Wishes, Hopes, Blessings: Bring on 2012

Probably no surprise to learn these two are the biggest thing to happen to me this year.

I just tucked Leo and Ellie in and told them I'd "see them next year." Ellie asked me if it was going to be the Best Year Ever. Leo, meanwhile, was ecstatic. He finally gets to switch the month on the calendar over (well, start the new calendar but you know what I mean). He's been insistent the last week or so that it's January and not December. I can only guess that Mrs. L turned the calendar to January before the class left for winter break. In the meantime, Leo and I have actually been arguing about it. That boy is hard-headed.

But I'm a stickler for details and I absolutely do not put a calendar for the new year up before its time. As I mentioned last year, I'm not big on resolutions. I'm more a fan of sweeping quotes that make you feel good and perhaps help you (try) and live your life in a better way (gee, I don't ask for much, do I?). It's hard to top last year's choice for me. It's still one of my all-time favorites and one I turn to when I'm sad or frustrated or when I just need a little encouragement.

I'm doing things a little differently this year.

It's based on an old Irish blessing. It's wishes and hopes and yes, blessings, which I think we can all use a bit more of in these confusing, fragile, wonderful little lives we lead. Yes, it happened to appear in one of the final scenes of the finale of one of my favorite TV shows of all time (I'm sure it didn't hurt that when I first heard it I was about 100 years pregnant and severely hormonal--sobbing doesn't quite cover it).

May the wind be always at your back
And the sunshine warm upon your face
May the rains fall soft upon your field
Until the day we meet again

And the roof that hangs over your head
Find you shelter from the storm
Before the devil knows you're dead
May you be in heaven my friend

May good luck find you at your worst
And back luck lose you at your best
May your days be rich and full of wealth
And your nights be long when you need rest

And the roof that hangs over your head
Find you shelter from the storm
Before the devil knows you're dead
May you be in heaven my friend

And the road may it rise to meet your feet
And be downhill all the way to your door
May the grass below be green and the sky above be blue
May it be so forever more

And the roof that hangs over your head
Find you shelter from the storm
Before the devil knows you're dead
May you be in heaven my friend

Thanks for hanging in there with us this year. I'm excited to see what 2012 has in store for us.

And as I like to say to the kids: "Let's get this party started!"

Life-y Chaos: Morning Edition

I try really hard to be grumpy in the morning and when sleep comes every night in two and three hour increments (I'm still looking at you Harry) it's not difficult.

But then I emerge, bleary eyed and stumbling, out of the bathroom and into our bedroom, and I see this.

And how can I not smile? It's a ridiculous love fest. It's true.


We're going on seven months with these little people. I keep waiting for Leo and Ellie to show signs of frustration or resentment. It hasn't happened. If anything, their loves just grows more fierce for Harry and Lucy, by the day. Leo has a few new nicknames for Lucy: Depending on his mood it's either "Dr. Lou." or "Mr. Lou." Don't ask.

The other morning, when Harry and I were still asleep, Erin set Lucy down next to a still sleeping Ellie (who had crept into our bed in the middle of the night). You know how people say exactly what they are feeling when they're still half asleep (and therefore filterless)? And since Ellie is completely filterless to begin with when she's conscious, then I think we can all believe her when she rolls over, gazes adoringly into Lucy's tiny blue eyes and says: "Mama, I just love the babies."

But really, if anyone has moments of frustration, it's me. Yesterday, after a morning of loading and unloading the dishwasher, trying to fold at least two of the laundry baskets filled with clean clothes, making a bevy of snacks and pressing "play" on the DVD player a few too many times, I kicked Leo and Ellie out into the backyard for some fresh air. Harry and Lucy were asleep at the same time (a rarity during the day, believe me). I took one look at yet another sink full of dishes and the still unfolded laundry and joined the big kids. The chores could wait.

Outside in the back yard, the light was golden and the air was unseasonably warm, as it has been for the last few months. Armed with the baby monitor resting on the patio table, I pushed Ellie on the swings and then the three of us played Frisbee (more like, continuously picked the Frisbee up off the driveway but I definitely got a workout). The sky started to turn a lovely, early winter bluish, pinkish purple as the sun started its descent. Then Ellie announced she had to go to the bathroom and quickly returned with the report that "two babies are crying." Clearly, the monitor had failed us.

It's funny, for a few brief moments, I sort of forgot about the babies. It felt like the "old days," when I could completely focus my attention on Leo and Ellie and not feel a constant nagging feeling that someone was about to cry or fuss or need something or or or. I won't lie. For a moment, I got grumpy. With the babies, a little. Why did they have to go and ruin a good, blue hour Frisbee game? Well, because they're babies. That's what they do.

And then I had what some might call a "duh" moment. Yeah, it's a little hard right now (though it's so much better than it was and it's just going to keep getting better, I believe this) but you know what? That fun I was having outside with my two "big kids?" There will come a time in that too distant future when there will be four fun kids out there playing Frisbee. Or swinging. Or bickering or whatever, but they won't always be crying and needing to nurse or be held or changed. I'm not trying to wish their babyhood away, believe me. I do my best to appreciate the fleeting baby days as I know they are just that, fleeting. But that doesn't make them any less exhausting.

Wherein the Most Relaxing Part of My Week So Far Was the Pediatrician's Office. The Second Trip In One Day. And No I'm Not Kidding

You would think that I, having been Leo's mom for as long as I have, would no longer be capable of being surprised by my boy. But oh, he still shocks me, so often in good and wonderful ways. And I should be ashamed of myself for forgetting this fact.

It might sound strange and unbelievable, but the most relaxing part of today, of the week so far, was the last-minute, late afternoon trip to the pediatrician's office that Leo and I took together.

It all started last night when I sat nursing Harry at Who Knows What Hour and listened to the gravelly wheezes of Lucy in her crib as she slept. Or tried to. Harry didn't sound much better. Their little coughs and rasps have been going on at least a week now and I knew it was time to get them to the doctor. Leo, at seven and a half seems so much sturdier, so I wasn't too worried about his cough. But when the pediatrician pronounced pneumonitis in the twins this morning, I knew it was time to get Leo into the doctor.

Today was one long stream of camp drop-offs and pick-ups and trying to get the babies to sleep and eat "solid" food in between and taking them to the pediatrician. Once I realized Leo should be seen by the doctor too, I told myself that if I had to take all four kids to the doctor by myself at the end of the day (aka Witching Hour) that I might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Crazy Town while I was at it. So I texted our babysitter. Thank the Lord she was available.

Leo was NOT happy that he didn't get to stay with our beloved babysitter but Ellie and the babies did. He was even less celebratory when we pulled into the parking lot of our pediatrician. The poor guy knew. But we rallied. He found his seat in the waiting room and read books. To himself. By himself. Who is this big kid I have, suddenly, who is too cool to be read to?

In the exam room (where we had a lot of quality time, a good hour while we waited to be seen by the doctor), we joked and chatted and Leo drew pictures. He told me about his day at camp, which included a visit to a local arcade/amusement park where he rode a "big slide" and bumper cars. I'd would have paid money to see that. As much as I think siblings are great, Leo (like most kids I'm sure) is just a different creature when he's just one on one. When I can pour all my attention on him, he's just a sweet little gentleman.

But I'm burying the lead, which is that not only did Leo allow the doctor to listen to his heart and lungs without protest, but he also stood stonily still as the doctor examined his throat and, drum roll please, HIS EARS. Longtime readers will not the enormity of this news. When our doctor suggested he'd like Leo to use an inhaler I squirmed. That didn't sound like something he'd go for. But shame on me, because when the doctor pulled out the inhaler and explained it was something that "pilots use" (it looks a little like the mask you'd use on an airplane in the event that oxygen becomes an "issue"), Leo was all for it and huffed and puffed into that little inhaler like he was born to do it.

Our next stop was the local Mom & Pop pharmacy to fill all three prescriptions (yes, three out of four of the kids are on antibiotics. Oh, the awesomeness). Leo befriended the pharmacy manager. Within a few minutes of our arrival, he had Leo sweeping and straightening shelves. Also there were some high-fives and fist bumping.

When it was time to go, the pharmacy manager walked us out to the car into the cold night. I thanked him and he told me "he had fun too" and that we made his day.

You can't really ask for more than that, can you?

Up next: Conquering the Great Haircut Terrors.

Merry & Bright

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! (I just love it when worlds collide.)

From all of us (and there are suddenly A LOT of us!), best wishes for a happy holiday season. May your days be merry and bright.

The Kindness of Strangers and Angels

Gratuitous cute Harry picture having nothing to do with this post.

Three days before Christmas in the post office parking lot, the middle aged man in the yarmulke eyed me with what appeared to be shock. And maybe a touch of horror.

He stood there for a moment, and I wasn't sure what he wanted, but finally: "Can I help you?" he asked.

At first I thought he was judging me, critical of the fact that I left the ridiculous double stroller a few feet away (with the babies in it) on the curb in front of the car while I unstrapped Ellie from her car seat. But it turned out it wasn't judgement at all. It was just the usual shock and awe at the circus act that is us.

It was a welcome switch-up from the always original "Well you have your hands full!"
And as much as I appreciate the ever-popular "God bless you" (another common phrase our brood elicits), that one doesn't get packages mailed either.

"Oh, we're OK, I'm..." I paused. What the hell was I saying? This man was being kind. I had three good-sized boxes to get from the car to the post office, one well-meaning but often ineffectual four-year-old and oh, those babies. And that stroller.

"You know what? You can carry my boxes," I said.

Let me pause to say I'm a very independent person. Sometimes, to a fault. I'm the Queen of "I Got This." I don't think it's any coincidence that one of Leo's new favorite phrases is "I'm fine." I must say it a lot.

Well guess what? In the last few months I've learned a very important lesson. Take help where you can get it. Because you know what? These days? I don't always got this.


In other news, we have a roller!

Last night I left the room for a moment with Lucy on her back on her little play mat and returned to find her on her belly. I was a little disappointed that I missed her First Roll. So I left the room again. And when I returned, she'd rolled over again! And I missed it again! Now, she's what I like to refer to as a "Rolling Fool." Girl can't stay in one position for longer than a few minutes, she rolls any chance she can.

Today Ellie asked me if angels are real and if we can see them. Then she asked me if God makes the weather. Seriously I did not know this parenting gig was going to involve such profound questions, so early on. It feels like such a huge responsibility to have these little people who basically believe everything I say. (For the record I told her angels are real but you don't know who they are when you meet/see them, that they don't have wings or halos). And then I got a little teary.

Speaking of angels, I'll just never get tired of taking pictures of this.

Change of Plans

Oh Leo. That boy just slays me. I go on and on about his speech and how worried I am about his intelligibility but he I have to say, he is doing great. We're suddenly having these conversations. And he's cracking jokes. And I'm having these little visions of what he's going to be like as a young adult.

This boy drives me crazy sometimes but he happens to be one of the most interesting, creative people I know. See above. Note the snowmen on the slide. He's wild about those snowmen, which I bought pre-kids--I know, I know, They're Hallmark: Don't Judge-- (and little did I know I'd someday have a little boy who loved singing Christmas toys year-round). He likes to "place" them where he's playing. Before I snapped this shot, the snowmen were on the patio table across from him. So the snowmen could see Leo? So he could see them? Who knows. Sometimes I find the snowmen sitting next to him on the couch when he's drawing, or facing him when he's playing Legos on the living room rug.

And I've decided a couple of things about Leo. Sure he takes a little longer to do certain things. To wit: This morning I sent him to the pantry to get more paper towels and he he took so long I'm pretty sure I could have gone to the store and bought more paper towels. No, he's not your "typical" seven and a half year old. But he is smart. Wise. Incredibly sensitive. The only thing "wrong" with him? He is the most stubborn person I have ever met. Once he makes a decision about something, look out. It's a long, sometimes painful (maddening, infuriating) road to convince him otherwise (it could be anything from wanting cheese crackers when there are none to refusing to get on the school bus in the morning).

Interestingly enough, the recent school evaluation (conducted every three years to determine proper placement/eligibility) we've been waiting for had a similar finding (except for the maddening, infuriatingly stubborn part). Leo's reading close to grade level. His receptive language is that of an eleven-year-old. And we're in an interesting little predicament now because for the past two and a half years, Leo has spent the bulk of his day in a self-contained classroom for "mildly cognitively delayed."

And now? Seems he's not technically cognitively delayed. Perhaps learning disabled or language delayed (I'd argue he has articulation issues vs. delays but whatever). The point is, Leo's "team" (teacher, therapists, school psychologist) are faced with something they say they've never really seen before. And they are working to create a new program for Leo. It's looking like it will probably be a combo of a typical classroom, some time in his present ("cognitive delayed") class and some time in the "language and learning delays" room.

And for the first time in the history of meetings with Leo's team, when I uttered the words "full inclusion," I was met with smiles and nods, rather than shrugs and "we'll have to see how it goes."

Things are about to get even more interesting.

Holiday Kickoff, an Absence of Melancholy and a Dose of Normalcy

Today was a big day. Ellie had her school holiday concert and party and then it was off to Leo's annual holiday ("Dress to Impress") luncheon.

I emailed this photo to my dad early this morning and his reaction was: "You grabbed your daughter's soul for all the world to see." It's true. This is Ellie.

The best thing about today? I felt somewhat normal. I hope the babies don't take offense to the fact that my feeling "normal" seems to coincide with having a baby sitter for much of the day (they did not accompany me to Leo's luncheon nor my afternoon of blissful, baby/kid-free shopping).

Sure, I had the babies with me for Ellie's concert but that was fine because a preschool concert is not exactly a pristine and silent environment (i.e. it was not a big deal when Harry fussed). I happened to sit behind another set of twins (ten weeks, OY. Cute and tiny but MAN am I glad those early days are behind us) and I felt positively veteran-like. But this was the first kid concert I've attended where I haven't gotten teary. I used to be such a sap. Am I too tired to get emotional over the passing of time? Have the babies and their tireless demands steeled me against melancholy (this might not be a terrible thing)? I do feel, much of the time, that I'm simply on auto-pilot, there is just so.much.to.do.no.time.to.think. Am I just too busy to get choked up? I don't know. But I noticed it.

To say that Ellie was excited about her concert would be putting it mildly. She's been singing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "Eight Little Candles" for two weeks straight. Every morning she asks if today is her concert and when I told her last night before bed that tomorrow was her concert? Well. She pretty much exploded.

And there she was this morning, bounding down the stairs, Christmas plaid taffeta and velvet dress (with matching leggings thanks Grandma Jerry) in hand. She dressed herself quietly and seriously and proceeded to prance around the room singing to herself ("Practicing," she explained, since "Today is my concert day and it's also my lucky day. Did you know your concert day is your lucky day?")

I did not.

Later Ellie asked me if she had another concert tomorrow. When I told her no, her face fell.

Shouldn't every day include a stage? Ellie seems to think so.

Leo's luncheon was delightful, just as it was last year (I enjoyed it much more this year since I wasn't overcome with morning sickness induced nausea and smell aversions--last year it was all I could do to feign interest in my stuffed shells and not run screaming from the "scents" of the elementary school cafeteria). I didn't get any good pictures this year but that's ok, since Leo wasn't feeling very well (bad cold). It was nice to just sit with him and be there for Just Him, something I really never get to do these days.

"Life-y Chaos"

Life-y Chaos. That's what my dad coined our house following a recent stay with the six of us. He has a point. It's definitely life-y here and oh yes, the chaos. I'd like to think that it's slightly organized, but chaos? l'll give him that.

Six Months Later and Lucy is Still Trying to Eat Harry

Some things never change.

Harry and Lucy, two weeks old. (photo by Stephanie Willson)

Lucy and Harry, waiting for the doctor at their six month check-up yesterday. Note Lucy, moving in for the lick.

At yesterday's check-up they weighed in at 15.9 and 16.9 (Harry's the bruiser) so they've both more than doubled their birth weights. They're both 24 inches long, have the same head measurement (though I can't recall it) and interestingly enough, had the same temperature (97.6). Twins indeed. They're still wee but growing beautifully.

They've started "real" food. Sweet potatoes and peas.



Met with more enthusiasm by Lucy than Harry (not that you can tell by these pictures).

Lucy tried out a "real" swing at the playground.

(not pictured, Ellie, positively overcome with glee and wondering "When will Lucy get to play with me on the playground?")

They've gone for a spin in their new "big kid" stroller.

I'd say it was a hit.

They're still more likely to be seen in the giant ridiculous stroller. And as you can see here, they are positively miserable little babies with absolutely nothing to be happy about.

Yeah right.

This Post Brought To You By Grandparents

(minus one grandchild, Leo was at school.)

Still alive. Still here. Busy. What else is new?

I did not mean to take such a hiatus here.

Grandparents visited from Oregon. Wonderful to have so many arms to hold so many babies. And children. A 4:4 ratio is positively humane and reasonable don't you think?

In other news, I asked Leo what he wants for Christmas/Hanukkah and he answered "Lucy and Harry." So at least my shopping for him will prove to be pretty easy.

Promise to update with more soon.