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.

Stop Making Sense

It all started with Hurricane Sandy.

Surveying the damage across the street from our house, October, 2012.

Two weeks after it blew through our region and darkened our home for ten long, cold days, I was driving the kids to swim class and we passed a cavalry of electric company trucks. I burst into tears. Our power was back (it had been restored for a glorious three whole days!) but seeing that army of trucks was a stark reminder, as were the massive overturned trees that could be seen, well, everywhere. People were still suffering. Things were far from normal.

Then came Newtown.

I still find myself tearing up, more often and unexpectedly. I still think about Sandy Hook, every single day when I take Ellie to school. Amidst the bedlam and chaos of elementary school children, weighed down by backpacks and winter coats and hats, shrieking and giggling and hugging and wrestling--life and death feels close. 

Ellie and my bedtime ritual used to include me reading her a book, rubbing her back for a few minutes, tucking her in and saying goodnight. Since December 14, I have stayed with her until her breathing slows and deepens, until she starts to snore adorably (as only those under age ten can make snoring adorable). Staying with her until sleep comes for what she calls our "Snuggle Time," it seems like the least I can do.

I still cannot wrap my brain around what happened at Sandy Hook. It is the epitome of unthinkable. How can any of us begin to grasp it? It simply does not compute, still does not seem possible. Yes, we hug our children tighter and we sign petitions and we give money. What else can we do?

Finally, less than a month ago, half a dozen of my co-workers lost their jobs (and hundreds more, within the company). Friends and esteemed colleagues. Here one day, gone the next.  Empty boxes sat outside offices, poised to be packed. Name plates abruptly came down and now hang blank. This was another kind of "does not compute" but still a very real one, to look around at our morning meeting and feel the void of so many faces. Then: Last week came the rumor that our company may be sold. Who knows what will happen if that transpires.

A hurricane. An elementary school massacre. Hundreds of people out of work. Hardships and horrors of different degrees of course, but tied together by one thread: You never know what's going to happen. You may think you have control, to some degree. But you really don't.

And so, I throw up my hands. Again. 

I learned to throw up my hands for the first time, thirteen years ago when my mother died. And again, when Leo was born, when I was reminded once more of our powerlessness in all of this, in this gift of life we have. You try to prepare and you just can't, no matter how much you think you can. The best you can do is hang on and hope for the best, hope that things are going to work out the way they are supposed to. That's what I'm doing. What choice do I have?

But for the record? I don't like this out of control feeling. Does anyone? I may try to keep things "tidy," with my organizer boxes for everything from toys to linens to Tupperware tops, but in my heart I know that I can't really control much at all.

I just can't recall a time where I have felt that so many things were so very much out of my hands.

Looking Back and Laughing: Ears and Donuts Edition

The big kids had the day off on Monday (President's Day). So of course, they played school. By the way, don't let this placid little scene fool you. These moments of calm are few and far between (but I do treasure them). Check out Lucy, who seems to think she's a first grader (shhh, don't tell her the truth).

Certain days, well, you just know they're going to be one of Those Days. One of those days you will look back on and laugh and also think: We made it through. And we managed to laugh a few times and? We even got donuts.

Lucy and Harry had been growing increasingly fussy in the last few days. I'd chalked it up to teething or maybe the cold that had trickled down from one big kid to the next had finally caught up to them. I'll be honest. I don't usually call out the big guns (pediatrician) unless sleep is interfered. By Sunday night, that's exactly what happened. By mid-morning Monday, Lucy and Harry were confirmed miserable human beings: beady, teary red eyes, arms outstretched for almost constant uppy (Lucy), while others stumbled around the house, aimless and frustrated, a slobbery, whiny tangle of drool and fingers (Harry).

I knew it was time to trek to the doctor. This week, among the many things I am grateful for are days off and pediatricians that remain open on legal holidays.

There are a few things in life I try to avoid at all costs and one of them is taking all four children to the doctor. Between the enormous double stroller and the other two kids, oh I get the pity stare. The waiting can be interminable, even with the endless loop of Disney Jr. But Monday? The Waiting Gods smiled upon us. I didn't even get a chance to sit down before the nurse called us into the biggest room they have (we needed it).

Lucy and Harry had immediate, confirmed ear infections (Yay!). I realize that might be a strange reaction but I'll be honest: I'm always a bit relieved when "off" behavior is confirmed and the trip to the doctor is not for nothing. As the doctor stood at the sink writing up the prescriptions, I started packing things up. That's when Leo climbed up on the exam table and demanded a work-up.

"Eh, he has a cold but I think he's fine," I said. "He's old and sturdy."

 Everyone at the pediatrician's office loves Leo (whenever I go in without him, everyone asks for him) including this particular doctor. She set the prescription pad down and went to him, calmly listened to his chest and looked in his ears. It's been over a year since Leo magically shed his doctor fears. The fact that he placidly sits to get his ears inspected (volunteers to do it, even!) still almost takes my breath away, after all those years of tears and getting kicked in the shins trying to restrain him during a simple ENT visit.  I am so proud of him and so very relieved for those difficult days to be behind us.

And then: "He actually has an ear infection too!" the doctor announced.

And the award for Number One Mom goes to...

Of course Ellie stepped up next (she checked out just fine). Hey, three out of four isn't a terrible ratio. I guess? (Although it is a new family record.)*

We gathered our coats and hats and gloves and various stuffed animals and walked toward home in the blinding sun of a bitterly cold February afternoon, the big kids scaling snow drifts leftover from last week's storm.

There's a Dunkin Donuts on the way and I knew there would be a request for it --I immediately said yes (lemons out of lemonade, anyone?), even though the twins were teetering precariously on the edge of nap time. Of course we couldn't make it through a simple donut stop without massive fussing (Hi tired, sick babies!). And since Leo's slow eating is the stuff that legends are made from (I knew he'd be there a while), Ellie and I took the babies outside and parked the stroller in front of the window where Leo was sitting. He finished up his strawberry frosted with sprinkles and we were on our way.


2/3 of the sickies, Monday morning. 

*Edited to add that Ellie woke up this morning complaining of a sore ear so it looks like we are officially four for four. Yesssssssssssss!

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.

Snow Day(s)

The snow started falling on Friday morning: tiny, fast flakes. By afternoon the roads were getting dicey and it was definitely sticking.

By evening it was a confirmed and beautiful blizzard. "Look Mommy!" Ellie squealed, "It's a Winter Wonderland!" (Earlier in the day I overheard Ellie asking Leo if he was "Gonna freak out if we lost power"--yes, she was full of zingers on Friday).

When it was all over (it snowed for about twenty-four hours straight), we had about sixteen inches.

Snow rendered the usually gutsy and outspoken Lucy quite...irritated. The funny thing is, this snowsuit is a hand-me-down from Ellie and I have pictures of her at around the same age with nearly the identical expression of disgust. Ah, sisters.

Harry was much more game about the snow business. Here he is attempting to stand and ending up...doing a sort of variation on splits. It was just impossible for these two to do much of anything.

Erin had the best idea of all, which was to take the twins (and the big kids) for a walk around the neighborhood since our backyard was just one big snow drift (probably three feet high in snow, in some places). By Saturday afternoon most of the sidewalks were shoveled and semi-clear and Harry and Lucy reveled in the novelty of walking the streets, free from the shackles of the stroller. There was enough snow that they were still hesitant and therefore weren't taking off at their usual breakneck speeds.

If you asked Lucy, I think she'd be most excited about the fact that the weekend snow storm forced me to seek out my boot stash and lo and behold I found this little pink pair (again, Ellie hand-me-down). Lucy is now seen, most often, clomping around the house, always with the one boot. She loves her boots.

It takes a lot of outerwear and organization to get all these people out the door and warm.

By Sunday, the roads were clear enough to head into the city where we took Harry and his big brown eyes (and the rest of the family) out for brunch.

The Black Eye and the Bus

Our babysitter called me at work on Friday afternoon (and yes, I panic EVERY time I see my home number light up on my office phone). Leo came off the bus crying and very upset and yes, what every mom just loves to hear: bleeding.

His bus aid explained that Leo had hit the side of his head on the bus.

Huh?

Exhibit A (taken the day after the incident). It actually looked even worse on day three.

My first question (I had a lot) was, how fast was that little bus going? Was he strapped in? Tightly? Of course this happened on a Friday afternoon so there was no one for me to call. All I could do was watch Leo's face grow more purple as the weekend progressed. Monday morning, you can be sure I emailed Leo's (wonderful and very conscientious) teacher to give her some background on the shiner. I knew Leo would give her an earful but I wanted to make sure she was clear on how it supposedly happened.

She returned my email immediately, told me she took a picture of Leo's eye and marched him to the principal's office to show her. Several emails were fired off to the superintendent and the transportation and special education department. (I had already emailed them all). They weren't messing around and I loved it.

Well. I was pleasantly surprised to hear from the director of special education almost immediately. Evidently they take black eyes from school buses pretty seriously. And by early afternoon I received the following email from her:

I contacted [the director of Transportation] when I received your email. She immediately reviewed the bus video from Friday afternoon and sent a copy to me. [The superintendent] and I carefully reviewed it as well. It showed Leo sleeping soundly on the bus, with his seat belt on. However, as Leo slept, his head moved back and forth which caused him to involuntarily bump it on the side of the bus. The bus monitor immediately rose and attended to Leo. Also, it did not appear that the bus was traveling above the speed limit.

Side note: My baby falls asleep on the bus! Poor guy.

I was pretty surprised to learn that school buses have video cameras. I didn't know this was standard though I guess I should, after watching enough episodes of "20/20" (who didn't see that grandma getting beat up, repeatedly, a few years ago?). I was relieved to find out about the cameras. Leo can definitely verbalize a lot more than he used to and there is no doubt in my mind that if someone hurt him or if something wasn't right, he would tell us. But still, sending your kid out in the world, any kid, let alone a kid who is difficult to understand and perhaps, a little extra trusting, well, it's a scary proposition. So I was mostly at peace with the original email, but I'd by lying if I said I was completely satisfied with the explanation. You can imagine my relief when I got this note, from Leo's (amazing) teacher:

[The principal]  let me see the bus video (since I am such a skeptic lol). I am happy to say that it is true! Leo was asleep his head rolled to the left hit the window (no speed bump, no speeding) and I am really pleased at the bus aides reaction. She jumped right up and comforted Leo!! All is GOOD! Have a GREAT day!

Aside from Leo's eye (which looks so much better, already), all is good. And I am further heartened to learn that Leo's teacher isn't afraid to ask a few extra questions. It takes a village for sure, and if a few of those village members are skeptics to boot? All the better.

20

It's taking all my willpower to not post the picture I really want to post here, which included not one, but TWO naked baby tushies. Since Harry and Lucy may want to run for public office someday, I thought it best to hold back on that one. In other news, you may not be shocked to learn that bathing two toddlers who won't sit down in the bathtub is both challenging and a comedy of errors.

Ellie had a wonderful time in the bath with the babies. Unlike me, Harry and Lucy loved being squirted by the various rubber bath animals. There was much squealing and happy shrieking from all three. Until Harry peed (what's that saying? It's all fun and games until someone pees in the tub?) and Ellie was absolutely scandalized and...scene. Bathtime was promptly over.

Ellie is on her way to learning to read. She has quite a few sight words. The babies are her perfect audience.

It occured to me yesterday that the babies twins are now twenty months old. That feels like another "momentous" milestone just as entering the "teen" months was. So here they are, now marching squarely toward two. Gulp.

Lucy is...how shall I say this? The BOSS. Or at least she thinks she is. "Don't want it!" "No way!" "Come on!" "Color!" (meaning, she wants to draw, which she always does when she spies the big kids huddled around the kitchen table, drawing) are just a few of her favorite and frequent phrases.

She knows what she wants, and when she wants it. And Look Out if you stand in her way. Just look at that focus. She's going to brush that doll head's hair and she's going to do it right.

And dear, sweet Harry. I've never known a baby who could amuse himself more than this one. He "reads" books to himself. He is absolutely in love with Leo's train table, whether it's covered with trains or Duplos he is on the case and happy as can be. He also recently discovered Thomas trains (see him clutching his little Thomas in the bath, above). He carried that train around all weekend and was seriously perturbed when he found out he wasn't allowed to sleep with it. He's saying a few more words. This week he busted out with "night, night." Most of his words seem closer to approximations than full words but we can usually figure out what he's trying to tell us.

Speaking of "night night," we have a newish bedtime routine. Rather than just plopping the babies in their cribs, turning on the sound machine and music and turning out the lights, as we did for months and months, we're now finally reading books before bed (add this to my list of things I felt guilty about the twins missing out on, since I always dutifully read to my singletons).

Of course nothing in our house can be simple, so when the twins' bedtime hits, which is usually about halfway through Leo and Ellie's dinner, everyone scrambles upstairs ("Last one up gets a rotten egg!" calls Ellie), fights for rights to the rocking chair, and thus begins a rollicking rendition of "Baby Beluga."

Lucy bobs her head and shakes her hips and Harry bounces and sways and throws himself onto his mattress and rolls around to the beat. I scratch his little head like he's a puppy and he flashes me a grateful smile. Leo and Ellie then each sing their own lullaby, alternating nights (some kind of fight about this breaks out nightly, trust me). And then at some point Ellie's Dreamlite became part of the mix (I know, it's practically a Vegas show, right?).


Or maybe more like a circus act.