Self Quarantine Log Day 1

We’re wrapping up Day 1 of Corona Daycare here in the Mom Van. So far we’re virus free and still sane (at least as sane as we’ll ever be). I’m blessed to be able to work from home but I’ve also got the Twins with me. I’ve decided to log daily and hopefully share some of the adventure with you guys.

I’ve adapted their daycare schedule to match the tools we have and aligned my work schedule to match up. For instance, when they are eating breakfast I’m checking emails. When they have outside time I’m listening to Business talks as I push their swings. Coloring for Twins means data analysis for Mommy.

Things went well until nap time when The Conqueror flat out refused to go to sleep. So while she babbled in her bed I used my phone to research webinars that I can take to learn more about the database we use at work. There were a couple of screaming fits today but overall I feel like we did pretty well.

We’re blessed to have a swing set and kids who are easily amused so today wasn’t so bad. I haven’t gotten as inventive as some of my friends yet. One made a basket into a basketball goal for her kiddos in their garage. Another set up an inflatable pool in the living room and filled it with pillows. Working at a children’s museum based on learning through play makes getting creative a little easier though so that will help when the time comes.

Our one mishap for the day was a real learning experience. The Twins took the whole “wear green” thing a little too seriously and The Conqueror colored on her face with a green permanent marker. Fortunately, I have a little bit of knowledge from a past career on solvents and oils and the like and remembered that oil based makeup remover would take it off. I got a good belly laugh out of it and snapped a picture for posterity before cleaning her up.

Thanks for riding this out with us here in the Mom Van. I look forward to sharing this time with you. Stay safe my friends and let me know what you’re doing to keep yourself sane and your kids entertained during your quarantine!

When the Shit Hits the Fan

I’ve always loved the imagery of that phrase. “The shit hit the fan.” It evokes images of smelly, yucky chaos. In my house, the shit hitting the fan seems to be the natural state of things. Some nights get shittier than others though, and messier. That’s exactly what happened last Monday night.

When I picked The Hun and The Conqueror up from school they were both fussy and had yucky noses. Not an unusual occurrence since they started daycare but they seemed extra pouty and uncomfortable so I decided to stop by Walmart on our way home for some medicine and soup. That’s how I found myself pushing a buggy through Walmart with two crying two year olds after a stranger fussed at me for coughing in public. Yes, a perfect stranger decided to look at me and say, “Hey lady you better watch that cough! You’re gonna get people freaked out about the Corona virus!” I coughed into my elbow. Some people are just rude. I’d love to say that I had a witty comeback but I was too shocked to say anything. I continued my shopping as I tried to keep the twins calm. Eventually they calmed down and I bought them each a Barbie because I felt like we all deserved it after our trip.

On the way home, my Mom called. She had some really heavy information to share and it completely threw me off. I talked to The Hubs for a while after and he helped me to feed the girls before he headed up to his Dad’s shop to do some work. I ran them a bath and put them in it to play and get clean. I was exhausted but sure that all the chaos was over. It didn’t take long to see that I was wrong.

While playing in the bathtub and FaceTiming with my Mother-In-Law, The Hun slipped and hit her chin on the side of the tub. I dropped my phone on the ground and grabbed my screaming baby the minute I saw blood. My first instinct said to check her mouth. Surely she’d knocked a tooth loose. Teeth were fine. I took her out of the tub and realized blood was flowing down her chest even though her mouth was shut. When I looked under her chin I nearly passed out. She had a half inch gash going across the underside of her sweet little chin. Amazingly, I remembered all of my first aid training and didn’t pass out. I called The Hubs and he turned around and headed home fast. By the time he got there I’d gotten a butterfly bandage onto the cut and The Conqueror was still happily splashing in the tub. Yes, I know there was blood in it but not much. I guess that means she’s a Conqueror who’s bathed in blood. *shrugs*

We put clothes on them both and rushed to the Urgent Care. We had ten minutes till they closed or we’d be spending $500 just to be seen at the ER. Miraculously, we noticed the open sign at the Twin’s pediatrician’s office right next door. Since we were able to go to a Dr.’s office instead of an Urgent Care our total went from $100 to a $30 copay. Not only that, we were in and out in less than twenty minutes. The Hun got her chin glued back together and both girls left with bandaids on their chins. The Conqueror refused to accept that her sister needed one but not her.

So we were in the clear now right? Wrong!

We arrived home to a door that wasn’t quite closed. Whoops! In our rush to leave we hadn’t pulled it hard enough. As soon as my hand touched the doorknob I realized that we’d made another dangerous mistake. We’d left the dogs out. Our dogs, in the 20 minutes that we were gone, decided to raid the pantry and eat everything they could get hold of. They ate crackers and cookies and cardboard. Then, they threw it up on the couch. The Hubs may have seen some crazy stuff in his day but that man can’t handle dog puke. So, he put Frozen on for the girls and ordered a pizza so we’d at least have dinner taken care of. (He’s a smart man so he made sure to order Lava cake too.) Amidst gags and wretches I managed to get it cleaned up. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up next and promptly started my period.

Was it done NOW??? Nope!

The girls still needed their cold medicine so I figured now was as good a time as any to get them dosed and in bed. The Hun wandered back to my room so I picked her up and snuggled her then went into the bathroom for their medicine. It was here that I discovered that The Little Bad Dog had continued her reign of terror. As if throwing up on the couch wasn’t enough, she pooped on the bathroom floor. I sighed and flushed the poo. As it was flushing I reached for the bottle of cold medicine. What happened next still has me scratching my head.

I somehow managed to knock that tiny bottle of cold medicine off of the over-the-toilet shelf and straight into the flushing toilet. I stood there stunned and slack-jawed as the bottle zipped straight down the toilet with the dog poop and the toilet paper that I’d used to clean it up. I gave up then. I carried my little scraped up baby into the living room and cried.

Once I calmed down I was able to see the humor in the whole situation and be thankful for all the things that went right along the way. The dogs have recovered from their feeding frenzy and their fart cloud has finally dissipated. The Conqueror no longer insists on wearing a band-aid. The Hun is healing up quite nicely and loves to show people her bo-bo. Neither girl is afraid of the bath tub, thank God. Now we have a ridiculous story to share with them when they are older about the night that The Hun split her chin open.

The Hun pre-glue.
The Conqueror and her sympathy band-aid.

A Letter from Uncle Poo to The Twins

My brother has been affectionately dubbed “Uncle Poo” ever since he taught my tiny children how to say the word shit. All four kids love his nickname and so does he. Uncle Poo and I are quite close (see my post Where You Go, I Go for more on that). We talk almost every day and recently he told me that he’d started writing. I offered to let him write a guest piece for the blog and he was happy to do so. He chose to write a letter to The Twins. While I was unable to publish his letter last week when I’d originally planned to, I feel like it’s appropriate today, two years and some change after he first met his “Stinker Tinkers.” I’ve added some pictures to illustrate the events that he discusses. (The Twins were so cute that I just couldn’t help it.)

“Dear Hun and Conqueror,

Hello Stinker Tinkers! Your second birthday is coming up soon. I sat down tonight to write about my memories of you two.

The day you were born, I was in Pensacola playing pool with a Marine buddy of mine. I had just run the table when your Mawmaw called me. It was a weird feeling. I was so worried about your Mom yet excited to meet the newest members of our clan of a family.

A week or so later I got to meet you two. You were both so tiny and small that I was scared to hold you. As I held each one of you I made a promise, “I’ll always do my best to be there for you whenever I can. I’ll be the best Uncle I can be.” It’s the same promise I made to your siblings.

Uncle Poo and The Hun’s First Meeting

Uncle Poo meets The Conqueror

The next time I saw you, it was Easter. You were so small yet had such big eyes, it was mind blowing. That same period of me being home I remember carrying each of you around the kitchen as you cried. I tried everything to help your mother. You both stopped crying as I sang NAVY marching cadences to you.

I didn’t see you again until Christmas that year. It was the best Christmas ever. A lot of things had changed for me. I didn’t know what was gonna be happening but none of that mattered when I got big hugs from both of you.

I’ve seen you more times now. You both always make my day when I hear you scream out , “Uncle Poo!” When your Mom calls me. Every time I come back home I always try and see ya’ll first.

So congrats on living another year Tiny Humans. Here is to many more.

Love, Uncle Poo”

While The Twins have never known a time when Uncle Poo wasn’t in the NAVY, they have a strong bond. They know his voice and seem to be able to pick it up no matter where I am when I talk on the phone with him. They giggle and squeal and love to talk to him and he loves to share his conversations with them with his friends. I couldn’t imagine a better Uncle for all of my kids if I tried. He spoils all of them rotten and keeps his promises. As much as he loves all of us, we sure do love him too.

Never Forgotten

His headstone lies at the far edge of the cemetery, just barely on hallowed ground. Far enough away to keep the old ones, who still believe in their own morality, appeased. Far enough in that the angels are still protecting his mortal remains for the second coming, just in case he really will need that body again.

Some, I’m sure, will whisper quietly that he doesn’t belong here. The Church teaches, after all, that suicide is a mortal sin. Those of us who knew him best know that the man we loved wasn’t the same man who made that painful, wasteful choice. He who had fought so hard to overcome many trials in his life could not find the strength in his hurting heart to fight anymore.

Those of us who knew him best have seen the signs of his acceptance into The Great Beyond. Heaven. The Afterlife. Whatever you want to call it. We know that he has been made new and beautiful and that he no longer hurts. We’ve seen it in dreams. Dreams where he walks to us full of radiant light and lets us know that finally, he has found peace. We see it in small signs during our days. We see it in the sudden appearance of a treasured inside joke on a bad day.

His headstone lies at the far edge of the cemetery and when I visit, I close my eyes and talk to him lie we’re out shopping for my birthday or out riding the boat. I leave coins as a sign that I was there. A reminder to him and maybe to others who pass by that while he is gone, forgetting him would be impossible.

He would have been fifty years old today.

Happy Birthday

Be still my heart.

I blinked. I swear all I did was blink for just one second and there you were. Big girls.

Two short years ago I was on my way home from the hospital with a prescription for bed rest. I was so scared. Your Daddy was too. We were scared for your lives although the Doctors said that you’d be fine even if you came early. I took solace in your kicks and pushes in my sore, huge belly. You made it hard to breathe and now you take my breath away all the time. Two short days after they sent me home you swept into our lives like a tornado. None of us has slowed down since.

You’re supposed to be napping right now but you’re giggling and “reading” a book together instead.

Once upon a time, when we shared a body, you were the intruders into my life and now the tables have turned. Although, now that I think about it, you must have thought me rude to separate you to begin with. You’ve always shared your own little world. I pray that that never changes my loves.

I’m so proud of you my girls. You are perfect and beautiful and so so funny.

I see remnants in you of so many people who have gone before us but would have loved to be here with you. I see my Pawpaw’s smile in your mischievous grin. His gift to all of us. I see your brother and sisters in you too.

Yet you are still perfectly yourselves. Your DNA may be identical but your spirits, while connected, each occupy their own space.

My daughters I pray every day for you to know your strength. Never forget that you came into this world fighting. With your first breaths in this world you unleashed your battle cries. You sounded your barbaric yawp and I pray that you never stop.

Happy Birthday my Hun and Conqueror. I love you more than life itself. Now please, slow down and let me hold you for just a minute longer just the way you are right now.

My Job As A Mother In 2020

This month is Black History month in the U.S. and, I’m ashamed to admit, that it’s really the first year that I’ve taken the opportunity to educate myself about Black History. I was raised by a mother who spent time for many years passionately teaching her students about The Civil Rights Movement, but I’d never really dug past the major events. I see now that I have huge gaps in my knowledge about black history. I’ve got slavery, Civil Rights, and modern history. Everything else is unknown to me. Now felt like as good a time as any to stop being so shallow. The more I’ve learned, the more I’ve realized just how little other cultures are accurately represented in the pop culture and media that I take in and surround myself with (music being the only real exception). I know that this isn’t a surprise to most people like it was for me. I’m probably going to catch hell for even saying that it was but I can admit when I’m wrong. It just wasn’t something I ever really thought much about before now.

I read an article last week about black cowboys in the old west and was blown away. I felt like a complete idiot. All my ideas about the old west came from movies, tv, and Little House on the Prairie. I’d just taken them as accurate and assumed that there were very few black cowboys. How freaking stupid am I?! Not once did I think about the lack of diversity that I saw even though somewhere in my brain I knew that it didn’t make sense for there to only be white people in the bustling western towns. That’s privilege. It didn’t look different than me so I didn’t have to think about it. It’s a privilege to not have to think about how my culture and race are represented in pop culture because we are the norm.

As I’ve said before, my goal as a parent is to raise kids who aren’t assholes. All of this has had me doing a lot of thinking about what it means to raise well rounded, caring children in today’s society. My job as a mother in 2020 is to raise children who appreciate both their heritage and that of cultures outside of their own and understand these cultures’ importance to the world around them. My job as a mother is to raise children who understand that, while all people are different, no one should be afforded any less respect or dignity than them because of the way they look.

I have to take it a step further too. Learning can’t just stop there. They need to learn that people with disabilities should have a place at the table. They need to learn that people of all beliefs, sexual orientations, genders, and ages deserve a seat at the table. My job is to teach them that all human life has value. My job is to make them understand that while you don’t have to love everyone, it is important to appreciate that everyone is a piece of this great big world and that all people have a role to play no matter the size.

In order to do this job, I have to recognize that I’ve got to use my resources. I can’t tell the stories and share the journeys of others all on my own because I haven’t even come close to living them. Instead I have to give my children the opportunity meet people who are different than them. They need to be able to ask questions and hear the truth from the people that have lived these journeys. I have to step out of my comfort zone so that my kids can grow to be better humans. When we educate ourselves, when we allow ourselves to be open to learning, and when we approach learning with humility and respect, we take the first step towards making the world a better place and being better individuals.

Dad’s Love

I haven’t really written much about my Dad so I felt like today, his birthday, was a great time to do it. He’s not really a big dramatic gesture kind of guy. We celebrated his 50th birthday last weekend with tacos, cake and balloons. That type of celebration is perfect for him though. He’s the quiet type but he can be rowdy and silly too. My Dad and I are very close but that looks different than my relationship with my Mom. It’s sometimes hard to put into words because feelings aren’t usually a big topic of discussion between us. We’ve always said I love you in weird ways. Ways that I didn’t truly appreciate until I was out of the house and had children of my own.

Love sometimes looked like holding me and rocking me to sleep in his ugly green recliner. As I got older that turned into holding me and rocking me as I cried over boys or grades or whatever it was that was hurting my heart at the time.

When there were monsters in my closet it looked like a stop by my bedroom after the lights were out to say “Boogie! Boogie! Boogie!” to scare the monsters away.

“I love you” also came in the form of braiding my hair. Long before YouTube videos of Dads doing their daughter’s hair became viral sensations, my Dad was doing it. While Mom was in college he’d fix my hair every morning for school. I don’t mean a lopsided ponytail either. He’d get up and French braid it. He’d even braid Mom’s hair. I’m positive that if I asked him today to braid my hair he would.

In my elementary and middle school years, “I love you” looked like an extra snack in his lunch box just for me so I’d have a treat for the ride home. I’d get in the car and immediately start digging around his beat up old lunchbox like a truffle pig. I still have the lunchbox and use it from time to time. I pack extra snacks for the kids too. I know now that, just like me, when he saw that extra snack at lunch time it was a reminder of why he was working so hard and what the end of the day would bring.

As I grew older, “I love you” took other shapes. Helping me to decorate the house for Christmas when I was off from school and he didn’t have work. It was just us before Mom and my brother got home. Teaching me how to make those giant Christmas bows and icing out of milk and powdered sugar, both things that his Mom taught him.

It looked and still looks like a random message saying, “FF” or “Foo Fighta!” An inside joke that started when I was in high school. Or a message with a quote from one of our favorite movies.

When I got married, “I love you” looked like walking me down the aisle. It looked like being a strong enough man to see and appreciate my Bonus Dad and the love I have for him and agreeing to share the honor with him as well. It looked like picking out the song that we would dance to and crying our eyes out in front of everyone while we danced. It looked like immediately jumping in to be a grandparent and accepting my Bonus kids as his grandchildren. (Including spoiling them rotten.)

When I had my Twins “I love you” looked like holding my hand as he visited me before I went into the operating room and trying to ease my fears on the scariest day of my life. It looked like being blown away by the little lives that were now in this world and coming by to visit the NICU after work when he knew it was just me up there.

“I love you” has always and will always be heard when he answers the phone. Although I’m almost 30 with children of my own he still answers with “Hey Baby Girl.” It will always be the words, “I’m so proud of you,” no matter what stage of life I’m in. It has always and will always be the sight of him waving goodbye and giving me the sign for “I Love You.” Even if I love you was hard to say or, in the case of my many on-stage performances, impossible to hear, Dad’s always been there to sign, “I love you.”

My Dad isn’t perfect, but he’s the perfect Dad for me. I hope 50 treats him even better than all the years before. Foo Fighta!

The Words We Say, The Lies We Choose

For those of you who don’t know me personally or are just joining me here in the Mom Van, it’s important to know that I don’t believe in coincidences. So, when the Universe smacked me with two messages that boiled down to, “stop being such a jerk to yourself!” I felt the need to really listen then share what I’d learned.

The first sign came to me about a week ago. I was laying in bed scrolling through my timeline when I saw a picture that made my stomach drop. It was a drawing of a young girl hugging her mother’s neck. On it were the words, “If you wouldn’t say it to your daughter, don’t say it to yourself.” Agh! Okay Facebook. I thought this was supposed to be a mindless scroll. Shit just got real.

“If you wouldn’t say it to your daughter, don’t say it to yourself.”

I would NEVER EVER even THINK to say the things that I often say to myself to my daughters. It brought tears to my eyes just thinking about it. I pictured looking at my daughters face and saying the things to her that I say to myself in the mirror all the time. “Your hair looks like shit.” “You need to get rid of that muffin top, you look fat.” “You literally screwed up everything you did today.” “You’re a horrible mother.” “You’re a crappy wife.” I wouldn’t even say some of these things to people that I DON’T LIKE!

WHAT. THE. HELL?!

It shook me up. For the following days I made an attempt to think more positively. I fought with that stupid part of me that I let tell me I’m not enough. I plodded along until the second sign occurred while reading another chapter in “You Are A Badass” by Jen Sincero. This book has hit me so hard on multiple occasions that I’ve had to put it down and take some time to process. The self love struggle is real, especially when you got bad at it without even realizing you’d changed.

Anyway, I’m reading when I take in this line. “Do not spend your life clinging to the insulting decisions you’ve made about yourself.”

OOF!

“The insulting decisions you’ve made about yourself.”

The Universe did not see fit to let me off with a slap on the wrist for being ugly to myself. Here was a big fat reminder that I CHOOSE how I think and speak about and to myself. No one forces me to have crappy beliefs about myself. There is no evil little monster that lives in my mirror and smacks me with a stick when I think positive things. I have chosen this. I have fed myself this poison and then tried to tell myself that self love meant yoga and bubble baths. Let me tell you, those are awesome but its a lot less restorative when you’re in a bubble bath thinking, “good grief look at the water rippling off that jiggly thigh.”

At what point in our lives do we decide that saying negative things to ourselves is okay? After years of teaching myself to see the beauty in who I am when did I stop looking in the mirror and saying, “My eyes look great today,” and start saying, “Damn, what bus ran you over last night?”

It’s like I had kids and decided that there were only two types of mothers: the dumpster fires and the picture perfects. Once I realized perfect wasn’t happening I fully embraced the dumpster fire. This doesn’t mean I don’t try to be awesome when it comes to my kids. It does mean that I’ve accepted the lies that I chose to feed myself. I’ve welcomed back the old doubts and insecurity and ugliness that I pushed away long ago. I’m not saying I should get all dolled up every day or expect myself to be perfect. That’s far from my intent here. What I’m saying, is that it’s not wrong to love myself too. That it’s NOT OKAY to treat myself like crap because “I know I can’t be picture perfect so why even try.” I am capable of loving myself and my family.

It’s time for me to learn a lesson from my mother who has always been my cheerleader and from my own parenting style. If I want to speak negativity to myself then I must first picture my daughter and ask myself what I’d do if someone said that to her. If I’d get mad then it’s time to rephrase and refocus my energy on something else. When I see myself choosing my old lies then it’s time to remind myself that they are exactly that, lies. I must choose every day to love myself, just like I choose to love my husband and children and all of the other amazing people in my life.

I am fun. I am smart. I deserve happiness. I am a great Mom and Bonus Mom. I am a successful person and I have earned and deserve that success. My eyes are still pretty and though this body is not what it once was, the story it tells makes it beautiful. The Diana of now is stronger than Past Diana ever dreamed she could be and I’ll be damned if I let myself forget it again.

Running Away to Recharge

Last week my husband and I were blessed with the opportunity to RUN AWAY. My amazing brother decided for Christmas to give us the gift of escape and fly us out to spend a few days in sunny San Diego. Our entire family (literally all 6 of our parents and 4 grandparents plus my brother) and several friends banded together and chipped in to make our escape possible. They watched our kids and took them to and from school, gave us money to put towards our trip (some with the instructions to drink haha!), took us to and from the airport, and even loaned us luggage. My husband’s Dad gave him extra work so we wouldn’t struggle financially with the time off. My team at work came together to make sure everything ran smoothly and gave me the peace of mind I needed to step away. A friend came over and took care of our dogs. With the logistics it took to get us out there you’d think we were moving an entire village.

I’ve been stressed out and tired for what seems like forever. I knew people could see it but I wasn’t sure just how much until today when one of the ladies on my staff commented on how great I looked since I got back from my vacation. She said I’d looked so worn out before that she’d thought of how badly I needed a vacation. It stunned me at first but in my heart I knew just how right she was. Everyone in my “village” saw it too and not just in me. They saw it in my husband as well. We’ve spent much of our time together going non-stop. We desperately needed to slow down and just be.

San Diego was exactly what we needed. We stayed up late (made slightly easier by the time difference). We tried new beer, new food, and the best ice cream I’ve ever had. We visited the the Veteran’s memorial where my grandfather sat and, I like to believe, made his peace in the last weeks of his life. We met family that I’d heard of for my entire life and they were everything I’d imagined and more. We ran away from my brother and mischievously explored some amazing ships. We reconnected and remembered what it was like to hold hands everywhere we went. Remembered what it was like to be us and not just Mommy and Daddy. As the experiences came and went I fell deeper in love with my husband. I felt my spirit find a deeper peace with where I am in life. Rested, assured that I am not just a boring Mom with no personal identity.

I promise to write more about our journey but for now I’m content to bask in the joy that accompanied the entire trip. I know that I am changed for the better. My heart feels so very full.

Chasing Dreams

Seven years ago today I wrote on Facebook that I’d sent my resume to a local fledgeling museum. At that point it didn’t even have a building or a staff of more than one. I wanted to work for the organization so badly that I would have taken any position. A couple of days later I got a polite response, “we are not currently hiring but thank you for your interest.” I gave up on my dream of working in a museum right there and moved on. Around here managerial positions at museums are few and far between and I wasn’t interested in moving.

From that day on my life took a seemingly different direction. I worked retail as a manager selling paint for one of the world’s leading paint companies. I shot up through the ranks quickly and learned a lot only to see that dream crash on the rocks as I realized my soul wasn’t in it. It wasn’t my place anymore. As much as I’d loved it when I started, I was unhappy now. So I moved on when opportunity knocked.

I went on to work at one of the world’s most well known tech companies in a field that I was not at all familiar with. They took a chance on me and gave me confidence. I’d stepped out of management and learned more about humility and not being an asshole just because you’re in charge. I learned how to listen to the voice of my people. I’m not perfect by any means but they laid the ground work. I thought I was on my path. God had other plans. Things were starting to reshape at the company and I didn’t like where it was headed in terms of my personal career path. I applied for a few jobs elsewhere but heard nothing.

Then one day almost three years ago, I got a message in my inbox. “Are you interested in a Visitor Services position?” The museum that I’d given up on all those years before was finally opening. This time, we were both ready to face the world.

I say all of this to remind you that just because the dream doesn’t come true right now, doesn’t mean that it won’t ever. The Lord will show you the way if you keep your eyes and heart open. Be Brave my loves, you’ll find your path.