Under the Weather

Absolutely, without question, one of the hardest parts of being a mom is when your child is sick. (Actually, the even harder part is being a sick mom, but that’s another story).

As moms we are programmed to become ultra-nurturing, extra protective and usually hyper-sensitive to symptoms when our little ones are feeling under the weather. After all, it’s our job to take care of them, and they need us more than ever when they’re sick. And I don’t mean a runny nose or daycare cough kind of sick...I mean fever-bearing, curled up on the couch just wanting to be held kind of sick.

It’s exhausting as a parent, especially when being nursemaid means getting up throughout the night for several days to give medicine and comfort. Not to mention having to tend to other kids.  So much so, that I am seriously questioning what state of mind I must have been in during the first year with twins...I guess the good news is that I don’t remember most of it (my body’s defense mechanism, I’m sure).

Anyway, all this pondering about illness made me wonder where the expression “under the weather” came from and what it’s supposed to mean. Here are some of the definitions I found:


under the weather
1. Somewhat indisposed; slightly ill.
2. Slang
     a. Intoxicated; drunk.
     b. Suffering from a hangover.


Under the Weather
'This popular phrase for "ill" dates back to 1827. It is commonly believed that bad weather can make you sick. One opinion about this idiom is that "under the weather" is an old sailor phrase used when men on a ship were sick, they would rest below “the weather [main] deck” and thus were literally "under" the weather on deck.'


Under the Weather
'When it's gray and rainy out, does that affect how you feel? This expression comes from the idea that bad weather might hurt a person's health and mood. The saying also may be related to "under the weather bow," the part of a boat that will take the force of rough seas during stormy weather. If you were in that part of the boat, you might get seasick!'

There is obvious reference here to being sick on a ship, but I’m still not clear if that’s seasickness or intoxication...? In our case, neither applies, but if we’re going to be sick at least we can learn something from it, right? (I mean something other than self diagnosing some terminal illness thanks to Google).

That concludes today’s lesson. Any questions?

Finding the Christmas Spirit

I knew I was taking a risk by responding, but it’s usually the case that doing something is harder than doing nothing, even when it’s the right thing. And my kids were watching.

We were knee deep in Christmas lights and decorations...trying to prep the outside decorations while simultaneously rotating the toys inside the house to the garage to make room for the tree. As you might suspect, this is NOT an easy task with two three year olds clinging and crying about the temporary departure of every toy, despite our best efforts to “capture the moment” with Christmas music blaring the background. (By the way, the trick is to distract them with a “new” toy to rotate in- they will play happily for at least 20 minutes- but have those ready to go before removing the “old” ones). The older boys and the neighbors were playing out front when my second oldest (and animal lover) yelled to me that a stray dog had just wandered into our yard. I’ll be honest, my first thoughts were...I’m sure the dog can find its way home. If I check for a collar and there isn’t one, then I’ve taken on the responsibility of finding its owner. Maybe I can just assure my son that the dog will be fine and we can pretend this never happened.

After all, we lost our beloved dog earlier this year and it was quite traumatic for the family, but especially this child. And he’s been begging for another dog ever since. I knew that was HIS first thought.

Photo: bk images

Sure enough, the dog had a collar...but no tag. Now I couldn’t let her wander off because I knew she belonged to someone who loved her enough to give her a collar. And she was a very sweet black lab mix. So, leaving my patient and understanding husband to man the twins and mess of toys, five kids (including the neighbors, minus the dog-lover) and Christmas decorations, my son and I set off, going house to house in search of the dog’s owner. We made it clear to the end of our street and back, and no one recognized her. And while most people were apologetic, none offered to help find her owner.  I knew I couldn’t keep her even for a few days to hang signs with 4 small kids at our house, despite my son’s pleading. And she had some visible tumors, so calling the Humane Society would not be ideal. Even trying to get her to a vet’s office to see if she had a microchip (if I could find one open on a Sunday) would be problematic with the kids.

Finally, I approached the last house within proximity and held out hope that this would be her home. I was relieved when the kid the lives there opened the door, but then he said she wasn’t his black lab and my heart sank. Upon taking a closer look, he said he did know who she belonged to and offered to take her home. He has no idea how grateful I was to hear those words!

Interestingly enough, this house was only two doors down from us, yet it was the last house I tried. In part because we had issues with this (and another neighbor) kid a few years back who were several years older than our boys and who had been cussing and being mischievous in front of our kids (4 and 5 at the time). My husband had to “talk to” the neighbor boys about being appropriate in front of younger kids. And there just didn’t seem to be a lot of parental supervision, so we encouraged out kids to steer clear of him. Yet, this very kid (a few years later) is offering to help me tremendously without giving it a second thought. He was kind and courteous and a good neighbor.

So, this experience has reminded me this Christmas to love my neighbor (and, as my husband put it, “not judge them by their skinny jeans” and skate boards), to remove myself from the chaos and stress that is “the season” and focus on helping others and doing the right thing. So many people (and a dog) in the this situation were helped, and at the end of the day, isn’t that what’s it all about?

And, no our decorations aren't hung, but Christmas has begun at our house.

Taking Down the Gates

The gates aren’t just open, they’re removed. If there’s one thing having twins has taught me, it’s that things go much more smoothly when I can find peace with moving into the next stage of motherhood and not fight the changes all the way. But change can be unnerving.

We took the baby gates down recently, so our three year old twins now have free reign of the entire house at their own leisure. The truth is, they’ve access for a while, since the gates were often left open by the older siblings, and then eventually ignored all together. Never the less, they were my security. It was a tangible boundary that was indicative of the toddler stage we were in, and its absence is a tell tale sign that life has grown and evolved. Whether I want it to or not.

Parenting is a constant exercise in letting go of some things while simultaneously holding tight to others. After I had the twins, I was completely satisfied (and mostly overwhelmed) with the idea that our family of six was just the right size. I’ve known that every stage we’ve gone through, from crawling to talking, has been the beginning- and the end- of a stage of motherhood I probably won’t be experiencing again. And I’m okay with that. But there’s something about removing the baby gates that seems so final, so free and so...insecure. Those gates kept them out of harm’s way, provided stability when pulling up to stand, and gave them balance when learning to walk. But my babies are no longer infants, babies or toddlers. They are now preschoolers and their world is growing with them. As much as I want to close that gate and keep all the innocence, sweetness and security locked safely behind it, that’s just not reality. The reality is that they need the space, they need the exposure and they need to learn new boundaries...often by consequences. I can always comfort them, but I can’t always protect them.

And so, I’m letting go of the baby gates and holding tightly to the hope that my babies won’t stray too far and will always want to come back to their mommy.

Funny how when our kids grow, we do too.

Top 10 Questions/Comments I Get As A Mother of Twins...And My Responses

1. Are they twins?
Why, yes. Yes, they are. (Then people respond, “I thought so...but they’re so big”. Apparently twins grow just like real babies.)
2. Oh, you finally got your girl!
Yes, but with 3 older brothers, she hasn’t figured out she’s a girl yet.
3. I don’t know how you do it.
I try not to think about it.
4. Are they identical?
Ummm, no. This one’s a boy and this one’s a girl.
5. Did you use fertility?
No. (thought: but if I had I’m not sure I would share the details of my personal reproduction with a perfect stranger)
6. Do you have twins in your family?
I do now.
7. How much did they weigh when they were born?
He was 6 lbs, she was 5.11. (Which usually prompts the response, “Wow, that’s a lot of baby”. My translation: “Wow, you must have been HUGE...” Yep, I was pretty much bursting with babies).
8. Do they have their own language?
Yes, English
9. Oh, a boy and a girl, you’re done now, right?
I find this question a little presumptive- see #5- and you should see their face when I answer, “Actually I have four. But, yes, we are done.”
10. Were they full term?
Luckily, yes (or close enough, just one day shy). At which point I am guaranteed to hear a story about someone they know who had twins...

But it goes with the territory. And the best part is that when you meet someone else with twins you have an instant friend with whom to share stories, co-miserate and exchange admiration. Having twins isn’t easy, but I feel privileged to be among some of the strongest women I know.

Life in Two Minute Increments

Having twins has its perks. But it also has its drawbacks. Apparently today is I-want-what-you-have day, as it has been filled with a series of tug-of-wars over certain toys. All. Day. Long. My solution? The timer, set for two minutes and mandated sharing. Why two minutes? Because that’s about the maximum amount of time I can tolerate the crying and screaming that ensues when the desire to play with a toy overwhelms their senses. That, and it’s just enough time for a three year old’s attention span to wear off.

And when the timer doesn’t work, time out does. Which also lasts about two minutes. And since most of our day seems to be comprised of timers and time outs, it’s being lived in increments of two minutes at a time. And it keeps me from losing it...I can keep my cool through two minutes much easier than I can get through two hours. Today is one of those days where trying to teach my kids patience and perspective reminds me to do the same.