These days my kitchen floor is covered with chewed up bits of paper towels and my living room has squeaky toys in every corner. Each time I want to leave the house, I embark on a treasure hunt to find one of my shoes that has been buried under the couch. It’s not that my housekeeping has taken a turn for the worse, but a new addition has joined our family - an adorable 10-month-old hound mix puppy named Katie. We recently adopted her through a wonderful local rescue group and our home is now filled with the energy that only a puppy can muster. But the amount of love and joy that she brings to our home has been worth every minute of work. She waits at the front door for us and gives us a hero’s welcome even if we just went to the mailbox. And it’s impossible not to smile when watching our silly puppy run around the house with our belongings in her mouth to get us to play a game of chase with her. It has made me proud as a mom to see how much the kids have helped with training her, taking her out and throwing endless balls for her to fetch. While our other dogs tolerate the kids, I have to say that Katie loves them with every wiggly bone in her body. And the fact that she snuggles at the foot of Laure’s bed each night is totally worth the price of replacing a few shoes.
| 6 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
Dr. Rama Garimella, an experienced cardiologist at Cary Cardiology, knows the secret of living a long and more fulfilling life: taking good care of your heart. So when the North Carolina Division of Public Health revealed that, at least in our state, heart disease had dropped to the number two cause of fatalities (behind cancer), for Garimella, it was a victory.
But for one group of patients, it is still a little more difficult to convince to make time to take better care of their hearts: women.
Studies have shown that women do not have the textbook symptoms that are often associated with a heart attack, Garimella says.
"They don't have typical chest pain, typical radiation to the left arm. A lot of times, they can have symptoms like indigestion, shortness of breath, fatigue or jaw pain," she says. And because these symptoms are so nebulous, women may be reluctant to go to the emergency room or to their primary care physician for treatment.
"Lots of women think they're crazy because of the multiple symptoms," Garimella says. And if the women do decide to get their symptoms checked out, Garimella adds, some doctors may misdiagnose these atypical signs.
In addition, women are sometimes reluctant to take the time out to care for themselves. "I tell them—you need to go to the hospital right now," Garimella says. "And they'll go: 'Oh, I need to take care of my husband.'"
Your husband can live, Garimella reminds them. You need to take care of yourself, she advises them.
Some risk factors for heart disease, such as age, race and family history are simply unavoidable. But others are. Here's how:
To help prevent heart disease, as Dr. Garimella tells her patients: take the time you need to take care of your health before you can take care of someone else. Or, in the doctor's own words, "an ounce of prevention is more than worth a pound of treatment."
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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