You've got twins? Are you crazy?

Yes. I have twins. 
Yes. I am crazy.
But I was crazier before I had twins.

I found out I was having twins when I was seven weeks pregnant. I took my (then) 7 year old daughter and 8 year old son to the ultrasound. They didn't know I was pregnant and thought I was going to have a special x-ray on my tummy to see what it looks like in there. Being young and stupid, they went with that.

The sonographer dimmed the lights, gelled her wand, and with the kids edging closer to me while I lay there, she counted out the sacs...

"There's the first embryo. There's the second embryo. And here's the - could you please excuse me?"

What? Here's the fucking what?

Hang on. Did she just say "second embryo?"

The sonographer returned to the room with someone more senior. She took a look at the screen and said to the younger sonographer, "That's her cervix." Then to me, "Don't worry, you're not having three!"

Three what?

"Mum," said Ella. "Are you having a baby?"

"I think so," I said.

"No. You're having twins." said the ultrasound chick.

"I'm having what?"

"Twins, Mum," said Campbell. "We're gonna need a bigger car."

I was having twins. Identical twins. At seven weeks, they were sharing a placenta.

Twins.

At three months pregnant, I looked six months. At six months pregnant, I looked nine months. At eight months pregnant, I measured 56 weeks pregnant. I felt sorry for elephants.

I remember the unsolicited advice I would get from people, mainly strangers, about having twins, and one particular comment still haunts me..."You're having twins? Oh you poor love." 

I also had, "I was pregnant with twins until your stage. Then they both died. So you're not out of the woods yet." Cheers for that. Very helpful.

An hour or two before the Wondertwins were born.

My healthy 6lb and 6lb 1oz girls were delivered by caesarean at 36 weeks.

Grace

Lily

One thing I noticed pretty quickly is that the novelty of having twins wears off a great deal quicker with their parents than with the random people you meet in Woolworths. People will stop, stare, question, goo and gaa and fluff around twins, particularly newborns because they are so damn cute. Even the ugly ones. Fuck me, there are ugly ones. People are curious. People are fascinated. And there are people who are just plain rude. It does get frustrating when you just want to get in and out of the supermarket without having a ten minute conversation down every aisle about simultaneously breastfeeding twins or how old Aunt Ida, rest her soul, didn't know she was having twins until they came out and then ended up with the most terrible flatulence you'd ever smell for the rest of her days.

 

There is no one-size-fits-all pregnancy, delivery or parenting of twins (or any baby for that matter). Go with what works for you, your family and your lifestyle. The one bit of advice I want to give people who are currently pregnant with twins is this: Listen to people's advice. You don't need to do anything with it. It will be quicker and relatively less painful to say, "Thank you. That's great."

You will be asked some of the stupidest questions about your twins and about your most intimate experiences. Smile. Nod. Go to your happy place. Here are some treasures I have been asked, told, advised, instructed, interrogated and condemned...

Are they twins? Fair enough question. They don't look alike. They don't even look related. 

Are they identical? I began answering this question with a simple "Yes." This was often followed by "No they're not. They don't look a like." I found myself defending my answer with some empirical research in epigenetics, but now I can't be fucked and just answer "No. They're not."

Are they paternal? I'm fairly sure they have the same dad, thanks for asking.

Which one is the evil twin? Come on. That's not nice. Lily.

Do you have a favourite? Yes. Absolutely. The one that is asleep.

If I were to hurt one of your twins, could the other feel it? I don't know but let's find out. Hey, here's a twist on this experiment - I'll kick you in one of your balls and you tell me if the other feels it. K?

Do twins run in your family? Nope. These babies are self-inflicted and chemically induced.

Are they natural? Well, they're human. 

Did you conceive them naturally? You're really asking if there was some sexy time involved here aren't you, you dirty old whore. Did you have some rumpy pumpy to score your spawn? Oh, you don't like that? Too personal?

Are they IVF babies? Apart from being none of your Goddamn business, does it really make a difference if they are? Yes, they are.

Are they 3 months apart? Yes, I was seriously asked this. One of my girls looks older, despite being a whole minute younger, and I was asked if they were 3 months apart.

Did you breastfeed? Nope, but my husband tried.

Did you have them naturally? As opposed to them being pulled out from my throat? Or explode from my stomach like an alien? That is how it felt though.

What's it like being a mum of twins? What's it like being a fucking idiot?

Some days it will feel like you have this many kids. That's ok. That's what alcohol is for. 

Did you try for twins? 
I could never have twins.
I wanted twins.
How do you feed them?
What do you do if they cry?
What do you do if they poop at the same time?
Do they think the same?
Twice as nice? Or double the trouble?

I'm guilty of peeking into a double pram and ooohing and aaahing at someone else's twinnies. I'm allowed to. I've got twins. It is now my right. But for those of you about to have twins, know this: They will be fun. They will be hard. You will be crazy busy. You will be sanely routine. They will make you cry hysterically. They will make you laugh until you pee. It will be noisy. It will be cuddly. You will experience mess like no other. You will experience smells like no other. Plant yourself a money tree. Now. 

You'll love every minute of it. Twice.

From Angelic Angels Photography

Playing happy family

I have a 13 year old:

an 11 year old:

2 of these: 

and one of these:

I have lots of photos of each, but none of all. So when the opportunity came my way to get all of them in a photo together and incredibly cheaply, I grabbed it with both hands and strangled the life out of it. The catch? The photo op was in Euroa, 200 kilometres away. The problem? Getting a photo with all of my adoraferals in it. At the same time. Together. After driving for 3 hours to get to the photographer. Together. Did I mention for 3 hours, in travelling time, each way, together? As much as I was looking forward to finally getting a picture of all my shitlings looking like they actually like each other, I was browning my knickers thinking what I would be like emotionally and psychologically after the event. I had promised my husband I would bring all of them home from our day trip, and preferably in one piece. He didn't specify what one piece he wanted returned. A little bit of my mind was left in the next suburb, only minutes after we set off from home.

With ten minutes to go before we were to leave home, Campbell was still in bed. Ella was still complaining she had nothing to wear, even on her fifth change of clothes. Scarlett had delivered her morning mud bath in her nappy. Grace had chocolate eyebrows and Lily had changed from pretty to prostitute.

I had asked for something simple - everyone could wear a plain t-shirt with denim jeans or jeggings, and add to it their favourite colour ribbon or headband or shoes (providing it was what I picked). Everyone would match. Or close enough.

Campbell eventually surfaced wearing a dirty black and brown Metallica t-shirt that smelled as bad as it looked. Ella picked a maroon tee with a great oily stain in the middle of her stomach and a tear down the side. Grace wore a pink striped top with a bright swirly floral patterned skirt. Lily put on a thick pink sweatshirt with denim shorts over white floral tights and pink and blue polka dot socks and purple high heels from the dress up box. Hobos and hookers.

Me: For the love of God, put on the bloody clothes I gave you.

Campbell: Fuck this. I don't even want to go.

Me: Watch your language. Clean is all I ask. Not hard.

Campbell: I'm not going.

Lily: But I look pretty. 

Me: True. But waaaay too pretty for these photos. Let's save that outfit for the shops.

I fucking hate Dora.

Grace: I want Dora dress.

Me: Not today.

Grace: I WANT DORA DRESS.

Ella: I can't do this. I have absolutely nothing to wear. And I'm not being in a photo with Campbell unless you pay me.

Me: I'm not paying you.

Ella: Then I'm not standing with Campbell.

Campbell: Fuck you. That's it. I'm not going.

Me: How much do you want?


Dress code gone, but clean clothes agreed, we set off. Three suburbs away, two children crying, one complaining of starvation, one asleep, one who can't hear a thing anyone says, and me close to tears of nervous exhaustion, Campbell turns to me and says, "I don't know how you do it."

Professional photographers are the ultimate illusionists. From the couple of photos I've seen so far, no one would believe the sibling hatred, the impatient sighs of having to stand too close to another, the smells, the tantrums of a three year old who refuses to look at the camera as her face is too tired to smile, the constant nose picking of the other three year old, and the distractions of ducks, dogs and sticks. Hundreds of photos were taken in the hope that a handful will give me the images I want.

A nice, normal, loving family.

Jessica at Angelic Angels Photography, you're worth your weight in gold.

The Adoraferals by
Angelic Angels Photography

Ripe for the picking

Oh.My.God. I don't feel so good. I'm as round and as red as a strawberry and if you poke me I will explode.

Little sis and I took advantage of the last few days of warmth before autumn really arrives, and hauled the Wondertwins and Baby Scarlett off to a strawberry farm for something other than the usual nose picking in the town of Main Ridge about 40 minutes from where I live. 

Some of our bounty

We have never been strawberry picking, so I wasn't sure what to expect, and stepping into the unknown with Lily and Grace can be terrifying to say the least. It crossed my mind that they might pull out entire strawberry plants, eat more than they pack into their plastic containers (try telling a 3 year old she can't eat her favourite fruit in the whole world as she picks it), be bitten by a snake or a rabbit more feral than they are, vomit all the strawberries they have gorged on during the picking frenzy all over the cafe floor, or just have one of their loud, spontaneous, unpredictable meltdowns over who the fuck knows what this time.

The drive to Main Ridge should have been simple enough. I looked at the map at home. Map? Who needs a map? Apparently we did. I was guided there by the little British man who lives in the GPS on my phone. 

"Turn right at the third exit at the roundabout. Continue for three kilometres." 

It is easy to lose yourself in his melted chocolate voice. All was going well until he announced in his suave British accent, "GPS signal lost." Very polite and strangely calming, however at this point we had no idea whether we were close to the strawberry farm or heading towards Sydney. Either way, because of his relaxing voice we merrily continue down the lonely country road in a false sense of contentment.

If it were an Aussie GPS, we'd know exactly where we stood.

"Hang a lefty at the next roundabout comin' up. Keep cruisin' for about three k's."

"Ya missed the turnoff. Now you're fucked."

"Go back ya dickhead. You're heading up Shit Creek."

"Did I say 40 minutes? I meant 60...maybe 70 minutes, tops."

"For fuck's sake. The GPS has shit itself again. Lost the bastard."

"Here y'are. Stop ya whingin'. Got ya here didn't I? Fuck."

Yes. We got there eventually. Thank you efficient satellite signal.    

Picking strawberries is a brilliant activity for three year olds. It would take them about 15 to 20 minutes to fill their tubs with deliciously ripe strawberries, the perfect amount of time to cater to their short attention spans. No time for ripping up plants, snake bites, feral bunnies or big strawberry vomit. Not yet.

 

Back to the cafe for some indulgence. So glad I'm watching what I eat. But my sister assures me that eating healthy strawberries dipped in chocolate equals negative calories. So I had a vanilla bean panna cotta with fresh strawberries and raspberries with chocolate dipping sauce and cream. And, she said, the same rule applies for calories as cheating on your partner - it's ok if you're in another postcode. She is my sister and she is smart, so I have to take her word for that.

Mini Knickerbocker Sundaes & Strawberry
and Marshmellow Kebabs with chocolate sauce.
Amazeballs!!

Scarlett looks as though she was dipped
in spaghetti & choc coated strawberries.
Strawberries dipped in chocolate sauce is baby crack. 

Love to read your comments!

Or come to where the ferals play on Facebook

Home

I am only just coming to terms with living in this dog's breakfast of a house, that I have started calling it a home. My home.

My home has been my home from the age of 1 when my parents had it built with the help of the Department of Veteran's Affairs. That's as good a handshake you'd get for serving in Vietnam back in the early 70s. My parents built it with gold glass sliding doors, wood panelling, mission brown paint work and khaki carpet, and Tim and I have only changed it in the last five years and it's still a work in progress.

It is the house I grew up in, the house we lived in as a family and then as a broken family, and the house my mum spent her last few days in.

I've come full circle and I'm raising my family in it now. But moving here with my family couldn't make it my home. It wasn't mine and it didn't feel like mine. It had gone back to being a house.

And now, after years of changing it from the house I grew up in to the home I will make for my family, I have favourite places and spaces I love. 

My computer. Oh, I lurve my computer.
Sorry Timbo, but the computer sees more of me than you do.
I also love my wine bottles I have in various places around the house.
I really do look like a drunkard.

My bed. Especially without Scarlett, but I secretly don't mind her being there.
It's the place that Mumma watches her stories and is not to be disturbed.
It is also iPad zone. And the bedroom is multifunctional -
it's a bedroom/spare room/laundry in one! Jealous?

The Wondertwins cell. It's certainly the prettiest room in the house. This is an old photo of their room as I couldn't get in there through the disaster zone to take a photo. Not that you'd be able to see their beds or floor anyway...
I like this room because it is at the far end of the house. Need I say more?

How good is it that the shine from the window hides the thick layer of dust?
And the sticky mess on the floor to the right of Scarlett's little chubby legs - can barely see it!
I love my TV and my TV loves me.
It not only has my programmes on the Foxtel storage, but it gives me respite from the Wondertwins. And, as you may have read in past posts, I really really need it. 

My kitchen. The heart of my house. Despite having desks in their bedrooms, this is where the homework gets done at the last minute, masterpieces of art are created, meals are rejected, friends gather, and mummy drinks her tequila. 

Did I say 'masterpieces'? I meant 'mess'.

My new garden in the making down the side of the house.
Grace looks like a boy taking a wizz and Lily is the shy one.

This is my new favourite place. I love having a BBQ
and sipping on a wine or four under twinkling stars.

And here ends our tour of my abode. I managed to avoid showing you the bloody battles and filth that normally makes up my home. Yay for me! 

Have a peek at other blogger's homes and favourite things at Home Life Simplified's Listmania link up. And then back to me, me, me at Cut My Milk Facebook page. I have now posted some photos of what my house looks like on a regular day, room to room. Trust me - this is therapeutic for both of us!


And please leave me a comment - good or bad - I'd love to hear from you!

My bucket list - in reverse

My Listmania exercise for this week is to write a 'Reverse Bucket List' - a list of all the awesome things I have already done - to celebrate my life. That's a very interesting task for a person with depression. In the wrong frame of mind, I will tell you that nothing interesting or awesome or successful has happened in my life, and that I am just going through the motions until the end of this perpetual nightmare. I know perfectly well that my life has been filled to the brim with wow factors, amazing experiences and personal triumphs. And when we link our blogs on Deb's Home Life Simplified website, we will all see that it is not simply moments of perfection, but more of personal bests and dreams that have come true. One person's 'normality' may be another's person's 'celebration'. 

If I EVER had my own classroom again, this would be on my door.

We spend so much of our time and energy on trying to be the best, to win, to perfect, to achieve, to travel to exotic places, to be rich, to be popular and in doing this we lose sight of all the brilliant things we do have and have done.

I still want to be rich, though.

So, here's a list of stuff I've done in my 41 years that I think were awesome moments in time and that you should think I'm awesome for achieving.

• I was one of the school captains of my primary school.

• I won the Drama Award in Year 12. I think that might be the non-academic version otherwise known as 'Student Who Consistently Brought Fruit For Recess Award'.

• I won a trip to Disneyland when I was in Year 12 (a competition on the TV show 'The Wonderful World of Disney') and despite having to take my family including my Grandma, I had an awesome time. A highlight was when my Grandma, little sister and I went to Mexico and my Grandma - bless her - wouldn't buy bottles of tequila with worms in them for me as I was a minor in the eyes of the States. She got nervous buying the alcohol and thought she was aiding and abetting a 'minor' and abandoned ship. Yes... bless her.

• I became a primary school teacher, teacher of the deaf, and started my masters degree. 

• I performed in some local theatre company's performances. I wish I could do that again. Something I thought I was really good at. Sigh.

• Won a Logie and was nominated for Best Supporting Actress in... (oh, wait, sorry that hasn't happened. Yet.)

• Moved with Tim (my boyfriend) to Shepparton in country Victoria and taught at a Deaf Facility and as a Visiting Teacher for Hearing Impaired Students across the north-east of the state.

• I married my best friend who also happens to be a spunky superhero who looks after his massive brood and works stupidly long, unrewarding hours to do so while I get my hair done, sit around drinking coffee with my friends, the house gets cleaned by a housekeeper and the children are picked up from their private schools by their nanny. Ummm, no.

• I watched my Mum die. I know that doesn't sound like an uplifting and wonderful bucket list item, but I feel that I am truly blessed to have been there in her last moments. 

• I had five amazing, beautiful, loving, funny, annoyingly feral children - who I adore more than anything I have ever known, and who I would like to strangle more than anyone I've ever known. 

• Driven across the Nullabor and back from Melbourne to Perth with two smelly obnoxious 9 and 10 year olds, two cantankerous 15 month old twins and a husband. An award would be nice.

• Driven from Melbourne to the Gold Coast and back with two smelly obnoxious 11 and 12 year olds, two cantankerous 3 year old twins, a 5 month old baby who will not be driven at night and a husband. Seriously, give me an award.

• I started a blog and a Facebook page so I could stand naked (metaphorically) in front of the world and share my life and fears.

I haven't travelled across the world, taught in a remote African village, or been part of a touring circus troupe, and it is very easy to envy everyone else's lives, but I think I'm quite happy with what I have achieved. The moments above have been melded together with hilarious friends, memorable - yet fuzzy -nights out on the vino, tears of laughter and of heart-aching sorrow, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

Except to have been rich. 

That would've been really really sweet.

A day in the life...

In this weeks episode of Listmania, see what I saw on Thursday 14th February 2013. This is a day in my life...

7:15am (I feel like it needs a dramatic Law and Order introduction for each time)

Scarlett wakes me up by trying to force her dummy into my mouth. I haven't got a photo of this, so I drew it for you.

7:30am 

Time to get up Campbell. Grunt. 

Time to get up Ella. Grunt.

7:45am

Campbell, get up. Grunt.

How pretty is Campbell's pink wall? We will get  around to painting
it one day. Until then, Cam's friends will think it's adorable.

7:55am

Campbell! Get the hell up! What? Wha..? Why didn't you wake me? Now I'll be late.

8:00am

Morning chaos begins. Same 'ol same 'ol.

The photo looks so innocent. If only still photography had
volume. The fight between the older 2 behind me & the 
squeals from a baby just don't do this picture justice

8:30am

Can you drive me? I'm late coz you didn't wake me.

Ella strapping the ferals down

The drop off 

9:00am

Dora the Explorer for the Wondertwins, fridge magnets for Baby Scarlett, last night's dishes for me. Yay.

9:40am

The first of three loads of washing. The fun never ends.

10:10am

The first pooey nappy for the day. The first of many. That'll teach me to have three kids in nappies. Down you go for a nap Essie.

11:10am

Pancakes for an early lunch. Nutella sandwiches are not good enough today apparently.

11:45am

After a frantic last minute search for bathers, goggles and swim caps, we head off to Grace and Lily's swimming lessons. Forgot the towels. Bugger. And the change of clothes. Fffffff...

Grace & Lily

1:15pm

Home from swimming, dried, changed. Now to make new playdough. The other batch was mashed and dried on the rug and other miscellaneous objects.

This brilliant literally 5 minute play dough
recipe is the closest I get to actual 'baking'.

2:50pm

I'm desperate for Double Trouble to have a nap. They won't. They grizzle. They fight. Soon it will be too late for a nap if I want them to go to bed before 11pm tonight.

4:30pm

Load the Grand Carnival up with twins, toys for twins, snacks for twins, a 9 month old and an 11 year old, to go pick up 11 year old's 11 year old BFF and drive them to said 11 year olds' dance class at 5.

5:35pm

Damn it.

It took me ages to find Grace. This toy box is in her wardrobe

 Damn it.

I said I not tired

6:00pm
Better start thinking about what to feed the little bastar... darlings. What crap can I serve up and call a meal tonight?

7:20pm

Dad's home. Finally. Dinner. Finally.

7:55pm

A relaxing bath to calm the savage beasts before bed. God I'm funny.

8:15pm

I have to lie with Scarlett until she finally drops off, usually in an hour.

9:15pm

Tim's asleep on the couch. As usual. I'll pick this crap up & fold the washing while he snores. Who am I kidding? It'll still be there tomorrow.

Does this photo of my lounge room make you feel good?
You're welcome.

10:35pm

The last kid takes their final curtain call.

11:00pm

I get my blog on and stalk people on Facebook.

Unfortunately, I was not able to photograph the many tantrums and stupid arguments the kids had during the day, as I was busy ignoring them. I want to make this visual diary every week and turn it into a coffee table book called Ask Me Again What I Do All Day. I Dare You.

See more of the daily crap I put up with on my Facebook page.