It's like I'm a Rookie.

Thursday, 10:00 a.m: I get a text from my friend N. She reminds me that I am keeping The Twins tonight while she is in the Temple with her family for several hours. I actually remembered this fact. And that is good news because I am becoming more and more like my mother.

Thursday 5:30 p.m.: Collected 3, 4 and The Twins A and B. Remember Twin A? Diabetes. Now, I do keep her quite regularly. But when I keep her, N is a phone call away. This time? I'm on my own. No cell phones in the Temple. No big deal, I think. I can do this. Twin A can adjust her own insulin. I know how to poke her finger. Piece of cake.

Thursday 6:00 p.m.: I get dinner ready for 3, 4, and Twin B. Twin A is waiting with her tester for the verdict. She really wants a snack. Her blood is out of range. Criminy. Strike One. No big deal, I decide she can have half a snack. We count the carbs, adjust her pump. Super easy, don't know why I'm worried.

Thursday 6:30 p.m.: Test the blood again because all 4 girls are begging to go to the park. It's in range. I'm a genius. I discover that I am out of test strips. That is bad. Strike Two. I know someone in the neighborhood who has some. I round them up while the girls go out to play.
Thursday 7:30ish: The girls have been up and down the street, at the Park, in the Greenbelt, when suddenly 3 comes running in and exclaims: "Twin B is throwing up, I think Twin A is too!" I run out. They ARE throwing up. Strike Three. But it's not all the way my fault because they are recovering from Bronchitis. They are throwing up from too much coughing. Should they be running about on my street with Bronchitis? Probably not. Strike Four.

Thursday 7:50: I test Twin A's Blood. It is low. WAY WAY WAY low. Wait! I know we adjusted it correctly! What the Heck? I hurry and give her some cookies, even as she is protesting that she feels fine. We unhook her insulin. Sheesh. Strike Five and Six. I am positive I just got a new wrinkle.

Thursday 8:00: I have the Twins put on their dresses so I can drive them to the Temple to meet their family. I had grandiose plans of doing their hair really, really cute. But after the puking and the blood sugar scare, there just isn't time. They go with the same slightly sweaty hair they came to my house with. Strike Seven.

Thursday 8:10: This is when I realize that The Husband, who had gone to a job in South Chandler, had driven off with The Twin's car seats. Now if there is ONE thing N insists upon, it is car seats. It's like I'm a walking disaster tonight, honestly. Strike Eight, Nine, and Ten.

Thursday 8:15: I buckle them into 2's car, who is at Girl's Camp and I miss her, and we start off the to the Temple. The entire way I am muttering "Your Mother is going to KILL me." I think I say it about 14 times. Finally, Twin B says, "She's not going to Kill you Aunt MaLeisa, she loves you. You are her best friend, she told me." Even though I know she's lying it cheers me up a little.

Thursday 8:20: I almost run into someone who turns right in front of me, with N's kids in the car. Strike Eleven. Somehow, I keep my mouth shut and say no bad words. Of course, if it were my little girls in the car there would have been bad words. So many bad words. Twin A says, "Man, that guy was an A S S!" She spells it out. I crack up and ask her how she knows that word. She says "My mom says it all the time, but she says the real word. But I know what it means." I decide that takes away about three strikes for me. Put me back to Strike Eight.

Thursday 8:25: I show up at the Temple with the Twins in tow. I plan on sneaking up to the corner and shoving them around to the front steps, where their entire extended family is waiting, because I am in my pajamas and of course that means, you know, no supporting underwear. If you know what I mean. I get to the corner. N spots me, runs over, and has her brother take a PICTURE of us. I'm in my pajamas, with no supporting underwear. At the TEMPLE. And put me back to Strike Twelve.

Dear N:

I will practice on my own kids a little more. I will do some research, read a few parenting books. Maybe then I can baby sit The Twins again. After I practice some more. Because, clearly, my 21 years of parenting experience didn't help me at all tonight. Clearly, I'm a complete rookie.

Love,
MaLeisa