Mom 101: 15 Mom Truths We Can All Relate To

  1. If you are taking the kids to a party where food will be free and abundant, plan on them not eating. The minute you get home they will be hungry.
  2. Silence is NOT golden. It’s suspicious. Investigate immediately!
  3. Always assume they can open it, climb it, and find it.
  4. Always check the toilet seat before sitting down.
  5. Always bring a set of clothes for baby AND you.
  6. For every minute of travel away from home you’re going, give yourself 3 minutes of prep. That 10 minute drive to school? It takes half an hour now. And you’ll be late.
  7. Husbands only hear 1/4 of the crying you hear. Embrace it and move on.
  8. If it’s a new shirt, it will get a stain. It doesn’t matter who it belongs to.
  9. Kids will, without fail, get sick or hurt at the worst possible times.
  10. You can expect them to poop 5 minutes after getting a clean diaper.
  11. Always plan on your plans going wrong.
  12. You can pretty much guarantee that after you’ve buckled your kids in and made it 5min down the road, someone will need to use the bathroom.
  13. If you ever need your child to wake up for any reason, simply prepare yourself a nice lunch or pour a hot fresh cup of coffee…or just sit down. They will instantly wake up. They innately want to turn your “me time” into “we time.
  14. If your kids sleep in Monday thru Friday, count it as a guarantee that they’ll be up at 5 on Saturday.
  15. Before those grimy fingers, chubby smiles, dirty diapers, and silly giggles, you had no idea how much love your heart could hold.

I can’t take credit for all of these. Most of these came from the lovely ladies of a Facebook mom group I’m in. Continue reading

7 Things I Didn’t Know About Depression Until I Struggled With it Myself

I felt alone. With a new baby. 4 kids under 6. New town, new church, and I had quit my job.

I thought I could fight it myself. Thought I could overcome it on my own. But I couldn’t.

And so I fought, endlessly, with tears, being defeated time and time again. For 18 months.

I had no clue what depression was. What it could do to me. How it could change my view of myself. But it did.

I remember in college having a friend tell me she suffered from depression and me being completely ignorant.

I used to think she just wanted sympathy attention. I used to think her life wasn’t stressful and she had no reason to be sad.

But depression is much more than sadness.

And until I struggled with it myself, I ashamedly was unsympathetic, and completely ignorant.

You can’t just “pray it away” or read happy Bible verses and expect it to get better. I used to think that when some people became depressed it was because they had grown away from God. That they just needed to spend more time in the Word. That they needed to pray more, or go to church more. That if they would just count their blessings, then they could see that there was no reason for them feeling depressed. But depression doesn’t work that way. Just like a diabetic person won’t just “get better” by praying and reading their Bible, me reading happy scriptures isn’t going to just make me happy.

It is a true illness. It took me 18 months to realize that what I was fighting was an actual sickness. Something that I couldn’t just “get over” on my own. It’s no different than meningitis or strep throat. If you are diagnosed with one of those, then you can bet you will probably go to the doctor, or try to find treatment so your body can heal and recover. Depression is the same. It needs treatment. Treatment can be different for each person fighting it.

Loneliness is real. I was surrounded by people. I lived in a house with 5 others. There were people around me, but I wasn’t present. I didnt tell people. Didn’t talk about it. Kept it bottled inside. I put on a happy face and dealt with my depression inwardly. Alone.

Unworthy became how I looked at myself. Unworthy of my husband, unworthy of my kids, unworthy of my friends, unworthy to have any kind of happiness. A failure. It seemed that everything I tried to do was impossible. Even the little things like reading to my kids or cooking mac n cheese.

You just can’t. No matter how hard you try. You might want to get out of bed before 11am. But you can’t. Might want to cook a good meal. But you can’t. You might want to excerise, to play with your kids, to make friends. But you can’t. But it’s much deeper than a lack of motivation.

It can result from a tragedy and accompany grief, but it doesn’t have to. My depression didn’t come after my miscarriage. It didn’t come after our family lost a loved one. It didn’t come after I gave birth to a sick baby. My depression came during a time of my life that wasn’t stressful or traumatic or empty. But I still felt empty. That may have been one of the hardest things for me. Is deep down knowing that I should feel thankful, but no matter how hard I tried, I only felt empty.

Sometimes your body hurts. This may have just been me. They were probably phantom pains. But they prevented me from living life. They gave me an excuse to stay in bed longer. An excuse to stay home and not meet people.

And there is so much more. The triggers, guilt, shame, and denial. Depression is much bigger than anything I could write.

I overcame. Here I am now 2 years later. I have sat down to write this post countless times over the past 2 years but I just couldn’t.

I’m not sure why now. Why I have the courage now. But I pray deep down that if any of you who have read this and are dealing with depression, that maybe just maybe this post can help you feel less alone.

Maybe it can help you find your own courage to fight back. To find treatment. To talk to a friend.
I pray that any of you who have not experienced this will show grace and love to any friends you know who are fighting this illness. That you will pray for them. Listen to them. And maybe take them a meal or ask if you can help in some way.

Because sometimes those small things are a glimmer of light for someone who is living in darkness.

How my Son’s Scars Taught Me to Love my Stretch Marks

He was standing in line for the diving board with a friend and also a group of boys he just met. They were having a good time doing tricks and having cannonball contests.

I watched as the boy in front of him turned around and said “what’s wrong with your stomach?”

My little boy, Brock, covered his belly and mumbled “I had surgery.”

They did their tricks and got back in line.
“Why did you have surgery?”

Brock’s friend answered this time. “He was born with his intestines outside of his body so he had to have surgery to put them all back in. That’s why he doesn’t have a belly button. But he’s fine now.”

Brock used to beg me to let him wear a swim shirt every time we went swimming.
When he and his friends would play shirts vs skins in basketball or soccer practice, he would always volunteer to be shirts. Even when his friends all wanted to be skins.

His scars used to really bother him. He was very self conscious, and wanted to keep his scars out of sight.

He’s past that now. He accepts and embraces his scars with pride.

Recently I heard a kid as him why he doesn’t have a belly button and Brock actually laughed and started singing the Veggie Tales song “I don’t got a belly button.”

He knows his scars tell a story. His story. His fight. Watching him grow to accepting his scars has encouraged me to do the same.

My scars tell a story.

The stretch marks on my belly are a reminder that my body has held 5 beautiful babies inside of it.

The cellulite and stretch marks on my thighs and butt are a reminder of a time that I struggled with and overcame my sweet tooth/junk food way of coping with post partum depression.

I can look in the mirror and be reminded that my body fed 4 sweet babies.

I’m reminded of the scar from small piece of my heart that went missing when one of my babies was born into Jesus arms instead of mine.

I have a painful, bulging varicose vein on my leg that reminds me of a time when I was 19 and asking my OB about a “bruise” on my leg. It’s been there ever since.

Our scars serve as a reminder. A reminder of where we’ve been. How we’ve grown.

Some scars can’t be seen. Some are so visible they can’t go unnoticed. And sometimes our stories are told through our scars.

Whether scars from illness, or childbearing, an accident, or a weight gain/weight loss cycle, our scars can remind us of how we’ve overcome.

While it is awesome to like the way you look, looking good isn’t the only purpose of our body.

Our bodies are meant to be brave. To be strong. To be selfless. To serve. To overcome.

How can I expect my son to be proud of his scars if I am ashamed of mine?

I refuse to look at my scars as a way that my body is damaged or flawed. My scars show that I am a warrior. And that is something I am thankful for.

Am I A Paralyzed Christian?

We often hear the phrase “be the hands and feet of Jesus.” I’ve heard it at church, I’ve spoken it in devotionals, I have prayed it with my children.

This phrase is often associated with Jesus’ attitude of serving and loving others.

As I said it again this week, I realized something.
I am paralyzed.

I am paralyzed from the neck down. And that breaks my heart.

I don’t use my hands. I don’t use my feet or my body or my heart. I just use my mouth. That’s it. And my fingers occasionally.

We live in a world full of Facebook Christian warriors. Keyboard warriors. Only using our fingers to daily share Christian memes or pictures with verses, or argue in an effort to “serve” God. If you can call it serving.

But how often do we truly live our life’s as the hands and feet of Jesus?

His hands were used to heal, to wash feet, to feed crowds, to calm storms, to build, to give, to serve, and love. To carry a cross.

His hands were pierced and bled as He died. For me.

His feet were used to walk on water, to carry him to the houses of sinners, to walk for miles teaching, serving and loving. To walk a hate filled path, carrying a cross, up a hill.

His feet were pierced and bled as He died. For me.

He died for me, and yet here I am, paralyzed.
Why, out of an entire body, does it seem that I only use my mouth and my words? That instead of daily serving in a way that will truly make a difference, I just use my fingers. From behind a keyboard. That instead of inconvenient serving, it seems that I look at my charity money as being “enough.” Giving money is enough serving so I can move on with my week. Sometimes I use financial donations as an easy way out.

How much more meaningful would it be to bake a widower some cookies and drop by his house for a visit, than it would be to just send him a gift card to the grocery store? How much more meaningful would it be to invite a poor family into our home to share a meal, than it would be to have a pizza delivered to them?

This week I am determined to use what God gave me. He gave me hands to serve, feet to go, and a heart to love.

I will use my hands to prepare a meal for a hungry family, or write just a simple note of encouragement to someone who I know needs it. Use my feet to go visit the sick, the nursing home, or an elderly neighbor. Use my body to babysit for a mom who needs to catch a break, or stop and help someone with a flat tire.

We are called to give more than just our money and our opinions. And I would love for you to join me in genuinely being the hands and feet of Jesus.

Please, leave a comment here or on Facebook with suggestions on ways to serve-big or small!

To my Last Baby

Sweet sweet son, today is your birthday and I am holding on tight. Holding on to the memories, the past present and future. Holding on to you.

When your brothers were younger, life seemed slower, I felt like I was able to catch more moments. But now, sometimes it seems as though life is flying by so fast that I am just spinning. I feel like I am watching life in fast forward, when all I really want is to hit the pause button.

Each time you hit a new milestone I have been filled with excitement for you, but at the back of my mind is a subtle hint of sadness.

You have been my last of all of the firsts. My last baby to take his first step, my last baby to get his first tooth, first busted lip, first word, last to take a first ride on a bike.

You are also the last of all the lasts. My last to breastfeed, last to potty train, last to rock to sleep. And I’m excited to watch you walk through more lasts. My last to go to kindergarten, last to have “muffins with mom,” last to play his last junior high basketball game, last to get your license, last to move away from my home to begin your own. I know you will be great, you will see success and failures, and endure your own loves and your own heartaches.

You are now 3 and I still rock you to sleep. It tugs on my heart to think of the day when 1pm naptime rolls around, and this lap that has rocked you, these arms that have held you, will be empty. Because you won’t need a nap. I don’t know when that last time will happen, but I know that even if my lap is empty, my heart will be full.

When your oldest brother was born, I feel like we stayed home for 4 months. When your twin brothers were born, we stuck around home for the recommended 6-8 weeks. But you, my sweet boy, you were out and about at 5 days old. And your life hasn’t slowed down since.

You entered a world of crazy and busy. A world that already had places filled by 3 other amazing little boys. A world of soccer, and school musicals. Of church camps and vacations. And you fit right in to your spot without complaint. I know it probably hasn’t been easy, but you go with it with grace and excitement. Of course, you do make sure to keep us on our toes. Like the time you dropped our keys down a pipe at a baseball game.

You hold my heart in your chubby little hands. But yet, sometimes I still feel guilty.

I am sorry that some days after I have a long day, it seems that you just get my leftovers.

I’m sorry that I should be a “been there done that,” wise mom, who knows what she is doing, but honestly, most of the time, I don’t. Some days I feel like I have forgotten everything about how to be a mom. Some days I crave that wisdom that I should have, but feel that I am lacking. Please know I am trying with every ounce of my being. And when I fail, thank you for your patience. Your love keeps me going.

I’m sorry if it seems that I couldn’t care less when you eat off the floor, even though I cared when your oldest brother was little. I promise I care. But I’ve learned you will live through ingesting floor crumbs.

I am sorry that a lot of times you get the tired version of me. Sometimes I just feel physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired. Thank you for being willing to just sit, cuddle and do nothing with me. I hope you remember these moments.

I am sorry that your oldest brother has 5 full DVDs from his first 2 months of life. And somehow we seem to have lost our cameras when you were born. I am sorry that I completed baby books, calendars, and scrapbooks for your older brothers. And I think the only pages of your book that is filled out are the pages I did before you were born. I just hope that maybe my cell phone pictures are timestamped- that will be your baby book.

I am sorry that you have gotten the less sympathetic version of me than what your oldest brother got. If he fell, I was quick to scoop him up and cry with him. Sometimes I would even stand close enough that I could catch him before he fell. But you, my tough strong boy, I watch you fall. I let you run to me and I kiss your owies and send you back on your way.
I’m sorry that almost all of your clothes, shoes, toys and books are hand me downs.

I am pretty sure your third word was “poop.” And you love to say it, because it makes your big brothers laugh. And I’m OK with that. I have gotten to witness countless giggle fits from the 4 of you.

I am sorry that sharing is all you have ever known. You share my time, my lap, my arms, my focus, and my energy. Because those things have limits.

But I want you to know something. My love and my heart are limitless. There are no boundaries on the love I can give. You joining our family didn’t make me split my love. My love just grows as our family has grown.

You are my joy. You complete our family in ways I never could have imagined. You have been the perfect addition.

I know that tonight when I tuck you in I will kiss your squishy cheeks and say “I love you baby Beau.” And you will say “I not baby. I Beau.” And you will be right. You are not a baby, but you will always be my last baby.

 

Be sure to find me on Facebook and check out my Children’s Bible reading journal here.

Ladies, if you want change…start with yourselves.

Lots of screaming been going on. Yelling. Fighting. Frustration. Anger. Marching. Rock throwing. Trash burning. Hate.

And it is consuming. It is hard to miss and easy to spot. It’s there. Always there. And us ladies have been behind the majority of it here lately.

You say you want higher pay. Then work for it. Work hard for it. Work so hard that your boss has no excuse not to pay more. Shoot, work hard enough to be the boss yourself. My husband works for a billion dollar company. And guess what?! His boss?? Yeah she is a woman. And she is in charge of thousands of men. How awesome is it that we live in a country where that is even possible!

You say you are pro-life. Well then give. Give your time, your money, give yourself to serving and caring for unwanted children.

You say you want to breastfeed in public. Do it. It’s legal. It is your right. And then just get over it if you get a funny look. Get over it. Not everyone will agree with everything you do. Just get over it and keep doing you.

You say you’re fighting for the women who have been abused. Then be their friend. Feed them, love them, visit with them. Send them a gift. Just cause. Cause they are a person and you care.

You complain about how men treat you. Well then focus on teaching your sons. Teaching their friends. TEACH THEM how to treat women, so that one day that same complaint won’t be said of them. Things aren’t fixed overnight. But you can fix it in the next generation.

You say you want respect. Well then earn it. Earn it. And I don’t mean earning it by parading around in a vagina costume. Earn it by showing love, and patience. By using manners and intellect. Earn respect by giving it. By respecting others first.

You say you want equality. Yet you’re fighting for superiority.

You say “at least American women have rights” as you compare our freedoms to the lack of female freedoms in other countries. Well pray for those women. Pray that one day there will no longer be an “at least.” Pray that one day those women will get to experience even an ounce of the freedoms that we American women so willingly trample over.

You scream “don’t call me a slut.” Well then don’t dress and act like one.

You yell “don’t sexualize and objectify women.” Well then don’t sexualize yourself. Quit begging for attention by showing it all. Quit using your low-cut shirts to try to get free drinks. Quit flirting your way out of tickets (yes, I did this in college. It infuriated my little brother who was with me, because he knew that if he had been driving then he would have gotten the ticket.) Quit turning a blind eye to the porn industry.

Change is possible. It can happen. And it is important that it does.

Just think how humbling it would be for the young women 50 years from now to be thanking us. Thanking us for being respectful, thanking us for teaching our sons- their husbands and fathers- how to treat women, thanking us for not using our bodies for their sex appeal, but for the strength that comes from our hearts. Thanking us for mothering the motherless, loving the un-lovable, and serving the lowly. Thanking us for breaking racial barriers. As women.

Be a generation of women that is worthy of being thanked.

I tell my kids all the time “You can’t control how they act. You can only control how you act. And make sure you’re doing it right. It starts with you.”

Ladies, we can’t just blame men. We are a part of the problem, but we can most definitely also be part of the solution.

I truly believe that we women can change things. We are strong, determined, fearless, and motivated. But change starts with US.

Find me on Facebook and check out my Children’s Bible reading and journal schedule below!

9 Things I Have Learned in 9 Years of Marriage

Marriage is not an ownership, but a partnership. I don’t OWN my husband. I can’t control him. Can’t tell him what to do or order him around. He is not my child. He is a person and I should trust him enough to make responsible choices. We are a team, and we are on the same side.

Finances can bring you together or tear you apart. Finances very well may be the most stressful thing in many marriages. Talk about money. Don’t hide. Don’t scold. Work through it. Don’t belittle each other, but support each other and hold each other accountable. Somehow, God has always provided when our fears start coming in. We lived paycheck to paycheck for a long time. And I remember several times when we had no food and no money in our checking account, and a grocery store gift card would be mailed to us. Or a hospital would send us a reimbursement check for overpaying a bill. Our needs have always been met. I also want to add- it is important to differentiate between wants and needs.

True love overlooks the physical flaws. The smelly feet, pimples, toenail clippings, bathroom smells, bad singing voice, mother nature meltdowns, burnt supper, messy hair and no makeup, cellulite, stretch marks and varicose veins- all of it!  Also- Marriage isn’t like a fairy tale. Or most of the time. Sometimes it is a fantasy and my Pandora is set on a sappy romantic station. But sometimes he frustrates me so much that my theme song is Carrie Underwood “Before He Cheats,“ that I’m singing at the top of my angry lungs.

He needs respect. I need love. Ephesians 5:33 “However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.” Remember your needs, and the needs of the other. Sometimes when I am needing love, I will overly-mushy gushy love my husband. But that’s not necessarily what he needs. He needs my respect.

Be together. Do something together. Pray together. Set goals together. Pick a ministry or charity and work at it together. Find a hobby that is just for fun. Exercise, clean, cook, anything- just work to accomplish something together.

Flirting is still important. Be yourselves and feel free to be goofy around each other. Have fun and make each other laugh. And don’t forget to date.

Don’t put the kids in the complete middle of your world. That’s a lot of pressure for a kid. And it is also good for kids to know that they aren’t the center of the universe. That your spouse is equally as important as they are. One day our kids will be out of our home, and we will have to remember how to just be us.

Communication is everything. A lot of silly fights are the result of lack of communication. If you need something, tell him. If you want to go hang out with your friends, tell her. Talk about money, kids, sex, friends, families, school, work, life. Talk. And even more important- Listen.

Forgiveness is vital. Trust until it’s broken, then put everything you have into rebuilding that trust. You both will say mean things and do dumb things. But it is important to remember that if you expect him to forgive you, then you also need to forgive him. And forgive yourself. Don’t hold grudges or keep count of wrongs. That will do nothing but tear down your trust instead of build it back up.

And number 10- because there are way more than 9!
Keep God at the center. Pray together, worship together, talk to your kids about Jesus. Make God a part of your daily life.

And always
Choose Love

Make sure to share this post and check out my Children’s Bible reading schedule and journal on Amazon! 

A Mother’s Love- not Less, Just Different


It seems that we live in a world of constant comparison. And sometimes when it comes to motherhood, it is easy to get down on ourselves and feel like we don’t do enough, that WE aren’t enough, and that our love isn’t good enough. This world of comparison can also sometimes leave us feeling like we are better, like we parent better, like our love is better.

But I’ve come to realize that sometimes our love is not less or more. It is just different.

Just different.

You may love your child so much that you stand next to them on the monkey bars, ready to catch them if they fall. I may love my child so much that I sit by on the sidelines, ready to comfort them when they do fall. Love that’s not less, just different. 

Your love may be so great that you stay at home with your child, teaching them, nurturing them, serving them, loving them. My love may be so great that I work a paying job and find childcare. Love thats not less, just different. 

I may love my child so much that I will give them my cell phone to play on when we go out to eat. Preserving my patience, enjoying some time outside of the house, having a break from the discipline that comes with having 4 rowdy boys who burp like Buddy the Elf when we are out in public.  You may love your child so much that you say no to their begging to borrow your phone. You want to train them and raise them to have good manners. To spend quality time with family. To carry on a conversation. Love not less, just different.

You may love your baby so much that you breastfeed when it’s hard. That you persevere through the struggle when you’re just ready to quit. I may love my baby so much that I bottle feed because I just don’t produce enough and I want what is best for my baby. Love that’s not less, just different.

You may love your child so much that you use that as motivation to get up for your 5am workouts. I may love my child so much that I have chocolate ice cream and peanut butter at 11pm to try to unwind after a long day. Love that’s not less, just different. 

I may love my child so much that I spank them as a form of discipline. You may love your child so much that you use time-outs for bad behavior. Love that’s not less, just different.

You may love your child so much that you make them pick up every single toy on their bedroom floor. You want to teach them responsibility and cleanliness. I may love my child so much that I let them be messy. I want them to know their room is their space. That home is their safe place. Love not less, just different.

You may love your babies so much that you let them watch hours of TV while crying in your room from the loneliness and stress of being a single mom. Hoping that they will see you as strong and not see your brokenness. I may love my babies so much that I limit them to 30 minutes of TV a day because someone, somewhere, said to limit screen time. I may love so much that I will willingly deplete my energy, patience, and kindness, because limiting TV leaves me to be their source of entertainment, and that is hard. Love that’s not less, just different. 

I may love my child’s passion so much that I save up $3000 to put them in a team sport that will teach them hard work, teamwork, and a never quit attitude. You may love your child so much that you spend just $45 for a 5 week sports season because you want them to know there is more to life than sports and hard work can be learned off the field. Love that’s not less, just different.

You may love your child so much that you escape an abusive marriage because nothing is more important to you than the safety of your children. I may love my kids so much that I stay in a broken marriage because I want to teach them the value of commitment. Love that’s not less, just different.

And there is so much more. Vaccinations, school types, marriage, discipline, friends- choices. We all have choices. But making different choices isn’t a measurement of our love. The love we have for our children is something that can’t be measured. It’s not more or less. It’s just ours. And it can be different.

So next time you see someone mothering differently than you, just remember their love is not less or more.

It’s just different.

Make sure to share this post and then check out my new Children’s Bible reading schedule on Amazon!

 

 

It’s a Twin Thing

Chocolate and twins

Legit #twinmomprobs

You might be an identical twin if:

Your health insurance MIGHT just deny the birth of one of you.

We battled the insurance company and had to prove that we had twins before they would cover the cost of 2 nursery bills.

Your mom has to pull the car over, get you out of your car seat, and check to make sure she is bringing the right twin to a sick visit at the doctor.

How totally embarrassing would it be to show up at the doctor and find out you brought the wrong one.

You master the age old strategy of divide and conquer.

Once I took my boys to the park to feed the ducks when they were about 2. I figured I could handle taking them off their leashes. Yeah. Wrong. First thing they did was split. One went towards the water from the shore. The other headed to the dock and started climbing over. I ran after the one climbing over the dock -that would have been about an 8 ft drop into deep water. About the time I grabbed him, I heard a splash. His twin brother had jumped in the shallow water on the shore. I have had to learn to pick who to run after based off of who is headed to the most danger.

You had to wear toenail polish on your big toes for the first 3 months of your life.

The fear of switching babies at birth is a real fear.

Honesty is sometimes a battle too easy to lose- You know how to pull a successful switch-a-roo

This year at a t-ball game, one of my twins didn’t hear his name called as next batter, but his twin brother heard! Sneaky twin told the coach that he was his brother and walked up to the plate to bat. I was the 3rd base coach and knew the line up, so I caught him. But man. Honesty. Yeah.

We have friends whose boys are geniuses (like literally) and we get tickled and nervous every time we hear the story about one time when they switched, one of them gave the same speech twice and the other took the same math test twice. One of mine has already threatened to switch on his teacher. He’s only in Kindergarten!

I have also caught them cheating on their eye exams! The chart was at the end of the hallway, and one twin stood around the corner close to the chart and would look at each letter and whisper it to his twin taking the eye exam!

Your mom might just accidentally put 2 individual pictures of ONE of you and 0 pictures of the other one on your Christmas cards.

Not going to admit to doing this though 😉

You can really confuse the school picture company.

Recently, my twins had school pictures. I totally did the twin mom thing and dressed them alike, gave them each a check and an order form and then sent them on their way. Both of their checks were deposited. But only one of them brought pictures back. The other one just had a proof sheet order form. Yeah. I am 99% sure that the photo company mistakenly thought “I’ve already done this kid” and skipped over one of them.

Same has happened at church. Last year they were getting pictures taken and their teachers skipped one of them. (I myself was a teacher haaha)

Pinterest may become your moms best friend and your worst enemy.

Ohh the twin picture ideas! I played dress up with my boys all the time for photo ops that I saw on Pinterest. But every one of them was a Pinterest FAIL!

twin pic

You might freak your mom out by talking to each other in your sleep.

I have heard mine talking to each other and laughing simultaneously while they’re asleep. Once they even laughed at the same time while they were sleeping in separate rooms. Creeepyy.

You try to one up each other. All. The. Time.

You are squeezing the shampoo all over the floor? Well I will squeeze out the conditioner AND body wash!

You are super gluing paper to the wall? Well I will super glue my MOUTH!

You are going to climb to the top of the fence? Well I will climb OVER the fence!

You get blamed for your twin’s offenses.

                Self explanatory.

Only one toothbrush in the bathroom? It’s his? Oh well. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

One of my twins is somewhat a germophobe. The other one would brush his teeth with a stranger’s toothbrush if he had to. I regularly have to break up a fight when germophobe kid discovers his twin using his toothbrush.

Twins

Other babies may play in their own poop. We will play in each other’s poop!

Anndd on that note,

Last but not least, my biggest #twinmomprob—

SYNCHRONIZED POOPING.

Like, all the time. Guess similar bodies eating the same meals means that it all runs through about the same time. No biggie as long as there are 2 toilets around. But when there is just 1 toilet. Let me just tell you. The twin fight that commences is nothing short of a battle scene.

I hope you will add your own unique twin things in the comments. and tell me about it on facebook!

Related posts:

kinder-and-mom-anxiety

 

twin-mom-perspective

 

 

 

The cute newborn pictures are found here and here