Bono Says...

BT (Before Triplets) Chris Jackson and I used to run together.  We were both getting our Masters and I read somewhere that physical goals helped with academics so I made us run two marathons.  Because I don’t mess around with goal setting.

We would have to get up between 4:15 and 4:45 am so that we returned by 6:45 am.  That gave me just enough time to take a shower, drink two to three cups of coffee, pull my wet hair up into a pony tail, and make the 2 minute commute to school by 7:30 am.   When you set your alarm for the early morning, you need some tough ammunition to prevent the pushing of the snooze button.  Our first strategy involved placing the alarm clock clear across the room by the door to our bedroom.  The second strategy was most effective.  We purchased an alarm clock with a CD player and set U2’s “Beautiful Day,” as our wake up song. 

When Bono greeted us with, “The heart is a bloom, shoots up through the stony ground there's no room, no space to rent in this town, you're out of luck and the reason that you had to care, the traffic is stuck, and you're not moving anywhere…” we somehow managed to crawl out bed, throw on our running clothes, bob our heads and point at one another (sometimes Chris Jackson busted out into a full dance sequence) and make it out the front door.  We usually didn’t speak until we crossed the pedestrian bridge. 

Now when my alarm goes off around 5:15, I crawl out of bed alone.  The only marathon we’re training for together now is the long distance course of parenthood.  I leave Chris Jackson in bed, usually with one of the girls, and sneak into the kitchen.  Even though I complete my Bible study first, it’s still dark when I walk out the door.  I send up a quick prayer before I hit the play button on my ipod.  1) Please allow the girls to sleep peacefully until I return home. 2) Please protect me while I’m out in the dark of morning. 3) Please keep all my post-triplet organs, specifically my bladder and intestines, from falling out of my privates while I run.

The first song on my play list?  “Beautiful Day,” of course.  Bono says, “It’s a beautiful day, don’t let it get away,” and I begin my slow drag (picture an injured dog) of a jog.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the verse:

What you don't have you don't need it now

I have a tendency to manipulate lyrics to fit my own personal wants and needs rather than listening to the artists intention.  In this case, I think Bono is telling me to be thankful for what I have.  Because I think Bono is a guy with deep thoughts.

Sometimes I grumble; I don't run as fast or as far as I used to, I don't get a solid 8 hours of sleep each night, loading triplets into the Jeep makes me sweat, I got a bad hair cut last week. 

But I think I should listen to Bono about this when he sings to me. Everything in my life is a gift and a blessing.  During my Bible study last week I came across the following quote.  I wrote it in my study guide without crediting the source, “With thankfulness comes contentment, a satisfaction with what God has given us and where He has placed us.” 

I want to think about where God has placed me in this crazy, glorious, sometimes confusing world. And I want to feel thankful. 

I'm No Cream Puff

Call me emotional, but I’m no sissy.  I’ve described my fertility struggle.  Let me provide a brief recap:  Shots in the buttocks, hell like hot flashes, tubes and other uncomfortable devices in my privates.  I’ve described the physical journey of carrying triplets.  Let me provide a brief recap:  Internal organs pushed into my ribs, flattened digestive system, insane bladder pressure, bed rest for three months, hip and back pain that would bring Earl Campbell to his knees, and the agony of my insides when The Trifecta decided to fruit basket turnover…in my uterus. Did I mention I breastfed triplets for a year?  Have you seen a breast pump?  Do you know how they work?  

If you’re not yet convinced, I will message you photos of my C-section scar. 

I’ve been writing this post for several weeks now on the pain of parenthood…because it’s not for cream puffs. I’m not talking about the physical stuff I described above.  I’m talking about the stuff that goes on in my heart.

I felt it the first time I got to “see” my girls.  Dr. Brody made an incision through my abdomen and uterus and then carefully removed three babies from my insides.  Immediately, The Trifecta was whisked away from me and taken to the NICU.  I had to wait 6 hours to see them.  Chris wheeled me to the hand washing station and then into Pod 3.  They were doing “great” according to the neonatologist.  I had MUCH to be thankful for.  But they were hooked up to breathing machines.  And they had IV’s in their petite heads.  Their minuscule hands were taped up with different tubes and devices.  And they were SO small.  It took my breath away.  “Please God,” I pleaded, “If they are feeling any pain, take it from them and give it to me.” 

  Hendley

 Elizabeth

 

 Mary Ellis

 

How many times, as a parent, have we said that prayer? 

I learned recently that one of my favorite students of all time (a spunky, brilliant, darling, little girl) was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  After reading the details of her diagnosis from one of her older sisters, (equally as precious) the world stood still for a moment.  My first thoughts went to this insanely wonderful little girl; I will pray for her with all my heart.  And then my thoughts went to her parents.  Two of the most outstanding parents in the world. Because I knew they hurt.

Last week I learned one of my oldest and dearest friends is sending her two year old into surgery next week to remove tumors from her head.  I pray each day for this little girl, but I find myself thinking about the heart of her mother, who I love so much.  Because I know she hurts.

One of my little ones is struggling too.  Nothing like what I have described above, please don’t think I’m even comparing.  She may be on the autism spectrum.   It may be Asperger’s. It may be “sensory defensiveness.”  I truly don’t mind a label, but it’s the behaviors and the inner strife I see her demonstrate that I want to remedy.  Transitions throw her.  She won’t release her favorite lovie from her death grip.  Sometimes she runs away from her teachers.  She doesn’t want to join the group.  She plays alone a lot.  Her distress is bringing me to my knees.  I’m no wimp, I’ll get through this.  I’m researching every possible accommodation, modification, and behavior plan available to man.  I’ve talked with the therapist who diagnosed her.  But right now, it’s hard.  Really hard.  It hurts my heart.  I can’t stop thinking, take it from her, and give it to me.

I was running last week.  While I was running I was pleading with God, asking Him to show me how to help my daughter, questioning why one little girl has to have surgery and the other has to have chemo and lose her hair.  All of a sudden, I pulled a muscle in my right leg and I was forced to walk.  This irritated me because I don’t like to walk.  It’s slow.  It takes me longer to get from my starting point to my destination.  But when my body slowed down, so did my mind.  Then God slapped me with Psalm 139:14, “I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.” It is the verse on The Trifectas’ birth announcement.  They were engraved, Crane announcements.  The same verse hangs in the room of their preschool. 

 

When I first read the word, “fearfully” in this scripture, I wanted to change it.  Yes, I wanted to change the Bible.  Because I didn’t like the idea of the word “fearful” associated with The Trifecta.  So, I looked it up.  The third definition in Webster’s dictionary for the word “fearful” is “full of awe or reverence.” Reverence: A feeling or attitude of deep respect. 

And then I thought and prayed and thought and prayed.  I’m still thinking and I’m still praying and I don’t quite have a logical conclusion to this blog post. But this is what I’m working on today.  It’s not easy for me.  The pain I feel when one of my girls is hurting is so insanely awful that a tough gal like me can’t even find the words to explain how it makes me feel.  (Did I mention I nursed triplets for a year?)  But then God reminds me that He made these little girls.  AND THEY ARE WONDERFUL. And there is a reason He formed them the way that He did.  He didn’t just slap some cells together and call it a day.  And, when He was finished forming my little girls, He loved the results.  And so do I.

He loves all His children.  He will give each of us, as parents, what we need to get through the tough stuff. 

Trifecta & Treehouses

 

Long, long overdue post.  Granny took us to Cheekwood to see the treehouses.  A-MAZING.  I would encourage you to go, but they are no longer there.  Sorry.

 

Hendley Grace

 

Sisters frolicking.

Hendley and her most Favorite Person.

 

Studying light and color.

Trifecta exploring.

 

Heading over to the PIRATE SHIP!

Adventures!

 

Mary Ellis

Trifecta takes control of the ship.

Fish Treehouse!

Made of CD's!

 

Hendley, Elizabeth, Mary Ellis

String House!

 Playing in the Treehouse!

Mary Ellis the Zebra.

 

 

It's A Beautiful Day

 Today was a big, beautiful day! 

I started sweating as soon as I woke up...from sleeping two hours.



Elizabeth, Mary Ellis, and Hendley Grace were ready to rumble!

This weekend Mary Ellis asked Uncle Ben, "Will you please take me to school on Monday?"  Because he is the very best Uncle and brother in the whole world, he came along.  This morning Granny asked Mimi, "Are you nervous?"  Mary Ellis answered, "No because Uncle Ben is here."

  Some mothers get a "silly picture" on the first day.  I get a "sassy picture." I didn't even have to ask.

Uncle Ben, Grandfather, and Granny all came along.  Because they are the best, that's why.

Mommy felt very nervous when we arrived at school. Working puzzles helped me feel less anxious.

 

Elizabeth felt unsure (and cried...and screamed) at first.  I believe she was the only precious gem to have such an adverse reaction to the room.  After a trip to the ladies room she felt better. 

Best. Uncle. Ever. SERI-OUS-LY.

Hendley Grace did not feel afraid. She felt ready. 

One of our loving and wonderful teachers.

 

One of my favorite verses.

Uncle Ben and Grandfather hold Hendley's hands as she skips out of school.

Hendley Grace cannot wait to go back to play with blocks.
 

Libby Lou's favorite part of the day was working with puzzles.

After school we went to City Cafe to have a celebration brunch.  We keep it classy.

Mary Ellis has many tricks up her sleeve.  She really loves her teachers.  She would like Spider Man to be another teacher on Wednesday.

What did Mommy learn today?  I learned that school we be held Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  NOT, Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.  I think that is very important.

Tis The Night Before Preschool

A Crazy Composition by Amy Jackson

Tis the night before preschool and this Mommy can’t sleep,

As I lay here and worry, writhe, and weep.

Three backpacks hang by the front door with care,

In anticipation that frazzled Mommy may leave them dangling there.

The Trifecta is snuggled in their cozy beds,

While visions of center time rave in their heads.
As Mommy lies fretting, Daddy begins to snore,
My triplets are going to preschool, they are babies no more.

My chaotic, anxious brain is filled with preschool clatter,

You are asking yourself, “What is the matter?”
What could go wrong, isn’t preschool a breeze?
Just go on and make this transition with ease!

I have done my best to teach them to share,

I pray that they won’t pull another child’s hair.
When they don’t get their way, will they throw a fit?
What if they scratch, bite and/or hit?

I worry other children may tease them or be unkind,

When their teacher makes a request will they listen and mind?
Preschool today…then college!  What will I do?
Will they pick Texas A&M, Vanderbilt, or MTSU?

And then in a twinkling, I fear they may struggle to learn,

Or steal others toys and not wait for their turn.
I will dress them in Lilly from their heads to their feet,
The clothes they may tarnish from snacks that they eat.

I beg you, Tiny Toes Trifecta, try not to act naughty,

Please, please tell your teachers when you have to go potty.
Do not use obscene language such as “underpants” or “butt,”
If you cannot speak politely, please keep your mouths shut.

Finally, I worry; they’ve stayed routinely with me,

When I leave them in their classroom, it will be tearfully.
You will hear me exclaim, as I walk slowly away,
“HAPPY SCHOOL YEAR TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD DAY!”

Insurrection

My smarty pants friend, Tim Kelly, sent me the following quote by one of my all-time favorites, Mark Twain: Sufficient unto the day is one baby. As long as you are in your right mind don't you ever pray for twins. Twins amount to a permanent riot; and there ain't any real difference between triplets and an insurrection.

Think about that word, “insurrection” for a moment.  What comes to mind?  Revolt?  Rebellion?  Mutiny? Uprising?  Does that sound like a typical day in your household?  Because it certainly is in mine.  My Trifecta has discovered the power of three.  Somehow, they have a deep understanding that if they join forces against me, I have little to no control over them.
 
At this moment I am sitting in The Trifecta’s room during nap time because instead of sleeping soundly for two hours, they now revolt against me with screaming, yelling, jumping from bed to bed, and stealing lovies from one another.  Flashlights bang against their headboards putting Occupy Wall Street drum circles to shame. They know if they decide NOT to nap, there will be NO nap. “I think maybe they are ready to give up nap times, Amy,” a precious friend offered.  To this dear and loving soul I replied, “You are out of your beautiful mind.” I need nap time...really, really, need nap time.

Yesterday, Stevie Nick’s all-time great “Landslide” came on the radio.  “Oh girls!” I exclaimed, “I love this song.  Let’s listen to it before we pop in our number song CD.”  The Trifecta and I hand danced and swayed our heads as I sang along.  It was beautiful.  When the song ended they requested we listen again.  “Sorry sweet girls.  That was the radio.  You can’t replay the radio,” I replied.  A trio of screams, shrieks, and pure fury erupted from behind me.  Someone tried to hit the back of my head with a stuffed animal.  A Sippy cup flew passed me and smashed into the dashboard. At that moment a police car rolled up next to us as we stopped at the red light. Fearing for our safety and my sanity, I reached down into the craziest compartment of my brain.  “GIRLS,” I shouted, “THAT POLICE OFFICER IS HERE TO TAKE YOU TO JAIL!”  Silence.  I had their attention.  “Police officers take people to jail who make bad choices and put others in danger.   Having a tantrum in the car is a bad choice. Do you want him to take you to jail?” 

Several weeks ago, I accidentally invented, “Mean Becky.”  She’s a babysitter in Murfreesboro who I call when all three of the girls won’t get dressed when we are running late and need to leave the house.  “Ok, well, if you won’t get dressed to go to tumble class with me, then I am just going to have to call Mean Becky to stay with you while I’m gone.”  The Trifecta snaps out of the storm of insanity and we’re ready to go in less than five minutes. “Mean Becky” is the grouchiest babysitter in town.  She doesn’t let you play with blocks.  She doesn’t read stories.  She doesn’t exist.

Sometimes, when The Trifecta ignores my requests to exit our vehicle and enter the house, and instead decide they would rather jump around the inside of the car, climb over the seats into the back hatch, and honk the car horn when we are inside the garage, well, sometimes I see gypsies.  “Oh no,” I scream, “I just saw a gypsy!  If we don’t get inside right away she will take us to the gypsy barn and lock us up!” Thirty tiny toes leap out of the car and into the house in world record time.

Foolish? Irrational?  Yes.  Insurrection leads to desperation.

Please believe me when I say that The Trifecta receives actual consequences followed by reasonable discipline 98% (OK, let’s say 95%) of the time.  But there are times when the three of them gang up on me people, and crazy antics are all I have.

To my critics I say, you are right and I am wrong.  You are rational and I have not shaved my legs in three weeks. 

Teach Our Children Well

When it comes to parenting milestones I am admittedly delayed.  We did not leave the house until The Trifecta turned a year old and the pediatrician gave us the “go ahead” to enter the real world.  We did not leave the girls with a babysitter until they turned 3 (even though I had a wonderful nanny/mommy helper in Georgia). Chris and I have never left them overnight.  We’re just total bizarre-os.

I reached a major milestone when I decided it was time to take the girls to the child care center at the gym.  I used to clock in my exercise anywhere from 4:30 to 6:00 am so that I could work out and get home in time for Chris to get to State Farm.  With a zillion words of encouragement from my parents, I decided to give working out during decent day light hours a try.  A darling woman named Emma greeted us at the door.  She reminded me of a storybook character who probably has 20 grandchildren of her own snapping at her heels.  I felt encouraged.

After an abbreviated session I went to pick up The Trifecta.  As soon as we walked out of the child care room they started shouting in unison, “Dat boy hit Hendley on the head with a train!  She cried!  She has a boo-boo!”  I inspected the wound.  A red goose egg protruded from her tiny forehead.  “Are you ok?” I asked.  “I don’t want dat boy to do that never again,” Hendley replied.  I didn’t take a breath. I didn’t count to 10.  I just said the first thing that came into my tiny brain.  “Well,” I began, “If that boy touches you anywhere again I’m going to bash his face in."  The Trifecta looked up at me with six wide, stunned eyes. 

I can understand their surprise at my choice of words.  Following an outbreak of violence at the Jackson home, we have been discussing the importance of “The Golden Rule,” using our “words” to solve problems, and all concepts surrounding “give peace a chance.”  No biting.  No hitting. No scratching.  No hair pulling.  No kicking.  Treat others the way you want to be treated.

“Did you tell Miss Emma?” I asked.  “Yes,” they replied, in harmony. “What did she do?” I questioned.  “She told him not to do dat anymore,” Elizabeth answered.  “And she put him in time out,” Mary Ellis added.  In an effort to fix my parenting blunder I added, “Always tell a teacher if someone hurts you.  Okay?” 

That night we were shocked out of sleep by the sound of exploding fireworks and Mary Ellis’ screams of terror.  We bolted up the stairs and began comforting The Trifecta.  “Daddy, if dose guys don’t stop the fireworks, will you please bash their face in?” Mary Ellis asked Chris.  He looked at me with astonishment.  “Where did she hear that?” Chris wondered out loud.  “Yikes,” I started, “I just don’t know.  The nursery at church?  Sunday school? Do you really want to deal with this right now?  It’s 2:00 in the morning.” 

After comforting the girls and bribing them with cups of milk, Chris and I returned to our room.  I couldn’t sleep.  “It was me.  I told Hendley I was going to bash in the face of the kid who clocked her with the train today.  I wasn’t thinking.  I was so mad.  She’s the most sensitive and peaceful child on the planet.  I meant it, too.  I’ll bash his face in if he does that again.”  Chris gave me a tired pat on the back.  “It’s ok,” he said. 

And so, the next morning my devotional said the following:  As we teach our children, we must continually emphasize the difference between knowing something and applying it to our lives. It is not enough that our kid’s heads get crammed full of Bible knowledge. The instructions from Scripture must be translated into daily life and applied.

Teach our children well.  Put those words into action.  Not, teach our children “bash his face in.” Ouch.  So now during my daily prayers I ask that God will work through me when opportunities arise such as the one I just described above.  How do I translate into action those things I know God tells me to do into daily lessons with my children? 

Maybe I should begin by removing, “bash his face in” from my vocabulary?