The Question

Today we were walking to our car after mass at the same time a group of older folks were heading towards church.  We didn't really notice them until they yelled across the parking lot with the question.  The question that we get asked A LOT.  We didn't even have to look around to see if they were possibly talking to anyone else, as once we heard the question, we knew.

"Are they triplets?!"

Now, I will admit I can see how from a distance perhaps, it appears that our boys could share the same birthday.  They are all blonde and of about the same weight and height.  However there are some MAJOR differences that I think would indicate that no, they are not triplets.  First of all, the twins are identical and (especially to folks who don't see them often) look VERY MUCH alike.  Blake looks completely different; his hair is darker, he is still at least a head taller than the other two, and weighs more as well.  And as he should, he's also developmentally well beyond where they are with regards to walking/running/climbing/etc. and talking.  These are all characteristics that if observed, would give great clues to the truth that the boys are not triplets.  Brothers, probably, but triplets?  No.

That being said, how am I to answer this question?

If I say, "Yes," that'd be a lie.  I don't want to lie.

If I say, "No, just twins," I am downplaying how special Carson and Ethan are while negating the fact that Blake even exists as a member of our family.  I'm not cool with that.

If I say, "No, twins and an older brother," (over time this has become my most common response), the response on the other end is usually an obviously (and audibly) disappointed, "Oh."  And then the person(s) who asked the initial question usually go on their way without any other word or comment, their fascination with our trio suddenly as limp and as flat as a balloon that was just popped.

And THAT response--that walking away with obvious disappointment--quite frankly, is what REALLY bothers me.  I find it incredibly rude and selfish when (while minding our own business) we are approached (or like today, simply called out) to question us about the boys' multiples status (of all things?!) and upon learning the truth--that we have three incredibly handsome, smart, energetic, healthy, and happy boys, two of which happen to be identical twins, but all three miracles nonetheless--decide our family isn't of enough value to continue talking to.  I guess we're on the tipping point of being an oddity of freakshow status; we are an anomaly, but not far enough outside the realm of "normal" to be of value for further conversation or even basic friendliness.  What are the children to make of this response?  What might they start making up about themselves if this response is the one they see repeated the most often, from folks who don't even really know them?

I get it.  People are curious.  And twins/triplets/quads, etc. are interesting and exciting.  And if I saw a family with several young kids all about the same age walking across the street, I'd probably wonder if they were multiples.  But I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to ask the family that, and/or posture it the way most do, without any other greeting or relationship-establishing language.  I mean, really, can't we first set even basic framework for some sort of friendly interaction, such as "Good afternoon" or "Hello"?!

I wish people would see us as more than just the family with twins (or "triplets"), as we are much, much more.  And the boys are much more too.  Each is amazing in his own right, and incredibly different (and special!) from the other two.  Blake is more than just the older brother of twins.  And Carson and Ethan are more than just one half of a pair.  All three make up a tight band of brothers (I pray they stay that way!), and are not just a slice of the Raleigh/Kim Elstun pie cut into thirds.

I have learned to respond to the comment, "You certainly have your hands full!" with "Joyfully so, yes!" or "They are, but our hearts are bursting!" in an effort to shine the truth on the status of our family--busy yet loving, chaotic yet beautiful.  I haven't yet come up with such a clever response to the triplets question, and know that regardless, we're likely to continue to get "the question," at least for a while.  I hope that no matter what, I can answer in a way that acknowledges each of the boys as the special little men they are, both individually and as part of our family.  After all, they each are incredibly amazing.

Go, Team E^5!

Johnny Carson

On our way home from our SD/ND/MN trip last month, we passed through Norfolk, Nebraska.

While driving on Johnny Carson Boulevard . . .

Me: Did you notice we passed Johnny Carson's childhood home on our way in?

Raleigh: No, I didn't.  Hey, did you know my grandma once dated Johnny Carson?

Me: I think you told me that once before.

Raleigh: Just think--if things had worked out, we could have a Carson Carson.

Me: If our last name was "Carson," I don't think Carson would have been a first name option for any of our children.  In fact, I don't think you would be a "Raleigh" since Raleigh is an Elstun family name.  You probably would have been a "Johnny Jr." or something like that.

Which, come to think about it, means I probably couldn't have married you.

Raleigh: So it's a good thing things worked out the way they did?

Me: I think so.

Raleigh (while glancing at the rear-view mirror to see three smiling boys): Yeah, I do too.  :)

Six Months, One Year, Two Years

Wow.  Time moves so fast.  And yet at times, the opposite seems true.

These past two weeks have held much emotion for me, as I've pondered where we were 6 months, one year, and also two years ago . . .

SIX MONTHS AGO

I went from hospital to hospital for this:

and this:

I prayed.  I held hands.  I cried.  I paced the hallways.  I didn't sleep, yet I was exhausted beyond description.  I prayed some more.  I shouted at the walls in angry rants.  I prayed.  I was overwhelmed and unsure.  I cried even more.  I asked questions.  And I prayed. My heart hurt.

And now, six months later, I get to experience this:

ONE YEAR AGO

I went from this:

to this:

I knew life was going to change come February, but that's about all I knew.  The boys came and I couldn't see straight. I wasn't sleeping. (Ok I WAS sleeping, but in increments too short and too few to really count.) I was head over heels in love with the two newest members of our family, and yet I was miserable at the same time. I was overwhelmed to the point where it felt like I was drowning on dry land. I had everything I ever wanted--and yet didn't want--at the same time. My heart hurt.

And now, one year later, I get to experience this:

TWO YEARS AGO

I went from this:

to this:

In what felt like seconds our world was turned upside-down, and not in the way we had imagined or hoped for. I was scared. I didn't sleep. I cried. I spent countless hours simply watching and praying, and praying and watching. I would sneak kisses when the nurses weren't looking and dreamed of the day I could hold my happy, healthy little boy. I held little fingers and sobbed into the chest of a strong husband who was as scared and as uncertain as I.  I was overwhelmed.  I prayed and I prayed and I prayed.  My heart hurt.

And now, two years later, I get to experience this:

So much can happen, so fast.  I may have plans and I can dream, however the Lord only knows where I will be six months, one year, and two years from now. 

And no matter what I face, I can be sure of one thing--God is bigger.

Sweetness

Snuggling with Blake in the rocking chair tonight (something that I usually miss out on since I am busy feeding the twins), and I kiss his forehead and tell him I love him. He looks back up me and smiles, then settles his way into my arms and closes his eyes. "Thank you, God, for making me Blake's mommy," I say softly. 
"Ain-yoo," Blake chimes in.  (That's his 'thank you'.)
Sigh. Be still my melting heart...

First Regret of 2014

I didn't have the camera handy when I entered the bathroom to find Blake sitting in the filling bathtub (with 2-3 inches of water already in it), fully clothed and crying. With two younger, yet not-totally-innocent-looking brothers standing at the edge of the tub, watching.

JOYFUL.

It's that time again . . . time for change, new direction, and unseen possibilities.  And as before, I'm going to ditch the traditional New Year's Resolution list to select what my friend Jen calls a "touchpoint" or a "companion" for the next year.  Time to choose a word for how I want experience (and therefore how I want to be) this coming year.

And I'll admit, I write this post with much angst, as this is a big deal.  A BIG deal.  My word for 2013 was TRUST (click here to read all about that one!), and boy oh boy, did I have plenty of opportunities to practice that!  From welcoming the boys via c-section early in the year, to learning to "grow gills" as I not-so-gracefully transitioned to parenting 3 young kiddos, to searching for adequate day care for the boys, to my Dad getting suddenly and deathly sick (an experience that wasn't short-lived, either), to Ethan having open heart surgery . . . it's been quite the year and I've had no lack of occasions during which I could focus on and live out my word.  And although I struggled immensely in the moment, I look back and can see that despite the intense challenge, my word was perfect for all I encountered and supported me especially when I found myself in situations much bigger than myself, during which I needed to have some reassurance (and hope!) things were going to (somehow) be ok. In some small way, my ability to TRUST played a part in helping me survive this past year.

Survive.  In so many ways, I feel like that word alone summarizes what I did this past year. It was hard, really hard. And although I have some pretty amazing stories to tell and benchmarks upon which I can count the year as a success, I am pretty sure I could do without the stress and chaos I feel I found myself swimming in for a good portion of the last 365 days.

That leads me into what more/different/better I want for this year.  Sure, I want to survive; yet I want to do more than that, too.  I want to thrive, and in doing so, I want to live joyfully.

I want more peace, less chaos and stress.  I want to laugh more and cry less.  I want to delight in my children more often, playing with and loving them with a blissful energy that matches theirs.  I want the "tasks" required by motherhood and marriage to be accomplished cheerfully, with a spring in my step and a constant, happy reminder of how blessed I am to get to be three little persons' mommy and someone's wife.  I want to enjoy more, and "manage" or "simply get by" less.  I want to smile more often, and spend less time clenching my jaw while bracing for the next impact.  I want to take in full, deep breaths that rejuvenate, not little wisps of half-breaths that feel like they're coming through a straw and simply allow me to tread water for another minute or two.  I want to nurture the relationships that are important to me, contributing to their vibrancy and growth, not be in the position to lean on them one-directionally, drawing their life and energy dry.  I want to feel free of the emotional weight that has burdened my shoulders for so long, and instead skip with a lightness and bounce that nearly leaves me weightless.  I want to live a life that is VIBRANT and exciting, nourishing and generous, lively and regenerating . . . and I want to enjoy it all.

I know I cannot prevent the things that occurred this past year from happening again, and I know that 2014 is likely to hold its own stresses and challenges to wade through and conquer.  If there's anything I learned from 2013, though, it's that each moment is a gift and I am blessed in more ways than I can count.  This year, I want that understanding to permeate all that I do, and allow me to truly enjoy all I've been given.

I choose JOYFUL . . .

Thank You, God

For baby breaths--hot, humid puffs of air against my neck, born by a slumbering babe snuggled into my chest.
For deep wrinkles in stretched skin, and a scar across my lower abdomen--a visible reminder of the three miracles I carried, and of the great technology and amazing doctors who helped us safely welcome them to this side of my belly button.
For sunshine and the warmth it brings, no matter the ambient temperature.
For an incredible partner, lover, husband, friend; Raleigh, you are my rock and I love you!
For pomegranates and the burst of juicy goodness each aril makes as it pops in my mouth.
For my Daddy, the world's strongest man and the first one I ever loved. He carried me on his shoulders, kissed my cheeks, and taught me how to properly wield a hammer, and now, for the opportunity to watch him dote, carry, kiss, and love on my boys.
For time; each minute I am blessed to draw breath, experience life, and BE.
For free will, forgivness, and the love of a heavenly Father that is deep beyond comprehension.
For the sparkle in the bright blue eyes of an almost two-year old, whose "Mama" can melt my heart even when throwing the biggest of tantrums.
For little piles of potting soil and garden rocks ground into the carpet, greasy handprints on freshly washed window panes, and chunks of half-eaten food stuck to the bottom of my socks--signs that I have active little people underfoot, everyday.
For naptime, whenever I'm blessed to partake.
For our home, a humble (and oftentimes cramped) abode that keeps us warm and dry, that holds our tears and laughter, and in some ways, has symbolically held the heart of our little family steady while chaos swirls wildly.
For my Mom, the always unpredictable/good for a laugh/heart of gold/tell-it-like-it-is force that has taught me to be strong in the face of adversity while loving with all I have.
For health--my own and this year especially, that of my family and those I love.
For healing in all forms.
For the soft touch of my pillow against my face, in a bed that I wish I could spend more time in.
For rainbows.
For letters and cards, handwritten or otherwise--gifts that touch the heart simply because someone took the time to send them.
For my husband's culinary talents and mechanical smarts; I am one lucky lady!
For my youngest born, whose spirit is like fire in more ways than one, and whose heart--both literal and figurative--has already taught so many of us so much.
For the annoying buzz of the alarm, reminding me that despite the early hour, I have an outlet to express my talents in a way that helps others and from which I can earn pay and help support our family.
For the piles and piles and piles of laundry I wash and dry, as we have plenty of clothing to keep us fitted and warm.
(And on that note, for the technology of the washing machine, dryer, and dishwasher!)
For the three-toothed smile of the oldest twin, whose joy is indisputable and deep giggle contagious.
For rain and  the cleansing it brings.
For hot chocolate and snuggles beside the fireplace.
For Wednesdays, the "extra" day each week I get to delight in my children without the distraction of work. 

For the love and support of family and friends, who remind us we are never alone, ever.
For light.
For love.
For everything . . . I am so blessed.