Posts have been few and far between here.
For many reasons, but one mostly.
Having a 2 year old and infant twins is hella hard.
There is no amount of sleep (not that we get any), no amount of caffeine that can touch the constant heavy blanket of fatigue that is over Kevin and I.
There for when we do have spare energy I usually don’t spend it blogging.
My brain cells have been in survival mode since the twins came home. I don’t normally have enough to spare to form a lucid thought let alone an entire witty blog post or one that isn’t just a short:
My days are spent with Dora, Elmo and keeping up with the Duncan’s not the Kardashians.
I usually feel like a haphazard mess when we do get out of the house and then our outing usually end up feeling haphazardly disastrous so any attempt at feeling “normal” is just a vicious circle of haphazardness.
I want to blog, really if I ever should have been blogging about my life to document for my family/show the kids later in life so they don’t gripe when I tell them to clean their rooms or at least serve as entertainment for others it should be now.
Our life could be a reality show.
Sometimes when I am waving my white flag at the kids and trying to down my fifth cup of coffee before they lunge another attack at me I think about the Goslin gang and I try to whine less or at least try my best to not be Kate Goslin-ish.
Sometimes when things happen that would be full of canned laughter on our imaginary television show I don’t see it as funny at the time.
For example…recently someone sold us a rigged stroller off craigslist. We got scammed. Before we realized we had been duped we (I) decided it would be wonderful if we took our entire family to the local farmers market. I think I forgot I don’t live in Pinterestlandia and this is the kind of thinking that gets us into haphazardness and that I actually have 3 boys…2 infant boys and a 2 year old that don’t really dig farmers markets or being in public, well at least not behaving in public. The stroller was acting funny on our walk with all three boys strapped in and finally as soon as we got to the farmers market it broke. In the middle of the entrance. A huge, semi tractor trailer of a stroller that weighs almost 100 pounds broke with all three kids in it in the entrance to the farmers market. We sat on the ground and tried to fix it but it didn’t work, we figured we would just carry the boys around, enjoy the farmers market and then figure out how to fix it when we were done. You know make the best out of a bad situation. WRONG.
It was totally broken, not going back together, the previous owner used GLUE in the sockets so it would work to be shown not used.
So we had to walk home. We weren’t terribly far from home but when you insert Noah mourning (raging over) the death of his balloon animal he got at the farmers market and the fact that the twins are near impossible to hold together at the same time and they both decided they were hungry as we were leaving and wanted to tell the world about it, oh and it was a nice 95 deathly degrees out we might as well have been states away from our home.
Kevin carried Noah at first and I carried the twins. About a block away from the market Noah took his box of milk and squirted it over Kevin’s head and I was losing the twins. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just keep them up (there is an I told you so coming up) and I hoped taking the one that could hang on instead of slide down me like a greased pole would be better.
WRONG, wrong, wrong, wrongy, wrongy, WRONG!
Noah brought his wiggles guitar to the market and would not leave it with the stroller and was carrying it while being held. And by carrying it, I mean hitting me in the face with it most of the walk home.
Sweat dripping down my face, I am 99.9% I have not only developed asthma on this walk but am now having an asthma attack and am in fact dying and all I can hear are the cries of my seemingly feral 2 year old and the ever so overly cheerful wiggles singing, “fruit salad, yummy yummy, fruit/fruit/fruit/fruit salad yummy yummy.” (Note: the repeat is the smashing of the guitar on my face restarting the song)
I look up and Kevin, who was so sure the twins would be easier is carrying them like footballs by his hips.
We look at each other and through parental telekinesis tell Kevin to go ahead since his load was lighter and not waging an all out war against him. He shuffled home and I took a break from carrying the wild alligator, I mean my toddler home.
I stood Noah up on the sidewalk and waged the mom maneuver of I can do this all day kid attitude. We stared at each other for about five minutes and I asked him to walk and he did. He then realized it was hella hot outside after three houses and he did not want to walk and put his arms up for me to carry him.
So I mustered up what little energy I had left and carried him home, the last stretch wasn’t as bad, I think Noah was even tired of his antics by this point.
We got inside and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my head. Kevin left to go get the stroller with the van. Noah came up and hugged me and patted me on the back and asked for milk.
I got him milk, trying not to curse the fact that he had just dumped a box of milk that cost as much as a half gallon of milk out from Starbucks on Kevin’s head and down the front of my shirt.
I then sat down on the computer and updated my status on Facebook.
We bought a triple stroller yesterday and decided to take it out today to the farmers market…as soon as we pulled up the wheels popped off and wouldn’t go back on. We carried all three boys, one screaming after the death of his balloon animal all the way home.
Worst (non medical) experience as a parent to date.
Immediately people started commenting how funny it was.
I closed the computer, irritated and pouting and went to self loath and hide the Wiggles guitar.
I cooled down….realized I myself was throwing a temper tantrum of the emo type and realized it actually was pretty funny.
Although when I hear the wiggles I do have PTSD flash backs of that walk I do laugh a little.
We are trying to sort ourselves out and adjust to our life of Kevin and Dominique plus 3. While it doesn’t sound as daunting or catchy as Jon and Kate plus 8…somedays…ok all days it feels just as hard.
So forgive me for the lack of updates, if we are being honest let all just applaud that Kevin and I are still alive.
Hopefully on top of surviving there will be blogging too.