Kicking and Screaming

It happens every week. You’d think by now they’d be used to it. Nope. As soon as they see the nail clippers, irrational fear takes over and they all start running like bats out of hell.

Clipping toddler nails ranks pretty high on the list of thankless jobs mothers. For me, it’s right under blow out diapers, snotty noses, and late night pukes. Partly because I have four toddlers and it turns into hog wrestling. But mostly because I know I’ll have to do it again next week, and the next 416 weeks (yes, I did the math).

Four kids equals 40 nails. Add in their little piggies, now the total is 80 nails accompanied by dramatic cries and whimpers. Every.Stinking.Week. I’m in deep folks.

When they were babies, it was cake. They weren’t mobile and I could easily hold their tiny hands. I sat them in my lap and we were done before they even knew I had maybe, accidentally clipped their skin and made them bleed.

They don’t understand germs and the necessity of clipping nails, they just see mommy with small scissors coming at their hands. There is lots of kicking and screaming. Sometimes mommy loses her cool and shouts, “Fine! I hope you scratch each other to pieces with your nasty jagged claws!”

This morning I had to physically overpower one on the couch. I won’t mention any names, but he’s two and screams like a girl. Big sis tried to hold his hand and offer comfort. He wasn’t having it. More kicking. More screaming and wailing, “Mommy, I done.”

I was starting to sweat and could feel my frustration rising. Then I heard the whisper. You know the one. The small, gentle voice telling you there’s a lesson coming.

How many times have I needed God to trim the dirt and germs off of my heart? How many people have I scratched with my jagged attitude or sharp words? And just like my son, when God starts clipping, I start kicking and screaming. I’m afraid of what’s about to happen, afraid it’s going to hurt. So I cry and start a wrestling match I know I can’t win.

I need to do what I tell my kids. Stop fighting and accept the pruning. It will be over a lot sooner if I learn to be still.

Even though they don’t understand why, I will continue to clip my kiddos’ nails. One day, they’ll stop squirming and let me do my job.

One day I’ll stop fighting the pruning process and let God do His job. Hopefully, it won’t take 416 weeks.

Aside

Plans

Dear Emerson and Jackson,

It was a Monday in October. I went to the doctor expecting a normal ultrasound.
But when I looked at the screen, normal went out the window.
“There’s TWO?!”, I screamed.
The ultrasound tech tried to calm me down, but it was too late. Crocodile tears shot out of my eyes and I felt my heart beating faster and faster.

The tech stepped out to get my nurse. My thoughts were swirling and I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. Lincoln was only five months old. We had just moved to a smaller house so I could work part time. How on earth could there be two? The pregnancy was unexpected, but a twin pregnancy was definitely not in our plans.

The nurse tried her best to calm me down, but the tears wouldn’t stop. To say I felt overwhelmed is an understatement.

When my doctor came in, we talked about due dates and risk factors that accompany twin pregnancies and women at advanced maternal age (aka: old ladies). The tech had to go get another box of tissues because I had emptied hers.

Then my doctor said something and the atmosphere changed.
She said, “Baby B’s sack looks fine, but Baby A looks irregular. I want you to come back in two weeks to make sure Baby A is still viable.”
(Viable- capable of surviving or living successfully, especially under particular environmental conditions.)

In three seconds, my attitude and emotions flipped. Instead of thinking, “Two babies are not part of my plan.”, I began hoping and praying for those two babies to make it.

The next two weeks were a blur.
I worried. Then I tried not to worry.
I prayed I would accept God’s will. Then I begged God to let Baby A survive.
I made a secret Pinterest board with adorable twin pictures. Then I cried because I wasn’t certain I would need this board.

The ultrasound two weeks later showed Baby A strong and growing. We would find out later Baby A was a girl. Emmy, you gave mama quite a scare on Day 1!

Today is just another day to you. But today holds great significance for us.
Today you turn one. Today marks 365 days of survival. Not for you two, but for daddy and I. We survived hospital bedrest, an emergency c-section, and NICU.
Throw in total sleep deprivation, reflux, hand-foot-mouth and moving again. All this was just the first three months. We are tired all the time but we love our big, crazy family.

Emmy, you are still making mama nervous. You climb on anything and fear nothing. Spunky and brave, you learn quickly and always want to be in the mix. You have no problems stepping on Jack to get somewhere, and feel no remorse when you grab food off his tray. Patience is not yet in your vocabulary, but when you fake cough or crinkle your nose daddy and I forget how upset we are.

Jack, you are a gentle giant. Relaxed and patient nearly all the time, I can tell already you are a thinker. Cuddling and eating are your favorite things. You prefer to be with people over things and instantly win favor with anyone near. When you smile, sweetness oozes out and for a brief second my heart forgets how much work twins are.

I love you sweet babies. You weren’t in my plan. But I’m so glad you were in God’s.

3, 1, 1, 1

When a woman has two babies in the same calendar year, or within 12 months, they call them Irish twins.

But what if a woman has a baby, then twins within 12 months….what do you call that?

Crazy. That’s what you call it.
CRA-ZEE TOWN.

Lincoln was born on May 19. The twins were born May 2 the following year. (That’s 348 days later.)

Next week we will celebrate the twins’ first birthday. So, for a few weeks in May, I will have THREE one year olds, and one three year old. Did you catch all that? It’s ok if you need to read it again. Because math is hard.

When you are all older, chances are you will not have many memories of this year. Most people don’t have memories when they were one, two, or even three years old. Ironically, this year will forever be etched in my mind as one of the hardest, longest and most exhausting years of my life.

My memories start around kindergarten. I love looking at the pictures my mom saved from my toddler years. Even though I don’t remember, those captured moments tell me I was loved, cared for and enjoyed.

I find it only fitting to share pictures with you. Pictures to help you understand and know what life was like when you were 3, 1, 1, and 1. So even if you don’t have the memories, you will know you were loved, cared for and enjoyed.