Author Archives: serendipity.six

About serendipity.six

mrs || mom of twins + 2 || teacher || hot mess || #yyc

Run mad as often as you choose; but do not faint. – Love and Friendship novella.

My husband came home from work one day last week to find me in my glory; writing on this blog. He glanced around and happened to notice the neglected dishes, unswept floors and …worst of all… my unkempt hair. I noticed him noticing and instantly felt guilty, expecting and feeling deserving of the third degree. What did I get instead? A smile. I attempted to apologize for the state of things, he stopped me. We started talking about the blog. Caleb confessed that at first, he thought I was crazy for starting this – a time suck, something to add to an already full plate. Then, he thought about me. And knowing me the way he does, he realized how much I really need this. He went as far to say, and I quote, “It’s keeping you sane.” I realized, he was right.

I am a mother in the generation of helicopter parents, overscheduled children, and two-income families. There is this societal pressure put on us to do it all; not only to BE perfect, but to be SEEN as perfect. An impossible task. The funny thing is, we know this societal pressure exists and yet we accept it. Why? We are choosing to run mad! We want to be accepted by others, so we strive to meet this standard… but striving to meet this standard only makes us unhappy because we will never achieve it.

And what becomes of these unhappy mothers who can’t seem to achieve the impossible standard society sets for them? They faint.

Something we can do for ourselves, for our kids, for our marriage — stop CHOOSING to run mad. There is so much out there that is PUSHING us into madness… why make it any easier?

Let’s sit down and think about what’s really important.

Feeling guilty for not accomplishing what I thought Caleb would have expected from me, what I have pressured myself into expecting — I’m giving in to that societal pressure. This blog – my sanity – is my way of avoiding the faint, my way of reflecting on what’s really important, a reminder to PUSH BACK the other way.

Thank you for reading – from the bottom of my heart – I am humbled and delighted to have you with me as I try to figure out how to keep myself, my kids, my husband, all from running mad.

Catherine’s expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom-street were so very high, that disappointment was inevitable; – Northanger Abbey

Expectations. We all have them. Just yesterday, I expected to put the babies down for a nap in the morning, grab a hot cup of coffee, sit down and write this post. Hmmm… that didn’t happen at all how I expected it would. I’m beginning to think having expectations is like setting yourself up for failure. Unrealistic expectations anyway. The problem is – in the moment, I don’t feel that my expectations are unrealistic. Maybe there’s something to not having any expectations at all…

Expectations for Yourself. I am the QUEEN of to-do lists. I love making them, and often make more than one… you know, the first one is the rough copy, then I’ve got to make a good copy that’s pretty to the eye. The satisfaction that comes with crossing something off a to-do list, there’s nothing like it. But, the longer it takes me to cross things off, the more tempting it is to re-write my list altogether. Expecting myself to accomplish everything in a short amount of time, leaves me frustrated.

A typical day: Caleb will come home and ask about our day, and frustratingly all I can say is – “well I didn’t accomplish anything on my to-do list.” When really, there is so much more to our day than that. Zach and Hailey put on yet another “show” for me, I got both of the twins laughing simultaneously, the babies finally fell asleep for two full hours and I spent that time doing damage control on the house, spending the last half hour snuggling on the couch with the big kids. Hmm… sounds like a pretty perfect day to me. So why was I so frustrated by the time Caleb walked in the door?

Realistically, I need to be choosing one thing on my to-do list, and setting that as my goal for the day. Obviously, we have the everyday that needs to be accomplished – the kids need to be fed, diapers need to be changed… but I may or may not have a shower… the laundry may or may not get folded and put away… supper may or may not be ready when Caleb is home from work… instead of feeling frustrated about it, I’m slowly starting to convince myself – it’s ok.

Expectations for Your Spouse. This is an easy one. It’s interesting how I’ve been able to easily have less expectations for Caleb and yet I’m having a harder time having less expectations for me. I’ve found, the more expectations you set on your spouse, the more unhappy with them you will be. If you are expecting them to do the dishes after supper, and they don’t, you feel disappointed, mad and sad. If your expecting them to put the kids to bed, and they come up 20 minutes after bedtime with a storybook in hand, you’re thinking, it’s about time.

Take away those expectations: You get up from the table to do the dishes. You start filling the sink and look over to find your spouse with the load of wash you had been meaning to fold all day. He’s sitting with the kids, showing them how to fold a t-shirt while they are playing the “sock sorting game”. After you’re done washing the dishes, you bring the kids upstairs to brush their teeth and put on their pyjamas. Just as they are crawling into bed, your spouse comes in with a storybook in his hand.

Is there a better feeling?! Instead of feeling disappointed or frustrated wondering if he’s ever going to do anything to help you, you’re surprised and can’t help but feel grateful. What’s more – when you stop focusing on what your spouse is NOT doing, you have so much more time to work on bettering yourself.

Expectations for Your Kids. This one is the trickiest. Our children need to know their limits and need to have a standard of behaviour. Our children need us to set expectations – but they need to be healthy ones, children are incredibly hard on themselves, and the last thing you want to do is to set them up for failure and affect their self-esteem.

The expectations we set for our children need to be conducive to their individual development. This is a tricky one for me. Hailey is such an old soul – I have to constantly remind myself that she is 7. If I don’t, I’m expecting her to be able to control her emotions as I do, rather than as a 7 year old is able to. As a result, I instantly feel frustrated when she is behaving in a way I don’t expect.

I’m a huge believer in self-regulation. I am definitely no dictator over my children, I’m here to act as their partner, guiding them and providing them with the skills necessary to monitor their own behaviour. In this way, I am able to put the expectation of behaviour into their own hands. I’m definitely more patient with them because of this, we can sit and talk about their behaviour, how they felt they acted, and help them figure out what they would do differently next time. It’s so satisfying hearing the words come out of their own little mouths, “I need to use my words to tell Hailey to stop” instead of me having to harp at them, “Use your words! Use your words!” .

The expectations we set for our children need to be process-based, rather than focused on an outcome. As long as they are doing their best and focused on their task, they are fulfilling the expectation. Something we have started to do in our house after supper, is to have the big kids take turns wiping the table and sweeping the floor. Basically, we wanted to make them more aware as to how unbelievably messy they are when they are eating their supper. Obviously, they are not going to be able to do as complete a job as Caleb or I would do. Sometimes, it can be absolutely excruciating to try and watch them manoeuvre that broom. But, as long as they are trying their best, they’ve fulfilled my expectation and as a bonus, they try to contain their mess as they eat, knowing they will be cleaning it up.

I think the most important thing about setting expectations for our kids, is to not set expectations that we wouldn’t follow. A “do as I say not as I do” issue. Having an expectation for them to use a calm body and talking voice while we have frustrated bodies and are yelling at them?… Having an expectation for them to keep their room clean, while our room is messy – guilty! I am by far the messy one in my relationship. But, to my kids I am human, I openly talk to them about what I feel I should do differently – regulating my own behaviour and at the same time modelling how to do so in themselves.

Expectations for Your Baby. You’ve gotten through the worst of it, or so you think. After weeks and weeks of waking every few hours, your baby starts sleeping through the night. The first time it happens, you wake up wondering if they’re still breathing. Then, as it continues, you start waking up, thankful for a good night’s sleep. But expectations slowly sneak their way in. You start staying up a little later in the evening, expecting your baby to sleep through the night. Until they don’t, because they won’t. And how do you feel? Frustrated and disappointed.

Having baby on a routine or schedule is definitely important, at least for me it is – we all do what works for us don’t we? But, when we expect that our baby is going to adhere to their routine “by the book” every single day, you are looking for disappointment. Without the expectation, you are grateful in the moments that they ARE following their routine, but you’re a little more understanding when they don’t – saving you from frustration, able to enjoy those precious baby moments that never seem to last long enough.

With all that said –

This morning I woke up with no expectations. And wouldn’t you know it? It’s 10:00am – the babies are asleep, the big kids are finished their breakfast, and I’m here, writing this post, with a hot cup of coffee in hand; babies following their routine, and my goal for the day complete.

Have a great week!

One Doctor and A Closed Curtain – Periventricular Leukomalacia

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I mentioned in my last post how much I enjoyed hearing how well my babies were doing. What I didn’t mention was how awful it feels when you hear they aren’t doing well. It doesn’t come from a whole crowd of doctors and nurses standing around your babies… it comes from one doctor and a closed curtain.

My first NICU post relayed that both boys had had head ultrasounds at 1 week old and that both of them were suffering from a Grade 1 brain bleed (Grade 1 being the smallest grade of bleeding – small victory). Super common in premature babies, the last trimester is spent developing the blood vessels in the brain, meaning premature babies have very weak blood vessels that are prone to rupture. Alas – because of this – they would have a follow-up head ultrasound in a week’s time. This is the part that I didn’t previously mention.

I distinctly remember the moment the doctor came to talk to me. I just happened to be pumping (so glamorous) and she told me she could come back to talk to me later. Naive me, I figure, no big deal – I’m covered, and so many people walk in and out as I’m either feeding my babies or pumping, whatever she had to tell me she could tell me while I’m “in the moment”. She proceeded to close the curtain and pull up a chair.

The doctor filled me in on the good news first – Fin’s ultrasound looked as it was expected to look, the bleed was resolving on it’s own and his brain was developing beautifully.

Then came the bad news – unfortunately for me, she didn’t give me the option of “do you want the good news or the bad news first?” – I think I’m the type of person who would always choose the bad news first, every time.

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If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. – Emma

Another quote from her novel, “Emma”. This time – these words belong to Mr. Knightley, as he is finally declaring his love for Emma.

I know this is true for me. When I feel passionately about something or someone, I have a hard time expressing myself -perhaps out of fear: fear of rejection, fear of judgement, fear of the repercussions that may follow; perhaps it boils down to genetics or its just something I’ve unintentionally learned to do, picking it up along the way.

Even worse, when my passion involves a circumstance that is difficult to handle or understand, “talking about it” can be downright out of the question, making me way too vulnerable for my taste.

Communicating these difficult moments goes against our very human nature. We live in this world of instant gratification – we are looking to feel good, right now and stay that way. We stuff the difficult down and ignore it – hoping to forget and carry on feeling good, as we were. Unfortunately for us, at least for me, NOT communicating is only a short-term solution. There is something to all this “talking”. So, what is it for me?

Well, the inside of my head looks a little like rush-hour traffic. At any given moment, I have 4 or 5 different thoughts starting and stopping. You have the emergency vehicles who need to get through – the thoughts that take precedence – our kids needs, the to-do lists and the grocery lists. The thoughts that are left behind – trapped in the far left-hand lane with no exit in sight – are usually the ones I don’t want to think about.

The appeal to communicate these thoughts for me is this: forcing them out and letting them be my focus for more than a fleeting second, my thoughts tend to organize themselves a lot better. Because of that, I usually gain a new perspective on the subject. Feeling a little more enlightened – I can most definitely learn to deal. Also, it gives to whoever I am communicating a new perspective on me. This is usually my lovingly wonderful husband – who let’s face it, is not a mindreader. Forcing myself to communicate my feelings on a particular subject almost always helps him to better understand where I’m coming from – keeping us on the same page (note: I said, almost always).

Let’s face it, life is not fair. We are all going to experience a time where we feel completely disconnected from the life we had thought we were going to have. But, “it is what it is.” – This became my mantra as we faced each day in the NICU. And it has stuck. We need to understand that as much as we don’t like it, the circumstances won’t change (9 times out of 10). Being able to face it, talk about it, get it out there, will ultimately help us somewhere down the road. I stand firm on this point. If it hasn’t helped you, hold on, keep waiting, God isn’t finished yet. Focus on the little victories while you wait … look for them, they’re everywhere, and there are more of them than you think.

I hope you all have a great week – don’t stop loving, if anything, love harder – let’s just work on talking more.

The Reality of Having a Premature Baby.

Life in the NICU – Part 2

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Read about our NICU experience from the beginning with: Life in the NICU – Part 1

I should have entitled this post – “Chronicle of Small Victories” – because that’s really what it is. There were so many small victories leading up to the big victory of our boys coming home, my heart is so full reliving them all.

Just as I was getting into a routine at the hospital, we were told they would be moved. As of March 5th, 2014, they were no longer under Level III care and would have to move to a lower level facility to free up space for two other babies in need. I couldn’t be there to accompany them on their trip across the city, but I called the new hospital as soon as I could to hear how their trip went, and K and I headed down there to get them “settled in”.

The next time either of those babies were moved, it was to go home.

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The parenting dilemma.

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For this week,

Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.

– Emma.

The dilemma for any parent. We need to be the “good hands”. We want our children to become “valuable” people. Valuable, that is, in today’s sense, not in Jane Austen’s victorian mindset where being a valuable woman means being valuable in terms of her marriage prospects.

We are given this precious gift of a baby, and it is our responsibility to take that baby and raise them to be all that they possibly can be. An immense responsibility, in my opinion, and here I am, with that responsibility x 4…

Well, ok, so if 1 child is an immense responsibility, what does that mean for the responsibility of 4? Sounds like it will take nothing less than my whole life’s work. It makes sense now, why my passion is for teaching. I always knew I wanted to teach, but cashing in my classroom to spend my time with the 4 most important students I would ever have? That was news to me and it’s taking some getting used to.

For any new parent, the ugly side of the world begins to stand out and the world becomes this scary, harsh place. Our heart instantly wants to protect our children from all of it. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. Our children are going to face challenges, they are going to have defeats as well as triumphs. Our true task as parents, in my opinion, is to equip our children with the necessary tools to be able to handle the challenges that are set to come their way. This is really all we CAN do.

Here is a great little 4-minute video that sums up (in my opinion) our role as parents.

Have a great week!

Life in the NICU – Part 1

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Want to read about the little boys arrival? Head to – Graduated: Labour and Delivery

Everyone in that labour and delivery room made me feel like the hard part was supposed to be over. They were here and they were going to be ok. But the keyword was “going”. I still wasn’t quite sure what was in store for me as one part of our journey had ended and another began. I just knew we had a long way to go.

All I had read preparing for this moment had told me that these babies were meant to be here in May and not to anticipate them coming home sooner than that. They were no longer protected in the comfort of my womb, and so they were going to need to be protected in the comfort of the NICU until they were essentially full-term.

As I lay in bed awaiting the moment where I could be taken up to see them, I found myself asking, was I prepared for how fragile and small they would seem? An hour and a half later, I could answer that question. No one would ever be prepared.

K met my mom and I and we all went up to the NICU together, buzzing with excitement. This was soon met with disappointment as they informed us that because of a terrible flu season, visitors were restricted to parents only. Not a happy start…

I could do my best to describe what it was like to meet my two perfect (albeit-too small) babies for the first time, but I could never do that justice. So here are a couple of videos that I hope will portray it a little better…

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Graduated: Labour and Delivery

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If you are reading this and have not yet indulged in my article entitled, “the World of Antepartum and pProm” it is a precursor to this.

I was slowly starting to get into a routine at the hospital. The food was actually quite tasty, and I looked forward to receiving my menu every morning (or maybe I was just pregnant with twins and hungry). My nurses would come in twice a day to perform a non-stress test – which sometimes proved stressful. They needed to monitor each baby for 20 minutes simultaneously, and most of the time the babies didn’t want to cooperate, so 20 minutes usually turned into an hour or more. They start doing this kind of monitoring at 28 weeks, but because of their small size, the babies are able to move around and away. I think every time the babies didn’t cooperate, my nurses would tell me their stories about the hardest NST’s they’d ever had to perform, and most were stories about women carrying triplets or quadruplets – my heart went out to those women. Two babies in my tummy had given them enough trouble.

Through these NST’s they did discover that Fin had a little heart arrhythmia – I have convinced myself that Ethan developed this as a way for us to tell the two babies apart on the monitor. It was always comforting to hear their little hearts beating, but Fin didn’t like all of the attention and spent most of his time hiding.

As it happened, if the NST didn’t cause enough drama, distinguishing between who was Baby A and who was Baby B sure made up for it. Saskatchewan Health and Alberta Health have different ways of classifying twins in the womb, which ended up a confusing mess. In ultrasound, the presenting twin (the one that would ultimately be born first) is labeled Baby A, and the other baby is labeled Baby B. Our monkey H was originally our Baby B, but as he ruptured his membranes he also took Fin’s place as the presenting twin. In Alberta, because they had already labeled them – they didn’t switch labels at subsequent ultrasounds – H stayed Baby B and Fin stayed Baby A. For my brief week in Regina, however, they felt this was ridiculous and switched their labels – giving H Baby A status and Fin Baby B. I spent the bulk of my days explaining to my nurses who Calgary A was, and that yes – I was aware that my Calgary A (Fin) had a slight arrhythmia.

Everyday that passed uneventfully was a good day. I was having ultrasounds regularly to check Henry’s growth and ensure he was thriving without his protective bubble of fluid. There was a weight discrepancy between the two babies but they were both in the normal range for their gestation. If that discrepancy were to change, however, they would have to deliver me. The bleeding had subsided for the most part, it would still come and go – in nowhere near the amounts it had been. I found no interest in reading or watching TV (although it was during the winter olympics so I almost always had some kind of event playing on in the background)- I passed my time looking out the window – and was lucky to have had an incredible view of downtown. The sunrise was to die for, I purposely slept with the blinds open so I could enjoy them day after day. I had a pretty good view of the Calgary tower, which they would light a flame on every time Canada won an Olympic medal (there was only one medal-less day during my stay).

Here is a similar view of downtown that I had – with the Calgary Tower flame lit. Unfortunately, none of my photos turned out like this one:
(credit to Calgary Tower website)

K, my mom and the kids would visit me on the daily (my highlight), the kids would bring a snack and a board game, and we’d end our visits with a cuddle and some treehouse tv. On a really good day – K would come back in the evening just to keep me company.

The night before my labour began was just like any other night had been. The kids had spent some time with me – we played Disney Yahtzee and they sang “Hush Little Babies” to my belly before they left for the day. My favourite nurse happened to have been on shift – she came to say goodbye and to let me know that she would be off for the next few days – and for me to “stay pregnant”. A bad omen? Perhaps.

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The World of Antepartum and pPROM

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February 13th, 2014 – My water broke while I was in the staff room at work. I was casually “pinning” some Valentine’s Day activities to do with my kindergarteners the next day and – well, there was a gush. I maintained this unusual sense of calm as I explained to my boss what was happening and my coworkers started frantically running around me collecting my things. This sense of calm lasted me several hours – until my husband arrived at the hospital, my rock, and I could stop being strong, and cry. I was 28 weeks along. I didn’t know what this meant at the time – the only numbers I had really given any thought to were 37 and 40. 40 being the number of weeks I carried my two singletons, and 37 being the number of weeks I had expected to carry these twin boys. 28 seemed very far away from the 37 I had been expecting.

My doctor came and spoke to me – I had just seen her a few days earlier as I had had a routine ultrasound. She looked at me and said, “you’re not supposed to be here”. My pregnancy had been textbook. Although I was ultimately considered high-risk because I was carrying multiples, I was the lowest risk of all the high-risk. My babies were nestled in the safety of their own sac and had access to their own placenta. That was huge. Both were beautifully positioned with their heads down and, along with the fact that I had delivered my two singletons naturally, the doctor was favourable to a natural delivery for these twins. My biggest issue up until this point had been the waddle I had developed and the pressure that came along with having two heads lodged in my pelvis. I had just struggled with putting my notice in for my maternity leave as I was nowhere near ready to say goodbye to my kindergarteners.

Now – things were different. They diagnosed me with pPROM – which is a fancy short form for “preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes“. They did figure out that only one baby had ruptured (our Henry), meaning the other baby was perfectly content in his safety net of fluid. The doctor explained to me that they could ultimately let me go on like this until I reached 32 weeks gestation, or until my body went into labour on its own (which – could have been days, weeks or hours… they didn’t know). I had to face the reality that no matter what, I was going to have two premature babies.

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