It all started out rather lovely.

"They have a butterfly garden," she said, "The girls would like that, wouldn't they?" We agreed that they would, and made the plan; Hubby and I would make the hour drive on Saturday to meet my in-laws at a local botanical garden for an afternoon visit. We hadn't seen them in over a month, and it was time. Kids grow too fast.

A few days later we arrived at the gardens at about 3 PM, hours later than we had planned of course, and quickly unloaded our gear and our girls and headed on our way...first to meet up with the in-laws, then on to the butterfly portion of the gardens. Excitement was abundant.

The butterflies were graceful and beautiful...and mostly various shades of orange...dancing over our heads and landing once on Little...which she didn't much appreciate. Big spent the remaining amount of our time there chasing after the rest of them, trying to convince them that she, also, was a sufficient landing zone. Sadly, they didn't care. The rest of us watched and pointed and oooh'd and aaahhhhh'd with the masses as we walked around the swampy, humid indoor area, discovering that, really, humid does nothing for odors in a room full of people. Lovely. At one point we wandered upon a glass enclosed chest that was filled with various species of butterfly chrysalises, and even a few newly hatched butterflies waiting quite patiently to be released, and hit the jackpot. A volunteer approached at just that moment, allowing us to be there while she unlocked the glass doors and let the hatchlings fly out into the world for the very first time. It was beautiful, and the girls adored it...but 30 minutes of flying bugs was enough for them, and I concurred, so we moved on.

The outdoor area was lovely, and large. I couldn't even tell you how many varieties or even colors of plants there were to gaze upon. Big galloped a few yards in front of us, ever the independent one, while the rest of us hung back and mosied along in a more relaxed kind of way. Little, the luckiest of all, hung out in her stroller and allowed herself to be pushed along the path. No screaming, lots of smiles, pretty flowers...it all started out rather lovely. At one point, about fifteen minutes into our stroll, we came upon an Asian themed area with a large golden temple-like building. There were stairs leading up to the building, and stairs on the other three sides leading down into various zen-like displays, some with still pools of water, some with flowers and benches, all very much right up Big's alley. So she ran and the rest of us sat and watched and just generally occupied ourselves while she burned off a little energy, you know, the usual. At some point, a few minutes into her routine, I joined her up on the building platform and sat on the steps while she showed me her very impressive physical abilities. I smiled, and then I noticed her pulling at the crotch area of her pants. "Potty," I thought, because I had seen this all before, and I figured that it was time to head back to the entrance, where the bathrooms were located. It was a fifteen minute walk from where we were, remember, and there was nary a port-a-potty to be seen amidst the dahlias and daisies. It was time to go. In what seems now more of a formality than an actual gesture of inquiry, I walked over to Big and, as I ushered her toward the steps of the building to head back to the path, I asked her "Do you need to go potty?" And of course she said no. She always says no, especially if, at the moment, she is entertained. I ushered her anyway...a mere three steps down...when all of a sudden she had a change of heart. "Yes, Mommy! Yes! I need to go potty!" she said, but it was already too late. "I'm going!" she said, as I cringed and quickly grabbed her under the arms and moved her off of the steps onto the grass, waiting for the streams to trickle down the insides of her legs and the puddle to appear beneath her...but there were no streams, and no puddle was forming. I was confused at first, thinking that maybe it was a false alarm and she could, indeed, hold it until we made it to the building, "Don't go!" I gasped, "Hold it! We'll go to the bathroom really quick!" I told her, but again she told me it was too late, she was already going...and suddenly the wind turned and blew in my direction, and it all made sense. Horrible, horrible sense. Dear Lord, it was a number two.

So there we were, at the far end of a public garden, a fifteen minute walk from any bathroom, more than an hour from home and Big had an obviously large, stinky poo hanging out in her underpants. "Hubby!" I yelled in a hushed tone, "Hubby, come here!!" and I think that by the look on my face he knew there was no time to mess around. He quickly ended the conversation with his parents and headed right over to my side, where I let him in on the secret. He cringed, and we began discussing our options. The best option, of course, was to make the trek back to the building, where I could take Big into the bathroom and clean her up...but as we stood there, commiserating, she got tired of watching us whisper and decided she was going to walk away from us, and that put an end to option number one. I wouldn't even call what she was doing "walking", it was more of an open-legged waddle at .01 miles per hour. Obviously uncomfortable, and gross, it was both horrible and hilarious at the same time. Clearly, we weren't going to make it more than ten feet from where we stood, so Hubby grabbed the diaper bag and the three of us headed up a little secluded path, which Hubby would later tell me was called a "serenity path"...oh the irony, to get down to business. A few minutes later it was anything but serene back there.

My portion of the clean-up was to take care of Big...Hubby's was to take care of the rest. At one point I looked up from my cleaning duties to find Hubby standing a few feet away from us, holding as little fabric between his thumb and forefinger as possible, staring at the dangling pair of soiled Littlest Pet Shop underpants with disgust and wonder. "It looks like a sling shot!" he declared, and at that point all composure flew out the window. It did. It looked like a puppy decorated, sparkly, white cotton poo sling shot, just dangling there between his fingers, as we stood out in the middle of a public garden...our little girl's dimpled bare buns exposed for the world to see...with the tour tram's speaker noise growing ever closer, threatening to expose our horrific, secret mission to the unsuspecting elderly who had climbed aboard expecting a G-rated botanical tour...and damn it, it was funny. So we laughed, gut busting laughter, for a good two minutes...and then we went back to work.

About a thousand wipies and a few minutes later, Big was all cleaned up, dressed in new clothes and happy as a clam, as she skipped, tra la la, back down the path to where my in-laws had seated themselves on a bench, with Little, while we went on our alternative adventure. Hubby and I, on the other hand, hung back behind the bushes for a few additional minutes, bathing our digits in copious amounts of anti-bacterial liquids, staring off into the distance in a sort of shell shock over what had just taken place. Only us, we thought, as we gathered our soiled belongings and made our way behind Big back down the path to rejoin our group...and it was then that it occurred to me. Something was missing. "What did you do with the poo?" I quietly asked Hubby, expecting that he would have placed it in the ziploc bag with the undies for us to discard in the nearest trash bin...but alas, I was holding the ziploc bag...and in it there were pants and terribly funky undies...but no poo. "Well," he began, "I needed a place to put the pants...and I didn't really think that we needed to pack up the turd and take it home with us, so..." I cringed, and prepared myself for the rest. "I tried to shake it out, but it wouldn't budge, so I grabbed a stick and impaled it, and it kind of made like, a poopcicle? So I took it and I tossed the whole thing over the rocks as far behind the bushes as I could get it." And I died a little bit inside.

"You left it there?!" I gasped...and he simply nodded. I mean I guess I could see his point...we did only have one ziploc bag...and the thought of packing an actual poo in with our daughter's clothes and taking it home with us was kind of horrible...and we were sort of out in nature, where many species had littered the ground with poo long before us...or so I told myself in order to alleviate some of the guilt I was feeling over the incident. If only we had packed some sort of orange flag, or warning sign in our bag as well, for the unsuspecting gardener who would soon be wondering how on Earth someone had smuggled a dog into the gardens. My sincerest apologies to that gardener...and to everyone who happens to travel that previously serene path in the next few days in general. Leave it to us to take a trip to a beautiful botanical garden and totally shit upon it...umm...literally. That's us...destroying the ecosystem one poopcicle at a time. Heaven help us.

The story of us.

I was married once before, when I was 25, and divorced three years later. It was a really ugly, unhappy period of time for me, nothing I enjoy looking back on. If it weren't for Big, I would say things like "I wish I had never...blah blah." but getting Big out of that relationship makes the fact that I went through all that I did OK, as long as in the end I got her. In fact, it was having her that finally gave me the courage to set out on my own, knowing that she deserved a better life than the one I could give her when I was married to her father. So in a sense, having her saved me too. My little blessing in baby's clothing, I am thankful for her each and every day.

So, on our way we went...Big and I. She was about nine months old and I was a first time mom...green as could be. If it weren't for the support of my friends and family I'm pretty certain we wouldn't have made it out on our own. But we did. In the nine months that we were on our own, we managed to grow together...happy and healthy and strong. She was a joy. And at the end of that nine months, I met Hubby.

I had dated before him, after my divorce, but meeting him was different than anything I had ever experienced before. For me, HE was different...good different...and though I didn't know it then, he was my one.

Totally gun-shy from a previous marriage that ended in divorce, he wasn't quite as sure about me as I was about him. I knew he was nervous, distant even, because of what he'd been through...not looking for any kind of anything solid, he put it out there for me from the beginning, and I was unsure...but he continued to pursue seeing me, and I allowed it to go on because I enjoyed my time with him and I figured that, if nothing else, I was having a good time dating. So we dated. For about two months. And then it happened (or I should say, and then she happened). Already falling for him and his brilliant blue eyes and witty wisecracks, I did that thing that mother's tell you never to do as a young woman, you know...that thing I knew better than to do. I gave myself to him. Once. And though I went into it with my eyes wide open, and it seemed as if nothing had really changed in the morning light, from that night on everything changed. A mere two weeks later we discovered that there were now four of us where there had previously been only three, and two lines where I had prayed so hard there would only be one. And I cried. And he panicked. And for a few minutes the world stopped spinning for us, while our heads began spinning with the realization of what we'd done, what we'd created so accidentally one night, and the fear over how our lives, still so separate, were going to change as that "thing we'd made together" grew between us for the next nine months. And then, as if nothing had changed, the world began spinning again and life went on. That was in May. By July we had fallen in love. It was truly the most preposterous thing, but it was the truth. Amid the pressure of an unplanned pregnancy, and the baggage we were each carrying from our previous failed marriages, and the social pressure surrounding us to make a "go" of something we weren't even sure existed...we fell head over heels, ass over tea kettle in love with one another. And that was it for us. From the very first time that he told me he loved me, I was his, and he was mine in an unwavering, absolutely no doubt kind of way. We were married the following New Year's Eve.

As my belly grew over the months, so did Hubby's relationship with Big. From the very minute that he met her, I knew he loved her. Following her around my house with a Dora doll as big as she was, trying everything he could think of to get her to speak to him...it was almost painfully obvious to me that he was instantly smitten. Much to my relief, in no time at all, it was clear that she was equally taken with him, referring to him more often as "her prince" than by his name. She was soon informing me that she was making plans to marry him when she grew up, and I knew that she meant it. It was love in that "you're the best daddy-figure ever" kind of way, and just as it was with me, from that day forward she was his, and he hers in that same unwavering kind of way. As if by magic, there suddenly stood before me a family of three where, until recently, two very separate, broken families had stood. It was a miracle...undeniably God's plan for us..and we were thankful and happy. My heart was full for what seemed like the very first time in my whole life. Things went on that way for a few more months; snoring on the sofa on Sunday afternoons and sausage biscuit hugs on weekday mornings...life was simple, and simply wonderful. And then along came Little.

Little was born on a very cold, dark January morning. A planned c-section, we arrived at the hospital very early on a Tuesday morning for our "appointment" and in no time at all, with fear in our hearts and tears in our eyes, Hubby and I together embraced our newest little girl. Prepared for surgery and a complicated hospital stay, but having no idea of the terrifying, twisted and yet wonderful path that lay ahead of us in the next year, we held and caressed our soft, beautiful baby girl. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes...and one tiny broken heart, Little fought her way into this world with a spirit previously unknown to me...strong and so fragile at the same time. So perfect and so vulnerable, Hubby and I loved her from the very moment we gazed upon her beautiful little face. That cold morning, before anyone else had a chance to lay eyes on our newest tiny member*, so very suddenly, we became a family of four.

And that's how we came to be us; Hubby and Big and Little and I. Aimlessly adrift in the sea of life, we found our way to one another and unexpectedly became one, the four of us together. Our family, my dream come true. That is the story of us.

*Excluding medical personnel, of course.

The Definition of Amazing

18 months ago today my Little entered this world. Right from the get-go she came in kicking and screaming, letting everyone know that nothing was going to keep her down and no one was going to hold her back. Isn't that the truth. It's impossible to describe just how much I've learned from this little person who grew inside my body...coming into this world imperfect, fighting for her life from her very first breath, she's never wavered in her strength and determination. She is the definition of amazing.

Happy 18 Months to my strong, silly, smart, amazing Little girl. Mommy loves you and thanks you for just being you.

I Love Being Wrong...

I had a minor electronic gadget emergency the other day. I define this as an electronic gadget emergency because the emergency was that my cellphone kept turning itself off randomly and refusing to reignite in any way shape or form until it was damn well ready. Really? Not an emergency, but in this day and age being without your cellphone feels like an emergency, especially when you've given up the good ol' landline in favor of the portable variety, and no one can get a hold of you without it. So after a week of being ready to run to the AT&T store and then having the damn thing magically heal itself, I had had enough. The phone was only a little over a year old and hadn't suffered any trauma...to my knowledge anyway, I suppose with phone loving little ones running around you never truly know...so into the store I flew, on my lunch break, and by the time I got there, I was not. happy. FEAR ME.

Cellphone salespeople have taken on a certain type in my mind, pretty much the same type as the used car salesman. Anyone who shouts at me and tries to sell me something as I'm walking through the mall with my two children, juggling goldfish, a sippy cup, and a leaky lemonade immediately goes on my shit list. (Also on my shit list? The nail file and hand lotion toting salespeople at the mall...but that's a different post on a different day.) I just knew, before I even entered the building, that I was going to be told that my phone was worthless, no longer under warranty, and that I was going to have to buy a new one. Knowing that I was not yet eligible for a "free" phone, as my contract isn't up yet, I was preemptively internally seething. Scam artists!! I thought, and I reluctantly walked up to the service counter and waited.

A few minutes later a not-really-noteworthy looking guy walked out of the back storage room and asked if he could help me. I hoped that he could. I told him the symptoms of my emergency and, taking note of his immediate frown, dreadfully followed him to his desk. A couple fiddles and faddles with my phone later, my worst case scenario was confirmed. Upon investigation, it appeared that the "moisture sensor" inside the battery compartment shined a brilliant shade of hot pink, which immediately told us two things: 1. somehow my phone had gotten wet inside and was dying a slow death (drool anyone?) and 2. the warranty on the phone doesn't cover this problem, and I was SOL. Lovely. So I swore. I really didn't mean to do it, but when the guy told me that I wasn't eligible for a free phone and that the warranty on my current phone was done-for, I let one slip. Yeah, the guy said to me in agreement, and for a second I questioned my automatic tagging of all cell salesmen as bad. Maybe this guy was decent...and then he talked some more...

Guy: Hey Girl, (I can't remember her name, but she was a salesperson sitting at the desk behind him) can you look this account up on your computer and tell me when her husband is eligible for a free phone?

Girl: Sure, it's October.

Me: Ughhhh. So I'm January and he's October. (knowing in the back of my mind that a new phone just really isn't in our budget at the moment. Crap.)

Guy: Umm, yeah. Hmmm...

Girl: Hey, you know, an older gentleman brought in a phone yesterday because he was having trouble hearing on it, it should still be on your desk. Works fine...doesn't have a battery cover though, so it's in a case.

Guy: Oh yeah. (finds the phone and picks it up.) If you want to use this one until October you can do that.

Me: *warily* What do you mean it doesn't have a battery cover? Cuz...uhhhh...I have small kids... (visions of my cellphone battery being tossed around the room filling my head...walking into the living room to find Little chewing on it...hmmmm)

Guy: *Laughs*Yeah that wouldn't work. I bet I could find a cover in the back...

And with that he got up and walked back into the rear store room, emerging a few minutes later with the phone...with a cover on the back. For me. FREE.

Guy: It doesn't have a camera, but you could have it until you can get a new one for free in October.

Me: *feeling guilty about only minutes earlier pegging him as a swindler* That would be great!! Thank you!!

Guy: OK, the I'll transfer your contacts over...just take a second...

And that was it. I walked out of there without them trying to sell me a single thing, with a phone that works fine, and a big smile on my face...and it didn't cost me a dime. Sometimes I LOVE being wrong.

Let Us Define Emergency...Shall We?

Well, the girls sleeping in the same room experiment has proven to be deceptively successful. Hubby and I had braced ourselves for a disaster of epic proportions when we moved Little's crib into Big's room a few days ago, but after 17 months of having her in our room, we knew it was time to bite the bullet and justdoitalready! Little is seriously the worst sleeper in the whole wide world, and we were just sure that she was going to wake up a dozen times a night and take Big's sweet, dream-filled slumber to hell with the rest of us, but that's not at all how it's happened. Contrary to our hypothesis, Little actually sleeps better in the same room as Big than she did when she was in our room, essentially going to sleep on her own. Color me shocked...and *delighted*! The first 2 nights of the experiment, they both fell asleep without making a peep and...wait for it...slept all.night.long. We're the people who only get to sleep through the night 3 times a week, remember?? I'm seriously still in shock. Warm, fuzzy, well rested shock. Sweeeeeeet.

The third night wasn't quite as good as the first 2. Little woke up around 10:30 in hysterics and refused to settle down on her own. Hubby (because he loves me and I was already in bed) got her out of bed and rocked her for 15 minutes. It was our first attempt at rocking Little to settle her down. Yes, ever. We braced ourselves...expecting the worst...and were overwhelmed with delight when it seemed to do the trick. She went back to bed without complaint and slept the rest of the night without a peep. Wonderful. Really, could we ask for more?? Didn't think so.

Gleefully, we allowed ourselves to cross our fingers and hope that we were headed into some sort of new and improved bedtime routine with the girls, in which everyone gets to sleep through the night and Hubby and I get to have our room back to ourselves. Three nights in a row without major incident, it was going so well...but it's what happened on the fourth night that really took me by surprise...it went like this...

Everyone went to bed on schedule. Teeth were brushed, stories read, and two little girls went into their beds without complaint. All was quiet. Hubby and I joined them in slumber a few hours later, and passed out in our usual exhausted way. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

At approximately 3am I heard cries over the baby monitor that I keep next to my side of the bed. It was Big, and she was frantically calling for me. My stomach turned. When Big wakes at night, it's usually something pretty serious, and for her to be calling for me, knowing that Little was asleep in the bed next to her, I knew it had to be bad. In a fury of worry and fear, I leapt out of bed and ran to their room across the hall. Filled with dread of what I would find when I opened the door, I took a deep breath and turned the knob. I looked to my immediate right and saw that Little was, indeed, awake in her bed, but as of yet still laying down quite sleepily. All seemed OK with her, so I moved on to Big.

First things first...a quick survey of her and the bed proved to show that she hadn't had any kind of bodily fluid spill (as all parents know are the most frequent and most dreaded cause of middle of the night awakenings). I breathed a sigh of relief, and then knelt down by her bed and began the interview.

Me: What's the matter sweetheart? Why are you awake? (stroking her head)

Big: *sleepy whimpers* Mama, my feeeet! (points to her feet)

(And by this time Little is standing up in her bed waiting for her turn to converse with Mommy. Jumping. Cooing. The whole 9 yards. Great.)

Me: But what's the matter, honey? What's wrong with your feet?

Big: They're uncovered, Mommy! Look! (more pointing)

And sure enough...they were. Peeking out from under the covers were Big's ten little painted toenails, staring at me. So I covered them back up. And that was it. She woke us all up and called me into her room at 3am, because her feet came out from under the blanket. Seriously.

So, the emergency was averted, toes were once again covered and, aside from some crying from Little as I left the room, everyone was alive and fine. A few minutes later, the world went back into happy, sleep mode, and I once again joined Hubby back in our bed. Awake and worried, he asked me what had been wrong with Big...and when I told him, we both laughed until we were gasping for air. Ah, yes...life and death I tell you, those cold feet. Quite the emergency.

So Hubby and I have been in talks, and I think we're going to put out some sort of memo defining what constitutes an emergency in the middle of the night...maybe follow it up with some TPS reports on the subject. I'm just sayin'.

Oink!

Well, I suppose it was inevitable the we would eventually run into someone who would have come down with the H1N1 (aka swine) flu. My poor niece Mari came down with a high fever and cough on Monday after school, and has felt completely miserable ever since. A quick nasal swab at the pediatrician's office this morning confirmed it...she has the dreaded swine flu...or at least that's what we've been told. My pediatrician's office was quick to point out that it takes 2 days and a visit to a lab for a diagnosis of the swine flu to be confirmed. Technicalities, the other pediatrician says. I'll be safe and go with her.

So aside from feeling horrible about my niece's misery, this diagnosis also sparked something else within me...fear....anxiety...and all out panic. The diagnosing pediatrician recommended that my sister call me immediately and tell me to get my girls into our pediatrician for the Tamiflu vaccine, like STAT. I don't do well with STAT. Due to the fact that we had been with my niece on Saturday at the infamous birthday party (that I was so cool at, ha!) we've now been exposed. Oyyyyy. Given my girls ages and Little's cardiac history, they very easily find themselves in that danger zone for flu complications...which is why I always get them a flu shot...except when it's a completely new strain of flu and there IS no freakin vaccine. Then we're just SOL. Supposedly this Tamiflu stuff is supposed to help lessen the effects of the swine flu, should you be exposed and come down with it and be on the list of people with possible complications, like children under 5, and those with chronic cardio issues...see me hyperventilating??? Now...to get my hands on some...

So, that's how I spent my first day back at work after our little vacation...endless hours on the phone, 2 calls to the pediatrician, 3 calls to my sister to get details and facts that were requested by our pediatrician, and 3 calls between myself and one of our cardiology nurse later...we're not getting the Tamiflu. After all that, whyyyyy???? you ask? Well, because our cardiologist says that since Little's heart is working so efficiently and she is so healthy now, she feels completely confident that if we did come down with the oinky flu at our house, that Little would have no problem getting rid of it just like any other healthy kid. ::insert triumphant smile here:: You hear that world??? No special circumstances!!! No pre-existing conditions!!! I really don't think I've ever been so happy to be shot down!

As for the rest of us, both doctors that I spoke with today assured me that this flu is really nothing more severe than a normal viral flu strain...nothing that our bodies couldn't handle getting rid of on their own...especially Big, whose body has always been strong like bull. Excellent news...stupid media circus. In addition to that, we're currently more than 96 hours post exposure and *knock on wood* so far we're still healthy. This is very good for our anti-flu odds. I'm hoping that if we just keep knocking of wood, and crossing our fingers, and most of all praying like crazy, we'll all come through unscathed.

As for my niece, she's feeling much better already...now if only the rest of her siblings can go without... Ack. Siblings.

Go away oinky flu!!!

Still Around

Yes, I'm still around. I know I haven't blogged since writing about my craft project plans and, well, I didn't want anyone to think that it had killed me. The hair pins actually turned out really cute and were the hit of the 10 year-old partay! (if I may say so myself *ahem*) And it actually only took me 2 hours (9pm-11pm) to make 25 of them! Who's shabby? Not me apparently! All fingers are still accounted for and only one of them suffered any burns, which is absolutely a new world record for me. So, aside from the fact that I discovered that 2 hours of non-stop hot glue fumes make me wanna barf, all was well. As for pictures, I was too lazy, er ahh, busy to take any before we got to the party. I've been promised a few to be emailed to me by my sister, but we'll see if that actually happens. (she has 4 kids, yo...some things don't happen, who can blame her?!)

So what have I been doing that's kept me away, you ask? Well Hubby and I just got back today from taking the girls to an indoor water park hotel for 3 days and 2 nights. It! was! AWESOME!!! for Big! She literally ran around the place and stuck her head/face into every stream of water available. She was my idol. Little was like, "eh...the water gets in my eyes and that's kinda uncool, man...meh." and Hubby and I were like, so in love with our children that we braved the nights of interrupted sleep, the flying elbows in the face from Little at 4am (when God sent us a thunder storm??? REALLY God????) and chasing Big and Little in different directions all over that freakin frackin place for what felt like an eternity...but it was all worth it to see their beautiful smiles. Of course leaving didn't come without drama, but we expected nothing else. It was very likely the best 3 days of Big's life to date...them's the hard parts. Right now Hubby stinks like chlorine, and my hair is supremo greasy from the pool water and all the extra washing...but that too shall pass...

So what do crazy people do when they get home (exhausted) from taking their 3 and 1 year-old's to a water park for 3 days??? Move the baby into the older sib's room, of course! Dear God, why?????? you ask? Because we like pain...and crying...lots and lots of crying... OK, we don't...but yes, we're really moving Little into Big's room today!!! We figure that they shared a room for the last 2 nights, so this is a window of opportunity to keep it going rather than having it be something totally new and weird. So, here we go...just shoot me now...