Spring Breakers

Leo introduces Harry to the Best Movie Ever  (in Leo's mind).


Last night, after the babies were in bed and the big kids were pajamaed and drawing idyllically at the kitchen table, it dawned on me:

The kids start spring break tomorrow. No school. I don't have to make school lunches for ten days.

Let me repeat that: I DONT HAVE TO MAKE SCHOOL LUNCHES FOR THE NEXT TEN DAYS.

Now that's what I call spring break! My friend Cate says she thinks there's an episode of "Girls Gone Wild" that has to do with moms not making lunches and I'd believe it, because while it doesn't take me that long to do it at night, it's the knowing that my evening is that freed up. I can never truly relax when I have that monkey of Must Pack Lunches on my back. But with no lunches? Once Ellie is in bed (Erin usually puts Leo to bed), I'm a free woman! I can...oh I don't know...throw in a load of laundry! Organize a closet! Or watch "Smash" bad television, play Words With Friends and drink wine. You know, just hypothetically speaking.

The reason for the packed lunch respite is this the first year in the history of, ever that the kids haven't been in daycare during a school break. For the last few years, Ellie's preschool stayed open year round and ran a camp for school age kids during school holidays, which Leo always attended. Before that, Leo and Ellie were both in daycare.

I wish I could be home with the kids every day (well maybe not every day all day, ahem). But we're cobbling together some fun(ish) plans. Next week I'm bringing Ellie and Leo to work with me on separate days and I'll take a day off here and there where I can. There were some long faces and tears when I left this morning, but we rallied. And I guess at least Ellie recovered, because when I called to check on everyone at lunch Ellie asked me, "Can we, um, not be talking on the phone?"

Alrighty then.


Spring Break means playing outside in your pajamas on the first day that really "felt" like spring. In other news, I think it might be time for Ellie to get a real bike.

It's amazing how much fun can be had before 9 a.m.


They have the entire driveway and yet, here they sit, tush to tush.

Equal

May 24, 2011. Leo was our ring bearer, Ellie our flower girl.

Erin and I had a commitment ceremony (we called it a wedding and always will) on April 29, 2001, in Brooklyn, New York. On May 24, 2011 we had a civil union in the great state of New Jersey (and no, I didn't just have a big burrito for lunch, the twins were born a week after this picture, taken outside the courthouse, was snapped).

I always knew I didn't need a piece of paper to be considered married. But equal rights sure would be nice.

The "Everything" Store

There was a time when Sunday mornings meant one thing: Thrift Store.

It's hard to even conceptualize a time in my life when I could wake up when I wanted to (!), start my day with a run and a leisurely cup of coffee, and have no one but myself to worry about. But once upon a time, that was true. I'd cruise out to 82nd avenue where a few of the best thrift stores in Portland, Oregon were, or if I was feeling especially adventurous, 162nd Avenue. Sundays, after all, meant everything was an extra 25 percent off, to say nothing of whichever color tag they discounted that day.

I love SO many things about thrifting. I love the challenge, I love the element of surprise--what will I find today? I love the aspect of nostalgia, of coming across little things that remind me of my childhood or people who have come and gone from my life.

Every once in a while I still get the itch to go "thrifting." It's complicated because it's not the kind of thing you can rush, and the only decent thrift store I've found relatively nearby is still a good twenty minutes away. Our weekend errands are not usually what I would call "leisurely" and they almost always entail dragging a kid (or four) along on. I brought Leo and Ellie to a thrift store a few years ago and it was a confirmed disaster--we spent way too much time looking at broken and in some cases altogether scary looking toys. Neither one of them would stay in the same place and they were touching everything.

But it dawned on me that at 5 1/2, it might be time to try again with Ellie (Leo would probably be fine now too but we've been trying to give them plenty of time apart on the weekends whenever possible as we've been deep into Def con Level Nine with the sibling rivalry lately, not sure why).

So last Sunday, Ellie and I set out to Goodwill in Springfield, New Jersey.

"What kind of a store is it?" Ellie asked me from the back of the mini van.

"Well, it's kind of...an everything store!" I replied, knowing the tone in which I delivered this information was key. "Imagine a store where you can find almost anything, and you never know what you're going to get. It's sort of like...a treasure hunt!"

Ellie's eyes grew wide. "Are there toys?"

"Yes," I answered weakly.

When we arrived at Goodwill I appeased Ellie by going straight to the toy section. Luckily she was unimpressed and agreeably moved onto the clothes. She immediately began scanning the racks for me, asking me what size I was. Bless her heart, she held up one hideous skirt after the next, asking me if this one or that one was "fashiony enough?" You have to give her credit for trying.

In the end, she was the best thrift store shopping buddy I could have asked for. She was patient and kind and complimentary, albeit perhaps a bit too enthusiastic (everything I held up to myself in the mirror she pronounced "Oh Mommy that's SO pretty on you!").

And I think there was something special about sharing this little pastime from, well, my past, with one of my children. At some level, I feel like when I shop at thrift stores (OK, stop snickering) I reconnect at some level with the "Old Me," the one who had lots of outside interests and plenty of time to actually indulge myself in them. In the end, I wound up buying something for literally everyone in the house but myself (I'm not complaining, sometimes that's just how it goes when "thrifting" and you just have to be very zen about it).

But I think you'll agree that Ellie garnered the best "score."

Because one picture of this gorgeous little beauty (the dress!) just won't suffice. With that second shot, I was trying to get a better view of the flower appliqué. Instead you get blurry Harry and some bonus homemade cardboard glasses/goggles.

I can't be sure of the date but I'm guessing from the look of it 1970s? I need to get a good look at the

label (Saks Fifth Avenue) and do some serious Googling.

Red is hands down my favorite color (especially on my little girls!) but it took me a while to figure out what I loved so much about this dress.


Of course! It's almost exactly like the dress worn in "Annie."

It made me extra happy that Ellie was so excited to actually wear this dress. I think she latched on to the fact that it's red and she knows that's my favorite. Lately, whenever we're in a store she'll point out the red items to me. But several times in the past I've bought things for her and brought them home, only to be met with a look of disappointment or disinterested shrug (I'm hoping that was a snippy four-year old phase--almost six years old is, dare I say...quite entertaining, she's morphing into quite a little considerate companion these days).

And this morning she practically skipped to school (the red cowboy boots were her idea) wondering aloud, "I wonder what Miss M. will think of my dress?"

Yesterday as we set off on a walk to the park she noticed a flyer on the ground by our driveway, it was a notice saying that a Goodwill truck would be in our area picking up donating items.

"Look, Mommy!" she said pointing to the Goodwill logo, "It's the everything store! When can we go back there?"

Folks, my parenting work is done.

As It Should Be

It's so rare that I get time with just the babies. When the big kids are at school, I'm at work.

And then I come home and it's instantly four against one. The "Mommy! Show" begins: as in "Mommy can I have cheese crackers? Mommy will you play ball with me? Mommy will you draw fairies me?" And that's just from the two out of four who can speak in complete sentences.

When it's big kids + babies, much of my time is spent doing damage control. Lucy and Harry have officially entered the stage of wanting to do exactly what their big brother and sister do (Newsflash Lucy: You are not, I repeat NOT ready to climb the ladder (see above) to the outdoor playhouse, sheesh).

These babies and their love of chair standing will be the end of me, I'm telling you.

And when I'm not trying to keep Harry from standing on Leo's train table (no, Leo doesn't stand on that table but Harry, well, let's say he really gets into playing trains), then I'm monitoring Lucy as she caps and uncaps everysinglepen in the marker bin, all while balancing on a chair at the kitchen table (next to her big sister Ellie, the master fairy artist/princess colorer).

Then there's the ever important detail of making sure the comforter-on-Leo's bed-turned-parachute-game doesn't dissolve into something requiring a visit to the ER.

I like to think (I hope!) that every one's needs are met at more than just the minimum. But I will be honest. Sometimes the din of constant demands becomes too much. I just want to stop. I am the proverbial only child that wants quiet and order and our house is...neither quiet nor terribly orderly (I try my darnedest though, I do!).

"I don't feel like I've been able to get to know these babies the way I got to know Leo and Ellie by this age," I wrote in an email to a friend (also a mom to twins) when the babies were about ten months old. I had just returned to work after an extended maternity leave and was feeling completely out of sorts. "Sometimes I look at them and I still can't believe they're here! And that there are TWO of them! Do you think it's because there are two of them or because they're the third and fourth and there's just so much going on?"

My friend replied that it was probably a combination of things but probably more a virtue of the fact that I now I had four children. Over time, she thought, I'd feel "closer" to the babies, especially as their little personalities began to emerge.

Fortunately, my friend was right. And those little personalities? Have become big ones.

Lucy adores her big brother and sister, walks from room to room looking for them when they're at school. "Hi! Hi Leo! Hi! Hi! Hi Ellie," she chirps and waves, when her older siblings emerge from the basement playroom. Harry meanwhile, pounds on Leo's door whenever it's closed, so desperate is he to play with not just the train table, but his big brother (he is, after all, the one with all the cool action figures).


Earlier this week our nanny was sick. With a quick 6:45 a.m. phone call from her, my day shifted gears. There would be no commute into the city, no need for the skirt and sweater I'd set out the night before. I would stay home. With just the babies.

First Leo left, then we dropped Ellie at school. And for a few hours, there was relative quiet. (Well, as quiet as things can be with twin toddlers).

Of course Lucy spent much of her day going from room to room and calling, "Ellie? Leo?"

As I folded laundry, she stood by me and named each item of clothing by who it belonged to. "Ellie!" she cheered, when she saw Ellie's well-worn light blue kitty cat nightgown. "Leo!" she announced confidently, at the sight of Leo's beloved Angry Birds t-shirt.


I will give these babies toddlers baths in the sink for as long as I am able (we save actual bath tub baths for the weekends when we have time to throw the whole lot of 'em in the tub).

Like clockwork: sweet potatoes at lunch = post lunch bath.

Harry is now moonlighting as an eyelash model. Inquire within.

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the days at home go by. Breakfast, morning nap, play, lunch, play, laundry, and before I knew it, it was time to get Ellie at her dance class. At 4:00 I zipped and buttoned babies into fleece and coats and into the stroller.

In the blinding, late afternoon sun, we waited for Leo's bus to chug down the street. When he hopped off, we made our way down the avenue, toward Ellie's school. It was a perfectly cold wintry spring day, with the final vestiges of last Friday's little snow storm still piled up high enough that I had to push the stroller on the street in some places.

When we reached the school, Ellie, expecting our nanny, screamed happily (as only five year old girls can) when she saw us.

And just like that, two became four, once again.

As it should be.

This is 40

A little over a week ago, I turned 40. I haven't had much time to really think about it. You're only as old as you feel, age is just a number, blah blah blah blah.

Of course I'm late on this post. Life, these days, wouldn't have it any other way.


This was the scene when I returned home from work on the evening of my birthday. Our babysitter took these pictures. Erin was away on business, so the celebration was simple: vanilla ice cream for the kids that I picked up on the way home. Erin sent me those flowers, half of a flower shop. Amazing.

I hyperventilate a little, to think that my life could be more than half over.

And it's more than a little weird to now only be nine years younger than my mother ever was.

I don't have a lot of profound things to say about being forty years old (It's only been twelve days! Give me a minute!). But I figured for posterity, I would record, in no particular order, a few things I have learned about life and myself, at this milestone:



1. When I get the chance to sit, I take it. I have four kids. I'm tired.

2. I'm finally not self-conscious about eating. During the week it's usually the only time I get to sit down and finish a meal (or a thought, for that matter). I usually eat my lunch at my desk and I used to shove my food aside when people came into my office. Not anymore. When I get the chance to eat, I take it (see #1).

3. I really like the way my finger nails look painted. It's hard to maintain (I don't) but fun to try.

4. Pick your battles. Really. I read something not long ago that I loved:
Before you speak, THINK:
T - is it true?
h - is it helpful?
i -  is it inspiring?
n - is it necessary?
k-  is it kind?
(Again, I make no claim to be perfect in this department, it's a definite work in progress).

5. Forgive people. Give them the benefit of the doubt. I struggle with this every day (and believe me, I do not always succeed) but I really try. I can always do better.

6. Smile. You never know when another person really needs to see a happy face. And if you're not feeling so good yourself? The whole "Fake it (in this case, happiness) until you make it?" It often works. Not always, but often. Hey, it's worth a shot.

7. Trust that things have a way of working out. This is another tough one for me, but one I have really improved upon. There was a time, I'd say, from my early twenties to mid-thirties, that I could have probably powered a small town with the amount of energy I expelled, worrying. I have come to realize that although worrying is inevitable, it will not change the outcome. And sometimes, you have to go through the bad (and I do mean the bad) to get to the good.

8. Focus on the things you are grateful for. There is always something to be disappointed about, there is always something to nit pick. But there are always, always things to be grateful for.

9. Expect less. That way, whatever you get? You can just consider it a bonus.

10.  Never underestimate the power of a good cry. It's a cure for (almost) anything.

11. Never underestimate the power of laughter. It's a cure for (almost) anything.

12. Never underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. This can actually cure anything. (Or so I'm told).

13. Things almost always look better in the morning.

14. Wine, chocolate and coffee also help. Bread and cheese are good too and should be on hand, whenever possible.

15. This too shall pass (probably my most favorite parenting mantra of all time but it can really apply to every aspect of life): Whether it's a sleepless night with a sick baby or a fight with a loved one, nothing is permanent; everything is always changing and evolving. This is both wonderful and absolutely, positively devastating, depending on what you are referring to.

Four days after I turned forty, Erin blessedly returned home (with pastries! All the way from London! Yippee!). And we celebrated again (after all, she turned forty too).

Because in this life?  You just can't celebrate too much.

By Any Other Name

I took the whole gang to Costco yesterday (and yes, I'm still standing, why do you ask?). In any event, only at Costco do people ask, "Are they all yours?" Do you know anyone who brings EXTRA children to the store? On purpose?

The proverbial terrible picture, but photo evidence nonetheless. What on Earth are they all looking at? Who knows. Certainly not me!

The experience was far more positive than I anticipated (except for one minor detail, more on that later). But when we came home it was the usual perfect storm of misery: Exhausted babies in need of a nap (but first! New diapers for all!). Of course Ellie needed a snack and was pulling on my guilt strings with a request to play Gingham Girls paper dolls ("Will you do it WITH me Mommy?"). Meanwhile, there was Leo, sitting at the kitchen table trying, unsuccessfully, to get a movie to play in the laptop, wailing for help and pounding on the table in frustration.

Did I mention I still had not unpacked the groceries from the car? And don't forget--we'd gone to Costco, so everything was Giant and Heavy and, well, Costco-sized.

Mommy?

Mommy!

Mommy!?

Mommy?!

I took a deep breath.

Within a few frenzied minutes, the babies were blessedly down for naps (at least, in theory, though by the sound of the "chatter" on the monitor not a lot of napping was going down). So there were two less people who needed something for the moment.

I stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing cups, feeling like I literally had not stopped all day. Even the drive to the store had been a constant barrage of questions (harmless and entertaining, but nevertheless, things were demanded. Of me).

Can we just take a break from saying Mommy? For a few minutes? I asked.

And without missing a beat, Ellie replied: "How about we call you Charlie?"

Of course, I laughed. How could I not?

"Ellie, THAT was a good one," I said.

I think that's when Grandma Jerry called to check in and Ellie answered the phone. She told Grandma that we'd just returned from Costco. "It was fine," Ellie explained. "Except when Mommy squished Harry's fingers."  

Yes it's true. Just when I was about to get very confident about my parenting abilities, I mis-steered our enormous, overstuffed (with items and children) and definitely lopsided cart a leetle too close to the wall, pinching poor Harry's left pinky and ring finger between a doorway and the cart. OUCHIE.

Instant tears and hysteria from the little boy who is normally Mr. Tough Guy. When Harry wails? You just know it hurts.

Luckily, he recovered relatively quickly. As it turns out? Costco vanilla frozen yogurt aids in the healing of pinched fingers. Just so you know.

Love Note

Leo's, to Lucy: