Wherein Harry Thinks We Changed His Name to Harrystoptouchingthelights

He even looks guilty, doesn't he? By the way, the only reason he's not touching the Christmas lights here is because he's holding the television remote control. What can I say? The boy likes electronics. Or, electricity.

Also, note the gaping hole of no lights on that poor tree. Hey, you can only adjust a string of lights so many times before things start to look...sloppy.

But more importantly, the tree is STILL standing. At least, it was when I left for work this morning.

Furiously knocking wood.

Letters Home

I received this note from Leo's speech therapist this morning:

"I just want to mention something that was really touching during Leo's group session yesterday.
We were having a "tea party," a nice little vehicle for language exercises.
Just before everyone pretended to drink the "tea," Leo bowed his head and started giving "Thanks."
And so the rest of the students started doing the same. It was adorable.
He is a great boy."

Gratitude Weekend

So very Thankful.













And thankful to you, for coming here when you can, to let us share our little world with you.

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift.
-Eleanor Roosevelt

This and That, Two Days Before Thanksgiving

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Life is exhausting and sweet.

What I Wish I Knew: The Mom Edition

My mom seeing me off to sleep away camp, circa 1983. My dad sent me this picture a few weeks ago and it was like an early Hanukkah present. I saw it and immediately burst into (happy) tears. I'd never seen it before, yet after staring at it for a few moments was able to piece together exactly when and where it was taken. Isn't memory a funny thing?

In many ways, as the years go by, it gets easier not having my mom here.

Of course I miss her. But the proverbial It is What it Is springs to mind. And thankfully, the grief is no where near as raw as it once was. With every year that passes, she gets farther and farther away. For this I feel equal parts heart broken and pragmatic.

In the old days (read: before I had children), I often pined for the things we used to do together. Now that I'm nearly forty years old, I'm not embarrassed to admit that my mother left a huge, gaping hole in my social life when she died (or at least, the social life in my mind, since we lived 3,000 apart). Of course I missed her, her very essence, but I also longed for our afternoon walks at Laurelhurst park; Saturday matinees at the art house theater, followed by chocolate chip cookies and lattes at Grand Central Baking. She was more than my mom. She was a confidante. She was almost always the first person I went to for counsel and advice (back then the "hard stuff" now seems blissfully benign: research papers, and roommate conflicts were my biggest concerns back in 1999.)

As delightful as a Saturday matinee sounds right about now, I have found myself missing something else about my mom lately.

Her wisdom. And her experience as a mom.

Of course, it's easy to romanticize it all. If she were here and I went to her with a question or seeking advice about one of the babies or the kids, surely we'd be in full agreement and she'd say just the right thing! Because we all know that adult daughter/mother relationships are never complicated or fraught in any way.

HA.

I just have so many questions. There were so many things I never asked her, because at 27 years old? Having children seemed a lifetime away, if not improbable all together.

My longing for her ebbs and flows. I can go weeks-months even, without thinking of her much at all. I mean of course I think of her, but they are mere flashes of memory. Or I'll see a movie or book and think, She would love this. And then other times, at little mundane moments, pulling sweatpants up on a chunky thigh, wiping a baby's little heart shaped mouth, reading a book that I loved as a child (Corduroy--which Ellie recently announced she "doesn't like anymore"), downloading a photo sent by Leo's teacher of him proudly holding an "A" spelling test--these are the moments I get a little stabby feeling in my throat. She's gone. She missed out. On all of this. And she's never coming back. And it's so unfair that it's almost unbelievable. Strike that. It is unbelievable.

Lately I think she's been on the forefront of my mind because Ellie and I have been...having some disagreements.



In addition to Ellie's kindergarten portrait, the Thanksgiving projects started rolling in last week. And it's official. This year, Ellie is "Thankful for herself."

God bless her, really. If you knew Ellie, you would understand that this statement truly does summarize her, at age five. She is a little force, that one.

She also rolls her eyes at me. Often. She grows impatient with my inability to get her chocolate snack biscuits RIGHT NOW (and, unintentionally, feeds on all of my guilt over the babies and feeling like I can't ever pay enough attention to anyone, that invariably someone needs something they're not getting...sigh). She commands me to "Stop talking!" when I explain to her why we can't do something right at that moment. (An example: Why can't we go to the birthday party now? Hmm...well, because it doesn't start for another six hours?) I know! I'm such a stickler!

She asks mind-numbing questions like "Why do I have to get dressed for school?" And when I calmly and quietly begin to explain why she roars "I know! I know! Don't tell me to do it!"

Part of me wants to strangle Ellie. And part of me wants to slam the door on her, hide in the bathroom and call my mom and ask her: Was I like this (secretly I am pretty sure of the answer)? OK I know I was no peach as a teenager, that I remember, but five years old and already with the attitude?

Of course, Ellie can also be incredibly sweet and kind and loving. She draws hearts with the word "Mom" in the middle and stuffs them in my pockets. She can never get enough about snuggles and can't understand why she can't sleep in our bed every night like she did when we were without power for ten days after Hurricane Sandy. Sometimes I catch her gazing across the kitchen table at "her babies" with more affection and love than I would have ever thought possible (though she did confess to me the other night in the midst of a particularly vocal tandem crying jag "It's hard having babies...but I love them." Well there's one thing she and I are in full agreement of).

Happy and surprised to see Mommy at a recent school pick-up.

Why does any of this matter? Why do I care what my mom would say? Who knows if she would have anything to say that would help. Hell, maybe I just want commiseration. Oh Mom. You wouldn't believe what Ellie did this time. She would probably get some amount of satisfaction knowing that what goes around comes around-moms of snarky little girls unite!

After Leo was born, I was pleasantly surprised by how whole I felt, once again, for the first time since my mother died. Somehow, becoming a mother myself made me feel complete, awash in a glow of purpose and strength, feelings I hadn't had in years. And with every baby, more fulfillment, though always tinged with disbelief: She isn't here to see them, to share this, to share them, with me. But it seemed that looking into their little blue eyes (yes, three out of four kids have blue eyes, just like my mom and unlike me) grounded me. Gave me purpose and forced me, to be brutally honest, to think of someone other than myself.

I walk solidly, mostly confidently with this band of little people, this family I have that surprises me almost every single day. Becoming a mother of so many has made me more decisive, less wish-washy, less prone to grief and regret than I was as a twenty-something in mourning. But all of this will never keep me from wondering, what could have been.

Sandy's Lessons: Tales From Our "Prairie" Life

I'm pretty sure Ellie meant to write "Harry," not "Hammy" (although he is that). This is evidence of one of the many, many Hurricane Sandy-Power Outage creations. For days and days, our kitchen table looked like a scrap booker and an artist went on a wild bender. Hey, what else is there to do without Disney Jr. and PBS Kids?

It's only been a week since our power has been restored and already it feels like all of that dark and cold was a lifetime ago. This morning I self-indulgently cranked the heat to seventy, threw a load of lights in the washing machine and simultaneously ran the dishwasher. Because I could.

Only a week ago this was a mere fantasy. Did I tell you at one point during the power outage I actually dreamed about doing laundry (to be fair, it was almost waste-high in our laundry room. Hey, that's what you get when you don't do laundry for six people in ten days. Not pretty.)

And yes, I am still in love with technology and all of its conveniences.

I don't miss much about our ten day experiment with the prairie life. I don't miss the cold or having to quickly fetch milk or melting frozen pizza from the cooler stored in the mudroom before Harry and Lucy could come padding in to spill the dog's water or play in the kibble. In case you're wondering, the only reason we stored the cooler in the mudroom was because a certain toddler boy learned to climb and stand on said cooler (we dubbed this Cooler Surfing) which we deemed unsafe, especially in the dark. Yes, this is my life.

No, I don't miss bundling the babies in four layers plus a sleep sack and then lying in bed, wide awake at 2 a.m. thinking I heard a cry, convinced they were cold. Nope, sure don't.

Speaking of waking cold, I'm pretty sure Harry was. I don't think it's a coincidence that most mornings after we lost power, Harry was up between 4:30 and 5 a.m. In normal (i.e. heated) circumstances, I've been known to let a baby whine and fuss when they have the gall to wake so early. But when the upstairs is hovering around fifty-five degrees (which I realize doesn't sound all that cold but trust me it is), well, it just didn't seem right.

Which brings me to coffee. No, I don't miss how we were forced to make coffee in those days without power. I would creep downstairs in the dark with Harry and with one hand I boiled water on the stove (lit with a match), then poured it through our coffee pot. It worked well, except for the fact that obviously it didn't keep the coffee warm and, well, when your downstairs is fifty degrees, let's just say things cool down quickly. But at 4:30 a.m.? Coffee is not optional.

One morning, I woke to Harry's cries and stumbled into the babies' room to fetch him before he could wake Lucy (if there's anything worse than one baby awake before sunrise, it's two babies awake before sunrise). I brought him to the bathroom, where Erin was showering and where I knew the steam would warm us both. Erin and I chatted briefly, and before we knew it, Leo and Ellie were both also in the bathroom too. Apparently Harry's cries had awakened them. I glanced at the clock: 4:45 a.m. and three out of four kids were up. Man, it was going to be a long day.

"Are we in hell?" I asked Erin.
"Pretty sure, yes," she replied, poking her head out of the shower, briefly.
But we were both laughing.

So maybe it will surprise you to learn that there are plenty of things I do miss about our little break from life on the grid.

1. No Distractions: I didn't realize how much housework takes me away from time with the kids until my ability to load the dishwasher, do laundry or cook anything more complicated than boiling water for pasta or heating pizza on the stove top, was taken away. Aside from trying to keep up with the dishes (admittedly, hand washing the dishes is tedious but since we were blessed with hot water it was a welcome way to keep warm) and trying to clean up toys from the floor before sunset every night, there wasn't much housework to be done. And since my phone was in a constant state of near-death since it rarely got fully charged (I charged my phone in the car before Erin left for work every morning which takes forever --see: never full charged) I couldn't really text anyone, email or partake much in the mother of all Mom Distractions: Facebook. It felt...liberating.


No joke, this photo was taken at around 5:30 a.m. Nothing to do at that hour in the dark but draw (by flashlight of course)!

2. Break from Technology: We warned Leo and Ellie that the power could go out before the storm (of course, little did we know...). Their first question was about the TV. The prospect that they might not have it seemed shocking. For the first few hours, they were in denial. Leo kept trying to turn it on. But by the next morning, it was not even discussed. Out came the pens and crayons and water colors. The kitchen table became Command Central for The Great Artfest of Hurricane Sandy. Ellie made paper dolls and paper fairies and paper princesses. Leo drew seventeen different versions of Spider Man and at least fourteen different renditions of the solar system. We don't let them watch a ton of television but they certainly watch it. It's not like they don't normally draw and color often, but when TV is taken completely off the table and it's not even an option? It's a no brainer that activities are going to get more creative (see above: liberating). It wasn't just art. As I mentioned before, there were many complex games involving fixing toys and dress-up and playing school.

3. Closeness: When it's cold and dark at 7:45, there isn't much to do but crawl into bed and snuggle to keep warm. Even when she was still eating dinner, Ellie would ask me "When are we going to go upstairs to cuddle?" We settled into a nighttime routine early on. As soon as the babies were down and dinner was over, I took the big kids upstairs (once it got dark we traveled as a pack-remind me to tell you the story of the first night of no power when Leo freaked out--he is not a fan of the dark) and turned on the hot shower in the bathroom for a little warmth so they could change into their pajamas. Then we'd climb into our bed (we had the kids sleep with us to keep warm). And Leo and Ellie would be snoring by 7:55. Side note: It was during one of these snuggle sessions that Ellie piped up the words that will go down in family history: "Leo! I can feel your tushy!"

That's when I would sneak out of bed to go downstairs and to clean up (I use that term loosely--there's only so much cleaning one can do by candlelight). Clean-up time usually involved a glass or two of wine. Like I said: those were some loooong days. That was some well-earned wine.

4. Life on Hold: I really don't think I'm cut out to be a stay at home mom but I have to say I really enjoyed that week home with the kids, when the trains and buses stopped and my office closed and New York City nearly ground to a halt. And when I say home I mean home. We have one car, which Erin took to work (poor thing worked before dawn to well after dusk in those frenzied, post-Sandy days) so there were few places to go. We took a lot of neighborhood walks. There was our infamous trip to the Red Cross Shelter. I referred to my week home with the kids as Extreme Parenting, because not only were we living without a lot of basic comforts (heat, electricity) but home with four kids for seven straight days and no television? I am here to tell you: It can be done. That morning three out of four kids were up at 4:30 a.m. (I still get chills writing that) I read the kids books by flashlight. I know! Once the sun came up and it was light enough, Leo and I played catch with his little foam ball.

5. The constant reminder that if you don't laugh at the situation, you might cry (not that there is anything wrong with crying). One morning I had the brilliant plan to warm the babies' bedroom before their morning nap, with steam from the shower. I carefully closed all the bedroom doors upstairs and turned the water in the babies' shower on hot and high. Ten minutes later our neighbor came over to check on us. That's when all three upstairs smoke alarms went off at the same time (apparently the steam combined with the cold air and set off the alarms). I've never seen Leo turn a whiter shade of white, poor guy. In other news, it seems I'm not a Girl Scout, after all.

That time at home with the kids in the cold and dark was intense, exhausting, ridiculous, frustrating and often  hilarious (at least, in retrospect). And as I have been telling almost anyone who will listen: I am now pretty sure I can do almost anything.

***

Last night as I stood, wiping down the counter in our obscenely bright kitchen, watching Ellie eat the last few bites of spaghetti and feeling suddenly oddly nostalgic about how just a week ago it would have been close to "cuddle time," I asked Ellie if she liked it better with the power on or off.

"Off," she replied, with instant certainty.

"Really? Why?" I asked, assuming she'd mention the thrill of sleeping in our bed for ten straight nights or missing a week of school.

"Because it was an adventure!" she said.

And isn't that the truth.

The Eventual Halloween

For the second year in a row, Halloween in our neighborhood (heck, I think in our whole state if not the entire region) was cancelled due to a major weather event. This year of course, it was Hurricane Sandy, which hit on October 29. There was no trick or treating on the actual day, no school parties or parades, period.

Oh sure, trick or treating was rescheduled. In our town it was last Monday. When we were still without power. I wasn't about to bundle the kids up in freezing temperatures and walk through a dark neighborhood, nor was I about to answer the door to trick or treaters without a porch light. Honestly that's Leo favorite part, handing out the candy. Ellie, on the other hand, doesn't play. She is all about the getting of the candy. She was not happy at the news that there would be no trick or treating.

Part of me just wanted to forget the whole dang thing. Just the sight of Halloween decorations has semi-bad connotations for me at this point. Bright and early on November 1, Leo and Ellie and I efficiently packed up all the Halloween accouetrement: gone were the witch and ghost figurines from the mantel, adios to the pumpkin garland and candy corn collages.

Let's make Turkeys and hang them all over the house! I practically shrieked, so ready was I to Put Halloween Behind Us. The other day I joked to Erin that I'm going to need doggy tranquilizers next October 31, so fearful am I of Another Spooky Major Weather Event. Third time's a charm?

This year's "official" Halloween (unbeknownst to the kids) was spent changing the radio station and the subject when the newscaster announced it was Halloween (Ellie didn't miss a beat and asked, "It's Halloween today Mommy? Are we going trick or treating?).

Later I did my best to maintain normalcy: We went to the playground and wandered around the neighborhood (anything to keep four stir crazy kids out of the dark, cold house for a few hours). The "highlight" of our day ended up being an impromptu field trip to the local Red Cross Shelter, where the kids ate chips and Cheerios and I was able to charge my cell phone (at first they weren't going to let me, saying the power needed to be conserved for the phones belonging to first responders). I was gracious about it and didn't argue but the gentleman in charge insisted that a woman with four children and no cell phone certainly constituted an emergency (I'll say! No Facebook? No Words With Friends?). KIDDING.

Well, thankfully, life has mostly gone back to normal for us. Unfortunately, Ellie was not taking my lead about the decision to do our best to ignore Halloween this year. She kept asking about trick or treating, kept asking when we were going to have our party (for the record, we were not having a Halloween party but that didn't stop her). I had explained several times that due to the storm it wasn't safe to trick or treat and she understood that. But the power came back on, the streets were cleared of trees and debris. And so her question, understandably, persisted: When are we going trick or treating?

That's when it dawned on me. All the kids really wanted to do was wear their costumes and get some candy.

I know! I exclaimed, not quite sure where I was going with my idea, I just knew that if I had to explain to Ellie one more time...

How about, you dress up in your costumes and you knock on OUR door and we give YOU candy?

Unanimous grins all around.

And that's why Halloween 2012 will be remembered as the Year We Trick or Treated At Our Own House.

And the nice thing about having four kids is you always have an instant party. We didn't even need to invite anyone for it to feel festive. The big kids put on their costumes. We got to dress the babies in their first Halloween costumes and take the proverbial ten thousand pictures. The kids ran around in the sixty-two degree weather (why yes, two weeks ago we had a hurricane! Of course!).

Don't ask me why I felt the need to have Munchkins and apple cider (which I of course forgot to serve) in addition to the Three Musketeers, Milky Way, Twix and M&Ms we still had left over, due to the whole, no Trick or Treaters thing.

I told Ellie she could eat as much candy as she wanted but it would be gone the next day. And like any well-adjusted kid, she ate so much she almost made herself sick, but stopped just short. Later she reported she was going to "Just eat tambourines, because they don't make my stomach feel so yucky."

For the record, she meant tangerines.