Happy Anniversary Baby!

Four years ago today I wore my fun, party style wedding dress and, in front of all of our family and friends, married my sweet, balding, storytelling best friend.  Sean and I still constantly talk about how amazing our wedding day was.  We also love to reminisce about our history and the events that brought us together (described in a previous post).  Part of the reason our story is so remarkable to me is because  there were so many moments in time when it almost didn't happen at all.  Like one of those you pick the ending books, there were a lot of possible, not so lovely, outcomes that were only nearly avoided.


I guess I believe in a form of destiny, the kind that is strongly influenced by free-will.  I think the universe gives us ample opportunities to reach our greatest potential and happiness but it is up to us to make the most of those opportunities.  Sean and I both also believe that the energy we put out is the energy that we get back.  If we focus on all of the ways we are blessed and believe that things will continue to work out for us, then the universe (or whatever you want to call it) will continue to provide.  Although I've always believed these things, I haven't always lived it.  Because of that, I think the universe probably got pretty sick of giving Sean and I opportunities to realize that we were suppose to be together.  


There are a couple of moments in the history of Sean and Bri that, looking back, are particularly ironic. One being the time about 9 years ago when Sean and I were having beers at Gritty's with a friend.  That friend and I were both single and were discussing whether or not we thought we had already met our future husband or wife.  The two of us were both open to the possibility that our life partner might already be in our lives.  Sean, on the other hand, was adamant that he had not yet met the woman of his dreams, which was pretty funny since Sean was in a long-term, serious relationship.  My friend and I started giving Sean a really hard time about being in a relationship that he was sure was going nowhere when Sean said, "I have a much better chance of marrying Bri than I do (insert old girlfriend- who I hope doesn't get her hands on this blog)."  If this was a work of fiction you would call this a serious case of foreshadowing but at the time I only thought it was evidence of Sean's stupidity (said in the nicest way).


My other favorite Sean quote from the "pre-marriage/kids/happily-ever-after" days took place several years later after another night  of some drinks with friends.  Sean and I had gone into town together but Sean wanted to stay out longer.  I was ready to go home but had drank too much to drive.  I called the guy I had been dating to pick me up.  When I told Sean how I was getting home he got pretty upset.  This was during the "will we or won't we be together" era in the saga of Sean and Bri.  I had made pretty clear that I wasn't going to sit around and wait for Sean to figure his stuff out and was actively pursuing other options.  The guy on his way to pick me up was the first person Sean actually felt threatened by.  So that night, sitting on the steps of the Children's Museum (a place where we now hold a family membership) Sean said in the most hopeless voice, "your wedding day is going to be the saddest day of my life." FYI- I still left with the other guy but it wasn't long after that when Sean finally made his move.  


Fortunately for both of us, Sean was right at Gritty's but wrong outside of the museum.  Our wedding day was amazing and most of the days since have been pretty awesome too.  I love being married and being a mom.  The last four years have easily been the best of my life.  Whenever I think about my partnership with Sean and the peace and love I have found with him, I am always reminded of this poster my dad had hanging in his home-office.  The poster was a long list of pieces of advice to have a happy life.  One of them went something like this, "Choose your life's mate carefully. From this one decision will come 90 percent of all your happiness or misery."  I think I chose well and am rewarded for my good decision making every day in the form of cooked dinners, co-parenting, and lots of silliness and laughter.  Happy anniversary baby!  I love you.  

Thank You For Being a Friend

In the last couple of months I have regularly had the theme song for The Golden Girls on replay in my crowded little brain.  You know the one, "Thank you for being a friend, travelled down the road and back again, your heart is true you're a pal and a confidant."  As if this wasn't random and wacky enough, every time it bounces into my head I start to tear up.  Yup, this little ditty from a show that dates back to the mid 80's (that I haven't even seen a clip of in at least 10 years) brings me to tears every time I think of it (which is a lot).  Now I could easily blame lack of sleep or the hormones involved in breastfeeding three kids on this emotional reaction but the real reason happens to be considerably sappier but undeniably true.  And that truth is that I have never felt more loved, cared for, and supported in my life.  I have never before felt like I had so many people to be grateful for, so many pals and confidants.  And in a word, it is awesome.  Actually I need two words, it is totally awesome.  

I have these three beautiful little creatures created in my womb that look at me every day with admiration, awe, and total love.  They make me feel like the most special person on the planet.  I am married to my best friend, someone who loves me totally as I am, in spite of the fact that he is all too familiar with my many flaws.  He makes me roar with laughter every day and manages to still make me feel sexy and desired even after being up close and personal as I birthed each of our three little monsters.  My blessings continue with parents who are still happily married after 33 years, people that I can both call for advice and emotional/financial/household support but also have over for a drink, some pizza, and a lot of laughs.  My sister is not only my co-conspirator on teasing our parents and reminiscing on all things mischievous from childhood but someone I can talk with about anything under the sun and a person I admire for her creativity and zest.  

My parents and sister with my Ben

On top of all that, I have this sea of people who are not bound to be by blood or marriage vows.  This group of people actually chooses to be in my life, to expose themselves to my shenanigans and tomfoolery.  Today one of those people, a work friend from my last school, came and spent the day with me.  I treated her to diaper changes, constant relocations to chase my 2 year old, and some hearty spit-up, because nothing says friendship  like my regurgitated breastmilk all over your shirt.  Not only does Tracy regularly make the hour long drive to come see us and stays the entire day with all hands on deck but she often brings diapers too, which has become a sort of currency in this home.  Yesterday my best friend of 20 years and I got to exchange a few one syllable words on the phone between the cries and hoots of our seven collective kids.  I wish for my children the type of lifelong friendship I have with Nicole.  I hope they have someone that they trust with their darkest secrets and can show their true self even in their most vulnerable times.  Yesterday the kids and I also entertained two new friends that I made while going to mommy groups with the girls.  These women understand that a sleeping baby comes before all else and that being a mom can be a lonely job if you let it be.  

My BFF and 5 out of our 7 collective children

Since the population jump in this house almost seven months ago, I have become even more aware of the power of friendship.  I don't know if we would have survived or stayed nearly as intact without the outpouring of support.  The friends that I made from the new mom groups with Ben not only brought food over every day for almost three weeks after I had Brynn and Eme but continue to provide adult company, playmates for Ben, advice, and a group of girlfriends to feel connected with to prevent my life from being swallowed up with diaper changes, feedings, and nap schedules.  My girlfriend Maia has been my guru for all things breastfeeding and continues to make me feel awesome instead of foolish for nursing all three of my children.  My parents, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law have helped keep my marriage intact by being willing to take on three kids while Sean and I sneak out for drinks or the occasional meal.  My current work friends, who conveniently have recently completed their families, have been so generous in passing along their baby clothes and gear to my now well dressed and entertained little girls.  

Some of my mommy friends!

In conclusion, I am grateful.  I am so blessed and grateful for the people in my life.  If I didn't name you specifically please know that you are still appreciated and so loved.  I am extremely proud to be able to surround my children with such wonderful human beings.  Oh, and one more thing,   "if you through a party, invited everyone you ever knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from me, and the card attached would say thank you for being a friend."

Love Letter

I've recently been playing catch up with all three of my kids' baby books.  Looking at pictures from the past 3+ years since we planted out first seed (aka-Ben), has gotten me thinking about all the conversations Sean and I had about having a family after we found out we were expecting.  So today I went and got out the journal with the letters I wrote to each of my children when I was pregnant.  My little wolf pack visited slumber-land at the same time (quite an accomplishment) and allowed me some precious moments to re-read all the letters I had written.  One in particular, that I wrote in the second trimester of my pregnancy with Ben, got me pretty emotional and helped me to re-prioritize what's important to me as a parent.  It is easy to get caught up in the details (nap times, feedings, dishes, laundry, keeping my kids from clawing each other's eyes out).  This little letter reminded me of why I made the decision to become a parent and the gifts I want to give to my children.

I read the letter to Ben after his nap and asked if I could share it with you.  He said it was okay if you read it as long as he could have a snack.  So, while Ben eats his cheese and fruit, take a few minutes to read the words of a naive but fairly wise (if I do say so myself) little expectant mommy:

Pregnant with Mr. Ben on Swans Island (aka- the girl who wrote the letter)

7/10/2009

Dear Mia or Ben,

I love you little one.  Grow strong for Mommy.

The Island is so beautiful today.  Bright blue, cloudless skies, a cool breeze to cut the warm air.  Your grandmother and I are at the Fine Sand Beach reading, drawing (Gram not me), going for walks, and watching lobsterman collect their traps.  I can almost picture you playing in the sand, asking us to run with you, or help you build a sandcastle out of seashells, rocks, and sand.  But for now you grow in my belly, which amazes me and makes me believe in god in a way I never thought possible.  Rest and grow strong, my sweet baby. 

Picturing you being here beside me makes me think about the kind of mother I hope to be.  Here are some things I can promise you (feel free to hold this list over my head in your preteen and teenage years):

• I will love you unconditionally and with my whole heart.
• I will talk with you and share my experiences but, more importantly, I will listen, really listen, when you have something to say.
• Even though I will want to protect you and keep you safe from all hurts and pain, I will allow you to make your own choices and mistakes.  
• I promise to be your mother first, even when you think you'd rather me just be a friend.  I will tell you the truth (nicely) even when you don't really want to hear it.
• You will always have boundaries to keep you safe and expectations and responsibilities to keep you focused.  But I will also encourage you to be a child and enjoy life no matter your age.
• I will accept you for who you are even if I don't always understand the choices you make.  I will allow you to be your own person and find your own way.  Even though it will be hard for me, I won't stand in your way of taking risks and taking steps towards independence.  
• I will engage you in conversation and activities that get your mind and imagination working.  I will be the teacher and the student and let you be both too.  
• I will constantly expose you to new things and new perspectives and then encourage you to choose your own interests to investigate further.  
• Besides just your father and I, I will surround you with people who will support you and be a positive influence in your life.  You will know friendship, laughter, and fun.  
• I will share with you my love for life and try my best to be a role-model of kindness, compassion, optimism, and perseverance.   

Sweetheart, to summarize, I promise to always do my best and try to do right by you.  I am not a perfect person.  I will lose my patience at times and let stress and frustration get the best of me.  But you will always know that I love you.  This being a mom thing is new to me but I will learn as I go and treasure every moment of being your mom.

Love you!
Your Mommy

Womb Ache

I am done having kids.  I am done having kids.  I am done having kids.

My uterus is no coach potato

Although there were times when I fantasized about having a big crew of bambinos, any time Sean and I had talked realistically our future plan had always been two, maybe three kids if fortune somehow found its way to us.  As most of you know, although we have yet to hit the jackpot or stumble upon a million dollar idea, we were blessed with a pretty sweet two for one special in the form of two awesome little ladies who came our way as a packaged deal about 6 months ago.  We now couldn't picture ourselves as anything less than a happy family of five.  But I would consider us pretty maxed out with our three kids under three.  Our house is at capacity in terms of people and stuff, our bank account whimpers a little bit from lack of love, and any more prioritizing of our time and energy and Sean and I will probably have to stop showering and using words that have more than one syllable.    

My head and even my heart know that more kids is most likely not in my future but my uterus is sending signals that it would like more business.  Biology is a funny thing, the instincts and urges we have that seem entirely out of our control are a little crazy.   My uterus is currently trying it's best to ensure survival of the human species by compelling me to continue sending it fertilized eggs.  My tricky little reproductive system attempts to fool me into procreation by flooding me with feelings of pregnancy-nostalgia and the urning to fill my uterus with a new being.  I have termed this intense, seemingly hormonal, reaction/feeling "womb ache".  

Womb ache often strikes when I am holding or cuddling one of my offspring but can also occur in less  serene moments.  At times my body seems not to be urging me to grow a new person but instead, seems to want me to insert one of the people I have already made back into my belly (with no regard for how large that person now is).  At this point many of you will have stopped reading and are now on the phone with a reputable mental institution.  Although I would prefer not to be locked up, if you know of a good womb-ache support group, I would be more than willing to attend. 

I am unsure how rare of an infliction womb ache is.  If the above symptoms sound familiar to you and you would be interested in being a part of a case study that may eventually lead to medical trials, please leave your contact information below.  Until then, I refuse to let one organ (and not even a vital one at that) dictate my future choices and the amount of children whose diapers, extracurricular activities, and college educations I have to pay for.  So, take that you diabolical uterus!  All the aching and acting up in the world won't get me to meet your ever growing demands! 

The Paths Not Chosen

Next month I will celebrate my 31st birthday.  I feel like every additional candle on my cake comes with added clarity, confidence, and purpose.   Facing life's challenges is significantly easier when you have a handle on your own strengths and weaknesses.  Having a road map of where you've been and a decent idea of where you're headed also provides a framework for making important decisions.  It's crazy to me that we expect people in their late teens and early 20's to have a firm grasp on who they are and make decisions that will dictate the rest of their lives.  

I for one, had a pretty limited idea of my internal workings at 22, let alone 17.  Fortunately for me, I made decisions that worked out.  My limited experiences and knowledge of the world and myself ended up being enough to aid me in choosing a career, life partner (or at least showing me who not to chose), and social circle.  We place a lot of pressure on our young people.  It seems to me decisions about college, majors, and career paths all come far too soon.  Not to say that you can't change your mind.  I read somewhere that the average adult changes careers 7 times, that's a lot of big moves.  I don't know about you, but the idea of changing careers at this point in my life, with my three kids and monster mortgage, doesn't seem very realistic, let alone intriguing.  

Even tough I am fairly happy with the education and career related decisions I've made that have ultimately led me to a job that I enjoy and that is well suited for me, I can't help but think about the careers I might have pursued had a I known a little more about my interests and talents back at the turn of the millennium.   When my school counselor days are particularly stressful and my paychecks appear increasingly meager, I fantasize about the path(s) not chosen.  Here are what my dreams are made of:

Parrell Universe Bri #1- Sideline NFL Reporter (aka the token female on the football field)

Picture this, me dressed in the cutest, yet least practical, winter hat you have ever seen.  My hair curled in tiny ringlets flying with abandon around my face.  My clothes causal but hip.  My expression playful but with an edge.  Interviewing huge and hard hitting linebackers. The quarterback after the 40 yard throw. The coach after the overtime win.  Never again would a family friend assume my husband was the football fan.  People would ask me to explain the intricacies of the game, instead of assuming I am only there to cook or provide beverages.  

What Might Have Been #2- Marketing/Advertising- The Jingle Girl

Coming up with snappy songs, corny catch phrases, and rapping rhymes is in my blood.  So it only makes sense that big business should be knocking down my door for my next million dollar marketing campaign.  Of course, I would be such a prized possession to my firm that I would be able to work from home most days and have a sea of personal assistants to make sure my mind would be totally clear for magic.  

It Could Happen #3- The Millionaire Matchmaker

Now this is one future I have actually considered making a reality.  Having watched a friend or two try to find love on the www, I know it isn't for everybody.  I also know, in part from my own experience, that most people aren't actually aware of what they really need/want from a partner.  My business would provide "Millionaire Matchmaker" (as in the tv show) type of services at a price that the average joe could afford.  I'm not going to get too into the specifics because, who knows, this might be a career move worth taking a chance on someday.  

In Another Life #4-Movie Producer- Character Development

I consider myself an excellent judge of quality movies and television shows because I think I get people, I know what makes them tick and I can sense sincerity.   Nothing turns me off faster than one-diamenial characters.  When I'm watching or reading my fiction, I want to believe the person portrayed could come walking through my door at any moment because their existence seems so tangible, so sure.  I think I could do a decent job making sure that characters on the big and small screen matter to people and raise in them a real feeling and connection.  Plus I think it would be really fun to carry one of those snappy, black and white things and yell "CUT" and "ACTION".  

Back To Reality

Like I said, my actual career is pretty awesome most days.  I mean, my office is filled with Play-Doh, puppets, and fidgets.  I really can't complain.  But on the days I need a mental vacation to a new career land, it helps to have some images all ready to go.  So, now it's only fair that you share yours too.  Here's your time machine set to go back before kids, before mortgages, before life seemed to have you too entangled for flexibility.  Tell me, my friend, what would you be?  

Counting Cats

Meow!

When Sean and I talk about the values we want to impart in our children, a couple of things always come up, one being respect for yourself and others,  and the other being the importance of hard work and perseverance in the face of difficulty and obstacles.  Working in the field of education, I have seen more than a couple of students who, after years of having things come easy for them, come to a subject or period of time that is difficult or that they don't understand right away and breakdown.  Oftentimes those students, because they never learned how to trudge through, give up or mistakenly believe they are no longer smart because they need help.  This is why I sincerely hope that things in school and in life in general don't universally come easy for our kids.  It sounds counterintuitive but I  hope they meet with struggle early on and if genetics have anything to say about (mine at least) they will.  

I have never had an intelligence test but I'm guessing if I did, either currently or in the past, it would probably be a pretty average score.  I do not consider myself highly intelligent.  And although it would be nice to have a photographic memory or be able to pick up any new concept or language easily, I have learned that there are more important strengths and characteristics to have.  

I struggled across the board in elementary school.  Not only was every academic subject a puzzle to me (and I have never been into puzzles) but making friends and reaching out to new people brought me great anxiety as well.  At home I was a vivacious and creative kiddo but coming out of my shell at school felt scary and unsettling.  If you didn't know me then (and most of you didn't), this information probably surprises you.  In the past several years that I have been a school counselor, I have told many of my students about my early struggles.  Kids are almost always surprised to hear that school was difficult for me academically and are even more shocked to hear that I was very shy and insecure.  After all, I have no problem wearing pajamas to school, making up silly songs and belting them out to a large audience, and leading silly classroom role plays.

The highlights of my early school years go something like this.  I remember distinctly the color of my kindergarten reading folder.  The folder was red, a color that didn't take me long to figure out meant struggle, meant fewer words and a slower pace, meant watching kids go up to blue or yellow while I stayed behind, stuck in red.  I can't think of first grade without the image of a big blue and white cat coming to mind.  By then I wasn't even in the classroom for math and reading.  And because the concepts of addition and subtraction were difficult for me to process, my math teacher used large plastic kittens to make things more tangible.  While I was counting cats in the resource room, the girl I most admired in the 1st grade was doing multiplication tables, which I mistakenly believed could only be done on the wooden table where these elite students worked.  In 2nd grade I remember trying desperately to escape to the nurses office to save myself from the torture that was mad minutes (where each student had to do as many math problems as possible in 60 seconds time).  

While these memories are a little painful, they also always make me think of the years that followed.  They make me think of the librarian turned 3rd grade teacher that I was lucky enough to have two years in a row, a teacher that realized my love for books and writing.  She helped me grow academically and as a learner by focusing on my strengths (which I did have), and in the process bolstered my confidence too.  I also think about middle school.  I no longer needed help outside the classroom but I remember telling one of the popular boys to shut-up, and some other things too, when he made a rude comment about one of our classmates who did frequent the resource room.  I'm proud of that little first grader for counting those cats day after day, even as her favorite friend got the pretty table in the center of the classroom for her fancy math.  And I'm really proud of that skinny 12 year old for telling that jerk where he could stick it because she remembered how it felt to be different and worried that everyone thought you were stupid.  I wouldn't change a thing about how my academic career started because it created a foundation that allowed me to succeed in-spite of my weaknesses.  I am now not only the proud owner of an undergraduate degree but a masters degree as well, with aspirations to one day get my doctorate.  I do not give my intelligence credit for these achievements.  All the glory goes to my motivation and perseverance, things I learned way back in my days of counting cats.   

It is a little ironic that I now happily and confidently stroll down the hallways and sit in the classrooms of a school not that different from one that 25 years ago made me want to run home and back into the arms of my mother.  But I believe this gives me a huge advantage as an educator and counselor of our little people, especially the ones that struggle.  When I peel a first grader out of his mother's arms and listen to him come up with every excuse in the book as to why he has to go home, I get it.  When a forth grader starts to cry everyday at the mention of math class, I get it.  When a student suddenly comes down with a headache or stomach bug every-time the words test, assessment, or quiz are mentioned, I get it.  I'm a stronger person because I didn't easily come by what I have.  My hope for my children, the ones that came from my womb and the ones I counsel, is that they learn perseverance and the value of working hard even if it doesn't in that moment get them to the head of the class.  

So for anyone out there that is struggling, finding that things aren't coming easily, looking around and feeling like you are falling behind.  I say to you, just keep counting those cats, keep working hard, keep showing up.  I truly believe it  will pay off for you twofold someday.  

Magical Boo or My Magnificent Mammary Glands

Ben tandem nursing his babies.  

Woman are amazing.  I'm pretty surprised that I'm attracted to men because I absolutely think women are the more interesting and capable sex.  Men might have the ability to grow bigger muscles and I'm sure thousands of years ago that was sort of valuable.  But in 2012, although there are some careers or lifestyles in which being able to carry heavy crap is important, most people just don't need to be able to bench press 300 pounds in their day to day life, not that necessary (and really how many of them can actually do that anyway?).  

On the other hand, woman have the ability to grow inside them human life (yes, I know with a little help from that less impressive sex).  Not only can we grow human beings but we have the ability to feed those little humans by just flashing some skin, that's pretty awesome planning on someone's part (thanks, higher powers).  Bottom line, women are awesome and I am super proud to be one.  Having kids has given me this whole new respect and admiration for my body, especially in light of the recent accomplishments by those two lumps of fat on my chest (more to follow).  

If there was a photographer in my home, taking pictures of me throughout the day and night, just randomly clicking away every 15 minutes or so, my guess is he or she would find me with at least one child on my breast at least 75% of the time.  If this sounds like an extreme, exaggerated number to you, then there is probably a valuable piece of information about me and my family that you are missing.  And that minor detail is......... all three of my children currently breastfeed.  Not just that, but breastfeeding is sort of their thing.  While other children have a favorite blanket or stuffed animal, my kids have my boobs to cuddle up with and they're pretty happy about it.  It usually works out for me too.  I don't have to worry about bottles and I can quickly comfort an upset, hurt, or sick kiddo.  But I do have those moments when I would like my body back, to put up a sign that says "closed due to overuse" or cover my nipples with some bandaids and claim to be broken (which, by the way, I have actually heard of women doing).    

So you ask, how did I get to a place where making milk has become my claim to fame?  Flashback to my pregnancy with my son, I knew enough about breastfeeding to know that it was worth giving a try.  I also knew enough to expect it to be difficult, especially because I would be returning to work only a mere 10 weeks after having my son.  On top of that, I had also had a lump surgically removed from my breast a couple of years before Ben came along, and I was a little worried that might have a negative impact on my ability to produce milk or my baby's ability to latch onto that nipple.  Although I knew that the Academy of Pediatrics recommends breastfeeding for at least a year, I figured 9 months was a more realistic goal for me since that would mean nursing throughout my maternity leave, the 16 weeks left in the school calendar, and throughout the summer when I could be home with my bambino. 

Minutes after Ben was born, when I recovered from the euphoria (at least partially) of having my tiny son in my arms, I asked the nurse if I should try offering him the breast (I had heard that nursing right away increased the chances of a successful breastfeeding relationship).  She said that while I could try, I shouldn't be disappointed if it didnt work out  right away.  I stuck that nipple in my son's surprised little mouth and I'll be damned if he didn't start suckling almost instantly.  Convinced that I couldn't possibly be doing it right, I gestured to the nurse to come check things out.  She smiled and gave us a thumbs up.  15 or 20 minutes later I asked if I should try switching sides.  Again I was told to give it a try but that Ben might be tuckered out or my other nipple might not be as accomadating.  Again we found great success and Ben was crowned king of breastfeeding, a title he still happily holds.  Nursing continued to go smoothly so I kept pushing back my goal: 9 months, 1 year, 18 months.  Then a curve ball was thrown at us.  A curve ball in the shape of two tiny embryos in my uterus.  

As I described in my previous blog, The Truth About the Twins, I had many concerns when news of the two little people growing inside me got through to my poor, shocked little brain.  One of my main concerns was my son and the impact two new siblings would have on him.  According to the sonographer, Ben should have been feeling the effects of his growing siblings right away.   When I told her I had an 18 month old that I was still nursing, she immediately replied "you better go home and start weaning that baby".   She was one of many people who basically told me that it would be impossible not only to nurse three children but to nurse while being pregnant with twins.  Fortunately, my doctor was not one of the people with this incorrect advice.  She not only supported my decision to continue breastfeeding my son through my pregnancy, but also didn't look at me like I was a nut when I told her I was going to try nursing all three of my kids.  Thank goodness for her because nursing my son throughout my pregnancy and continuing to nurse him after the twins were born turned out to be the right decision for us (or at least the kids and I).  I'll let Sean write his own blog about his very mixed feelings.

I am certainly not going to sit here and tell you that it was always easy to nurse an active, not always gentle, toddler while dealing with incredibly sore and tender nipples.  In fact while I was pregnant Ben would often announce, "this is gonna hurt mom", before he latched on.  I guess I screamed a little too loud once or twice.  


If you've been to visit at all in the last four months, you know that my boobs are in high demand.  In fact, at any given time of day, Ben can tell you the line-up of whose at bat (or boob in this case) and whose on deck.  There are times I feel more like a refrigerator with a revolving door than a mother.  This being said, I still see being able to nurse all three of my small children as a blessing and a strength.  In fact, I think it's one of the things that has let us adapt so successfully from a family of three to a family of five (and most days I do think we're pretty successful).   

My current breastfeeding goal with my son is to allow him to wean himself when he is ready.   That might be the one goal that I am not able to attain.  I've read on KellyMom (an amazing resource/website for nursing moms) that most children, when allowed to wean on their own, do so between 2 and 7 years old.  I think Ben might be on the 7 year plan, especially since he now refers to nursing as "magical boo".  Since he has been able to talk he has always called nursing "boo".  The magical piece was thrown in after Sean was making fun of Ben and I for nursing every time Ben so much as nudges into something.  My response was to tell my husband that he just didn't understand how magical boo was.  Well, my little two year old sponge was listening and it's been "magical boo" ever since (it does sort of have a nice ring to it).

I'm not so sure I'm hip with the seven year nursing plan.  I'm thinking Ben will probably be getting the old boot  around three, three and a half if he's lucky.  As far as the girls go, my goal is to make it to a year, we'll see how it goes from there.  Who knows, maybe I do have at least one early weaner in my midst (although I suspect this is not the case).  But whatever, there are way worse problems to have than three breast loving kids.  And for the record, at this point, I have grown accustomed to the strange looks I get when I tell people I am still nursing Ben along with the girls or when they see it for themselves.  This is one thing that I have no problem being judged for.  I won't hold it against you if you think I'm crazy.  On the other hand, if you say something supportive or give me a high-five for effort (and many of you do), it does give you serious Bri bonus points.  Who knows, maybe someday they'll be worth something!

God, The Universe, and Other Things Spiritual

I was talking with a girlfriend yesterday about how none of my kids are baptized, which makes sense since I was never baptized either.  My immediate family isn't religious.  In fact, as a kid I was envious of my friends who went to church every Sunday and would beg to go with them.  I was also obsessed with angels and, at one point, had quite the collection going (figurine angels, not real flying ones).  Since my parents were obviously not the people to talk to about religion, they had me call a family friend with all of my religious and spiritual questions (and I had a lot).  Religion and spirituality have always been something I have been incredibly interested in.  I've just never found a religious or spiritual group whose beliefs match my own to share said interest with.

Not being baptized never bothered me before.  I am fairly confident that if my soul is in jeopardy it has nothing to do with whether or not water was thrown on my head (no disrespect to the ritual, which I actually think is beautiful)  and more to do with the choices I have made.  But having children changes everything and, on the off chance that taking that first sacrament does bring you eternal life or a space in heaven or whatever, I want my kids to have that.  In fact I want them first in line (in 100+ years when they have lived long and happy lives, of course).  But if I did go ahead and baptize my three amazing children it really wouldn't be about a relationship with god, it would be about succumbing to social pressures (not a fantastic reason to tie your child to a particular religious group).  

So again I struggle with the question, what do I truly believe about why I'm here on earth and what happens after I'm gone?  Actually scratch that, I'm pretty clear on why I'm here and have a vague but satisfactory (at least for me) idea about what happens next.  The question I struggle with is, what do I do with that knowledge and who can I share it with?  I love the idea of getting together with a group of like minded people and talking about respect for life, taking care of other human beings, and the power and energy of the universe.  I would absolutely be down for that and I would love for my kids to be part of a larger spiritual community.  But like I said before, finding this imagined spiritual community has been a challenge.  

There is this great quote in a movie (if you know what movie it's from let me know because I've forgotten) that goes something like this, "there are two things I know for sure; there is a god, and it isn't me."  This is sort of where I am.  I have always known that there was some kind of higher power, some master plan, some bigger energy.  I have felt it like I have felt my heart beating inside my chest.  I've always known it was there keeping me moving, keeping me centered.  Here's the hallmark of what I believe: we are here to learn and make positive connections with each other, the more we do those things the closer to "god" we get.  I use the term god very loosely (I apologize if that offends you, it isn't meant to).  I could also use "the universe" or "higher power" because I'm not really sure what "god" (or whatever) looks like and I'm okay with that.  In my view, it only matters that I have great respect for whatever it is that is out there watching over me and the people I care about.   

In my early 20's I scoped out several different houses of worship trying to find one that fit me and my simple little beliefs.  Four years of Catholic school taught me (among others thing) that I definitely wasn't Catholic.  It also left me with a lot of respect for the nuns that instructed me, and my classmates who found great comfort and inspiration from the Catholic Church.  It worked for them, it just wasn't a great fit for me.  The other religions and denominations I looked into were also not meant for my unclaimed, wandering soul.  What I discovered during that time is that I am just not Christian or, I think, meant for any of the world's organized religions.  


I have two issues with Christianity that keep me from jumping on board.  Number one, I don't get the extra special child thing (aka- Jesus).  That would be like deciding a few years down the road that my children are badly behaved and disrespectful and the answer is to have another baby who will be extra special and so awesome that my other kids will shape up.  If "god" was displeased with us, why not make us all a little bit better?  My other stumbling block is the only "we" go to heaven part.  "We" meaning only those who have accepted Jesus as their savior or, in some cases, even more specific than that.  So, here I am doing things to help others, respecting life, and being grateful for everything I have but I get passed over for the paradise of afterlives because I didn't believe in the right god?  But someone else can be a selfish jerk and walk hand in hand with Mother Theresa because he/she was baptized and accepted the right lord?  Nope, don't buy it.  Everything else I could accept.  Hell, I already know the 12 disciples and the colors of the liturgical year (thank you mandatory religion classes).  I figure I'd be ahead of the game.    

I am sincerely jealous of those of you who have found a religion or spiritual group to be a part of.  I want that for myself and for my family.  I don't want my kids to have to beg their friends to go to "church".  I want to be able to provide them a place to let their spiritual center grow and then they can tag along with their buddies to get another perspective (always a good thing).  So, my blog friends, I'm putting it out there to you.   My soul (so to speak) is up for grabs.  Any takers that meet my criteria?  Anyone up for starting our own little "god" group?  I'm all ears and spirit!  

The Truth About the Twins

My little ladies, Miss Eme (on left) and Miss Brynn

I am not a relaxed person, nor am I laid back.  I struggle to live in the moment and usually move through my days far too quickly.  I like having control in all areas of my life at all times.  With me there is always a plan in the works and a vision for what my future will look like.  At least, that was me before I became a baby making machine.  

For the most part my life has unfolded the way I planned.  From career, to marriage, homeownership, and having my first child, things happened approximately when I had hoped and planned that they would.  I kept my first pregnancy a secret for almost 48 hours so that I could surprise Sean at a fancy dinner with a cute message written on a card (that surpringly took him awhile to decphifer).  I was able to keep my happy news to myself because it was something I had chosen, planned for and predicted.  Other people could be caught off guard, leaving their future to blow around in the breeze.  I was the writer, producer, and director of my life (so I thought) and I liked it that way.  

I also had a plan for when I became pregnant with our second child.  Something that I had carved out future time for when Ben was three.  I had already bought my son a big brother t-shirt in a larger size and planned on allowing him to inform his father of his sibling using said shirt, totally cute and sweet and planned.  You have probably already figured out that this was not the way things went down.

Because I mistakenly believed that I had ultimate control over my own universe, there were a few things I neglected to give attention to (namely birth control).  Yes, yes, I know this was incredibly stupid and irresponsible of me (actually us) but in my defense we did have to really "try" to conceive Benjamin and it wasn't like we were partying under the sheets super often.  I suspect I sent this whole twin thing in motion the evening I proclaimed at a party that I didn't need to worry about birth control because God and I had a special relationship and he didn't make things happen for me until I was good and ready.  I think whatever higher power exists is still getting a pretty good laugh at my expense.  

Anyway, on Mother's Day of last year, after a week of feeling totally miserable, I took a 99 cent pregnancy  test  (purchased at Reny's because I love a deal) at 4:30 in the morning.  I don't really have the words to describe how I felt when that second pink line reavealed itself.  I was shocked, excited, terrified, overwhelmed, anxious.  I was a mess of emotions.  My brain almost instantly started obsessing about finances, my career, time management, daycare, my son's development, our cramped house, and every other thing that might be related to adding a person to your family.  I crept back into bed with my sleeping husband, literally shaking with emotion.  I thought about the cute big brother shirt stashed away in the back of my underware drawer.  I tried my best to close my eyes and relax my body but it just wasn't happening.  This was not something I could keep in.  So, I jostled Sean and awoke him from the blissful ignorance of sleep and whispered/cried, "umm, Sean, please don't freak out because I'm already going crazy enough for both of us but .....I'm pregnant".  Much to my astonishment my husband smiled and giggled and pulled me close.  "You're happy about this?!", I exclaimed.  "Of course", he responded.  "But Ben's still so little.  We don't have enough money.  I'm still probationary at work.  I wanted it to be planned!"  I went on and on with all of my worries but could not sway my husband.  He liked that our kids would be close in age and trusted that everything else would work out.  His confidence and excitement made me feel better but didn't do much to ease my overall anxiety.  Please keep in mind that this is how I felt when I thought we were having ONE more baby.

Fast forward a week when my OBGYN had me come in for an ultrasound to determine how far along I was in my pregnancy (since I had mistakenly believed god was honoring our unspoken deal and, as a result, had no idea when my last period was).  Fortunately, Sean was there with me.  We were acting like old pros while waiting for the sonographer to show us our little jelly bean but when the picture came up on the screen we were met with a concerning pause.  I readied myself for the news that there was no heartbeat or that our baby wasn't developing properly but instead the sonographer's blank face turned into a smile and she said "there THEY are".  My first thought was, what the f does that mean.  Second thought, that's not the least bit funny and I could probably get her fired for this nonsense.  What I said out loud (many, many times) was "are you serious?!" and "oh my god".  I have never been in such a state of disbelief in all my life.  My husband, true to form, sat beside me with a ridiculous grin on his face, pleased as punch by this news.  Unlike Sean, it didn't take me long to multiply by two all my previously stated concerns about my pregnancy and now bulging family.  

To be totally honest, at any given moment during my pregnancy, especially those early weeks, I swung between excitement and total terror.  With Ben I only felt elated when I thought of my growing, stretching uterus but with the twins there were lots of other feelings vying for attention and some of them weren't very maternal or selfless.  At times I didn't feel like a decent person, let alone mother, for being less than confident about my path as a mom of multiples.  If you read my earlier blog entitled "Better you than me", you know that people got under my skin with some of the things they said about my pregnancy and future life in twindome.  I am normally fairly difficult to offend but many of the comments I referenced in that blog got to me because they hit a very vulnerable and insecure spot.  Many of those people said things that I had also said to myself and then tried to bury in smiles and positive affirmations.    My greatest fear was that I would never love my girls to the extent that I loved my son and, even worse, that I may resent them for intruding on our lovely little threesome. 

It turns out (as I attempt to type while tandem nursing) that there was plenty of love inside my pulsating little heart to go around.  And while there are days I wish it didn't take quite so long to leave the house (not that I am seen out with anything resembling regularity) or that my diaper bill didn't have quite so many digits, instead of feeling resentment or remorse, when I look at my newest offspring I feel blessed and know that I am living the life I was intended.  In fact, the girls have already changed me in ways I couldn't have begun to imagine mere months ago.  

The first thing my beautiful little ladies taught me was that I am not in charge of the universe, my own or anyone else's, and to try and hold the reigns every second is like trying to quit sleeping, eventually you're going to get exhausted and pass out, better to just give in and go with the flow.  I am now much better at living in the moment because poopy diapers require a lot of attention and my daughters' smiles literally stop time.  I've also learned to be okay being less than ideal in a lot of areas of my little life.  I have given up on my ideal weight, ideal cleanliness of my house, ideal social calendar, and ideal bank account.  I'm more likely to give myself a break where I once would have obsessed about every mistake, every unchecked item on my to-do list, every person I may or may not have offended.  I've relaxed and it feels really good.  Who would have guessed that having three kids under three years old would cause me to feel more at peace and less rushed?  Not me but it's the truth, it's my truth and not a bad one to be living in.  So, thanks Miss Emelia and Miss Brynn.  Please pull out this blog for me when you are 16 with cars and boyfriends named Brock and Rod.  I have a feeling I might be in need of some reminders of this new found relaxation and peace of mind.  

My Affair With Writing

Starting this blog and taking the time to write regularly has been such a good thing for me.  I love being a mom but it's nice to spend some time doing something for me, something that uses a part of my brain that lately has been pretty dormant.  For as long as I can remember, writing has been important to me.  I'm a pretty expressive person.  It doesn't work for me to hold in my feelings or thoughts.  Writing has always provided me a safe, objective, nonjudgmental outlet, especially during times when I felt alone or without a confidant.  

My love affair with writing started very early on.  I thought myself to be a poet even before I could read or write.  Starting around three years old I would say, "Mommy, I have poetry", which meant my mother was suppose to find writing material asap, as I dictated my little rhymes and verses.  Eventually, my mom stared buying cute little journals for my poems with spaces for me to draw corresponding pictures.  My mother really encouraged my writing and even submitted a lovely poem entitled "Watch the Bunny" to the local newspaper, where it was of course promptly published and hung on every refrigerator my parents could get their hands on.  

Don't get confused here, I am not at all claiming to have been an advanced child, academically or otherwise.  I have a future blog entry in the works all about my early school struggles (and there were a lot of them).  But I loved books, rhymes, and songs- both reading them and creating them.  I think I was just born with a love of language and verbal expression.  To this day a really great line in a book or a song lyric can make me ball like a baby.     

When I was early school aged I started work on a pretty lengthy series of books about the dynamic characters KC and Brian.  I settled on these names for my lead characters because they were the only two names I could spell (to this day my phonemic awareness sucks).  KC and Brian solved a variety of mysteries that plagued their otherwise quiet neighborhood such as; finding a missing cat, locating a stolen teddy bear, and making friends with a new neighbor.  I can remember many hours spent at my parents kitchen table working diligently on my complex and gripping works of fiction, proudly presenting them to family members upon completion. 

Fast forward a few years to junior high, without a doubt the hardest years of my life as of yet.  I truly believe, not even using my flare for the dramatic, that I might not be here today if it hadn't have been for my ability to process through writing.  Many difficult and confusing things happened to me and those around me those couple of years.  It was all far too much for my undeveloped brain and my immature little self to take.  I won't get into the gory details, mostly because they're just sad and it doesn't make me feel good, but writing poetry and journaling about what I was experiencing pulled me through those difficult days that seemed to flow endlessly one after the other. 

I still have a lot of the writing I did back in those early teenage years.  Those poems and other pieces of writing bring me back to the little, scared, lonely girl I was then.  I thank whatever god or higher power there is out there that I brought pen to paper and let out all that poison inside me.  Because if it hadn't have been poetry , I'm sure I would have turned to something else far less therapeutic and a lot less forgiving.  

Fortunately, high school was an overall lighter time in the life of Bri.  In high school I wrote mostly on napkins at the Dunkin Dounuts close to my school, where the guy I liked "happened" to work.  I have bins and bins of napkins, receipts and bits of paper with random lines and poems scribbled with my chicken-scratch handwriting (it really is pretty awful looking), sometimes on every inch of surface.  For many years I couldn't throw away anything without looking carefully at all sides first to make sure there wasn't anything of significance written somewhere.  I think in those days I enjoyed attempting to look mysterious and complicated.  I'm not sure how I actually came across but I do remember how full of life I felt sitting at that orange booth, sipping on luke warm coffee out of a styrofoam cup, thinking about how original, jaded, and overall just awesome I was (funny how much can change in just a few years, junior high me would have loved one shred of that confidence).  

In college I continued my coffee writing escapades but moved up in the world to places called Java Joes and Casco Bay Books, cool local coffee shops, places that would now shock me with their prices and lack of decent parking (oh what my bank account would look like today if I could have back all the money I spent on lattes and beer in my youth).  I also upgraded to journals with insightful, thought-provoking quotes on the front, always in black and white because color wasn't interesting enough.  I wrote mostly about old boyfriends or affairs I was having with men far too old for me, or occasionally about the vastness of the universe and what my place might be in it.  I thought myself to be very deep, worldly, and damaged (in a cool, hip way).  Again, writing made me feel alive and powerful and in touch with myself in a way that usually eluded me.  

Not surprisingly, I started to write with less frequency after college and especially after I got married and started my family.  My husband and I estimated that I must have set the goal to write daily, or at least regularly, at least 20 times since we've been together but lack of time and other responsibilities always seemed to get in the way.  

Enter this blog.  Being able to write about my life and the things that shape it has been so freeing and has made me remember how much I love and enjoy giving my inner voice a stage.  Knowing that others are actually reading what I put out there into internet land, keeps me honest and motivated.  The butterflies in my stomach multiply rapidly every time I push "publish" and allow the world (well, at least my little corner of it) to see my latest thoughts in print.  

So, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to read about the latest developments in the mind of Bri (don't worry, I promise not to make a habit of talking about myself in third person) and helping to encourage me to keep sanity in my grasp.  I'm hoping I can keep the momentum going.  Feel free to berate me if I haven't come up with anything in awhile.  I respond well to torment and after-all, it will be for my own good.