One

I will always remember the grief and fear I felt when I learned we'd be having two babies.

Four kids. Two parents. Totally outnumbered.

The grief was for the loss of our so-called "easy" life with just two kids.

My biggest question stemmed from fear: How would I ever be able to give Leo and Ellie the attention they needed?

Growing up as an only child, some of my sweetest memories are of the things I did one on one with each of my parents. With my dad it was building circus lions out of Legos and drawing aliens and giant, Technicolor flowers on enormous pieces of paper and going roller skating on Friday nights at Oaks Park. With my mom it was getting picked up from school early to have bagels and hot chocolate, shopping at the Lloyd Center Nordstrom ("This one's on me"), meeting in Laurelhurst Park for a walk after walk, (that went on long my twenties.)

The twins must have been about a week old when I sat on the little striped love seat in our living room, to begin the long, exhausting stretch of evening that was tandem nursing newborn Harry and Lucy. It was bedtime and Ellie was crying exhausted, overtired tears "But I want Mommy to read to me. I want Mommy to put me to bed."

"Mommy's busy. She has to feed the babies. She'll come see you as soon as she can."

The words stung. And the hormonal, post-partum tears flowed. Oh did they flow.

The guilt. For as long as Ellie could remember, I had effortlessly put her to bed untethered. Oh sure, the little bedtime ritual had been known to stretch out much longer than it needed to and yes, my patience had been known to wear thin a time or two (or seventeen) but I was there for her when she needed me.

Suddenly, overnight, because of the babies, I wasn't there.

Experienced and encouraging friends and family assured me things would get back to "normal" again someday soon. The babies wouldn't always be so needy and they too would have a bedtime, allowing those treasured evening rituals to return. But it wasn't just bedtime that changed at our house after the arrival of the twins (by the way, everyone was right, the bedtime routine returned to normal after a few months). But just by virtue of there being two babies, it's not uncommon for me to bring one baby with me on an errand with Ellie (or Leo) that before, would have been just us. Things are crowded. Boisterous and fun (Life-y Chaos, anyone?) but one-on-one time? We strive for it, but it's not always possible.

Which is why last Friday was so special.

Ellie's school invited all the parents to chaperone their children on a field trip to the Land of Make Believe, a theme park in western New Jersey. Aside from the fact that a more appropriate name for the place would be the Land That Time Forgot, (there were some old rides there) we had an amazing time. It's a sweet little place.

World's Most Un-P.C. Ride

Clearly Ellie was unaffected by the politics.

Ellie rode her first roller coaster. Luckily I escaped that one (I was not so lucky when it came to the Tilt O'Whirl--she was too short to ride that alone and all I can say is Holy Motion Sickness--I felt so nauseas it was like being ten weeks pregnant all over again). I really did try to go on as many rides as I could with her but I will be the first to admit I am pretty much a ride wimp.

Did you know that Ellie is quite the dare devil? Because I did not. She marched up to nearly every ride, ready to go it alone but delighted of course, when I did join her. Sidenote: the one ride she was too afraid to go on? The ferris wheel! ("Too high," she explained.)

She was (forgive me) thrilled when she found out the roller coaster had a name. All afternoon and into the evening she kept asking me, "What was the name of the roller coaster I went on, Mommy?"

There are many hard things about being a parent to four young children, but I think one of the most difficult is multi-tasking and keeping your head when you are trying to do several things at once and also meet the needs of many little people.

Somebody almost always needs something. It's enough to make me very tense and grouchy sometimes. When I was home on maternity leave with the babies and Ellie, I couldn't get impatient with the babies, so I know that I sometimes lost my temper with Ellie. There were many times when we couldn't do what she wanted to At That Moment (not that there's anything wrong with that). But so often I felt like the words "I can't do that right now," came out of my mouth.

Which is why, to have a whole day of Yes you can do that and Yes you can go on that ride and Yes you can have more cotton candy...

...felt so special. I felt light. Relaxed. I could be completely present and there for just Ellie.

I believe this is right before Ellie announced this was "the best day EVER Mommy!"

As the day drew to a close I asked Ellie if she wanted to get an ice cream cone on our way out. Because, why not? The sun beat down on our heads as we waited in line. The weather was wonderful-unseasonably warm but comfortable and the vanilla soft serve would be the perfect conclusion to our day.

We took our cones and found a spot on the hill overlooking the park. We talked about all the rides we'd been on and Ellie told me how she loved the lemonade they'd served at lunch and she was so glad she got to sit by Sid on the roller coaster. We talked without interruptions or cries from a baby monitor, without having to make compromises about what to do next, without having to ask Leo to take turns with Ellie, or vice versa.

And then a man with a scraggly beard and wearing overalls approached us and caught my eye and I thought He's going to offer to take our picture. He knows what an important day we're having, he can just tell. He wants to help us preserve the memory. How nice.

"Ma'am? The park is closing," he said.

I looked at my phone. Right. 2:30. That's right when they said the park was going to close.

But I wasn't ready to leave.

I took a deep breath and reached out for Ellie's small, sweaty hand. We made our way to the parking lot.