This might be funny if it happened to someone else.

This sounds like pure fiction, the story I'm about to tell. They say bad things happen in threes, so I hope the trilogy is complete.

A week ago Friday, in the middle of the night, Hank woke up barely able to breathe. All of us had been having exaggerated allergy symptoms, and it was starting to sound like a tuberculosis ward in my house. I was just going to make appointments at the pediatrician's office and then take myself in to the doctor at a later date, but Hank sounded awful! He was wheezing, and it sounded like his throat was closing up. So Ro sat with him in the bathroom with the hot shower running, we gave him some cough medicine and after a couple of hours he started breathing normally again and went back to sleep.

An hour and a half later, I loaded everyone into the car and headed off to Complete Urgent Care, which is my absolute favorite place to see a doctor on short notice. If you live in NW San Antonio and want to know more about my experiences there, please let me know. I'll take the time to tell you. Anyhow, $250 later (co-pays for office visits and medication all around) we were all diagnosed with bronchitis.

No problem, I thought. Hank was on an inhaler, but mostly we all just had to take cough meds and antibiotics and relax. When I got checked out, my blood pressure and heart rate were really high. Over the weekend, they both just got worse. I felt like I was smoking crack nonstop, and if you've ever done that, while it can be fun, it can also be highly uncomfortable.

So Monday rolls around, and we head back to our favorite emergency clinic. I got 2 EKGs and my heart rate was holding steady at 137 with my blood pressure around 160/110. Seriously, I quit my job. I shouldn't be having stress or anxiety.

But I was diagnosed with extreme anxiety and sent home with Xanax (which is kind of cool, I admit. I mean, how many ER clinics do THAT?) and told to relax. I'd already scheduled a follow-up with my doctor the next day to make sure my heart was ok. Lots of heart disease in my family, and I worry about it.

The next day, my new doc (whom I LOVE! Dr. Mark Smith, if you're looking for a GP) was seriously concerned. He put me on a beta blocker and made an appointment for me to see a cardiologist. Mind you, this is Tuesday and I couldn't see the cardiologist until the following Monday (which ended up being yesterday). He told me to come back the next morning for labs and a checkup to see how the beta blocker was working.

The beta blocker brought my heart rate down but not my bp. And the next morning I almost passed out in his office because I couldn't breathe. He says that's it, go to the ER. Seriously? I have to babies with me and no help. He said if I didn't he was worried about what would happen. So I called the hubs and off we went to Methodist. Great ER. They took me in right away and put me on monitors and found out I have NOT a heart problem but pleurisy, which is an infection in my lungs. I'd only heard of it peripherally because one of my friends had it after having pneumonia.

Luckily, my parents came to the rescue. Wednesday evening, I was released from the ER  and sent home to rest. By Friday, I was in so much pain I could hardly stand it. That, apparently, is common with pleurisy. And they told me to take Advil. Not working. So to distract myself, I decided to go to the store to replace all the Advil I'd taken. And to get some ice cream. Ice cream is essential when you're sick. Plus, I figured the trip would distract me.

I am so not joking here, but right around the corner from my house, I hit a Nissan Xterra. She started to move forward, and when I looked down after I started rolling (a pen rolled under my foot), she slammed on the brakes and I hit her.

Poor Bob. He is my car and my friend. I am not functioning well without him.

As you can see, Bob took a beating. Yes, I name my cars. What's it to you? My friend Emma says I have an unhealthy emotional attachment to my car. She's so right. I have had with every single car I've ever owned. I cry when I trade them in! I feel like I'm abandoning them. Anyway, that's another issue for another time.

Again, my husband races to rescue. I can't decide whether I've done him a favor getting him out of a day and a half of inservice at his school or if it's a bad reflection on him, but whatever the case, I was thankful he took care of me last week.

I was shocked when AllState told me that not only would a rental car be covered the entire time Bob was being fixed but our deductible was only $100. I had to go the weekend without a car because Enterprise was closed, but aside from that, everything has gone smoothly. Bob is already being worked on. They'll give me a time estimate Wednesday or Thursday. I get the rental, which looks like a lunchbox on wheels, for as long as it takes, and I don't have to pay an extra penny for it. Not only that, but the rental is big enough for both car seats, the double stroller and Mitchell and me.

I'm calling him Junior because he kind of looks like Bob's tiny child.

Someone is looking out for me. Just hoping this week goes better than last!

All this free time on my hands.

My two youngest children are still small. My older one is out for summer vacation. My husband is already back at work. This is probably the worst time to evaluate how much work stay-at-home moms have to do, but so far, I'm bored!

Yesterday morning, I took time out to clean the house. It took me a couple of hours, but I managed to deep clean the living room and kitchen and get caught up on the dishes and laundry. I took Mitch to a movie (I wasn't that impressed with this Planet of the Apes movie, by the way. I was expecting a lot more). I caught up on my freelance work. I started putting together the final report for the class I'm taking this summer.

This morning, I'm out of things to do. I'm trying to pace myself, but wow. I've gotten the boys out of bed, fed them, played with them, read to them. Now they're totally into watching Thomas and Friends, and I'm twitching. Maybe I should take up sewing? Knitting? Ice sculpting?

I'll get used to this and adapt. I know I will. It's just... I've never really not had a job. Ever. It's new territory. The closest I came was my senior year in college where my only job was editing a section of my college newspaper and doing some freelance work. I think that year, I did more than 18 hours each semester and we were planning a wedding, though, so I had plenty to do. Plus, we were potty training Mitchell that year, so there was lots of work to do at home. Also, we were planning a move to San Antonio, which meant looking for jobs and doing lots of packing.

There are no projects on my horizon. I need to learn to slow down and enjoy just being here with my kids. Anyone have any tips?

What's wrong with me...

I've gotten questions from a lot of people lately about where I've been, either in the real world or the virtual one. Unfortunately, it's not an exciting answer. I haven't joined the CIA or anything.

I have a disorder called Gastroparesis. I was diagnosed roughly two months ago, and without going into detail, it means that my stomach has stopped working. The actual stomach organ itself has ceased to process what I put into my body. This puts outrageous limits on what I can eat and what will actually give me nutrients if I put it into my body.

I am sick a lot of the time. I'm on some heavy-duty nausea meds that make me drowsy, and it's hard for me to get around. I have no energy and no motivation. I've lost 40 pounds in the last two months, most of which has come off in the last three weeks.

After a stay in the hospital last weekend, I went back to see my doctor, who gave me some new options. I'm on the last kind of medication they can give me. If this doesn't work, we go the surgical route, which means installing an implant into my torso that connects to the part of my brain that tells my stomach what to do. It will, literally, send signals to my brain to tell my stomach to start working properly again. I'm hoping this medicine works. I managed to get to work this morning without any sickness, and that hasn't happened in a while.

This is my last week of work. One of the reasons I'm leaving my job is that I've been so sick lately. I'm thankful that I have a skill that I can use to work from my home. If I didn't, we'd really have a mess on our hands.

So, if I'm not around, it's not simply because I've gone all antisocial. It's because of this. I've been keeping it under wraps for a while because I don't want anyone (except for those who should, like my parents and husband) worrying about me. I'll be fine. Even if I have to have surgery, I'll be ok.

I have a walker!

You heard me right! Or, read me right?

These boys have taken so much longer than their brother did to walk. Hank is still not walking. When they were ten months old, they were able to hold on to our hands and walk with no problem. When that happened, I thought it would be a matter of a few short weeks before they were walking.

By their first birthday, they were walking by holding on to only one hand. They were champs, pros even! I expected them to take off any second.

Then they turned 13 months, and nothing changed. Fourteen months. Fifteen months. Still waiting.

I started to worry something might be wrong with them. We went to a party last weekend, and our friend's 1-year-old son was already walking, and my babies, who were obviously older, were not. It was kind of disheartening. What if they just decided it was easier NEVER to walk?

Then, yesterday, we were all hanging out in the living room (minus Mitchell because he's at his dad's) when Harry stood up in the middle of the room. He's been doing this a while, but he usually just stands up and sits down over and over again. This time, he just stood there a while and then kind of lurched forward a little bit and fell. Then he got right back up. I encouraged him to walk toward me. He looked at me, but I was kind of far away. So then I encouraged him to walk toward his dad.

He took two steps and threw himself at the couch.

I was so proud. I've never been so excited about two little steps.

From there, he just kept going. Today, he was going back and forth in the living room. Right now, he's getting a lot out of it. We all clap and tell him how amazing he is when he's walking. He's not yet using it as his primary means of getting around, but he does it a lot for the claps and hugs and excitement.

Hank is taking it all in. I was hoping if Hank saw Harry do it, Hank would just take off and walk. But it hasn't happened like that. I suppose he'll start when he's ready. In the meantime, I'm just comforted knowing that there's really nothing wrong with them. They just prefer efficiency.

Nap time.

The boys are going through sleep transitions. This means I'm going through sleep transitions, which is frustrating.

In short, Harry needs more sleep than Hank. He takes more after me, so that makes sense. I need lots of sleep. For an adult, I sleep far more than is normal. I'd sleep 16 hours a day, every day, if I were able. I can't function on less than 7 hours a night, and that's pushing it. I need 9 to be in a good mood.

My handy dandy sleep book says they should be sleeping 14 hours a day right now. Twelve hours at night and then one two-hour nap during the day. My book says this should have started at about 12 months.

At 12 months, they were taking two two-hour naps a day and sleeping 12 to 14 hours at night. We were putting them to bed at 6 p.m., and they were sleeping until 7:30 a.m. when we'd let them. That worked fine for me.

At 14 months, it stopped working for them. It was obviously time to go down to one nap a day because they were waking up at 5:30 a.m. We're morning people, but that was too early for us. We needed them to sleep until at least 6 a.m. So I consulted the sleep book and decided we'd go to one nap a day and put them to bed at 7 p.m. instead of 6 p.m.

It was rough. We've just now readjusted, and I'm so frustrated with the fact that Harry seems to need more sleep. Hank wakes up first, but Harry gets sleepy first. Right now, Harry needs sleep so bad, even though Hank could make it the rest of the day without any. They had shots today, and I had to wake them up from their nap to take them to the doctor, so I figured when they got back, they'd need more sleep, but Hank is fighting it and keeping Harry awake.

I'm starting to wonder at what age I should give up keeping them on the exact same schedule. They're becoming such little individuals. On the other hand, I don't want to make it any harder for myself. Sleep is important in my house. I don't want to screw it up.

Hank needs more play.

Harry needs more sleep.

On the verge of a new life. Maybe.

I've written about this subject before. It's a decision every mom has to make. There are so many reasons why women choose to do this or choose not to do this. I never in my life thought I would consider choosing the other side, but here I am, considering changing my whole life.

I am seriously considering being a stay-at-home-mom.

Let me start by saying one of the reasons I chose to do journalism is because I can write at my home and take care of my babies. I have never USED this choice in profession to stay at home with my babies. Well, I've got the last of my babies. We might adopt one in a couple of years if we have the money because I want a girl, and I've always wanted to adopt. And, of course, I can't have any more of my own. But for all intents and purposes, this could be it.

I'm lucky to have a really flexible job and a boss that's stood by my side ALWAYS (even when we went through a short period where he wasn't my boss, he remained my friend), so if I've ever needed to leave work for my kids, it's not a problem. I have an editor who, while he doesn't have any kids, is really good about realizing that I do and working around that.

But recently we've run into a problem. I have bad stomach issues. I won't go into the details, but I have a disease that causes parts of my gastrointestinal system to flare up, but I have always battled through it to be able to work. Now it seems like Harry, my older twin, might have inherited these problems.

The day care refuses to keep him if he throws up or has diarrhea. The stomach problems we have do cause both of these things, but they aren't contagious. That's why I don't understand why it's a problem. But apparently state licensing requirements mandate sending them home if they throw up at all and if they have two consecutive diarrhea episodes. This happens frequently with Harry. It's caused me to deplete my sick days. Not only that, but there are sick days I have to take for myself when I can't power through my own stomach problems.

Because it's a state licensing requirement, all day cares follow this rule.

This caused me a while back to begin thinking about the whole stay-at-home mom deal. I began to think about the money, and when I added up day care costs, gas costs and parking costs (because I work downtown, I have to pay for my own parking, and its' really expensive), we are actually paying money for me to work. So essentially, all these months, I've been working a second job to pay for the costs we incurred from me working a first job.

After that, I began to think about what I would do if I stayed home. I started digging for freelance work and discovered that there's so much more out there than there was since the last time I freelanced, which was roughly five years ago. I've already passed my resume and writing samples around and have been given permission to write for several websites.

Because of my employment now, I can't freelance, but if I quit, it opens me up to doing so much more work. I can be so much more creative in what I pick and choose. And on top of that, I get to be around my babies all day every day. I get to watch them grow up. I no longer have to pray that they don't grow up to choose to engage in sports or extracurriculars that I have no idea how I'm going to make time for. My children can have lives.

Sounds like my decision is made for me, but then the illogical side of my brain jumps in. I've had a job since I was 15 years old. I'll be 29 on Sunday. That's a long time. That's basically half my life. And for someone my age, that's not normal. I'm worried about my self-worth. I'm worried about having the title stay-at-home mom. Not that there's anything wrong with it. It's just that my self-worth has always been tied into what I appear to contribute to my family financially. And staying at home will make me appear to be contributing nothing financially.

Not only that, but I love my job. Love, love, love it. I love the people I work with. We've been together so long we're almost like a family. I can't imagine not doing my job. Or not doing it there. That's a big factor.

I have the rest of the summer to decide. Because Ro's a teacher, we don't have to pay for day care in the summer, so it just makes sense for me to keep working. I'll finally finish my master's this fall (thanks to my buddy Karen talking me into it), so I might teach in the summers from now on if I do quit my job.

So, I don't know what to do. All your thoughts and opinions are so welcome. I need to know what everyone thinks!

I'm coming out of the bad mom closet.

There as some views on motherhood and mommy practices I have that other women just cringe at. I find this fascinating. I think the way I do "mommying" works for my family and for me, and that's all that matters. But every once in a while I get a comment that just shocks me. I'm not way out there in left field or anything, so I get surprised.

I figured I'd put it all down on paper, so to speak, to see what other women think of these things. If you'd like to comment, I welcome your comments. Good or bad! I like to know what other people think. I'll never change what I do, but it's interesting to hear other viewpoints.

I find breastfeeding gross. I've only had one other friend who shares my viewpoint on this. It makes me cringe to see another woman pull out a boob in public. I feel like if you choose to do it, it should be private. When I did it, I kept it very private, and I'm one of the least modest people I know.
I breast fed Mitch for six weeks, and it was just dreadful. It felt gross. I actually wanted to do it and looked forward to the experience before he was born. I was insistent on breast feeding. Then, as soon as I started doing it, I felt disgusting.
It made me sweat. I couldn't stand the way it felt when the milk left my body. My breasts just ached constantly. He had to eat every 15 minutes because he was such a large and hungry baby, and I became engorged. Pumping hurt. Everything in the general area was constantly in pain. I just didn't enjoy it at all. But seriously, the worst part was that it made me sweat. I know I already mentioned it, but it just got worse and worse as time went by. It felt like flu sweat. Like I was sweating out all the toxins in my body, but there were just too many toxins.

I spank. When some people hear this, they picture me beating my children with an aluminum bat. Other people realize what I actually do, which is spank only when the punishment fits the crime. For instance, the last time my 8-year-old was spanked was longer ago than I can remember. This is because spanking worked with him. I'm not saying it works with every child, because it doesn't. Every child is different and responds to different forms of punishment.
The babies are too young to spank. They do, however, get a pop on the hand when they touch stuff and grab stuff they're not supposed to. They get it done immediately with a firm "no" to go along with it. This is reinforcing what the word no means while at the same time giving them a consequence when they do something they're not supposed to do. They then equate touching the cable box, for instance, with getting their hands popped.
My son is a very well-behaved and well-mannered child. I credit my discipline strategy for that. I fully expect never to have to spank him again because the older he gets the less he needs it. For minor infractions, we do "consequences".  We take away his video games and tv time. That works much better than spanking at this point!

I really don't care about germs. My kids can put their mouths on almost anything they want, short of a stranger's skin. Chewing on the shopping cart bar? No biggie.
I don't wash the babies' hands before they eat. They're 1. They have their hands in their mouths every second of every day. What about eating makes it any different? My grandmother freaks out when I do this. It almost makes me laugh, poor woman. She thinks this is such a serious thing.

I think cloth diapering is ridiculous. And I say so readily. Why would you spend the time cloth diapering when there are disposable diapers you can throw away? Poop is so nasty. To me, there are lots of ways you can do your part to help the environment, but my goodness. That's just not one I'll spend time on. We've come a long way over the years. Let's use the efficient things that have been developed. In my mind it's like saying instead of using a sanitary pad you should wad a towel up in your pants.

I find the childbirth experience unnatural and disgusting. I've done it both ways: vaginal birth and c-section. People think I'm crazy when I say the C-section was easier than the vaginal birth, but I wholeheartedly believe that for me, it was. Maybe not for everyone, but for me, yes.
I don't understand women who do this at home. There are women in my life I love and respect who have done this, and I think they're crazy. Why on earth would you NOT want a doctor around when your child is born? What if something is wrong with it? When I say this, women come back with the response that for centuries women did it without doctors. My response is that for centuries, babies died. Now, it's not necessary for babies to die. I know that if you're careful and have someone there who knows what he/she is doing, it cuts down on the risk, but I'm just not a risk taker. And seriously, I have never gotten a sense of euphoria from giving birth. A sense of pain and wanting tons of medication and three fingers of bourbon afterward, yeah, but euphoria? Nope.

These are my confessions. Ha! Take them as you will. I yam who I yam.