Nice Dreams

They love me like I was a brother
They protect me
Listen to me
They dug me my very own garden
Gave me sunshine
Made me happy
Nice dream
Nice dream
Nice dream

(If you think that you're strong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think you belong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think that you're strong enough)
Nice dream
(If you think you belong enough)
--Radio Head lyrics

If you ask me what is the single hardest part of being a mother to triplet boys, I’ll answer this: realizing that having so much means I have so much to lose. (At least you can't accuse me of taking my boys for granted, even if I do posses a flair for heightened emotion.) Sometimes I wonder, why do we build up complexity only to make ourselves so fragile?

The most profound fear and sadness overwhelm me time to time whenever I worry about one (or all) of my boys. Scary feelings I sometimes wish I wasn’t burdened with. When one crisis passes, Jerry always reassures me. Don’t worry . . . there will be something to worry about next week. We are doing great, he tells me. And so we are.

When I was younger I sometimes day dreamed that I lived an unattached life, no family, and lived exiled from society, like Jeremiah Johnson or in some cave. All by myself, with nobody to worry, and nothing to deal with except Nature and me.

A memory. A few years ago, before the triplets, I was driving west through the Colorado Mountains during a snow storm; no chains, no anti-lock brakes, no four-wheel drive; just my little economy car with balding tires, frosted windows, and me (and very little experience with snow). I entered a long mountain tunnel leaving behind a few falling snow flakes and was stunned several miles later when I exited the hole into blizzard white. Panic. Snow filled the off ramps. No exits, no turning back. Cars over turned, flipping and spinning in front of me. The only calm came from Radio Head. I played the song 'Nice Dreams' over and over . . . and over . . . until the snow eased and juniper trees dominated the landscape, meaning I had climbed down the greatest peaks into safety.

How to end this post, I'm not sure, except to show pictures of my three little junipers. They dug me my very own garden
Gave me sunshine
Made me happy
Nice dream
Nice Dreams.
(Dramatic, aren't I?)

The Two Peas

Doing that identical thing again.


Wait, come back . . .

This always gets laughs at the playground.




Bereket kept coming up to me yesterday wanting me to show him how to connect his little car to a little trailer (little like hand sized). He finally got it and seemed happy with it. Then last night I walk into the living room and he had hitched up a red plasma car behind his blue plasma car (yes, the blue one is his so hands off) as if he was trailing it. And under his blue plasma car was a little buggy car that was trailing it . And there he was riding around like this, seated in the blue plasma car. Genius!


Of course Sira wanted to copy the exact thing and started fussing over it. I asked Bereket to help him out, show him how it's done, but he only succeeded in adding to Sira's frustration. It took me about 10 minutes to get Sira to stop crying over this failure. The red plasma car simply would not stay put.


This morning everybody wanted a baby blanket wrapped tightly around as they wandered the house. The blankets kept falling off and each child grew frustrated. Finally I put Sira's blanket on the floor and told him it's better to sit on it. Of course Bereket saw this and wanted his spread out on the floor to sit on next to Sira. I put a puzzle at Bereket's feet and he immediately repositioned the puzzle so that it sat squarely between him and Sira. They pieced the puzzle together in peace.

That's all there was in 2008

Grandma torture . . .

Good by old, hello new. As 2008 rolled on by it got me thinking of other milestone farewells we bade during the last 12 months. By by cribs, sippie cups (except on the go), chair tipping, size 5 diapers (hello size 6 . . . guess adult-sized diapers are next), 90% of food and utensil throwing, toddler-proof door knobs, sleeping in past 7:15 (pitter-patter is not a bad alarm clock), and Tsega said good by to size 2T and a whole lot of hair.

I've captured the greatest moments of 2008 ala video montage style. Excuse the weirdish first song. As I thought about what is life really like with 2 year old triplets, it struck my fancy. Keep on dancing, break out the booze, and have a ball.

Happy New Year!!!

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Triplets find zero uses for the Bilibo

Is this a joke? Some kind of mother sucking scam? Have I been bamboozled? I wish somebody had told me all that before I took this $27 toy seriously.

But The Bilibo received such high praise from a few blog friends out there, that I had to get it for the kidsos.

"Open ended fun!"
-Anonymous blogger #1

"Every time I think [Jane Doe] has done everything she is going to do with this one, she finds something new to do with it."
-Anonymous blogger #2

And isn't it Swedish? Of course they always do things better (except food & music) than most of the globe, so there must be ingenious weaved into every plastic fiber. There simply must be because it looks like a hunk of nothing to me (but I'm not Swedish so can't trust me).

We have had it for 2 weeks now and so far the triplets have enjoyed zero open ended uses from it. Just when I think they can't think of anything to do with it, they find another way to ignore it. Well, I guess I saw Sira sitting in it once while playing with his new barn on the floor. Then last night he nosed dived into it a couple of times. And I think I remember Tsega throwing it across the room more than once. Oh, yeah, Sira filled it with cars and then dumped them over his head about 5 times in a row the other night before I told him to stop (there's only so much our soft wood floor can handle and the plasma cars will be the end of it someday). And more than once we all played helmet head with it. But a few minutes of mild interest over the course of many weeks was not what I had in mind.

Oh well, it's kind of a cute piece of expensive junk to store little toys in. And wow, I have 2 of them. Lucky me.

Twos

The boys are exactly 2 and 1/2 years old today. And it was exactly 2 years and 1 month ago, on Thanksgiving Day, that we laid live eyes on our boys in the flesh and knew they were real. Up until that point I had my doubts. I looked and felt awful just before we met; my nervous face is not pretty. But they--my Jah but they were cute babies. I was so embarrassed because I had never changed a diaper in my life. Jerry had to show me how to pace and bounce baby when he cries. All that stuff was easy to learn and some sort of instinct seemed to come out of me--from nowhere. I can't believe this will be our third Christmas together.

Two years ago . . .


In the last two years the hardest of all was somewhere in the late teen months when clingy anxious took over two of the three (and left by the 20 something months). The best of all has been getting to know them; discovering more about each boy's personality everyday. He's the sweet little bug, He the mad dasher, and He the ornery particular one (formerly known as the follower, the fussy one, and the smiley one). Will my labels stick or will they surprise me? I can't wait to learn more . . .

One year ago . . .


They are good boys. They can scream and kick and act awful in a grocery store, restaurant (I have a doozey of a restaurant story for you--for now I'll say no more restaurants for long time to come), but I am left for no wants when it comes to sweet lovin. Give me that smile, those arms around me, watch these babies wiggle around in a wrestle grip together, and what more could I ask for? And except for grocery stores and restaurants, two is not really so terrible. It's not as rosy-cheeked and rolly-polly as baby, but it's way more laughs. And they just get cuter and cuter and cuter . . . and life feels harder since we hit two, but fuller and more satisfying.

Happy Holidays everybody. May your life be hard in good ways.

Two Peas Plus One Pod

One question we get asked often and something I think about too . . . do we detect differences, in what ever way differences manifest, between identical Bereket and Sira versus each of them with fraternal brother Tsega? Answer: yes.

I say there are clear and remarkable differences between Bereket and Sira. I feel differences between their overall auras and the way they move about, behave, sound, and express themselves. Yet at the same time, I can't seem to communicate very large differences to outsiders effectively. And hardly anybody has become very good at telling them apart with confident gusto. I fear they will always be greeted with a shaky "Hi there." and never like what Tsega gets: "Hi Tsega!!!". Show me a picture and I can tell you in an instant who is who. I think pictures capture their individualities better than the roving eye and I know you, readers, are pretty good at it. Get them running around the house naked, however, and I need more clues.

So yes, Bereket and Sira are different, but so much alike in so many ways it's spooky. It's genetic power. They tend to mill around together, wander off in the same direction (see photos captured above), observe the same things, stop and play the same toy together, mimic one another, turn their heads in the same direction at the same time, want the same thing at the same time, wake at the same time . . . it goes on and on like this. If I poke a finger in Bereket's food, I must touch Sira's (oh wait, never-ever touch Bereket's food lest you want him to meltdown); if I put shoes on Sira, I must put shoes on Bereket. If Bereket takes off his jacket, Sira follows; if Sira flops his butt down in the bath tub, Bereket follows. Ever read Gossie and Gertie? They are like that only it's more like Gertie and Gertie. Funny though and maybe luckily, they often don't share a bad mood. They tend to switch off sad hats, so to speak. Why is Sira so cranky right now? Because it's Bereket's turn to be really happy. (Or vice versa.)

Then there is Tsega. Tsega is like nobody. He is as different from his brothers like the sun is from the moon. He follows no lead. Even positionally, he is often wandering by himself outside the Bereket and Sira circle. In appearances and personality there could not be wider differences. He is so different it's also spooky. Again, the power of DNA. But please don't go the dark route as other have gone and start guessing that he is not genetically related . . . all that I know and have verified leaves me doubtless . . . just to calm any suspicious out there . . . shhh.

But now to the meat. Despite differences, similarities, nucleic acid duplications, embryonic splittings, in utero sac sharing, and identical twin telepathy, Sira and Bereket are no tighter than each one is with Tsega. They all get along about the same. They have all hated, fought, bonded to, and loved one another equally. We are a team.

Although I must admit the identical twin thing is really cool to witness; there is indeed something quite special about it. Like I've said before, we do not have medical or scientific proof Sira and Bereket are identical. But all the anecdotal proof is outstanding. And how lucky am I that I get best of both: fraternal and identical multiples all in one set.

By the way, guess what I found out? The ear piercing on Sira's upper right ear; the little hole that is a sure thing and only belongs to Sira . . . All this time I assumed somebody pierced it for identifying purposes. Nope, he was born with it.

Jealous of 8's Jon and Kate

I have been dying to watch the infamous 'Jon and Kate Plus 8' on TLC. Challenging task since we only receive 2.5 television channels--sometimes. But now it's on DVD so off to Netflix I went. I gotta say, it's a little boring. You'd think six 2 year olds (six!) and two 6 year olds would be wayyyy more--and I mean wayyyyyyyy more--noisy, violent, chaotic, wild, and messy, to say the least. So what happened? What did this woman do? How is it that her house is so clean, her kids so calm and disciplined? They stay in their cribs, keep quiet during nap time, stay put in their high chairs, refrain from throwing food and plates on the floor, and Kate is great at ignoring fights. I tried ignoring toddler fights for awhile, let them work it out on their own, but man it was getting dangerous and bloody. No good. Yeah, so Kate gets cranky and snappy, but then who wouldn't and man you should see my scary wife routine. And although she doesn't seem fun to hang out with, she is an incredible parent. Or rather, what I have witnessed deems her so.

I hate her. I am stinking jealous. Such a fine manager with such a large multiples brood is she. Yet I imagine our life witnessed on TLC to be much more entertaining. Then again, it may get a little too Andy Warhol watching mama slowly slowly lose energy (imagine the music getting slower and slower) and go catatonic on the couch. Not enough Warhol movie fans out there to sustain the show I guess . . .

Maybe I am jealous since she has surely topped me in the multiples arena. Oh, if only we had six more just like my three. Just kidding? I dunno, but here's another video for your entertainment. No music, night lighting, but still lots of laughs.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Happy Plasma Christmas

Santa came early and brought three Plasma Cars. (Thanks mom!) First one arrived in pretty red. The boys were beyond thrilled. Then it hid until number two arrived in sparkling blue. I don’t think I need to tell you why we hid one until another arrived.

Then we had two. About an hour of hissy fits later it was clear that the two needed to go into hiding until the day after Thanksgiving when I could rush out into the material hungry crowds and purchase number three (also in pretty red—the only one in the store). What a sad day when you look into tear streaked cheeks while prying little fingers apart and ripping toys from them for the sake of non-violence.

Then we had three and we were happy.

Did I really think two cars would be enough? Remember, Tsega's attention span is barely long enough for any toy. You never know with multiples and I never get three of any toy until I am sure everybody will play with it at the same time, all the time, and the item is deemed as highly needed for happiness and peace. (Shhh, the other grandma Santa is shoving three tricycles down the chimney! Baby's first trikey, how sweet.).

I just want my boys to be happy through things. That’s a joke.

About the Plasma Cars. They gain momentum by moving the steering wheel side to side and turn the wheel 180 degrees and you are in reverse. No feet required. My boys haven't figured out the physics yet, but for now they are happy to race around the house using leg power. They are the most fun toy my babes have played with so far, especially for car loving freaks like Sira and Bereket. They are simple yet ingenious; fast and smooth; great for inside on wood or tile floors. They are the perfect all season solution for getting those aggressions out. I don't care if they strip the floor finish off, they are staying. And they hold 240 pounds! You bet I tried it and my wieght stripped that section of the floor clean.

Oh what fun is this Christmas. First year the boys recognize Santa Clause, identify a Christmas tree for what it is, and find utter glee in presents. Not to mention I have somebody to watch all those silly Christmas movies and cartoons with now that they are hooked on videos (good job mama). And we got brave this year and got a Christmas tree. We realized, what's the worst that could happen, it's just a (dying) tree. Who cares if they knock it down or drag the lights off. I can't imagine saying no, stop that anymore than we already do. We did, however, decide to stop at lights and say no to ornaments, except for pretty red Christmas bows. Wise choice and a darn pretty tree.

Now for another Friend's Video (somebody calls them that--I love it): Plasma Car Demo.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Family Songs

This is one of those posts that was born to serve my failing memory and not so much to entertain my readers. Still, you gotta think: how corny.

Tsega: King of the Wild Frontier
-Lyrics by Dada

Tsega, Tsega
King of the wild frontier.
He crossed the river
He climbed the mountain
He rode the prairie
He was Tsega of the wild frontier.

Tsega, Tsega
King of the wild frontier.
He trapped the bobcat
He trapped the beaver
He trapped the coyote
And he made friends with them all.

He was Tsega of the wild frontier.
---

Why Tsega? Because he was a writhing screeching piece of work as an infant and required ultra soothing. The song worked and also worked the fussiness out of his personality. But one can replace Tsega with any child's name as we do in our house. My favorite part is "and he made friends with them all". Good job Dada.

Boom Boom Bah
-Lyrics by Bereket
Performed by All Three in Unison (this is important, you need at least a duet for effective strength, emphasis, and harmony)

Ah-boom boom BAH (heavy emphasis on the BA)
boom boom BAH
boom boom BAH
boom boom BAH
(repeat chorus three times)

Bik a Bik a Bee
-Lyrics by Tsega

Bik a Bik a Bee
Bik a Bik a Bee
Bik a Bik a Bee

Feel free to expose your family shame, err I mean family song, in the comments. :)

Ain't Got No Hair

"What about God?
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, what about God?
Nobody can take away

I got my hair, I got my head
I got my brains, I got my ears
I got my eyes, I got my nose
I got my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, I got my chin
I got my neck, I got my boobs"
--Ain't Got No performed by Nina Simone, adapted from the musical Hair.

"Let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees . . .
Hair, flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair"
--Hair lyrics from the musical Hair.

"I am not my hair"
--Performed by India Arie.

Oh, wait, ain't got no hair, ain't flowing through the trees neither. Because Meghan the hair dresser cut it all off. What was supposed to be a trim with shears turned into a massacre with clippers. An inch or two turned into six or eight. Not my fault people, not my fault, I was clear on what I wanted but then did nothing to stop it. Amazing how one wiggly child can get nerves shaking and short cuts taken. Tsega really needed a trim, everybody kept telling me it was so. It's uneven, all that fuzzy baby hair on top, just a trim, just a little off the sides and top, it's too long . . .

After all, the beauty shop I go to has large numbers of black clients. That is where the black people in town take their hair. The owner is black. Safe, right? Yet when you think about it, I never see any black males in town, young or old, with free hair longer than a 1/2 inch. Jerry's words are still ringing my ears: are you sure she's not just going to run the clippers through it?

I don't mind brushing it out everyday, it's only 5-10 minutes out of the day and I don't mind his fussing. OK, so 1/2 hour to much longer in the tub once or twice a month for thorough comb-outs was getting to us . . . Now it's gone, baby, gone. All those wonderful spiralling curls gone, left on the hair dresser's floor. Swept up and thrown out with garbage. Tsega's magic groove is gone, gone, gone. He's so normal looking now. Yes, still beautiful, for sure. But now he looks so grown up, so man-like. I think he's ready to date. :(

And what really got me depressed? When I announced out loud that his curls will reach out and touch the sky again by the time he is three. Three!!!??? I need a drink . . .

Before:


After:



Of course Tsega could care less and will enjoy less hair tugging in the mornings. Sira and Bereket watched with dad from outside the window and when we got back in the car, Sira pulled at his hair and cried. You (and You) next, my dear.