Regional Spelling Bee and Where HAS the Hatchet Been, Anyway?!

I'm sorry I've been offline for so long. A lot has been going on, not least of which was the fact that I was still processing my trip to Canada.

There's nothing quite like dropping everything, rushing off to hang with your mom and sisters to give you a lot to think about. Then, after I returned home again, Eric and the kids were kind enough to share the plague that they had contracted whilst I was away. I ran a 103.6 - 104 degree fever for a week.

That'd put a dent in anyone's blogging schedule, I betcha.

Add a little crazy life action, a decided lack of desire to edit photos that leave me sad, a screamy Logan (Being ill doesn't suit him.) and a sudden and burning desire to organize my entire house, starting with Caitlin's room and that's where I've been.

Oh yeah, and watching Caitlin at the Regional Spelling Bee.

She really didn't want to go, which I chalked up to nerves. I don't really blame her, but I knew it was better for her to go than to give in and let her skip out. This was a learning experience, people!

Eric studied with her, cramming words in right up to the day of the Bee, after chasing her around for a month trying to get her to study a little at a time. Hmm. Wonder where she inherited the Cramming Gene from, eh?

Anyway, we went to the Bee and it turns out she was slotted to sit in seat #1. Oooooh! No pressure, kid! The kids there ranged from 7(!) to 14. The winner gets an all expenses paid trip to Washington for the National Spelling Bee. How cool would that be?

There in the background is the 3rd time winner of the Regional, a 14 year old. In second place was an 11 year old. Awesome!

Caitlin, like all the other 52 kids, was terrified up on the stage and spent many minutes during the practice round picking the sparkly bits off of her shirt, tapping her feet and holding her breath. Not that we noticed or anything. Or tried to get her to stop. Nope. Heh! (Practice word: "admiral", which she nailed.)

It was fascinating to me to see how the Bee actually worked and that clearly, a number of these kids had all been there before in previous years and had the pattern down!

Conspicuous? Continuous? Oh man! What did he SAY?!

Caitlin's word: "contiguous". Unfortunately, being as nervous as she was, she didn't make better use of the tools they reminded all the kids they could use. Ask to hear the word again, get a definition, and hear it used in a sentence. She missed the -uous by changing it to -ious and that was all she wrote. turns out you only get one opportunity to spell the word and once you say a letter, there are no take-backs.

Suddenly, we were done.

Since we had a sitter watching the twins at home, we took the opportunity and our Champion Speller off for a day of Alone Time with the Parents. We had brunch, did a little shopping and picked up How To Train Your Dragon on DVD. All by ourselves.

Win, lose or draw, it was an excellent day and she's an excellent girl.

We're already negotiating whether or not she is going to be in the Bee next year. Hah! We told her to not even worry about it until next fall. Then we'll see.

Next up: What have I been doing in Caitlin's room?

Important Safety Tip: Attach your child's dresser to the wall

The twins tried to kill themselves this evening.

It's true.

One month before they turn 2 years old, they tried to off themselves via their dresser. This dresser:

Yeah, it looks innocent, doesn't it?!

Except that it's not that clean anymore and has stuff all over the top, like that trashcan that you see to the right in the photo. Babies like smelly trash, as it turns out. It also has other things sitting on it like wipes, creams, possibly dirty/clean clothing and sneakers. Babies like to wander off with their shoes, you see, and then when it's time to go out? The Great Shoe Hunt begins.

Oh and all of the handles have been removed from the bottom four drawers because short people kept trying to get into the drawers and fling baby clothes all over the place. You know, that's not nearly as much fun to clean up every 30 minutes as you might think it is. Oh, and they'd try smashing each other's fingers in the drawers, just for fun. So off went the handles.

The one thing we didn't do? We didn't attach it to the wall.

Why?

Because the entire time Caitlin was small, she never once tried to climb her dresser. Her dresser which is skinnier and taller and more top heavy than the twins. The dresser from which we never removed the handles. Apparently we thought that for SOME REASON the twins wouldn't really think about climbing theirs, either. Especially since they couldn't really get the drawers open without handles. (You can see where this is going, can't you?)

Tonight, while I was downstairs washing dishes and cleaning up the Dinner Blast Zone, Eric was upstairs doing laundry, Caitlin was off doing Caitlin things and the twins were in their room. Safe.

We thought.

Then there was the loud rumbling crashing noise, the sound of babies crying and Eric yelling for me. I dropped the sponge as soon as I heard the loud rumbling and crying and sprinted up the stairs.

I haven't learned to teleport yet, but I'm still working on it.

I leapt into the room to find Eric straining to hold up the dresser. All 6 drawers were open and the twins were laying at its base, crying and scared. I grabbed the other end and started shoving the drawers back in and pushing it back upright. Clearly, they decided that tonight was the night to try to climb Mt. Dresser and were bloody lucky that upon tipping over, the drawers themselves stopped the dresser from falling on them both and crushing them.

That dresser is not light. It is completely full, as well. They could have been killed.

We were lucky.

So fucking lucky that we were both home and that one of us was right there, next door to their room. Incredibly lucky that the drawers stopped it from falling further and that neither one was hurt.

You never know what might happen to your children. You can't be with them every single second of the day. And, let's face it, you'd like them to be safe in their own rooms. First thing tomorrow, Eric is going to install wall anchors.

If you haven't already done so, please go out and get some anchors for your children's dressers and bookshelves (and anything else heavy you think they may consider climbing). YOU may not be so lucky.

Don't let your child become a statistic.

Rough Day

Almost lost my kid today.

Why is it that when you're late to pick up your perpetually late child, that this is the one time she gets out of the building on time? Then, when she doesn't see you anywhere nearby, starts wandering off.

Where exactly was she going? No one knows.

Wait. Let me back up.

So today was Parent Teacher Conference* day and I was running late. Originally we were going to take the twins, but they decided they had an urgent date with their blankies and cribs, so I left them in Eric's care. However, the leaving process took a little longer than intended and I was late to pick Caitlin up.

I looked for her outside, but saw neither hide nor hair of her.

I looked for her inside, but was assured by her teacher that she had already pulled an Elvis (The Caitlin has left the building!).

I went around to the playground, expecting to see her playing with a friend. No luck.

I went to the office, hoping to see her there all upset at my tardiness. Nope.

Then I started asking the other moms and received word that she'd headed off that-a-way. That-a-way, of course, is not even vaguely in the direction of our house. That's when the worry started creeping in.

Several moms thought it odd that they had seen her heading in that direction, but didn't stop her. Now, clearly, they were all wondering why they didn't check in with their gut instinct as they watched me crank up the Freaked Out Mom expression.

A cop pulled up in a cruiser and I was desperate enough to begin describing her to him when it struck me that I didn't even know what she was wearing that morning. I could describe her and her coat, but was she wearing blue jeans or some other color pants? She didn't wander off with someone, but could she be walking towards someone's house? Why not ours? (If you're going to pick a direction to go wandering, why wouldn't you pick the direction you know your house is in?!)

Just as I was regretting not having my cellphone on me, one of the dads drove up and announced that Caitlin had been spotted and was reeled in by one of the other moms. She was waiting for me in the office.

After thanking everyone profusely, I set off for the office. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest as the adrenaline, which had been set for Flight, was now resetting into Fight. I now understand why my mother would be so upset when she "lost" me that she'd take it out on me by yelling at me angrily once I was found. Wait, I thought you were scared. Why are you yelling?

I get it now.

I decided not to yell at Caitlin. I did have a hard time not crying though. However, Caitlin started crying in reaction, so I let her cry for both of us.

In case you're wondering, yes we've had this conversation before but she apparently "forgot". She was walking towards her friend's house to have his mom call us, completely forgetting that they have telephones in the school office.

Ack!

I'm now thinking about putting a low-jack on that child.

Or maybe The Clapper.

I suppose I could go "old school" and just get a ball and chain, but that might put a cramp in her style at school.

What would you do?




* She's doing great! Thanks for asking.

Inauguration Day

Did you hear that sound? It was a huge sigh of relief from around the globe.

Obama is no longer President Elect. He is now The Man.

Ahhhhh.

Must be time to get to work!

I can't help but wonder what my maternal grandmother would have thought about this? I'm not clear on her history, but I think she was the child of a freed slave in Jamaica. Or, possibly, the grandchild of a slave. Not that long ago.

I know that when my parents got married in '66, it was a really weird time and that my mother was questioned about us kids a lot. She says she let the ignorant remarks roll right over her, but I can't help but think it must have been insulting. I know that I received my fair share of mean and ignorant remarks simply by being a child of a mixed marriage.

Now, though? To have such a child (Who is only 7 years older than I am!) be in the Oval Office? How cool is that?!

Very, very cool. That's how cool.

The Obama family are additionally fascinating to me because they clearly are a cohesive unit. There is clearly a great deal of love between them all and seeing that is so very heartwarming. I think it bodes well of the new president that he (Gasp!) loves his wife and daughters so obviously. I really hope it means that he will take the long view of changes that need to be made in office and instead of focusing on how to get re-elected in 4 years, actually focuses on how to make the world a better place for his children (and ours) to live in.

The planet needs the US to step up and get global climate change under control, if at all possible. I really hope it's not too late. I really hope that Obama will be given the grace and the help he needs to accomplish a lot before his term(s) is (are) over.

Here's to Hope!

Night sounds

I was mostly asleep when there was a tremendous Crash! followed by metallic pinging sounds.

My sleep-filled brain translated these noises into "Oh my god! Logan has shaken his crib apart, fallen to the ground and is buried under a piles of crib pieces and so hurt he's not crying!". With this frantic thought in mind, I vaulted out of bed, down the hall and into the twin's room where I flipped on the light and saw --

two sleepy babies looking up at me, wondering why I was waking them up.

They were happy to see me, though, and after a bit of milk went right back to sleep.

Eric pointed out the baby gate that was on the floor in the hallway - apparently a cat had knocked it over. Amazingly enough the sound of the crash didn't wake the babies. I did.

The metallic pinging sound was caused by the frame in Caitlin's room that Logan's crib banging had caused to fall off the shelf and shatter on the floor. In the middle of the night. At the same time the gate fell.

Goooood instincts! Baaaad translation.

Zombie Me

You know how you feel when you have to nurse someone at 12 midnight and then again at 3 am and then awaken to hysterical screaming by someone with a bloody nose who won't stay hydrated properly during the day at 5:30 am? You feel like a bloody zombie, that's what.


One of my favorite songs by No More Kings. This isn't their official video (couldn't find one), but it's pretty cute.

Then, when I have a few moments to myself, in my zombie state I sit around and read The Internet. I'm tired, I should go have a nap. Nope, let me just finish this article. Wait, one more email! Ooh, what about my favorite comics? Gotta have time for Lolcats! Next thing you know, the twins are awake again and it's back in the grinder for me.

When I snap out of my zombiefied state for a bit and have a shower, all of the thoughts I was avoiding come in to pummel me. Can I really do this farming thing? Where am I going to get start up money from? How am I supposed to learn about irrigation and crop rotation, succession planting and marketing without spending a lot of money learning it the hard way? I can't afford to work 12-16 hour days! I have 3 young children and a husband that expects to see me on a regular basis! Hell, I quit my last job working for The Man right before they outsourced 85% of my organization to India and I was "only" working 10 hour days then.

How do you know it's Opportunity knocking on your door and not A Really Bad Idea?

How are you supposed to recognize that This might just be IT! The Dream. The Job. The Career you've been wanting/waiting for?

How do you deal with the terror of the unknown and the sinking feeling that maybe this isn't such a good idea?

::Yeah, yeah, yeah, you love to grow plants. So the eff-ing what?! Who cares! Can you make a living at it? Will it take a pile of money to start up (Uhhh, yeah. Like $20-30K.)? Where are you gonna get that money from? A loan?! Based on what as collateral? Your house? You're going to bet your house on your ability to make plants grow?!::

Oh man!

But wait! What if I don't do this? What will I do instead? Slog along being a SAHM and take pretty pictures of my kids on occasion and wonder about What Could Have Been? Am I supposed to wait for that uncertain time in the far off future where all of the stars will align properly (Children grown up, lots of cash on hand, free time, plenty of sleep and energy and a good idea.) and then jump in and do Something Cool?

Right now I feel like I've got a Great Idea and a friend with lots of land and enthusiasm. I don't have money, or time, or childcare, or experience farming on a large scale. I have fear and uncertainty and a messy house; the ability to take a pretty picture, possibly write a little (I don't claim to be a Writer. What the hell do you do with semicolons, anyway?!), grow a few veggies and flowers and a passion for plants. And cooking. Oh and 3 kids, 2 cats, a husband and a yard that is never neat and tidy, yet has a lot of wild charm to it. Where's my cheerleader? Where's my Venture Capitalist with bags full of money?

How do you put your fears and skills together and make a business?

How do you grow up and make a job that you want to have?

How do you recognize that Knock on the door?

I don't have a peephole.

All's well that ends well

While sometimes no news may be good news, sometimes you really want the answer to be: "Everything looks just fine!"

Especially when the "everything" in question are your son's eyes.

Ahhh!

A few weeks back, when we took Caitlin in to get checked out for her glasses, the doc asked to have a peek at the twins' eyes, "just to see". I took Emma in and she was pronounced fit as a fiddle and cute to boot and then I took Logan in. He took longer because he was feeling squirmy and a little nervous about the bright light being shined in his eyes by this strange new person. She made hmmm-ing noises and took longer to finish checking him out.

My tension mounted.

Then she said the words that make your hair stand on end as a parent: "It may be nothing, but I'd like to see him again in 6 weeks."

Whaaa? What for? "Well...it may be nothing, but it might be the beginnings of lazy eye or in the worst case scenario, it might be eye cancer. It's extremely rare. It probably isn't but...."

Eye cancer?!

She had my full and complete attention, but the exam was over. I was bade to "not worry" and come back again. Ay yi yi! So I've spent the last 6 weeks trying not to think about it. Today we went back in for a quick re-check.

He's fine. He's perfect. He's darling and charming and his eyes are lovely.

Emma's, too.

Oh, but they might have a slight astigmatism, but that is probably just the fault of these fantastic genes they've inherited. We make 'em cute as buttons, but potentially blind as bats.

Whew!

Racism + Politics + Children = Awkward Conversations

Little pitchers still have big ears.

Bed time conversation tonight:

"Daddy can I tell you something?"
"Sure, honey."
"My friend said we should only vote for white people, because if we vote for the black people, they'll get rich and we'll be nothing."

Stunned silence.

Well!

Well, well, well.

Eric then had a long conversation with Caitlin about how that would be just as stupid as discriminating against blue eyed people, or blondes, or short people. Oh, and he also pointed out the fact that half of my family is black.

Wow. I'm just stunned.

You know, it's the 21st century, folks. The parents of this child aren't those of my parent's or grandparent's generation. Personally, I don't feel there's any excuse for this kind of talk anymore (Especially for theoretically "educated" people such as these are supposed to be.). Is this really what rich people are concerned about during this election? Don't vote for the black guy because we wouldn't want to let those people get rich and ruin being rich for the white people? Is that it? Really?! Wealth, health insurance, love, etc. can't be shared by all or you somehow lessen the value of those things for other people?

I think bloody well NOT.

People! Come ON! Are gay/black/hispanic/female/short people really that threatening to you that this is what you're teaching your children? Because if that's the case, I don't think we can be friends.

And I'm certainly not going to be interested in letting your kid be friends with my kid.

Moral of the story, as usual: don't say anything in front of your kids that you don't want them repeating to their friends. Gaaaaah!

Toadally Squeamish

Got another toad today!

Still couldn't touch it.

You know, it's funny: I don't consider myself very girlish most of the time but when it come to the bugs and toads issue, I'm a complete wimp. I cannot make myself hold one or touch one.

I had a Daddy Longlegs crawling on me yesterday, freaked out and whacked it off of me. I think I turned it into a Daddy Seven Legs. Sorry Mr. Spider! Bleaaargh!

Today, out at the farm, Heather found another toad for me. She picked him up (I think this one is a male because it squeaked. The other one never made a single sound. BTW, she's still alive and hanging out in my yard. That, however is another story.) while he peed frantically, trying to convince her to let him go, she let her kids hold it and then popped it into the Bug Box for me to take home. My other toad, she needs a friend! All the while, I marveled over how easy it was for her to hold it and then laughed semi-hysterically when it lunged in my general direction.

Ack! Eeek! Ewww!

Not so brave around the squishy things in life, am I?

Well, as I was driving away, with the toad in Bug Box, sitting on the passenger side floor of the car, I suddenly figured that I should prop the box up so it didn't fall over and let the toad out. At that very moment, the toad gave a huge Heave! and forced its way out of the box.

The toad was loose in my car.

As the semi-hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat, I considered my options:

1. Stop the car, get out and get Heather to get the toad. Nah. Too wimpy.
2. Stop the car, get out and get the toad myself. No waaaaay.
3. Drive home, carefully, and get Eric to get the toad. Sounded good, so that's what I did.

Did I mention that I had sudden vision of getting in a car accident on the way home and having headlines reel across the TV screen:

Toad Causes Six Car Pile Up
Woman Crashes Car, Blames Toad: "It Touched Me!", she screamed.
Toad 1, Hatchet 0

You get the idea.

Well, I was almost home. I'd been listening to the toad shuffle around and squeak underneath the passenger seat. I kept hoping it would remain on that side of the car because it would get really messy really fast if it decided to crawl under my feet. At the last turn, I heard a shuffling noise, looked down, and there was the toad, looking up at me from its position in the door pocket.

I have to tell you, I screamed in, yes, semi-hysterical laughter. OK, maybe it was hysterical. You'll never know!

I mentally willed that sucker to not touch me! and somehow, it knew better than to jump out of that pocket and into my lap. Instead, it jumped under my seat. I consider the fact that I didn't floor it the rest of the way home an incredible display of Iron Will. Be amazed!

Upon entering the garage, I called Eric on the cell phone and asked him to come rescue me.

"The toad! The toad is loose in my car! Come get it!"

He laughed at me, but you know what? He came and got it and that's what really matters.

Then he released it out by the pond in back. Hopefully it will find Bouncer and they'll hit it off. I wish them lots of Toad Luck.

They'd just better not touch me!

Ice Cream or "Ice Cream"?

I love ice cream! Don't you? Mmmm!

There are certain vendors that I love(d) to go to as a kid, the one sporting 31 Flavors was key among them. Now though? Umm...I think we've come to a parting of the ways.

Jamoca Almond Fudge

Ingredients: cream, nonfat milk, chocolate flavored ribbon (corn syrup, water, high fructose corn syrup, cocoa processed with alkali, modified food starch, propylene glycol, artificial flavors, potassium sorbate (preservative), carrageenan, salt, propyl paraben (preservative)), sugar, roasted almonds, corn syrup, jamoca extract (coffee extract, sugar, potassium sorbate and methyl paraben (as preservatives)), whey, caramel color, cellulose gum, mono and diglycerides, guar gum, carrageenan, polysorbate 80.

The following ingredients are all made from corn (I'm currently reading Michael Pollan's book: The Omnivore's Dilemma. Wow! Get a copy!):

For modified or unmodified starch, for glucose syrup and maltodextrin, for crystalline fructose and ascorbic acid, for lecithin and dextrose, lactic acid and lysine, for maltose and HFCS [High Fructose Corn Syrup], for MSG [Mono-Sodium Glutamate] and polyols, for the caramel-color and xanthan gum, read: corn. Corn is in the coffee whitener and Cheez Whiz [Eww!], the frozen yogurt and TV dinner, the canned fruit and ketchup and candies, the soups and snacks and cake mixes, the frosting ans gravy and frozen waffles, the syrups and hot sauces, the mayonnaise and mustard, the hot dogs and the bologna, the margarine and shortening, the salad dressings and the relishes and even the vitamins.
-- The Omnivore's Dilemma, pp. 18-19.

So, with that handy list, the "ice cream" includes corn in 7 of the ingredients that I recognized. Also, why are there parabens in my "ice cream"?!

There I was, thinking I'd gotten rid of them in my skin care products and they're in my food?! I even noticed recently that there was methyl paraben in my toothpaste! And it's from Nature's Gate. Not so natural, the Nature's Gate, I'm thinking.

From the Environmental Working Group's website Skin Deep, Propyl paraben: 4 (Moderate Hazard) is implicated in developmental/reproductive toxicity, allergies/immunotoxicity, endocrine disruption, organ system toxicity (non-reproductive). Um. Oh. Oh dear.

When did we stop eating ice cream and start eating all of these chemicals? To me, ice cream is cream or milk, sugar, vanilla, a pinch of salt, eggs and whatever variety of fruit you wanted to throw in (or chocolate).

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, and yet I am. Must be time to break the ice cream maker back out and start making my own ice cream again. It's a bit of work, but at least I know what's in it.

I'll be sure to skip the step that suggests adding the propyl and methyl parabens.

Argh!

Of Mice and Moms

I was out working in the yard with Heather, moving compost from the first bin to the middle bin* when we saw the mouse (Suburban Correspondent won't like this next part!).

She was huge. Clearly she'd spent plenty of time in the bin, eating kitchen scraps and was as healthy and sleek as you're ever likely to see a field mouse get. There were tunnels in the nearby herb bed that were clearly her work. She was frantically running back and forth along the back edge of the bin, unable to escape now that she was much larger than the 1/4" hardware cloth openings. (Note to DIY builders of compost bins: use 1/8" or smaller hardware cloth for the sides of your bin to attempt to exclude mice. Or just keep turning it to keep the pile too hot for mice to live there. Unlike us!) She also looked kind of funny. What was that attached--?

There were baby mice attached to her abdomen.

Pinkies.

Clearly we'd interrupted feeding time and were left shocked and staring. We needed to get her out of there, one way or another.

In the few moments it took to figure out what we were looking at, I recognized the dilemma we were in: do we let the mouse and her progeny live or die?

If we let them live, they'd go on to move back into the pile (unless I keep it hot this year), and possibly nibble on my garden plants. They might even consider moving into the house if it gets too cold in the winter, as they did last year. However, they also would provide a food source for the local owls and snakes.

Looking at her and at the shovel in Heather's hands, I made the only choice I could: I took off my heavy leather gloves and handed them to Heather so that she could lift the mouse and her pinkies up and out of the bin and release her. (I might be willing to let her live, but I'm too chicken to touch her! Heather is made of tougher stuff than I!)

Terrified but alive, she scurried away, her children flapping about her furry little legs.

I identified with the mouse. I couldn't kill her.

A mother of multiples, she was trapped and facing desperate odds. She wasn't hurting me directly (The rules change if they step foot inside my house, though!) and she had the right to live her own life, in her own way. It's tough enough being a mother with a singleton, multiples add a whole 'nother level of complexity. I can't tell you how often we thank our lucky stars that we didn't have triplets or more! (I remain convinced that each group of parents of multiple children are convinced about how easy it would be to have one less child. Twin parents look at singleton parents and sigh wistfully about how easy it would be and then give thanks that it wasn't triplets. Triplet parents do the same thing, looking at twin parents. How easy it would be! Then they look at quad parents and wag their heads, grateful for "only" triplets. Quad parents sigh with longing at a "mere" set of triplets and look askance at sextuplets. The children, my friends, are always...cleaner on the other side!)

Poor little fat mouse! She doesn't get a break from nursing, either!



* The day before this, I had stolen a few minutes out in the yard alone (Successfully scraped off the twins!) to empty out the middle bin of its "black gold". All of the compost that had gone unsifted and unused from the previous year due to my ginormous gravid state.

I have to tell you, there's something so incredibly satisfying about looking at 5 or 6 inches of finished compost in a 3' x 3' bin and feeling like you've accomplished something. The best part, however, is when you set up your wheelbarrow, break out your screen (I use a 1/8" hardware cloth screen that is attached to a frame of 1" x 2" boards that I made, big enough to fit over the top of the wheelbarrow.) and sift away. As I shoveled and shook and sifted all of that material, the dross remained on top, while the fine garden enhancing material dropped into the wheelbarrow below. Who knows how much kitchen waste each shovelful represented? Waste that my family kept out of the trash and instead would turn into a useful garden amendment.

I tossed the large chunks back into the first bin to give them another season to break down further. Some bits were still recognizable: peach pits, mussel shells, corn cobs, sticks, but the vast majority just looked and smelled like clean earth. I put just about everything into the pile (No meat, fat, oils, bones, dairy products, animal poop, diseased plants or weeds that have gone to seed. Everything else is fair game: shrimp and mussel shells, cardboard toilet/paper towel rolls, egg cartons, used paper towels, spoiled fruits and vegetables, peelings, moldy rice, crushed egg shells, etc.) and do the lazy gardener version of composting: turn it when I remember, water it at the same time and let time and tide take care of the rest. Composting can be just as intensive as you want it to be. Mine would be "better" if I paid more attention to it so that I could kill off any weed (or tomato) seeds that are in there, but when you don't remember (or have the time or inclination) you just don't remember. That's OK, too.

Magically, that 5 or 6 inches expanded to fill that wheelbarrow all the way to the brim. I then shoveled out 1/3 of it into an empty heavy duty plastic bag that previously had potting soil in it, until it was too heavy to move, then I finished emptying the bin which filled the wheelbarrow up again. Ahh!

Enjoy them! Enjoy them! Enjoy them!

"Your family is beautiful," said the stranger at the table next to us as she prepared to leave the restaurant.

"Thank you!" I replied. I then waited for the next foray into twin-driven conversation. Those twins, they are conversation starters. Everyone has something to say. Sometimes it's a flat out denial that they can't be twins (since they don't look alike), or a question: boys? girls? or a confession that they are one of a twin set.

"Enjoy them! Enjoy them! Enjoy them!" she exhorted me and then paused to catch her breath. I smiled and waited for her to continue. "I lost my eldest in an accident a month ago."

Shocked, my brain scrambled to comprehend what she was telling me. I frantically thought of something to say and all I could get out was "I'm so sorry!"

"Enjoy them." She said once more and took a deep breath. I looked up at her from where I sat, holding Emma, and saw the raw pain in her eyes. She touched my shoulder fleetingly as she smiled down at Emma and then turned away. Clearly she needed to share this: that life can be so fragile, so fleeting, that we need to enjoy the moments we have because we never know when they may be over.

So here I am, sharing it with you. These moments fly by. It's not easy to enjoy them during the screaming, crying, whining and late stages of sleep deprivation, but childhood doesn't last. And nothing is forever.

Take a moment to think of this woman, one of many out in the world in the same position, who are waiting for the pain to fade. My thoughts are with her.

Then, squeeze your children, spouses, family or friends close tonight and remember to enjoy them. I will.

Going Out Like a Hundred Year Candle

I am still haunted by the baby neck snapping scene in Battlestar Gallactica.

I understand that it was set up to let you, the viewer, understand immediately that Six is No Good. Evil, even. Then Scott suggested that arguments abound as to whether what Six had done was actually evil or if she was putting the baby out of the way of the harm that was about to rain down on all humans in a few short hours. I am not certain I've come to a conclusion of my own on that yet, but I do understand that from the show's perspective it was the shorthand form of Puppy Kicking. All books, movies and TV shows engage in this: they want you to know who the bad guy is right off. And I get it. I get it. The problem that I had with it is that a) I really don't need to be bludgeoned over the head with this information since Six as Evil is obvious and b) she snapped the neck of an infant child.

On prime time television.

If you're a mom, perhaps you also experienced the sudden shift that I did once I became a mother: whenever there's something in the news about children being hurt, abused or killed I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. While previous to childbearing years I'd feel sympathy, I never felt it like I do now.

Because now it could be my child.

The fear of losing my children to death or kidnapping or just out and out losing them, like in a store, is so great that I have nightmares flash before my eyes as I walk down the stairs carrying a twin or two. I'm always worried that I'll trip and we'll crash to the ground and it will do such awful damage that --

I can't even bring myself to write it out. You'll just have to imagine it in your own head.

These grim thoughts took place in the shower, so in order to get out of that train of thought, I switched over to how I want to die instead.

Yeah, it was a weird and creepy thought day.

So far, the best option I can see is the one that Eric mentioned: he and I die together at 125 years of age, in a freak fission accident, aboard our personal spaceship after a long and happy life together.

That would be ideal.

I certainly don't want to go out the way my father will, via Alzheimer's or my aunt (his sister) did, via Parkinson's disease. The long, slow, loss of self is agonizing to watch and probably worse to experience until you're so far gone that you don't even realize it's happening any more. I really don't want to die in a car or plane accident (one of my greatest fears, after the death of my children), since you're fully aware until the last moment.

I really don't want my last thought to be "Oh shit!".

Although I do have to admit that the abruptness of it has its appeal, it's the randomness factor that bothers me and the fact that I might be too young when it happens. I really want to stick around, in good health, long enough to know my grandchildren.

I also don't want to be murdered like my step-aunt was: fast, fear-filled and horrible. Nor do I think I want to experience the last year of Eric's grandmother's life, although she made it to 99 fantastic years of age. My own grandmother told me that she was tired of living at 94 and then went on to live another two years after that; although she did have all of her wits about her until the very end. She, however, was in very poor health for at least the last four years of her life.

So, what's left?

I think being snuffed out like a candle, after having lived a long and full, happy and healthy life - survived by my children and any grand- or great-grandchildren - would be ideal. Let's keep that in mind: they are my descendants. I must pre-decease them.

So while it may have been a kindness to the infant in BSG, I think that mother's life abruptly became a living hell until she was put out of her misery by an invading force of raging toasters.

Don't even get me started on how unrealistic it was of a new mother to allow an absolute stranger to hold her child, either. Like that would ever happen! Psh! Invading hordes of enraged chrome covered cookware I can believe, but a new mother handing off her newborn to a stranger? As if!

Downed Cows and School Lunches

Do you know what a "downed" cow is? It's a cow that is too sick or injured to stand up on its own. It is also a sign of Mad Cow Disease.

This is not beef you want to eat.

But your children are, if they're eating school lunches.

There are plenty of things already wrong with lunch at school, not least of which is the fact that most of it is in essence fast food (ex. Pepperoni or Cheese Pizza, Macaroni and Cheese, French Toast Sticks, Pizza Hot Pockets, Cheeseburger are 5 days worth of lunch being served at Caitlin's school). Add to that the presence of meat from downed cows and the lunch served at school is becoming downright dangerous.

The following is a video taken by the Humane Society at a slaughterhouse (No butchering shown, I promise.) where they are abusing the animals in order to get them to stand up in time for inspection. This way they will be passed and added in to the food stream.

The one from which you and I stand downstream.

Watch it.

So what now?

Now it is time to find an ethical source of natural beef for us at Chez Hatchet. We've been talking about buying a 1/4 cow for a long time and it (plus the twins coming) is what motivated the freezer purchase. This news seals the deal. That amount of beef will cover us for a year or longer and will be worth from the peace of mind.

Today, I actually met a rancher at a Market event and got her literature (Too bad she didn't bring any samples!). I also met the natural chicken guy and he gave me a free sample. He, too, told me a few things about conventional chicken production that are making me think I'll be stocking my freezer with his chickens as well.

While some might suggest we could just go the vegetarian route, I'm afraid I'm too much of a foodie and carnivore for that to be realistic. My argument though, is that I shouldn't have to be worried about my food supply. This is the 21st century. Mad Cow Disease, e-coli and salmonella outbreaks shouldn't even be an issue, but with the slashing of USDA and OSHA inspection budgets and staff, this is what you get (If you haven't read Fast Food Nation yet, I strongly recommend that you do.). Meat producers are out to make money and will do it however they can and damn the costs to society as a whole.

I am doing what I can to keep my family healthy, even when it costs a little more. I don't want to live to regret doing otherwise.

See The Humane Society for more about the video.

What you can do about it:
Demand the USDA ban downed cows from the food stream.

The End of the World

I was standing next to my car, which was parked in the driveway of the Denver townhouse. I have no idea why we were there, because we don't live in a townhouse and we don't live in Denver, but there was my car and there I was next to it. Was I getting in? Out? Grabbing some forgotten thing hidden within its depths? I don't know.

I do know, however, that I was slightly turned away when The Flash went off. I looked up to see the end of it and knew instinctively what it was. I started running into the open garage to get into the house. Deep inside I thought it would be safer inside the house than outside in my car. Safe from what was coming. I didn't know how long I'd have, but it wasn't going to be long and that distance, from the driveway into the house via the garage suddenly stretched into forever.

I was a bug trapped in amber. My legs were moving, but I wasn't making any headway. Finally, time sped back up and I lunged into the house and slammed the door shut and then the giant sucking wind began. The crashing and screaming began. I don't remember what happened next. Did I make it up the stairs? For a house I've never been in before, I know exactly how it's laid out.

Dreams are funny like that.

In the house, my family waited for me. The Hatchet Five. Plus, my mother-in-law and Grampy Jim. Was this their new place in Denver? Maybe.

It was dark now. There was ash all over the windows. We couldn't see the capitol building from here, but my instincts were telling me that we'd never see it again. That it was Ground Zero for the bomb that went off.

Was it an accident? An attack? No one knew.

There was a flower with yellow petals and a green calyx that Linda kept throwing out and that I kept pulling out of the trash and sticking back into a cup of water. She grew frustrated with me and asked me what I was doing. I replied that it may be the last bit of green we see for awhile and that we shouldn't throw it away.

It was a symbol.

People began flowing past the house with assorted belongings clutched in their arms. Confused. Despairing. Where do you go when Armageddon begins? What do you take with you? Is any direction safe? Is anyone safe?

We needed to go. Where?

I think it was summer or at least spring. There wasn't any snow and it didn't appear to be cold. I wasn't wearing a coat, at the very least.

Outside, a group of five or six men walked past, loaded with weapons and gear piled high on the back of a single bicycle. Survivalists. Everyone gave them a wide berth. One of the men tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. Stupidly, his finger had been on the trigger of his Very Large Gun. It went off, long and loud with a ripping noise, pointed at the sky. Then it was time for Screaming and Running. People scattered.

That's when I noticed the trucks.

Enormous white semi-trucks, with Wal*mart inscribed in blue on the sides. In the trucks were hundreds of animals: dogs, cats, cattle. They were screaming and tearing at one another to escape. I think they were open sided, like cattle cars, so that we could see what was inside. They were meant to terrify. A war waged with animal fear, adding to and enhancing our own.

It was clear now that the Glassing of Denver was no accident.

We had to leave.

I remember thinking, No! Not Denver! It's dangerous in the city. I think it was related to conversations with Misty about where to live. For me, the city is right out.

The looting would start soon and with it would come predators looking for me and my children. I had a sudden visual of the scene in 24 where the mom sacrifices herself to protect her daughter from rape. And there I was with two daughters and a tiny son. We needed to go now.

We gathered up some things. I remember taking my seeds because where ever we were going, if we were to survive we would need to eat. Soon the only food available would be that which we produced ourselves. We started walking.

What had happened to my car? Perhaps it had been destroyed in the initial blast.

Suddenly things shifted and I was no longer the current time version of me. Instead, I was a teenager and I was running alongside my father and asking him where we were going and how we were going to get out of there.

Was it still Denver or was it now NYC?

I don't know. I'll never know because then? Emma woke up.

But the nightmare won't fade.

Sending Hope to the Tadpoles

Remember how I mentioned the kindness of strangers the other day? Well, here's an opportunity for you to be the strangers who can send love and strength to another stranger.

Awhile back, Hava dropped me a line about how she and her husband are having twins and how their reaction was much the same as ours: shock, tears, surprise and disbelief. It quickly turned to joy and anticipation. Just recently Hava has run into complications. Bad ones. She needs your strength, her twins need your strength and hopes and cheering on and prayers for safe delivery.

I hope it all turns out well. I hope she and her family are given the strength to make it through this part of their adventure and that the twins will be just fine when they make it out of the NICU. Her twins are 24 weeks old and need all the help they can get.

God speed, Tadpoles.

Day Trippers

On Saturday we had yet another first around here. Our first day trip with the twins.

We went up to Breckenridge to hang out with Aunt Jenni Fast-Hands, have lunch with Pop-Pop and Nana-Sue and deliver Caitlin to cousin Max for a sleepover. We also got to see their addition under construction at long last. It looks fabulous!

We learned many things on that simple trip.

1. When planning arrival times, for ever two hours of drive time you need to include one hour of nursing time. So a "simple" 2 hour drive becomes 3, a five hour drive (to, say, Grammy's house) will now take about seven hours.
2. We may also have to add in extra time for 6 year old shenanigans.
3. It would be most helpful to nurse like mad and then immediately get into the car. Eating on the road would have gotten us closer to our final destination sooner.
4. Bring slings. While the restaurant (Another first! Eating out in a restaurant with twins.) was very accommodating of our long stroller, it probably wouldn't have worked out in a different venue.
5. There ain't no way in hell we can actually leave the house before 11 am or 12 pm due to the multiple rounds of feeding, changing, burping and becoming conscious after a night of same.

So, bleary eyed and fuzzy headed we arrived in Breckenridge and had a nice time. I was glad to finally get up and out of the house, but I think it's pretty safe to say we won't be doing another such trip for several more weeks or months. We need more time between nursing.

Then there was the Adventure in Fear: Snow Edition that took place when we went to leave.

You see, here at home it's fall. Cool, sometimes rainy, but in the 50s or 70s. In Breck, it started off over cast and then started snowing as the evening wore on. When we left, it was dark with a couple inches of snow on the ground. Not a problem, ordinarily except that:

1. We don't have snow tires on yet
2. We were driving on unpaved roads for the first bit
   
3. We were driving on steep, curvy, switchback mountain roads for the next bit after the unpaved part
4. Snow was falling pretty heavily and visibility was getting poor
   

The 30-45 minutes it took to get us from Breck to the paved highway down the mountain immediately hit my Top Ten list of scariest life experiences.

Did I mention that I have New Infant Driving Paranoia*? Oh yeaaaaah! My highly developed imagination? Of absolutely no help in these sorts of situations because, really, who needs to envision their immediate death scene with husband and twins in tow? With sound, even?

So there we were, Eric driving while I was quietly putting away bottles of juice, books and assorted other items to reduce the number of "missiles" that we'd have to contend with should the car flip over as we sailed off the edge of the road. This is not to say that I have no confidence in Eric's driving, I totally do. He's been driving longer than I have and in far worse weather conditions. I just have no confidence in anyone else on the road or the car's ability to stick to said road.

Fortunately, we were just fine. Although scared. That slip-sliding-away feeling and hydroplaning? So not fun.

Another first: death defying driving in a snowstorm. Whee!




* New Infant Driving Paranoia: The absolute certainty that everyone else driving on the road near you is a complete lunatic and is about to crash into your car killing you and your newborn infants. Or maybe just your infants - which ever concept is worse for you.

The Cure for SIDS?

SIDS: Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

Terrifying to any parent, the concept that you can put your baby down to sleep and return to find them dead. Apparently without cause. Why does this happen? Why does it seem to happen to some people and not others? What variables are involved? And, the most important question, what can we do to prevent it?

A chemist from New Zealand believes he has found the answer and has been trying to get the word out over the course of the last 10 years. My neighbor had sent me a note about it and today, a video link. I was curious and started having a look through his material on his website. I have to tell you, even if the industry is not willing to accept his theory, his research or the outcome of his testing, I think that I am. At the very least, mattress wrapping (his suggestion) can do no harm. If the chemistry he has suggested is correct, then it is worth the nominal amount of money to wrap the mattress and ensure - even if it's just a tiny bit - a small amount of relief in the mind of a parent.

Here is the note:

The standard counsel is that we put infants to bed on their backs, a strategy that has reduced the number of SIDS deaths by 50 %, but beyond this point, this is more or less all we as parents can do. We just have to hope that our child makes it through to their first birthday when we can stop worrying about SIDS. However, I have come across the very convincing work of a scientist in New Zealand who claims to understand what exactly causes SIDS, and therefore can prevent it.

Dr. TJ Sprott is a forensic chemist in New Zealand. His basic theory (along with that of a British scientist Barry Richardson) is that the mixture of a fungus found in the fluids from a baby, i.e. drool, spit-up (very likely Scopulariopsis brevicaulis) plus the elements arsenic, antimony, and phosphorous (commonly found in baby mattresses and synthetic materials), creates toxic gases that subsequently poisons the baby. He recommends a strict but simple protocol to eliminate the possibility of this happening. Part one is to wrap the baby's mattress in a special barrier mattress cover free of these elements, and part two is to eliminate all bedding that isn't 100% cotton. (There are more specifics than this, but that's the basic idea).

Now, I found this information on the web, and like most seemingly sensational claims on the web, I expected it to not be true and that a google search would turn up hits from people explaining why this guy was wrong. But I have yet to find anything that counters his arguments. As I dug deeper, it became more and more convincing.

Dr. Sprott runs a non-profit organization in New Zealand dedicated to raising awareness about this issue and to distribute these mattress covers. The website is www.cotlife2000.com. The organization started a push to wrap all baby mattresses in New Zealand starting in 1995. I've attached a file with the (official NZ government) statistics that he sent me and you can see for yourself. NZ has seen a 70 - 85% reduction in SIDS cases (depending on native vs. non-native peoples) since this campaign began, with no other nation-wide change of habits explaining the reduction. But here's the kicker--not one SIDS death has been reported on a properly wrapped mattress. (That's a heckuva lot better than 50 % reduction from the Back to Sleep campaign).

I showed this information to my father-in-law, a physical organic chemist, who I expected to eagerly jump on any holes in this guy's chemistry (there are lots of supporting journal articles at the website). He had questions, and emailed Dr. Sprott, who subsequently wrote him back with satisfactory explanations. Now my father-in-law seems to be as amazed as I am that Dr. Sprott's work isn't more widely publicized. Parents deserve to at least be aware of this.

Now what about money? This guy must be making a mint selling all these mattress covers, right? I wrote him an email, asking about the financial compensation he gets. He said he declined any royalty on the mattress covers in order to make them as economical as possible. He has written a book about his work, but again declined a royalty on it. Furthermore, this guy told me he has sunk $400,000 of his own
money into this cause.

There is much more information of interest to this topic--I am glossing over many of the details. The website mentioned above has all the specifics including the exact protocol to follow, lots of evidence to support Dr. Sprott's theory including scientific articles, statistics, commonly asked questions, how to purchase a mattress cover, etc. The mattress covers cost $30, btw, including shipping from New Zealand.

Why haven't we heard more about this? The medical establishment and other forces in New Zealand as well as here in the USA have fought him tooth and nail. My guess is no one wants to stake a claim on something having to do with a child's life lest they be sued if something goes wrong. Especially if we eventually agree that all the synthetic materials and fire-retardant treatments we've been using for baby bedding is what causes SIDS.

I'm not saying this is definitely the answer. [snip] In my mind, worst case is that i'm out $60 [for a playpen and a crib]. Best case is that I may have avoided SIDS.

At any rate, I feel this theory deserves much greater awareness, so I would encourage you to visit the website and read up on the topic.

Still with me? I know that was a lot to take in.

There are no certainties in this life, we are told, other than Death and Taxes. However, considering the increases in things like cancers, asthma, allergies and Alzheimer's, I'd be willing to hazard a guess that by steeping the mattresses our children sleep on in fire retardant chemicals it is probably not the safest thing we could do. (Not to mention pesticides coating the foods we eat - but that's a rant for another day.)

I guess I'll be ordering a pair of those mattress covers myself.

For those of you that are thinking that we've done just fine without such things previously, you are correct. Caitlin's mattress wasn't wrapped and she survived her infancy. That is no guarantee that the twins will. It's also the same logic that is all over those emails that scoff at how paranoid parents are these days: We didn't have car seats and we survived!

While this is true (the lack of car seats in the 70s and yet I and all my siblings survived driving with my parents who never wore their seat belts), I would suggest that we were lucky. There is no lack of data on number of childhood fatalities prior to the introduction of car seats or the requirement for seat belt use. This is a fascinating read.

Remember: people also used to think that smoking was good for your health. Look at how that turned out!

Kick me!

Just so you know, regardless of my tales of paranoia, I actually try not to be a nervous mom or a nervous Preggosaurus. Sometimes, though, it comes out and you're going to hear about it here. Otherwise, the majority of what you'd read would consist of things like this:

Everything's OK. Nothing to see here. Butterflies and roses are flying out our butts. Move along!

But no life is always that cheery, so you get to hear about the exciting times. Sometimes the excitement is of the negative sort.

Take, for example, today. (Here it comes!)

I mentioned, just recently, that the twins are kicking up a storm. They had been until this past weekend. Over the weekend, I noticed a drop in the amount of kicking I was getting from Logan. Normally, when Emma starts kicking away, he kicks back but that didn't seem to be happening. I let the first day pass and started paying attention more.

The next day, I deliberately sugared up and then reclined in a chair to see what would happen. Some movement, but none of the dancing that Emma was engaging in. Worry set in.

Then yesterday was the 4th of July (Hey, happy 4th!) and there was some movement, but not a whole lot. So I announced to Eric that today, after the glucose tolerance test (Uh...yum? Bleah!) in the morning, we'd go see the docs and see if they would take a look at me/us. Turns out that it's amazing how a whole different level of fear can put your fear of needles into sudden perspective.

You know, of course, that I put some research time in before going to the doctor so that I might have an inkling of what might be going on. The main thing I ran across was difficulties with the umbilical cord - twisting, cutting off the supply of nutrients and oxygen and actually tying into knots. Ewww! I don't recommend looking that one up - nothing like reading about fetal death with your breakfast. Then off we went. I called the office on our way to the draw and they took me quite seriously and told me to head to the hospital for monitoring that they couldn't do in the office, after the blood draw. Went there, did that and then headed to the hospital wing.

I'm not sure why I felt like such an idiot to tell the nurse about my decreased kicking and fears, but I did. Emma has been fine, I was really only worried about Logan. So I changed into one of their fantastically flattering backless gowns, rolled onto the elevated exam bed and got my stomach good and gooped. They attached two fetal monitors to check the heart rate on each baby and, as it turned out, had to chase those suckers around a bit to home in on the heart rates. They were moving. Logan was moving. This was an excellent sign, but we still needed to capture heart rate information to make sure he wasn't decelerating frequently.

Did I mention that I hadn't eaten for 2 hours before taking the 5 oz of orange flavored glucose solution and by now it was another 2 hours later? Uh, yeah. I was starting to get hungry, but I was more nervous than hungry. I was fully prepared to sit there as long as it took to find out what was going on.

The twins were being tricksy enough that my nurse sent for another with a better rep. Suddenly there were two nurses and much 'splainin' on my part about what was going on. They were very kind and never once indicated that I might be wrong or confused or paranoid. They agreed that I should follow my instincts and get checked out. So there we all were, checking me out and listening to tiny trains as they accelerated and decelerated normally. A couple more hours passed by, the doc came in and assured me that from the data they had collected that everything seemed fine (At one point, when the twins were being extra squirmy, there was discussion of an ultrasound which didn't pan out.) and to not hesitate to call should something seem amiss.

Suddenly, it was all over.

Exhale!

Everything is fine.

Fear and Death

We took Caitlin in for her wellness exam today, where we also talked about the incredibly irritating Sniff, sniff! that she does every 5 seconds and talked about allergies. The doc recommends some sort of nasal spray and says, Ayup. Caitlin has some sort of allergy that is just causing her to sniffle, but not produce any actual phlegm. Oh and that stuff like Claritin needs 3 days continuous dosing to actually be effective. Who knew?

Well, clearly she did.

Then we talked about shots.

I had thought Caitlin was all done with shots until around 11, but apparently I was wrong. Turns out that they're now talking about a Chicken Pox booster (which they are out of, surprise!) and Hep A. Hep A is the food borne version of hepatitis and, I dunno, sounded like a good idea, so we got Caitlin the shot. She will need a follow up version in a year. Oh and it will apparently soon go on the list of required shots for children around age 1 or 2, so squirrel that knowledge away for those of you that do/don't do shots. Yet more shots.

I've gotta tell you, Caitlin is champ at the shot taking (She's so much better than I am and that I ever was as a little kid that I'm always amazed at her courage.). She watched everything and never turned a hair, cried, whined or anything. She was more interested than not. After her 5 year shots, I didn't know how she'd react, but apparently Hep A doesn't sting like the MMR from last year, so she was fine and we all went out for breakfast.

It was after breakfast that the trouble began.

We went into the Giant Hardware Store, in search of a couple of items. Eric was bringing the car around to the far side while Caitlin and I cut through the middle on our way to the giant bag of potting soil I hoped to find. We were 3/4ths of the way there when I happened to look at a toilet lid on display (No, really!) and then turned back and Caitlin was gone.

Gone.

You know that first moment of panic you get when you lose sight of your kid in a public place? That feeling that something just clamped down hard on your chest and you can't breathe? Yeah, I got that. But then the rational side kicked in and said, She's just around the corner, goofball! Stop being so paranoid! So I kicked up my waddle a notch and looked around the corner. No Caitlin.

The squeezing feeling intensified.

Then I started up and down the aisles, calling for her without a response. I couldn't find her anywhere. I was literally on my toes with tension, calling. No response.

I made it to the end of the store, still calling and looking frantic.

No response.

A man casually passed by me and mentioned there was a little girl outside the store. I rush-waddled outside and there she was, pretty as you please, sitting on a picnic bench right outside the store.

I choked out "Don't you ever ever do that again!" and burst into tears and hyperventilated hysterically.

You know, it's really hard to talk when you can't breathe past the hysterical tears and crazed breathing. Eric showed up in 2 minutes and then he continued the Never Walk Away discussion. I don't know if it had any impact on her, but seeing me cry like that did.

I know that we've all been through this, all of us with kids at any rate. That moment of complete and utter panic when you think your child is gone. And that you never saw it happen and you just looked away for a moment. Maybe it's irrational to think that someone would grab my child in a public place and whisk her out of the store, but you try telling me that to my face and I'll likely throttle you. You'll probably mean well, but there's nothing you can tell a parent that will help in that situation. Nothing.

My worst nightmares are about losing Caitlin.

They were really inventive and paranoid nightmares when she was first born and all throughout her first two years. They'd calmed down within the last couple of years, but it doesn't mean that I'm not hyper vigilant about her safety when we're in public. Just because the chances are actually very small of something happening to her doesn't mean that they are the same as zero. So you can think, to yourself, all you want that I'm a paranoid wretch. I'll still be the one freaking out if something happens to her.

Or almost happens to her.

It feels a little like dying. Every time.