It Gets Better: Bounce House, ENT and Primal Screaming Edition

A few rainy weekends ago, Leo and Ellie were blessedly invited to a birthday party at one of those bounce places. I'm not kidding when I say I was GRATEFUL for that party. At 3:47 p.m., after three hours of "STOP IT LEO" and "GET OUTTA MY ROOM ELLIE!" and the ensuing tears and shoves, I was positively ecstatic to drive thirty minutes in a downpour so they could jump and bounce and slide and get out of the house and out of my hair. The twins stayed home with Erin and I got to drink Diet Coke and chat with some old friends from Leo's preschool days (and yes, big kid birthday parties qualify as "Me Time" these days).

Ellie and Leo prepare to mount the "velcro wall."

After about an hour and fifteen minutes, the children (a mixture of nine and ten year olds with Down syndrome and their typical siblings) were unequivocally All Bounced Out. Parents and children filed into the party room across the hall where cheese pizza slices were impeccably arranged on "Despicable Me" plates. All twenty little pink faced people gratefully sipped pink lemonade out of Minion adorned cups while music from various Disney movies played from some far away iPod. When "Let it Go" came on, Leo had to stand up and step away from his pizza to belt out the lyrics (complete with hand gestures). No one batted an eye or even seemed to notice.

As I sat and watched this group of children, most of whom I've known since Leo was three years old (!) it hit me. I remember attending this particular birthday boy's parties back when I had to cut Leo's pizza into bite sized pieces. When I had to watch him every single second and find all the exits as soon as we arrived, to make sure he didn't find one. When I had Ellie, a squirmy toddler in tow and I dreaded attending birthday parties with the two of them because it was so hard to keep track of Leo and Ellie at the same time. And what if I had to change a dirty diaper? That would mean trying to pry a transition-challenged Leo from doing something he loved. In other words? Nightmare.

To say nothing of his escapist tendencies at that age. All those tunnels and nooks and crannies used to practically give me angina. He was a runner. And a hider. And it was the opposite of fun (for me, at least).

But at this recent bounce party I found myself lost in conversation several times. Every once in a while I would look up and think--Huh. I guess I should check on Leo. And Ellie. And I did. And they were fine. But I didn't have heart palpitations when I couldn't spot Leo immediately and I didn't have to tear pizza into bite sized pieces and I didn't have to chase a toddler down a hall. Not even once.



A few weeks after the party, I took Leo to his annual appointment with the ENT (ear, nose and throat doctor). He got a clean bill of health and it turns out he doesn't need his allergy medication anymore. Leo was a little wary at first and none too thrilled with the exam (who likes having little instruments stuck in their ears?), but he cooperated just fine, didn't cry or kick me (or the doctor-hey, it's happened!) in the shins or the stomach. There were a tense few seconds when I didn't think he'd sit for the hearing test (why oh why don't they employ more kid-friendly audiologists I will NEVER UNDERSTAND) but we rallied and he did it and we can check off that little box (and by the way, Leo's hearing is just fine).

Speaking of angina, I practically have PTSD from all those years of traumatic ENT appointments. The second I'm in that waiting room it all comes crashing back. The flailing. The tears. But the fact that Leo now cooperates and I don't have to chase him around the waiting room or drag him kicking and screaming from the play area to the exam room or hold him down while he wails and stiffens and punches? I will never not be grateful that it is So Much Better. Now.



There are a multitude of things that are helpful and remarkable about having a multitude of children, one of which being that as they get older, they give you (even more dramatically than one or two might, I think) the gift of perspective. As a parent, when things are hard, it's so easy to feel stuck and frustrated, to think, It's ALWAYS Going To Be This Way. I absolutely love the ages Leo and Ellie are right now. It feels kind of perfect. Aside from the fact that the two of them fight with each other quite a bit (talk about typical behavior--I should be relieved, right?), they are genuinely fun to be with. We have interesting conversations. We laugh. I'm never worried one of them is going to take off in public and if I can't see one of them as they round the corner of an aisle at the store, I don't get that sick, poison-in-my-veins feeling that I used to get when I lost sight of Leo, or that I get now when Lucy wanders off from me at checkout line at Target when I'm momentarily distracted trying to activate my "Cartwheel" app (Ugh and true story).

Speaking of Lucy, I've written here about our, shall we say, challenges with her, of late. Or perhaps I should say they are my challenges with her. At any rate, her latest is trick is screaming when she doesn't get what she wants. Sounds simple, right?

Well, it's not. Because I mean, S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G. I know this is something that almost-three-year olds do. I've just never had an almost three year old that's done it.

When Lucy doesn't get what she wants (not every time, but often enough) she digs deep into her tiny body and, like a cornered animal, out comes something from, well, another world. Harry reacts by covering one ear, turning his head and whimpering. Leo covers both ears and sometimes screams back (yeah, that's fun). Ellie raises her shoulders to her ears and says, "Oh Lucy." I...do the best I can, but admittedly have been known to react less gracefully than I could.



Not allowed to wash her hands at the kitchen sink (which isn't as simple as it sounds--it involves moving the rug in front of the sink, scraping the kitchen chair across the room)? SCREAM!!! Denied chocolate animal cookies at 6:45 a.m.? SCREAM!!! Asked pleasantly to Please put her shoes on so we can go pick Ellie up from school? SCREAM!!!

But. I know from seeing it over and over again in Leo and Ellie that this too shall pass (which remains one of my favorite parenting tips). As quickly as Lucy discovered this talent is as quickly as it will disappear (though perhaps not as swiftly as we'd all like it to).

And I just know that Lucy and I have an endless number of carefree bounce house parties in our future.

No Glasses and Non-Stop Lucy

Oh it's been the usual flurry of activity around here.


First Scrabble game with my daughter. I have dreamed about this day.

Did I tell you we got a composter?

We got a composter. I am a crazy composter now. Did you know you can compost match sticks? Human hair? String? Well now you do. It feeds the crazy animal in me that hates wasting anything. I swear in my former life I must have been a child of the depression (right now Erin is reading this and thinking about the fact that I have been known to save and freeze a single strawberry--for smoothies).

The big kids and I enjoyed a rare outing of just the three of us last week, as we concluded spring break (which must be the biggest misnomer in the history of ever). We explored a new playground and can I just say that taking two big kids to the park is my new version of a spa day? So relaxing (comparatively speaking).

I also got a sitter this week so I could take Leo to the opthomologist (no glasses needed--I'm a little surprised but relieved). Leo, on the other hand was bummed, and so disappointed he actually followed the doctor into his office asking, "Where are my glasses?" (Peter Parker wears glasses, you know). In spite of the crushing news that he did not need his vision corrected, Leo was his usual amazing self at the doctor (not even fussing when his eyes were dilated). When I returned home one baby was napping peacefully (cough, cough, Harry).

One, was not.

Why nap when you can eat Mommy's takeout lunch treat (thank you, Chipotle gift card). And she didn't even know she liked guacamole.

Lucy. Oh, Lucy. At some point you will read this and please know that I say this with all the love in my heart that when I put my head on my pillow at night, it's the not the waves I hear crashing (like after a day spent at the ocean)--it's the sound of your voice. The screeching, the squealing, the whining, and of course, yes, the laughter. It's you, with your unabashed loquaciousness, your 110 miles an hour way of being, it's your has-to-do-things-your-way-OR ELSE. It is your Force of Nature self, (yes, in all of its cliche glory, it fits you to a Capital T.)

But of course there is the flip side.

I was SHOCKED that she sat for a full dental cleaning last week.

She can also be incredibly agreeable and helpful. She looooves to help. "You got it!" is her response to almost every chore type of request (she loves to retrieve the broom from the mudroom, for example, or clear her dishes from the table). Recently I asked Ellie to get me the iPad from upstairs and a few minutes later, down padded Lucy, "Here you go Mommy!" she said, her face, beaming with pride. There was Ellie, a few feet away looking sheepish: "Well, she's very responsible!" she offered.

The hours between 6pm-6:30pm continue to be the most trying (dinner is over, babies are winding down by winding up, or so it seems).

Good thing I employ one of the best toddler yoga teachers around.

Bedtime does of course eventually come. Listening to Harry and Lucy chat in their cribs, as Lucy asks Harry "How old are you going to be on your birthday, Harry?" (We've been practicing this question with them for the upcoming big day). He replies, "Fwee!" And then she counts, "One, three, seben, nine, eleven, TWENTY!" 

And just like that, all the screeching and whining falls away. 

 

As It Should Be

It's so rare that I get time with just the babies. When the big kids are at school, I'm at work.

And then I come home and it's instantly four against one. The "Mommy! Show" begins: as in "Mommy can I have cheese crackers? Mommy will you play ball with me? Mommy will you draw fairies me?" And that's just from the two out of four who can speak in complete sentences.

When it's big kids + babies, much of my time is spent doing damage control. Lucy and Harry have officially entered the stage of wanting to do exactly what their big brother and sister do (Newsflash Lucy: You are not, I repeat NOT ready to climb the ladder (see above) to the outdoor playhouse, sheesh).

These babies and their love of chair standing will be the end of me, I'm telling you.

And when I'm not trying to keep Harry from standing on Leo's train table (no, Leo doesn't stand on that table but Harry, well, let's say he really gets into playing trains), then I'm monitoring Lucy as she caps and uncaps everysinglepen in the marker bin, all while balancing on a chair at the kitchen table (next to her big sister Ellie, the master fairy artist/princess colorer).

Then there's the ever important detail of making sure the comforter-on-Leo's bed-turned-parachute-game doesn't dissolve into something requiring a visit to the ER.

I like to think (I hope!) that every one's needs are met at more than just the minimum. But I will be honest. Sometimes the din of constant demands becomes too much. I just want to stop. I am the proverbial only child that wants quiet and order and our house is...neither quiet nor terribly orderly (I try my darnedest though, I do!).

"I don't feel like I've been able to get to know these babies the way I got to know Leo and Ellie by this age," I wrote in an email to a friend (also a mom to twins) when the babies were about ten months old. I had just returned to work after an extended maternity leave and was feeling completely out of sorts. "Sometimes I look at them and I still can't believe they're here! And that there are TWO of them! Do you think it's because there are two of them or because they're the third and fourth and there's just so much going on?"

My friend replied that it was probably a combination of things but probably more a virtue of the fact that I now I had four children. Over time, she thought, I'd feel "closer" to the babies, especially as their little personalities began to emerge.

Fortunately, my friend was right. And those little personalities? Have become big ones.

Lucy adores her big brother and sister, walks from room to room looking for them when they're at school. "Hi! Hi Leo! Hi! Hi! Hi Ellie," she chirps and waves, when her older siblings emerge from the basement playroom. Harry meanwhile, pounds on Leo's door whenever it's closed, so desperate is he to play with not just the train table, but his big brother (he is, after all, the one with all the cool action figures).


Earlier this week our nanny was sick. With a quick 6:45 a.m. phone call from her, my day shifted gears. There would be no commute into the city, no need for the skirt and sweater I'd set out the night before. I would stay home. With just the babies.

First Leo left, then we dropped Ellie at school. And for a few hours, there was relative quiet. (Well, as quiet as things can be with twin toddlers).

Of course Lucy spent much of her day going from room to room and calling, "Ellie? Leo?"

As I folded laundry, she stood by me and named each item of clothing by who it belonged to. "Ellie!" she cheered, when she saw Ellie's well-worn light blue kitty cat nightgown. "Leo!" she announced confidently, at the sight of Leo's beloved Angry Birds t-shirt.


I will give these babies toddlers baths in the sink for as long as I am able (we save actual bath tub baths for the weekends when we have time to throw the whole lot of 'em in the tub).

Like clockwork: sweet potatoes at lunch = post lunch bath.

Harry is now moonlighting as an eyelash model. Inquire within.

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the days at home go by. Breakfast, morning nap, play, lunch, play, laundry, and before I knew it, it was time to get Ellie at her dance class. At 4:00 I zipped and buttoned babies into fleece and coats and into the stroller.

In the blinding, late afternoon sun, we waited for Leo's bus to chug down the street. When he hopped off, we made our way down the avenue, toward Ellie's school. It was a perfectly cold wintry spring day, with the final vestiges of last Friday's little snow storm still piled up high enough that I had to push the stroller on the street in some places.

When we reached the school, Ellie, expecting our nanny, screamed happily (as only five year old girls can) when she saw us.

And just like that, two became four, once again.

As it should be.

Weekend Update

For some reason, this was the first weekend in recent memory that I haven't collapsed into bed on Sunday night and felt like I had been hit by a truck. A truck driven by four, small people.

I  laughed a lot. I mean, we always laugh a lot in our house. How could we not? But this weekend I seemed to more than usual. Was it Ellie's calls of: "Last one upstairs gets a rotten egg?" or was it Lucy, padding around the house and singing (in quite a good tune, I might add) Barney's "I Love You" song? Over. And over. And over.

Anyway I am not questioning the laughter. Laughter is good, since I also spent an inordinate amount of time keeping these people (the smaller two, obviously) from falling headfirst off chairs.

Speaking of laughing...

...Harry, at his first haircut was...decidedly not doing so.

Pre-haircut, big brother Leo (who knows a thing or two about haircut trauma) was clearly concerned for his little Hair-Bear.

Ahh. Much better. And I didn't even cry! There is something about official "first" haircuts that always makes little boys look so transformed, so "old" (where's my bay-beeeeee?!) yet this time, I just thought Harry looked perfect. And clean. Did I mention this is the boy who likes to rub oatmeal/pasta/yogurt/anything he can eat, into the back of his hair? This new do' should make life a bit tidier.

At least, in theory.

On Sunday we went out to brunch with the gang. I'm always struck by the leaps the babies make in just a month. Most times, brunch with all four is akin to dining with four escaped convicts, but for some reason, yesterday was different. Of course it was still anything but relaxing, but I always feel very accomplished when we do anything that involves leaving the house for a few hours.

Lucy at brunch was a character. Are you familiar with Bread and Jam for Frances?

"He took a bite of sandwich, a bite of egg and a drink of milk. Then he went around again. Albert made the sandwich, the egg and the milk, come out even."

This is what she reminded me of. There was Lucy, sipping her water (cup with a straw), taking tiny, delicate bites of her biscuit and finally, pinching miniature finger-fuls of scrambled eggs.

Now if I can just keep everyone upright in a chair, we'll be good.

Tricks

Lucy has a new one.

Hey, what's that you got there? A zipper? Hmmmm...

Who me? Right. SO innocent. And Harry? He is the perfect victim, crying and whining and collapsing into a little whimpering puddle of SAVE ME! whenever Lucy strikes. Which is...often. 

Yes, she's taken to attempting to disrobe her big brother. She had already started trying to strangle him pulling off his bibs (ouch!). Now, if the poor guy is in possession of a zipper (footy pajamas, coat), forget it.

She's also moved on to Houdini-like antics herself. Last night I went in to check on the twins before I went to bed and sure enough, she'd made good progress in unzipping her own sleep sack. It wasn't completely off but I did spot a little naked pink foot, so she'd clearly made some headway. This morning? There sat the sleepsack in a little pile. She's the first kid to successfully escape one of those sacks. She certainly won't keep a blanket on, so not sure what we're going to do about that.

Speaking of tricks, someone is very excited about his new keyboard. This is "his" musical instrument for the year and he gets to keep one at home to practice.

Leo's teacher emailed me in advance to let me know he'd be bringing it home and that it was just for Leo's use and to let me know if it was a problem having it in the house (does she know our crazy family, or what?). Leo was very good, waiting until after dinner to haul it out. He even performed a little "concert" for us. Note: I use the term concert loosely. Ahem.

He's especially a fan of the "outer space effect" (think 50's alien movie soundtrack) that his little keyboard features. He calls it "solar system" music.

He is very proud.

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.

Eighteen, Wha?

Everyone says the first year of twins is a blur (YES). The second year is proving to be even quicker, if that's possible (though admittedly, the early part of that first year didn't feel all that speedy in the midst of round the clock nursing sessions and non-existent bedtimes).


I am still calling them babies. They are my last babies, therefore they will always be MY BABIES. Even though they wear shoes and walk around and do adorable "grown-up" things like crouch and kneel and jump.



And create chalk masterpieces.

Eighteen months feels somehow momentous, one of those markers or milestones, like one year.

It should come as no surprise that even as full-fledged toddlers, they continue to have very distinct, nearly opposite personalities.



But they are unexpectedly opposite.

While Lucy is very deliberate and careful in her movements and is the one more likely to listen to me when I tell her to stay by me, she was also the first one to learn to climb the couch and the one most likely to dive off said couch. Or at least threaten to.

Her speech slays me. Sometimes I look at her when she says these words and I am just...Who are you?

(In no particular order):

Hot dog
Harry
Bye-bye
Outside
Thank you
That's mine
Mama
Mommy
Ellie
Apple
Cheese

And of course, the favorite of every toddler: NO!

I'll stop there. You get the idea. No baby of mine has ever talked this much, this early. It's slightly...terrifying. I am already seeing the seeds of bossy-ness emerging in her (gee, wonder where she gets that...Ellie, Me, cough, cough). She definitely rules the roost in the Harry and Lucy dynamic, at least for now, as she thinks nothing of grabbing any toy, book, piece of food, wash cloth, out of Harry's chubby little hand. Also, she shoves Harry. Just for fun. The other day when I got home from work our babysitter reported that she'd pushed Harry off the couch. On purpose.

His reaction to her domination is either A) burst into tears or B) do a sort of shrug (if babies shrugged) and walk away as if to say Eh, not worth getting into. I see an even BETTER set of stacking cups over there!

She remains the happiest baby I have ever met. She just exudes positivity. She smiles and giggles and just wants to bebyyou. As in, on your lap or in your arms. Sometimes when I'm sitting on the floor she will just back up and sit on my lap, like it's the best, most natural chair in the house (it is, of course). In the mornings, when she senses I'm leaving for work, she gets very whiney and clingy and I often carry her around on my hip as I'm gathering backpacks and shoes and keys.

She loves little more than going "outside."

And loves to run down this driveway, reaching such velocity that she's taken a tumble. Or nineteen (see the scab on her nose from a crash two weeks ago that made her look like a junior prize fighter).


Harry doesn't have any words that we can yet understand, but he "chats" up a storm. Also? Somewhere he learned to breakdance. No joke. If Mickey Mouse or Barney or Elmo come on Pandora? Boyfriend busts a move and can cut some serious rug, complete with donkey kicks and twirls.

He's definitely a watcher. He takes in his surroundings and is far more sensitive to new things and people than Lucy is. If anyone new comes to the house? Rivers of tears. Until he gets to know the person and deems them harmless. He plays with toys and explores the house like it's A Job. In the morning, after a quick cuddle and a diaper change he is raring to go, off to blocks or stacking rings or his most favorite of all, the book corner. He has things to do!

No one. And I mean, No One can make a bigger mess than Harry does when eating.


Harry has an "old soul" quality about him. He's a thinker. A studier. Sometimes I will catch him looking at something, a book, a toy, one of the big kids' drawings, and I will meet his gaze and then he will just break into the biggest, meltiest, cheesiest grin. I can't wait to find out what is going on in that little head of his.

They are each other's punching bags (Lucy climbs Harry, tries to wrestle him or use him as a step stool). Sometimes he giggles and seems to want more...sometimes he bursts into tears and whines for rescue, escapes Lucy's "clutches"...and three minutes later he's back for more.

Many twin parents I've talked to say the dynamic between their twins was set early on. It will be so interesting to see if the one we have now continues. Lucy=boss; Harry=amiable follower.

They are roommates. Fast friends who still wait up for each other every night. I put Harry down first and sometimes he appears to doze off, but pops up squealing with glee when Lucy shows up for bedtime, five minutes later.

This week Harry and Lucy learned to give kisses on command. Big, sloppy, open mouthed kisses. They give them often and willingly and I melt and die every time I get one. Or two. I mean, is there anything better than kisses from two babies?

Kisses times two are almost making up for nearly a year of sleep deprivation.

Almost.

This and That, Two Days Before Thanksgiving

I'm nearly recovered from Hurricane Sandy, although I still feel like I was in a coma for the ten days we were without power. I went to work on the mild Friday before Halloween and by the time I returned, all of New York City was decorated for the holidays and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. Winter doesn't feel far away and it's as if someone pressed the fast forward button on the last few weeks (Thanksgiving in two days? Really?).

I'm not sure if it's because this is my favorite time of year or because I feel like there's so much to do. Holiday cards? I just don't know if it's going to happen this year. I am, however, busily plotting Christmas cookies and ye old annual gingerbread house decorating extravaganza (it's just the big kids and me--not as complicated and fancy as it sounds, trust me!).

Just when I feel like things are starting to get easier with the babies--they sleep well at night (KNOCKING FURIOUSLY ON WOOD AND SPITTING OVER MY SHOULDER), they are less whiney and cry-y and more "plays cute and independently") they go and do something like, oh I don't know, learn to climb the couch and threaten multiple times a day to catapult themselves off headfirst.


Yes, I'm looking at you, Lucy Grace. Trust me. She only looks innocent.

Don't even get me started on the current toddler-centric debate: To get a Christmas tree or not? Do the words Christmas tree and [almost] eighteen month old twins just scream ARE YOU CRAZY? I just...I don't know. The thought that I won't be able to sit with Erin in our darkened living room, under the glow of twinkling Christmas lights (the dubious yet oddly satisfying double feature of "It's a Wonderful Life and "Bad Santa" on the television), a jug tumbler of Bailey's in my hand, gazing at our giant Noble Fir...not having this experience, just feels wrong. This is our little annual Christmas Eve tradition, after the kids go to bed and we've completed the wrapping of all 9,723 presents.

Not to mention, the Leo and Ellie LOVE decorating the tree. Right! It's all about the kids.

Hammy Harry, aka Meatball, safely (briefly) ensconced in his stroller. Always ready to give you a toothy, goofy smile. Speaking of Harry, this guy is full of surprises. I think, because he doesn't have as many words as Lucy (actually, any words--he just babbles a ton and sounds an awful lot like some kind of Dr. Seuss character) I don't credit him with understanding as much as she does. But this morning I asked him to bring me the "pink socks" (Lucy's, which had somehow ended up in the middle of the living room floor). And you know what? He went straight to those socks, scooped them up, and brought them right to me. Good boy.


Taking a break from the dance floor to apply some body art.

I always get a little extra melancholy this time of year. It's not sadness or depression. It's more an appreciation of the wonder of all of this. This weekend I took Ellie (and Lucy) to a birthday party.

Driving along the winding roads of our suburban town, passing stately colonials (some with giant, recently fallen Hurricane Sandy trees in their yard) in the waning sunlight of a quintessential east coast autumn day, I was struck as I often am, of the the brevity of all of this. There would never be another day like that one. There would never be another birthday party on the weekend before Thanksgiving, with a five year old Ellie, decked out in her velvet finery and a seventeen month old Lucy, smitten by the dance floor and all the big kids (and a fascinating shopping bag).

Life is exhausting and sweet.