My friends over at Momnesia Podcast asked me to write about a motherhood story I want to remember or one wish I could forget. What to pick, what to pick? Click through to see what I decided on, and then head on over to iTunes, search "Momnesia Podcast," and subscribe to hear great stories from all kinds of mommas!

A time for everything

My last day in the office before what turned out to be 3 months of bed rest was on September 19, 2008. Today, almost exactly 3 years later, I stumbled come across the container into which I stashed some of the objects that surrounded me there, in the little cubicle that I occupied for more than 7 years. That brown box, a time capsule of sorts, contained the few items that I considered worth saving at the time:

1. A photo of me and Ted taken on a trip to Buenos Aires 
2. A couple of Beatles magnets
3. A little box of daily Scripture promises
4. A tiny salt/pepper shaker
5. A bunch of notepads that I made out of paper destined for the trash
6. The 1-gallon pin that I earned for regularly donating blood 
7. A key chain from Peru
8. A never-used sewing kit
9. A bracelet that says "Confía en Dios" (Trust in God), made by a friend in Uruguay
10. A desk decoration bearing the text of Jeremiah 29:11, given to me by my mom when I went to college

As I reviewed the contents of the box, I was struck by what they say about who I was before I became a "quad mom." And then I started comparing that to what my life is like after quads. Some things are the same (I love the Beatles, I avoid sewing), and some things are different (let's just say the 2-gallon donation pin is a long way off). Some things seem nearer (never before have I needed to cling to God's promises the way I do now), and some seem much, much farther away (will Ted and I ever get to travel to South America again?).

Of course, if I were to pack up my "office" now, the box would contain only representations of these four precious souls, to whom I am currently devoting all of my time and energy:

Perhaps one day I will find a way to bring together "Suzy-then" and "Suzy-now." But it's not time for that yet.

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens.

—Ecclesiastes 3:1

Rub a dub dub

From the beginning, I have been kind of a wimp about giving my kids a bath. At first—when they were fresh out of the NICU and I was still giving them sponge baths on the kitchen counter—I was scared because they were so, so tiny. As they got bigger, I dreaded baths because it was just so much work to stand at the sink and wash four squirmy little ones in a row. In fact, I disliked bath time so much that the babies were 4 months old before it even occurred to me to take a picture of them in the tub:

My bathing beauties, 4 months old
(clockwise from bottom left: Jude, Isaac, Lucia, and Dahlia)

By the time the kids were 13 months old, we'd moved the baby bathtub from the kitchen to the bathroom, but I was still too nervous to put my slippery babies directly in the big tub for another couple of months. When I finally got brave enough to bathe them two at a time, I'd scrub the girls, and then Ted and I would each take one to dry/diaper/dress before repeating the process with the boys. That remained our mode of operation for almost a year—until yesterday, when I thought it would be fun to change things up:

(left to right) Isaac, Jude, Dahlia, and Lucia at 26 months

Managing four kids in a tub was a lot easier than I thought it would be—probably because they are well past the stage of slipping and sliding all over the place. And since Lucy and Jude are out of diapers, we could easily get them dried and dressed right there in the bathroom while watching the other two.

We probably won't do this every time (logistically, two at a time is still easier for us to handle), but I am glad that we tried it at least once—from the looks of it, it won't be long before they won't all fit in the same tub anymore!

9/11

There were no moments of silence in our house this morning (impossible with four toddlers), but I still remembered. All day I've remembered. And while I was remembering, I realized that—although I still feel sick to my stomach when I think of what happened 9 years ago today—my memories themselves are fading. So I'm recording what I remember about that day here, mostly for my kids but also for myself. I don't want to forget.

TUESDAY
On September 11, 2001, Ted and I had been married just over a year. He had to be at work much earlier than I did, so by the time I got out of bed that morning, he was already gone. I took a quick shower, and then I turned on the bedroom television to listen to the news while I got ready.

FLIGHT 11
I was fixing my hair in the bathroom when I heard the local anchor announce breaking news. I stepped into the bedroom to look at the footage; the anchor reported that a small plane had accidentally crashed into one of the Twin Towers. Not alarmed, I returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

FLIGHT 175
About a quarter of an hour later, I was in the kitchen, packing my lunch and watching the Today Show. The show's cameras were trained on the smoking tower while Katie Couric and Matt Lauer speculated as to the cause of the crash. Then the unthinkable happened: A jet flew into the other tower as we all watched. I had recently heard of Osama bin Laden, and I knew instantly that he was behind this act of terror. I called my dad, crying, and asked, "How could human beings do this to each other?"

FLIGHT 77
When I calmed down, I got in my car and left for work. The skies were crisp and blue, and I marveled that they could have harbored anything so sinister in New York City. Then I turned on the radio and tuned it to NPR, just in time to hear them report that a plane had flown into the Pentagon. The government was under attack, they said, and authorities feared that another plane was possibly headed toward the Capitol. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. When I got to work, I walked across the parking lot and cowered as a small plane flew low overhead to land at a nearby metropolitan airport. It felt like no one was safe.

FLIGHT 93
At my desk, I tried to check the news sites for more information, but the internet had crashed from so many people wanting to know what was going on. I soon learned that a woman in a nearby office had a television, so I gathered there with a few other people to watch the coverage. When we learned that a plane had gone down over Pennsylvania, a woman in our group said, "There was a hero on that flight." I had no idea what she meant by that at the time, but she was completely right.

GROUND ZERO & THE AFTERMATH
As we watched the shots of the two smoking towers, one suddenly began to cave in. We were stunned—it hadn't occurred to any of us that this was even a possibility. A half-hour later, we watched the other tower crumble to the ground in slow motion. I didn't realize the real horror of it until later, when I found out that the people in the buildings had not been evacuated.

Because I could not concentrate at my desk, I took some work home and spread it out in front of the television. I worked there all day and all evening, glued to the coverage and slowly realizing the magnitude of what had happened that morning. Over the next several days, I could not tear myself away from the television. I needed to see the destruction, to watch the rescue efforts, to hear the survivors' stories, and to learn the names of the people who were missing and of all of the souls who had been lost. I cried and cried and cried, and Ted begged me to stop watching. But I couldn't ...



Every American who was alive on September 11, 2001, has a story to tell about the day our world changed. And if they're anything like me, mere words cannot express the horror and the grief that we felt as we watched the terrible events unfold. May we never forget.

A year at home

One year ago yesterday, Ted and I brought home our 2-week-old quadruplets. Up until then, I hadn't really felt like a parent. During my pregnancy, in fact, I could barely wrap my brain around the fact that there were four human beings inside of me—after all, I knew very little about their personalities (only what their random kicks and stretches could tell me), and I didn't even have a good idea of what they looked like (despite the dozens of ultrasounds I saw!). Even after the babies were born, neonatal nurses took care of them around the clock, so visiting the NICU felt more like going to see a friend's baby than my own.

Bringing home the babies brought home the realities of being a mother. From one day to the next, I entered a season in which nearly every waking moment (and many half-asleep ones) would be devoted to caring for, worrying about, and growing to love each of these four little people. Over the next year, I would put everything else on hold and get to know each child's cry and each child's laugh as only a mother can. And on every one of those 365 days, I would learn something new about the babies, about Ted, about myself, about life.

I still have a lot to learn, and I know that the years ahead hold challenges and joys that I cannot even imagine right now, during the babyhood of my motherhood. But I do know one thing for sure: When I tell my babies that I love them, I mean it more than anything else I've ever said.

I've come a long way, babies, and so have you!

Isaac on Homecoming Day and exactly 1 year later

Lucia on Homecoming Day and exactly 1 year later

Jude on Homecoming Day and exactly 1 year later

Dahlia on Homecoming Day and exactly 1 year later

Ain't no dad like a quad dad

Ted, ever since the day we decided that we were ready to start a family, you've been a great dad. From the beginning, you made sure that I took my vitamins, that I ate the right things, and that I took good care of myself so that our future child would have the best start in life.

Then we found out that we were having four children:

With Dr. C, a few days after finding out about the quads

You were instantly worried about me, worried that I was too small to carry these babies. And you were equally concerned for the babies themselves. As I got bigger, you did everything you could to keep me off my feet—even though sometimes I did not want to listen!

After I went into the hospital, you were there for me every evening and weekend, helping me to do basic things like eat, shower, and stay sane. Without you, I could not have carried these babies for as long as I did!

In the hospital at 29 weeks
(a month before delivery)

You had no previous experience with children, so when the babies came, you were subjected to a crash course in fatherhood. You handled the NICU like a pro. As soon as we were allowed to touch the babies, you learned how to cradle them in your arms:

Holding Lucia for the first time

... how to change a diaper (in an isolette, no less!):

Changing Lucia for the first time

... how to give a bottle to a baby that was still learning to suck:

Feeding Isaac for the first time

... and how to burp a tiny baby that couldn't hold her head up:

Feeding Dahlia for the first time

Then, when it was time for the babies to come home, you were the one who buckled them safely into their car seats:

Getting Jude ready to leave the hospital

In the months since the babies came home, you've grown more and more comfortable as a father of four. The hours are long, but the rewards are great:

Tuckered out and snoozing on the couch
with Jude and Lucy

You now know there's nothing like making your baby smile:

Cuddling with Jude

Or being greeted first thing in the morning by a sweet little face that's so happy to see you:

Saying good morning to Isaac

The babies know you and love you. When you talk, they listen (for now, anyway!):

Tummy time with Jude and Dahlia

And they count on you to teach them new skills:

Demonstrating to the girls how to burp a baby

Showing Isaac what a lawnmower looks like
(so that he can take over lawn duty someday!)

Like any good dad, you occasionally even encourage them to try new foods:

"Trust me, Dahlia, this tastes better than formula!"

Most impressively, you have learned to multitask like nobody's business:

Entertaining Jude while feeding Lucy

Taking a phone message while holding Isaac

Bringing both girls out from their nap

Feeding Isaac and Dahlia at the same time

And after all you do for our family, you amazingly still have enough energy left to get dressed up and take me out on a date once in a while:

Ready to attend Boss Tammy's wedding last month

You truly are a Super Dad. I love you, Ted, and I couldn't do this without you. Happy Father's Day!

Anniversary of an earthquake

A year ago today, Ted and I looked at an ultrasound screen and received the SHOCK of our lives as we saw something that we never expected to see: Four sacs! Words alone cannot describe how, in the minutes and hours that followed, all of our plans, hopes, and dreams for the future flashed before our eyes and then vanished, leaving in their place cautious excitement, a jumble of unknowns, and a long road ahead.

Ted and I spent the rest of that day in a stunned fog, telling only a few family members our news and laughing at their disbelieving reactions. We went to bed thoroughly drained from the wide-ranging emotions of the day, and I slept hard until a vivid nightmare jerked me from my slumber at 4am sharp. Although I have never been a journal-keeper, I felt compelled to get up and record what I had just dreamed. Here's what I wrote:

This morning I woke up from a nightmare. I was in a break room at work, where several women were heating up lunch. We were on the second floor, and I could see the street outside. All of a sudden, the room started shaking violently up and down and side to side. The quake lasted for a long time, and I was shouting out, "Jesus, help us! God, help us!" Outside, the road split open, and I was terrified for Ted and my parents. Then the quake ended, and everything was fine. When I woke up, it occurred to me that this is the first time I've understood the meaning of a dream. I've had an earthquake in my life, and all I can do is cry out to God.

A year later, the earthquake has passed, but the aftershocks continue in every part of our lives. The doctors told us that having and raising quads (even healthy ones like ours turned out to be) would be the hardest thing we'd ever done—physically, financially, emotionally—and they were right. It's impossible to grasp just how difficult it is until you've done it, and no one will ever understand what it's like (except for the other quad moms and dads out there). When the strain starts to get to me, and I feel like life will never feel normal again, it helps to go back and read what I wrote that night. The upheaval is temporary, and everything is going to be okay. In the meantime, all I can do is cry out to God.

The Lord is near to all who call upon Him, to all who call upon Him in truth.
(Psalm 145:18)