The Problem of Two Jesuses Part 3

 Hi, everyone,

 

This is the third of five posts that I’m writing about how having twins has helped me articulate and work through something I’ve struggled with my whole life: how to navigate multiple good things in my life which may at times compete or be mutually exclusive. In the first post, I discussed how seeing and serving Jesus in your child becomes much trickier when there are two of them, especially two who are at (more or less) the same developmental stages. What, I asked, do we do when we are trying to serve or simply be with two Jesuses simultaneously?

 

We just finished up the third week of Advent, the beginning of the Christian calendar and the season in which Christians concentrate on waiting for divinity to enter the world. The third week of Advent is typically centered around joy, so in this post, that’s what I want to emphasize.

 

But before I can do that, I need to focus on two other concepts that don’t seem so joyful: failure and fear. Buckle up!

 

Last week, I discussed two characteristics that having twins has required me to have which I believe are also useful in handling multiple competing goods. This week I’m exploring two more.

 

The third way of being I have considered since having twins is to fail constantly. I teach my students about the importance of failure. I assign readings on it. We spend a day in class discussing how typical schooling settings discourage failure to the detriment of students’ mental health, learning, and creativity. This last year, I added a discussion of this song to the day’s activities. And yet, I don’t typically enjoy failing.

 

Of course, like everyone, I fail in various ways in my daily life. I say things I regret. I run late to meetings. I burn the food I’m cooking. But in taking care of two babies simultaneously, I have really stepped up my failure game. I might be in the middle of giving one baby a bath and the other bursts out crying for any number of reasons. I might be able to identify what the problem is (or maybe not), but I can’t step away from Baby #1 who, for safety reasons, needs me to be with her. So, Baby #2 is going to have to just sit there and scream, simmering in what appears to be her unmitigated fury that I cannot attend to her right then.

 

Or I might be in the middle of dealing with a diaper blowout from one baby when the other decides that is the perfect moment to do a massive, overflowing spit up and a massive, overflowing poop simultaneously. Baby #2 is going to have to sit in her own stinky dampness for a time while I finish up with her sister.

 

In other words, even when I’m succeeding with one baby, I can also be failing with the other. Cool.

 

Those of you who tend toward graciousness and understanding might be thinking, hang on! That’s hardly fair to describe these situations as failure. They are out of your control! True. But first of all, there are plenty of times when things are in my control, and I mess up. So far, they have been relatively small mistakes (e.g., misjudging how long it will take to get ready for an event with two babies and showing up late), and people have been incredibly patient and kind in the wake of them. I know, though, that as the babies get bigger, so too will my mistakes.

 

And second, the main point here is that, for me at least, it is incredibly difficult to feel successful in two realms at the exact same time. And this is where I think about other competing goods in my life. For example, my job requires me to teach, to research, and to serve the university and community in various ways. On a weekly basis, I feel frustrated at how succeeding in one of these areas seems to mean failing, even temporarily, in another. I might finally be caught up with grading, but my inbox is full (or vice versa).

 

Maybe the solution is redefining failure. Maybe it’s about stepping back and seeing the big picture rather than what I’m feeling in the moment (e.g., I am not able to take care of one of the babies the way I’d like to right now, but in general, I am). But for the moment, my impulse is actually not to find a solution. Right now, I’m simply trying to sit in the reality of my own limitations, recognizing that there is something oddly comforting—almost freeing—about not being able to do it all (and, on many occasions, not being able to do much of anything!).

 

The fourth characteristic I am finding I need when caring for two babies is contentment. It will not be a surprise to many of you that I have struggled with FOMO—the fear of missing out—for much of my life. And if I let it, my FOMO could dominate my experience with the twins. As someone who finds children delightful and fascinating, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to miss a single moment of Sophie and Hazel’s first years. Obviously, this wouldn’t be possible even with a single baby, but it’s even less possible with two.

 

Just tonight, for example, I was holding Sophie on the couch as Mike was interacting with Hazel on the other side of the room out of my sight. They were clearly having fun and occasionally, Mike would update me about Hazel’s expressions or gestures. There was a part of me that wanted to get up and be part of that moment, to experience the good that Mike was experiencing. But that would have interrupted the good I was already experiencing—a top-notch Sophie snuggle.

 

Even when I’m looking at the babies side by side, I can’t easily take them both in at once; my gaze and attention oscillates between them. And really, this is true for all of life. Recently, studies have shown that multitasking is not possible and that when we try to do more than one thing at a time, our performance with either task decreases. So, for example, I might be at a larger social gathering and want to be part of two conversations at one time, each interesting and worthwhile—each good. However, when I try to listen in on a nearby conversation while still participating in the one that I appear to be part of, I miss out on both.

 

In recent years, I’ve heard about JOMO, the joy of missing out. Though I liked the idea of JOMO, I must confess that I never really understood it. How can missing something be joyful? And yet, as I spend more time with the babies, I find I’m starting to relax into something approaching joy when I miss certain things. I take Hazel upstairs to change her even as I hear visitors downstairs delighting in Sophie’s antics. And while a mild curiosity about what is going on with Sophie tugs at my attention, I hug Hazel a little tighter and relish those moments I have to focus on her. These babies have taught me that no matter which one of them I’m with at any given moment, it's good. They have taught me that attempting to maximize or combine goods can actually take away from what I already have.

 

I recognize that this will be immensely harder once I go back to work and am missing a lot more of the babies’ great moments throughout the day. But my challenge will be the same then as it is now: find the joy in what I am doing, in what I do get. As corny as it might sound, I need to choose contentment in what I do have over jealousy about what I don’t.

 

If we let it, Advent can be an incredibly focused time. Yes, there are the various fascinating and important characters in the Christmas story—the shepherds, the wise men, Mary, Joseph, the angels, etc.—but all of them circle around Jesus. Even Herod is in the story only because of his concern with Jesus. How can I take the habits of focus this season invites and apply them beyond the nativity story? How do I focus on the Jesus that is right in front of me rather than becoming distracted by the Jesus I am failing to attend to elsewhere or the Jesus who is someone else’s to see and serve in that moment? I don’t know yet, but as always, I’d love to hear any thoughts you have.

 

In my next post, I’ll talk about the final two characteristics having twins has required of me: acceptance and dependence.

 

Until then, I hope you have a joy-filled week!

 

Sarah/Mouse

 

The Problem of Two Jesuses Part 2

Hi, everyone, 

Last week, I started a mini-series during the season of Advent in which I am focusing on a question that has come up for me since our twins were born: What happens if you see the divine in two people at the same time? And the more tricky, related question: What happens when those two people need your limited self at the same time?

 

Each week, I’ll touch on two ways that having twins has helped me explore the broader tensions I experience any time there are multiple goods that compete for my limited time, energy, and resources (e.g., work life vs. family life; community service vs. necessary self care; traveling to visit friends and family vs. traveling to discover a new place; etc.). Specifically, I’ll be thinking through what having twins has taught me about how to be in the face of multiple often-competing good things in my life.   

 

First, having twins has required me to be CREATIVE. There are times when the babies both need something at the same time—to be fed, for example. When Mike or someone else is around and I am feeding just one of them, it is easiest and most effective for me to hold the baby in one arm and the bottle in the other. However, this clearly won’t work when I’m in charge of two bottles for two babies.

 

The last few months have seen me try some rather unorthodox ideas to ensure that the babies eat at the same time (which we want to do to keep them on the same schedule). I almost always put the babies on their mats or in their bouncy seats so I can hold both bottles, but in addition to that pretty obvious solution, I often prop swaddles on their chests in the hope that they will support the bottles. It works only about 75% of the time, but that’s a high enough success rate that it buys me a bit of time to deal with one baby’s fallen bottle before having to switch to the other’s. A few times, I’ve positioned the babies in a way that allows me to use each baby’s body as a support for the other’s bottle. I even tried feeding one baby with my feet and another with my hands.

 

I’m not trying to argue that the fact that I have twins has led me to the height of creativity or anything, but it has required that I innovate to try to accommodate both babies whenever possible.

 

This applies to me trying to meet my own needs/desires as well. When my family was here over Thanksgiving, my mom made what we always request: chocolate pudding, a dessert that combines chocolate cake and sauce topped with vanilla ice cream (think lava cake but 20 times better). Now, the timing of this dessert is crucial. You have to have it straight out of the oven so that the balance of hot and cold is just right. On this occasion, the chocolate pudding was ready right as the babies needed to eat. What to do? Get creative!

 

Sometimes you can have your cake (or your mom’s signature dessert!) and eat it too.

 

Likewise, there are times when I can figure out a creative way to combine different goods in my life that on the surface, might seem to compete. For instance, one way I have managed the tension between my professional life and my social life is by trying to attend conferences which my academic friends will be attending or which take place in locations where other friends live. It then feels like the conference is doing double duty in my life, helping me meet multiple priorities—scholarly pursuits and relationships—simultaneously.   

 

The second characteristic having twins has required of me is to be as FAIR as possible. There may be instances like those mentioned above when I can innovate and come up with a way to help both babies at the same time. But more often than not, that I can’t.

 

The other day, neither baby had slept much during the day, and they were both incredibly grumpy. They wouldn’t fall asleep, and it wasn’t yet time for them to eat. They both quickly worked themselves up into dueling fits of rage. Sometimes I can carry both babies at the same time, but as they get bigger, it is becoming harder, and for a variety of reasons, that wasn’t an option that day. So, what happens in this situation? I just took turns holding each baby, trying to comfort them as best I could. I would hold Sophie and count to 60 while Hazel screamed on their mat. Then, I’d put Sophie down and hold Hazel for 60 seconds. We went back and forth many times as I literally counted down the minutes before Mike got off work and could take one of them. There might have been other solutions I could have tried, but in the moment, this was the most fair thing I could think to do.

 

And I don’t think fairness is always that exact or easy to discern. There are some days when Hazel just needs me more than Sophie does. And vice versa. My job as a parent is to pay attention to my habits over time and to ensure that I don’t consistently give one child more support or affection than the other, though the specific kinds of support and affection each one needs will depend on her developing personalities and interests.

 

In her own way, Sophie tried taking turns between two competing good things a week or two ago. For over a month now, she has been working hard to suck her thumb, and she has recently had some triumph in that area. However, she is also still quite interested in having her pacifier in her mouth, and even as she was relishing her newfound thumb-sucking skill, she was frustrated that it came at the expense of this other experience she enjoys immensely. There were a number of moments when Sophie tried to “do it all” and learned (as I have almost every day of my life) that this is rarely possible. She could have her pacifier or her thumb in her mouth, but not both:

 

 

Every day, Sophie and Hazel are practicing turn-taking not just with what they put in their mouths but with what comes out of them. As the babies become more vocal, they are learning that what you say (expressive language) happens in relation to what you hear (receptive language). They speak and then they pause, listening for a response from Mike or me, or from each other. There is balance between the two goods of expressing oneself and listening to others.

 

Similarly, one of the main ways I have learned to deal with competing goods in my life is to take turns, to seek out as much fairness and balance as I can. This might look like switching back and forth between spending the holidays in OH (it is good to be with Mike’s people) and in WA (it is good to be with my people) [Note: this is a simplification; I’ve written elsewhere about how Mike’s people have become mine and mine have become his]. Or seeking fairness might mean walking to work sometimes (it is good to get exercise and to spend time outside) and driving at other times (it is good to get a bit more sleep before an 8am class). Or it might mean spending some of my free time with friends (it is good for me to connect with those I love) and some of my fair time alone (I am an introvert and it is good for me to have time to recharge).

Whether I am being creative and figuring out a way to enjoy two good things together or trying to split my time and attention fairly between them, the season of Advent leads me to believe that the divine is tangible in our daily lives. And because the divine is infinite, there is no limit to the ways we can experience it. This means that I am constantly having to choose which experiences of the divine to pursue and which others to set aside. Next week, I’ll share two more ways that having twins has helped me navigate competing goods in my life and talk specifically about how Sophie and Hazel have affected my lifelong fear of missing out.

 

Until then, have a good week!

 

Sarah/Mouse