LTMD's Group Writing Project Take 2

With time ticking on my daily break which allows me to work, it's time to unveil the Next Great Writing Project.

I want this to be fun, or serious, or a little of both. It can be insightful. It can be political. It can be related to kids -- or not. I want it to reflect who you are as a person. I want it to reflect what you believe. Your passions. Your humor. Your pet-peeves, even. The topics are endless.

This project is open to everyone, even those without blogs. Just e-mail me your entries. There is no winner with this project. You will get nothing but links. Every other day or so I will link to all of the entries up to that point. The earlier you post, the more links you will get. Get it?

The rules: Have fun with it and be sure to link to this post in your post.

So, without further ado, here's your prompt:

The Law According to You
Make a list of “10 Rules to Live By” that are based on your own experiences, not someone else’s.

Once you have your entry posted, e-mail me your entry at ubertwins at gmail dot com. Last day to post will be Saturday. A final list will be published on Sunday. Please do not post your entry here.

Thank you for visiting today.

Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:

Subscribe in a reader

Two-fers are the best!

From the beginning, I just knew it wasn't going to be easy to get pregnant. Everyone -- and I mean every single human being -- that knew it was off to a rough start told me, just relax, it will be OK.

Da! knows that the last thing anyone should ever say to me is relax (or take a deep breath or chill or anything of that nature) when I'm stewing over something.

Thinking that you can't get pregnant and have a baby is the worst feeling in the world. Much more worse than slaving over the hot stove for an hour just to have that food chewed and spit out of their little mouths.

After a couple months of Big Fat Negatives, I did begin to worry. We had already bought this house, a lovely 4 bedroom, 2 bath Colonial with a dingy white picket fence and a fabulous backyard for said children to run in.

A year later, I was a mess. It's never going to happen, I told him. He consoled. He said all the right things.

One treatment led to another treatment and as our bank account savings dwindled, so did our hopes.

One last try, we said.

Then the waiting from hell begins. Two weeks. Fourteen stinking days of wondering, waiting.

But, I just knew. About a week in, I started feeling different. Something was VERY different.

"I have this feeling I am," I told Da! over the best chips and salsa we know. "I can't explain it, but I just feel something."

"You're pregnant," she said on that quintessential 14th day.

*****

The room was cold, and I was nervous. I didn't want sextuplets. I didn't even want triplets. I wanted one healthy baby, but we discussed it and we would gladly accept no more than three.
"How do you feel about two?" she said.
Staring at images of two kidney beans, I cried for the first time since I learned that I was going to become a Mama.

*****

"You wanted this," I remember my mom telling me over the phone as I cried to her about how hard it was for me as a new mother.
"You should be happy," she said.
I never felt more guilt in all my life. I vowed to never complain about it again.
Because she was right.
Why wasn't I more happy? Why wasn't I good at this mothering thing? Why couldn't I just smile? Why couldn't I get them to stop crying?
I should be happy.

*****

I'm grateful for having twins. I would have been a different mother to just one.

I would still be working and juggling and watching the time pass all too quickly.

I would watch a lot of television instead of sitting on the floor, as I do often, managing the fights, the squabbles, and the toys that seem innocent, but can easily be used as weapons.

I would stay on the computer more as the child played instead of limiting that time to before they wake and while they are asleep.

I would spend more money because getting to the car, and driving to stores and navigating the mall with a single stroller would be easy. I'd never be home, actually.

I would assume that the picky eater is just picky because of the food I made instead of knowing that it's not that at all.

I would think that the child who throws temper tantrums every other minute is frustrated with me instead of realizing that is just her nature. She was born that way.

I would think that the quiet, more reserved child was ruined for life by me, an overwhelmed Mama -- because I didn't get her out of the house enough when really she was just born that way.

Mostly, though.

Mostly.

I wouldn't hear the sweet babbles of two babies saying, "Mama. Mama. Mama."

I could go on, but I won't.

I'm grateful to know that in a minute they will wake and we will have a great day.

I just know we will.



Thank you for visiting today.

Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:

Subscribe in a reader

Taking the boo out of Halloween

Dear sweet girls,

On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina walloped New Orleans and surrounding towns and states. At the time, you were both fighting and kicking for space in my belly then so you won’t remember that. (Gosh, not much has changed now that I think about it.)

But, I do remember those days as the news grew more grim. I remember crying. The devastation was awful.

My sadness, though, had to do with the faces. The sad and angry faces of thousands of black grandmothers, moms, dads and all of their children haunted me as I sat in the comfort of my home. To think that days went by and those people were stranded with no food, no drinks, no hope of anything. Their homes were swept away; their lives changed forever.

And I cried because I couldn’t believe that I was bringing two more people into this crazy, over-crowded country that, in my mind, had already been shameful to so many in the world.

Then, I realized something; that I was growing two strong, beautiful and independent women who could change all of this. That thought is what guides me and Da! every day.

This does not mean I am not scared for you.

Our great country that professes freedom for all scares me. That The Today show can now monopolize the entire morning with its “pretend” news scares me. That Top News is about what the presidential – no, make that Presidential – candidates are wearing, not how they plan to get our country out of the global embarrassing mess that it has become.

That more than 3,800 young men and women – all of whom turned to the military as a way to become successful – have died for a war that no one even knows why we’re fighting in the first place. That Afghanistan is left floundering, that Osama Bin Laden is still conveniently MIA.

That 83 percent of the children attending schools in our city live in poverty and that that problem is all over the country and it is being ignored. IGNORED.

That the War on Drugs was never a war we intended to win and that it is still plaguing our communities, our families every. Single. Effin. Day.

That I find that my car has been rummaged through – probably by an addict – early in the morning while dew is still fresh on the window before yoga class. That that is something I no longer fear scares me. That I feel sorry for the addict because life is so hard and so painful and he needed the fix, the money, but he only got enough change to park his car – or bike -- for a half hour at a meter.

That anyone could be so desperate to choose our car, our home, to try and make a quick buck when we can barely afford groceries half the month.

That our street is littered with young women prostituting themselves for that same desperate need for drugs. That some days I’m walking you – my sweet, innocent daughters -- behind them as they flirtatiously wave at possible suitors. That they don’t see the ruin they are causing themselves and the rest of womankind.

All of these things, and much more, scare me.

But, do you know what scares me more than all of this … that some of my fellow American women, after more than 200 years of white men being in power, could be more skeptical of a qualified woman as president than a man.

This post was written for Scribbit's October Write-Away Contest.

Someday I will ...

Someday, I will tell my girls about their grandfather, the one they will never meet, the one they will never share a meal with, the one I do not know. I will tell them that I grew up without a father. I will have to explain to them that some girls do not have daddies like the one who tucks them into bed every night. It won't matter to them that their grandfather lives hundreds of miles away, that he has only seen me once in the last 25 years or that he has another child of his own that he sees every day. None of that will matter. Someday, I will sit down and explain to my daughters that life is a zippy, curvy, crazy place and we just do not know where any of us will end up, or with whom. But, what matters ... what really matters is that they have me and their father forever and ever. They could move a trillion miles away, and I will follow. I brought them into this world, and that means I'm here for them until the end of time. (Or, at least until The Da! and I scrape together enough pennies to buy that little cabana-like mansion on Grand Cayman.)

Want to read more "Someday, I will" entries? Great! Follow me. Those submitted today will be added this afternoon.

You might first start off with Karen at Cheerio Road who delightfully sends wise words our way about the ever-so-important topic these days of happiness.

Then, slowly work your way over to Bella's entry at Beyond the Map. Not only does her writing mesmerize you, she'll tuck you in for a really cozy nap.

For some inspiration for building your 100 Things to do before you die list, check out Lesley's entry about what she'd like to do someday at her site Barr Babies.

Don't forget to check out a couple newbie commenters around here: Butterfly Girl at Found a Peanut or Two tells a compelling story to her premature twins and Laura will make you laugh with a newly created mechanism to ward off arguments with her husband.

In the Fast Lane writes about a longtime dream of hers that her husband just isn't buying into, yet.

Check out The Twinkies to read Stacie's post about dreams mixing with the reality of caring for twins. In one sentence, she writes, "I’m trying to let go of the illusion that if I just try a little harder I could be irreproachably perfect."

My dear blogging friend Shannon overcame her deadline phobia to write an entry, but not just any entry. She's got a beginning, a middle and an end that will leaving your heart racing.

Late to the game, but certainly proud to have her along for the ride ... read Jen's fabulous post on her blog The Road Less Traveled. I'm sure you'll relate. We all can.

Finally, go to the Zen of Motherhood and read lovely short that takes us back to Cheerio Road.

My deep appreciation to all of you who participated in this very first group writing project. It was fun hosting it!