THE BELLY

8 months pregnant
with Mike and Mitch

Being pregnant with twins was an extraordinary experience. My ridiculously huge belly was in constant motion. Four elbows, four knees and two different personalities were in complete control.. My only job was to feed the crew and carry the load. Believe me, this was not an easy task.

All of my twins had their first fight long before I met them. They kicked and shoved and poked their partner day and night. These wombmates had a free, undisciplined run at each other. They could fight all they wanted and there was nothing I could do about it. When one decided it was time to turn over, he or she simply gave the other a good nudge and my body would spear into action. Strangers walking by were able to witness this normally private experience. There was positively no hiding it.

April and Jeff, once kicked a bucket of popcorn off my belly at the theater, sending the buttery contents all over the boy next to me. I believe, out of all the twins, those two did the best job of transforming my physique into a huge blob. I gained weight everywhere and a lot of it. I was sure at the time I was the only pregnant woman to show under her chin. I could not stop eating and gaining and eating.

During my eighth month with April and Jeff, I had to make a quick stop at the doctor’s office to pick up a prescription. As usual, there were twenty or so pregnant women stretching and grunting, trying to get in and out of the chairs in the waiting rooms. I waddled myself down the hall where the nurse said I’d find the doctor. He saw me, waved and started walking toward me with the prescription in hand, and then suddenly he seemed startled, turned abruptly and headed in the opposite direction. I thought maybe he had forgotten something. After only a few seconds he turned again and headed back toward me only to repeat the same behavior. He did this three times. Finally with his hand over his mouth, he shook his head, looked down at the floor and chuckled. “I’m so sorry; You are just so unbelievably pregnant.” Now if that wasn't enough to make me feel horrible! My own doctor could not look at me without laughing. Four months after these two were delivered; people were asking me when my baby was due. It would seem everything you eat does not go straight to the babies; it’s pretty much distributed evenly throughout your fat cells.

After April and Jeff came into the real world where I could referee their fights, I worked hard to put get the belly back in to some form of order. A year and a half later, James and Jon took up residence in my uterus. Since this was the third time my belly would need to stretch and bulge to accommodate the new occupants, the process took about 30 seconds. 

My belly got so big during this pregnancies that I was in tremendous pain.  My back couldn't handle the weight and I could barely stand up.  I’m not sure if this was because my twins were good size babies or if it was the abundance of chocolate cake I had consumed (again!). Whichever it was, I needed help.  One day my husband and I were watching TV and a friend came by.  He had sprained his arm and was wearing a sling.   My husband laughed and said, “Jenny, that’s what you need to haul that belly around.”  That was one of the only times that I had thought my husband was brilliant.  Brilliant!  We cut up an old sheet and did just that, made a tummy sling.  We wrapped it around the belly and tied it up over my shoulders.  What a relief.   Sometimes when my shoulders got tired I grabbed hold of the sides of the sling and held the weight with my arms.  Yes, it was humiliating wearing a belly sling and without doubt, the most humiliating part was the fact that I couldn't do it alone. My husband had to sling the belly and he could not contain his laughter. This ridiculous procedure even got me laughing and you know what happens to a laughing pregnant lady.  Yep; the peeing of the pants, which of course caused me to have to change and start this entire process over.

James and Jon were not happy with the crowded accommodations and, ("Thank God") moved out early. They were born five weeks early and healthy as ever. I can not imagine what form the belly would have taken if they had stayed another month.

My pregnancy with Mike and Mitch, my youngest, was another enormous adventure. Due to all the running around after the five children I already had, I managed to shrink down to a size one. I was done having kids. I had completely renovated my uterus and posted a huge "Do not enter" sign on the door. It didn't take long for me to realize that little fetuses can't read. Mike and Mitch tore down the sign and made themselves at home. 

I had learned my lesson with the other pregnancies and kept my distance from glazed doughnuts and my favorite chocolate cheese cake. I was determined to keep my figure and I did pretty good for the first seven months. Had it not been for the amazing growth that preceded me, I would have remained a size one. I did not even look pregnant from the back. It seemed I had gained no weight anywhere except for the belly. And, “the belly” took on a frightening life of its own. Small children would stop cold when they saw me and yell, “Mom! Look at that fat lady!” 

It, “the belly” was insulting to all it came in contact with.  I think one of the funniest belly assaults was done to my (now ex) brother-in-law, Dennis.  I was visiting with my husband‘s step mother, having coffee and gossiping about the rest of the family the way any good daughter-in -law should when Dennis arrived.  He said hello, came in and sat down at the table across from me and joined in the conversation.  I hadn't seen him in a several months, but more importantly, he hadn't seen me.  The table was quite high and “the belly” was comfortably concealed and resting on my lap.  When the time came for me to leave, I said goodbye and stood up from my chair.  Dennis let out an eye bulging scream and literally fell over. And NO, I did not help him up!

I have never seen a size one again. Those two identical seven and a half pound boys eventually distributed the weight to the rest of my body as they remodeled and expanded my uterus. The belly has never fully recovered. 

If I were to give advice to an expectant mother of twins it would be, eat when you’re hungry (just make good choices), sleep when you’re tired, cry when you’re sad, and don’t forget to take lots of warm bubble baths. Get plenty of hugs from everyone around you, and never forget how special you are.  “Wow, Twins!” 

Yes, you will be twice as pregnant, twice as worried, and twice as fat, but without a doubt, you will receive twice the reward. When it’s all said and done your arms will be overflowing with love and everything you went through will seem unimportant.  Cherish those special moments when you feel four legs kicking or two babies with the hiccups, that’s when you know all is well in the womb.

IF I COULD GO BACK

"Jenny's View"

My home on the Rogue River

The bubbling and gurgling of the water as it passes over the gray speckled rocks is hypnotic. I sit on the soft grassy bank with my pen and tablet watching and listening with anticipation, as each day, true to itself, the river gives freely of its sounds and visions, creating honest moments, moments that stand still and become scenery in my mind, stored away to be used as backdrops for daydreams and hopes.

How surreal it is, knowing that Zane Grey once sat in this very spot, found pleasure in the same brilliant colors offered by the full mountains and sun-touched trees that watch from across the river. The same soft penetrating noises calmed his soul as he wrote his famous book, Robber’s Roost. I wonder if the abundance of peace that holds me so tightly in this beautiful place was as overwhelming and interruptive to him as it is to me.   This tranquil wonder that heightens my creative abilities also distracts me from the writing job at hand; my thoughts turn inward and my pen reveals, even to me, the secrets of my soul ....... Jenny Lee  2007

We all have a special place where we used to go and sit and think, a place where we could cry alone, a place where true sadness could be released and nature could heal. Sometimes we would visit this place just to regenerate, to get back the feeling of balance. Our special places are as much a part of our memories and past as are the people we have loved and lost on our journey. Sometimes we are lucky enough to go back and visit, and unlike the people we meet again from out past, nothing changes when we are reunited with our old friend.

This was my special place. If I could go back, I would say sorry for leaving. I miss you.

Jenny Lee

4TH OF JULY MEMORIES

Today is my sweet little Yorkie, Mr. Bentley's, birthday. Every year when the skies start to rumble and roar with fire works he goes into a shaking fit and hides under the covers on my bed, causing his hair to electrify. He is a site. Today he is seven; I have been participating in this "calming of the dog" ritual for quite some time, but this is nothing compared to the 4th of July with my seven kids!

If I had to choose the most frightening 4th of July, it would have to be 1989, the year I had employed "the nanny from hell", Cassie. She couldn't cook, clean, or do laundry, but the kids loved her, especially the boys. She was a model and gracefully strolled into work each day looking as though she were about to pose for the cover of Vogue. 

This special 4th of July, we were living in Roy, Utah. I was out of town on business for a couple of days and had left Cassie in charge. I knew the kids could survive a couple of days on macaroni and cheese, cereal, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I was only two hours away, surely they would be okay. Boy, was I wrong. 

I sat in a meeting with a group of brokers from San Francisco who were considering contracting my company to work with FHA streamline loans. Like a professional, I took notes, listened intently, and asked intelligent questions. Dressed the part in my new business suit from Nordstroms, nails beautifully manicured, and unwanted hair discretely removed from my brows, I was more than impressing them. That is, until the secretary informed me that I had an emergency call from health and welfare services. All my charm flew out the door right behind me as I ran to the phone. 

"Hello", I said with confusion

"Yes, is this Jenny Lee?" a deep voice asked on the other end.

"Yes, What's wrong? What's going on?, I began blubbering with fear in my voice.

"Well, Mrs. Lee, I had a call from the neighbors that your children were left at home alone. Your daughter April and your two young twins, Mike and Mitch. I was worried that..." he began to say, but I cut him off quick.

"Alone?" I yelled for all the suits in the other room to hear. "What do you mean alone?" I asked him accusingly, as though he were responsible for this mess. "Where is the nanny and my other children?" I was terrified and baffled.

He was able to calm me down, assuring me that everything was fine. "I don't know where the others are but things are under control here. How old is your daughter April?" he asked calmly. 

"Nine, she is only Nine", I answered frantically.  

"Well, she is quite the little grown up. I asked her if I were to come back at six o'clock this evening would she be able to cook the chicken I took out of the freezer. She is quite the character, she told me yes she could, but she was making lasagna. She relayed the entire process of preparing the meal. Quite impressive this little girl." he laughed.

"What's going to happen? It will take me two hours to get home?" I questioned, so afraid that he would take my children.

"I think little April will be fine until you return. There is no minimum age for babysitting in Utah and she seems to have everything under control, however I suggest you hurry home."

I asked the secretary to make my apologies and sprinted to my car. 

When I arrived home, I found that my van was missing along with the nanny and my other children. Mike and Mitch, my three-year-old twins were asleep on the couch with the ninja turtles playing on the TV. At least they were safe.  I was able to pry the whereabouts of the rest of my crew from my daughter. But what I heard, threw me. "Mom, they just went to Wyoming to get fireworks. Cassie said they have better ones there. "

"Wyoming? What do mean they went to Wyoming? That's 80 miles away!" All I could think of was that old van breaking down on the side of the road with my kids and an insane nanny holding a lap full of illegal fireworks. "She is so fired!" I screamed into the room and April started to cry. 

"Sis, don't cry. Mommies not mad at you, I'm just worried" I comforted her.  "When did they leave?"

"I don't know, but Cassie promised she'd be back before dark so we could go to the cemetery again to see the ghost" April announced with a perky smile, as though this statement was perfectly normal and even a bit exciting.

I didn't even want to ask. OMG, I didn't want to ask, but.... "April honey, what cemetery  And what do you mean again?" 

"You know Mommy, the cemetery with the ghost. It's so scary. Cassie took us last night when it was really dark and we saw him. He's real mommy, he is." 

I was stunned. I just stared at my daughter trying to absorb this picture of my little children running around a cemetery in the middle of the night being chased by a ghost. April was quick to interrupt my shocked system. "Mommy, he can't hurt you cuz he's a dead guy, and when we set off the fireworks he runs away."

"What?" I freaked out. "You were setting off fireworks in the cemetery?"

She looked at me like I were an idiot, "Yes, we had to or he would get us. We used all the ones that Cassie bought at the corner. That's why she went to get more, and these ones are really big and loud. It will really scare that ghost."

As if on cue, the object of my wrath pulled into the driveway with my other boys.  The boys ran in, "Mom! We got fireworks, big ones", they yelled out, all speaking at once, and all with big smiles on their faces.  Cassie of course had no clue that I wanted to kill her. She just put the bag full of explosives on the kitchen table and said, "Your home early."

The boys all started talking at once, "Yea Mom, you can come to the cemetery with us." "Come and see the ghost Momma, it's so fun" They were so excited and so happy that my anger was dissipating.  "Come on Mom, come with us." one of the five year old twins cheered. The idea that I would disprove of this outing didn't even occur to any of them, not even the crazy nanny. I was baffled.

Of course you know how this night ended. Yep. I, the kids, and the nanny from hell went to the cemetery where we scared a ghost with illegal fire works. And, as out of the box as this experience was, we had a blast. The kids were laughing all the way home and I felt like a teenager again. I know,, irresponsible and wrong, but what a memory we made.

Happy fourth of July everyone! 

THE WORLD WE CREATE IS THE ONE WE LIVE IN

“The world we create 

is the one we live in.” 

What a profound statement! I remember the first time I heard those words. My arms were full of groceries, a bit too full, and I was racing to the kitchen counter to keep from dropping a bag of canned goods that were slipping from my grip. A woman’s voice bellowed from the TV (which my kids left on AGAIN) and I froze. The scene was like that of Noah and the Ark. The voice came loud and deliberate and seemed to be meant for only me. “The world we create is the one we live in.” she roared again.  My first reaction was to get angry. “Oh really”, I yelled back, “You think this insanity is my fault?”

For the rest of the day and into the night those words echoed in my mind. As I lay in bed that night, I realized she was right. “OMG! What have I done?” I thought. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I wish I had understood this one simple philosophy when I was younger. It would have saved me a lot of time and chaos. Mind you, people did try to teach me this lesson: my father, my grandmother, and my moms (yes, this is meant to be plural) and believe it or not, my children, but I did not heed their warnings. I was determined to make the round pegs fit neatly and quietly into the square holes. If the pegs refused to cooperate I forced the process, pounding them in with a hammer.

Years later, I threw away the broken pegs and appointed myself the job of teaching my children this lesson. As a grandmother, I now realize how true and unchanging those words are. The moment we begin making our own decisions and choices, the story that will be our life begins to unfold. However, my children are just as stubborn as I was, so the chaos continues. I now have 20+ grandkids and my children have continued my legacy; chaos. They (the experts) say there comes a time when twins separate and begin to live their own lives; not true. My children (or my pile as I call them) are no different and no less connected than they were as children. Yes, they have their own homes, spouses, children, and jobs, but they are just as entwined as ever. And it all started with the world I innocently designed. This is my story, I hope you enjoy taking this journey with me as I fill the pages with laughter, tears, and love.

Thirty seven years ago, at the age of 16, I began creating my world; my story; that place I would live forever. Oblivious to this fact, I did not do a lot of planning. I had no idea I was creating anything except a pile of children and tons of laundry (or is that a ton of children and piles of laundry?). Either way, I was young and naive. What did I know about life and the future? Without a plan, I began having babies and more babies. These cute little bundles of joy irresponsibly and without my permission grew into toddlers with the full intention of moving forcefully into their teens. Just thinking about my crew as teenagers made me want to stand and reverently ask the world for a moment of silence. Eventually this group of seven, which I refer to as my pile, evolved into parents and set out to drive me completely nuts by replenishing the earth with miniature people who would call me Grammy.   

The memories of those child rearing years are infinite, and yet somehow it seems only yesterday it all started. Now at the age of…well let’s just say over 48, I am becoming more and more aware of the fact that my job as caretaker has come to an end. According to the bible, the laws of the federal government, and the diminishing number of anger cells clinging to the walls of my brain, I am officially done.

I promised myself when the day came that I was finished washing dishes, refereeing fights, and toilet training, I was going to start a new life. When I was done folding the laundry again (Yes, I meant to say again) and filling out endless piles of paperwork from the schools, I was going on a diligent search for the real me. When I was through shopping for the biggest and cheapest bag of breakfast cereal that resembled fruity pebbles, laundry baskets full of school clothes, and double birthday presents, I was going to transform my body back to its youthful state and get healthy. When my job was finished and the children were gone, leaving the house empty and void of the bellowing word, “Mom!” I was going to sit down and let all my tears, frustrations, and laughter fall out through my pen onto several hundred innocent pieces of paper. I’m done, today is that day.

I will be here every afternoon sharing with you the joy and trials of raising four sets of twins as a single mom. If you are the parent of twins, please feel free to ask anything you wish.

Whoop Whoop, See you tomorrow

Jenny Lee