And Then I Cried

We picked up a couple of extra kids on our recent trip to Oregon. (Just kidding, these belong to some good friends of ours in Portland.)

I'm starting to think every entry here could very well just read something like I went to [fill in the blank] and did [fill in the blank] and then I cried.

Before you lose complete patience with me, I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. It's just--life right now is so very full. And it just feels like it's all going by so dang fast. The littlest, most mundane things (a seemingly dry description of Ellie's kindergarten reading program) feel somehow, poignant.

Last night was Back to School night for Leo and Ellie. Since they are at different schools, Erin and I divided and conquered, with Erin at Leo's school while I went to Ellie's.

I love Ellie to pieces, but I knew Erin got the better deal. (To be fair, Ellie's been at her school all of four weeks and she's on the bottom of the totem pole whereas Leo? He's a big, bad, known entity of a third grader! Look out!)

First of all, any visit to Leo's school is a huge mood lifter/self-esteem booster as a parent. I don't know how we got so lucky with this kid but teachers, therapists, school secretaries, the aides to the aides, nearly all of them seem to love Leo. I'm not fond of the mayor analogy (so many kids with Down syndrome get called the "mayors" of their schools or towns--but hey, those cliches come from somewhere, right?). But I can definitely see how someone would could call Leo a "mayor" of sorts. Of course, this wasn't a parent-teacher conference meant to tell us how Leo was doing but more a way for us to familiarize ourself with his new teacher, class and curriculum.

But lucky for us, people at Leo's school (especially Leo's teacher new Mrs. F) like to talk. And they seem to like to say mostly good things about Leo. So we'll take it.

Photo by Rick Regan

I absolutely adore Mrs. F. She exudes enthusiasm and energy, is no-nonsense, has a great sense of humor and she likes to use the word "Oy." Yes, she had me at "Oy." This year already feels so different than last. Leo's in a true third grade, as opposed to a split. Rather than coming home with homework that requires cutting and pasting, he's reading paragraphs and answering complex comprehension questions. Every night we sign his Homework Planner.

Photo by Rick Regan

Did I mention I almost had a panic attack when I realized Leo only has two more years (after this one) of elementary school?

Photo by Rick Regan

On the Ellie front, I bring her to school every morning but haven't actually stepped foot in her classroom since last June's orientation, so it was fun to sit at her little desk last night and get a peek into her day. It's funny to say, but you get a little spoiled when you have a kid in special ed. There's just so more communication. Emails home, little notes in his folder. Aside from a wave and a passing "Hello" in the morning when I drop her off, I've had no real contact with Ellie's teacher (which, I'm told by my friends who have kids without IEPs, is just pretty much how it goes.) I mean, I'm sure I'll have a bit more meaningful contact, but probably not to the extent that I have with Leo's teachers and therapists.

In any case, I think I now officially know why she is such a blubbering hot mess by 6:20 every night. My oh my, they keep those little people busy. Ninety minutes of language arts? Math Centers? No wonder most nights she actually asks if it's time to "go upstairs."

I was relieved to hear there are "only" twenty kids in her class. I can hardly handle one five year old so I'm still trying to wrap my brain around how one person can even handle twenty, but still, twenty seems far more human than 28-30 (which I've heard of for kindergarten).

And yes, my eyes welled up a little as Ms. M. went over the different reading and math and social studies and science programs. How did we get here? To Kindergarten? Will Lucy and Harry pad into this same classroom in three and a half years? Time just marches and marches on. And then it seems to march on a little faster.

Beauty Sleep

Last night Ellie and I lay in her bed, post bath and pre-book. As she adjusted her pillows and blankets just so, I reminded her there was no school tomorrow (Yom Kippur) and shuttered inwardly at the reminder that our babysitter would be Home Alone with all four. Not my favorite scenario but luckily it doesn't happen often.

So I don't have to wake you up at all tomorrow! I practically cheered. As I've mentioned before, Ellie is...not a morning person. Unless there are chocolate chip pancakes involved.  You can sleep as late as you want, I exclaimed (knowing full well Ellie--who climbs in our bed every night around 1, would be awake at 5:45 a.m. like the rest of us, when the dual wails commenced).

Can I ask, once again, why is it that babies and children almost always seem to wake up earlier on weekends and holidays (when there's no school)? It truly is one of life's profound and unanswered questions. I reminded Ellie of this.

"I know!" She said. "They always wake up early and annoy the beauty sleep!"

She said it. Why is my beauty sleep being annoyed?

In spite of how it may appear by today's choice of photos, the babies do things other than eat. But they are most definitely in that stage where they are on the move so much that any picture of them where they are not contained is blurry. In other news, I don't have a fancy camera. Also, we didn't punch Harry in his left eye and he has not taken up boxing. You should have seen him by the afternoon the day this photo was taken (Sunday). Couldn't. Open. His. Eye. Thanks Mosquito Bite on Eyebrow! (Also, thank you Benadryl for helping out.)

Speaking of an aspect of sleep that is not annoying, bedtime for the babies continues to be fascinating. I am committing the ultimate sin here (talking about it on the Internet, therefore daring it to change) but I just feel compelled to record it here. The way it's been going is, one baby finishes a bottle (usually Harry sucks his down faster), I clean him up (you'd be appalled by how often these poor babies get actual baths), change him into his pajamas, take him upstairs and rock him/snuggle with him a little--I'm a sucker for an end-of-the-day-cheek-to-cheek snuggle. I just want to breathe them in. I then I plop him down in his crib and he immediately turns on his weird, blue light crib toy. I turn on the sound machine and music box, close the door and move on to do the same routine with Lucy.

When I bring Lucy into the babies' room, Harry practically cheers (if a fifteen month old did in fact cheer). He gasps and sort of laughs at the same time, as if to say "Hey! It's you! My roomie! Welcome roomie!" Lucy in turn, pops up (I always lay her down on her tummy) and seems to greet Harry. A bit of "conversation" ensues back and forth between them as I close the door.

We hear everything on the monitor. Sometimes there's a bit of crying. More like whimpering. Always, there is some kind of what seems to be dialogue between them, though they definitely also "talk" at the same time. Are they just doing what one baby would do (sort of, babble oneself to sleep) and it's just extra cute and unique because there are two of them? Is it some kind of secret twin language? Bedtime stories? Who knows.

I know it could all change tomorrow (and probably will tonight, now that I've blabbed to the world about it). There's probably some sort of sleep regression on the horizon and molars, but what can I say?  For now, it's just such a wonderful way to end the day after all those months in the beginning when bedtime never came and they seemed to just wake each other up all night long and I thought Oh My Goodness How Will I Ever Live Through This?

Their adorable sweetness here (seven days old) belies the fact that they didn't sleep for more than an hour at a time and took turns waking each other up. All together now: OY.

It Just Never Gets Old

Note to self about the above: Never forget how far we've come.

I surprised myself yesterday, at what was, I believe Leo's third "non-freakout" haircut. It's been almost a whole year since he first allowed someone to cut his hair without protest, without huge amounts of bargaining and bribing and brute strength. Longtime readers know, I cried actual tears that day.

And yet...yesterday, as I watched my "big" boy serenley play a Toy Story video game (his first video game--not counting iPhone games--he was in heaven) I still felt a little choked up. A little emotional. I didn't expect to feel that way. I'd dutifully packed the iPad (which is what had originally seemed to relax him, seemed to help him turn that corner of fear and sensory and who knows what else)  and yet, when asked if he wanted to watch a dvd or play a game? Leo chose game. I didn't even have to take the iPad out of my purse.

I briefly wondered if he would be upset when the cut was finished, that he'd have a hard time stopping the game--did we inadvertently add a challenge to what might be a potentially precarious situation? But no. It wasn't a problem. That was the Old Leo. The New Leo simply tossed the cape aside and hopped out of the chair (not before admiring his handsome self in the mirror first). OK, Leo did hug the stylist and tell him he "wanted to marry him" but hey, we pick our battles.

It's such a cliche, but it's true. Seeing how hard certain things are for Leo, knowing how long it takes for him to master certain tasks...it just means that when they do come, when he is successful, well that just never, ever gets old. And I never stop appreciating it. I wish things didn't have to be so hard sometimes, for Leo (and for us as his parents), but what I do feel extremely fortunate for is the fact that all those struggles have led me to appreciate the little, mundane tasks that are now so blissfully uneventful. A haircut. Imagine that.

Yesterday, Leo's biggest challenge? To squelch the giggles. From the tickle of scissors and stray hairs.

All those doctor and dentist appointments and haircut attempts where we exited in tears and knots of stress and grief and frustration: poof. Gone. I know friends who still struggle with this with their children and I know how hard it is and I know how painful it is to see other parents who completely take for granted the simple act of a trip to the dentist or hairstylist.

It's going to be OK, I say. He'll outgrow it. She'll get there. People told me this and I wanted so desperately to believe them. But sometimes? Sometimes the only way out is through.

Much

These two. Oh you guys. I think every few months I say to myself, Self, this is definitely the cutest age. With the newly walking and the "chatting" and the new word every four days, to say nothing of the peek-a-boo and the blowing of the kisses and the attempted head stands and the scaling a la Spiderman of the side of the staircase (hi Harry!).

The other night as I was reading to Ellie, I heard what I thought was crying coming from the babies' room. I felt myself beginning to read a bit faster, knowing in a few more minutes I might have to excuse myself and go rock a baby. Or two. That's when Erin poked her head into Ellie's room and said, "Do you hear that?" 

"Yeah, someone's fussing," I replied. What else is new? I thought, somewhat exasperated, at the end of another long day.

"No, they're laughing. They're in there absolutely cracking each other up," Erin said.

And she was right. After I finished reading to Ellie, Erin and I stood outside Lucy and Harry's closed door, giddy grins on our faces,  listening to two babies giggling. At each other. With each other. If you haven't had the pleasure of hearing this sound, I recommend you arrange to make it happen.

So Much. They are So Much in every possible way. So much fun, so much joy, so much laughter, so much whining, so much crying, so much mess, so much work and so much love.

The above shot was taken a few mornings ago. You'll notice the three of us had coffee together (see my beloved cherry mug at the bottom of the frame). Well, they had milk. I had Stumptown (of course). This was on a weekday morning. Before work and school. Without going into a lot of detail, let's just say that the above scene was made possible by the fact that we have a new childcare arrangement that is allowing me to...wait for it...breathe.

What a concept.

Happy weekend, to all.

The Great Trip to Oregon, Part 3: All's Fair

On our way back from central Oregon, we stopped at the Oregon State Fair.
I swear I've told Erin about this fair that I visited almost annually, throughout my childhood. I think she's under the impression I've been holding out on her, but I swear! I haven't! This year the stars aligned and all fifty of us made it to the Oregon State Fair and, well I think it's fair (HA!) to say that a great time was had by all.
 
You can't argue with rainbows AND unicorns. Ellie was in her element.
Erin and Ellie rode the bumper cars. Leo and I (and the babies) were content on terra firma.
After Leo had his face painted (Spiderman, natch) we moved onto the rides. He really wanted the pink
bike.
 
Ellie won that war. (Mostly Leo just really wanted to ride next to Ellie. True story.)
We made some new friends (can't visit Oregon without a hug from Smokey!)

 In between all these shots, we visited with the cows, horses, pigs, goats, sheep, rabbits...you get the idea. We watched people stand in line for a loooong time to hold a baby lion, surveyed the collections (one of my favorite exhibits) which this year included a cereal box collection. Leo and Ellie loved looking at the cakes entered in the cake decorating contest. Leo and Ellie donned fire fighter garb and held fire hoses. In short, small minds were blown at nearly every turn. This fair? It's a kid's dream. And as a bonus? I had just as much fun as a grown-up as I remember having as a kid.

 I can't remember the last time I went to this fair--I guess I must have been a teenager. I am here to tell you it has not changed AT ALL, which, in our times (geez, how old am I?) is saying a lot. You laugh, but this state fair is the epitome of good ole family fun. Funnel cakes and snow cones, jumpy houses and skee ball, miniature horses and long haired guinea pigs. I've tried to replicate this experience at other fairs and festivals in other states and I've yet to do so. Every fair I'll ever go to will get compared to this one. It just feels so comfortable and familiar. (I'll admit I was disappointed by this year's absence of deep fried pickles, but I soldiered on.)

And of course it was the source of one of my favorite pictures of all time (we were fortunate to have Grandma and Grandpa with us at the fair, too).

At the end of a very long (but long in a good way) day, we happened upon a playground built atop a mound of haystacks (only at the Oregon State Fair). The sandbox? Was made of corn kernels. Of course. This playground was serendipitously located not only right next to the beer garden (score!) but across from some more than decent live music. Leo and Ellie played for a good hour (the irony was not lost on me that one of their most favored things ended up being free!) against a backdrop of the setting sun, the sky a swirling palette of blues and pinks and purple. There was a marked chill in the air: autumn was on the way.

It felt so good to be "home."

Chapter, Closed

Lucy and Harry at eight weeks old, post meal, post tandem feed. There is not much that rivals the sweetness of a well-fed, satisfied newborn.

Last week, I breast fed my last baby. It was Harry. Lucy self-weaned a few months ago, with no fanfare.

Harry's end came after several nights of chewing and biting and not doing anything very close to what resembled nursing at zero o'clock in the morning (this was during the Great Trip to Oregon--no way have I been giving him middle of the night snacks in the "real world"). Yes, it was then that I realized it was time. No more. As it was, he was only nursing before sleep--naps or going down for the night. But then we returned to New Jersey and for a few nights, Softie/Chicken that I am, I continued to nurse him and he seemed to be able to take it or leave it--nurse, pull away, look around, cuddle, nurse. But it was very little actual nursing. It really was time to stop.

Harry hasn't seemed to notice one bit.

I have.

Six weeks old

I was, admittedly, ready to wean him, the last baby I will ever nurse. Although I would hold almost exclusively breast feeding twins up as one of my top accomplishments, it was certainly not the same as nursing a single baby. There is not a lot of snuggling and gazing down at your newborn. It is a lot of logistics. It is getting everyone (including yourself!) situated. There is clock watching and balancing and trying to burp one while another still eats. There is trying to set one sleeping baby into an apparatus while balancing the other, non-sleeping baby--proud to say I never let one roll off the nursing pillow though there were a few close calls!

With confidence, and after a bit of nursing experience under your belt, you can actually multitask while breastfeeding one baby. I've been known to make phone calls (duh!), cook dinner, follow a toddler around the house to keep him out of harm's way, all while breastfeeding one baby.

Seven weeks old

But nursing two? Yeah, that's pretty much all you do. I did figure out how to type on my laptop and nurse Harry and Lucy. Believe me, it wasn't pretty, but it was functional. Desperate times calling for desperate measures, and all of that. And don't get me wrong--I'm grateful I was able to nurse them together. I'm fairly confident that it was because I was experienced at breastfeeding that it went as well as it did.

The summer of 2011 saw a lot of breastfeeding around our house.

September, 2011

This photo was not staged. I promise. Leo and Ellie were more than a little fascinated. Who can blame them? It's practically all they saw me doing from June to September. That pink pillow? That striped loved seat? Hours upon hours were spent with those items.

I stopped tandem feeding them when they were around five months. They just became too wiggly and the older they got, the more efficient they became at nursing, so it wasn't such a big deal to nurse one and then the other. I won't say I was sad to stop tandem feeding them (I didn't call the tandem nursing the pillow the *$&%ing pink pillow for nothing).

As "magical" as it was to provide nourishment to two babies at once? I've don't think I've ever felt more claustrophobic or trapped. I tried to be in the moment, to know that The Days Are Long And The Years Are Short...but I remember sitting on that little love seat feeling absolutely trapped. Leo needed a snack. Ellie was upstairs wailing in the bathroom for more toilet paper.

Eight weeks old
Let's say that tandem nursing #3 and #4 is a far cry from whiling away the days with a firstborn and hours upon hours of daytime television ("America's Next Top Model," circa 2004, to be specific).

When I was pregnant with the babies, a lot of people asked me if I was going to breastfeed and I said that I hoped so. I was cautious though, knowing from my experience trying to nurse Leo, that there are no guarantees.

I still remember being pregnant with Leo, perusing the pregnancy books a friend lent me. I smugly perused a book on breastfeeding, bemused that a whole book could be dedicated to something as basic as breastfeeding. You put the baby on, they eat, end of story, right? Ha. And then Leo was born and he was sleepy and smooshy mouthed with low tone in his lips and jaw. He'd latch his beautiful little heart shaped mouth and...promptly fall asleep. I tried a nipple shield, cold compresses (to wake him up), paid a lactation consultant hundreds of dollars. And ultimately, I exclusively pumped (I was a no-formula Nazi with Leo, which I cringe about now) for almost five months. The birth hadn't gone as planned, the baby wasn't who I expected, but gosh darn it, I was going to get this breastfeeding thing right!

But then I didn't. At least, not in the "official" way, in that I had to use that stupid, ugly, awful, uncomfortable, god forsaken breast pump to get him the milk. No, I'm not bitter, why do you ask?

I will always remember the chilly December day that I cradled an almost five month old Leo in my arms. He kept nuzzling up to me, moving his mouth toward a breast like he wanted...to nurse? How many times had I tried it and failed? Hundreds? Oh hell, I thought. Why not? I sat down and pulled up my sweater and whadya know, Leo latched on like he was born to do it (he was, of course, just in his own time, as he's done everything else). Now that I think about it, I'm not sure what I'm more proud of, breastfeeding twins, or not giving up on breastfeeding Leo. There are both high on my list.

And Ellie? Ellie's nursing story is boring. She latched. I nursed her. She ate beautifully. Sure I was filled with guilt for thinking (aha, this is how it's supposed to go) but what can you do?

I didn't expect weaning Harry to conjure up all these "My Babies!" feelings, but it has. And these so called "babies" are not so baby-like these days. They explore their world with intense focus. Harry opens all the drawers and cupboards he can get his hands on. He's already figured out how to open the DVD player (programming the DVR will be next, I'm sure).

Lucy "drives" her car around the house and this weekend mastered climbing in and out of a chair. Don't even get me started on the language (Oh, OK, I'll get started). She repeats words--is a total parrot. She shakes her head "no" when you give her something she doesn't like (egg yolks) to eat. The signing? It's ridiculous: She knows the sign for "play," "all done," "more," "milk." I'll stop there.

So yes, I'll say it. Where have my "babies" gone?

The other day Erin came home with the news that a friend is pregnant with her second baby. I'm thrilled for her, of course. But I'd be lying if I said that with every pregnancy announcement I hear, with every swelling stomach that I see, that there isn't a little pang...that will never be me again. No more babies. No more nursing.

My cup runneth way, way over. There is no way I want more or need more, that I could ever have more than I already have. But a chapter has closed, that era has ended: the end of our baby days is here.

And it's remarkable to me, how one can feel both grateful and wistful at the same time.

The Great Trip to Oregon, Part 2: When in Rome

Our days in central Oregon alternated between lazy hours by the pool (well, not exactly lazy) and side trips.

One of our favorites was a visit to the fish hatchery in Camp Sherman. Look closely at the water. All those fish! Ellie is feeding them here. You'd throw a tiny bisquit in the water and hundreds--thousands? would rush to grab the food.

Cowboy Leo read ALL about the salmon and trout.

Why yes, the big kids were outfitted in their western attire (new cow boy hats and boots for both, I for one am seething with jealousy at Ellie's red cow boy boots...they did not come in my size). Hey, when in Rome...

Lucy, not in western garb.

I could have stood on the bridge overlooking this gorgeous water for a loooong time. Such an incredible bluish green color.

After the fish hatchery we headed to Bend where we had lunch at Deschutes Brewery pub (or as I like to call, it the Mother Ship). No pictures of our meal (and beverages) because, well, you can't drink the best beer in the world, wrangle small children AND take photographs.

Post lunch, the big kids and the grandparents went to the High Desert Museum in Bend. Meanwhile, just to shake things up, Erin and I spent a few hours with the babies at an urgent care clinic, suspicious that the lack of sleep and several hours of Lucy wailing the night before might indicate an ear infection. But no dice! Diagnosis: just nasty little colds (and probably the time change) = no sleeping! Ah well, what vacation is complete with young ones without a trip or two to urgent care?

When we weren't fish hatchery or museum going, there was time for dress up. Here's Ellie, channeling Michael Phelps, Dolly Parton and Stevie Nicks.

And morning snuggles with Grandma.

And more art with Grandpa.

A fairy, by Ellie

A fairy, by Leo

"Relaxing" by the pool.

As you can see, it was a rough life.

Still to come: the final Oregon installment, which includes this event, also known as, perhaps my favorite picture ever, of all time.

Do They Make Them Run Laps? Kindergarteners Are Tired, Cranky People

I promise to post the next chapter in the Great Trip to Oregon (I know all four of you are on the edge of your seats). But I wanted to jump in quickly and give a little kindergarten progress report.

Ellie brought this home on her first full day of kindergarten (week one was half days, Monday was the first "real" day).

So far, so good.

I wasn't really worried about kindergarten. Ellie is a very outgoing, social kid who seems to thrive on new situations.

One thing I am noticing though, is a new level of crankiness and exhaustion not seen before. Oh she's fine at pick-up and she's about the same in the morning (she's never been a morning person, ahem). It's later in the day that the tired, cranky little monster begins to rear her head. Ellie gave up her afternoon nap years (sob!) ago but there is rest time in kindergarten (it lasts maybe twenty minutes?). And Ellie actually speaks longingly of it. Seems to look forward to it.

By 6 p.m. Ellie is a puddle. A moaning, sighing, groaning shell of her former self. The best solution I've found is to throw her in the bath right after dinner while I'm dealing with the babies. Once they are out of the picture I can focus on her and her many maladies, which seem to go hand in hand with fatigue. A mosquito bite. Chapped lips. I channel my patience. I really do. I'm not always successful, I'll admit it.

We read a few chapters of Junie B. Jones and I rub her back and bite my lip as she moans a little more.

A few nights she complained about being "too tired to sleep" which, I get. I feel that way too sometimes. It's like your body is just keyed up. It's cruel, but it happens. I tried to reason with her, that if she didn't sleep, she would feel even worse in the morning. That she has to get sleep for kindergarten!

"But Mommy! I'm tired before I even walk in the door!" she replied.

Yes, I know that feeling too.

And in the End, It Was All Worth It: The Great Trip to Oregon 2012: Part 1

And we were off...

Erin, at the Portland International Airport, shortly after arrival. I'm betting we win the award for Most Carseats in Checked Luggage!

At approximately zero o'clock in the morning we woke the kids and took all seventeen bags and fifteen car seats to Newark airport.

Thirty years later (in case you were wondering, a cross country flight with two fifteen month olds? It's long.) we arrived. Sidenote: there were three sets of twins on our flight to Portland. How funny is that?

Less than twenty-four hours after we arrived in Portland we hit the road for Black Butte, where my family has a vacation home and where we've been going since, well, before I was even born. I have so many memories there, which is part of why it's so special to be able to bring my family there now.

Tired yet?

This is the view you see much of the time at Black Butte.

I think you can see why we make the trip. One look at that, and one breath of that mountain air and I am done. In a good way. Stick the proverbial fork in me. Oh and the readily available and plentiful Deschutes Brewery beer doesn't hurt either.

Prior to Black Butte, we stopped in Eugene to see my aunt and cousins. My family has a food booth at the Eugene Saturday Market.

Leo and Grandpa Rog shared an intimate lunch.

The kids frolicked with their cousins (some of whom they'd never even met, ah the plight of cross country living).

Now, let's be honest. With four kids, two of them toddlers, it wasn't much of a vacation as much as it was a relocation. Keeping the babies safe in a non-baby proofed cabin was exhausting (to say nothing of the sleep--or lack of it-they never quite got on Pacific time, not that I expected them to, but Harry? The waking up every hour thing? That was a bit much, my friend. Ahem).

But as a friend said to me when I told her what we were setting off to do, it was a chance to make some wonderful family memories. And that we did.

Leo fished. (For the first time!)

Ellie and I rode a surrey

The babies, as usual, played hard.

By the way, this picture? This encapsulates Lucy and Harry's personalities To a T. This is it. The end. Done.

The big kids got to do art projects with Grandpa Rog.

Days dawned early, as they do wherever we go.

And I'm pretty sure that we broke Grandpa Rog more than a few times.

There was plenty of time to practice walking. Oh! I buried a lead--Lucy learned to walk on this trip!

Video proof of the Lucy walking that runs a bit long and might only be of interest to relatives but hey--if you want to know why we now call Lucy "Lurch"--well, take a look.

And there was time to sit and rest too.

Harry gave Lucy tips on the old verticle moves.

We took a lot of walks.

To be continued...