The Road to Wellness, Edging Toward "Big Kids," Hearing Harry, Still Can't Shut Up About "Frozen" and Transcending It All

I've made a sort of unwritten rule not to talk about sickness here because really, no one wants to hear about your cold, right? Sufficed it to say that fifty percent of our house was felled by a nasty virus this week, to the point that Ellie sounds like she's got quite the serious two-pack-of-Marlboros-a-day-habit and I took my first sick day from work in three years. Poor Ellie has missed school all week and been (understandably) miserable and cranky and let's just say I think I may have glimpsed a view of tween/teenhood and I am afraid. Very afraid.


Looking not so tween/teen and also, pre-sickness. My Little Yentas. It might just be time to introduce Ellie to "Fiddler on the Roof."

So, yes. Hard week. Mercifully, I'm just starting to feel like myself again. It's an amazing thing really, how the body (blessedly, usually, ideally) fights off illness. Obvious but true statement of the day: As terrible as it is to not feel good, it makes getting better that much more sweet. The thrill of realizing that filling the dishwasher again is not a crushing blow but something you can actually accomplish--that is a welcome relief.

But I am living in FEAR that the babies twins are going to get sick. Please. No.

And of course, with sick kids ALWAYS come the work deadlines. Yesterday I had to stay late and called home to check on Ellie. When asked if I could bring anything (I was thinking something along the lines of Popsicles), her response was "I just want Yooooooou! I want you to come hooooooome."

Insert knife, into heart.

You will happy to learn that all was forgiven when I arrived home (after dinner but well before bed time) with vanilla ice cream. Ellie did make one request: "Is it OK if I sleep in your bed? It makes me feel more secure." Then, crossing her arms she said, "I'm sorry if I don't know what secure means." 


She felt better in the morning. Well enough, even, to make them a little bed in the living room.


Lucy was insistent that Harry take a Goldfish. No was not an option.

These two. Two and a half years old. Technically closer to three years old than two. Preschool is on the horizon. I continue to call them babies but see glimmers of kids, kids who understand and can be reasoned with, who show empathy and real problem-solving skills, on a daily basis.

Don't worry. They also still make me smack my forehead and want to tear my hear out on a daily basis.

Harry, who hasn't been much of a talker until pretty recently is suddenly busting out with new words and sentences every day. It's such a sweet and welcome joy to have him bound over to me, barreling his hard little skull into my belly and exclaim, "Buzz! I found Buzz [Lightyear-pictured above]." Admittedly I could do with out the barreling skull, but hey, he means well. He is such a little snuggler.

I'm still not quite accustomed to his little voice. I'll hear chattering away in the car or in the corner while he snaps Duplos together ("I did it!), a sentence or two, and I feel momentarily disoriented--Leo, Ellie, Lucy: they talk constantly-our house is L-O-U-D. I can recognize everyone's voice in a heartbeat (OF COURSE) but who is that one? Why, it's Harry!





File this one under, they're not really babies anymore: The other morning Lucy woke up crying around 4 a.m. It was (of course) dark as night outside (anything before 5 a.m. is night in my book). That's when I whispered to Lucy that it was still nighttime and she needed to go back to bed. And you know what? She Did. I couldn't believe it either. See what I mean? Glimmers of reason. And I do mean glimmers.


Yes, yes. We eat a lot of Goldfish in our house. Probably more than we should.


Four way ball (they roll it to each other). It lasts for all of 2.3 minutes but those are beautiful, gleeful minutes.

In the midst of the Daily Din I think you all know that I do my best to recognize those "transcendent moments," you know the ones, they make you, just for a brief few minutes even, rise above the chaos and havoc and incredible noise and clutter and overwhelmingness of it all. We had one this morning and you might not be surprised to learn that it had to do with "Frozen", a movie which has provided me with a seemingly unending amount of pleasure. Not to get too fruit ball on you all but so many parents I know have spoken of how they love it as much as their kids and they've loved loving the movie along with their children, all of which sounds pretty transcendental to me: A shared joy. A break from the monotony.

Back to this morning. Everyone was finishing up breakfast and I remembered that I'd just read that "Frozen" had a DVD release date (there's a part of me that doesn't want to own it because I know that once we can watch it any time it will no longer feel special). But the big deal for us is that when it's on DVD the babies twins will be able to see it-they might be edging toward kid-dom but I was not quite ready to brave a feature length film with them, so they have-gasp-yet to see "Frozen." And of course Erin, who has not yet had the pleasure (you know you want to see it Sweetie) will benefit from the March release.

The kids were mildly excited at the DVD news but I don't think we will really care until they can hold it in their hot little hands. Ellie then suggested we show the babies the clip she and I had watched the night before (laying in bed beside a coughing and despondent Ellie I thought "watching" one of her favorite songs would be a little treat and a break from our routine of listening to Pandora's "Soundscapes" station on my iPhone).

The next thing I knew, I had the laptop out, a cup of coffee next to me, Ellie snuggling on my lap, Leo across from me, and two babies the twins, sitting beside me in their high chairs, in complete rapture. It was the "Frozen" they'd been hearing so much about (quite literally, in the car, every time we go ANYWHERE it's Frozen soundtrack central).

Bliss. Peace. Everyone happy.

No picture.You'll just have to trust me on this one.

The Return of Harrystoptouchingthelights

WHEN will I ever learn?

The fastest way to make a liar out of yourself? Announce something to the Internet.


Sidenote: I baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies the other day. I'm sure the Internet will be shocked to learn that the babies like cookies. A lot.

Anyway, remember how I was saying I thought Toddler Mission: Destroy The Christmas Tree might be over and that Harry didn't seem all that interested in the tree this year? (You might remember that last year, Harry and the tree had quite the "thing" going on).

Scratch that.

When I came home from work yesterday our nanny reported that Harry had "a terrible day with the tree." Which, I mean, first of all, you have to laugh at that sentence.


Why yes, that's Harry. With a purloined Thomas ornament. Of course

But back to Harry. Yesterday he reportedly pulled half the lights off the tree (which weren't in great shape to begin with, believe me). He also took a handful of ornaments from the tree and ran away, giggling. A variation of these events went on all day, apparently.

Of course I gave Harry a stern talking to about the situation. He responded by smiling and laughing at me.


Ah, Playdoh. Soooo much more constructive than Christmas Tree Pillaging.

Of course I'm laughing too. I mean think about it. A giant tree is in OUR HOUSE. It's covered with tiny, shiny lights and new, interesting, pretty and fun toy-like objects (see above: Thomas ornaments). Of COURSE he wants to touch it all the live long day. How do you explain the sudden appearance of a giant, toy covered tree in the house of a busy, inquisitive two and a half year old?

Luckily for Harry, we're not gunning for Best, Most Perfect Christmas Tree Ever. Not even close.

This morning, after I plugged in the lights (it's the first thing I do this time of year, right after I make a pot of coffee-there's nothing like a dark house and the cold blue-light of early morning and the instant cheer of twinkling white lights) I stopped and looked at the tree. Ellie was by my side and she and I studied the giant gaping hole where Harry had pulled lights yesterday. Fixing them would involve taking all the ornaments down from a large section and then rehanging the lights and then putting back all the ornaments. Hypothetically this could happen. You know, in my quiet moments, of which there are so many.

"What do you think of the tree? I asked Ellie. "Harry did quite a number on it didn't he? Do you think it's looks bad?"

She paused a moment and looked at the tree sideways. "Well. Maybe a little bad."



We love you, Harry. We really, truly do. And we're glad you love your tree so much.

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.