Getting a Facelift

So I decided to do a little update on my blog. A little makeover never hurt anybody (unless you're Jocelyn Wildenstein aka the cat lady...)

And I wanted to have a calm, pretty place to share with you. Not only will I be writing tidbits about my life (you can find my new entry about "the in-between" here), but I'll also be adding several different elements! One of which is Book Reviews... I hear ALLTHETIME people asking for book suggestions, not knowing where to start or what genre they even enjoy; books, particularly new ones, can be intimidating, especially if you haven't picked one up for awhile. I want to help ease the transition. If there's one thing I spend a lot of time doing, it's reading; I finish approximately a book a week, and I read a variety, from historical non-fiction, to classics, to mystery, and my goal is to make these books accessible to you. That being said, you can find my very first Book Review here !

I also want to hear from YOU! I see or read compelling things on the news or on social media constantly that I feel strong opinions towards... I would love to hear feedback, or different viewpoints in response! (You can find my article on a botched execution in Oklahoma here .)
All in all, I hope this new blog can be a happy, thoughful place you choose to spend a little time, just like it is for me.

xx

To Kill or Not To Kill

A story out of Oklahoma has been all over the news today, about a botched execution at their state prison... you may have heard about it already, but what happened was that a prisoner scheduled to die (in the first double execution the state has seen since 1937) had a horrible reaction to the new, injected toxic concoction. His vein burst, and he eventually died of a massive heart attack, after writhing and clenching his teeth before witnesses. 

When I read this, I was incredibly shocked and disturbed. Surely, no one deserves to die that way. The death penalty is something that I've never agreed with, regardless of the crime; I don't believe in an-eye-for-an-eye, and I am certain murder in response to murder does not bring peace or healing. 

But then I read about his crime. The prisoner, Clayton Lockett, was convicted in 1999 of murder, rape, kidnapping, assault, battery, burglary, and robbery, most notably of which involved him shooting twice and then burying alive a 19 year old girl, after raping her friend. She undoubtedly suffered incredibly at his hands. Charles Warner, a man who would have been the second execution of the night (had Lockett's gone according to plan) was on death row for the rape and murder of an 11 month baby girl. 

I'm a mom of girls. And if one of my daughters had been the victim of those men, thinking about it now I can't help but feel that the only justice I would be satisfied with would be the death penalty. Of course, I can't presume to know how those parents feel, but I know my own heart and the fact that I don't think I would ever be able to rest until the killer was dead.  

So here I am. One of so many undecided about the death penalty, opinion changing based on the circumstances. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't know what the right answer is. 

What do you think?

To kill or not to kill, particularly when such heinous crimes are involved? What is your idea of justice?

The In-Between

A few days ago my fifteen-year old brother spoke to me about his high school experiences. During the conversation, he sighed loudly, flung his arms across his lap and said words that (probably shouldn’t have) made me laugh.

               
            “I just can’t wait for high school to be over with so I can have things figured out.”

It was the “figured out” that really got me; here I am at twenty-three, a wife and mother to 10 month old twin girls, and of course I don’t have things figured out, or even together at all. But I remember thinking the same way once; high school is this strange stage where you feel like an adult, yet don’t have the responsibilities of one. You worry about relationships, assignments, money, career success, and the wrath of your parents. You can’t wait to graduate and blend seamlessly into this happy adult world where you are the captain of your own ship and therefore able to steer it clearly through any storms.

                

             But for me, like most, the stress didn’t end when high school did; rather, it became more intense and at times I found myself longing for the freedom being a teenager afforded. And so I worked, and went to university, and waited, waited in the in-between for the day I would wake up and feel like an adult and really have my shit together. Then, after a difficult break up of a long-term relationship, I found my soulmate in the chaos. Shawn made me feel like my life had real meaning again, and soon we knew we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. But we had to wait, until it was financially feasible.

                

             So, we waited, hovering in between being a couple who wanted to be engaged and a couple who was. But one day Shawn had a horrible accident at work, falling fifteen feet out of a scissor lift. What followed was days in the hospital, surgery, and then six long months of recovery. And I found that again, I was waiting, waiting for the day that felt like a fantasy, where Shawn would be able to walk normally and dig his way out of the crippling depression his injury induced.

                

             However, we did become engaged; one good thing that came from his accident was that Shawn and I realized, all money aside, we didn’t want to wait any longer to move ahead with marriage. But that was difficult too; I had waited so long for the day we became engaged, and yet once it happened I couldn’t wait for the wedding planning stage to be over with and the marriage to begin. Planning a big party was neither of our forté, and as we were still coping with his injury we talked very seriously many times about skipping the entire ceremony and simply going down to city hall to make it official.

When we found out we were expecting identical twin girls a few weeks before our wedding, and later that we would have to be hospitalized due to an incompetent cervix and the risk for premature birth, well that was waiting too. Once admitted to the hospital, I made a calendar of the months and crossed off each horribly slow day as it passed. And when our daughters were born at exactly 27 weeks gestation, and we endured 2.5 months in the NICU, I thought time might actually be going backwards. I couldn’t enjoy being at home with any empty nursery, and I couldn’t enjoy being at the hospital where my girls were tubed up in incubators.  I just wanted it to be over, and I was sure that if I could just survive the NICU everything would fall into place.

But when the twins finally did come home, the moment I’d waited so long for (and sometimes doubted would ever come) wasn’t at all what I thought it would be; I had spent so much time counting the days until they were released, that I hadn’t actually thought about what it would be like when they were. They cried excessively, had horrible acid reflux, and wouldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time. There were some long nights where I actually wondered if the NICU would take them back.

Now, my girls are nearly 10 months old (7 corrected), and I find myself missing those newborn days. Not the tears, but the times where they would fall asleep on my chest, or their surprise smiles, or the first peals of the rolling belly laughter I hear so often now. As awful as those days felt when I was living them, I am genuinely sad that my girls have grown out of them.

So what I’ve learned is this; I’ve spent too much time in the in-between, waiting for one stage to end so another can begin. I haven’t spent enough time relishing the curveballs; it seems like an odd thing to say, but you can only grow from diversity if you actually allow yourself to experience it. At particularly difficult or painful times I found I had to stop myself from just closing my eyes and sprinting blindly through to the finish line. Sometimes “soldiering on” meant not only ignoring the bad, but also the good, and I regret those missed opportunities.

But now I know. I have learned from my mistakes. And when I have those moments, where my daughters are yelling in frustration as they rock back and forth on their knees in an attempt to crawl, and I feel like my head might pop off, I have to stop. I take a deep breath. I open a window. I sip my coffee. And I get down on the floor and shower my girls in kisses and encouragement. I remind myself that this moment on the floor with my twins will one day be gone and never, ever come again. It hits me now, as it wouldn’t have before, that time goes by far too quickly, whether you want it to or not, and I have to find the hidden blessings. No more in between, no more waiting for something to be over and something “better” to begin. I am finally making the most out of every single moment I am given in this life, despite how easy or difficult that particular one might be.  The truth is there will always be thorns, but I can’t let that stop me from smelling the roses.

Book Review: The Monsters of Templeton

RATING:

3.75 cookies out of 5

What's it about?

This novel by Lauren Groff centres on a small, fictional town in New York State, and dabbles in fantasy, history, and relationships as our narrator Willie Upton returns home after a calamitous affair with one of her university professors. At her mother’s suggestion, she uses her archeological training to dig into her family’s past and their deep history within the town. 

Favourite Quote(s):

“Even still, we run. We have not reached our average of 57.92 years without knowing that you run through it, and it hurts and you run through it some more, and if it hurts worse, you run through it even more, and when you finish, you will have broken through. In the end, when you are done, and stretching, and your heartbeat slows, and your sweat dries, if you've run through the hard part, you will remember no pain.” 

“When I was small and easily wounded books were my carapace. If I were recalled to my hurts in the middle of a book they somehow mattered less. My corporeal life was slight the dazzling one in my head was what really mattered. Returning to books was coming home.” 

Who would enjoy it?

Anyone who likes stories with strong female characters, as The Monsters of Templeton is full of them. Also, anyone who enjoys a little mystery, violence, surprise, and eeriness in their novels. If you’re looking for inspiration or an emotional boost, this book has a very satisfying and hopeful conclusion that makes you feel like you could tackle just about anything.

What I liked:

I really loved the way The Monsters of Templeton gripped me with its words and wouldn’t let go. I was on the edge of my seat constantly, but yet forced to read slowly to fully appreciate the fine detail and description. I also quite enjoyed the fantasy tone this novel has. While still remaining in the real world, ghost and prehistoric monsters play a significant role, and they help add a compelling and mysterious level to the story. I also liked the fact that the book included different narrators, such as Willie’s ancestors, to tell their side of the story. While all the characters were entirely fictional, it was cool to jump back and forth between present day and different decades (or centuries)! From the beginning the book creates a mystery and builds throughout each chapter, so you are kept waiting and fact-collecting in anticipation of the ultimate reveal. Also, Lauren Groff is incredibly gifted at creating truly beautiful imagery. There were many times I found myself reading and re-reading a paragraph simply because I was so struck by it, or jotting down quotes from the pages.

What I didn’t like:

There wasn’t much I disliked about this novel. However! The dialogue was a bit choppy and unrealistic at first. (Case in point: Willie calling her mother by her name “Vi” repeatedly, including about 10 times on one page at the beginning of the novel. Who talks like that?) But, the author does find her groove and it becomes smoother after that.

I also didn’t enjoy the way characters on occasion felt a tad insincere. Lauren Groff was sometimes unwilling to let them go and move the story on their own; she put too much time into controlling the characters and including unnecessary details to have them seen by the reader the way that she desired. Case in point: the former high school football stud who is shown at the beginning to be a single father with a potbelly and a fondness for the local pub, becomes slim and attractive throughout the story, as though the author wanted us to like him but didn’t think we could if he was physically unappealing. Or the way that Willie enters the story with a breakdown-induced shaved head, but yet she wears it incredibly well and is complimented constantly. It’s almost a cop-out… the reality is that as an author you want to ultimately sell us on a character’s personality, not their looks, to avoid your novel being shallow, and this was something Groff struggled with.

Overall:
Definitely one of my new favourites. Flaws in execution didn't stop The Monsters of Templeton from making its way permanently onto my bookshelf and into my heart. 

The Hard Parts

Sometimes it feels like nobody understands.

Isn’t that a cliché? “Nobody understaaaaaands, waaaah!” That’s what I hear in my head when I say it out loud... I feel like the world’s biggest, most self-indulgent whiner. Because of course people understand; there are countless people in the world who have experienced what I’m experiencing, and worse too. So I guess what I mean is that no one important understands.

I’ve heard it all. In words and heavy implications.

 “It must be nice not to have to work.”

“You’re kind of on vacation!”

“You have it easy, your babies sleep through the night.”

“It must be quite comfortable to get to sit at home every day with your girls.”

“You’re so lucky!”

“Don’t even talk to me about being tired, I had the longest day at work ever! At least you got to be at home.”

“You have such easy babies.”

…I could go on.

And I understand where people come from when they say these things; I understand why they say them, with the best intentions, without any comprehension that what they’re saying is tactless, not to mention belittling and offensive. But I can’t help it. Despite understanding, I do get offended; perhaps (no, probably) I’m over-sensitive, but when I hear those things this giant rage dragon rears up and breathes fire in my chest and I feel like asking every one of those people to spend a day in my shoes and then consider if they want to stand by their statement.  

I have to start by saying that I love my life. And I am so insanely, disgustingly, thankful for it. And I don’t like to complain about it because to complain to me seems ungrateful. Not many people that I know get, or will ever get to experience the crazy blessing that having twins legitimately is. They don’t get to see those moments when the girls hold hands for an hour while they’re playing, or talk to each other from across the apartment, or stare adoringly into each other’s eyes. They don’t get to see the way Scarlett worships her “older” sister, and always has to seek her out when entering a room after her. They don’t get to see the way Olivia is, and always has been protective of her minute-younger sister (even in the womb). They don’t get to experience the way that alone time with one baby becomes a rare and genuine joy because it’s so uncommon.

But that also means they don’t get to experience the fact that every day is an utter gong-show. That two babies means twice as many bottles to be made and consumed. That three solid feeds become six. That when one is crying and wants to be held, nine times out of ten the other one does too, but mommy’s back will break if she tries to pick them both up. That there is never any time to wipe up the puke that’s all over my lap because the baby who didn’t regurgitate their food needs me too. That the amount of head-butts, scratches, and smacks to the face from an irritated baby double as well. That because they’re identical their growth is too, and this week I had to cope with 4 teeth cutting at a time, and frustrated screaming that accompanied it. That the only luxurious part of my life right now is whether or not I get an opportunity to shower. That every day is an overwhelming juggling act, and more often than not, things hit the floor.

I hear it time and time again from other twin parents: you really don’t get to leave the house much at all in the first year. And it’s true; going anywhere with the babies is nearly impossible. Not only are our girls severely premature and therefore at greater risk of getting sick, but they also almost always bawl in their car seats, making even short drives unendurable. And don’t get me started on their dependence on their schedule; these babies run on a strict routine and when it’s deviated from they lose their shit (and guess who has to deal with it?) Contrary to seemingly popular opinion, two babies at this stage doesn’t mean they always have someone to entertain them, it means twice the amount of cries for mom when there’s a problem.

But I’m optimistic. I take time for myself when I can, because I know it’s the only way to stay sane.

I run, because it’s better than therapy, though it usually has to wait until 10pm or later when the girls have gone to bed (by which time I am entirely drained from the day).

I read, but only when the girls sleep (if they’re asleep at the same time), or for the half an hour that they can play by themselves without wanting something from me. Or at midnight, after my run, and stretch, and post-run workout is done.

I write, because creating fiction and enveloping myself in the lives of other people and their problems helps to transport me into a world far from my own.

But then there’s bed, and it doesn’t mean sleep, it means hours of insomnia where I dwell over mistakes of the day and how I can be a better mom in the one to come.

This is my life. No, in truth this only scratches the surface of it. And I wouldn’t change it for the world. But that doesn’t mean that it’s easy or tolerable or I don’t have days where I shock myself with thoughts of leaving the house and never coming back. See, like other stay-at-home moms, I don’t get to clock out at the end of the day and come home. My work and my home are one, and rarely do I get a day off. Even if my husband is available and watching the girls so I can have time to relax, caring for them is a tough thing to do alone, and I find I am unable to shut off; I hear every cry with rising agitation, and unconsciously watch the clock to make sure things are moving according to schedule (because, as I said, despite frequent advice from singleton parents to “just wing it”, with twins no schedule means chaos.)  

I can’t make plans impulsively. I can’t leave, sleep, eat, shower, or do anything when I feel like it; my freedom is entirely dependent on 2 little people who need me desperately. Often I have to cancel plans to go out simply because one or both of the girls is having a rough time; being born at 6.5 months can do that to a baby. And no, unless you have toys or jumpers, highchairs and baby food, I can’t just come to your house for the day; my girls can’t and won’t crawl around and entertain themselves, and eventually they’re going to need one of their 3 solid feeds and a nap (did I mention they usually refuse to sleep anywhere but their own beds?) And yet after all of this, there are still the ordinary, un-baby-related challenges; bills, laundry, cleaning, cooking, groceries, overtime shifts, popped tires on the vehicle, and the fact that both my husband and I are still recovering from surgeries.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that being a twin mom is hard. Really, really, really, sometimes overwhelmingly, impossibly hard. I have become an expert at giving the impression that it’s easy, or no more difficult than one baby, because I don’t want to seem unappreciative of this enormous gift. But my life is so full of them that there are days, weeks even, where it seems like there is no room for anything else. And people drop like flies when they are unable to wrap their heads around that.

And so, I come back to it. No one understands. Hyperbolic, of course, but when are emotions ever completely rational? Perhaps I am complaining undeservedly; after all, I’m not a woman in a third world country trying to balance twins.  However, I’m not entirely sure that someone else’s suffering invalidates my own. And as it stands right now, my heart is full of love but my lungs are full of water; I’m desperately trying to find my way up into the air. I’m sure one day I will learn to tread, but until then I must deal with the mad and panicked scramble to keep my head above the current.