And my makeup is in the kitchen...

I’ll begin this post by saying that I don’t regret for one second having any of my children.  But, I’ve got to tell you, two 3 year olds are a heck of a lot of work.  Yeah, just call me Princess obvious. 

I was doing pretty well with the “mom of one toddler” gig.  This past July, I was just about to the point where I was thinking “hey, I am sort of rocking this thing.”  I’d almost gotten the “up in the morning, kid dressed, me dressed, coffee slurped, out the door” routine down.  Almost.  There were still some glitches, but overall, it was taking shape.  If I were a hash tag using kind of gal, it would look something like this:

#makeupapplicationwhiledrivingrockstotallysafe

Or like this:

#beststalepoptarteverfoodpyramidwhatever

Seriously, what is up with the hash tags?  I don’t need more social media in my life.  If I take the plunge and get a Twitter account, I’m sort of expecting to start thinking in hash tags.  I have enough trouble trying to keep it all together upstairs, so I don’t think Twitter and I are destined to be BFFs.

Anyhoo…parenting virtual twins is the most crazy, hectic, often frustrating and sometimes wonderful thing I’ve ever undertaken.  Not long ago, I said to Hubs “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”   It was as if one of those little cartoon balloons appeared up over his head with the word “DUH” written inside. 

In adoption land, kids who are placed together in a family with less than one year between them are commonly referred to as “virtual or artificial twins”.  There are some commonalities with bio twins:  built in playmate, struggle for their own identity, competition.  They will be in the same grade in school and they might even share a classroom at some point (although I will try to avoid the same classroom thing).  On occasion, they might have to put up with being dressed alike (just because it’s so stinkin’ cute).  But they are different than bio twins, and not just because they don’t share DNA.  They didn’t share the first years of their lives.  Growing up together started less than 60 days ago.  Perhaps more importantly (although this is a selfish perspective), I didn’t parent them from infancy together.  I’ve never raised twins from “square one”.  I will venture to guess that having “insta-twins”, especially of the 3 year old variety is harder…at least for a bit. At least for the short term, before the dust settles.  We are still all figuring each other out. 

That’s my right now – a big, crazy dust storm.  Getting them (and me) out the door to go anywhere should seriously be an Olympic event (Rio 2016 here we come). I am a slave to snacks and poop.  I have settled many squabbles over toys, TV and cups (nothing worse in 3 year old land than being forced to drink out of a blue cup when you want the red cup your brother has).  I could legitimately add “professional arbitrator” to my resume. All of this is usually accomplished before 7 AM.  Seriously, it's the wild west at our house in the mornings.

At least once a day, one child will be upstairs and the other will be downstairs and they will both need to sit on the potty.  Yes, potty training is going very well, but they both need help.  And yes, this whole potty dance in stereo ALWAYS happens when I am alone with them or when Hubs is asleep or in the shower.  They’re guys…I know they plan it this way. 

I’ve been back at work for a week.  Trying to find our new morning groove has been a challenge.  It might work out okay if my boss would say it's cool for me to be 3 hours late every day.   

#onlyinmywildestfantasies

I’ve had to make several adjustments in my morning routine.  I’ve had to start getting up a little earlier and forfeiting a little bit of my personal time.  Gone are the mornings where I can enjoy a quiet cup of coffee and ease in to my day slowly. I don't even remember what that was like. Getting my two little squirmy dudes up and out the door injects a big chunk of time in to my AM routine.  I know.  Duh.  Princess Obvious.  Where is my tiara?  I thought it would be simple.  I really did. My mornings are filled with important tasks like deciding who gets the last orange vitamin and digging through the underwear drawer until we settle on something that fits Zack's mood du jour. Really, you can't have your mom slap Thomas skivvies on your behind when you are clearly in the mood for Sponge Bob.  That would not be cool. 

I’ve always been fairly organized. My “night before” habits are probably saving my sanity right now.  The gym bag, school bags, dry cleaning pile, outgoing mail pile (you get the idea) are assembled with amazing, OCD precision by the door each night. Someone else that lives here starts organizing about 20 minutes before walking out the door.  I won't say who. 

My mornings are all about frenzied multi-tasking.  You would be impressed at the amount of stuff I can accomplish while brushing my teeth.    Any breakfast I eat is done in between breaking up skirmishes over the toy they both want and loading up my car.  Take a bite of oatmeal and run to the garage and open the door.  Run back to the kitchen and take another bite of oatmeal and then run to the garage and back the car out of the garage (no, I don’t have a garage door opener.  I miss that).  And I really can't lie - I don't eat oatmeal for breakfast.  If I eat breakfast at all, it's peanut butter out of the jar or cookies (because oatmeal requires a microwave and a measuring cup and ain't nobody got time for that around here). Lest you think I'm a really crappy parent, the boys eat at nursery school. 

Early on in my “mommy reign”, I decided that I wouldn’t sacrifice cuteness or, at the very least, not look totally gross.  I might wear combat boots and camo stuff every day, but I can still attempt cute, can't I?  For me, this equates to actually looking in the mirror to put my hair up, and a little face powder, mascara and lipstick…nothing too crazy.  I’ll admit to being a little more vain than I ought to be, but hey, it is what it is.  I feel better about myself if I’ve made a little effort.  Not “Lady Gaga” lashes and glitter eye shadow effort, but still put together. 

Motherhood and family life are about give and take, being flexible and willing to compromise.  Between slurps of coffee and oatmeal (OK, cookies) and running loads of stuff out to my car, I might find some time for a coat of mascara.  Slurp coffee.  Eat cookie.  Wash it down with whatever is in Kyle’s cup.  Briefly consider whether the “red cup versus blue cup” has merit.  Eat another bite of cookie, slurp some more coffee.  While masticating the cookie/coffee sludge, open the garage door and take trash out.  Run back in the house and slap some more mascara on. 

Proof that we actually CAN get out the door appropriately dressed! 

 

I have decided my “desired state” is for me to be 90 percent ready to leave the house by the time I start engaging with my boys to try to get them ready to leave the house.  That has not worked super well for me so far – maybe 50 percent.  I’m getting there. 

I am enjoying my boys.  Yes, they are a lot of work but for each time I want to pull my hair out and drink at lunch, I have spontaneously sat down on the floor and laughed with my children.  Sometimes this involves monster noises or letting them “get me” which involves lots of tickling and kissing.  My boys are seriously a handful.  They are.  But I love their cuddles.  And they seem to think I'm a pretty cool cookie, too. 

This is hard, no doubt about that.  There is a lot more laundry and a lot less sleep.  Yes, this surprised me.  Don't laugh.  I am coming to grips that my adjustment in to this crazy life I’ve chosen is not going to be seamlessly easy.  My expectations are out the window and yes…my makeup really is in the kitchen. 

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