Life-y Chaos With a Side of Tooth Fairy

Sunday morning at our house. Babies and big kids on Leo's bed. Who needs a trampoline?

Ellie's been talking about how one of her teeth was "kind of wibbly." (That's wobbly for those of you who don't speak kindergartener.)

Sure enough, Friday night when I got home from work, came the news: Ellie's lost her first tooth!

"Do I look kind of cool when I smile now?" She asked me, ready to pose.

Uh, I think we all know the answer to that question. Does she even have to ask? Beyond cool, my dear.

By the way, wibbly? I thought Ellie might be out of that phase of saying words not quite right, rendering them instantly adorable, but apparently not (I think prime time for this is around age 3 1/2 to four). Just last week I overheard her and Leo discussing owls and how they can see at night:

"Of course they can!" huffed Ellie. "They're octurnal!"

The frigid temperatures blessedly eeked above freezing this weekend. We had a little snow on Friday night, not enough to do much, but enough to puzzle and amuse the babies a bit.

And of course, make snow angels. Ellie can never resist.

Harry appreciated the snow. But once he discovered the muddy water filled-bird bath? Forget it. No competition. The little man knows what's good.

Fearless Babies and Frigid Temperatures

It was so cold here this morning (11 degrees) that I spilled coffee on my coat and it literally froze. The good news is, this frigid cold air appears to be excellent hair weather (it's a dry cold!), so, yay?

This was last week. Before it became January with a capital J.

We had a nice, long weekend. I firmly believe all weekends should be three days long, especially when one baby decides to rise at 9:30 on a Friday night screaming, feverish and pukey. Yes, poor Lucy was awake and miserable most of Friday night and into Saturday.

Of course by 5 a.m. Saturday  morning, she was snoring. Albeit, briefly and on my lap.

By Monday, Lucy had recovered. Strangely enough, no one would let me watch the inauguration (I snuck peeks as I switched the channels during some after breakfast "My Little Pony" most annoying show ever viewing). Leo did take great pleasure in marching around the house and saying "Obama! Not Mitt Romney!" (in case there was any question where his politics lie).

Leo is a Democrat, meanwhile Harry? Is just a really messy eater.

After lunch I had to get everyone out of the house (mostly me). Thankfully it was in the balmy 30s, the frigid temperatures hadn't hit yet so we headed to the park. My phone was being cranky so I don't have any good pictures of that outing. I know I sound like a broken record on this topic but it's just incredible to me how much the twins are changing from week to week. We went to this same playground three weeks ago with the grandparents and the babies were more tentative, fell down more, needed more hand-holding and steadying. On Monday? Harry somehow got his little meatball thighs up and over the "Recommended for age 2 and Up" steps and scaled the spiral slide, headfirst. Lucy followed close behind.

Taking all four of them to the park by myself is...exhilarating. I don't worry about Ellie and Leo is fairly trustworthy, but the babies? They literally toddle off in opposite directions. There's a constant need to weigh who's in more danger? Who's closer to falling off the side of the play structure or getting a little too close to the open gate. Letting them "go rogue" at the park is exhausting, more mentally but physically. But I liken it to going on a good, long run or writing something I'm especially proud of. I feel compelled to do it, kind of dread it, but once I've done it? I'm so glad I did. And seeing their little faces when they're "set free?" The best. And worth all the stress and mental anguish (ha ha).

The back yard (fully fenced) is admittedly, much more relaxing and toddler-friendly then the wide expanse of the park. While Lucy recuperated on Saturday and Sunday, Leo, Ellie, Harry and I had some fun out there (One baby? Easy peasy! Where's the challenge in That?). 

I probably hover more than I should (as much as I can, with two), always certain am I that when someone falls it will be on their head, in the worst possible way. Maybe in some ways, the good thing (one of the many!) about having two babies is you simply can't always be in two places at once, forcing the babies to be a little more independent, self-confident and self-reliant than they might be if there was just one of them. Also it forces mommy to not be such a helicopter.

Even Ellie noticed the twins' progress in beginning to master the intricacies of the dreaded  deck stairs (big! steep!). Ellie observed: "Harry can go up and down the stairs! He's like a teenager!"

Inside, it's warm and cozy. I won't even go into Lucy's new flirtation with "High chair? Who needs a high chair?"


That grin. Clearly, she is not to be trusted.

On Grandma Eleanor's "Joie De Vivre"

My mother taught me many things.

Among them:

1. Try to take a walk every day. The fresh air does your mind and body good.

2. Sometimes the best meals come out of what you happen to have on hand in the cupboard or refrigerator.

3. It's never too late (she remarried at 46 and went to Europe for the first time when she was 47).

4. Life can be short (sometimes, heartbreakingly so). It should be enjoyed, whenever possible.

The last lesson was inadvertent--she probably never realized she would teach me that one. But watching your forty-nine-year old mother take her last breaths has a way of putting things in perspective.

***

For a long time, I denied myself. Subscribed to nonsensical rules like If I don't eat breakfast, then I can eat dinner. During high school I managed to spend an entire summer vacation working in a cookie shop and never once ate a cookie (I was afraid once I started I would never stop). For years, I spent too much time standing sideways, not liking what I saw, squinting angrily at my reflection and adding up numbers in my head, of calories and scale digits. It was exhausting. Who knows why all those years I didn't think I deserved certain things: Breakfast. Chocolate chip cookies. Love.

My mid-twenties were a particularly disastrous time, as they are for so many. I suffered through a series of brief, painful romantic relationships (one so ridiculous it ended via email, on New Year's Eve, to boot--I cringe just thinking about that). My dear mother seemed to make it her pet project to see me through this time. She was particularly concerned about me on the weekends and would start calling me early Saturday morning to make a plan. Did I want to meet at the mall? She would take me to lunch and surely there was something I needed at Meier & Frank.

If we didn't meet during the day and I had no other plans, she'd insist on taking me to dinner. Though it was a little humiliating to be several years out of college and spending Saturday night with my mother, I told myself as long as I didn't run into any of my friends (unlikely at the finer restaurants she and my step father  frequented) it would be OK.

Some days I would hardly eat anything all day, knowing my dinner that evening, with my mom and stepdad would include things like fresh roma tomatoes and buffallo mozzarella; handmade mushroom gnocchi and red wine. Plenty of red wine. And of course, dessert.

One Saturday night dinner in particular stands out in my mind. It was Valentine's Day, and I must have been about twenty-five. Valentine's Day dinner with your mother, how pathetic could a person get, right? But with the help of two glasses of merlot, I was soon laughing about my predicament. "Every pot has a lid," my mother would remind me. "When the time is right, it will happen, Sweetie." And of course, she was right.

That meal--homemade ravioli, if I recall correctly--concluded with something so decadent, so incredibly wonderful and delicious, no one at the table could contain themselves. Chocolate fondue, served with fresh fruit and pound cake. I know. Eating it bordered on what I can only describe, as a religious experience. I'm not sure I've tasted a desert this delicious since and I'm pretty sure I closed my eyes while eating the fondue. It was that good.

It was a meal--a dessert--we would recall for years. Well, a few years, anyway. My mother died about two years after that incredible chocolate fondue. But I still remember that night and that food, and how good it made me feel. Safe. Warm. Happy. And oh so full of joy.

***

The day after my mother's death, my stepfather gave me a letter my mother had written to me. It was dated February, 2000, three months before she died. She wrote it before the big surgery that would determine if her colon cancer was treatable (it was very much not). She wrote the letter in case she never got to see me again.

That letter said many things, and it is something I will always, always cherish (I sometimes think I should put it in a deposit box or something to keep it safe--do they even have those anymore?). But one thing stands out in particular: She said that she delighted upon my "joie de vivre" (French, for "cheerful joyfulness of living), that she took great pleasure in watching me enjoy a good meal or glass of wine. I wouldn't be surprised if she was thinking about that infamous Valentine's Day fondue meal when she wrote the that.

This is funny to me, because I feel like I fought that kind of enjoyment for so long, not feeling myself worthy, or some such adolescent nonsense. But reading that letter, I was so glad my mother had seen it in me, however briefly. And I was certainly not going to waste any time in making sure that I embraced joy (and chocolate fondue) whenever possible.

***

Last month, Erin took Ellie out for a "British tea." It was there that she discovered clotted cream.

Need I say more?

This might be my most favorite picture of Ellie, in the history of pictures. To me, it perfectly depicts Grandma Eleanor's beloved joie de vivre. Cheerful joyfulness, indeed.

Erin showed this picture to a friend whose response was: "She looks like she's been waiting her whole sweet life for this!"

I sure hope Ellie (and the rest of the children) don't waste any time, and that they all enjoy the many sweet things life has to offer, whenever possible.

Their Grandma Eleanor would be so proud.

Planets, Bones, Molars, Costco and the Golden Globe Goes To: The Weekend

I've long been an awards show junky. In my youth, I was known to turn the red carpet show on at 3 p.m. (when you live on the west coast, the Oscar coverage starts early). Pre-celebratory cocktails and hors d'oeuvres would soon follow, though my dress was always casual.

Last night the Golden Globe Awards were on. As you can imagine, my pre-awards show regimen
these days differs just a tad from days gone by. After dinner was made and cleaned up, after lunches for the next day were packed, after four small bodies were bathed and tucked into bed (four bathed on the same night! That feat--not that I did it alone--high five, Erin!) will make me feel accomplished for at least 36 hours)--we collapsed onto living room couches. Leftover Chinese food for me and a cobbled together hamburger for Erin, followed by Diet Pepsi and Bailey's (no, not together). I know, you're jealous. It's OK.

I thought Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were wonderful. My only complaint is there wasn't enough of them. It seemed like last year its was the Ricky Gervais show (snore) whereas this year, Tina and Amy were hardly seen.

I'm not going to talk about the fact that I have set a new record in that I have literally seen none of the movies nominated for best picture.

As we always do, Erin and I had loads of fun making fun of everyone and trash talking fashion. And it's always fun to see celebrities get tipsy and make speeches.

It was around 9:30 that I heard rustling coming from Leo's room. I thought maybe he'd fallen out of bed (I wasn't alarmed since his mattress happens to be three inches from the floor). Minutes later, there was the little man himself.

"Good morning, Mommy," he greeted me. At 9:37 p.m.

I told him it wasn't morning but night time. That it was late and he had to go back to bed. But Leo was in a funny sort of half-awake dream state. He returned to his room for a minute and came back with a pillow and blanket. He made himself a little bed of sorts on the chair across from Erin and me. And proceeded to watch the Golden Globes. I was too tired to stop him. I figured he would probably fall asleep in the chair and, confession: Leo is a lot of fun to stay up with. Like all kids, he's completely different when the spotlight is on him, when he's not competing with the attention of three other little people.

His favorite part was clapping after all the speeches. He was outraged that Erin and I were not doing so.

***


I spent a rare day alone with Harry and Lucy on Saturday. Erin took Leo and Ellie to the American Museum of Natural History and the long awaited planetarium (Leo has literally been talking about going daily, for months). More on that in a minute.

It was nice having time with just the babies. Even with two toddlers, the house felt really, really quiet without the big kids. I forget sometimes, how much they play with the twins, how much they occupy and amuse (and yes, aggravate) them. By afternoon I found myself watching the clock, checking to see how much longer until I had to go pick up the rest of the gang at the train station.

Lucy is in a really, really (did I mention really?) whiny phase right now. She follows me around and just wants me to hold her. She hangs on me. If I'm wearing yoga or pajama pants? Look out. Those suckers are pulled down, so desperate is that girl to get to me. I acquiesce when I can but of course, it's not always possible. I made the mistake of teaching her "uppy" (not sure what I was thinking) and that's her new favorite word. Ellie went through a similar thing around this age. This too shall pass and all of that. It's really not a big thing, it's just very noticeable.

Harry, meanwhile, is Mr. Chill. Except that the pathetic little guy is setting a new record for how long it takes to birth a molar. Poor dude can't fit his little fists far enough into his own mouth to soothe himself. He's woken up screaming inconsolably several times in the last week. Saturday he wouldn't even sit in his high chair and was only content to be spoon fed plain Greek yogurt while he sat in my lap. Rough life.

More on the planetarium: Apparently "Journey to the Stars" was a tad too exciting as they both lasted exactly two minutes before freaking out and demanding to leave due to presumed sensory overload. Ah, well.

Looking at models of planets is fun. And not scary at all.

And you can't beat a good dinosaur bone.

While Erin and the big kids had adventures in the city, the twins and I held court in the suburbs. Costco never disappoints. Six gallons of milk (yes, we are that family) and three vats of blueberries later (Leo is on a blueberry kick) we were on our way (with a few other things too).

And sometimes, just for fun I look at pictures like this

and this

and think:

A) How did I ever leave the house?
B) WOW. It's so much more awesome now.

Jumping Into '13

Oh, Hi there! Well this picture just feels like it was taken fifty million years ago. In reality, it was December 22, thankyouverymuch.

The problem with not blogging (substantially) for a long time is that the longer you don't blog, the more you don't know where to begin when you finally do. Do you just jump right in with present day? Does anyone want to read about Christmas, at this point? (Fair warning: Christmas might sneak in here, at least in pictures.)

I am firmly and unabashedly ensconced in January gloom. Not depressed, it's just the crash after the sugar (and Bailey's, ahem) high. All that anticipation, all that shopping and decorating and flurrying of activity and present opening and family visiting.

Enter, real life.

Don't get me wrong. I love real life! It's just...not The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year anymore. But then again, if it was always the most wonderful time of year, it wouldn't be The Most Wonderful Time of The Year. So.

It's been a busy, full few weeks. For some reason (four kids/two toddlers?) it was definitely the fastest winter break in history.

Waiting for Santa. If only we could use the old "Santa won't come until you're asleep" threat every night. It would make bedtime so much more efficient!

I kicked off the winter "break" (certainly not a vacation and, notice how "break" is in "ironic" quotation marks?) with a full day off to myself. It was heavenly. I did very glamorous things like shop unhurriedly at Costco and Target. I also did some last minute Christmas shopping at the mall and, wow, I forgot how tiring actual shopping (vs. clicking "submit order" is).

I was most proud of the fact that at the very last minute I purchased matching jammies for all four kids for less than $40, total (thank you Children's Place for carrying pajamas in sizes as varying as 2T to 7/8 that match). Yes, Ellie age five and Leo age eight, wear the same size.

In light of Newtown, this Christmas felt different, somehow. Maybe it was survivor's guilt or just general grief for the state of things, of knowing how many grieving parents there were (and are). Somehow getting all the right toys and having all the right "things" just didn't matter. It should always be this way of course, but this year I really felt it.

I think part of the reason winter "break" felt so busy and went by so quickly is that Leo was in camp for four of the days, so there was much shuttling to and from said camp. At first I was concerned, since pick-up and drop-off fell squarely in the middle of babies' nap times (10 a.m. and 3 p.m.). But I weighed that little inconvenience with the fact that Leo LOVES that camp, not to mention, we welcome any chance to give the kids an opportunity to do something different. Then there is the little matter of Leo + Ellie + ten days of non-stop togetherness = Dear god, Nooooo.

Ellie flirting with herself in the bathroom at camp. Did she wait until all five of us were back to the car at camp pick-up one day, with one baby STRAPPED INTO A CAR SEAT before she announced she had to use the restroom? Oh yes she did!

Winter break 2012/13 shall also be known as the week Lucy discovered pens and chairs and became, shall we say, a tad obsessed with being just like the big kids.



Grandma and Grandpa arrived from Oregon two days after Christmas and despite pleas for mercy, 7 a.m. playtime commenced quickly and without apology.

Thankfully, Grandpa is a very good sport.

Over break, Harry also fell in lurve with Leo's train table. To the babies, Leo's room = Mecca.



When we weren't making Grandpa wear funny hats and piling toys on top of him, we did our best to spend plenty of time hanging out in the big city, wining and dining him and my step mom. Cause you know us, we're so fancy like that.

HA HA HA.


Saturday brunch at Morandi. I'll add that Harry (not pictured) spent the entire meal flirting with the waitresses.

Oh Leo. You do adore your Grandpa, don't you? 

Grown-ups only dinner at Balthazar. Oh Yeah.

We spent New Year's Eve day at the Turtleback Zoo, a sweet little children's zoo that is blessedly within walking distance from our house. It was cold, but I have to say I love going there in the winter when the crowds (ha! there were maybe four other families there) are non-existent. The kids had the run of the place. After the zoo we got hot chocolate and donuts across the street, where we met a mom and her ten year old triplets. I told her she was my hero and she cooed over the babies, telling me to "Enjoy them while they are little because it goes by so fast."

Run? Did someone say run? 

It was so nice to have several extra sets of hands at the zoo that allowed the twins to roam mostly free, something they don't get enough of an opportunity to do.

The carousel at the zoo is always a favorite.

New Year's Eve we put the kids down early. Unfortunately Erin had to work so it was just the Grandparents, me and CNN's fiscal cliff coverage (no joke!). I poured myself a big glass of wine (OK, maybe more than one) and stayed up 'till the bitter end to watch the ball drop, all the while thinking it was crazy to do so, knowing Harry would be awake in less than five hours.

Imagine my surprise when everyone slept until 7 a.m. Unheard of in this house, I assure you.

Happy New Year, indeed.