwhelmed. 

I was petrified that one of my kids would break a baby. Or worse, that I would. When the babies wouldn't wake up to eat every three hours, my heart would race and my temperature would swell. I was uncomfortable sleeping so 'far away' from the twins in my own bed, so I inched closer and closer at night, first sleeping on the sofa in their nursery, then on the floor right next to their cribs. I woke up sweating more profusely than I did in the hospital, hair and shirt soaking wet. And the same sweat-producing hormones brought a lot of emotion as well. Every little thing became the switch to overflowing tear ducts, which I had largely turned off in 2020 for survival purposes. 

I teared up every time I read a note someone sent or was told to count my blessings.  

My eyes turned red after Jacqueline and Caroline went to the pediatrician and weighed in at their birth weights still.

Leaky eyes got in the way of focusing my camera.  

I cried as my Dad toasted a first week with the twins and commented on how much better they were doing day by day. I doubted the accuracy of his statement. 

I couldn't hold it together as Mary bawled and yelled at me because she was disappointed that I didn't pick her up from school one day - that I had chosen a nap instead.

And after ten days of the most incredible support, helping with groceries, dinner, feedings at night, pick ups, drop offs, and as mentioned, piles of laundry, I sobbed when my parents left, soaking page after page of the book I was reading Bobby as I put him to sleep that evening. 

My kids have seen me teary eyed before, but what Mary and Bobby witnessed over the past week was a little different. They saw raw emotion. And the person I assume is a symbol of strength to them, looked a little weaker, a little more in need of support. Amazingly, they helped provide it. 

When Bobby saw me crying, he looked into my watery eyes, went over to his shelf and handed me my Ellie and Teddy, stuffed animals that I have carried through my lifetime. When Mary saw her tears turn to my own, she immediately stopped crying and said she would help more. Even Margaret has sensed the times when I need a hug, cuddling next next to me and telling me, 'you're my best Mommy.' 

They've all learned the definition of resiliency recently, and they've exemplified it in yet another challenging phase of this Covid crazy world. 

***

I set out to write this entry about twin tips specifically, but what I've found is that the twins are pretty easy. It's actually balancing the needs of the family as a whole that has been the most challenging.  

... so my initial 'tips' cover the twins and my experience managing a bigger family: 

- Little babies are feisty - they will fight to eat, grow, and survive. My cousin Melissa told me this, and I've experienced the truth in it. 

- A lot of my friends recommended getting a night nurse and have said it's a game changer. I believe them, but I wouldn't know - Peter and I have been the night nurses. It does sound awesome if you can manage it financially.

- If someone offers to help, take them up on it. Then thank those people gratuitously.  

- You will need a lot of diapers and wipes. (Thank you, Katrina and Shirley.)  

- Get the twins on the same feeding schedule. 

- And with that kind of time management in mind, pumping and bottling has worked better for me than nursing. 

- My friend Lori taught me how to prop a bottle which has helped in the middle of the night. However, as much as possible, I do try to give each twin individual time in my arms throughout the day. And if I'm not available, Peter, Mary, Bobby or Margaret generally are. 

- As it stated on a sign in the hospital, early ambulation has significant benefits. True. 

- I've found that my older kids need me a little more than the babies right now, so I've done my best to be there at pick up, on the sidelines of soccer and dance, around the dinner table, next to them as they practice piano, and snuggled together as we read stories at night. It has made a difference. 

- You need time with your spouse as well. And in that time, try to find the humor in all that is going on. 

- Pray. 

- Keep praying. 

- And then pray one more time. 

Because the strength, grace, and humility I've needed doesn't come from the cup of coffee I'm so dependent on, it comes from within ... placed there from above. 

Lo.    

   

A and B under the Elm Trees

Throughout my pregnancy, my twins have had the names A and B. 

A was on the left side and the smaller one; the one that did flips in my belly, who had to be told, 'be good', stop kicking.' 

B was on the right side and the bigger one; the calmer one, but the one presenting when I went in to be induced on Thursday, claiming her position after fighting it out with her sister. 

That morning, we still didn't have names for the twins. Still peanut A and peanut B, we started feeling pressure to reach consensus.  

Peter and I debated back and forth as I got Pitocin and then started having contractions, as I got an epidural and the contractions got stronger, and finally as they wheeled my bed into the OR in the event I needed an emergency c-section. We went through names that started with A, names that started with B, names that were in the family, the names of Saints, and names that complemented not only each other, but the rest of their siblings. 

It took the hours after they were born to decide, and in those hours it got more complicated because the Baby we had known as A, went by B at hospital since she was last out. She was also separated from us in the NICU where she spent 48 hours making sure she could eat and keep her sugars up. 

We finally reached a conclusion - back to the original names we were debating in the Spring. They seemed to match your little faces.  

But before I reveal, I had to dramatize just how we got here, using the words or more rhythms of one of your sister's favorite bedtime stories. So here goes ...  

Girl Girl Go Go (adapted from Margaret's favorite book, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom)   

A told B and B told A, I think we're going to come out today. 

Whee said B to A and hey, when we get out it'll be time to play. 

Girl Girl Go Go, time to put on the big show. 

There goes Mommy up to the labor and delivery floor. 

And Daddy too, wearing pink, not blue, all on their way to the big button on the door.

Girl Girl Go Go, time to put on the big show. 

Look who's coming, Nurse Teri and Dr R. 

a bracelet on my wrist and the anesthesiologist. 

And beeps and boops and who's heart beat is who's? 

The whole crew, telling Momma what to do 

Until OH MY! 

Nurse Teri said, it's show time! 

GIRL GIRL 

GO GO!

Skit skat stirrup up 

Don't you dare flip flop up 

Everybody's running to the Operating Room 

Momma and Dadda, and the nurses and docs

Gather together to lift Momma's legs up by the socks. 

Help us out cried B and A. 

A half a push later, B was out to say. 

'Come on A, your turn, okay?' 

Here comes the little one, doing it her own way. 

B is 5'1, cleaned to pink from blue. 

A is 4'4, cleaned and taken to the NICU.  

B is sleeping and A is tube eating and Momma's so scared she's hardly breathing. 

Skit skat Daddy's back, A is finally back on track 

Tube is out, mommy's crying but trying to stop her pout. 

A and B are excited, now that they are finally reunited. 

The rain is stopping, the car seats are hopping.  

And the pink balloons are bopping under the big elm trees. 

But ... 

Girl Girl, Go Go, look the moon's a glow. 

Mommy's out of bed, and this is what she said, 

Dare double dare, I couldn't love you more. 

Let your teeny tiny hearts and dreams go ahead and soar.  

Girl Girl Go Go. Girl Girl (please) Grow Grow. 

Caroline and Jacqueline, my Baby B and Baby A - 

You are home with us now, and as the story mentions, we are so in love with you. 

Your births were unlike any of my others though. Nothing could have prepared me for them. I was nervous going into labor and delivery. And I've been nervous since I left the hospital on Saturday. I'm worried about your size. Tired and emotional from days, and honestly weeks without sleeping. You entered a scary world that is masked, at odds, on fire, paranoid, perplexed, and tense. So tense. But you arrived as my teeny tiny hopes. My dreams. My chance to nurture something better. Where peace, justice, kindness, and love come first.

And that is what I promise you. A household that puts those values, and your feeding schedule first. 

I love you too much. 

 

Lo.  

Choices

My kids started school a week and a half ago. Mary and Bobby went in for the first time on Thursday, and Margaret was off to Pre-K 3 on Friday. 

Mary couldn't wait. 

Bobby could. 

And Margaret confidently marched in, masked and raring to go.  

It was like any other back to school in so many ways. The freshly laundered uniform, strategic selections of shoes and hair styles, bags of freshly sharpened school supplies, eagerness and excitement, mixed with a little of Bobby's anxiety. 

But in many more ways, it was unlike any other. They hadn't been since March. They were rusty and one was resistant. There was a 17 page document on safety precautions and procedures to follow. There were staggered arrival times, masks, temperature checks, wellness questions, separated desks, and bottles of hand sanitizer being generously pumped into kids hands.  

I've got to say, it was so weird taking the kids out of the car, strapping a mask around their mouths and noses, and giving them hugs and kisses, mask to mask. It guess it all felt safe. But also sad.  

Despite these changes and challenges though, each day the kids have run out of school with the biggest smiles on their faces. They absolutely love being back, especially my doubting Bobby. 

***

As our state reopened gradually this summer, there were all kinds of decisions to make. 

Should Peter and I go out to dinner? And on a 95 degree evening, sit inside? 

Was it safe to go to the pool? And at what capacity was it unsafe? 

Should we start going back to Church? 

Could we still go on vacation? 

Was it safe to sign Mary and Margaret up for dance? 

What about signing Bobby up for t-ball and soccer?

Is it okay to invite someone over for dinner? And then if it rains, invite them inside? 

And finally, school. Should I send them back five days a week as the school prescribes, or opt for an online model? 

Which ultimately begs the question, what's riskier? Your kids getting Covid or your kids developing mental handicaps due to isolation? Your sanity and survival or you continuing to flail through this crazy world? 

I swear, there is no good decision in this day and age, especially with all the conflicting advice: 

• From the archdiocese: We're reopening with the strictest public health guidelines - it's safe to come on back. 
• From the school itself: We are ready; your kids will be fine. 
• From one of my doctors: 'Can't they go online?
• From a couple of my other doctors 'Absolutely they should go back to school'
• From the American Academy of Pediatrics: 'kids should be in school' 
• From my mom: 'I'll pray for you all' 
• From my mom: 'Here's an article that suggests kids can have Covid in their respiratory system for weeks.' 
• From my mom: 'I'm still praying.'   
• From the right: Send em back. 
• From the left: Keep em home.

Right now, I feel like the best choice is the one you ultimately decide to make. You open yourself to risk, uncertainty, and challenges in either scenario. You think and think on what to do, and at the end of the day, make a call, any call, lean in, and like my Mom said, say a prayer or two. 

For me, I felt like they had to go back in person. They needed the socialization, the routine, the discipline, and the separation from our nest. And I needed that same distance. I felt comfortable with the measures the school was taking to keep the kids and teachers safe. I figured we had to get on, we had to try, we had to find some semblance of normalcy. 

My decision felt reinforced as back at school, the kids seem happier than they've been in a long time. They are sleeping soundly. I can see their little minds working harder. They are excited and I love seeing them spark as they tell me about their days. 

For me, the quiet around the house has been mesmerizing. I've been able to focus and take a breath again. And despite the worries that prevail, I will keep telling myself that it's right. I just hope that feeling lasts. 

Lo.