Nine.

Nine years later and Leo's birthday still chokes me up a little, in a way that the others do not.



What strikes me is how much can happen in nine years. How much can change. How much a boy can change, yes, of course.




But also, how much I have changed.

Nine years ago today I became a mom for the first time.



I went to school for eighteen years but this birthday boy is the best teacher I ever had.











Nine years later, it's wonderful to celebrate this day with rainbow saturn cakes (Leo's request) and super hero masks.



And the only tears are happy ones.

Another Reason Big Brothers Rule

Because you're never too little


To learn


To sling webs.*

(With thanks to big brother Leo ("I'm not Leo! I'm Peter Parker!") for teaching Lucy to be an excellent web slinger at such a young age).

*You can see that Harry is terrified. Ha.

"That's Just All the Life They Get"

Leo came home from camp with this yesterday, from his friend Deanna. Why did she give this to you, Leo? I asked. "You know," Leo replied, with that tone that tells me I am NOT the smartest person he knows. "Because! Ruby's dead."

***

For me, the grief comes in waves. Of course I think about her a lot at home. There are no more dog hair tumbleweeds and no more water bowls to hide from the twins. The mudroom doesn't have that familiar "eau-de-dog" aroma anymore, even though it's only been two weeks.

I drive by the vet, Ruby's vet, every morning, to take Ellie to camp. It's where I rushed to say goodbye to her, when I got the call from Erin. And my eyes well up with tears.

Of course, I'm not doing myself any favors when I peruse our photo archives and find pictures like this:

Leo, age three. Ruby, age four.

I've been thinking about why this is so hard. And why it is I have cried every single day since Ruby died. I cry on the bus on the way to work. I cry in the car. I cried yesterday as I sat on the floor of the mudroom, scrubbing the wall next to where Ruby slept. For a few moments I wondered, as I scrubbed, if I shouldn't clean it. And keep it, as what? A shrine to our dirty dog? Before I could think about it too much the little brown line, evidence of years and years of restful naps was gone. Just like that.

I donated her food, (an almost full, thirty pound bag of the best gourmet, all-natural organic dog food money can buy) to a friend who fosters dogs. She gently refused my offer of Ruby's quite new dog bed. "Keep it for your next dog," she texted me. At first I brushed that off as ridiculous (not that there won't ever be a next dog, just that right now, that feels a long way off, and the thought of housing an extra dog bed in our already crap-packed house feels both impractical and impossible).

And yet. I kept the dog bed after all.

At night before bed I feel like I'm forgetting something. There is no one to let outside one last time. I go to close the mud room door (Ruby could be prone to accidents so she stayed in the mudroom over night and when we were out) and now, there is no need. I still expect to stumble over her and swear that I see her shuffling around the house, out of the corner of my eye.

And I've only been able to come up with this, not so profound explanation: This is hard because Ruby signals a definitive end to this chapter of our life. Yes she was the start to our little family, but she was also here when Leo and Ellie were really little kids. And when the babies were truly babies. And every day, everyone just gets a little older and every day, everything changes just a little bit (older isn't bad! I know! And neither is change!) but I still sometimes just want to freeze time and make it so that everyone always wants to snuggle and sit on my lap and put their warm, soft little hand in mine when we cross the Costco parking lot.

***

After dinner last night, Leo came bounding into the kitchen, eager to show me that he'd put on his pajamas without being asked to do so (It's a nightly discussion).

"Tell Ruby!" He exclaimed.

It took me a minute to figure out what Leo meant. Recently he's started asking us to tell certain people (those he holds in especially high regard, grandparents top the list these days) about instances when he does something good without being asked (clears the table, washes his hands, helps bring groceries inside).

"Is Ruby proud of me?" Leo asked, as he opened the freezer door in search of vanilla ice cream.

Oh! Yes! I said. Very proud! Sooo proud.

"Mommy? Is Ruby all better now? Almost?"


These questions. Oh my goodness.

Oh yes, Bub. I said.

I don't even bother to hide my tears anymore. And the kids don't even seem to notice.

Yes, I said. She's all better. She's not in any pain and she's very, very happy.

***

"It's been four years since I lost my dog and I'm just now thinking of getting another dog," an old college friend wrote to me, in response to that picture of three year old Leo and four year old Ruby. "The grief over losing an animal is so pure. You can't be angry or blame anyone, that's just all the life they get. And it was a good one, for sure."

I hope so.

Remind Me Not to Take These Twins Out of State Again Until They're Four: Trip to Mystic, 2013

Oh, I kid. We all had a good time.


There may have been one small girl who spent much of the time a bit cranky.


Have I mentioned Lucy turned two? And now officially hates strollers and holding your hand when walking?


It's taken me a while to figure this out, but I've come to realize that when you have four kids, the odds that someone is going to be irritated about something or unhappy with a situation is almost inevitable. Of course when they're all happy At Once I feel especially proud and revelatory. And it does happen. At least, so I'm told.


See? Totally recovered.




Truthfully, our annual trip to Mystic, Connecticut was just fine. Fun, even! When we weren't fighting with Lucy to sit in the stroller or hold a hand when walking. And in spite of the Miniature-Time-Bombs-Off-Their-Nap-Schedule-Known-As-Two-Year-Old-Twins, we partook in the usual things we love about Mystic: boat climbing, beluga watching, lobster roll eating and hotel pool swimming. (Please note: I am choosing not to disclose what happened on Thursday, between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. Let's just leave it at, I now know what it's like for someone to sleep with their body draped across your throat. And yes, I'm looking at  you, Lucy).




She's momentarily in control so of course, she's thrilled.


As the big kids like to say, Harry "blew his mind" looking at all the boats at the Mystic Seaport (although I think in this picture he was actually taken by the sound of a passing truck-that boy is in loooove with all things vehicle and mechanical).


What happens when Lucy is contained in the medieval torture device stroller. She kicks. Me. A lot.

This year we were lucky enough to have extended family along to join us: Grandma Jerry and niece/cousin Brandy.

I hope we didn't embarrass them too much.

After a long day of wrangling uncooperative toddlers exploring seaports and children's museums and aquariums and waterfronts, I can think of only one thing: All hail the intoxicating benefits of the hotel room television and Disney Jr. Room-service wine is also helpful (for the moms).

I can't think of a better end to a day with four kids on vacation a trip.


And as I like to say whenever we manage to leave the house: cue the theme to Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey!

Saying Goodbye to the One Who "Started Our Family"

This weekend, we said goodbye to this sweet girl, our Ruby.

She had just turned eleven years old. I complained plenty about her the last few years. Four kids and a dog: It's a lot. But the simple fact is, she was a wonderful, wonderful dog. She was a sweet soul with more patience than any creature I have ever known, as you can see here.



And here.



And here.



And of course, here.



She was happiest when she was just with us.



She loved to have her belly rubbed with your foot. She'd stick her leg up and lay back as if to say, "Don't Stop! I love it!"



She always had to be right there, doing what we were doing, a part of our little gang.

Yes, she was often frustratingly underfoot (especially when someone was eating). And don't get me started on her unabashed food thievery. She must have ingested the equivalent of a thousand purloined cheese quesadillas and pizza slices, usually in one gulp. I often marveled at how she didn't even seem to have to chew her stolen food--poof! It was just gone. She never left a crumb on the floor either, and enjoyed the bounty of dropped food that comes with four children.

And so thanks to Ruby, I didn't sweep my kitchen floor for eleven years.




I still remember the hot, sticky night that we drove out to the hinterlands of Long Island to pick her up. She was floppy and soft and slept in my lap all the way home like an infant (which, at eight weeks old, she was!). She cried all night long that first night home with us-- Erin had to sleep with her hand in the little box where we'd set up her bed. And when she woke us up to go outside at 5 a.m. the next morning, I wondered if I was grown up enough to handle this whole dog business.

Erin had wanted a dog for a long time but I was hesitant. It seemed like a lot of responsibility (by the way, Sweetie? Getting Ruby? One of the best ideas you ever had). Because the simple truth was, I needed Ruby. It was the fall of 2002 and New York City continued under a layer of grief following September 11. At that time, Erin worked many nights and weekends. My mother was still dead and I felt very much alone. Ruby was my constant companion and together, she and I explored the streets of Park Slope, Brooklyn. We chose restaurants based on who had outdoor seating (and allowed dogs). Prospect Park was our backyard and to this day, the sight of Ruby's little blonde legs bounding after a tennis ball through the dewy grass, ranks as one of the happiest sights of my life. Her ebullient joy was infectious-you couldn't watch her in her tennis ball chasing element and not feel happy.

I regaled my friends and family with pictures of her, our undeniable "First Baby" via email. There was Ruby, frolicking in the snow outside our Brooklyn stoop. There was Ruby jumping in the crunchy orange and yellow leaves. My canine photo gallery email recipients tolerated me. When we announced I was pregnant, my stepmom said, "You'll see, a baby is even more fun than a dog!"



She moved cross country twice and without complaint, traveling via airplane and Subaru Outback.

When an old friend from graduate school heard about Ruby's death, she wrote this:

"I remember a joyful picture of you and Erin with Ruby as a puppy...you two were beaming. At the time, I thought, that was the start of your family."

She was right.

And then the kids came along. Leo, in particular, was in love with her.



And Ruby loved the kids. And tennis balls.



We often joked that if  you could harness the energy and focus Ruby spent on catching a tennis ball, you could probably generate power for a small town.



I'm pretty sure Leo had a tennis ball hidden in the snow somewhere. He loved hiding them from her. And she in turn adored the hunt.



I have some guilt, that she went from being "Our Baby" (sleeping in our bed, enjoying full days devoted to her with long walks, morning, noon and night)  to basically the fifth fiddle. She may not have always gotten the "right" kind of attention, but you can't say Ruby was ever lonely.





She was a silly dog with a boundless amount of energy and a puppy spirit until almost the end.

She was Leo's first best friend and Ellie's first word.

And I realized the twins likely won't remember her, which seems unreal, since she was such an intrinsic part of our family. But I couldn't even find any pictures of them with her.

People are asking us if we'll get another dog. Probably? Someday? I think once you've had a dog it's hard to not have a dog.

But there will never be another Ruby.

Summer, So Far

Please excuse the unscheduled break. But, you know. Summer.



Lazy, hazy, crazy (with a bit of emphasis on the Crazy) days.




I had the incredible luxury of an entire week off work last week. The timing was perfect as the big kids started camp (extended school year aka "summer school" for Leo in the morning--he's bussed to camp after lunch). I was nervous about this summer, our first foray into camps, so it was wonderful to be home this week to help them settle into their new routines. Previously the kids have done the "camp" at daycare/preschool but they had both unquestionably outgrown that one. Leo and Ellie will both do our town's camp for the month of July, then in August Ellie starts a binge of specialty camps (I may or may not have gone a bit overboard, ahem) while Leo heads to a month at another camp that I'm also very excited about (more on that later). Aaaand that concludes my attempt to say "camp" as many times in a paragraph as I possibly can.



The "break" was downright luxurious, affording me the opportunity to share little moments with the kids that I feel like I often miss out on since I work.





I had so much fun watching these two play together in the water the other day. It was like they were working! Took their little "jobs" very seriously.



This week Harry also developed a love of vacuum cleaners. Here you can see him telling Ellie all about it.



And Lucy is getting even more brazen with her fashion choices.


She's also discovered dollies. "Look Mommy, I have two babies!" she said to me, just before I took this picture. I told her two babies was crazy and who would be silly enough to have two. Ha.



Someday I will publish a book: My Babies Through the Years, in Costco Carts.



Hard to cry over heart-shaped spilled milk. (Others called this a bat but I, a hopeful optimist stand by my heart vision).


Knock on wood, the big kids seem very happy at camp . I picked them up each day last week at 4 p.m. red faced, dirty and subdued. They were tired, too tired to bicker in the car, even. This is huge. And to to me, tired + dirty = happy. Case in point: Friday night after dinner, Leo disappeared into his room to play Legos. When we checked on him around 8 p.m. he was in his bed, still wearing the clothes he'd worn to camp. He had tucked himself in and he was fast asleep! Unprecedented, I'm telling you.





Taking these two to a large playground gives me heart palpitations but Ellie begged and begged to go to this certain (not our usual park). I counted it as my cardio for the day. Note them walking in opposite directions and times that by infinity (did I mention it was 95 degrees?).



I'd always wanted to try out the "mini-van" carts. Last week, my dream came true! (Don't ask me what Ellie is doing in this picture, but look how pleased Lucy looks!).



It was mostly a hit. Until the end, of course. I dream of the day I can end a shopping trip with these twins that doesn't involves tears and serious misery. I know it will come.



Harry the hippy, aka Seventies Surfer Dude, got a haircut this week.



And now I want to eat his cheeks even more than I already did.





The better to see his eyelashes.



We kicked off our holiday week with a trip with just the big kids to The Land of Make-Believe, or, Ellie's favorite place on the planet.



We spent the bulk of our time at the water park portion, so I don't have a lot of pictures. But Ellie rode her beloved "Thriller" (kiddie roller coaster) at least a dozen times and I put on my big girl swim trunks and conquered my extreme dislike of water slides (the things we do for our children). And yes, I'm proud to say, I actually enjoyed myself. Screaming while careening down a slide is fun and actually kind of therapeutic! Who knew?



Giant pirate ship with fountains and slides. Disney World What?



Relaxing after all that hard water park play. We always say, Leo knows how to enjoy life.



Speaking of enjoying life, Leo was so exhausted at the end of that day that I looked over and at one point he was eating his pizza--as a special treat we let the kids eat in front of the tv, they're favorite show du jour: "Wipeout" -- Leo was eating horizontally. Too tired to be vertical.

Are you sensing a theme for this summer? I believe it's Break the Children. So far, so good.