Several years ago I wrote about how I had taken up jogging and planned to run a 5K a few months later. Ever since I put my goal in print, I found myself scrambling for excuses whenever people ask me how my 5K went. But the real reason I hadn’t done it was that I was waiting till I was able to run the entire race without stopping and wanted the thrill of running across the finish line.
So when my husband called me recently to ask if our family wanted to run a 5K together the next day, I hesitated. I knew the race would involve more walking than running for me but I couldn’t say no to my kids who were begging me to run with them.
But the next morning I found myself spending 3.1 miles worth of my time trying to convince my tired 10-year old daughter to finish the race in freezing temperatures. I honestly think my mouth got more of a workout from trying to bribe her to run than my legs did from actually running.
But when I saw the cheering crowd at the finish line, I realized that I could still have my Chariots of Fire Moment. As I sprinted ahead of Laurel, I heard her crying, “Mommy, Don’t Leave me.” I let out a big sigh and I turned around to grab her hand. As we walked hand-in-hand across the finish line, I decided that the big smile on my daughter’s face was more rewarding than a cheering crowd.
| 13 February 2012, 12:00 am
When I was growing up, I remember there was a paperback book on the shelf in my grandparents' basement called The Seven Minutes by Irving Wallace. The book was published in 1969, so I probably found it when I was perusing the shelves in the early 70's when I was 11 or 12. It was VERY risque and graphic, so naturally I had to secretly read it. All these years later, I still think of that book when I savor my own special time...the nine minutes (which have nothing to do with the subject matter of the book if you were curious enough to click on the link).
Nine minutes. In nine minutes I get some of the most decadent sleep in the world. In nine minutes I can have a vivid, memorable dream. In nine minutes, I can lie still and contemplate the coming day. In nine minutes I can feel like a rebel. A rebel with a snooze alarm.
I wonder who decided that nine minutes was the appropriate time for an extra few Zs in the morning. They probably did all kinds of consumer testing like analyzing dream cycles, REM sleep, impact on mood, etc. Or the person who invented it found out that the clock wouldn't accept a two-digit number for a snooze cycle, so went with the next lower single-digit number. It doesn't matter. I love my nine minutes.
I'm pretty sure that with my fancy iPhone I could program my snoozing for any length of time I wanted. But there is something comforting about nine minutes. I can justify it. I'll only have one cup of coffee before leaving instead of two. I don't REALLY need a shower. I can put my make-up on at stoplights. (This is not the NOW me because I work at home in my pajamas...but I remember my commuting days!)
I have to leave the house to take my son to school at 6:20. My alarm is typically set to 5:50. I could hit the snooze button and still be up before 6! I had plenty of time to make sure my son was up and running. If I set up the coffee maker the night before, I might even be able to have a second cup before driving.
It's only recently that I have consciously appreciated the nine minutes. I don't know why. Because really, if I wanted to, I could come home and go back to sleep after dropping my son off. But I don't. And it wouldn't be the same. I decided to try an experiment and see if a SECOND nine minutes would be as delightful as the first. So I reset my alarm to 5:40. I KNOW my iPhone could make it 5:41, but when you grew up analog, you just can't do that.
It was as delightful as the first nine minutes...maybe even moreso because I knew I could hit the snooze AGAIN and another nine minutes of decadence. OR, I could jump out of bed full of energy and get a head start on the day. And I really do that sometimes. Not often.
I would like express my appreciation to the unsung hero who invented the snooze alarm and came up with that magic time of nine minutes. I think of you every day.
Now if they could just come up with a snooze alarm that works on children!
| 13 April 2011, 12:00 am
A few nights ago, my two youngest children and I were watching the ABC television show, "What Would You Do?" The ethical dilemma show sets up scenarios to determine if unsuspecting strangers would step in when they saw something happen that was wrong. In this last episode, for example, one actor portrayed a homeless man, and another actor portrayed a well-to-do businessman who steals a dollar from the homeless man's cup in order to buy a cup of coffee. Would bystanders intervene?
In another scenario, a husky teenager harasses and threatens his mother at the pharmacy counter. The teenager, mother and pharmacist are all actors, but the other customers are not. Will they step in when they notice the mother's (made up) black eye?
From the comfort of our family room, it is so easy to see the situations clearly. To declare definitively what the right thing to do is, and that we would indeed do it. But in reality, it's not always so easy. We sometimes hesitate, wondering if we should intervene. We worry that when it's not an actor we're interrupting, chastising or chasing down, we could put ourselves, and the ones around us in true danger.
Which makes it particularly impressive, then, to think of the many people who have stepped forward, not before a camera, but in quiet moments of real life, when they see something that is just wrong. When they see situation that has gone on long enough.
February is Black History Month, and I've been thinking about the courage that it took for people, of all races, to recognize injustice, step forward and say, "enough."
Rosa Parks is a great example. We've all heard about how she refused to give up her seat on the bus, but what is particularly interesting is that on that December 1, she hadn't planned on participating in a protest. While she had been involved in civil rights activities, on that day, Girlfriend was just trying to get home after work. But when she was commanded to give up her seat, she spontaneously refused, because the law just wasn't fair. She had no way of knowing that her action would further a movement, or that her name would become part of history. She just made the choice to do what she thought was right.
The onlookers in "What Would You Do" had the same choice. Some of them confronted the agitator head on. Some provided quiet support to the "victim." Some backed away, ignoring the situation. I wonder what would have happened if Rosa Parks had just quietly given up her seat?
We all face decision points daily, some small, some large. The danger is overlooking the seemingly small ones, which ultimately are sometimes the most pivotal. I hope that my children and I will not ignore those moments when we need to say "enough" and that we always have the courage to step up and do the right thing.
I counted the oranges. That's how I know what my struggle will be. The older my twins get, the less unique my story. My challenges will become more and more like anyone with closely spaced children because having two two-year-olds or two three-year-olds is not all that different from having one two-year-old and one three-year-old. There will be quite a few more people in my boat as we move along on this journey.
Always wanting to be prepared, I started reading twin-specific books and articles almost as soon as I knew we were expecting our double blessing. Most of the literature focuses on twins as babies, partly because that is the most unique time, and partly because it’s just hard.
The majority of what I’ve read past this stage has centered on two topics. The first is whether or not twins should be in the same class in school or purposefully separated. I don’t see this as an issue for us. I fully expect G and M to adapt beautifully to whichever situation they find themselves. The other theme deals with preserving the individuality of twins. I admit I worried about this before they were born. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall into the habit of referring to little M and little G as “the twins.” This resulted in my constantly referring to them as “the babies.” I’m not sure that’s any better, except that they will not always be babies so there is a natural end to that habit.
But I no longer worry about their individuality. They’ve been displaying their inimitable personalities since birth. G is my sensitive observer, the one who notices every single time I try to slip out of the room, finds any new object fascinating and likes to snuggle. M never stops. She’s always after something and is so frustrated that she cannot talk. I can see in her eyes all the opinions that she desperately wants to share. I know neither one will let me forget how separate they are.
So what is this struggle that I see in the future? It’s the notion that fair does not always mean equal. Life is not fair of course. Some of us accept this earlier than others, but we all accept it if we ever want to be happy. But while life is not fair, Mom should be. I try to be. And most of the time I’m pretty comfortable that I am.
Every parent with more than one child wants to be fair. When your kids are different ages though, fairly different is easily fair. It doesn’t matter if one could sit at the table without being strapped in a whole year ahead of another or if one gave up naps at a younger age. You simply try to dole out privileges and responsibilities as they seem appropriate.
I’m afraid it won’t be as easy with two kids the same age. Already I’ve occasionally found myself trying to force an impossibly equal treatment for “the babies.” For example, I cannot physically put two babies to bed at the same time. Their beds are in separate rooms. In working out a bedtime routine, I first considered putting one baby to bed first every night, reasoning that at least that would be expected. Then I thought of alternating so each had equal turns staying up those extra ten minutes. Then I came to my senses and decided that the best idea was to put to bed first whichever baby seemed more tired (i.e. cranky) regardless of which baby was first on any other night.
Then there was lunch. I had opened up a can of mandarin oranges to feed the babies. At some point, I realized that I was counting the oranges to make sure each baby was getting the same amount. I made this discovery when I came across a particularly large slice and paused to consider whether it should count as two. I knew I was being ridiculous even as I knew it was not the first time I had counted their food.
Of course my husband admits to a different type of forced equality. He has slipped a few extra Cheerios to whoever weighed less at the last check-up and nudged along the twin who sat up and crawled later than the other. Both of us are normally rational people. I’m not concerned about our weird internal hang-ups scarring the children. (I’m not even worried about M and G accusing me of being unfair. I already know that’s a given.) This is just something I’ll be thinking about as they grow.
The other thing I wonder is whether or not I’ll miss the attention. There is a definite irony to the fact that as it becomes less and less obvious that M and G are twins, fewer people will feel the need to stop us and ask if they are. Fewer people will gawk and point us out in a crowd (because of our twins anyway, there will still be those who think four children in one family is some sort of spectacle). I’ve never liked the extra attention. It’s hard enough to manage all the buckles involved in car seats and stroller seats without feeling like everyone is watching to see how I do it. And it’s not my imagination. I once had someone start clapping in the middle of a parking lot because he was impressed with the way I folded the double stroller.
But I’ve gotten used to the fact that people regard my babies as something truly special. Will I feel like we’ve lost something when no one comments on their presence? Will I find myself telling strangers that M and G are twins when one hits a growth spurt ahead of the other? Will I be reluctant to let M ride her bike without training wheels until D can get her brother to catch up? I doubt it. I think we’ll adapt beautifully to whatever changes our kids throw our way and we will largely do it in private. But I know better than to say anything with certainty. I know better than to try and predict the future. After all, I never would have predicted that we’d have twins.
| 26 February 2010, 12:00 am
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