Number 2: Make Up Remover/Face Cleanser

I was what one might call....a dork as a child. I was never popular and that fact never really seemed to bother me. I liked the freedom of my dork-wear, I could get muddy and dirty, chase lizards and frogs until my hearts content all without angering my parents. Any destruction done to my clothes was shrugged off due to the fact that most were free to my parents. I would get hand-me-downs from my cousin and other friends of my mother who had kids my age. One might thing I would be upset by this fact since style and brand names were very important in obtaining social status then, especially at the private school I attended. But no, I usually pitched a fit when my mum would drag me to a store to get new clothes. I was more interested in their book selection than their clothes. Eventually, my mom got the hint and gave up on me having even a halfway decent wardrobe. She would buy me one or two nice outfits for special events or church and other than that I was free to dress how I pleased. Let me tell you, I was a disaster. I could tell you of the mixed patterns, the neon colors, the insane amount of spandex, but really it would do more damage than good to my point. My style apathy only last until high school, much to the relief of my parents I'm sure. Two things happened simultaneously to change me from a mud cover frog catcher to a make up covered boy catcher.

One, I got my first job and even though it was at a pizza place, I knew I needed to take pride in my appearance. Six months into my first job I quit and went to a fast food place, they were paying more and my supervisor at the pizza place was a complete nutter. The fast food place was great though, I loved my bosses was treated well and fairly by my coworkers, and I did my best to be sure I pulled my own weight. Even though it was a fast food place, they had stricter uniform and appearance standards and I had to work harder at look nice while I was there.

Two, I discovered.....boys! All kinds of boys! I loved them all, had more crushes than I could count and was desperate to gain their attention. Which leads me to my point, I worked harder at personal appearance than I ever had my entire life. I learned that people were more friendly and engaging when I looked nice, and I felt better about myself. I finally got to the point where I wouldn't leave my house unless my make up was on and my hair was tamed.

When the twins were still itty bitty things swaddled comfortably in their cribs I followed the rule of "you sleep when the babies sleep". My days blended into one another as I went from feeding and changing to back to sleep. I honestly attribute the pumping of breast milk, and my insane schedule to my rapid weight loss after the twins were born. I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight by three weeks postpartum and twenty pounds below that when they were three months old. Don't worry mums, I gained it back, so you don't have to hate me. But it was during one of those never ending days that I finally caught a glimpse in the mirror. Now, just to give you an idea of my neurosis regarding my looks, I put make up on and did my hair....for my c-section! I knew I would be photographed a million times that day and I wasn't about to look like hell regardless of how silly it was. Of course, in pretty much every picture I looked VERY drugged and sloppy, thanks a lot Versed. Back to my postpartum period, I finally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and, it was like looking at a stranger. An exhausted, worn out, sloppy, ugly stranger. My hair was a rats nest of tangles, I had bags under my eyes and bags under those, my face was pale white, with a mini-breakout going on and badly in need of cleansing and exfoliation. My clothes (which I had been wearing for days) were stained with breast milk or formula, wrinkled and hanging off my shoulders with my ridiculously engorged breasts practically falling out. I looked like I had been to hell and back. Literally.

It took a couple months but eventually I found a routine that allowed me to look my best while still keeping up with other duties. I had to get creative though, very creative. I would put my make up on in the car if my husband was driving and the night before (with morning touch ups) when flying solo. The babies were always dressed cute and usually coordinate (I bet they're glad I'm over that phase). Just when I thought I had mastered looking my best with babies, Zack was born. Zack, my hardest newborn period, and that's saying a lot coming from a mom of multiple multiples. My sweet but giant baby boy. Pictures of me holding him look photo shopped, there's no way that he was that big at that age. But he was, he stayed in the 90-100 percentile range for weight and height ever since he was born. To complicate matters I was never permitted to set him down or hand him off. I bought a baby bjorn and I could finally move around without loosing an arm to baby duty but this permanent pregnancy thing was hard. I had to relearn how to do make up, dress nice, and get to places on time! This caused me to have to further cut corners and increase creativity to do it all.

One day, while running late for the doctors, I discovered that morning touch ups don't really work on two day old make up. The more I tried, the worse I looked. Noticing that the person looking back at me looked like a common tart I realized, I needed to start over. With no time for soap and water I remembered my previous successes with wipes and dug them out of my diaper bag. I was actually pretty impressed with how quickly and easily it removed the make up, even the waterproof mascara (though that took more effort). A few wipes later I was back at square one and quickly reapplying a fresh, and much improved, layer of make up. By the time we reached the doctors there was no trace of my make up fiasco, I looked fresh and ready to take on the day.

That's the thing about looking as good as you can, pride is a powerful drug, it feels nice to feel nice. Don't misunderstand, there's no judgement here, honestly we're judged enough. I am very aware that being a mom is hard whether you have one or twenty. Each mom has to learn to do the best she can with what her situation allows. I also understand that appearances aren't that important to some people. No one could relate to that better than me. I'm simply saying, look whatever way makes you feel good about yourself, that pride can take you a long way. And if you ever find yourself in a rush, realizing that you need to freshen up, grab your wipes and get busy mum, they clean more than bottoms!

Number 1: Cleaning Around the House

  The obvious use for wipes should be a given, they were designed with the intention of helping hard working mums clean their babies bottoms. This job they do quite well, their design and disposability makes them a necessary tool in any mothers arsenal. Try not to pigeon hole these amazing inventions as their uses will no doubt well surpass 101.

  One day after using my last paper towel and still with half a kitchen to clean I let out a sigh and stared at my nemesis. The sponge. I hate sponges, always have, always will. They smell after a short period of time (and please spare me all the great ways to avoid this, I know the tricks, I still hate the things), they store tons of bacteria in their porous surfaces, and they defeat their very purpose of cleaning. The only time they clean without spreading more germs is when they're new, or when they're used with bleach. I looked from the sponge to my sleeping twins and, call me crazy, but the thought of waking them up wasn't all that appealing. They were two months old and finally sleeping more than a couple hours allowing me to finally clean my own kitchen amongst other things. As I shifted focus between the twins and the half cleaned kitchen my eyes passed over the wipe container sitting on the table and I could swear a light shone down from above. Or it was just the dining room light, regardless so began my love affair with the baby wipe. I grabbed the pack and after seeing how effective it was at cleaning the counters (all without soap), I moved to table tops, tv screens, bookshelves, and more. Before I even realized it I had cleaned my apartment from top to bottom and used up two packs of wipes. Later I would discover that two packs was a bit excessive especially considering baby wipes, when used for regular house cleaning, can be rinsed and used again. I also found that the reusable wipes lasted longer than paper towels, and thanks to the texture of them were strong enough to scrub off dried food. I surprised myself with the amount of cleaning I got done that day, actually I overdid it a bit. I remember flopping down on the couch, turning on the TV, and just as my body began to relax hearing a little grunt from one of the twins. It was time to change and feed them, then I'd need to start (or order) dinner, give the babies their bath and put them in their PJ's. My afternoon had ended, it was time to start evening duties. This was my biggest flaw as a new mother, I never allowed for "me time". After trying so hard for so long to get pregnant I just assumed I wouldn't need "me time". In fact, the very thought of it made me feel like a bad mum, good mums don't need a break from their babies. It took Zachary's pregnancy for me to finally allow myself a break, it was more for Zack than for myself at the time but I quickly saw the benefits. I noticed that when I allowed myself some downtime I had more energy to take on the daily tasks that always seemed so overwhelming before. I was happier, had more patience, and yet I still managed to accomplish the same amount of tasks if not more. This was something I needed to learn when I did because when Zack was born, and he taxed my energy levels as much as he did, I had to have downtime.

  As silly as it sounds, I swear baby wipes cut down on my cleaning time. Maybe it was because I didn't need to switch from towel, to sponge, to dust rag, to paper towels. I used the wipes everywhere, even on the windows though I still needed paper towels to dry them. Later I would learn tricks to lowering my carbon footprint without giving up my beloved wipes, in fact since I was no longer using all those harsh chemicals I was probably reducing it even then. I stopped buying wipes by the package and started buying them by the case!

From the Beginning

First, the basics. In February 2005 my twins, Conner and Leah, started our family off with a lot of excitement. My husband and I struggled for a year on fertility treatments trying to get pregnant and after an early miscarriage (our first pregnancy) we finally conceived the twins. My pregnancy was anything but easy right from the start. I had hyperemesis and required Zofran and IV's from 7 weeks on. Around 10 weeks, after having to be stuck more times than I care to recall, my doctor had a PICC line put in. With it's semi permanent self I could now avoid being poked every few days and thanks to a very cool portable pump I was able to leave my gravity IV pole behind and move about more freely and comfortably. When all was said and done I was on IV's my entire pregnancy, had several bouts of preterm labor, and ended up with a home nurse that came once a week. Still, through all that, we had to kick the twins out at 37 weeks 4 days. Conner, my first born by a whole minute, was 5 lbs 2 oz, screaming and perfect. Leah, who had the suite in my uterus, was 6lbs 4oz and while she gave us her obligatory cry she remained calm and curious. Their infancy was anything but easy despite the massive amounts of help I had due mostly to my own admittedly OVER-mothering. It would take 9 months and the discovery of my next pregnancy before I finally chilled out. Granted the progesterone I had to inject, even though it was an unexpected naturally conceived pregnancy, may have contributed to my settling down. Zack's pregnancy was a piece of cake. Sure I had some nausea, needed a little Zofran and some Terbutaline later to quiet down my uterus, but all in all an easy pregnancy. At 37 weeks, August 2006, my body decided it had done it's fair share of the work and I went into labor. Zack was born weighing a whopping 8 lbs 9 oz despite being 3 weeks early. An amazing boy from the beginning he also proved to be quite attached to me.....only me. Any attempts to hand him to others resulted in crying until such time as he was back with mum. When he was almost 3 yrs old we would discover this was probably due to his sensory issues and autism. None the less, challenging he most definitely was! The triplets conception and pregnancy could be made into a TV mini-series but for the sake of brevity I will attempt to shorten it up. On our third cycle of fertility treatments we waited patiently for the day when we could test. One fateful day my husband, a police officer, decided to take an overtime shift at work. He would later be injured in a car accident while at work and so began the roughest year of my life. Since I required daily injections of progesterone that my husband could now no longer do I needed my mom to take over this duty until such time that I could test. The third day my husband was in the hospital I decided to test to help me decide whether to continue my injections. Those who believe that one requires a relaxed state of mind to conceive should really view my case history. Three weeks after my husbands accident I was admitted to the hospital for my hyperemesis and discovering that I was not just pregnant, I was VERY pregnant. Quads, four beautiful flashing heartbeats on an ultrasound screen seemed to blinking out "your life will never be the same". Sadly at 10 weeks we discovered that we had lost baby D, a baby we would later name Hannah even though we never knew what gender our angel baby was. If it was a boy, I'm sure I'm in for an earful when I join him a very long time from now! The triplets pregnancy was very much like the twins, IV's and all. We added hospitalizations to my pregnancy experiences and at 33 weeks 4 days, a stomach flu conspired with my uterus and it was decided, they needed to be born that day in January 2008. Noah was first and weighed in at 4 lbs 8 oz, even though he was intubated for the first day he ended up catching up nicely and was for all intents and purposes quite healthy. Claire, who would have been last if not for Megan pulling her leg away from the doctors, weighed in at a whopping 5 lbs 11 oz. Though she needed a little oxygen with a nasal cannula and loved those A's and B's* she was quite healthy from the start. Megan, weighing in at 4 lbs 9 oz needed no help breathing and showed us from the beginning what a determined little girl she could be. The girls came home at 10 days old, and Noah at 12 days old. NICU graduates, with honors.

And then our family was complete, or so I thought....