Last Days of Disco

I registered the "babies" for kindergarten a few weeks ago.

I don't call them "babies" anymore of course, but that's what they will always be, technically.

The enormity of impending kindergarten is not lost on me.

It's been a looooong two years. It's been wonderful and maddening and exhausting and frustrating and ridiculous and hilarious and stressful and a gift.



When I lost my job just over two years ago, my life changed overnight. Never in a million years did I imagine myself as a "stay at home" mom (and I don't consider that I ever have been since I was fortunate enough to fairly effortlessly segue into steady, part-time freelance work at home). But there is no question that in the last two years I have been "home" much more than I ever was with any of my children. And I don't think I've made any secret of the fact that it hasn't been easy. Of course it hasn't been.



I feel like it's all been leading up to this--the "this" being kindergarten, aka, a full day to complete my work (imagine!) and all the other endless tasks that go along with a house of six that includes four young children. Right now, I bookend the bulk of my work in about three hours in the morning (the amount of time I have once I get all the various children to all of their various places before it's time to pick the twins up from school) and at night after they all go to bed. There's a babysitter in there when work gets particularly overwhelming. I also answer work emails and phone calls and address inquiries throughout the day. And yes, I am basically a crazy person because of this.

I despise being rushed. I abhor doing things "halfway." I detest leaving dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter and Lego bricks on the carpet in front of the coffee table (OUCH) and laundry unfolded in a basket, but this is what I have learned to live with in the last few years. I pick my battles, I look the other way and I have learned the hell out of prioritizing, compartmentalizing and yes, time management.

I HATE losing my temper and running out of patience but I am human and I have done just this, more times than I am proud of. Because, helloooo, stress.



The days have been long, for sure. Going into this whole "working from home" gig, I knew this was IT. Once they start school? You lose a tiny bit of them that you just never get back. I know this because of Leo and Ellie. These last two years I've done my best to pack the twins' days while also getting my work done. Before they started school in those dark, snowy months right after my full-time job ended, we made the rounds at library story times and used afternoon grocery trips as a way to stay busy get out of the house. Then in September of 2014 both twins were in school five mornings a week, and I got a taste of what life COULD be like when I had the time and space that I had once known. It was a tease of the future, of a life with "big kids."



Once we were no longer slaves to the afternoon nap (at age three, when Lucy put an end to THAT nonsense (groan), the twins started the requisite afternoon classes--gymnastics and swimming at the local community center, two days a week. And sometimes (OK, often), trying to slide dry clothes onto wiggly, still-damp bodies that won't stand still long enough to get properly dried off is about the LAST thing I feel like doing, but I tell myself, SELF? This is it. This is what you do. Because there will never be 1pm swimming classes again, ever. And sometimes we even stop for ice cream on the way home, because that's what you do too.



And now, officially registered for kindergarten and on the precipice of full-day school for ALL four (three at the SAME school? What the what?), it just feels...big.



We sold this bad boy a few weeks ago. Of course we hadn't used it in a while but still...I haven't been without a stroller in my house for...eleven years. It's the end of an era, to be sure.

I've said this before and I'll say it again, as hard as things can feel sometimes, I do my very best not to wish time away. Some mornings when I'm getting breakfast on the table (three different drinks for four kids) and packing lunches and snacks into backpacks and someone is playing a keyboard and another person turns on "Knuffle Bunny" on the CD player at full volume, the very hairs on the back of my neck stand up because it is SO EFFING LOUD and it feels like the walls of the house are going to close in on me.

But then Leo's bus pulls up and he gets on and is off to middle school. And then the rest of us load into the van and sing "Cheerleader" on the way to Lucy's school. And then we get home and Harry's bus is waiting for him. And then it's just Ellie and me. And then she's skipping down the hill to the blacktop where the third, fourth and fifth graders line up.



And then, it's just me. And it's quiet. And sometimes it just feels altogether unfamiliar.

Girls' Weekend

"Mommy, do I get to go to the Camporee?"

"LUCY! Stop at the top of the hill!" I shrieked, barely pausing to listen to Ellie's question.  "What?"

It was dusk on a Friday afternoon in mid-January, the end of another long week. Like we do every other Friday, Leo, Harry, Lucy and I load into the van to drive the three minutes to Ellie's school to pick her up from her Girl Scout meeting which concludes just before dinner time.

Lucy barely paused at the top of said hill, then took off through the dark parking lot (Awesome!), meanwhile Harry was at the bottom of the hill, kicking at some grass and taking his own sweet time to join the rest of his siblings at the car. In other words, just a typical moment in my life.

I actually knew about the "Camporee." It was a weekend trip planned for the following weekend, two nights at a YMCA camp in northwestern New Jersey. All the Girl Scouts in Ellie's Girl Scout troupe were invited but each girl needed a parent chaperone. Ellie had asked about it for two years and I somehow put it off. Even though I feel strongly about doing things one-on-one with our kids whenever possible, a whole weekend away with one seemed complicated.

"I don't know, we'll see," I mumbled, between pleads with Harry to get into the car and Lucy to scoot into her carseat so I could buckle her in. Inwardly I was cursing the Girl Scouts for publicizing the trip, wishing it could be something that only parents knew about so that if we couldn't take our girls, they couldn't be disappointed. But silly me, third grade girls talk to each other. They're not little kids anymore.

Later when I brought it up with Erin to see what she thought (secretly hoping she'd poo poo it and Id be off the hook), she practically (lovingly) pushed me out the door. "GO," she implored me. "It will be good for you and it will be great for Ellie."

So go, we did.


Fairview Lake, Newton, New Jersey


Ellie was just SLIGHTLY excited about her top bunk (and her new purple sleeping bag).

We left home shortly after sunset and arrived in time for hot chocolate, cookies and swap making in the dining hall. Soon after we retired to our cabins (bunkbeds!) that we shared with two other moms and their daughters. I had one of the worst night's sleep of my life (and believe me, there's a lot of competition for that), between the street lamp that shined in my eyes all night and the plywood-plush mattress. But no matter-I was heartened by the fact that four year olds would not be rousing me before sunrise in the morning and I had no responsibilities for the next day, other than chaperoning Ellie to various Girl Scout activities. WIN.


Candle making was favorite (yes, the let the moms do it too). It was dip, dip, dip, dip. Super relaxing. Super zen. Totally what I needed.

They kept the girls perfectly busy. I say "perfectly" in that there was plenty of down time but also great activities for them. They spent a morning learning about letter boxing.


They survived the Frozen Swamp Tour.


Ellie and the biggest marshmallow of her life. True love.

Perhaps MY favorite part of the weekend was the dining hall. Can I tell you how sweet it was to walk into a room where all the food had been prepared by others and would be cleaned up by others? I didn't realize how much brain space is taken up by meals for the kids until I had a weekend off from cooking and cleaning up. If I'm not making meals or cleaning up after them I'm thinking about what I'm going to make and when I'm going to make it. Always watching the clock. And believe me, I am no gourmet--I'm not even talking about elaborate cooking here folks. I'm talking pasta. Baked chicken. Some cut up fruit. It was SO nice to sit back and let someone else take the reins for the weekend.

Saturday afternoon the girls rehearsed a little performance for the evening's talent show and the moms congregated in a room with couches and coffee and we just relaxed and talked. Bliss. I seriously could have just stared at a wall and been perfectly content. The adult conversation was just an added bonus.


That evening after dinner (followed by brownies, a sundae bar AND s'mores--see above for Biggest Marshmallow--the girls performed their song (there were Girl Scout troupes in attendance from all over the state). Yup, a lodge full of giggling, shrieking elementary and middle school girls. It was as loud (and adorable) as it looks.

In the morning, following brunch and prior to departure, the girls had a list of activities to choose from.


"What was your favorite part of Camporee?" One of the counselors asked Ellie on Saturday night. "It hasn't happened yet," Ellie answered quietly. She had her heart set on archery.


Rock climbing was also highly anticipated.

Before it was time to pack up the car, Ellie and I took some time to explore the camp one more time, just the two of us. I made a conscious effort to say "YES!" as much as I could all weekend. "Can I have another brownie? Can we go check out the creek? Can we make one more candle?" Yes! Sure! Why not?!  With four kids and four personalities and four different sets of needs it can be SO hard to please everyone all the time--not hard actually, impossible. I find myself constantly feeling like I'm not only being pulled in many directions and endlessly disappointing someone. I've come to accept this, but it sure is nice to be able to just say YES to a request without thinking about how it's going to affect another kid or if I'll need to get four of something and well, you get the picture. (Of course, saying yes ALL the time wouldn't be a good way to be but it's just fine for one weekend if you ask me).






Pretty excited about the name of the camp gift shop.



Finding hearts in the natural environment is a family favorite. The Camporee did not disappoint.




Camporee selfie!!


If you're wondering how the others fared in our absence, well they were more than fine (see above for a pic that Erin texted me over the weekend). I came home to seven loads of clean laundry (thanks Sweetie!) and fresh baked cookies. I think it's safe to say I could got the easier end of the stick with the One Kid Weekend.



Next year I will not change the subject when Ellie asks me about the Camporee. I'll mark it on the calendar, and we'll be there. I'm looking forward to it already.

On Balance (HAHAHAHA), a New School Year and Free Reign Chaos

I'm coming out of another work fog that makes me remember that I am a human and that there is life outside of work. It also makes me question how I am handling this Working From Home gig. It's hard, yo!


Then there was the day a few weeks ago that the house internet was down in the midst of a huge work deadline (of course it was!). In the afternoon we all trudged down to the neighborhood "free" wifi spot (Evil Fast Food Restaurant) where I was successfully able to download my much needed document. All was well that ended well there, but not without quote a bit of panic and stress on my part. I think it's clear from the "toasting" of sundaes (seen here) who the winners were that day.

It's all hard:

-Working at the office/commuting/not seeing the kids for ten hours/getting home and scrambling for all the different people begging for attention/feeling guilty because I don't spend enough time with them and the time I do spend isn't "quality" time and I often feel impatient and burned out
-Working from home/carving work in between all the other home responsibilities/seeing the kids for ten hours at a time/getting home and scrambling for all the different people begging for attention/feeling guilty because the time I spend with them isn't "quality" time and I often feel impatient and burned out

But the good thing about being ridiculously stressed and overwhelmed is that when you no longer feel stressed and overwhelmed, you feel Reborn!

After two days on and several days off (Hi, Jewish Holidays), we are officially Back in the Business of School (except for one day last week--Hi Another Jewish holiday). In fact this week, the last one of September, is actually the first full week of school!


Oh, Hiiiiiiiiiiii sixth grade. How's it going? (First day)

Leo is settling into middle school. After a few bumps (on the second week of school it rained. Leo has developed a severe phobia of rain and storms (?) and that day, I was on and off the phone all day with the school nurse, because Leo had come to her with a stomach ache. Several times). We have been talking and talking (and talking) about the importance of rain--to the planet, to the people, you name it. The other bump was that did you know that in middle school they serve pizza Every Day? Leo was confused on a Tuesday when he did not get pizza (because in fifth grade, pizza day was Friday). Sheesh, life is always throwing curve balls, isn't it? Next week he starts some extracurricular activities which I'm excited about (and so is he!): Art Club and Science Club. On the horizon is try-outs for the basketball team (gulp!).


Behold, third grade and Last Year of Preschool x 2

No big news on third grade (fine by me!). Ellie likes her teacher and is happy that one of her good friends is in her class (again). She's started soccer and is enjoying it and Girl Scouts (Brownies) starts again in a few weeks.

Lucy is excited to be in the "Big Kid" class in preschool. She has the teacher Ellie had her last year of Pre-K, which is fun and familiar. After a few relatively smooth months (it's all relative, not sure if smooth is the best word) Lucy seems to be entering another tricky phase. It seemed to kick off with the transition to big kid beds. Maybe it's too much change at once. I could just really do without the tantrums about television and the running away from me in the parking lot. And the driveway. This too shall pass, I know. The thing is, she can be SO SWEET. And mature! And sensitive. When Erin had some oral surgery recently, she came over to her and crawled into her lap and said, "Mama? Does your mouth hurt? I'll be extra sweet to you."

On the first chilly morning of fall I dug out my old beloved khaki trench coat which she complimented me on, calling it my "fancy" coat. When Harry is running around the bedroom without pants on at bedtime and she's quietly brushing her teeth with her legs folded crisscross applesauce, she asks me, "Mommy? Am I being a very good girl?" Jekyll. And. Hyde.


And just like that, we said goodbye to cribs (I know, four is old to be in a crib but if you have twins, you get it). Do not, I repeat DO NOT be fooled by their apparent calm. Cribs for everyone!


I was admiring Harry's Transformer "dollhouse" and "family." "It's NOT a dollhouse family," he replied, incredulous. "It's an ARMY!"

After a month with Lucy at her school, Harry was a little unhappy about having to go back to his other school (where he continues to get the speech therapy that he's happily growing out of the need for but I'm not arguing with free preschool!). His disappointment passed quickly--he now seems to really enjoy where he is--all last year he would ask in the morning, "Is it a school day?" And when he found out it was, his face would fall a little. But now, he has a little spring in his step in the morning and bounds off the bus in the late morning, talking about a handful of little boys he played Transformers with or a book they got to read in library.

And then there's me. Four years in and I'm STILL not accustomed to the chaos of having twins. One four year old is one thing. Two? Right now what I'm struggling most with is listening. As in, they don't listen to me. Or at least, not as much as I need them to.

I am a person who likes order. Routine. And did I mention quiet? OK, I have mostly accepted the fact that our house is the opposite of quiet, but that doesn't mean I don't find it all too much to take sometimes. It seems like for the most part, ever since we converted the cribs to toddler beds, bedtime, or more like, around 4pm every day, evolves into something out of an episode of "Super Nanny, "but BEFORE Super Nanny swoops in and makes everything OK. It just feels completely out of control. Jumping off beds. Ignoring simple, completely reasonable requests like, "Can you please go to the bathroom and put your pajamas on?"

We're trying a few things that are hopefully helping (awarding "coins" for good behavior that they collect to earn a small prize at the end of the week). I HATE material bribes but you do what you gotta do right? I'm also hoping that maybe the novelty of being "free reign" at bedtime will wear off soon.

And you know, there's the flipside of course. These two incredibly frustrating, challenging, adorable, interesting, smart hilarious people. Just as I did the day they were born, I still marvel at them. TWO of them.


To quote Harry, who said, right as I was taking this picture: "There are too many people in this pool!"





Well, four of them.

This too shall pass, and all that jazz.

Greetings From a Very Grateful "Fifth Wheel"

Yes, this already happened. We may be a little excited.

I refuse to let a whole month go by with no posting.

Time marches on. Fall is a blur. We've already had our first snow fall.


Did I mention we had our first ever (that I can recall) white Thanksgiving?


Speaking of Thanksgiving, its spoils (the crafts and cards that the children bring home) never get old: Oh Leo, how I love YOU!


We are still trying to figure out Leo's placement for next year. More on that to come. I am in deep, deep (did I mention DEEP?) denial that this year is his last year of elementary school which is another way of saying that next year means middle school. Change is hard (for me). Leo has had a good few months, just finished up his first season of soccer on a special needs team and he's excited about the upcoming basketball season (same league).



I am ridiculously late to posting just about everything that happened in the last few months--this picture feels like a million hundred years ago but Ellie had a blast playing soccer this season. She was incredibly spirited and excited and I think just genuinely loved being a part of a team. She cried when the season ended ("I won't get to see any of the girls on my team anymore!"). She's devouring books (Dan Gutman is her favorite author) and leading us all in holiday craft time (my favorite of late is the ornament she made today, composed of red and green construction paper  that said simply: "2014: I was 7.")


This girl continues to push every button of my soul, even buttons I didn't know I existed. She barrels through her little life as her twin brother does, but in a different way. I've never known someone who could be so gleeful as she was being insistent. Often it seems like there simply are no rules in Lucy's life. When I tell her not to do something I'm met with, "Oh MOMMY," and I can almost hear her cluck her little tongue at me as she goes about her merry way, fetching her loaf of bread and jar of blueberry jam out of the refrigerator even though it's only 9:30 am, not lunch time  or even snack time and LUCY PUT DOWN THE STEAK KNIFE PLEASE. She's in that challenging "Uppy MOMMY!" phase--it's stunning how she can be so needy and yet so mind-numbingly independent at the same time. Case in point: Tonight I marveled at her ability to put on her own pajamas--she meticulously layed them out on the green shag rug and slipped each miniature leg into a sleeve of knit lavender polka dot legging. "I did it ALL by myself!" She squealed proudly.

And then barely missing a beat, she announced she didn't want to wear those pajamas. She wanted her CHEETA pajamas. Because, of course!!

Sometimes when I get truly desperate, I remind myself that she just wants attention--there's a lot of competition in our house and everyone has a different tactic in getting theirs. And just when I think she is going to throw herself on the ground or burst into tears and refuse to acquiesce, she'll shrug her tiny shoulders and say Oh, OK. Three year olds. They are just little mysteries aren't they?


Harry holds court at the traditional (preschool) feast of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese.

Harry is thriving at preschool. His language is exploding and his sentences are becoming more complex. "Mommy, I want to go downstairs and eat my dinner. Pick me up!" (This is his command to me every morning--by the way, dinner=breakfast). He continues to have a predilection for falling head first off of chairs and spilling the equivalent of buckets of seltzer (Oh HARRY! is still heard several times a day at our house), but it's partly how he barrels through his little life that makes him so irresistible. When he and Lucy are not having complicated conversations about who has which body part, and disagreeing about who ate all the Pirate Booty, they are telling us they love us. In the last few months Harry and Lucy have become confirmed playmates (they have been all along of course but the "parallel play" has officially graduated into more detailed, organized activities and scenarios. Ellie is often the ring leader: "Let's play Superheros! Let's play Evil Fairies! Let's play Snow Queens!"

I've been meaning to mention this for the last oh, three months (sorry, blog): More and more I feel like the most giant Fifth Wheel in the history of wheels around these four. They play and play and oh sure, fight and bicker and squable and someone bursts into tears and then someone yells and then someone apologizes. And then they go back to playing Snow Queens.


When they asked to do Play-Doh this weekend I cringed inwardly (it usually takes longer to set it up and clean up the mess than the time it takes to actually play it) but with no better ideas to offer (it was 29 degrees outside), I agreed. What followed was an unprecedented TWO HOUR PLAY-DOH MARATHON. I know.

It's amazing. And I never thought I would like being "left out" out of anything. But the other day I took a shower in the morning while they were all downstairs, just playing. I think it's fair to say I never thought that day would come. Life, it does go on.

September, So Far

Monday morning means the return of the pile o' packs.



Waiting. And waiting some more for Leo's bus. His afternoon bus? Is of course early. Twice last week I had to call to the bus to wait and I rounded the corner on the way home from picking Ellie up. "That's my kid!" I yelled, as I saw the bus begin to pull away. Ellie thought that was pretty funny.


Pretty much fulfilled a major parenting dream here: tiny, old school Sauconys.


"Look Mommy," said Ellie, "I'm dipping Harry!"


This is what a non-napping three old looks like. He falls asleep in anything with wheels (car, stroller). That day he stayed asleep when I went to get him out of the stroller. RARE. It was sweet to have a sleeping "baby" on my shoulder, even if it only lasted a few minutes.


Another view of a non-napping three year old. She pretty much just goes "splat" when her head hits the pillow at night.


I am unreasonably excited about the crisp mornings and cool evenings we've been enjoying since almost the first week of September. This of course means the return of knee sock season. Summers here can be horrific, winters are interminable, spring is two weeks long. But fall? Oh east coast fall I adore you.


Harry and Lucy Lebowitz, the old married couple spending their Golden Years at the Catskills (actually it's Harry and Lucy eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Goldfish for dinner while they watched Ellie at soccer practice).


I need a flow chart. Seriously. Every day is different (but all hail Friday, aka pizza day when no one needs a lunch packed). Ahhhhh.


"Back to School Night," the Harry edition.


"Back to School Night, the Ellie edition.

(Due to scheduling conflicts, and our inability to clone ourselves, we had to miss Leo and Lucy's back to school nights. Otherwise known as the plight of having four children and back to school nights that are held on the Same Day at the Same Time. Sigh.)


I pretty much just put my face into this entire box after making it through the first week of four kids in four schools, oh yes I did.

Summer, So Far

Summer is in full swing.

Leo and Harry are in summer school. Ellie is in camp and Lucy is...yelling at me and eating a lot of Popsicles.





I am struggling to get here, to this place, to this touchstone that has been my little haven for so many years. The irony is not lost on me, that now that I spending so much time with my children, I don't have as much time to write about them. There is little to no time for reflection. It is tote that barge, lift that bail, make that snack, pack that lunch, load three kids in the car to go pick up one more.

I know this season is short. Temporary. It is also hot and sticky and ripe and loud and silly and messy and excruciating and beautiful and brief. The beautiful is sometimes hard to remember when you are in the middle of it and trying to balance so many things and wants and needs and schedules and your email is chiming because you have a deadline to meet and there are also voices saying "MOMMY" and "MOOOOOMMY" and then you remember that you have to ask someone for the twentieth time, "Do you have to go potty?"



With the boys in school in the morning and Ellie in camp, Lucy and I go on little excursions.



In a few weeks Leo will start camp. Ellie will begin her series of week long speciality camps (science, art, gymnastics). Lucy will finally get HER day ("princess" ballet camp--can you stand it? Because I barely can).



Fourth of July outfits (minus Harry) plus a Turtle.



I have always, always wanted to make a Flag Cake. Mission Accomplished.



Stars + Stripes.



"I need to teach them how to run down a hill!" Said Ellie. Meanwhile I was humming the theme to "Little House on the Prairie."



Leo, rightfully proud of his Super Hero watercolors.





Things don't always go swimmingly for Lucy at the playground.





Cuteness. With a potty photo bomb. Because, of course.

I Want OUT! And Other Things We Heard, Saw and Did This Year in Mystic

Summer wouldn't officially be here for our family without our annual trek to Mystic, Connecticut.

A few days before our road trip I took the van in to have the carseats checked by a professional (yes, four kids in and I still don't trust myself to install them properly). I was mainly concerned about Leo's booster but when the tech noticed Harry and Lucy were still rear facing, we started to talk (she was impressed they were still rear facing since it is technically safer). But then we began talking heights and weights and since they were close to outgrowing their seats in their present position,  it made sense to take care of that while we were there. So, one hour and most of a Lego Batman movie later (thank you, minivan DVD player), voila!


Two officially forward facing, big kids.

We hit the road early on Saturday morning. Lucy has never been what I'd call mellow in the car but I was really hoping the novelty of the forward facing would help.

No dice.

Three minutes into New York State and Lucy was shrieking, "I WANT OUT!!"

It was just as relaxing as it sounds.

We stopped in Connecticut to use the restroom and let the kids get their shakes out. We taught them the art of relay racing (not the firing squad that it appears).



It calmed Lucy. For about three minutes.

Side note: I had to laugh at us the night before we left, as we ran around the house like the proverbial chickens, throwing clothes and toys and swim goggles into tote bags. We were going away for One. Night. The scene reminded me of the beginning of "Home Alone"--which takes place the night before a large family is leaving for a trip to Paris. So I had only one goal really, for this year's trip to Mystic: to not forget any of our children.

Newsflash: It's hard traveling with many small children. Really it only takes one miserable child (not mentioning any names) to make the whole thing challenging. But in certain moments, all the hard stuff, all the whining and struggling and cajoling and haggling all falls away.



Our first stop when we hit town was Abbots, our favorite Mystic (technically in nearby Noank) restaurant. Its location on the water (coupled with its lobster rolls and lobster chowder) is truly transporting--it screams "Vacation!" even if you do have to eat your lobster roll while you are chasing around an almost three year old and keeping her from landing head first in the water.






If these two pictures of the kids and me aren't the quintessential shots of being a mom of four kids then I don't know what is. (My favorite part of the picture below is Leo, by the way). And notice how Lucy is getting set to go rogue and refusing to look at the camera? Yup.



I always aim for little, transcendental moments when we travel with the children. For me, that came after lunch, at the hotel pool. Everyone was tired and stir crazy from the car time. But all we had to do was add a little water and soon, all four (all six actually) were in bliss. We had the pool to ourselves for a while--allowing Leo to cannon ball off the side to his heart's content, while Ellie practiced her back stroke. Erin and I took turns throwing twins around the pool (Lucy squealed "I want to do that AGAIN!" about ninety-seven times).

The big plan for a nice dinner at another favorite local restaurant was foiled by an unnamed, non-napped preschooler. Needless to say what began as an "early dinner" quickly became "Uh...can we actually get that to go?" Cheese pizzas and Greeks salads and spaghetti and meatballs were quickly wrapped and it was "home" to our hotel room where the kids picnicked on beach towels and I (out of desperation) paid more to RENT "The Lego Movie" than it costs to buy the DVD. Best money we've spent in a looooong time.

I'll skip the part about the pretty torturous night in a hotel room with twin two year olds (complete with a 1 a.m. wake up due to drunk wedding revelers in the hallway outside our room). It was everything you would imagine it to be.

Oh but I do have to share this.

Poor Leo is afraid of the dark. At home he sleeps with a lamp on in his room. He pleaded with us to leave a reading lamp in the hotel room on. WAY too bright. We agreed to leave the light in the bathroom on AND the door open. He was not satisfied with that compromise. Which is why this trip to Mystic will be remembered as the One When Leo Slept In the Bathtub. I'll once again use the line that sums up our family: Can't. Make. This. Stuff. Up.

Needless to say, we all survived, as we always seem to. There was hot, dark roast venti-sized Starbucks in the morning (shouldn't all hotels have a Starbucks in the lobby?), along with a breakfast buffet complete with strawberries and whipped cream (of course Lucy fell off her chair in the middle of breakfast). Par for the course.

After breakfast came the moment we'd all been waiting for:


Visiting an old friend, the beluga whale at the Mystic Aquarium.


We took our annual picture in front of the penguin statue. Notice anything different about this one? No stroller! This is the first trip we've taken as a family of six wherein no stroller was used. Hooray! And also, EEK!

You know what else was pretty cool?





On our way out of town we finally got to meet Abby and her family. Her mom Cate writes one of the first DS blogs I ever read (hers was one that inspired me to start writing my own). I can't believe I've "known" her now for six years--when we first connected, Abby and Leo were toddlers. Now look at these giant big kids.


Until next time, Mystic. Our goals for when we do return are mighty: Dinner AT a restaurant, sitting  at a table, perhaps? And sleeping through the night in beds. Oh we ask for SO MUCH!

On Having it "Never Be Okay"

My mom, Eleanor, circa late 1990s.

I'm not really sad anymore on Mother's Day, which sure is a refreshing change from all those teary, Woe is me, let's have a glass of wine at 1 p.m. Mother's Days of years gone by. It's been fourteen years of not having a mom here and by this time, having my mother to fuss over and take out to brunch and buy peonies for just feels completely foreign and "other" to me. It just isn't my reality and hasn't been for a loooong time. 

I plug along. She is in my thoughts some days but I'm almost surprised to admit (and a little ashamed) that on many she is not. There was a time I don't think I could have ever imagined that I would honestly write that sentence. But there it is.

And then the other day I read this, by Cheryl Strayed:

"It will never be okay," a friend who lost her mom in her teens said to me a couple of years ago. "It will never be okay that our mothers are dead."

...Our moms had been dead for ages. We were both writers with kids of our own now. We had good relationships and fulfilling careers. And yet the unadorned truth of what she'd said--it will never be okay--entirely unzipped me.

It will never be okay, and yet, there we were, the two of us more than okay, both of us happier and luckier than anyone has a right to be. You could describe either one of us as "joy on wheels" though there isn't one good thing that has happened to either of us that we haven't experienced through the lens of our grief. I'm not talking about weeping and wailing every day (though sometimes we did that). I'm talking about what goes on inside, the words unspoken, the shaky quake at the body's core. There was no mother at our college graduations. There was no mother at our weddings. There was no mother when we sold our first books. There was no mother when our children were born. There was no mother, ever, at any turn for either one of us in our entire adult lives and there never will be.

And that's the truth. It will never be okay that Eleanor never got to meet Ellie. That she never got to eat scrambled eggs with Leo or push a ridiculously giant double stroller housing two (two!) wailing newborns down our treelined New Jersey street. 

 

And it will never be okay that my mom never go to meet Erin, but I will always be so glad that in a brave moment during one of our many afternoon phone calls (she in Oregon, me, away at graduate school in New York City) I decided to tell her about this new person that I'd only been dating for a handful of months. And because of that, for the rest of my life I’ll have a printed out email from my mom that says simply, "I'm glad you have Erin." Boy, was she right.

And the fact that it's not okay? Serves as a counterpoint to all the unbelievably wonderful and beautiful things in my life: Leo's hugs, and the way he throws his arms around my waist and holds onto me with his very soul, Ellie's witticisms and the way she will just look at me in the middle of dinner and say "Can we snuggle?" Harry's chocolate brown eyes and the way he leans in to give me a sloppy kiss and then declares, "That's a juicy one!" Lucy's blonde ringlets and watching her drink milk from a straw and eat peanut butter and strawberry jam with as much satisfaction as one would garner from drinking a glass of Pol Roger and eating Malpeque oysters. 

There is just so much beauty and joy and grace and hilarity in my life now, that the "not okayness," feels somehow easier and harder (if that makes any sense at all). Easier because I'm so busy with all these children! And my life is so full! And yet, she's missing all these children. And all this fullness. But. That is just the way it is.

 

There are so many things my mom and I never got to talk about. I was twenty seven when she died, and at that point, becoming a mother myself was the farthest thing in my mind. Who knows if I'm right, but to this day, I think one of her greatest worries for me was that I would never become a mother.

Of course now we all have a good laugh over that one. I hope my mom is laughing too.

It Gets Better: Bounce House, ENT and Primal Screaming Edition

A few rainy weekends ago, Leo and Ellie were blessedly invited to a birthday party at one of those bounce places. I'm not kidding when I say I was GRATEFUL for that party. At 3:47 p.m., after three hours of "STOP IT LEO" and "GET OUTTA MY ROOM ELLIE!" and the ensuing tears and shoves, I was positively ecstatic to drive thirty minutes in a downpour so they could jump and bounce and slide and get out of the house and out of my hair. The twins stayed home with Erin and I got to drink Diet Coke and chat with some old friends from Leo's preschool days (and yes, big kid birthday parties qualify as "Me Time" these days).

Ellie and Leo prepare to mount the "velcro wall."

After about an hour and fifteen minutes, the children (a mixture of nine and ten year olds with Down syndrome and their typical siblings) were unequivocally All Bounced Out. Parents and children filed into the party room across the hall where cheese pizza slices were impeccably arranged on "Despicable Me" plates. All twenty little pink faced people gratefully sipped pink lemonade out of Minion adorned cups while music from various Disney movies played from some far away iPod. When "Let it Go" came on, Leo had to stand up and step away from his pizza to belt out the lyrics (complete with hand gestures). No one batted an eye or even seemed to notice.

As I sat and watched this group of children, most of whom I've known since Leo was three years old (!) it hit me. I remember attending this particular birthday boy's parties back when I had to cut Leo's pizza into bite sized pieces. When I had to watch him every single second and find all the exits as soon as we arrived, to make sure he didn't find one. When I had Ellie, a squirmy toddler in tow and I dreaded attending birthday parties with the two of them because it was so hard to keep track of Leo and Ellie at the same time. And what if I had to change a dirty diaper? That would mean trying to pry a transition-challenged Leo from doing something he loved. In other words? Nightmare.

To say nothing of his escapist tendencies at that age. All those tunnels and nooks and crannies used to practically give me angina. He was a runner. And a hider. And it was the opposite of fun (for me, at least).

But at this recent bounce party I found myself lost in conversation several times. Every once in a while I would look up and think--Huh. I guess I should check on Leo. And Ellie. And I did. And they were fine. But I didn't have heart palpitations when I couldn't spot Leo immediately and I didn't have to tear pizza into bite sized pieces and I didn't have to chase a toddler down a hall. Not even once.



A few weeks after the party, I took Leo to his annual appointment with the ENT (ear, nose and throat doctor). He got a clean bill of health and it turns out he doesn't need his allergy medication anymore. Leo was a little wary at first and none too thrilled with the exam (who likes having little instruments stuck in their ears?), but he cooperated just fine, didn't cry or kick me (or the doctor-hey, it's happened!) in the shins or the stomach. There were a tense few seconds when I didn't think he'd sit for the hearing test (why oh why don't they employ more kid-friendly audiologists I will NEVER UNDERSTAND) but we rallied and he did it and we can check off that little box (and by the way, Leo's hearing is just fine).

Speaking of angina, I practically have PTSD from all those years of traumatic ENT appointments. The second I'm in that waiting room it all comes crashing back. The flailing. The tears. But the fact that Leo now cooperates and I don't have to chase him around the waiting room or drag him kicking and screaming from the play area to the exam room or hold him down while he wails and stiffens and punches? I will never not be grateful that it is So Much Better. Now.



There are a multitude of things that are helpful and remarkable about having a multitude of children, one of which being that as they get older, they give you (even more dramatically than one or two might, I think) the gift of perspective. As a parent, when things are hard, it's so easy to feel stuck and frustrated, to think, It's ALWAYS Going To Be This Way. I absolutely love the ages Leo and Ellie are right now. It feels kind of perfect. Aside from the fact that the two of them fight with each other quite a bit (talk about typical behavior--I should be relieved, right?), they are genuinely fun to be with. We have interesting conversations. We laugh. I'm never worried one of them is going to take off in public and if I can't see one of them as they round the corner of an aisle at the store, I don't get that sick, poison-in-my-veins feeling that I used to get when I lost sight of Leo, or that I get now when Lucy wanders off from me at checkout line at Target when I'm momentarily distracted trying to activate my "Cartwheel" app (Ugh and true story).

Speaking of Lucy, I've written here about our, shall we say, challenges with her, of late. Or perhaps I should say they are my challenges with her. At any rate, her latest is trick is screaming when she doesn't get what she wants. Sounds simple, right?

Well, it's not. Because I mean, S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G. I know this is something that almost-three-year olds do. I've just never had an almost three year old that's done it.

When Lucy doesn't get what she wants (not every time, but often enough) she digs deep into her tiny body and, like a cornered animal, out comes something from, well, another world. Harry reacts by covering one ear, turning his head and whimpering. Leo covers both ears and sometimes screams back (yeah, that's fun). Ellie raises her shoulders to her ears and says, "Oh Lucy." I...do the best I can, but admittedly have been known to react less gracefully than I could.



Not allowed to wash her hands at the kitchen sink (which isn't as simple as it sounds--it involves moving the rug in front of the sink, scraping the kitchen chair across the room)? SCREAM!!! Denied chocolate animal cookies at 6:45 a.m.? SCREAM!!! Asked pleasantly to Please put her shoes on so we can go pick Ellie up from school? SCREAM!!!

But. I know from seeing it over and over again in Leo and Ellie that this too shall pass (which remains one of my favorite parenting tips). As quickly as Lucy discovered this talent is as quickly as it will disappear (though perhaps not as swiftly as we'd all like it to).

And I just know that Lucy and I have an endless number of carefree bounce house parties in our future.

When Life Gives You Fourteen Degrees, You Give it Felt Valentines in January

It continues to be ridiculously cold (I know, January) and it continues to be my least favorite time of year (Christmas is still over!). And so to that I say: Valentine's Crafts.



Ellie and I started working on this little ditty on Saturday afternoon while the twins napped. And here's some funny info which speaks volumes: I bought the materials for this "garland"…LAST YEAR. Along with a glue gun. Which I finally took out of its package this weekend. Hey, better late than never, right? Yes, I've long dreamed (for a whole year, apparently) of creating a little Valentine's Day garland (you can make garlands for pretty much any holiday-I'm already planning my Halloween version).



We worked furiously while they slept, in an attempt to get as much finished in the absence of the twin-nadoes precious darlings. I knew as soon as they woke it would be Game Over. We accomplished a lot, I'd say about 3/4 of the garland was complete before Lucy woke up.

When she came downstairs she was wide eyed at the craftapalooza. She announced, "I want to paint!"

Well, OK then.


Lucy, you're such a great artist, I told told her. "No I'm not!" she protested. "I'm Lucy!"

There was a time when I would have felt itchy to have so many projects going at once (shortly after Lucy started painting, she asked for lunch, so at one point I was simultaneously making a cheese sandwich, slicing berries and glue gunning burlap cord and felt hearts). The kitchen: Oh it was quite a sight. I guess I'm just much more accustomed to chaos than I used to be (Gee! I wonder why!). It still makes feel a little nuts, but I know in the back of my mind that everything is washable and everything has a place (eventually) and everything will get cleaned up.


Harry woke up a little later and joined our "salon."


He may have been a bit more interested in the paint water than the actual painting (don't worry, he took a drink when it was clean, before he'd dipped his brush).

Ellie alternated between decorating felt hearts for the garland and painting with watercolors. At one point I took a break from felt heart glue gunning and worked on some water colors too. This is so much harder than it looks, I mentioned to Ellie, who was working quietly beside me (It's been a while since I've used water colors).


"Not for me," Ellie replied. "I'm a natural."

By the way, about that working furiously? A funny thing happened. We were able to finish the garland after the twins woke up. This might sound silly, but I have to say that completing this did a lot for my confidence. I love being creative. I miss doing stuff like this. Yes, things have been pretty hectic for the last few years (Hi Harry and Lucy!). Dare I say we are seeing a glimmer of the future? A future in which creative projects can be completed at a time that doesn't involve nap time? A future in which it's not just the big kids participating, but the little ones too? I mean, don't get me wrong. There was still a toddler pulling on my leg the whole time I finished that last quarter of the garland and I'm sure at least two people were shouting MOMMY! and asking for a snack. But we finished the garland! We finished it! And I swear I didn't ignore the children. Too much.



Perhaps best viewed in darkened room, while squinting. But we had fun.




Felt, buttons, rick rack, ribbon, pom poms and sequins.

More. Is more.