Your reactions

I have loved the reactions from my friends when I tell them we are having twins.

It normally unfolds like this:

Me: "I'm pregnant,"
Friend: Oh that's so exciting, I'm so happy for you,
Me: I'm not done yet...we are having twins.
Friend: Face drops down to avert my eyes/laughter/hysterical NOOOOO's

But, my all time favorite reaction is from my friend Danielle. I emailed her the news and this was her response, "Wow! Did you ask them to go back and look for a nanny in there too? Because you are going to need it." I still laugh every time I think of this reaction.

I'm going to need my friends more than ever after these babies are born. To be patient with me when it takes months to respond to a call/text/email. To answer my call at 2 in the morning when I don't think I can be awake for one more minute (okay, I will email you not call) and to just send out the "those babies sleep great vibes" all the time. Thank you for already understanding, dear friends.

To An Athlete Dying Young

The Time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the marketplace
Man and boy stood cheering by,
and home we brought you shoulder high.
A.E. Houseman To An Athlete Dying Young

The first time I heard this poem, I wept. It reminded me of my father. An athlete who died young. My father was a swimmer - he had a wing span that crushed every competitor along his wake. He was strong, built to win. A herniated muscle ruined his chances at the Olympics, but he always "looked" like an athlete. And, to be totally honest, had the ego of an athlete.

My father was 46 when he died in an instant. He had a heart attack. An athlete dying young.

Today marks 21 years since he died. I was 12 years old. I remember every detail of the day he died. Every detail. Smells, sounds, temperature, what we watched on tv, what we ate for lunch. But I can’t remember much more than that. I don’t remember a lot of our memories before that. It’s weird because I know we were happy, I know we laughed, but I don’t remember it all.

So, today, on this 21^st year without Kenneth Bradbury Batla, I will eat German Chocolate Cake, go swimming and laugh with my family. It’s the only thing I can do to make sure I remember something that I know he would have loved.

You can't fly, lady

I'm huge. Yes, I realize I'm carrying twins but the belly is massive and it gets a lot of attention. Bieber-style attention.

When you are pregnant, people have a filter malfunction that sometimes leads them to say really stupid things. When you are pregnant with twins, no matter the tact on the human being, that filter was checked at the Jerry Springer door.

The comments about my belly have been incredible, and there really are too many to list, so I will give you my favorite so far.

On my last business trip, at 23 weeks pregnant, the TSA screener at the Detroit Airport said, "Oh Sugar, they won't let you get on the plane that close to your due date. Pilots don't like delivering babies on planes." To which I responded, oh I'm not due for another three months and I'm pregnant with twins so I look bigger than your average preggo. Instead of "oh, wow, congrats" the sweet, sweet TSA lady looked at me in horror and said, " Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where's your belly going to go?"

I just smiled and said, "Everywhere, I guess."

Irrational Love

When Bean was a newborn, Grandma B. sent us a little stuffed black-and-white puppy that she won at her nursing home's bingo match. I remember receiving it and thinking, "Oh, I wanted something black and white for E. because, apparently, black and white is good for brain stimulation." That was as far as that thought went, because I was too sleep deprived to consider color effects on a 2-month old.

Puppy stayed in the living room and after a while E. gravitated toward him. She would always reach for him over other toys, and he quickly became a MAJOR part of her life. From those early days to now, she sleeps with Puppy during every nap and night.

Two years later, Puppy is a part of our family. I know that sounds very strange, but to illustrate mine and Pete's love of this animal, I give you the following story:

E often "adopts" baby dolls at her daycare and throws fits if she can't take them home. Our sweet daycare lets her bring them home now and then. Last week, "Keeta" was brought into our house. A cute little cabbage patch doll. When it was time to go to bed, E said, "I want Keeta to sleep with me. Take Puppy away." P. and I looked at each other and thought "HELL NO!" so we put puppy in the corner of her crib and walked out of her room.

As we shut the door, this is what happened:

Pete turned to me and said "Eff that little interloper who's trying to replace Puppy. That ain't happening."

I find this amusing for so many reasons. Mainly because Jersey Pete came out over a stuffed animal (my, oh my, how times have changed) and because we both have this protective love for a stuffed animal. I know there is deep sentiment, because it came from Pete's grandma, but it goes beyond that.

We often find ourselves saying hi to Puppy, even when Eliza is not around. He is our daughter's first friend, in a way, so we will always love him.

He has comforted her when we couldn't possibly understand the fit she was having over, say, the fact that I grabbed the pink cup instead of the purple cup, or tried to change her diaper when she was busy doing a puzzle. Puppy gets it and Pete and I are forever grateful.

And Eliza might not admit it, but when she woke up in the middle of the night to see Puppy by her side along with Keeta, there were no complaints.

He Said/She Said

These little boys are wreaking havoc on my body. I wish I had never read those stupid Twilight books because now I'm fairly convinced that I'm having a vampire baby. One who is growing at 20 times the normal gestation. One that can actually crack my rib.

I won't bore you too much with what it's like to be pregnant with twins. If you want a run down, ask Pete, it's his FAVORITE game - the "what part of my body feels like it just broke" game. He L-O-V-E-S it.

Instead I will share with you the "he said/she said" version of finding out about them with guest blogger, Mr. Coloradoanmichigander.

She Said

I went in for an early appointment at about eight weeks because I was having a lot of pain in my right side. P. could not go with me, so I was by myself. At the appointment, my doc said she wanted to do an ultrasound to check everything out. She and I were both thinking something was not right with all the pain I was having.

Here is how it unfolded:

Doctor: "Okay, I am going to look in your uterus now. oh! OH!"

Me: "WHAT? WHAT?"

Doctor: "I see two hearts."

Me: "My baby has two hearts?

Doctor: "No, your baby has a friend."

Me: "What the hell does that mean?"

Doctor: "You are having twins, I'm trying to tell you that you are having twins."

Me: "Actually, that's not possible, it doesn't run in my family and I'm not on fertility treatment."

Doctor flips monitor around and points to the screen and says "I see two babies. Do you see two babies?"

I then laughed uncontrollably for a solid hour. She went on to talk a bit about twin pregnancy but I have no idea what she said. At the end of the appointment, I was still laughing so hard that she grabbed my knees and said "I need to know you are okay to drive." I was not. I was manic.

I immediately starting calling Pete who was in the middle of a huge breaking news story...

He Said

So I was on the phone with a source on the coaching search story – someone who I had been trying to get to call me back for several days. Having someone who's actually relevant to a coaching search call you back is met with the same joy of, say, meeting the Dalai Lama, so this was huge for me.

I had even left my desk to take this call in the private hallway one floor below my office, so that I wouldn't pique the curiosity of any of the other reporters and overlords who were eager for coaching search news.

So needless to say, when the call waiting first flashed my wife's name, I totally ignored her. When she called right back, I grew more annoyed and ignored her call again. When she battered me with a third consecutive phone call, I nearly threw the phone down in anger, but then something clicked in my head and I remembered she had scheduled a doctor's appointment and got a lump in my throat.

"Hey (highly confidential source)," I said. "I'm going to have to call you back."

So I call E back, and she's hysterical.

I immediately think the worst, and start assembling some sort of "its-ok-and-we-can-try-again-soon" script in my head – whatever sort of textbook response you are supposed to recite when your wife tells you she had a miscarriage. She's totally bawling.

But before I could blurt out anything stupid like that, or maybe it was during my intro, she's stammering between the hysteric sobs – or where they laughs? – something like, "no ... no, ta ... ta... twins! We're having twins!"

It was at this point the hallway started spinning like after I have five too many gin-and-tonics, and I really can't recall anything about my response or anything else that occurred in the next few minutes, other than that my wife was driving to my office so we could together process the momentous news.

(Ed's Note: She is still laughing. He is still drinking).

What's Cooking

I'm a self-proclaimed chef. I'm the daughter of an actual chef - seriously, did you guys know that my mom had an affair with Emeril and that's why I have the dark hair and eyes that everyone else in my family lacks? Okay, kidding, though when I was born my uncle accused my mom of infidelity because I seriously looked nothing like my family. Don't worry, therapy and DNA testing has proved this wrong. Again, kidding, therapy never helped.

But, back to the chef thing ... my mom owned a bakery, The Gingerbread House, when we were kids. It was in Richmond Rosenberg, Texas, which, at the time, was nothing but country. There were horses in the back and we fed them sugar cubes and did very pastoral-type things. No, not cow tipping, but lots of ant squishing.

My mom's food was and is incredible. I joke that she can make a pb&j taste like it came from a five-star restaurant. In my mid 20s, I spent many months standing beside my mom in the kitchen of my childhood home. I learned the key to her amazing food - butter, and lots of it. And her delicate spicing and knowing exactly how much salt and pepper should go into anything. The woman is a genius.

Fast forward a few years, I meet P. and we fall in love, and we cook. All the time. We love cooking together, trying new recipes. I unfortunately let my control freak flag fly in the kitchen, so it's not as much fun for him, but I'm trying to work at it.

(Ed’s note: No comment).

All that is a roundabout way to introduce you to a feature of my blog called “What's cooking.” I'm going to post a new recipe and my take on said recipe (I very rarely follow a recipe) and more importantly P's reaction. He is an amazing taste-tester.

So, for the first post, I bring you ... drum roll ... banana coconut muffins. Coconut is a new obsession of mine. I thought I hated it until last summer I tried toasted coconut ice cream at Kilwin's Ice Cream Parlor in Petoskey. Let's just say I'm a changed woman and coconut is now my go-to menu item.

Without further ado, I bring you Banana Coconut Muffins

Ingredients:

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 very ripe bananas, mashed (3/4 cup)
• 1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, melted
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 3/4 cup sweetened flaked coconut
• 1/2 tsp cardamom
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp nutmeg
• 2 tbs coconut milk

How I changed the recipe - I added cardamom and coconut milk to the recipe. I think this made the recipe.

Preheat the oven to 375. Mix bananas, sugar, egg, vanilla, butter and coconut milk in a mixer. Then fold in the sifted flour, baking soda, salt and spices. Last, fold in a 1/2 cup of coconut. Used lined muffin tins, sprinkle with remaining coconut and bake for 25 minutes. Let it cool for five before you burn your mouth off tasting the deliciousness. Good luck with that wait. I still can't say the word Yes without is sounding like Yeth thanks to my patience that only let me wait 2 minutes to try them.

Tips:

I mashed the bananas up. I do this with banana bread too so that you don't have to over mix the batter to get all the banana mashed up.

Also, I suggest that your sous chef look like this:



Here is the finished product, batch one. Batch two included putting coconut on the tops of the muffins and letting that get all toasty. I suggest this but watch that the coconut doesn't burn.

Finally, if someone could figure out how to get rid of this problem

...

P. has suggested an Alice from the Brady Bunch type houseguest. We'll see.

P's response: "Damn I'm glad I married you woman. Now get back in that kitchen and get me a beer." (Ed's note: Not really. Just the first part).

If I could be anyone, it would be Tina Fey

In her new book, Bossypants!, Tina Fey wrote a prayer for her daughter where she is poignant with such raw humor that you can't help sigh and laugh at the same time. I'm totally ripping her off here and applying this to my own daughter. Here is the prayer:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.