Acknowledging Miracles: A Photo Tribute to the Babies

One thing I love about birthdays, besides the left-over cupcakes, is the chance to look over your shoulder at the moment a child came into your life. I can't let the twin's birthday pass without acknowledging miracles. Just the fact that they are alive and healthy is a miracle.  I don't know why they were allowed to live, and I confess I feel a certain element of guilt over it. For the 6 weeks we traveled daily to visit them in the NICU after they were born, we saw many premature babies come into the world and then slip silently back out again. And so I feel hesitant to hold my candles up when so many other's have been snuffed out before they got a chance to shine.

I don't understand the mystery, but I acknowledge it.

Looking at baby photos of the twins yesterday made me so happy/sad. Those cute little chubby sweet boys are gone forever, and I miss them something fierce. So grateful for cute pictures so I can suffer from those love pangs at least one a year. These were the days when we referred to them as the babies, before it became the twins, and now the boyz.

We love these little boys!

Happy Birthday to the Twins!

The twins turned 10 years old today!

We tried to arouse them by singing every rendition of Happy Birthday we could think of, but to no avail. So, I used a trick I picked up from my mom, I gave them a few refreshing squirts from the spray bottle.  

It was as if they could feel it wasn't a regular birthday, but more of a Fast Sunday Birthday. We tried to soften the blow with a few presents.

New church pants? said Garrett.

New church shoes? said Wyatt.

And did I mention it's fast Sunday? I said.

(Try making 2 cakes and blowing up 20 balloons when you're fasting, btw).

Since the twins are growing up we did things a little bit differently this year. For instance, we left all the tags on their presents so they could see how much we really love them.

And I did something I swore I would never do. I used a trick I picked up from Alan's mom and wrapped their presents in Food Land bags.

And, I didn't really make the cakes. I figure they're old enough now to make their own cakes, so after dinner Tatum taught them how.

At dinner we went around the table and told the twins all the things we love about them. It went on and on and on. There are so many things to love about them. Then we told them the story of their amazing birth and looked at their baby pictures. But I'll save that for my next post.

Saturday is a Special Day!

By the time I cracked open my eyes at 5:30 this morning half my family was gone. (The older half). Alan, Tatum and Zach were off to do baptisms for the dead. The rest of us went to clean the chapel and when I came back this is what I saw:

(Someone told me today that trombone players are the comedians of the band. Zach must have been wise-crackin' in class when the teacher was passing out instruments. Proud mommy tingles coming on.)

Today the twins, with dad as coach, joined the soccer circuit and made their big debut with 5 Frampton goals between them. Everyone wants their kids to shine, but there comes a point when you start slinking down in your seat, turning the brim of your hat down and putting on your shades. I could tell Alan was feeling it too when he began yelling Garrett . . . BACK . . . DEFENSE, Garrett! . . . NOW!


















The zip was back in Zach's team this week. It was a 5-1 loss, but I was on the edge of my seat the whole game.

And Zach worked up a tremenous sweat.

He scored the single goal, and this time I was jumping up and down, doing toe-touches, hurkys, roundoff back handsprings and the touchdown dance. Then I topped it off with a little nana nana boo boo in the other team's face.

I didn't get to see Tatum's game, but they lost 2-0. When I asked how it went Alan said it was a great learning day and left it at that. Apparently he gave Tatum a pep talk on the way home as she is such a problem teen--always so stinkin' responsible, conscientious and mature. Always holding so tightly to the rod. His advice to her went something like this: Go out and get your EARS pierced! DYE your HAIR for goodness sake! EXPRESS yourself! Make some DADGUM misTAKES, why don't you! That seemed to loosen her up considerably and she's promised to get a tattoo ASAP.

This evening Alan and I dashed out for some Birthday Eve shopping. But first we double checked the twins birthday list:

Dog, 4-wheeler, Dirt Bike, Dog, B-B Gun, Dog

After crossing each item off the list we asked, is there nothing else you want?

Garrett thought for a minute. Yes, I want to stay home from church, he said.

Hmmm. That may be do-able, I said. Maybe we could start a new birthday tradition.

Tatum started protesting though so it looks like we'll be going (wish that girl would go get herself a tattoo already).

Upon our return home we found that Wyatt had graciously made dinner.

Apparently it was the best birthday eve ever because a package and cards had arrived from Grandparents full of candy and $$ and gooey, oozie goop galore.

This is what it looked like:

And this is what it looked like with a brain full of skittles.

And now they are slumber partying together in the living room and praying the birthday fairy, by the grace of God, will let them stay home from church in the morning.

Aloha Friday

I love Fridays. (In Hawaii we lovingly refer to them as Aloha Fridays).

My classes end on Thursday so there's no hair spray, corky wedges or red pencils allowed on Fridays. There are no comma splices, misplaced pronouns or missing articles on Fridays. On Fridays I don't instruct, suggest, decide or record anything. The whole day lies ahead of me like a blank page.

I love to wake up super early because everything is more fun on Fridays. I swim, I do yoga, I read, I write. I take luxurious baths. Even the daily domestic duties don't bog me down on Fridays. Joyfully I pull all the sweaty balled up soccer socks from the shoes strewn across the floor and toss them into the washer. I flit from floor to floor gathering backpacks and discarded homework and humming a happy tune. Then, just as I'm getting that rush that comes from scrubbing the toilet bowls . . . my kids wake up.

And then I wake up.

And once the kids get off to school, I start preparing for Saturday.

Yesterday that entailed checking the ads for sales; making a Costco list; running to the grocery store to buy snacks for Zach's soccer game; putting the snacks together for Zach's soccer game (in Hawaii snack means hearty meal); pulling all the balled up soccer socks from the wash and matching them up with cleats, uniforms and water bottles; making arrangements to have meals brought in to a sista who just gave birth; making a meal to bring in to the sista who just gave birth; setting up sistas to visit the widow in the hospital; visiting the widow in the hosptal; having a quick nervous breakdown, (no time for a long one) and then racking my brain to think of what to get the twins for their birthday (besides new church pants).

(You know you're out of touch with your kids when you realize on Friday it's their birthday on Sunday and you haven't planned a party, obtained presents, or purchased a cake. To top it off you can't remember how old they are).

But enough about me.

Here's the latest update on the kids:

Tatum is straightening her hair again because, as she puts it, she's not in a curly mood.


Plus she says she's tired of her head being 10 times the size of everyone else's.


Which is totally not true.

She dropped out of Keiki Choir because it's incredibly time consuming, but missed singing so much that she has now joined a choir at school. (I'm guessing there were other factors in that decision besides how badly she missed singing.)

Big event yesterday! Zach brought his trombone home to practice (sorry neighbors). Here's what he looks like when he practices:



And here's what Wyatt looks like


And here's what Garrett looks like.


I don't know why, but it gave me the biggest thrill to see Zach carrying that trombone to the bus stop this morning. Weird, I know. Anyway, he ain't half bad and I'm really looking forward to the full-ride college scholarship due to the shortage of trombone players in the world.

Good news! Junior High progress reports are out:


And more good news! Wyatt and Garrett have finally finally finally started taking their school work more seriously than they take hangin' loose with the neighborhood brat pack/mongoose club. They come home from school and set up camp at the kitchen table while I finish up my bon-bons and soap operas.


Life is beautiful.

I'm in a Georgetown State of Mind

Tonight I've got Georgetown on my mind. Last June, I spent a Friday the 13th there eating philly cheesesteak and wandering the streets as if I were wandering through a Cold Play son. "The Scientist," maybe. I once read that every place has a unique spirit. An energy that can be summed up in one word. What would Georgetown's word be? Poetic? Melancholy? Maybe I am the one who is melencholy. It felt so St. Elmos Fire. I sat on someone stoop and watched Taxi's passing through the rain, and college students huddled in groups on street corners where things come together, but also separate. I felt like an outsider looking in, as usual. An observer of life, rather than a partaker. . . I was an invisible tourist, and my tourguide was the ghost of Christmas past. So to speak. Or maybe the ghost of Friday the 13th past? I was in Washington D.C. because my kids were competing in the National History so I flew out a day early, checked into a lovely stately hotel a few blocks behind the white house and then meandered down the mall, past the Vietnam memoiral wall. I sat on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial and overlooked the Potomac river. I stretched out on the steps of the Lincoln memorial and took in the Washington monument. I wandered up to DuPont Circle, which had a Grenich Village meets Disney Channel vibe. Very 5th Avenue French. I sat outside a little sandwhich shop in the rain and ate a Gyro sandwhich and then walked through a museum and saw some Renior. I learned a few things about myself in that beautiful city. I learned if my gut says turn right, then turn left. I got lost a lot. And I learned that you learn a lot when you get lost.

Humble Pie Before Breakfast

There are certain inevitable laws that govern the universe, one of which is she who boasts publically about her little mommy victories, even if they only come once a year, shall surely eat her words before breakfast.

This morning, for the first time in 4 weeks, I stood in Tatum's doorway, blinking and rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Tatum had gone to school without making her bed.

This startling discovery came on the tail of an earlier realization. A 5:00 am realization. I stumbled upon it completely by accident as I was gathering laundry from the hamper in the boys room. I happened to glance to the left. Zach's bed was empty . . . and made. I glanced to the right and up. Garrett's bed . . . empty . . . made. I glanced down . . . where they slept . . . all three of them, piled onto one bed. Wyatt's bed. The bed that never gets made!

I have been duped by my own offspring.

And then came the clincher. Alan pulled me aside before he went to work.

I need to show you something, he said. I braced myself. He spoke slowly as he led me to their bathroom.

This is why there are no towels on the kids floor anymore. This is why the towel rack in our bathroom now holds only beach towels and car wash towels.

And there they were, every towel in the house, in a heaping pile behind the bathroom door.

It's obviously September.

Ode to August: one small step for mom, one giant leap for momkind

Today I want to send a shout out to all you mom's.

Moms ROCK! (But it sure ain't an easy gig, especially for workin' moms.)

I always tell people I feel like a stay-at-home-mom that works, but this morning I realized it's just a catchy phrase that downplays the reality of my job as a teacher. Yes, I'm only in the classroom 5 hours a week, which is an ideal mom-job, but when I awoke this morning, looked around at the clothes I'd left on the floor, the dinner dishes in the sink, and the stacks of mounting papers on the kitchen counter, I thought, I guess I'm more of a work-at-home-mom that works.

This happens every fall when I start teaching again. I only notice it because August is so pricelessly dull. I get to clean the bathrooms in August. In August I get to water the plants and send out the belated Christmas cards and look for my grail. But the thing I love most about August is that I get to be consistant with my kids. It's an aggravating, monotonous, repetitive process, but someone's got to do it (at least once a year).

Today, as I feel my grasp on domestic order slipping steadily away and I mourn it's passing, I am trying to stay on the sunny side of life. I am looking back longingly to when I was seriously so bored, and I am looking forward reluctantly to being frantically so stressed, and I am holding on tight--like water in a net--to all my little mom-victories of August.

Small steps . . . like teaching the kids how to bargain rather than bully for what they want. For instance, yesterday I heard Zach asking Wyatt to make him a sandwich, and Wyatt did. Why don't you let Zach make that himself, I told him. Because, he said, if I make him a sandwich he'll let me play his Halo III for 2 days.

Now that's progress.

And so is this:

• 3/4 kids are making their beds regularly every morning, without being asked, and have been for the past 4 weeks.
• 2/4 kids are applying sunscreen every morning before school, without being asked.
• 4/4 leave for school on time, without being asked.
• 2/4 are putting their back packs away after they finish their homework, without being asked.
• 3/4 are reading for at least 20 mintues at night, without being asked.
• 4 /4 are doing their homework after school, without me badgering them to death.
• 4/4 are badgering me to death after school about their homework. (They could just ask!)

Can't wait until next August!

Maybe by then I'll be making sandwiches for Zach too.

Proud Mama

This morning after the kids left for school, I began my daily routine of giving the house a good once over, eyeballing bedrooms and such to see what got done and what didn't. This is what I came across in my boys bedroom that brought tears to my eyes. 

The beds are made, yes, because I have an allowance system, but that's not what made me so proud. It's the books! Look at all the books scattered around their room!

In a townhouse far far away . . .

When you live in a townhouse on an island far far away in the middle of the Pacific Ocean your relationships consist of close neighbors and distant relatives. For instance, if you break a glass, you will immediately receive a string of shout outs from the rows of open windows, Everything okay? to which you reply at the top of your lungs, No worries! I'm fine! On the other hand you could break a leg and your relatives may not get wind of it for weeks.

Townhouse living bears certain responsibilities and rewards. There are no membership dues or co-op fees, but there are unwritten expectations, and compliance brings harmony in the hood. One of those unwritten expectations is that you must know how to party like a rock star. On top of knowing how to party like a rock star, you are required to plan one annual party, (like a rock star). It's tricky, but with a little patience and a lot of email manipulation, it can be done.

Though I recently remarked that we spend most of our time here stressing out about life, and very little time partying, we did make an exception yesterday for our annual Labor Day party which my generous neighbor has deemed a Frampton bash.

We complied and all's good in the hood (fo' real).

So my friends, neighbors and the Countrymans, if you want to see what you looked like yesterday in your bathing suits, just click on the slide show at the top of the page and it will take you to my Labor Day Party web album.

For those of you not on an island far far away in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, before you look at all of our neighbors in bathing suits, please fill your heads with cozy thoughts of crisp air and cute sweaters and burnt amber leaves and hot apple cider, and keep in mind that the heat is h-e-double toothpicks-ish over here.