And it's Only 10:31 A.M.

to bed, 9 pm
up with Karter at 10:30 pm
up all night
5:30 am, Karter sleeps
6 am Arie kisses me bye, says Lisse is up
Lisse up, play, bottle, snotty
Lisse down
reprieve
Lisse AND Karter up, snotty, crying
feeding, crying, snotty, can't breathe
nose sucker...they hate it!
crying, rubbing snot all over mouths and noses
smell the coffee, can't get to it
interrupted feeding...over and over...wiping snot
wow, Karter has another tooth
Oops...stepped in something.
Not sure if it's rice cereal or snot. Yuck.
Cleaning...
More snot...internet research...
crap, no medicines for this for kids under 4.
Pausing, silence
And it's only 10:31 am.
here we go again with more snot and crying...

The Dreaded Click

My daughter Lisse has a special ability. She is able to make a clicking sound about as loud as a bottlenose dolphin. Thankfully she doesn't click that fast or we would all be quite concerned about her genetics. However, this whole clicking thing is interesting to me and did I say loud? Oh yes.

It reminds me of my mom's whistle. When I was a kid it was understood that we were not to be any farther away from our mom than the distance her whistle could travel. In hindsight that was still too far to be away from mom considering her whistle could probably travel a mile! No kidding, she has a Lisse-like amazing ability to produce a whistle that you definitely want to wear hearing protection for should you be standing next to her. She blows out to whistle, which is something I have never been able to do, but my son Koen is very capable of. I'm beginning to think it's a genetic thing that skips generations like some twins. Oh, I might be onto something there.

So, back to the clicking. Recently Arie and I spent a nice evening together watching a movie. The time together was lovely and we desperately needed to unwind. The babies had been in bed a good, long time. We were able to watch the whole movie with no interruptions. I don't think we even had to stop for a potty break - a highly unusual accomplishment for us.

After the movie, we headed to our bedroom to turn in for the night. We brushed our teeth, did our potty business, then settled in for some much-needed rest. Both of us had our iPhones in hand for a short time, setting our alarm clocks, checking our e-mail one last time, etc. I even did a little reading of "In Praise of Stay-at-Home Moms" on my e-reader for a time before turning off my phone and setting it down next to the bed. Arie and I kissed each other good night, laid our heads down, and nestled into our comfy pillows. Not one whole minute went by, within which we'd not even begun to fully relax our muscles to allow for sleep and here it came. . .

Here is our exchange in those moments:

Audri: "Did you hear that?"
Arie: "Yep."
Audri: "Is that what I think it is?"
Arie: "Yep."
Audri: "Crap, she's wide awake!"
Arie: "Yeah."

(Those who don't really know my husband think this is his typical exchange. Lots of "yeahs" and "yeps". That's not really true for the record, but on this night it actually made for a little comic relief.)

We breathed a collective sigh.

So much for a good night's sleep. Arie had to be up early for work and I was on baby watch. The dreaded click had just indicated that I was not even close to being able to lie down. Dragging myself from the bed, I headed to Lisse's room to find her standing at her crib railing clicking like tomorrow had already come. She was already talking to me by the time I had her rail down and was lifting her from what should have been her sanctuary of slumber for at least another seven hours. I carried her to the living room where she was treated to a fresh one (a.k.a. diaper) and a cold one (a.k.a. bottle, not beer). Surprisingly, in spite of her initial bright-eyed, bushy-tailed appearance the clean diaper and soothing bottle zapped what was left of her energy. I would have bet you my next well-earned pedicure she was going to be up for a smooth hour at minimum. Imagine my relief when she was rubbing her eyes and back in bed in less than 20 minutes. Whew! Situation averted! It was time to finally hit the hay and as I was drifting into sleep I think I was actually praying that the dreaded click would not return.

Author's Note:
I understand now, ironically, that it was my mom who taught Lisse the "dreaded click." LOL Lisse also learned from Memere how to "whistle" for the dogs, only Lisse's whistle is more like a high-pitched, F sharp from the throat. LOL

You Always Know Where to Find Me

Up to this point my mastectomy experience has been physically on par with everything I've read on the subject. From personal stories, to medical literature, and the proverbial mastectomy for dummies kind of books, I have gleaned every drop of what to expect that my brain would possibly hold.

Today I put another check mark on my list of "yep, dealt with that one too." I wasn't engaged in anything particularly strenuous unless you call sitting in the drive-thru at Dairy Queen strenuous. That's when it suddenly hit me, a burning sensation blended with a sharp, stabbing pain in my nipple area, well at least the area my nipple used to call home. My first reaction was to grab my breast. If anyone had seen me in that moment they might have thought I was having a heart attack and called 911 on my behalf. Can't you see it now? Me explaining to some poor, unsuspecting EMT that my boob that is no longer a boob is in pain. They might opt to transport me to the psych ward instead.

It only lasted a couple seconds before I was back to normal. Funny, I don't feel normal right now. My chest is so tight that I feel as if I've been wearing an ill-fitting bra for more than six weeks. Anyone who might feel me would think I've stuffed said bra on each side with a fist-sized smooth rock. My husband says I have pecks and very masculine ones at that. Somehow that doesn't bring me as much comfort as if he were to tell me I look fit. We both laugh at his peck joke. The comic relief is nice.

The ghost pains lasted into the evening, then slipped into the night, along with accompanying thoughts of amputee war vets. (Wow, I guess I am an amputee, though someone missing a limb might take exception to the notion that I would liken my loss unto theirs. Isn't ghost pain, ghost pain? These amputee thoughts are too large for me to deal with right now and will have to wait.)

Thankfully, the pains were replaced with this lovely moment of quiet solitude, offset only by the whirring sound of the washing machine. Throughout this ordeal, I have been blessed with moments such as this. These are the times when God finds me, lifts me up, and begins healing me from the inside out. Suddenly the scars running across my chest feel as if they're fading. That's just how life is. It is in those quiet moments full of reflection, full of God, that we find the strength to withstand the pressure and pain that life is punctuated with. I thank God that He always knows where to find me.

Watermark sings a song titled "Where to Find Me." No other song more perfectly fits where I am at this moment. Here are the lyrics:

When the lie is deeper than I know
You capture me and You carry me home
You see these wounds and rescue me
You always heal things beautifully

And I close my eyes
And You can still my heart
And I call out Your name…
‘Cause You always know
You always know where to find me…
You always know
You always know where to find me…

And where could I wander that You wouldn’t be?
Whom have I but You who really knows me?
Proven to be the God that sees
From strength to strength You’ve lifted me…

And I could cry from the depths of the earth
I could stand on a mountaintop
And I can speak Your name out to the wind
And You go before me…
And You fall around me…

‘Cause You always know
You always know where to find me…
You always know You always know where to find me…

The First Step Alone is Scary

A friend of my mom's recently lost her husband of many years. In fact, they were lifelong sweethearts. My heart was aching for her as I sent her a pitiful excuse of a condolence message, hoping she would be able to read my heart in my words. What do you say in a moment like that? Most people struggle with the right words. It's so human to want to find a way to make things better, to take away the pain or at the very least dull the rawness. If there is one thing I've learned it's that I am not responsible for taking away another person's pain, nor is it possible. The only thing required of me, of any of us, is to open ourselves to being in that vulnerable place with that person we love - to walk with them as they experience the pain. Most of us have experienced the need for someone to reach out to us like that.

The date was March 5, 1997. I had been married only 10 weeks and 4 days. I was playing pool with friends at the club/dining facility on base. Over the sound of the music someone called my name. Who would've been calling the club asking for me? I got to the phone convinced it was probably my husband calling me. He was stationed in California and I was stationed in Maine and we were trying to work the system to get us stationed together.

The voice on the line was my division officer, summoning me to my quarters and making me incredibly nervous. Had I done something wrong? Was I in some sort of trouble? What a minute...he called me after duty hours. Hey, he told me to meet him at my quarters. It was shortly after 9 pm. As I walked to toward my car, trying to put two-and-two together, I realized it must be serious otherwise he would've waited for the next day. I broke into a run...

Whipping my car into the parking lot was a reflection of my state of mind. I felt a sense of dread. Something told me it was bad news and I began to pray before my foot ever hit the first step up to the third floor of my building. "Please don't let the Chaplain be with him. Please don't the Chaplain be with him!" I bolted up the stairs two-at-a-time. Rounding the landing and heading up the third flight I caught my first glimpse of the dress blue uniforms and patent leather shoes. My division officer had an intense, sad, and strained look on his face. Standing to his left was the Chaplain. Oh God!

The Lieutenant said, "Let's go to your room," and we began the long walk down the hallway. The world seemed to be going in slow motion all around me, even though my mind was going wild. I kept repeating, "Who is it? Who is it?" I was scared to death he would tell me my Mom had died. She was the first person on my mind. He refused to tell me anything until we reached my room. As the door closed behind the three of us, he said I might want to sit down. I vividly recall saying, "I don't want to sit down. Just tell me who it is." My breathing was heavy and I felt slightly as if I would pass-out from the anticipation before he said the words that would shatter me. I would like to recall his exact wording. Maybe it would reflect what you always hear in the movies, "I regret to inform you, etc." In reality, he had never done this before. Being the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer (CACO) is an extra duty for him and he only has a manual to go by. I'm certain he didn't follow the manual exactly. Could every loss be that cookie-cutter?

The truth is the rest of the next three days was a blur. LT was not informing me of the death of my mom or any other member of my immediate family. In hind sight I felt silly ever thinking that in the first place. Family deaths in the military don't warrant a late evening visit from your upper chain-of-command. Very few details were abundantly clear in those first few moments. First, my husband was missing from the ship. He was DUSTWUN (Duty Status Whereabouts Unknown). Second, the ship was out at sea and he had been accounted for prior to leaving their last port. Third, there was a massive search-and-rescue mission on that would involve the U.S. Navy, Coast Guard, and Mexican Navy, as well as civilian vessels. They had been combing the Pacific Ocean for approximately 12 hours already with no sign of Jason. I sent them away even as they protested that I needed someone with me. Then, I cried myself to sleep...alone in my room. How could I be in a room with anyone and share this moment? It was too raw. My soul was vacant, numb. Was this really happening? What if they didn't find him? I pushed that thought from my mind, convincing myself of what hope still lingered.

For a split-second when I awoke the next morning, I thought I was crying from having had a bad dream. I wonder if I cried all night in my sleep. I'll never know because I was alone, inside and out. The next visit from my LT was to inform me that the Navy had called off the search after 23 hours. I was livid! They couldn't even search for a full day? He would be designated as lost-at-sea. Two days after he went missing, he was declared dead and I was a widow at 24 years-old.

The story doesn't end there. It was only the beginning of a journey. There is so much life between that day and this that cannot be told at this moment. It's been more than 13 years since Jason died and today it's rushing back to me as I write to my mom's friend. I too lost my husband, though my loss was so different from hers. We were not lifelong sweethearts. Our story had hardly begun. I just needed to let her know I felt a glimmer of her pain and could walk with her if she needed a hand to hold either literally or figuratively.

As I closed my condolence letter to her, I included a note about my 1 year-old son, Karter. She has spent plenty quality time with my kids and is a doting grandmother figure for them. I told her that Karter started walking two days ago and he laughs every time he lets go and stands on his own. His face says to me, "I'm treading into new territory and I'm scared." With a long pause, he finally took that first step in spite of his uncertainty of the consequences. He has no idea what to expect of himself or the situation. He only knows it's awkward and he's fearful. I wonder if in this moment my mom's friend can relate to his fear of taking that first step.

Once he let's go, Karter realizes there are only two options, going down or going forward. He chooses to go forward. I chose the same and I know this lovely, faith-filled woman will do the same.

Dainty Wipes

Anyone who has ever fed a baby knows that the clean-up can be tricky. Those sweet, little boogers can turn their heads like owls! You grab a moist cloth and the chase for the sticky mouth is on. Our babies are no different.

We have learned with Lisse that she is especially an owlet, only it's like she's an owl-banshee hybrid. The moment we come close to wiping that goo off her face, she begins pivoting maneuvers. It's like she can do both a 360 degree rotation, as well as touch the back of her head to the middle of her shoulder blades! You can imagine that getting all the offending organic material off her face is nearly impossible under these circumstances. In steps a little creative parenting...

First, to throw her off I soften and sweeten my voice. Next, I gently move my hand toward her face and begin dabbing in a very lady-like fashion at the corners of her mouth, all the while almost cooing the words "dainty wipe, dainty wipe". She gets it. She's secure in the knowledge that I'm not going to drag some rough, wet cloth across her face, making her feel like I'm trying to reposition her lips, cheeks, and nose. Suddenly she becomes completely motionless and compliant allowing the cleaning to commence. Historically I only have her in that state for a few moments, so I know my movements must be altogether gentle, stealthy, and efficient. I think I may have it down to about three to five seconds now depending on what she ate for that meal.

This morning, the babies had their breakfast and were settled comfortably in their play area while Arie and I made our own morning meal. Amazingly we were able to make coffee, toast, and omelets with hardly a peep out of the kids. We couldn't believe how quiet the house was. We sat down at the kitchen table and Arie said our breakfast prayer. He asked God to bless the food give us a peaceful day. I think God was listening since we sat in pure, quiet tranquility and had our whole meal. No little munchkins running around our legs stretching their necks up like little birds waiting for a bite of our eggs, or trying to wriggle their way onto our laps. It was heavenly! I suddenly couldn't recall the last moment we had like that in our own home.

Since we were having toast and jam, Arie asked me if I would like my napkin wet or dry. Before I could say "dry", I inadvertently rested my arm in a sticky spot on the table - go figure. I said, "uh wet", as he glanced at me and chuckled at my raised, sticky arm.

At the end of breakfast, I reached for my wet paper towel to clean my face. In a burst of inspiration I dabbed at the corners of my mouth. I nearly felt like pumping my fist in the air in a show of solidarity with Lisse. The moist cloth and soft strokes around my mouth felt not only good, but refreshing - the sort of refreshing that comes with that hot, moist towel they give you when you're blessed enough to ride in first class. I wondered if that felt so nice, how then must it feel to have that same towel drug across your face at speeds of 20 mph and five pounds of pressure per square inch. So I tried it on myself. Wow, no wonder babies hate that! If I were Lisse I'd be a owlet banshee too!

Arie thought I was being a little silly until I tried both methods on him. First I tried the dainty wipe and he didn't flinch. When I switched to the "regular" method, he turned into an owl minus the banshee. (Losing the banshee does come with maturity, so that part didn't surprise me.) He was sold on the dainty wipe too! Without saying it, I think we both resolved to be more "dainty" when cleaning the babies faces.

If Lisse could talk she would probably say, "Thanks! It's about time you put yourself in my shoes." How many other ways should we be doing that as parents? I already taste all the food I feed them before I give them a bite, but I'm sure there are ways I'm not relating to them. I've gotta ponder that one a little more.

*Author's notes: While contemplating the word hybrid, I nearly said she "was hybred", thinking I was using the past tense. Then it occurred to me that perhaps that wasn't a word since I've never heard it used in that way. You may be interested to know that hybrid is not a verb and therefore doesn't have a past tense. So, only use it as a noun or adjective.

In the event that you may think I have a hefty grasp on the English language, let me just say I also had to look up the term for a baby owl. Who'd have thought owlet? In a moment of digression, let me also say that in Japanese, a baby dragonfly is called a yago, whereas the adult form is called a tonbo. When asked by the principal what Americans call a baby dragonfly in English, I paused before saying unassuredly, "baby dragonfly"? Yeah, that was an intelligent moment! For the record and in case you're interested the correct term is nymph. You really never know when you might be called on to discuss nymphs. You have to cut me some slack on this one. How many English speakers are fluent in baby animal names?

Lastly, when determining which word most closely described the sound Lisse makes, I recall hearing as a kid that someone was "screaming like a wild banshee Indian". If you know me, you know I'm sensitive to stereotypes and would never want to use derogatory language in reference to a race of people. However, all of this got me to thinking about what exactly a banshee is. Here is the dictionary's definition:
"–noun (in Irish folklore) a spirit in the form of a wailing woman who appears to or is heard by members of a family as a sign that one of them is about to die." Having said that and lest you think badly of me for referring to my sweet little girl's sound as banshee...if you've heard it, you understand. LOL

Changing the World One Little Heartbeat at a Time

Recently my husband was watching our newly-turned-one-year-old twins. He had been watching them for most of the day while I finished up some end-of-year testing with our older, home schooled son. At the end of the day when children were fed, bathed, diapered, dressed, and in bed, my wonderful husband met me in the kitchen where I was continuing to work toward cleaning house at the end of a very long day for the whole family. The words that came from his mouth made me pause and delivered the greatest surprise of the day. With a look of exhaustion, both mental and physical, and a slight sigh he said, "I couldn't do what you do." Short of committing himself to me on the day we were married, when he said, "I do," I believe no other words he's ever spoken to me meant more.

I'm currently reading the book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger entitled In Praise of Stay-at-Home-Moms. Those simple, yet powerful words my husband spoke were just the sort of validation women often need to continue feeling they are making a difference in their family and in the world, when all the world around them is conversely trying to make them feel they are wasting their lives, talents, and educations by being "only a stay-at-home-mom." Well let me tell you, I may not get paid for what I do, but there is no job I'd rather have. There is no job more important, more frustrating, more rewarding, and more vital to the future of our country than people who choose to put their children before the almighty dollar. Like Dr. Laura says, "...the pain and aggravation that go along with...parenting don't feel fulfilling at all. So, that means that tilling the soil, planting the seeds, watering and fertilizing, protecting from the elements, aren't worthwhile activities because in and of themselves they are not fulfilling? How, then, do you ever get a harvest?" She goes on to say that, "Life is just not always fulfilling...yet it is in these efforts that we perfect the world."

I submit that I'm not wasting my education, I'm passing it on to my children and using it to teach them the value of life-long education, all the while helping them learn all the little things along the way that adults take for granted. Mostly, I'm here to love them in a way that no other person could ever do. They will grow-up knowing that Daddy and Mama felt they were more important than having two incomes so that we could spend more money on things we didn't need anyway...and they'll never hear us say something as horrible as I've heard other parents say, even in front of their own children (praying their kids don't hear them when they're saying it)..."I don't know how you do it. I could NEVER stay home with my kids. They would drive me crazy!" I would be heartbroken if our children ever thought we felt that way for one moment. I couldn't be happier to be a SAHM and I will never apologize for not punching a clock. My difference is being made within the walls of the place we all call home.

Being a military family places us in a unique situation.  As active duty members of the military, our spouses are on call 24/7, which truly means the whole family is as well.  We must all be ready to flex and yield to the demands of the mission.  Arie and I decided early on that we were unwilling to place finances and careers above the needs of family.  Since I was active duty at the time we became pregnant with our first son, we made the decision that I would not reenlist.  We strongly believed that it was important for me to provide stability and security for our family in the midst of Daddy's ever-shifting schedule of work, schools, deployments, and TDY's.  It was a difficult transition, but one that we have never regretted making.  I used to feel self-conscious that I was not a financially contributing member of the family.  Now I like to think of it as a change in my mission.

A song by Steven Curtis Chapman reminds me often of why Arie and I chose this life; him active duty and me staying home. This song is called One Heartbeat at a Time. You can watch the beautiful video and listen to the song at the link on You Tube. Here are the lyrics:

One Heartbeat at a Time

You're up all night with a screaming baby
You run all day at the speed of life
And every day you feel a little bit less
Like the beautiful woman you are

So you fall into bed when you run out of hours
And you wonder if anything worth doing got done
Oh, maybe you just don't know
Or maybe you've forgotten

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

With every "I know you can do it"
Every tear that you kiss away
So many little things that seem to go unnoticed
They're just like the drops of rain over time
They become a river

And you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

You're beautiful
You're beautiful
How you're changing the world
You're changing the world

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
Oh, I believe that you
You are changing the world
One little heartbeat
At a time

And you're changing the world

How Can I Know Your Touch?

Yesterday I had the tissue expanders filled for the third time since my surgery. The procedure is never painful since I'm mostly numb across my entire upper chest, wrapping around under my armpits to edge of my back. It is nice to have some semblance of a breast beginning to take shape under my clothes.

The doctor noted that I still have some thick scabs on the center portion of my incisions on both sides. He gave me some Elta Lite lotion to soften both the incision areas, as well as the scabs to help them fall off. After only one day it seems to be making a huge difference and my scabs have already begun peeling up.

Last night I was in a lot of pain as a result of the expansion and had a difficult time putting on the lotion. When the expanders are under the muscle and are suddenly stretched it makes me unable to reach with one hand across my chest to reach the other side. I also couldn't apply the lotion with my hand on the same side. It became easier to ask my husband to apply it for me, so I asked him to help.

I squeezed some of the lotion onto his hand and he began to massage it into my breast area. At one time that would have so erotic, but all I could think was how my life has radically changed. As he rubbed this lotion into my skin, I felt nothing meaningful except gratefulness that he was helping me. There was no tingling, no nipple erection because of his touch. I think it finally fully struck me how much this changes our sex life. There's not one part of me that regrets making the decision for this surgery and yet that does not take away the feeling of loss that suddenly hit me. Part of me wanted to go back to the last time he touched my breasts and freeze that moment in time. If I could bottle that sensation and sell it to all the women around the world who've gone through this, I would be a rich woman. Then again, it occurs to me that even without that sensation I am still a rich woman in so many other ways.

Still, I cried gently when I longed to know he was touching me. To date, this is the greatest sense of loss I've felt.

Daddy & the Pickle

Children take things so literally when they're young. Their use of language in general can often be hilarious. In fact, once Koen learned the meaning of the word illegal, he was stopped in his tracks on the first occasion I told him that something he had done was illegal. Of course, I was joking, but he didn't know it and became very concerned that he was in trouble. It has since turned into the family joke that something a person is doing or wants to do is "illegal". I guess you sort of have to be there.

I recall once when Koen was a little boy how much we enjoyed chuckling as he learned about English idioms. The first one that comes to mind occurred when he was about 2.5 and we were living in Hawaii. He was playing with Daddy and found himself in a predicament. I don't recall the exact situation, but it was probably something like Daddy tied his sleeves in a knot and he couldn't put his arms through. Not that this has been a common occurrence (wink wink).

Finally, Daddy commented to Koen, "You're in a pickle now, huh"? At that point, Koen came running to me, crying, and yelling, "MAMA, MAMA! HELP ME! DADDY TURNED ME INTO A PICKLE"! Arie and I both nearly wet ourselves!

Putting Out Fires...a.k.a. Twin Issues

We’ve been on a mission lately to resolve some issues we’ve had with the twins. It all started with napping, but we’ve learned so many things along the way.

At first we were having some difficulty in putting the babies down for the evening in the same room. The problem was that Karter goes to sleep easily, but Lisse makes lots of noise and cries enough to wake him up again. It was becoming a vicious cycle. We decided to try moving his bed into another room to resolve the problem. Voila! Karter was sleeping quickly and lengthy. Lisse on the other hand was still having issues going to sleep.

This brings us to issue number two: Lisse not going to sleep. We began rocking her to sleep in the living room rocker, then lying her down in her bed. No sooner would her head hit the pillow then she would bolt back up crying. This too was a vicious cycle. It killed our backs to stand at her bedside and continue rocking her until she was literally snoring. Only then could we lay her down and be certain that she wouldn’t come back up.

Let me just say that during the day I have no problems putting her down. Of course this was a learning process as well and at one time involved too many tears. Now she takes her bottle, sits with me for a couple minutes while I talk softly to her, then we stroll to her room and I rub her pillow and say, “pillow”. She recently even leaned toward her bed! Normally she’s crying when I leave the room and quiet within a few minutes and asleep in less than five. How perplexing it was then that for bedtime Lisse became an entirely different creature. Then it dawned on me...it’s the light. She can’t go to sleep in a dark room. I wouldn’t necessarily characterize it as being afraid of the dark, but accustomed to a norm of going to sleep in a brighter room. The first night we turned on the lamp, we went into the kitchen and listened to her cry mildly and intermittently. We stood in the kitchen and prayed to God that He would put her to sleep, giving her and us some much needed rest. Again, voila! Suddenly she’s as easy to put down at night as she is during the day.

Now on to crisis number...I don’t even know what! Two days ago, Karter didn’t want his afternoon or evening bottle. Both times he pushed them away after barely a sip. Him not taking the afternoon bottle didn’t particularly bother me, but once he skipped the evening one I became concerned. If you know Karter, you know this is very out of character for him.

In the middle of the night he awoke and would not go back to sleep the way he normally does. Usually I can put his pacifier back in his mouth, rub his back, and he quickly goes back to sleep. Not last night! He seemed wide awake. I tried for a few minutes to cradle him to no avail. Okay, so maybe now he was finally wanting a bottle? Arie jaunted to the kitchen and back, determined to get him a bottle made quickly before his crying escalated. When I first put the bottle to his lips he had the same reaction, one sip before pushing it away. The second time I put it to his lips, it was like the seas had parted and he devoured the whole thing! Whew! Arie was able to go back to sleep, Karter passed-out again quickly and went back down with no problem, then I was out as well.

Act two...Karter wakes again at about 4:30 to 5 am. I’m not sure since I couldn’t see the clock. I cradled and snuggled and again he was needing a bottle. At that point, Arie was going to be up in 30 minutes getting ready for work and I was trying not to disturb his last minutes of sleep. I jogged once more to the kitchen, rushing to make a bottle and get back. As I turned from the sink, shaking the bottle, I was met at the corner of the fridge by Arie asking what I was doing. Uh...yeah, he was obviously still asleep and actually doesn’t even remembering meeting me in the kitchen. Together we rushed back to Karter, I lifted him from his bed and administered said bottle hoping he would not turn it down. Again, he downed the bottle in record time. Having made that particular bottle myself, it finally occurred to me what the problem has been all along. In my haste to make the bottle, I hadn’t taken the time to let the water warm-up. Apparently, here in lies the problem...Karter no longer likes warm bottles. This has proven true with each bottle since. Crisis averted!

Many of the last week’s nights have been spent sleeping on Lisse’s bedroom floor, propped in my bed holding Karter, or sitting on my bathroom floor rocking him and trying desperately not to wake Arie. Now with both babies current issues understood and under control, I’m hoping to spend my first good night of sleep in more than a week in my own bed. I keep telling myself that this is only temporary. Like all things it too will pass. I know eventually I’ll look back and long for these times. Reminding myself of that helps me cope during the times when my back is killing me and I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the needs of those around me for whom I’m responsible. I even think of Nadia Suleman (Octomom) and her brood. I can’t even imagine being in her shoes! Anytime I think of her it’s easy to be thankful for my situation.

Man am I looking forward to having a good night’s sleep!

Tickle Me No?

When I was a kid, my brother used to tickle my armpits until I couldn't breathe. At first it was fun, then I'd say stop, then he wouldn't, then I'd get angry, then he'd get in trouble...you get the idea. Ah, the good times.

I thought a lot about my brother today and those tickles. What also came with them was belly-rolling laughter, at least for a time. Thankfully, my husband is a very witty person and he keeps us in stitches much of the time. Though it's been years since my brother tickled me, that kind of laughter isn't missing from our home.

Today of all days I'm thinking of all this because I came to the realization that since my surgery I am no longer ticklish under my arms. The skin isn't completely numb, but sufficiently enough so that it's not stimulating enough to tickle. It never occurred to me that being ticklish was something to be thankful for, but now that the sensation is gone I find myself nostalgic. Who knew?