Just for fun.

Whoever correctly identifies and lists the most baby items in this photo wins.  What do you win?  Umm...my admiration, respect, and most of all, you win the enormous sense of relief that you will experience when you realize this is not your living room.  It is mine. 

Our colorful, Canadian road trip.

We were at a Comfort Inn in Calgary, Canada.  Jordan and I were enjoying our complimentary breakfast when our son Asher dropped (okay, threw) his toy under the table next to us.  When we told him to go get it, he said in a stage whisper, "I can't get it!  I don't want that guy to talk to me!" "That guy" was a distinguished-looking older gentleman who was peaceably eating his breakfast and making no effort to talk to Asher at all.  In response to Asher's announcement, however, the man looked up from his meal and retrieved the toy, offering to share his fruit with Asher.  Appeased by this peace offering, Asher settled in and listened as the man proceeded to share a bit of his life story with us. 

"Beautiful twins," he commented in a voice that sounded like a Canadian Sean Connery.  "My babies are 55 and 52 now.  I lost their mother in 2007 after 57 years of marriage."  As we quietly offered our condolences, he continued. "Then, I took off in a brand new Chrysler for Vegas where I met that Filipino girl over there," he said, gesturing to a woman across the room, "and I've been with her ever since."  We continued to nod as he explained that he and his Filipino beauty (he never mentioned her name) have made their home in Southern California, but visit his home country of Canada three times a year.  As we left the breakfast nook a few minutes later, I marveled as, once again, my children had paved the way for us to meet another new friend.  I also marveled at the colorful past and interesting life story our newest friend had, and I began to think about what my life story might one day look like.

I may not be able to boast about adventures in Vegas, new Chryslers, and Filipino beauties, but my life does have color.  That color is largely due to my three children.  They add interest, humor, and adventure to my otherwise unremarkable life.  Our latest adventure was a 20 hour road trip to visit my family in Canada (during which we met our friend at the Comfort Inn).  My husband was attending a work conference in Baltimore, and rather than be at home alone with our kids for a week (I am honestly unsure whether we would have all survived), we made a massive trek across Washington, Idaho, British Columbia, Alberta, and finally, Saskatchewan, where you can find my family living among a few hundred others in a tiny, snow-covered town called Caronport (just outside of Moose Jaw, which is more fun to say).  My husband Jordan drove with us as far as Calgary, where he flew to Baltimore and passed the baton to my father, who had flown into Calgary from Caronport.  Dad then drove us from Calgary back to Caronport.  If you didn't follow all of that, don't worry about it.  Just picture mass chaos in a mini-van filled with screaming babies, a sticky toddler, and goldfish crackers everywhere.

Actually, that's not really fair.  It should have been mass chaos (and was, at times) but the trip was largely made successful by my Dad, a veteran road tripper.  We had to stop every 2.5 to three hours for me to nurse the twins, during which Dad would take two and a half year old Asher for a walk.  They would return from gas stations with popcorn, or they would play in a McDonalds playplace.  At one said playplace, I finished with the twins and entered to find Asher huddling in a corner, making the undeniable "poop face."  I started to ask my dad if he would watch the babies while I took my potty-resistant son to the restroom changing table.  Before I finished my sentence, Dad had grabbed Asher's hand and was headed to the men's room.  I frantically called after him, "but Dad, he's poopy," and, "Do they even have a changing table in the men's room?" to which he responded, "I have done this a few times before.  I'm sure we'll figure it out."  As I watched them from behind, I couldn't help but think that to me, my dad looked like a brave hero headed off for battle.  On that road trip, he did anything and everything to make things easier for me and the kids.  It's no wonder that when we said our goodbyes at the end of the week, Asher tearfully said, "I really love you, Grandpa." 

There were ugly moments on the drive, too.  I have hazy memories of myself muttering, "If you don't stop knocking your pacifier out of your mouth, I'm going to chop your hands off," and "Drop the leap pad on the ground one more time and I will drop you."  Then there were the moments when everything was so overwhelming that there was nothing to do but laugh.  On one long, snowy stretch of road, both babies had been simultaneously screaming for what felt like forever.  When they finally quieted, I turned around to check on Asher, only to find that he had taken his goldfish crackers and stuffed them into the cracks of the window, the cracks in his car seat, and even into the disc opening and inner circuitry of his leap pad.  I began laughing, letting out a rush of pent-up exhaustion and exasperation. 

The adventure didn't stop when we arrived at my parents' home.  The twins decided Canada was a great place to start teething, which meant extra fussiness, extra night wakings, and extra bites in extra-sensitive places.  Asher got in on that action too, letting out his own frustration and excitement by biting me on the shoulder, and, on two occasions, on my derriere.  For the entire week, Abel went on a poop strike, and Asher went on a nap strike.  Both of my parents walked miles in their own home, holding my cranky babies.  The rhythm and routine I had created in my home back in Washington had been stripped away from me, and my parents saw all of us at our very worst.

And yet, they sent me away at the end of the week with affirmation that I was a great mom.  My mom praised me for being "even-keeled" (ha!), Dad marveled at how great my kids are, and both of them congratulated me on choosing a wonderful, supportive husband.  My 19-year old brother and my 15-year-old sister both told me how proud they were of me.  When I left them, my body was a tired, crazy mess, but I had a peaceful spirit.  

When I am in my eighties and am reflecting on my life, many of my adventures will likely have been in Moose Jaw instead of Vegas.  I'll have traveled in a mini-van instead of a fancy Chrysler.  I probably won't be bragging about a Filipino beauty, but you can bet I'll be bragging about three beauties named Asher, Abel, and Nora.  Thanks to my kids, my life has color.  Thanks to my family and my husband, I can see beyond the crazy and enjoy that color in its full brilliance.