Five by Five by Five

By Katy England

I’ve always had a problem with math. I don’t know if it’s anxiety or what, but typically I end up panicking and counting out totals on my fingers, or writing it out and carrying lots of ones. I figure this has to be my problem when it comes to the fact that my kids turn five today. It must be my bad math, because yesterday they were babies. Which means tomorrow they will be 10, and the day after that they will all be married and living as millionaires on the Island of Sodor, running that damn place better than Toppham Hatt ever could. Or something.

Five years, gone in the blink of an eye. Tempus fugit and all that, but I can’t get over how fast it has gone. It’s weird, because even when they were very little (and how very little they were) they had personalities. But now it’s different. Now they are making jokes, talking not just to me and Dad, but to each other. They play together now, not just in the same room, but together. And most of the time, they enjoy it. 

Sometimes they will hug each other, and tell me or dad or each other how they love us. Which has to be the best thing ever. They will tell jokes that make no sense, but are just as funny. Like this one:

Ellie: Paul, tella joke to us.

Paul: What rhymes with jaguar? It's jelly!

(uproarious laughter)

Ellie: Tell another one.

I have vague recollections of that whirlwind first year. People ask me how I did it – I have no idea. But that’s only half true. I made it because of the people who helped. My parents and my husband’s parents who came over to lend a hand – and somehow ignore my insanity. My Aunt Linda who gifted us with things that I can’t imagine life without – our generator, helped us buy a new vehicle when we were t-boned. My friend Marion who ninja-dropped food for us for the entire first year.

People who forgave my sleep-deprived, scattered insanity and helped me do dishes. People who let me reschedule missed appointments without a word. My friends who ignored my chaotic state of my house and still came over to play games or watch movies – you helped me to. The people who let me carry on about my kids, showing pictures at inopportune moments (K9 training springs to mind), and they let me talk well past normal politeness. Because the kids was the thing I became an expert in – it certainly wasn’t topical pop-culture, politics or current events. 

The only current events I know about are about five years old. And though I’m aware of the political climate, I don’t have the energy to engage in those discussions – which has actually been really nice, and I highly suggest everyone do the same. You will feel much better, I promise. 

Thank you. All of you. We couldn’t have done this without you.

The kids keep growing, and learning, and signing and destroying my nice things, and creating other nice things. And the things they say – the stories they help create. It’s amazing to me.

I know I’ve been lax in my blogging, partly because I was sick, partly because I had a new job and partly because I’ve just been living it. Riding the crazy wave.

Here’s to tomorrow and the next day. Here’s to them graduating college and driving rockets to the moon before I know it. Here’s to a different feeling of time, the kind that flies and takes me with it.

Potty Mouth

By Katy England

There’s plenty of things for parents to fight about, everything from breast milk vs. formula to which color toys you buy. So, here’s my opinion on potty training.

I suck at it. I mean, I must, right? It took me almost the entirety of five years to finish… and to be honest, we’re not done. Yes, we stopped buying diapers (not as long ago as I’d like) but we’re done. And things have gotten so much grosser. There’s nothing about potty training I like. None of it. It all sucks. 

As soon as they are done peeing and pooping in their pants they transition to peeing and pooping in their pants. Just without diapers. It’s awesome. Oh, and let’s not forget their beds. Good lord.

If I could go back and do one thing all over again, it would be to never, ever buy the mini-potties. Nothing against them really, they work perfectly fine. They’re easy to clean, but nothing stops the fact that you essentially have a bucket of human waste in your house. And in our case, we have three. And they like to use them, because it’s more convenient, fits their little butts better, and is less of a hassle than the little stepstool, potty bench.

If you are a parent, and you have the option, for the love of God and all that is holy, get the one that fits over your regular toilet. You will have no regrets (well, no regrets outside of having someone living with you who will casually poop in their pants without thinking twice about).

There’s something about kids turning three where everyone just assumes they are potty trained. It’s cool if you get your kids potty trained on or before three years of age – I envy you. I wanted to be you. I had plans, you see.

You’d think a woman who was blessed with spontaneous triplets would know better than to make plans. But no, I just assumed I’d be able to have them all potty trained at roughly the same time.

The age of three came and went and with it went my dreams of having them all out of diapers. It wasn’t for lack of trying. We tried. Bribes, coaxing, begging, chiding, reasoning, natural consequences – and nothing worked. Until it worked. And the only thing I can tell you is that it had nothing to do with me or anything I was trying to do. Each kid just did it.

And I don’t honestly know when the boy first became potty trained. I just know it was well before the girls could be enticed to use the potty with any regularity. Then Pre-K began to loom on the horizon. And with it came societal pressure to have them all out of diapers. And then they were in school. And one of my daughters could make it through the day pullup-free. But not the other.

In a way, it was freeing. Because the worst had literally happened. I was the mom who couldn’t potty train her kids effectively. And huge props to her teachers, and helpers at school. Because the reason why I can still look people in the eye and not die of shame, is because they helped so much.

But it wasn’t until recently when I went through two full shopping cycles without buying overnight pullups that I realized we had arrived. Sort of.

Because yes, we haven’t bought pullups. But it’s still like playing pee-roulette overnight.

So, if you’re kids are 3 or older, and you start getting flack for not being potty trained, they will be. And just tell that person that you’re confident it will happen sometime before they enroll in college.

Pink vs. Blue

Is this not the best thing you've seen? Ever?

By Katy England

My weirdo roots go deep. When I was young, I was into bugs in a big way. I’d dig up worms, play with salamanders and snakes, and frogs. If it creeped and crawled I liked it. And I had a unicorn collection. My favorite dress was one that was made up of rainbows – I would probably have worn it every single day if my mom had let me.

My dad encouraged my love of computers and technology. I have very fond memories of helping build a solar-powered hotdog cooker that focused sunlight against metal to cook the dogs and soldering solar-powered cars. To this day I enjoy video games and catch and release all non-bloodsucking bugs into the wild (except for those blasted carpet beetles – you suck and you know it! Enjoy toilet life.).

So, it wasn’t a huge deal when one of my daughters got into trains and trucks in a big way. I mean, there’s plenty that stuff – and Thomas’s marketers were savvy enough to throw in a few girl trains to match with the new millennium. When it comes to clothes, she loves things with stripes, my other daughter is a huge fan of blue, my son claims to like green and yellow, but never fails to ask for the pink bowl if it’s available for breakfast.

I’ve actually had to learn about large-scale construction equipment to keep up. And that’s really how it should be – a sharing of ideas. Here’s what I think is cool – oh, you like that? Awesome.

But there’s been many a line drawn in the sand over what is for girls and what is for boys – and most of it is silly. I’ve never met a person who, while growing up, never pulled at the air over their head while a big rig rolled by to get him to blast the horn. It’s practically universal.

So, my little daughter vacillates between liking bugs (it’s so CUTE!) and squishing them in a fit of rage and fear. I’m working on the whole, “They’re more scared of you than you are of them…” line. It’s a process. My son plays with my old My Little Ponies alongside his extensive collection of dinosaurs.

When one of my daughters developed a taste for lemon-zinger tea, my head was filled with thoughts of tea sets. I still have my porcelain tea set I got for Christmas growing up. It was a Big Deal. And the idea of being able to have tea parties filled me with giddy anticipation. And so I started cruising the internet for tea sets, but I wanted them to reflect some of her other interests. Like dinosaurs or trucks. But to my dismay, there were not many dinosaur-themed tea services. Which was both a surprise, and a bummer.

There were some leads – Deviant Art pieces, ghost images on Pinterest, but nothing I could buy. So I started skimming Etsy for tea sets and came across a goth-inspired tea service. It looked like any of the elegant porcelain sets, gilded with gold scrolling and trimmed in pink – with a gothic skull enameled where flowers would normally be. And then there were the magic words “Reques a Custom Order.”

So, I messaged her about the option for dinosaur skulls, trucks and train engines. Well, now a special order is in the works. I probably won’t end up getting it until they’re a couple years older. I like to stockpile presents in case of emergency, that way we’ll still have something.

I’ll probably be visiting that shop again for her collection of insect plates. In the meantime, I can’t wait to start planning a tea party.

Mother’s Day

(It doesn't take much to make me happy. But scotch helps)

By Katy England

Mother’s Day means different things to different people.  And what you want to do for mother’s day is going to vary – sometimes by year, sometimes by the second.

It’s hard, because the amount of time I want to spend around my kids depends greatly on things largely outside of my control. Like how much they are or are not screaming at that very moment. Just yesterday, I went from wanting to bask in their awesomeness to pretty much wanting to run into the hills and hide, while drinking hard spirits in the space of about an hour. And then back to wanting hugs.

Some of my mom friends want nothing to do with their kids in Mother’s Day. They want to sleep in, be taken out to a dinner they haven’t had a hand in, and hang out with friends and dance the night away. I have wanted similar things – and from day to day still want those things.

The thought of sleeping in – not just not having to get up, but actually having the ability to sleep past 6 a.m. with no thoughts to who is yelling at who; no consideration for what accident of a potty nature has occurred in the night; no thought spared to lost stuffed bears (that are usually under a pillow or swallowed up by a blanket). That would be amazing. And also oddly dispiriting – which I know is insane. But there’s something about being a goddess of laundry, cooking and finder-of-lost-buddies that is addicting. I mean, most of us are muddling through life looking to feel important. You know what makes you feel special? Getting a full-body tackle-hug for finding a stuffed penguin, followed by a “Tank you, mama!”

There are times I want to very much not have any mom duties. But then there are certain mom duties I didn’t know I could live without. Like sing-a-longs with the girls or story time or ALL THE HUGS! And with all the craziness, all the stress, and tears comes the laughs, love, and awesomeness. You can’t have one without the other. And it makes you happy that you had good examples in your life – cause not everyone does. My mom, and my husband’s mom are inspirations. My sister-in-law and her four kids blows my mind with how she is such an awesome, funny mom. The kind of mom I want to be.

So, my Mother’s Day is going to spent hanging out with the kids, letting them eat off my plate (I’m a terrible influence on children and dogs). We’ll probably watch too much TV and I’m not going to clean the house – well, I might do some survival dishes.  We will eat greasy take-out (Crosby’s – we’re coming for you!) and indulge in thick milkshakes. I’ll sing a billion silly songs of dubious taste. After bedtime, I’ll have some scotch and eat some Lofthouse Cookies.  And I’m going to love it (even if there is yelling).

The Entertainer

Becoming Mom the rock star (aka Mom the Clown)

Editor's Note: This column originally appeared in The Maine Edge on March 21, 2012 and is reprinted here with permission.

By Katy England

I learned fairly early on that I never really wanted to be famous. Not really famous anyway. Not thousands of screaming fans shouting at me, sending me weird stuff in the mail, or stopping me on the street. And no, the small, mostly social notoriety that comes from writing for this lovely publication doesn't count (If it wasn't for the marvels of Facebook, many people probably wouldn't be able to pick me out of a lineup).

But I'm a rock star now. And a stand up comic. But mostly, I'm a clown.

Believe me, I'm a little surprised myself. I didn't even notice at first. Because you tend to roll with the punches, you don't pay attention to the little things. It was called to my attention when I was singing one of my girls a lullaby. As we finish the last feed, I bring them up and they each get their own song – or if we have help, all three get one at the same time. She had her eyes glued on my face, a huge grin, and she reached out to grab my thumbs. That's when my husband pointed out that she was behaving like a star-struck fan being singled out by the lead singer of her favorite band.
I was famous.

At some point, my children will figure out that the songs I make up or classic tunes I mutilate to fit their names into, are silly. There will come a day when the rude noises I make that cause them to belly laugh will embarrass them. They won't guffaw when I twirl and dance with them. They won't giggle when they bounce on my knee. But it's not this day. They're dancing with the stars, they're watching stand-up gold, they are being sung to by a rock star.

Who needs fame?

The best part is, I'm not alone. The internet is chock full of videos of other parents who have done similar things to elicit belly laughs, grins and guffaws from their offspring. If watching the video of the kid losing it over his dad ripping up credit card statements (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RP4abiHdQpc ) doesn't make you grin, then you're living a sad life.

Kids give you all the benefits of fame, with few of the drawbacks. I don't have to sign autographs. And the weird stuff I get from them, I kind of knew about going into this gig. And who cares? When I sing my patented “Good Morning” song they laugh and grin and act like I'm the hottest ticket in the world. And half the time I can't even make my own verses rhyme.

You will also find yourself doing some of the weirdest, silliest stuff just to get a smile. One of my beans gets a huge kick out of me shaking my head quickly from side to side. It's fun for the first couple of times, till you start to get dizzy. But do I stop? No! She's laughing! A laughing kid is like crack; you need more. And more. And threats of drool and spit-up be damned, you will dangle them within inches of your face just to make them grin.

I once created an entire interpretive dance to go along with Paul Simon's “You can Call me Al.” My husband is still mad that the camcorder batteries were dead.

So, the masses can keep their American Idols, Next Top Models and Dancing Stars. My fans need me.

Watch your mouth

Making sure my kids' first words aren't spelled like “$#&^!”

Editor's Note: This article originally ran on March 13, 2012 in The Maine Edge and is reprinted here with permission.

By Katy England

I'm not a party animal. I do partake of the occasional beer with dinner, but I don't smoke, don't go clubbing - heck, I hardly ever get out except to hit the office or meet with someone for work. Case in point, I am having a party this weekend to make baby food. Yep. Wild.

But I do have vices. I swear – as in cuss. Not just a little. A lot. I love swearing. I enjoying cursing like some people enjoy chocolate. And once I get started it's difficult to stop, and who would want to?

Until I tucked my six-month-old son and said, “I love you.”

And he looked at me and replied, “Ai ov ooo.” The intonation and spacing of those nonsensical syllables were so precise that my husband, overhearing, looked over at me and said, “Oh my God.”

Don't get me wrong,I know those weren't his first words. I know he didn't realize what he was saying (even though he clearly is one of the three smartest babies in the world). But I do know that it has begun. He hears what we say and is giving it back.

Now I have a swear jar. And I've already paid in close to ten bucks for f-bombs, s-words and witches with a b. I've paid in advance for those times when I can't lay hands on a quarter.

Though I have to admit, it's almost as fun not swearing as it was cussing like a sailor. I get to say all manner of delightful things, including “consarnit!”

Here's a list of great sayings or fill-ins that have been making an appearance since giving up cursing. Try to guess what sayings or expressions they're replacing and it makes this whole column more fun.

For Pete's sake – I've become incredibly vested in Pete's well-being. I'm sure he appreciates it.

For crying out loud – Kind of stating the obvious when you have three infants at the same time. Someone is, surely, crying out loud. Might even be me.

Drat! - Go on, say it. It's fun!

Gosh darn it – This is just cute, and you'll get looks.

Bless your heart – This one can actually change a frustrating moment to something kinder.

Oh, fiddlesticks! -   Another keeper. I should have been saying this much more often.

Diddly-squat – How awesome is this little gem?

The best part about improving my dastardly vocabulary is finding out when you say something slightly silly or cute, you feel better. It eases the tension in a way that full-blown cussing just doesn't do. Feel free to share your favorite non-swears. I could use them. I'm going broke.

Enjoy the enjoyable

Savoring the little things while they're little

By Katy England

There will always be something that is frustrating going on in your life – especially if you have kids. Because if it’s not happening to you, it’s happening to them. They will fight, whine, hit, sulk, get sick, be nosy, break things, have accidents and more. And if they aren’t, you are – be it a vehicle breaking, unexpected bills, needing to get work done, needing a break – the list of things to get stressed about is literally endless. You can drive yourself nuts – I have.

Which is why it’s important to make note of some of the nice things that go on in your life. Especially when it is passing so very quickly before our eyes.

The kids have always like the bus – the ritual of waiting for the bus has been filled with excitement since day-one. Pictures of the kids with grins lighting up their faces the first time the bus arrived is enough to lift me from a dark funk. If only we could all be so excited about our daily routine, right?

And since those first few days of clapping, and squealing with delight, things have evened out.  There is play, there is a bit of bickering – you know normal level stuff. But always enthusiasm when the bus arrives.

Lately though there was a change – right as the bus rolls up, all of the kids want to give mom and dad hugs and kisses. Which is something I love – I mean who wouldn’t right? So, I know it sounds like bragging – but hold on, it’s less bragging and more record keeping. Because here we are, in 2016 with walking, talking, mostly potty-trained human being who five years ago didn’t exist. And then they were babies and then toddlers and now they’re mini people.

And I don’t want to wax too sentimental, but I know that I won’t always be getting these hugs. I know that there will come a time when waiting for the bus becomes a chore (I remember waiting for a bus, my memory problems don’t go that deep). I just want to remember these things. I want to remember brushing their thistledown hair, and their full-on body-slam hugs when I pick them up. I want to remember the dance parties/exercise romps we have pre-bedtime. I want to wrap them up and put them in a box, because that’s as close as I can come to getting them to slow the heck down when it comes to growing up.

My son can already count to 18 and knows that’s when he becomes a grown up (let’s not spoil that little illusion). He also loves dragons and dinosaurs and Vikings. He was so excited about Smaug being able to talk, which was only trumped by his excitement about how people were able to kill Smaug – and you should hear him pronounce Smaug – it’s amazing.

And the girls hug each other. They will exclaim how they miss the other one if they aren’t in the same room. They will say goodnight (even after they have gone to the potty nigh on a dozen times after bedtime) and it never gets old.

Recently, after months and months of telling me not to sing, the girls are making requests. Requests! I could die.

And I know this is a screed of sentimental crap. But I need it to exist – because like the thistledown hair, and the hugs, and the raucous laughter – it might be gone, but I never, ever want to forget it. So I write it down – and it will go in my little box of memories.

Things change and stay the same

I don't have stock photos, so I take my own.

By Katy England

So, a few weeks back I changed jobs. For nearly 10 years I had been writing for The Maine Edge, an amazing arts and entertainment weekly run by my boss and friend Mike Fern. Then something I had daydreamed about, but had long since given up seeing happen manifested in real life: The Maine State Police offered me a job as their social media coordinator (I like to call it liaison, cause it sounds all cool and French). And my life changed – which when you’re in your mid- (not quite late) thirties can be weird and scary. But also awesome.

I wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Jumping into the great unknown is a young person’s game. But the cool thing about having decades under your belt when you change careers even scary things seem slightly less scary. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have concerns – I mean, what if my interpretation of flexible schedule was different from their interpretation?

But small things really make a difference. Like having a weekend that isn’t dotted with writing and editing. It allowed us to just plan and do – instead of my old standby, plan, procrastinate and stress out. I always say, I don’t know if I did my best work under pressure, but that is when I did most of it.

For the first time in quite some time, we spent a weekend going to the library, hitting up the local playground, and doing yard-work. Nothing crazy, mind you. But it felt so normal I almost missed noticing it. These are all things we’ve done in the past (except the library, this was our first library excursion), but the biggest difference was we didn’t have to think about it.

And then I had a Monday holiday.  I know, most people barely think about Patriot’s Day, since it’s only observed in Maine and Massachusetts. But here it is – and I had it off. The last time I had a Monday Holiday was when I worked at the Bangor Daily. Police beat always fell on Monday, so I could round up weekend crime. But I didn’t have to do that.

I had a day off. It was amazing.

Of course, the kids were on spring break, so it’s not like I really had it off. But it was still amazing. They helped me pile scrap wood in the scrap wood pile. Willingly. I only note that because I will want to remember that when I have to beg for them to help with things.

So, as we all know, change is hard – but sometimes it’s good. And so far, so good.

We interrupt your program with life

(Originally published in The Maine Edge on March 7, 2012)

(Also, after a certain point you just watch kid shows)

Movie nights with a full house

We knew life was going to change when we decided to start a family. Sure, we weren't expecting triplets, but we were expecting a baby and everything that came with it – sleepless nights, less social life, chaos and whatnot. And we got all that.

But we're learning how to still squeeze in some “us” time. And since neither my husband or I ever really hit the nightlife hard, “us time” mostly involves trying to watch a movie or television show.

The first thing we learned was, watch TV when the kids are eating or napping.

Use the English subtitles. Unless you want to pause it every time someone needs a pacifier, wets a diaper or just wants to have an in-depth conversation with Grover.

Watch movies that don't require too much concentration. Weak plot? Great! I still won't be able to follow it, but now I won't feel so bad.

This doesn't mean you can't watch Academy Award-winners; it just means it will take longer if you hope to absorb what's going on. I was able to watch “The Help” - over the course of two days.

Netflix has become our best friend. We don't watch regular TV – and before you think this is out of some misguided, hipster snobbery, it's because we don't have the option for cable, and paying $50 a month for reruns on satellite TV seemed silly. We pay less than $20 to get 3 DVDs, and we watch shows and movies we want to see, commercial free.

But not without interruption.

If you want to forgo television altogether (more power to you), and still want to get some reading done while infants are in the house, consider reading your novel to the kids out loud.

All the experts agree, reading to your child is fantastic. They may not understand, but they love to hear your voice. It teaches them language, syntax and all manner of great things. And if you want to read them slightly age-inappropriate bits from your favorite mystery novel, they probably won't notice.

Yay, multitasking!

Taking back the house

(We noticed you had put our toys in here. Don't worry,
we fixed that.)

(This was originally published on Feb. 29, 2012)

The first few months are rough. We've been over this. Especially with multiples. You don't sleep, you free time has evaporated, your chores have quadrupled (I don't care how many kids you have) and you're operating under a cloud of chaos. Laundry piles up, dishes pile up, when did you vacuum last?

Then suddenly, you turn a corner. More sleep is happening all around. And the combination of sleep deprivation training and actually getting more sleep helps clarify your situation. You don't have to operate in panic mode. At least not all the time.

We came to this realization a couple weeks ago. We were looking around at some of the clutter in our house, and as if he was reading my mind, my husband said: “I'm planning on taking care of some of this. A little each day.”

And that was that. We both began to tackle small chores, and cram them back into our daily routine. Easy stuff like dishes and laundry first, but adding on extra bits – reclamation of the parts of the living room, clearing off baby stuff from one of our easy chairs, breaking down the bazillion cardboard boxes that we've accumulated from various infant accoutrements (diapers, wipes, toys, furniture).

But let's be clear - we don't clean rooms. We clean fractions of rooms. We do what we can when we can do it. But it's been working. Taking 10 minutes to clean off the easy chair one day, 20 minutes to rediscover the top of my bureau - and looking at a project in small pieces is far easier than attempting to tackle an entire room, especially when you have to stop to cuddle, change or play with babies.

It's fun looking around the house for the ever shrinking list of projects, all the while trying to balance the constant flow of regular chores.

A few things we've done seem staggeringly obvious in hindsight – but when you're a sleep deprived zombie juggling bouncing babies, “obvious” becomes meaningless.

-Do the chores where the babies are.

If your kids are downstairs and your laundry is upstairs, bring it down to the living room and fold it. Duh? Yeah, it took me a few months to master that little gem. All because in my previous life, I had folded my laundry upstairs.

-Don't kill yourself.

It's easy to look at a mess and get overwhelmed, especially when you're dealing with extra chores that stem from baby care. And if you overwork your already-tired self, you're going to be disinclined to continue with the routine. So keep it simple. Break rooms down into manageable parts (e.g. organize the coffee table one day; clear out a cluttered corner the next).

And as you start taking back your house, you'll feel better about life. It's like getting dressed. When you look better, you feel better, and you are better. Same applies with your living room.

And to be clear, my house is never going to be “clean” - at least not in the Martha Stuart sense of the word. There will be toys on the floor (I just located a squishy fabric ball under my feet), and mail on the table. But it will be a controlled chaos. Or at least less chaotic chaos. Works for me.

(P.S. 2016 reality check: You will win and lose this battle with your house. It's okay. You are not alone. You can do it.)

Get dressed!

(Originally published Feb. 15, 2012 in The Maine Edge)

(Not a pajama top. Surprisingly)

When you add kids to your routine, you basically add more time than you physically have to your schedule. Especially if you have more than one at the same time. This means you tend to let things go. Cut corners, as it were. You do their laundry instead of your laundry. Wash their dishes (bottles) instead of your dishes. And suddenly you realize it's 5 p.m. and you're still in your jammies – and is that the guy who's coming to fix the heater? Crap.

I've learned that you need to make excuses to get dressed. It's one of the best things you can do to make you feel like a real person again. And the more you feel like one, the more you can act like one.
Here are some ways to ensure you get dressed.

Schedule appointments where you must leave the house. Be they doctors visits, work-related meetings, home nurse meetings - whatever. Get dressed.

Invite your friends over. Preferably friends who will rib you gently about looking like an unmade bed. Schedule a girls' night, make it a point to wear that cute thing you bought, or the heels you like, or as a chance to finally get that hair cut you've been putting off for a month.

We know it's hard to focus on you when there are much more important things to be thinking about. But I think there is truth in the statement that looking better is feeling better. When I look put together, I feel more competent, I act more competent and therefore I am more competent. And getting into that mental space isn't just good for you, it's good for your whole family.

Yes, this might be spoiled by an ill-timed spit up or diaper malfunction. But who cares? You have more than one pair of pants and more than one halfway decent shirt. Most of these stains will come out. And it's OK if you have to bring a couple things to the dry cleaner.

Showers, sleep and other mommy scheduling conflicts

(Note: Originally published, Feb. 8, 2012 in The Maine Edge.)

(The elusive hot coffee. Some think it only a myth)

I've always been a person who had two separate minds when it come to scheduling. One mind was my work brain, which kept track of business meetings, interviews for stories and any other business related meetup that might appear. Then there was my home, or social, mind. This was for lunches with pals, hitting the movies and meeting up for gaming, dinner and drinks at a friend's house.

Add three kids to this mix and suddenly there isn't enough brain power to go around, and more scheduling conflicts than I ever thought possible arise. Who knew that there would be a scheduling conflict between sleeping and showering? You have time for one or the other, not both. You have to cancel one of them.

This is compounded by the epic amount of doctor appointments needed to bring your kids up to date on things like immunizations, regular exams and what not. Add in family and friends who want to visit and help and suddenly you have another full docket.

Then there is that separate brains problem, when you have set up a doctor's appointment for your kids three months in advance, but you don't mesh that schedule with your work schedule – because up until a few months ago you never had this whole other schedule to keep track of. This entails calling people to explain that you've gone full-blown stupid and double booked.

Thankfully, losing your mind because of new children is something most people (or at least most people with children) are entirely sympathetic towards. Even if their kids have grown up, they remember that first year.

Here are some scheduling conflicts for some of the rooms in your own house. Pick two out of three.
Kitchen: You can cook dinner, wash bottles or stock or empty the dishwasher.

Living Room: Pick up toys, sweep/vacuum the floor or pay bills.

Bathroom/Laundry Room: Wash your clothes, wash your kids clothes/diapers or take a shower.

Bedroom: Feed kids, get dressed in real clothes (sweatpants don't count) or sleep.

And that's just at your own house. If you need to bathe a child, meet with friends or fix an appliance, you can only pick one out of three.

The Lame Superpowers of Pregnancy

(Week 24, let that sink in)

Pregnancy is weird. Guys, you may want to look into some of Allen Adams’ sports columns – there’s also a review of “Conan” a couple pages back. You have been warned.

Let me just say that I had it easy. For some women, pregnancy is non-stop nausea with difficulty keeping any food down. Add in some very serious complications, and pregnancy issues can be no laughing matter. That being said, some of the strange, embarrassing side effects of having children are funny – gross,but funny. Especially in retrospect. Here are a few of the strange, gross and just plain irritating side effects of having awesome children.

Perpetual Pee – This happened sooner than I thought. I’d heard about frequently using the bathroom, but it was typically associated with the third trimester, when the kid was pressing down on the bladder. Well, it’s also a first trimester bout of fun due to the changing shape of the uterus and the ubiquitous hormones.

Super sense of smell – This doesn’t sound like a bad super power, until you realize it’s almost entirely geared towards bad smells. That perfume that someone decided to marinade in; cigarette smoke; something off in the fridge; the dreaded shared bathroom in the building – all become bio-hazards rather than mild inconveniences. This is mostly because of the next useless superpower.

Super-sensitive gag reflex – So, I know I’m lucky in that my morning sickness consisted mostly of mild to moderate nausea rather than physical illness. However, this came with one caveat: I would gag at almost everything. Bad smell in the bathroom, too much toothpaste on my toothbrush, patchouli – you name it.

Super tired – A little word like fatigue doesn’t really do justice to the level of exhaustion I felt in the first trimester. The way zombies crave brains was the way I was craving sleep for the first three months. And I acted pretty much like a zombie for that time too.

Super lateness – I always prided myself on punctuality. If I wasn’t early, I consider ed myself late. Even before the kids were born, my time stopped being my own. I had to start eating like a Hobbit (Breakfast, second breakfast, luncheon, dinner, supper, afternoon tea, plus a midnight snack here and there) and packing lunch became an ordeal. Couple that with the never-ending trips to the bathroom, then looking after three kids – I think I need to invent a new time zone.

Anti-cravings – When I first realized I was pregnant, I looked forward to the cravings. I wanted to see all the weird things I would combine and eat. That turned into bland disappointment when not only did those cravings not materialize, but I stopped caring about eating things that I formerly loved. Like bread. I mean, I freaking love bread (choose it as one of the few foods I could consistently eat on a deserted island kind of love) and I didn’t want it. Weird, says I.

Heartburn of Doom – I thought I knew what heartburn was. You know, when you’re trying to go to sleep and you get a little burning sensation in your chest, pop a Tums and go to bed. Right?

Holy crap. The kind of heartburn you get when you’re pregnant feels like someone poured a flask of acid in the middle of my chest, then repeatedly punched me there. And that isn’t evening counting the third trimester reflux, where if I didn’t manage to prop myself up in some kind of upright position, I would end up re-experiencing whatever I had eaten in the last three to five hours. Awesome.

I believe that all of these weird, gross, embarrassing powers are good for one thing – preparing you for the ultimate bizarre experience of giving birth. Because if you think this was weird, gross and embarrassing – you ain’t seen nothing yet. And I’m not writing a story about that. Not without a huge pay raise.

The Beginning is a Very Good Place to Start

Three's a crowd, alright.

Initially published on Aug. 24, 2011, in the Maine Edge

Having worked at this paper for going on five years, it’s not unheard of for me to write a story about incredible adventures, whether it’s riding down the raging rapids with Three Rivers Whitewater Rafting, leaping out of airplanes with Skydive New England and Central Main Skydiving, deep sea fishing, ocean kayaking or ride alongs with various law enforcement agencies. So, this might dull the nepotistic edge of writing about my brand new family.

Of course, this probably wouldn’t be front page news if I didn’t work here. And even if things had been normal, I probably wouldn’t have thought to write more than a brief blurb about it. But, as anyone who knows me will attest, I’m far from normal. Having triplets is just further proof in a long line of empirical evidence. Here’s the journey.

My husband and I decided to start a family shortly after we finished construction on our new home. We had a beautiful house with two extra bedrooms in addition to our master bedroom. Having a good plan is fun.

This past January, I was working on a long-term story on seasonal policing. This involved riding along with officers from Old Orchard Beach and Bar Harbor Police Departments, once in the winter, with the plan to follow up again in the summer months. Aren’t plans nice?

I rode with Officer Joshua Robbins of Old Orchard Beach in early January and that went off without a hitch. On Jan. 21, I rode with Officer Soren Sundberg of Bar Harbor Police – this is where the hitch comes in.

The evening had begun with promise, stopping a vehicle and learning the driver’s license was suspended, a couple erratic vehicles, good stuff. We drove back to the police station to charge the flashlight battery. I met a couple of other officers inside, went out for a welfare check and came back. While chatting in the hallway of the police station, I suddenly felt nauseous. But that swiftly changed as it felt like all the blood in my head made a swift retreat to my feet (taking a quick detour to roll around in my stomach for a second). I managed to tell the officers that I was feeling light headed and needed to sit. They quickly scrambled to grab a chair, but the floor was looking mighty fine at that point, and I slid my butt down and stuck my head between my legs so I wouldn’t pass out – and for the record, I didn’t pass out. But it was close.

The officers kindly brought me a chair, some water and called the paramedics – all things considered, I had picked a really good place to have a fainting spell. Who needs street cred, right?

They asked me if I was sick, taking any medications (which I think was a very diplomatic way of asking if I was on drugs) or had eaten recently. Did I normally stay up this late (it was 11 p.m. at this point, and yes, I have stayed up past then on some occasions, though admittedly not as much as I used to). Sheepishly, I told them I was trying to get pregnant and asked if that could cause fainting spells. The lovely woman who was running dispatch – and the only other woman there – confirmed that fainting spells can be indicative of being pregnant. And so Bar Harbor PD was pretty much the first to know.

I took a test the next day which confirmed my suspicions. We told my family and my husband’s family, but pretty much kept it on the down low, outside of them and one or two close friends.

Crowd control

In February, I went to the doctor to confirm and got a referral to Dr. Paul Smith at Bangor OB/GYN, who had delivered my sister-in-law’s baby. We went in for our first ultrasound on Feb. 16. Here is a paraphrase of what happened at the appointment:

Dr. Smith: Katy, you’re pregnant-pregnant.

Me: What?

Husband: Cool! Twins!

Dr. Smith: Wait a minute…

Husband and Me [thinking]: Oh, it’s not twins. Oh, well.

Dr. Smith: There’s another one!

At this point, the first thought that crossed my mind was, “he’s joking.” Followed swiftly by, “he gets paid too much to joke about these things.” Then I started laughing. My husband looked a little like he’d been hit with a hammer. Dr. Smith quickly measured all three of the babies, which were about the size and shape of a good amount of chewing gum. That made it fun to show people and watch them try to puzzle through the three, fuzzy black and white blurs that were my babies.

With the blessing from the doctor, we could tell people. Their reactions made our reactions seem normal. My parents and siblings were, of course, blown away. I made my mom pull over and told her that we were in possession of three ultrasound pictures and explained that we had seen three separate heartbeats, labeled Trip A, Trip B, and Trip C (this explanation got shorter and shorter with each subsequent telling).

My Dad asked if I was trying to show up my brother, who had recently had a beautiful baby girl the previous year with his girlfriend. I told him it was sibling rivalry coupled with the fact that I was an English major and therefore bad at math.

My brother exclaimed “Shut up!” several times, before conference calling his girlfriend so I could simultaneously share the news with her.

My sister was floored and told everyone at her workplace.

We were able to tell my mom-in-law in person, driving to her work and showing her the pictures. We tried to let her sort it out, but it’s not like you could tell much from the images themselves, outside of the tiny labels.

Brother-in-law ended up hearing it through his parents, and called them back three times expressing shock, awe, and touching concern for our need for a chest freezer.

To say that people were excited and blown away is an understatement.

When I told friends and co-workers or even people I worked with on a regular basis, reactions were those of shock and awe.

People asked us all manner of strange questions. And my answers:

Did we take fertility drugs? Nope, we are naturally awesome; or Nope, my husband does the work of three men.

Would I be having a Caesarian section or natural birth? This went from “we’ll see,” to ultimately getting a C-section due to the position of one of the kiddos.

Would I breastfeed? Yes, if possible.

What kind of diapers would I use? A mix of cloth and disposable.

Would I be getting a minivan? We ended up buying an awesome Dodge Durango from Bangor Tire Company after they learned I was looking for a giant car with a third row back seat.

Would one of us be getting our tubes tied after? Um…

If I had a dollar for every time someone told us we would have our hands full, I would be able to eat out at a nice fancy restaurant once a week.

There were only a couple of really rude comments, but the majority of people were shocked and amazed and told us that we would be wonderful parents, how blessed we were, and of course hoped that we had help who lived nearby.

As it became more and more obvious that I was pregnant, it was kind of fun to answer the question

“Do you know what you’re having?” We did: two girls and boy.

Bumpy roads

The thing about being pregnant with multiples is that it automatically places you in the high-risk category of being pregnant. And not without good reason. Without going into the nitty-gritty details, we swiftly began dealing with issues that included possible twin to twin transfusion syndrome and a growth restriction in one of the twin girls. This meant going from OB visits once a month, to hitting the doctor every week and the possibility of having to run out of state to see specialists.

I ended up on bed rest around week 26 an strict bed rest by week 27, which meant no getting up for anything outside of bathroom breaks. And if this sounds like fun, it was for about two days. But you don’t realize how much doing little things means until you aren’t allowed to pour your own cereal.

But this also meant we got to see the incredible staff at Bangor OB/GYN frequently. I looked forward to the weekly excursions out to the doctor’s office and talking with Lee and Brenda at reception and chatting with Gina, our ultrasound technician; Raylene and Kat; all the nurses at the office; and Dr. Smith on a regular basis. They were wonderful to deal with and made what was an emotional roller-coaster ride bearable and even fun.

(I made these)

The kindness of everyone

To say that people have been helpful isn’t accurate. Family, friends, co-workers, acquaintances and complete strangers have literally come out of the woodwork to help us. Organizing food deliveries, donating gently used clothing, equipment and baby essentials.

Offers of baby-sitting, house cleaning and bargain hunting have abounded. I can’t express enough thanks for all the wonderful people who have stepped up, unasked, to help us. I only hope I get a real chance to pay it forward.

In late July, it looked like our littlest bean was having some growth issues, and we decided to go forward with an early C-section a few days down the road. Literally, early the next morning, I went into preterm labor and started experiencing contractions. I told my husband, texted my doctor, and then went in to the office to learn that, yeah, today is the day. So on July 27, around 12 noon, I was wheeled into the operating room and delivered three beautiful babies via C-section.

First one rolled in at 12:06 weighed in at 3 pounds, 6 ounces; the second came at 12:07 weighed 3 pounds, 6 ounces (and 5 grams); the third, and thankfully final child was born at 12:09 and clocked in at 2 pounds, 11 ounces.

They are all doing very well, and will be coming home in short order from the Neonatal Intensive Care/Continuing Care Unit at EMMC. The nurses at the hospital have been incredible, and helped us prepare for life with three new babies.

To date, this has been the biggest adventure and best thing I have ever done in my life.