Here's Why, Uncategorized

TNT and 3 days short.

Tomorrow, Elizabeth and Charlotte will be 3 days shy of 6-months old.

They will be the same age Miles was when Megan died.

Tonight, I am thinking all of those thoughts that you think I’m thinking.

(I am always aware; my wheels are always making these connections.)

(It always hurts.)

My heart is built with a fuse that will surely one day burn out. Some days I know this truth so clearly that it scares me, makes me claw and cling to life in all its self-constructed value. Other days, I cheer that fuse on — beg it to burn as bright as can be.

(You do this, too. We all do.)twins

Here's Why, Life right now

No bigs.

On Tuesday mornings, I meet with a big ol’ group of women, all ages, and we listen to our teacher and drink lots of coffee and oogle babies and escape our toddlers for an hour or so. Bible Study Tuesday has become a staple in my life.

Today, our fearless leader asked us, “What are you doing in your life that counts for eternity?”

Quite the question.

My mind went right to my lap, which was bouncing a fussy Charlie Girl.

My lap is tired.

I’m tired — Mother of Newborn Twins tired. Mother of a Two-year Old tired. Mother of a Six-Going-on-Sixteen-Year Old tired. My eyes are tired of opening at 3am. My ears are tired of screeches. My arms are tired of catching, lifting, hoisting, holding. My skin is tired of being touched and touched and touched. And my nostrils? Well, yeah, they’re tired too.

This is what I’m doing that I hope, hope, hope is counting for eternity, at least in a positive way. And here’s what I think.

I’m doing really, really well. I am KILLING IT.

I know this for a fact because my kids bathe daily, usually. I know because nine times out of ten, Carter’s homework is finished before the morning it’s due. It’s a fact because Jack ate split pea soup for lunch and only spilt half down his shirt and because 50% of my twins are sleeping through the night.

I know because Carter says if he could pick anyone in the world, he’d want to have dinner with me and a sleepover with Grammie and Miley. I know because Jack hasn’t broken a bone yet. I know because I regularly load up four seat-belted kids into my sky-blue minivan and successfully pull out of our driveway without major bodily injuries. I know because our kids can’t tell the difference between real and fake meat, because one boy loves asparagus and the other loves salad.

I know because church on Sundays, gymnastics on Wednesdays, baseball on Saturdays. Because I remembered to cut out all of those Boxtops for Education. Because more whole foods! Fuel points! Notes in his lunchbox! Two dishwasher cycles, three loads of laundry — daily!

I’m totally bragging here, but I even exercised this week. I even curled my hair once.

But I couldn’t do it all by myself. I’d like to take a moment to praise the other power players raising these little humans: their dad, their grandparents, their aunts and uncles, and Amazon Prime.

This #momlife is the bee’s knees, and I am rocking it. You go, Heather Lynne. Keep on keepin’ on.

(But mostly, what I’m trying to say is this #momlife is so, so hard, and I’m going to keep on keepin’ on. Eternity is on the line.)

 

Uncategorized

(Where I track how hard it is to type).

If it could just keep raining, I’d appreciate it.

Unlike rainy days as a teacher (where the teenagers howl at the moon), rainy days at home make for peace, especially during toddler naptimes and lazy lunchtimes and —

(One.)

— book-reading laptimes. It’s not that it’s free from interruption. It’s just that the house is a sort of almost quiet-ish where you can hear the hum of the dryer and the tapping of droplets on our porch and Carter’s breath in the chair next to mine.

(Two.)

The girls are four weeks old today. Their existence has given me a sense of something I can’t quite explain. One of those intangible somethings that I haven’t found any good words for. The closest thing I can come to is that I feel done, complete, and —

(Three.)

— full. Like I know I’m done with a part of my life, the pregnant/person-growing part of my life, and I know this is my family, my unit. Seeing into the future, just a tiny bit, has become that much more lucid for me.  This probably makes no sense. Does anyone, any parent, have better terminology for this? It’s a good feeling, a calm and solid, warm and gooey feeling. Of course I am frequently warm and gooey and wide-hearted anyways these days. New baby smell will do that to a person. It’s just that —

(Four.)

— I’ve got this husband and this marriage that I can wrap both arms around and never get enough. I have this sweet-souled six-year old with blue-blue eyes and two missing teeth. I have a deep-voiced two-year old with out-to-there lashes, the best kissin’ lips and humongous, ever-growing feet. And now I’ve got two tiny twins, each completely different and separately wonderful from the other —

(Five.)

Charlotte with her balding jet-black mop of hair, her round face and her crinkled ear. Her love for laying belly-down on Dad’s chest —

(Six.)

— and the funny way she clears her throat and grunts in her sleep. Her olive skin. Her bubble-blowing. Charlie. Char-Char Binks. Charmander.

Elizabeth? Prim and proper. Sleeps with her hands folded, tiny button nose in the air. Megan’s namesake and eerily-similar personality. Strawberry duck fluff; pursed lips. Tiniest peanut of a baby who still swims in newborn diapers. Mom-likes-Ellie-but-Dad-votes-Lizzie. Little Bit. Marmot. Squeaker.

It’s not to say life is perfect. Life is loud and messy, and we’re flying by the seat of our pants.

If I were to point out insecurities in the hopes of recording the grittier parts of reality, I’d write about how I’m still scared of having four kids. How that seems like too many. I’d write about how soft and squishy my midsection is; how it feels like puppy skin, and how this both makes me feel proud and daunted. I’d talk about —

(Seven.)

— my struggle with breastfeeding, and how small that makes me feel sometimes.

(Eight.)

I’d talk about losing my temper/mind at 3:30 in the morning, about worrying about medical bills and trying to figure out how I’m going to run this roost solo once Jesse goes back to work in two days.

We’ve got newborn twins — double blessings that keep us up all night and tethered to an insane feeding cycle during the day. Jack’s a walking accident with proprioceptive sensory issues. He’s also two with a powerful set of lungs and an Irish temper. Carter wants to play computer games with pixelated blood and is all of a sudden preoccupied with natural disasters: volcanoes, tornados, tsunamis, acid rain.

It’s a never ending juggling act around here.

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(Nine.)

In wrapping things up, I’ve got to sing praises to all of my meal-makers, my conversation-keepers, my coffee-deliverers. My neighbors, my family, my friends; my people.

When I’m about to pull out my hair — with fists, from the roots — I try to think about how undeniably joyful my life is. I think about how beautiful it all is, despite my always-sticky floors and full hampers and all the other things that don’t matter.

Hey look at that — we got through this post without a tenth interruption.

(Ten.)

Almost.