I Want OUT! And Other Things We Heard, Saw and Did This Year in Mystic

Summer wouldn't officially be here for our family without our annual trek to Mystic, Connecticut.

A few days before our road trip I took the van in to have the carseats checked by a professional (yes, four kids in and I still don't trust myself to install them properly). I was mainly concerned about Leo's booster but when the tech noticed Harry and Lucy were still rear facing, we started to talk (she was impressed they were still rear facing since it is technically safer). But then we began talking heights and weights and since they were close to outgrowing their seats in their present position,  it made sense to take care of that while we were there. So, one hour and most of a Lego Batman movie later (thank you, minivan DVD player), voila!


Two officially forward facing, big kids.

We hit the road early on Saturday morning. Lucy has never been what I'd call mellow in the car but I was really hoping the novelty of the forward facing would help.

No dice.

Three minutes into New York State and Lucy was shrieking, "I WANT OUT!!"

It was just as relaxing as it sounds.

We stopped in Connecticut to use the restroom and let the kids get their shakes out. We taught them the art of relay racing (not the firing squad that it appears).



It calmed Lucy. For about three minutes.

Side note: I had to laugh at us the night before we left, as we ran around the house like the proverbial chickens, throwing clothes and toys and swim goggles into tote bags. We were going away for One. Night. The scene reminded me of the beginning of "Home Alone"--which takes place the night before a large family is leaving for a trip to Paris. So I had only one goal really, for this year's trip to Mystic: to not forget any of our children.

Newsflash: It's hard traveling with many small children. Really it only takes one miserable child (not mentioning any names) to make the whole thing challenging. But in certain moments, all the hard stuff, all the whining and struggling and cajoling and haggling all falls away.



Our first stop when we hit town was Abbots, our favorite Mystic (technically in nearby Noank) restaurant. Its location on the water (coupled with its lobster rolls and lobster chowder) is truly transporting--it screams "Vacation!" even if you do have to eat your lobster roll while you are chasing around an almost three year old and keeping her from landing head first in the water.






If these two pictures of the kids and me aren't the quintessential shots of being a mom of four kids then I don't know what is. (My favorite part of the picture below is Leo, by the way). And notice how Lucy is getting set to go rogue and refusing to look at the camera? Yup.



I always aim for little, transcendental moments when we travel with the children. For me, that came after lunch, at the hotel pool. Everyone was tired and stir crazy from the car time. But all we had to do was add a little water and soon, all four (all six actually) were in bliss. We had the pool to ourselves for a while--allowing Leo to cannon ball off the side to his heart's content, while Ellie practiced her back stroke. Erin and I took turns throwing twins around the pool (Lucy squealed "I want to do that AGAIN!" about ninety-seven times).

The big plan for a nice dinner at another favorite local restaurant was foiled by an unnamed, non-napped preschooler. Needless to say what began as an "early dinner" quickly became "Uh...can we actually get that to go?" Cheese pizzas and Greeks salads and spaghetti and meatballs were quickly wrapped and it was "home" to our hotel room where the kids picnicked on beach towels and I (out of desperation) paid more to RENT "The Lego Movie" than it costs to buy the DVD. Best money we've spent in a looooong time.

I'll skip the part about the pretty torturous night in a hotel room with twin two year olds (complete with a 1 a.m. wake up due to drunk wedding revelers in the hallway outside our room). It was everything you would imagine it to be.

Oh but I do have to share this.

Poor Leo is afraid of the dark. At home he sleeps with a lamp on in his room. He pleaded with us to leave a reading lamp in the hotel room on. WAY too bright. We agreed to leave the light in the bathroom on AND the door open. He was not satisfied with that compromise. Which is why this trip to Mystic will be remembered as the One When Leo Slept In the Bathtub. I'll once again use the line that sums up our family: Can't. Make. This. Stuff. Up.

Needless to say, we all survived, as we always seem to. There was hot, dark roast venti-sized Starbucks in the morning (shouldn't all hotels have a Starbucks in the lobby?), along with a breakfast buffet complete with strawberries and whipped cream (of course Lucy fell off her chair in the middle of breakfast). Par for the course.

After breakfast came the moment we'd all been waiting for:


Visiting an old friend, the beluga whale at the Mystic Aquarium.


We took our annual picture in front of the penguin statue. Notice anything different about this one? No stroller! This is the first trip we've taken as a family of six wherein no stroller was used. Hooray! And also, EEK!

You know what else was pretty cool?





On our way out of town we finally got to meet Abby and her family. Her mom Cate writes one of the first DS blogs I ever read (hers was one that inspired me to start writing my own). I can't believe I've "known" her now for six years--when we first connected, Abby and Leo were toddlers. Now look at these giant big kids.


Until next time, Mystic. Our goals for when we do return are mighty: Dinner AT a restaurant, sitting  at a table, perhaps? And sleeping through the night in beds. Oh we ask for SO MUCH!

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.

On Having it "Never Be Okay"

My mom, Eleanor, circa late 1990s.

I'm not really sad anymore on Mother's Day, which sure is a refreshing change from all those teary, Woe is me, let's have a glass of wine at 1 p.m. Mother's Days of years gone by. It's been fourteen years of not having a mom here and by this time, having my mother to fuss over and take out to brunch and buy peonies for just feels completely foreign and "other" to me. It just isn't my reality and hasn't been for a loooong time. 

I plug along. She is in my thoughts some days but I'm almost surprised to admit (and a little ashamed) that on many she is not. There was a time I don't think I could have ever imagined that I would honestly write that sentence. But there it is.

And then the other day I read this, by Cheryl Strayed:

"It will never be okay," a friend who lost her mom in her teens said to me a couple of years ago. "It will never be okay that our mothers are dead."

...Our moms had been dead for ages. We were both writers with kids of our own now. We had good relationships and fulfilling careers. And yet the unadorned truth of what she'd said--it will never be okay--entirely unzipped me.

It will never be okay, and yet, there we were, the two of us more than okay, both of us happier and luckier than anyone has a right to be. You could describe either one of us as "joy on wheels" though there isn't one good thing that has happened to either of us that we haven't experienced through the lens of our grief. I'm not talking about weeping and wailing every day (though sometimes we did that). I'm talking about what goes on inside, the words unspoken, the shaky quake at the body's core. There was no mother at our college graduations. There was no mother at our weddings. There was no mother when we sold our first books. There was no mother when our children were born. There was no mother, ever, at any turn for either one of us in our entire adult lives and there never will be.

And that's the truth. It will never be okay that Eleanor never got to meet Ellie. That she never got to eat scrambled eggs with Leo or push a ridiculously giant double stroller housing two (two!) wailing newborns down our treelined New Jersey street. 

 

And it will never be okay that my mom never go to meet Erin, but I will always be so glad that in a brave moment during one of our many afternoon phone calls (she in Oregon, me, away at graduate school in New York City) I decided to tell her about this new person that I'd only been dating for a handful of months. And because of that, for the rest of my life I’ll have a printed out email from my mom that says simply, "I'm glad you have Erin." Boy, was she right.

And the fact that it's not okay? Serves as a counterpoint to all the unbelievably wonderful and beautiful things in my life: Leo's hugs, and the way he throws his arms around my waist and holds onto me with his very soul, Ellie's witticisms and the way she will just look at me in the middle of dinner and say "Can we snuggle?" Harry's chocolate brown eyes and the way he leans in to give me a sloppy kiss and then declares, "That's a juicy one!" Lucy's blonde ringlets and watching her drink milk from a straw and eat peanut butter and strawberry jam with as much satisfaction as one would garner from drinking a glass of Pol Roger and eating Malpeque oysters. 

There is just so much beauty and joy and grace and hilarity in my life now, that the "not okayness," feels somehow easier and harder (if that makes any sense at all). Easier because I'm so busy with all these children! And my life is so full! And yet, she's missing all these children. And all this fullness. But. That is just the way it is.

 

There are so many things my mom and I never got to talk about. I was twenty seven when she died, and at that point, becoming a mother myself was the farthest thing in my mind. Who knows if I'm right, but to this day, I think one of her greatest worries for me was that I would never become a mother.

Of course now we all have a good laugh over that one. I hope my mom is laughing too.

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. 

 

Summer Tease

Friday I felt downright victorious because we played outside without coats (poor Harry, such a creature of habit--he can't figure out what's going on when he doesn't need a coat--as soon as he hears "play outside" he runs to the mudroom, grabs his little navy blue down jacket off the hook and commands me, "Put my coat on!"). Lucy is no better--she insisted on wearing her Flipeez hat on today's neighborhood walk (high temperature: 79 degrees).




A rock, a trowel and a fairy skirt. She has a PLAN.

Then this weekend happened.


It was 82 degrees. Wait. WHAT?


Tomorrow it's supposed to rain. Not snow. So we're good.

Thursday's List: Super Heroes, Captured Souls, the Energizer Bunny and Eiffel Tower(s) in New Jersey

1. Art and Photography:


Leo recently completed his best to date (in my humble opinion) family portrait. (Left to right): Mommy (Wonder Woman), Leo (Spider Man-OF COURSE), Lucy (Super Man), Harry (Bat Man), Ellie (The Flash Girl), Mama (Green Lantern) and flying high above is of course our dear, sweet, beloved Ruby the Super Dog.


Meanwhile Lucy mastered her very first face.

Ellie's first grade "spring portraits" came home. I never order these and consider them to be somewhat of a scam-- (I'm a traditionalist and normally just do fall).

But then then they had to go and CAPTURE HER SOUL. I mean, really.

2. Food:

The Nutella obsession continues. Every day, post-nap.

Is there anything better than Nutella? Well. No. And by the way, we are now the family that goes through three to four loaves of bread. A week. (Did I mention I finally realized in the midst of last Friday night's "pizza night" that we have officially graduated to needing two pizzas? Thanks Lucy who eats just the cheese off of three slices).

Speaking of Lucy and food, she and Harry have switched places when it comes to their eating habits. He used to be the "easy" voracious one, willing to try anything (Seasoned tofu! Dried seaweed!) and almost always cleaned his plate and asked for more. Now he pushes many of his former favorites away. You know what else is fun? Aside from macaroni and cheese, neither of them like to eat the same thing. Wait. Do Goldfish count?

This morning Lucy ate three pieces of toast and asked for more. Growth spurt? Perhaps. I mentioned this and Ellie piped up, "Maybe she's getting ready to hibernate! That would be relaxing for you, Mommy!"

3. Lucy:


Hello my name is Unadulterated Joy!

It's such a cliche but I have to use it. Lucy is the Energizer Bunny. She makes her presence known at all times, from the moment she awakes at 6:15, softly singing "Let It Go," (it quickly builds to an urgent, pressing crescendo of "MOMMYMOMMYGETMEOUTMOMMYMOMMY!"). Much of the time she is full volume, going 110 miles per hour while the rest of us are strolling along around at 25 (or if you're Harry it's closer to 15). She is insistent, demanding, unreasonably verbal and often hilarious. She does almost everything with a smile on her face, including pouring a cup of water on the floor or taking her pajamas off right before bedtime, making it difficult to get too angry with her, even if her behavior is ridiculous.



 The other day I overhead Harry and her playing together. She'd injured some body part and began pleading with Harry to "KISS IT! KISS IT! KISS IT!" That's when Harry piped up with "Relax."

I don't think any conversation in the history of conversations has better summarized the personality of two little people.

And yes, I MIGHT tell Lucy to Relax! oh, about 97 times a day.


I read something recently that said that said when you start to lose patience with your mind-numbingly impossible almost three year old (OK those were my words), you should look at their tiny feet, as a reminder that they aren't this small for very long. In short: Yes, I lose my patience every once in a while  And yes, I'm an incredible sap.

4. Harry:

Harry's speech continues to explode. He's starting to have little conversations (with himself and others) and it's SO nice that he's finally able to TELL us what he wants and needs and likes (no surprise there: Super Man, dump trucks, garbage trucks, police cars...) He repeats everything (See: "Relax!" and has picked up some adorable little expressions like "That was a close one!"



Harry and Lucy now mostly have free reign of the house. I've pretty much given up on keeping the upstairs gate closed because it never fails that right when I'm in the middle of making scrambled eggs, Harry decides he HAS TO HAVE HIS RACECAR, the one that's in his crib. Oh sure I could send a big kid up to open the gate but it's much easier to let them go up and down as they please. The same now goes for the basement playroom which is VERY EXCITING. Things can get a little too rambunctious sometimes when all four of them are down there but often during the day I send just the twins down while I make lunch or prep dinner. Invariably Lucy spends more time marching up and down the stairs to "Show me something" (Can you say Social Creature) but they still enjoy a bit of independence. As do I.


They love to "hide" in our bed. Or Ellie's. Or Leo's. And pretend to be "sleeping." Trust me they are SO not sleeping.

5. When the Past and the Present Come Crashing Together in a Beautiful and Heartbreaking Way:
A few days ago I drove into the city with the twins and as we sped along the New Jersey turnpike Harry kept pointing out the "Eiffel Tower" (also known as cell phone towers and verrrry tall utility-type towers? I guess?).  Poor kid. (By the way, he knows about the Eiffel Tower from books, "101 Dalmations" and a small Eiffel Tower pendant that I wear on a chain around my neck-he's not that well traveled yet).

Today on our way downstairs from nap, a photograph caught Harry's eye, it was one of my mom and me, almost fifteen years ago, standing in front of, yes, the Eiffel Tower. He'd never noticed it before but was immediately ecstatic and repeated "Eiffel Tower! Eiffel Tower!" over and over again. That's when I crouched down and pointed at my mom and said, "That's Grandma Eleanor. And that's Mommy." Again, Harry repeated. Lucy, standing just a step below Harry on the stairs, looked on with equal interest.


My mom and me, 1999. 

And then just like that the moment passed. Lucy took Harry's hand and said, "Come on Harry, I'll help you go downstairs." They proceeded to scoot down on their tushes as they are apt to do. But this time they were holding hands. Holding. Hands. "Here Harry, I'll help you," Lucy said.

And as I looked down at the backs of those two little heads, Lucy's a wild mess of untamed blonde curls and Harry's, a ruffled, chocolatey brown and growing out little boy haircut, that's when, just for a brief few seconds I felt so overcome with grief that it almost took my breathe away. I was once again reminded: She's missing this.

And then we had to get sweatshirts and shoes and a race car to hold and just the right My Little Pony to carry. It was time to pick Ellie up from school.