Ummmm....Stuck

I will be the first person to admit that when it comes to clothes, I don't exactly "have it going on." Back when I was teaching school, there were multiple occasions when I would get home from school still wearing what I believed were my "totally grown up and professional" teaching clothes to have Shane say, "You didn't actually wear that today, right?" Colors, patterns, and styles definitely elude me, but I usually feel like I give it an honest effort.

Oh I'm sorry, are the cool kids NOT wearing Christmas Rules tee shirts?

I'm confident that I know what I like clothing-wise when I see it on someone else, and I can picture how I'd like to look (thanks Pinterest for showing me the unattainable), but for some reason when I get in a store I feel weirdly tall, awkward, and gangly. I look at the mannequins and the displays full of colors and textures and things I don't even know how to put on. Shopping is scary.


In spite of my shopping anxiety, at times the demon has to be faced, and I have to go buy clothes. This issue became sort of pressing right after having twins. I discovered that all of my pre-pregnancy clothes that I once believed had looked cute and sassy (I'm looking at you, former life skinny jeans), now made me look sad and lumpy. There was no choice but to head to Nordstroms in search of new pants.

Feeling extremely overwhelmed, I thumbed through racks of various pants options. Who knew there were so many? Fortunately, a sweet sales woman who could undoubtedly smell my fear bustled over to help. I tried to explain that I didn't know my size and that I just wanted pants that looked sort of cool (and less sad/lumpy). She assured me that she had several options.

After being ushered into the dreaded dressing room (three way mirrors, gross lights, trying on clothes that other people have tried on...ugh) I anxiously waited, sans pants, for the saleswoman to hand me pants over the door. I tried on the first pair, felt a little "meh" about the fit, and moved onto the the next pair. Without checking the size, I stepped in. The pants felt tight, but I was blindly confident that the saleswoman had some sort of magical ability to guess my correct size and match me up with my dream pants. Gripping the waist I wiggled side to side, stuck my butt out, pulled it back in, and tried my best to get the pants up over my knees. I immediately accepted pants defeat when I realized that there was no way  that the pants were going to button....there was no way the pants were even going up past my quads. I tried to reverse wiggle to get out of the blasted pants, but I only succeeded in tipping over sideways and falling onto the bench in the fitting room. I was now on the ground and stuck in the pants. The pants would not budge.

The saleswoman came back to check on my and I felt my last shred of dignity float away. Cue my internal conflict: Do I tell her that I'm stuck in pants rolling around and panting on the ground or do I just decide to live in the dressing room forever and die with stupid trendy skinny jeans around me knees? It is a question for the ages.

Realizing that staying in the dressing room forever until I die of starvation (or embarrassment) was not an option, I had to come to terms with the fact that this saleswoman would have to be alerted to the situation. And, that this random person would see me in my underwear. And, that this woman would have to help me shimmie out of the pants.

The saleswoman didn't make me wallow in my shame swamp for too long as she knocked on the door to see how everything was going.

"Ummmmmm.....it's not great." I replied

"Is it the size or the style?" She inquired.

"Ummmmmm yes. Both. I think. Maybe. I don't know." PANIC!

She offered to get me another pair, and I let her know that before I could try on another pair, I needed help getting out of the current pair.

Inwardly cursing myself and admitting pants-defeat, I let her into the room and accepted the fact that this was happening. She was very cool and professional about the whole ordeal, assuring me that "size mishaps" happen all the time.

She instructed me to stand up, lean against the wall, and with a firm strong grip she grabbed the pants, wiggled them side to side and then YANKED. The pants finally slid down.

"See, no problem. Can I get you another size?" She asked, as though she handled skinny jeans removals all day.

I'm pretty sure I went on and on about my gratitude for liberating my legs, and then humiliated, sweaty, yet grateful for my leg freedom I got out of there.

Know what you can't get stuck in? Yoga pants. 

For now, online shopping will be my jam. I may get stuck in clothes, but on the bright side only my dogs have to witness it. And they'll never tell.

Charles Barkley? You Mean the Guy from Space Jam

The baby people and I have been down and out with sinus nastiness for the last two weeks. In case you're curious, two weeks being basically homebound with two 19 month olds is a lot like what I imagine being trapped in a McDonald's Play Place would feel like, only louder, and perhaps messier. By day 10 we were desperate for an outing, so we headed to Target with no real agenda.

Cruising up the aisles somewhat aimlessly while the baby people were (mildly) entertained by looking around, I remembered that they needed more toothpaste. "Good work, memory, for making this trip slightly less pointless," I thought to myself. Just as we arrived at the toothpaste aisle, I noticed an enormous man in athletic gear. Enormous probably isn't even the best word choice, perhaps mammoth, gigantic, or just really freakin' huge would do the situation more justice. And, he was blocking the section of shelves that held the toddler toothpaste. While waiting for the giant to move, I realized that I had seen this guy before. Staring without trying to look like I was staring, my brain scrolled through my mental Rolodex (my brain is still old school and uses a Rolodex-not Linkedin) and stopped on Space Jam. This was totally one of the guys from that sweet 90's classic....which means that this guy was (is?) also an NBA big wig. I'm pretty sure I should have recognized him from sports, but I obviously spend way more time watching super awesome movies starring athletes (I'm looking at you, critically acclaimed Shazaam in which Shaq plays a genie. It's a real gem) than I do watching ESPN.

All Star Cast of Space Jam? You know it.

Finally, he turned to the side and I placed the name -  Charles Barkley. So, Charles Barkley and the baby people needed toothpaste at Target....nothing out of the ordinary here. The man mountain Barkley turned and saw me standing there awkwardly. I assume he was waiting for me to ask to take a picture or sign a kid or something, but little did he know that I fully planned on not interacting with him because I am VERY uncool when talking to famous people (which has happened like three times in my life).

"Am I in the way?" He boomed.
"Ummmmmmmm, no, not at all, I just need some kid toothpaste......ahhhhh.....for my kids." First of all, who am I to tell Charles Barkley that yes, you are in the way, and furthermore, why shouldn't I explain that kid toothpaste would in fact be for my kids?
"Are those babies twins? I love twins!" And with that, Charles Barkley lowered his giant self to be eye level with the baby people who were sitting nonchalantly in their stroller. Note to self- next time I meet someone from Space Jam, or any other famous person, I'll take a page from the J and A playbook and try to act underwhelmed-it reads way cooler than awkward and nerdy which is my usual mojo.
"You guys give high fives?" He asked as Jack grinned and Avery acted coy. With that, Barkley gave them each a high five.
"Do good in school," he told them as he stood up and walked away.

NBA superstar? No big deal. 

I grabbed the toothpaste and backed out of the aisle. CB (I feel like we're cool now, so I can call him this) was swarmed by shoppers asking for pictures and autographs. He was remarkably nice and spent a bit of time with them before heading to the check out lines. I didn't want to seem stalkerish (but I will- give it a minute), so I got in the line near him where I proceeded to take a sneaky under the arm picture of him waiting. Stars-they wait in line at Target just like us! We paid, nodded when the cashier asked in a hushed whisper if we had seen Charles Barkley, and with that, our big outing drew to a close.

Nothing to see here.....just a blurry shot of Charles Barkley's arm....

The take aways? The baby people are much cooler than me (except that I'm potty trained-boom), Charles Barkley (as seen in Space Jam) is phenomenally nice, and someday, if my kids start doing poorly in school, I will absolutely be able to say, "Pull it together! What would Charles Barkley think?" 

Attack of the Birds

Birds and I have a rich history in which they find bizarre and strange ways to terrify me. It's not like I can't admire a hawk soaring above or marvel at a brightly colored sassy exotic talking bird, but at the end of the day, I want them to stay far, far away from me.

To date, seagulls have pooped on me at Disney World (this is sort of a bring down when you're in third grade and just really want to ride the Haunted Mansion ride again but you can't because stupid birds pooped all over your head and your brand new Tigger t-shirt, so your Mom makes you leave to go shower and change), a giant peacock screaming with its tail in full regalia has chased me to my parent's car while at a family dinner at White Fence Farms (I still have nightmares about this), and aggressive pigeons took tortilla chips off my plate and then walked on my foot on the pier in Santa Monica. Birds are weird and invasive.

Clearly, I'm not the only one nervous around creatures of flight given that the cinematic gem Birdemic feeds on this fear. 

	SEE RANK Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2010)  90 min  -  Horror | Romance | Thriller  -  27 February 2010 (USA) 1.9 Your rating:   -/10  Ratings: 1.9/10 from 5,202 users  Reviews: 90 user | 63 critic A platoon of eagles and vultures attacks the residents of a small town. Many people die. It's not known what caused the flying menace to attack. Two people manage to fight back, but will they survive Birdemic? Director:  James Nguyen Writers:  James Nguyen (screenplay), James Nguyen(story) Stars:  Alan Bagh, Whitney Moore, Tippi Hedren | See full cast and crew
	+ Watchlist  Watch Trailer

Thanks IMDB (please note that the people manage to fight back with wire coat hangers - again, I said this was a cinematic gem).

So last week I was uneasy and grossed out by the giant gray birds circling around my back yard - it felt like a Birdemic-type sequel. Suddenly I heard a loud BANG on my backdoor. A huge gray bird (ok, like a normal sized bird) had flown head first into the glass door. Clearly, these birds are both scary and dumb. Unfortunately for the bird and me, Boxer dog Sam was outside.  The bird/window collision got Sam's attention and he raced over to make the bird his new chew toy. Despite what The Lion King has taught me about the circle of life, I'm really uncomfortable letting my sweet Boxer boy become a murderous hobgoblin. so I panicked and tried (to no avail) to distract Sam by calling him and gesturing awkwardly. In the split second that Sam looked away, the 99% dead bird that was still 1% alive and full of chutzpah made a run - no, limp for his life waddling behind the air conditioning unit and away from Sam's drooly clutches.

Dying bird? GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!!

Filled with internal conflict, I found myself rooting for the bird mostly so I wouldn't have to deal with his corpse. I gave him a few hours, thought positive thoughts, and hoped he'd waddle himself away from my yard to live a long and happy bird life somewhere else. Instead of the bird making an amazing recovery, when I checked on the situation I discovered that the bird had tipped over on his side and then died (I made this very scientific assessment by poking the bird gently with a broom).

Armed with a tennis racquet and broom, I feel ready to take on local wildlife...and maybe ninjas. 

Feeling like a Goodfella, I got a shovel and prepared to send the bird to sleep with the fishes (or really just put him in the trash). As I took the shovel to prod the body out from behind the air conditioner, two massive brown birds began cawing at me and dive bombing their fallen friend. As scenes from Birdemic flashed in my mind, one of the giant birds scooped up the dead bird and started to fly away; however, the bird's creepy reptilian talons couldn't hold onto the corpse bird and as I watched in horror it dropped the dead bird into my swimming pool.

The dead bird bobbed on the surface for a few seconds before the second giant mutant attack bird swooped down and grabbed it out of the pool.  The three birds, rather, the two living birds and bird corpse, flew up and away from my yard. I'd like to think that the birds were saving the body to have a little bird memorial for the fallen comrade, but birds are super creepy, so they were probably going to eat him. Relieved knowing that I wasn't going to have to scoop a dead bird out of my pool,  I put the shovel away and headed inside.

The birds, however, weren't finished and wanted to send me a message. When I let Sam outside again, he made a beeline for one of our  little patch of lawn. The dead bird was BACK in our yard! Using quick, ninja-like moves I caught Sam and escorted him into the house. Grabbing the shovel for the second time that day, I headed to the lawn to get rid of the bird again. As I walked over to his sad rumpled body, I saw his beady red eye looking right at me. I don't know if I believe in ghosts, but I'm pretty sure the dead bird was vowing to haunt the crap out of me. Being far too squeamish to deal with this kind of death and destruction, I gave up, went inside and bravely waited for Shane to get home to deal with it.

I can happily report that our backyard has not seen any more carnage (bird or other), but this incident has done nothing to restore my goodwill towards our feathery friends. I assume that these winged creatures will have their retribution, and my car will never be safe from bird bombs.

The Month in Moments - May

May 2013

Jack and Bailey need naps to rest up for their next nap.

This shall be the only age when it's acceptable to celebrate sans top.

Yes Jack, Science is awesome.

Envious of Jack's rad romper, Shane finds comfort in a casual man tank. 

Watching over these babies has given Sam gray hair. We tell him it makes him look like a distinguished gentleman.

My favorite Monkey and Duck!

Bailey's top 3 goals: eat a dirty diaper, eat an entire wheel of cheese, steal the babies' blankets.

Pennies Are for Thoughts, Not for Remedies

It's amazing how now that I'm a parent, suddenly so many strangers feel comfortable sharing words of wisdom and home remedies with me. Clearly, I'm an amateur at this parenting thing, and up until now, I have had a terrible track record of keeping anything in my care (other than my dogs) alive. I don't mind friends/family's advice, solicited or otherwise. They know my track record of dead houseplants, gardens, goldfish, and the turtle that ran away in college, and they are just trying to make sure that Jack and Avery beat the odds. It's the random advice from strangers that I usually find baffling.

Sam and Bailey-the only non-humans to survive my care.

So far, the weirdest advice has been given to me by a stranger at Walgreens. It went something like this:
Stranger: Oh, buying diapers - you must have a baby at home.
Me: Yes......
Stranger: I have ____ (fill in number) of babies. I always _____ (fill in crazy home remedy here) whenever they _______.
Me: Oh, well, uh, thanks. I'll remember that (said while carefully backing away from the stranger).

In the past week, some of the advice and suggestions I've received from a well-meaning stranger at Walgreens included:

• rubbing warm honey on a baby's chest will rid him of congestion (and make a terrible mess)
• massaging breastmilk into the corner of a baby's eye will rid him of a clogged tear duct (ummmm gross)
• mixing Coke and water in a bottle can help with Colic (because I really want to caffeinate my screaming babies who already hate going to sleep)

Yes, I have babies. No, I wont be dipping them in honey.

I'm sure that some home remedies are excellent and totally legit, however, being burnt by home remedies in the past has made me skeptical at best.

A few years ago, I sat on a bee. More accurately, I sat on a picnic blanket while taking a break from whiffle ball, and a bee crawled up my shorts and stung my butt. Seriously. Being an adult, I did the mature thing (after crying a little) and called my mom to find out how to treat the sting. She recommended a baking powder paste, and a penny. 

She remembered reading somewhere that taping a penny to the site of a sting can help pull out the toxins and make the welt heal faster. It sounded weird, but I got on board and carefully affixed the penny to the wound with white athletic tape. I rocked the penny taped to my rear for a few days as the welt began to swell and turn an angry crimson. Finally, on day three I was tired of having a penny taped to my butt and starting to wonder about it's amazing healing properties. I bit the bullet and headed into the doctor to deal with the sting. 

I was seeing a new doctor and was sort of shocked when the EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE doctor walked into the exam room. So, the hot doctor asked what I was there for, and I told him I'd been stung by a bee on my, ummm, hind quarters. This admission was embarrassing enough on its own....but then it got even worse. 

"Have you done anything to treat it?" He asked.

I told him that I'd put a paste on it and had taken Benydryl.....and had taped a penny to it.

"Ummmmm (long pause) So, is the penny on right now?"

I don't think I could say any clever words, so I was stuck nodding.

"Is the penny on there for a reason?" He implored trying not to smile his handsome doctor smile.

Dying a slow death of embarrassment, I tried to explain about the copper in the penny pulling out the toxins, but it sounded beyond ridiculous. So now, the hot doctor was going to have to look at my butt and would inevitably be laughing at the spare change he'd find back there.

"Well, medically I can't say that the penny helped. But maybe next time try a nickel or dime." He advised me.

Cursing the penny and home remedies, I got my prescription and left quickly. It should be noted that I've yet to tape any other currency to any part of my body since the incident.

Going forward, whether it be bee stings or  babies, I'll politely smile and nod when given random (and bizarre) home remedies, but I'll leave the spare change in the piggy bank. 

The Month in Moments: April

And Here We Are....Covered in Poop

Team Schwab is 7 weeks in to twin madness, and we are all settling in --- ummmmmm except no, not so much. Baby books are all well and good, but it's another story when your child is clutching the collar of your robe, staring into your eyes at your soul and screaming holy bloody murder at 3 in the morning. These are the moments for which baby classes, baby books, and helpful friends and relatives absolutely can't prepare you.

Such tiny people can make such huge sounds....and messes. 

So, this week has been rather challenging. In the past 7 days, I've been pooped on, puked on, peed on, and screamed at. Apparently, the bambinos can smell fear (or at least exhaustion), and upon sensing an adult's weakness, they will summon up all bodily fluids they have created and will projectile something gooey, smelly, and foul to reinforce the idea that they are in charge. In fact, all afternoon yesterday I kept smelling sour puke milk. After doing some investigating of both kiddos' onesies, hair, crib, etc.  I sadly determined that I was the source of the stench. Somehow during the day, one of my sweet baby angels managed to shoot milk puke over my shoulder and land a puddle in the middle of my back. A dried puke crust in the middle of my back, yes, this certainly is a fun and sexy time for Shane and me.

How can something so small and cute make so many bodily fluids?

This has been the week of multi-tasking in the name of survival. I've learned that it is possible to hold a screaming baby on my lap while holding one on my shoulder while eating a plate of food with one hand and trying to hold an adult conversation about really important topics (like Downton Abbey or something) while pretending that the Schwabletts aren't yelling at eardrum shattering decibles.

When I'm not reading good books, I enjoy a good yell-fest.

I've also learned that squeezing in a shower is possible, if I handle the event as a carefully orchestrated strategic dance. Once upon a time, showering was relaxing; gone are the days of a leisurely sugar scrub while listening to The Black Keys or some other band playing grown up music. Now, shower Pandora is set to Raffi or Radio Disney, and I have a strange audience as the baby people hold court over the bathroom in their little chairs while I frantically shower as fast as humanly possible (someday I'll find time to shave both legs....maybe). While Old McDonald blares, I peek out of the shower to reassure the babies that it's OK, and that screaming is so last year. The seats are great and keep the babies mostly happy while I shower, but the situation is complicated by the curious dogs who cannot be trusted to not bathe the kiddos. It's their goal in life to lick the babies, and please keep in mind that I have caught my dogs on way more than one occasion eating their own poop, so a tongue bath from the dogs for the kiddos is certainly less than desirable. Out of necessity, the dogs' pen serves as a protective barrier for the babies in their seats. I try to see it NOT as caging the bambinos in, but rather keeping the four legged poop eating goblins OUT. At least, this is how I'll defend penning my children in to Child Protective Services, should they become concerned.

What, who doesn't like a forced audience while showering? 

While I feel pretty excited about managing some of the daily multi-tasking activities, like the shower situation and other baby balancing acts, I'm certainly never going to claim to be an expert at anything having to do with babies. In the name of survival, I'm going to skip the baby books, save time by skipping the baby classes and instead I will sneak in a nap. And someday, when I'm feeling brave, I'll take the time to shave both legs.