Last Days Before Pre-K: Harry Edition

In a little over a month, I will do something I have never done before. I will spend my mornings with ONE three year old. (Hi, Lucy!).

Harry is starting preschool. That's right, cue the strings to "Sunrise, Sunset."


Taking pictures of my sleeping "babies." It just never gets old. But they do. SOB!

I won't bore you with the long drawn out story of why Harry is starting school this summer and Lucy is starting this fall. The short version is Harry will be going to a program through our town's school district geared toward encouraging language and speech articulation and it starts in June (as part of the academic year's "extended year program.") Ironically, his language has been exploding lately--I timed that well as it seemed to take off right after his evaluation--but the added stimulation of an early preschool program (bonus: separate from Lucy) will be amazing for him, I think.

The plan had always been to put Harry and Lucy into preschool in June but then I went and got laid off and, well, life happened. The urgency to get Lucy into school wasn't there anymore since I would be home to do things with her (Costco and Target=Super Education-ha ha-oops I mean, library toddler story time! And nature walks! And finger painting!). Plus, the big kids will be around some this summer and nobody but nobody knows how to play with and entertain Lucy better than Ellie, the World's Best Preschooler Wrangler. And, I'll admit it. I don't feel rushed about preschool. I'm suddenly getting nostalgic (shocking, I realize). About my almost-three-year olds. I KNOW.

I've spent the last almost four months plotting ways to get three, seven, nine minutes to myself and suddenly, the moment is upon me. The enormity of the fact that in a little over three months, for a few hours a day, ALL THE CHILDREN WILL BE IN SCHOOL.

It's the whole, be careful what you wish for phenomenon. Don't get me wrong. I have plenty to do. Namely, work! I am for now (knock on wood) working nicely and steadily from home these days.




It's barely three hours a day. But I'm going to miss my little Batman (he zooms around the house now and proclaims himself so). And I'm reminded of that strange transition and adjustment that occurs when your little one suddenly develops a life away from you. It happened early on with Leo and Ellie because I spent so much time away from home, working. But this time, it's different. And with two at the same time? It's really different.



Speaking of time: Harry and Lucy turn three on Sunday. THREE! Wasn't I just hugely pregnant? And then wasn't I just strapped to the loveseat breastfeeding two! babies! six hours a day?





And away, they go.

Another Year, Settling In and a Thank You

Another birthday earlier this month and in my book, many small cakes trump one big cake. Happy birthday, indeed.

Thanks to everyone for their sweet comments to my last post. It's been heartening to hear from people and the support means so much. So thank you. Truly.

I absolutely HATE going this long between writing here but I will be honest. I haven't really known what to say. My mind is a jumble about everything that's transpired. Things seem fine and normal and things also feel completely upside down.

An email from an old high school friend who had also experienced a job loss summed it up best: He wrote to me of his layoff experience, of what it was like for him  to suddenly be without something that is the "anchor to our days." Which, yes. That. Exactly.


Don't get me wrong. I have plenty to keep me busy.

I think the toughest thing right now is that my life suddenly feels very small. Quite literally! Don't get me wrong--I love these small people, I'm just not accustomed to being with them all day every day. And I always thought I was a better mom when I had "my own thing" and requisite time away and that's always been work. But I also know that there is some grace in this and in a funny way I'm very lucky to have the chance to be doing what I'm doing right now. When we're driving in the minivan toward Costco (have I mentioned how amazing it is to grocery shop on the weekdays? No crowds and I don't have the rushed, urgent feeling because this is it! THIS is our big outing for the day!) and Lucy calls to me from the backseat "MOMMY! You need to talk! You're not saying anything," I can't help but smile.



And then they call to me to "Put on Frozen" and before I know it we're all three belting out "Let it Go" as we drive up Northfield Avenue and I look in the rear view mirror and see two sets of winter coat-covered arms gesticulating and conducting and of course hear their tiny unabashed voices: "Let it Gooooooo!"


I'm in the kitchen loading the dishwasher AGAIN and I realize the twins are suspiciously silent and I pad toward the front of the house and find them both sitting, almost tush to tush on the carpet in Leo's room, reading--Lucy, a Dr. Seuss and Harry a Lego instruction manual (because, of course).  I linger in the doorway much longer than I need to thinking, This is what I missed when I wasn't home with them. All the little, quiet moments. And so I'm enjoying them now. Or trying to. Because who knows how long they will last.



I mean, spending all day with twin two-year-olds, followed by everyone's favorite Witching Hour, aka, helping-Leo-with-his-homework-when-all-he-wants-to-do-is-play-Legos-or-watch TV, while the aforementioned twin two year olds pull at my leg or tug at my sweatshirt string or repeatedly ask for "More seltzer."  It is the best of times and it is the worst of times. Truly.



While it was unquestionably difficult working full-time and commuting into New York City every day, one of the things I enjoyed the most about it was the literal "change of scenery," not to mention the "break" that working afforded me (I've always said that going into the office was the easiest part of my day). The intellectual challenges were nice too, as were conversations with people over the age of nine.

The day, recently, that the boxes from my office were delivered to the house? That was a hard day. For years and years, that office in midtown Manhattan was my little oasis of calm. My shrine of sanity. And not only that, it was mine (well, it felt like mine anyway). The only thing that was truly separate from the kids, the house, it was just my little world, where I could be me, and an independent person.



But as another dear friend wrote to me recently, "Nothing is ever permanent, in the best possible way." That little time, that specific office and job title, is gone. It doesn't mean something like it won't be mine again, it just isn't, for now.

Three to five times a day, as I attempt to change the diaper of a toddler who is rigid and squirmy (yes it's possibly to be both) or as I am simultaneously trying to help Leo with math, bounce Harry on my knee, cut up oranges for Lucy and somehow convince Ellie that I am watching her draw ponies, I must think to myself (or mumble, between gritted teeth): This cannot be done. I cannot be home with these people for one more moment, get me to the nearest office. Stat. I will lick envelopes. I will sharpen pencils. Anything. 

In the morning after I drop Ellie at school and the twins and I are en route to some appointment or store, I sometimes pass the 8:55 a.m. express (I use that term loosely) bus to Port Authority. It was the bus that I took to work nearly every day. And part of me is relieved that I don't have to get on and brave another mind numbing commute and be apart from the kids for another nine hours and part of me feels a stinging, aching, longing. To just, go.

And then at least seven times a day, I think, I can totally do this. This is awesome. And not only that but I am rocking this being home thing. I'm making homemade chicken stock from bones! We never run out of homemade pumpkin bread (the twins' favorite). I'm replacing (well, picking them out at Home Depot) porch light fixtures we lost in one of the many blizzards. I'm helping the big kids with their homework (which, when it's good, it's very, very good and I think: I missed my calling! I should have been a teacher! And when it's bad: I'm back to pining for that envelope licking and the interminable bus commute). 


Whatever you do, don't tell Harry his "cymbals" are really pot lids.

The kids and I have wonderful, hilarious conversations (Ellie tells me on St. Patrick's Day that Lucy is "kind of  like a leprechaun. Because she's small and she gets whatever she wants.")  Leo, who has been anticipating the DVD release date of his beloved "Frozen" with complete reverence, announces that I "need to text his teacher" to tell her he won't be at school today--the release date--he'll be too busy watching "Frozen." (In case you're wondering, Leo did go to school).

We laugh. A lot. We dance to Pharrell's "Happy" in the kitchen on repeat (we did these things before of course, there is just more of it now--the days are, as they say long, but they really do go by quite quickly.)



So yes, there are good days and bad days. But really it's more good moments and bad moments.

Good thing I have these little people, for now, as the anchor to my days.

We're all adjusting to the new routine around here. And by "We" I really mean me. (Note Harry's expression: "I'd rather be napping.")

It never ceases to me amaze me how quickly the days at home pass by. Before I know it, it's 2:45 and I'm waking two babies up from naps to go fetch Ellie from school. Harry is usually the less pleased of the two. Nutella sandwiches eaten in the stroller on our six block walk help ease the pain. Running the stroller over speed bumps ("Like a roller coaster!" squeals Lucy) also helps. The sidewalks are just recently not completely snow and ice-covered and we can begin to find them again, can you believe it?

Yes, the snow is melting. Some days are warmer than others. We even braved an actual playground yesterday.



With the time change, evenings come later and we've been privy to some especially remarkable sunsets. These days I see them through our living room window, instead of on a bus stuck in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike.



And life, as they say, well it does go on.

Doors and Windows: A New Chapter

And just like that, my job was eliminated.

It's difficult to put into words what it means to get up every day for almost twelve years and go to a place and then one morning be told, there is no place for you there anymore.

All it took was one solemn conversation. Tears. Disbelief. An office door closed and I was left with a new reality. Suddenly everything was different. "My" computer wasn't mine. Or "my" phone. I had a "last" day of work on a day I'd expected would be like any other. There were boxes to pack and a hundred phone calls to make.

Surreal doesn't begin to cover it.


I've already posted this, but it's just so perfect that I keep going back to it. I might edit it with "when something unexpected happens." Because I refuse to believe this is necessarily a bad thing. But unexpected? Oh. Yes.

I think I've certainly learned the lesson that life is full of surprises and that as much as we might like to think we have control of things, we really don't. All it takes is one extra chromosome, one hurricane wind-gust, one wonky cancer cell or one name on a list of lay-offs, to turn life as you know it, into something quite different.



The day I got the news (almost a month ago to the day, hence the quiet on my end) I left work early (obviously!) and did what any logical person would do. I got a mani/pedi. Then I walked the streets of our snowy, bitterly cold neighborhood (keep in mind these pictures were taken the day before snow storm #I'velosttrack).



It's funny how one big life event can make you look at everything with a different lens. These were the same streets I drove by and walked on every day. And yet. Everything seemed just...not the same.

Because it isn't.

For now I'm suddenly doing things like making chicken stock out of bones from a leftover roast chicken and discovering I can drop Ellie off in the morning in the front of her school, to thus avoid hauling twins through a parking lot when it's twelve degrees outside (to say nothing of negotiating Lucy in and out of her carseat twice--there's a good thirty minutes right there).



I'm not sure what my next act is. I am trying to be very When a Door Closes a Window Opens about all of this.



The best is yet to come? I think so. I really do.

Summer, So Far

Please excuse the unscheduled break. But, you know. Summer.



Lazy, hazy, crazy (with a bit of emphasis on the Crazy) days.




I had the incredible luxury of an entire week off work last week. The timing was perfect as the big kids started camp (extended school year aka "summer school" for Leo in the morning--he's bussed to camp after lunch). I was nervous about this summer, our first foray into camps, so it was wonderful to be home this week to help them settle into their new routines. Previously the kids have done the "camp" at daycare/preschool but they had both unquestionably outgrown that one. Leo and Ellie will both do our town's camp for the month of July, then in August Ellie starts a binge of specialty camps (I may or may not have gone a bit overboard, ahem) while Leo heads to a month at another camp that I'm also very excited about (more on that later). Aaaand that concludes my attempt to say "camp" as many times in a paragraph as I possibly can.



The "break" was downright luxurious, affording me the opportunity to share little moments with the kids that I feel like I often miss out on since I work.





I had so much fun watching these two play together in the water the other day. It was like they were working! Took their little "jobs" very seriously.



This week Harry also developed a love of vacuum cleaners. Here you can see him telling Ellie all about it.



And Lucy is getting even more brazen with her fashion choices.


She's also discovered dollies. "Look Mommy, I have two babies!" she said to me, just before I took this picture. I told her two babies was crazy and who would be silly enough to have two. Ha.



Someday I will publish a book: My Babies Through the Years, in Costco Carts.



Hard to cry over heart-shaped spilled milk. (Others called this a bat but I, a hopeful optimist stand by my heart vision).


Knock on wood, the big kids seem very happy at camp . I picked them up each day last week at 4 p.m. red faced, dirty and subdued. They were tired, too tired to bicker in the car, even. This is huge. And to to me, tired + dirty = happy. Case in point: Friday night after dinner, Leo disappeared into his room to play Legos. When we checked on him around 8 p.m. he was in his bed, still wearing the clothes he'd worn to camp. He had tucked himself in and he was fast asleep! Unprecedented, I'm telling you.





Taking these two to a large playground gives me heart palpitations but Ellie begged and begged to go to this certain (not our usual park). I counted it as my cardio for the day. Note them walking in opposite directions and times that by infinity (did I mention it was 95 degrees?).



I'd always wanted to try out the "mini-van" carts. Last week, my dream came true! (Don't ask me what Ellie is doing in this picture, but look how pleased Lucy looks!).



It was mostly a hit. Until the end, of course. I dream of the day I can end a shopping trip with these twins that doesn't involves tears and serious misery. I know it will come.



Harry the hippy, aka Seventies Surfer Dude, got a haircut this week.



And now I want to eat his cheeks even more than I already did.





The better to see his eyelashes.



We kicked off our holiday week with a trip with just the big kids to The Land of Make-Believe, or, Ellie's favorite place on the planet.



We spent the bulk of our time at the water park portion, so I don't have a lot of pictures. But Ellie rode her beloved "Thriller" (kiddie roller coaster) at least a dozen times and I put on my big girl swim trunks and conquered my extreme dislike of water slides (the things we do for our children). And yes, I'm proud to say, I actually enjoyed myself. Screaming while careening down a slide is fun and actually kind of therapeutic! Who knew?



Giant pirate ship with fountains and slides. Disney World What?



Relaxing after all that hard water park play. We always say, Leo knows how to enjoy life.



Speaking of enjoying life, Leo was so exhausted at the end of that day that I looked over and at one point he was eating his pizza--as a special treat we let the kids eat in front of the tv, they're favorite show du jour: "Wipeout" -- Leo was eating horizontally. Too tired to be vertical.

Are you sensing a theme for this summer? I believe it's Break the Children. So far, so good.

After the Din

Lucy, mid-run; Leo with his ever-present ball, mid-flight. They are in constant, constant motion.

I'm coming off of almost 72 straight hours of children. My children. Whom of course, I adore. But dang. I'm spent.

You know how when you go to the beach and you're there all day and then you come home and you lie in bed and you hear the ocean, the waves crashing? You're not actually hearing the waves, it just seems like you are because there has been that constant din of waves. That's a little how I felt as I collapsed onto the bus this morning, en route to work. Though not there, I heard the hum of little children. The shrieks. The commands. The demands. The crying. And of course, the laughter. The actual silence that followed was almost disorienting.

My (unplanned=Monday=sick nanny) long weekend. To say nothing of the ten days Erin was gone for work. It was the best of times, with just a couple of "worst" thrown in. I feel a bit like a contestant in the parenting olympics and think I at least scored a silver. Ellie might say it was more like a bronze. But all in all, I'm very proud of everyone, including myself.

If anyone had told me two years ago that I'd be able to take four children, alone, to two separate stores, I would have been shocked. But there we were, bright and early on Sunday morning, my little gang and me at Trader Joe's. It was there that I discovered if I let Leo push the shopping cart? He makes it his Mission and Does Not Stray. Perfection. Oh yes, with Leo pushing that cart and me trailing behind with the giant stroller and Ellie tailing us, I got the usual looks of pity/horror/bemusement. "Four kids at the store? You win!" came the greeting by a Trader Joe's employee when the gaggle of us walked through the door. Later, we went to Target for a (fruitless) quest for curtains. And would you believe I even remembered everything on my list? (Money saving tip: bring four children with you to the store and I guarantee you will not spend much--two word: In and Out).


No child labor laws were broken here. Ellie actually asked if she could mop. I KNOW. I knew these people would earn their keep some day!

The last time Erin was away for two weekends (and the weekdays between them), my sister and brother-in-law came to visit for that second weekend (I'm ok for the first weekend. By the second? I am definitely losing steam and possibly some patience. And brain cells.). Of course it was wonderful to see Norah and Ryan when they visited, but they were also extremely helpful. Extra grown-up hands allowed us to do things we can't normally do when it's just me and also provided me the opportunity to do something absolutely crazy like, oh I don't know, leave the house without four children in tow? Or maybe with just two?

So this time on my own was a little different. But you know what? We made it. And had plenty of fun
(as well as some tears and ok, fine, I may have lost my temper once or twice (but not my mind! Yay!). At the end of the day, bedtime always comes and there's always coffee in the morning (except for when your coffee pot breaks, ahem).

Over the weekend, Lucy discovered the joys of seltzer in a cup. Harry remains unsure about that whole thing.

And when the text came in yesterday with the news that my nanny was sick (meaning I couldn't go to work, she only works weekdays) I was too tired to have an emotion about it. Part of me couldn't believe I didn't get the "break" of going to work. But part of me is always a little grateful to have a few hours of just Baby Time. Harry and Lucy are growing up so fast, growing and changing every day and it's hard to pick up on the little intricacies when I'm alone with all four.

I haven't been alone with "just" the babies for about a month and yesterday I was shocked by how much they'd changed in a just a few weeks. For one, they're starting to play together more. There's the ever-popular close the glass mudroom door on your sister and then open the door on your brother and Squeal! You're still there!

Lucy steals Harry's trains and he pads after her furiously, tackles her and she rolls over onto him and there is breathless laughter that turns from giggling to crying, back to giggling. I reach for the camera but it's all over almost as soon as it's begun. And I'm nearly frozen with indecision: should I intervene? Is it ok for one baby to sit on another baby's head (they're light, right?), even if the baby on the bottom is giggling and clearly enjoying himself? Mostly, I just can't believe all of this bustle, that these two tiny twin people are here, in my house. That I get to be witness to them.

Photo taken by Uncle Ryan, a little over a month ago (note the snow). The babies already seem so much more giant than they appear here.

I'm experimenting a little with the naps (Lucy is definitely trying to drop that afternoon snooze) and yesterday Harry went Against The Plan and fell asleep after morning errands in the car, which meant no after lunch nap, which meant incredibly rare 1:1 time with the Hare-Man. Which meant for thirty blissful minutes yesterday, I lay on the couch while Harry played with his two new Thomas Trains (we'd gone to the store (again) in search of new curtains (again) and ended up spending the bulk of our time in the toy section trying to soothe a fussy Harry, which meant guess who scored two new trains?). This boy loves his Thomas trains (but not just any Thomas trains, they have to be the "real" (metal)) ones, not the flimsy plastic ones. He is perfectly content to line them up on the couch and chatter away at them. Unless he's lining them up on the top of the kitchen garbage can, where he can see himself, where he can alternate between lining up trains and kissing his own reflection or cackling at himself as he dances around. And no, I'm not kidding and yes, I almost died from the cuteness.


Amid the exhaustion and the relentlessness and the "Look Mommys!" and Lucy's whines and Leo's roaring "NO's" and Ellie's "It's your fault!" there are these little blisssful pockets when being home just feels good and right and unbearably brief and fleeting. And then of course, there are the loooong weekend afternoons where I begin watching the clock at 4:30. Is it bedtime yet?

But it's not every day I get to pick Ellie up from school and, upon discovery that I brought the dog with me, see a look of pure joy and happy surprise wash over her face as she shrieks: "You brought Ruby?! I didn't expect to see Ruby!"

There are times, when I sit next to Lucy in her high chair as she plays footsy with my arm as she drinks her after lunch milk, eyes half closed with a contented sleepiness, those are the times that I get that Pang and feel like I'm missing so much by not being home with them every day. There are countless little moments that I miss when I'm not with them every day. But the fact that I'm not home with them every day, I think, gives me the ability to see the specialness of the little moments. Nothing is perfect.

Ellie's homework yesterday: Draw the number of family members you have and illustrate. 

On Mother's Day 2012

I’ve been thinking about my mom more than usual lately. Impending Mother’s Day? The anniversary of her death? Perhaps. I think it’s more that I always miss her a little more when I’m thinking about Big Things. Going back to work has been a huge adjustment for me (ha-I say that it in the past tense as though I’m adjusted—I assure you, I’m not!). And even though I’ve been without it for going on twelve years, I’ve been craving her guidance and wisdom to talk me through this process. What I wouldn’t give to pick up the phone and ask What would YOU do, Mom? What do YOU think?

But twelve years is a long time. I’m no longer the young adult I was when she last saw me, just starting out in my career, eager to take on a new relationship and New York City and my first apartment in Brooklyn. More than a decade later I have a wonderful partner, many grey hairs, a thicker middle, four ebullient children and a house in the New Jersey suburbs.

I don’t think she would even recognize me.

I’m still me, of course. And in my heart, I’m still her little girl. And I still so badly want to pick up that phone and call her, it makes my eyes sting.

I see her face dancing around in the faces of my children. All of them except Harry have her steely blue eyes. But they all have her round face and soft, pink cheeks and when Ellie and Lucy smile, I so often see my mom grinning back at me that it can take my breath away. In tiny ways, she’s here. But of course, she is not.

What do you think Mom would say to me, right now, about all of this, if she were here? I asked my dad the other day. We chatted via phone about various “light” topics, including “work/life balance” (cough, cough—as if such a thing exists).

He was quiet for a long time. And then:

“I think she would say that nothing is perfect. That it’s never going to be perfect.”

For a minute, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Because he was right. It is never going to be perfect. And it's exactly (what I think) she would have said. It was both eerie and wonderful hearing to hear those words come from my father, someone who had once known her so well. But we both squint to think of what she'd say, what she'd make of the lives we lead now. We can only speculate.

"It's never going to be perfect."

That was it. It was as if my mom was sitting across the table from me in a coffee shop, saying the words herself.

“Live your life, live your life, live your life,” said the very wise Maurice Sendak, who we also lost this week. So simple. And such the perfect bookend to another beautiful, true and yes, rather melancholy quote that I posted earlier this week: "I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more."

We hold onto the sweet memories of those who have left us and hope they are proud of the things we do without them, of the decisions we make without their counsel. I’d like to think I knew my mother so well that I instinctually know what she would advise me to do. But like I said, I’m so far from the person I was when she last knew me, that sometimes I wonder. And that terrifies me. The few pictures I have of her, dotted throughout the house, together in Amsterdam in 1999, of her and my stepfather on vacation in Japan in 1997, they feel like images from from a previous life. They are.

But of that much romanticized motherly advice? Who am I kidding? Did I always do what she told me to do? Was her way always best? Of course not. It’s so easy to canonize someone who is no longer here to make mistakes or give advice you don’t agree with (because if they are here you at least have the choice to disagree). Instead, I just have this gaping question mark.

What would Mom say?

So I do what Mr. Sendak says to do. I live my life. My wonderful little life that I hope (and think) she would be proud of.

But I still miss her.

Happy Mother’s Day.

The Mantra + Ten

Thanks to those who expressed concern and made suggestions regarding my post about Leo and speech. As I said, it’s such a mixed bag, because some of Leo’s speech is so clear. It’s just that way too much of it is not. But in my rush to worry and fret, I forgot to mention one of Leo’s newest and perhaps sweetest phrases:

“Best Mommy everrrrr.”

I have no idea where he got this but he says it at least once a day (well, it usually proceeds me giving him something he wants (cheese crackers) or helping him with something (homework)) but I’m not going to argue. And it’s always followed by a hug and kiss. Erin and the other kids are also recipients of this:

“Best Mama/Ellie/Harry/Lucy everrrrrrr.”

I always follow mine up with “Best Leo ever!”
***

In other news, the babies turned ten months yesterday.

To celebrate, Harry started crawling and made a serious dent in his self-feeding skills (previously he’d very much been the I’ll just sit here and look cute and wait for someone to put the food in my mouth guy—really, who can blame him?). Go Harry!

Lucy celebrated by refusing to go to sleep and insisting on staying up with Erin and me all the way through "Mad Men." What the HELL Lucy? Not cool! This is the first time she has ever done this--let's hope it was a rare "I'm ten months old whoot!" event.

We are officially four days into my being back at work (because, you know, I’ve been sitting out by the lanai sipping cocktails for the last ten months and now I’m going to be doing actual work). But it’s true, it’s more work for everyone, this new deal, this working out of the home, and I have to give everyone credit, what they’re being asked to do is not easy and it sure is different.

Those leisurely weekday mornings of days gone by, those of the multi-course breakfasts for Leo (Mommy! I’m still hungry! I want to do yogurt and grapes!), Ellie in her pajamas until noon, watching “Rio,” the babies sleeping until whatever hour their little hearts desired (that usually wasn’t past 7 a.m. but no matter): those days are no more.

Two more tiny lunch boxes.

Even though the first day back felt like it was approximately 72 hours long and more than a little crazed (up at 5:15 a.m., out of the house by 7 a.m. with all four kids) I have to say, these kids are troopers and I’m confident that we will all adjust—dare I say thrive—as we acclimate to our new normal, just as we did when the babies were born and our world felt upside down and the words How Will We Ever Do This reverberated in my head just a little too often.

Things have a way of working out: Advice my dad gave me several years ago during a particularly tough time. I think of this little gem often and go back to this mantra, over and over, when I feel like life is just completely, absurdly chaotic and everything feels totally unmanageable (not that I’ve felt this way at all recently of course HAHAHA). Things feel impossible, undoable and then suddenly, we settle in. We find routine in the ridiculous. We laugh. We cry. We figure it out, little things to make life easier. Lunches made the night before, frozen dinners for the week. Do they kids really need baths every night?

The big kids know they have to carry their backpacks and lunch boxes into the house now since I have so many more things (two more lunch boxes, dirty baby clothes and diapers) to carry (though Ellie is still a fan of “Can you hold this Mommy?” when I have approximately nineteen other things in my arms/hanging on my shoulders.) The babies don’t need to be rocked and swaddled anymore, now they hold their own bottles (mostly, anyway—Harry I’m looking at you) and I can even sort of multi-task (clean up the kitchen, start lunches for the next day) while they drink their nightcap. At the same time, I try to lower my standards--even more than I already had!--the dishes and clean-up can wait. The nightly "To Do List" is overwhelming, but I remind myself to revel in those moments that I do have. Though I wish I could spend half as much time with the kids at night as I do making four lunches (for the next day). My goodness that is a job unto itself.

The night of my first day of work I was reminded of that odd sensation that I also recall from Leo and Ellie’s babyhood: of picking up my baby and realizing he smells like someone else. Someone with a different lotion or perfume or shampoo held him, maybe cradled his little head on a shoulder. For the first time, these little babies have a life apart from me.


But just as I knew would happen, this work thing? It makes the down time that much sweeter.

Sprung

What everyone is wearing this spring: Calves.



The first day of spring. After the winter that wasn't.



This picture reminded me a little of this one (scroll all the way to the bottom of that post to see photo I'm referring to). Hard to believe it's been almost a year. With the weather suddenly warmer, my thoughts turn to last year at this time. Huge, swollen, slightly miserable, itchy and only two kids to contend with. Life's a little different now.

And life's about to get different again. After almost a year home, I'm going back to work next week. I cannot believe nearly a year has gone by. I've been in a baby bubble, a twin time warp. Pick your cliche. I'm excited. I'm nervous. Suddenly all the things that have driven me batty about being home (the endless, relentless laundry, the screeching babies, the whining big kids) leave me shrugging. Eh. I can handle it. But of course, it's also bittersweet. I won't be taking care of babies all day every day (relief!) but also? I won't be taking care of babies all day every day. The grass is always greener, and all of that.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't handle change all that well. I'm getting better, and I have tools to handle things better than I used to but I'm prepared for some bumps. It's been my experience that kids and babies are fairly adaptable--usually way more so than grown-ups who tend to over think things. "I find the anticipation of change much more challenging than the change itself," --words from a wise friend--is my mantra these days.


Good thing I have such a great little crew at home to cheer me on.