About these ads

Category Archives: twins

Growing My Own

I spent most of my life with my wheels spinning, running on angst, pride, and selfishness. I was looking for the next best thing, new jobs, promotions, graduate schools, a good hairdresser. I devoted a considerable amount of time to lovingly pruning grocery-store bouquets, dusting, and straightening the art on the walls. I was young. I was, for a large portion of that time, single, and I was a very vocal product of the Me Generation and an only child.

I knew who I was, what I wanted, and where I was going. I knew what I was cooking that night. I knew I could work on my project on Tuesday, and that I would hop on the elliptical, using Program 4 for thirty minutes, before showering and leaving the house for groceries on Saturday afternoon. I knew. I knew everything.

And then, as you’ve no doubt heard before, children arrived and changed our lives forever.

Once our lives had changed so, circumstances begin popping up, rather randomly, to serve as reminders of what I’ve left behind, either by choice or by chance.

My reminders usually arrive in the form of houseguests and visitors. I sit back, silently, as they cloy at my children for affection, gather and relocate the toys in the living room for ‘safety’, and otherwise try to affect the situation into which they’ve been unwittingly placed. They do things like make sure both socks are on each child (and are not twisted), that no item of food touches the floor, and that everyone is smiling.

And I sit. And I watch. And I intermittently provide commentary that may or may not assist them in making further decisions.

And as I observe, I am repeatedly reminded that the decisions being made before me are, in fact, not for the well-being of my children, but for the sanity of the visitor. To make everything right with one’s world. To reduce the obvious measure of anxiety that accompanies caring for three toddlers.

“Well, what should we do?” they ask me, using the royal ‘we’.

“Whatever you think,” I respond. Stymied, they continue on their ways, fumbling blindly through a world dominated by that which they cannot control.

And I remember the grocery-store bouquets. And I remember the Christmas lights I wound, perfectly symmetrically, around the columns of my porch. And I remember taking the dog out to pee at 5:30 every night. I remember when my world made sense.

And I stifle the urge to chuckle when socks go flying over the couch, or two of the kids run into one another and then fall down, or someone gets ‘caught’ pushing a shade up and down. And they look at me. And I shrug.

And I know fully well that behind their eyes swirls a disquieting combination of frustration and confusion, at things not going as planned, at my letting things be, at my standing back, at my apparent neglect. And they fumble, and sigh, and continue to carefully reconstruct a house of cards in gale-force winds, surrounded by whirling dervishes with unpredictable orbits. And I leave them be, not out of cruelty or facetiousness, but because I know they’ll be okay. All of them. And they always are.

And I am at peace because in their desperate eyes, I see myself.  I see myself planning and scheduling and whipping myself into a meringue making my life perfect, making myself comfortable, surrounding myself with desirable aromas, bright colors, and favorable light. And realize that I’m just as happy, if not more now, perpetually assaulted by chaos and not knowing what to do.

And I relish the fact that my son still smells delicious with a sweaty head. And one sock on. And his juice cup on the floor. And that I love my daughter just as much with that chunk of waffle stuck in her hair with syrup. And the toys are strewn everywhere, because, hey, that’s where they like them, and that I’m no worse of a parent because of any of it. And I’m not always clean. And my clothes are not always ironed. And I may or may not know what’s for dinner tonight.

But at the end of the day, we’ll snuggle on the couch, and I’ll kiss a head, or rub a foot, or tickle a thigh, and where the toys currently rest does not cross my mind. Small, warm lips will meet my cheek and impress it with a kiss. Hair will be soft, eyes will shine, and we may sing a song or two.

And when I lie in bed, I will think not about whether six socks are on six feet, or what residue lurks beneath the kitchen table. I will (if I’m not too exhausted to think, of course) think about the fact that my kids went to bed happy, under warm blankets, and are getting the rest that they need.

And think about just how far I’ve come, how much I’ve grown since becoming a parent.

Someday, there may be grocery-store bouquets again. But, for now, I’m growing my own.

Bokeh - Flowers - Forget-me-nots

About these ads

Posted on | Image

Crazy Train

This post goes out to all you parents out there with a special little girl (or boy) in your life, a precious treasure who possesses that magical ability to keep you on the edge of your seat…

I’ve talked about Maggie a lot since she was born, and, to be honest, I’d devote a weekly feature to her if not for my husband’s protests. He’s not home right now.

You see, Maggie’s internal calibration is a little too unforgiving for the situation into which she was born. Each and every day with her is exhilarating, marked by elevated blood pressure and increased visual acuity. I liken living with her to being at Jurassic Park, right outside the broken raptor fence.  The differential on this kid is about one-eighth of one percent. She’s what I like to call tweaked. One slight turn of the string and we all snap.

“She’s a handful,” says my husband, with little emotion. “We can’t trade her in.”

“Ppfffttt,” I respond.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered daycare, a nanny, the Chinese circus, and just sending her outside a few hours a day to see how she does.

But my husband continues to mechanically remark, “She’s a handful.”  She is a handful. She’s just a Pamela Anderson-size handful. In my defense, though, he has suggested we send her out at night to scare away the coyotes.

My darling Clementine has recently enlisted our assistance at naptime, a task which requires both parents to be in the bed and not to move, which is not only impractical, but also almost ensures rest for no one. One day, I nearly peed myself trying to slide out of the bed unnoticed. I failed. (Not the peeing myself, going unnoticed.) You can’t roll over, you can’t shift, and, by God, you can’t cough, sneeze, sniffle, hiccup, or swallow. If you do? Game Over. You lose.

She’s the lightest sleeper I’ve ever seen. Walk by her room, she wakes up. Drop a crumb in the kitchen sink, she wakes up. A squirrel takes a leak in the woods, she wakes up. You’d think, with the great pains she takes to climb out of the hundreds of dollars worth of gates we bought to keep her in, she’d be tired at night. But she’s not.

Last night, she woke us up so she could burp. If she can make it over three gates and up a flight of stairs to smear hand soap all over her face while singing Twinkle, Twinkle, surely she can sit up in the middle of the night and burp, no? No?

Yesterday, we had someone here fixing our alarm system. When he tested the alarm, she yelled, “Uh oh,” flew over the gate into the kitchen, and ran over to the keypad. Was she going to disarm it? Has she learned the code already? I don’t know. But I did have to remind her that her main responsibility right now is to play.

Some of it’s cute, I’ll give you that, but some days it’s really, really hard.

I guess I’m supposed to say I’m lucky that my two boys are so easygoing. I guess I’m supposed to be awed by how prematurely agile and intelligent she is. I guess I’m supposed to marvel at her feats of dexterity and her delicate nature. I suppose, but where in this twenty-four hour hustle am I able to recoup? I can’t sleep when she (sort of) sleeps, because I haven’t yet figured out how to do that without moving. And we do have those two other toddlers.

She’s a handful. But you know that.

I’m awaiting the day that pitching her food on the floor no longer provides her such satisfaction. I’m awaiting the day that she looks up at me, sweetly, and asks if we can color a picture. I’m awaiting the day she asks me to paint nails and do hair. I’m awaiting the day I no longer have to run interference at the entrance to the kitchen with raw chicken all over my hands.

I’m waiting for her to grow up a little. And I realize that is some sort of sacrilege, because in a few years I’ll be crying in my (locally sourced, non-GMO, gluten-, corn-, and rice-free) porridge, lamenting about how quickly the time’s gone by. But, oh, my, we’re tired.

I’m sure she’ll be a delightful, Nobel Prize-winning astrophysicist someday and we’ll be very, very proud. But right now, we’re just tired.

Posted on | Image

Naptime Rules of Engagement

Putting three toddlers to bed at any time is not for the faint of heart. And successfully executing nap time for all three can be elusive and quite rewarding. Since it’s become almost literally my life’s work to ensure my children have naps, I’ve compiled a list of handy do’s and dont’s for your own naptime adventures.

 

toddler bed

 

DO…

Create a recognizable schedule for naptime. For example, my son knows that it’s, “Caillou, then nap.” Adhere to this schedule as strictly as possible.

Provide a safe, comfortable napping area. Make sure favorite blankets, pillows, and other items are on hand.

Make sure your children are fed and hydrated adequately, freshly changed, and an ideal temperature is achieved before putting your children down.

Stick to the parameters that have been set, i.e. sleeping in one’s own bed, not getting up out of bed after naptime has begun.

Allow the oldest to ‘assist’ the other children get to nap. This activity instills a sense of pride and responsibility.

If you have a home phone, take it off the hook, so the ringing does not disturb your children.

 

DON’T…

Sneeze, cough, burp or initiate any bodily function that cannot be carried out silently.

Attempt to make yourself lunch if it involves a) a crinkly bag, b) the microwave, or c) the refrigerator. I recommend bananas.

Flush the toilet.

Walk along floorboards that creak.

Bump into the side of the baby gate on your way through.

Allow any fool to ring your doorbell. I suggest waiting by the door with a spade.

Open or close anything.

Pull out or push in a chair.

Turn on the faucet, shower*, washing machine, dryer, or dishwasher.

Type.

Open cans (not even pop tops!).

Guzzle, slurp, or smack your lips.

Pour cat food into a bowl. They can eat later.

Turn the pages of any newspaper, book, magazine, or catalog.

 

*If you’re compelled to shower, do so with the shower door open.

 

Recommended naptime activities include playing with one’s phone, eating non-refrigerated fruit, raking the sand of a Zen garden (don’t touch the sides!), and watching the television on mute. Any other activity can and will set off a chain reaction of whining, bargaining, and cookies, which will virtually eliminate the possibility of your having any type of break.

Just remember, you’ve been warned.

And if you fail? There’s always tomorrow. Trust me. There’s always tomorrow.

Posted on | Image

Caption This Picture!

It’s been a while since I did a ‘Caption This Picture’ contest. I was sad. I’ve been busy, and haven’t had much opportunity to catch my children in compromising positions.

This evening, however, the perfect opportunity presented itself:

This is my daughter immediately following a plate of pasta.

Up for grabs? A$25 gift card to Amazon.com and the smug satisfaction that you made me laugh.

And the kicker? I have an idea about what the caption should be. If one of you suggests the caption I thought would be perfect for this picture, I am going to throw in a $25 American Express gift card as well! Sweet, right?!?

There’s no limit for entries, so leave as many captions as you wish.

You’re quite a clever bunch. Don’t let me down!

Good luck! I can’t wait to read your responses!

(Contest will end at 6pm ET on Friday, September 14, 2012. Winner will be announced at Momma Be Thy Name on Facebook at @MommaBeThyName on Twitter. Must enter valid email address to be eligible to win.)
 

Posted on | Image

I’m Not Coming Home

Over the weekend, my parents stayed over our house to watch our babies. My husband and I had plans, and we weren’t sure what time we’d be getting home, so we erred on the side of caution and asked if they minded staying over. They agreed. When they left the next day, my darling son Matthew wrestled his way out of the living room, requested his shoes, and declared that he was, “Going Grammy’s house!” When I leaned down to him to make sure I heard him correctly, he bent over, kissed my leg, and said, “Bye, Mommy!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on,” I interjected.”You’re what?”

“Bye, Mommy! Go Grammy’s house! Need shoes!” he said enthusiastically.

“But Matthew,” I leaned in again, “Mommy doesn’t -” and he leaned over and kissed me again, this time on the face.

“Bye, Mommy! Bye, Daddy! Bye Michael Maggie! Goin’ Grammy’s house!”

And I haven’t seen him since.

I sat flabbergasted in the kitchen, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. What just happened? I felt like I’d been slapped in the face.

“Did you see that?” I asked my husband.

“He ditched us! The kid just ditched us!” he responded, a twinge of aggravation in his voice.

We got dinner ready for the twins, fed and changed them, and then I called my mother’s house, primarily to tease Matthew about coming home. And you know what? He didn’t care.

It’s been two days now. I just got off the phone with him, all giggly and laughing, telling me he just helped Grammy take out the trash.

He’s two. And he done took off from this house like a teenager.

And, sadly, the only thing I’m thinking is that I must get this kid back here because when I actually need babysitting, my parents are going to be so exhausted from having him, they won’t be able to do it. That’s, unfortunately, how I have to think these days. So Matthew’s yukking it up over at Grammy’s, stuffing his piehole with animal crackers and hitting up the dollar store for non-child safe toys, and I’m here, lamenting the exhaustion of a babysitting option.

And you know what else? No one told me that they start taking off at two. Do they really or is this just my son? Are the twins going to do this, too? And if so, where are they all going to sleep? Should I buy sleeping bags? A tent? It’s not so bad, really, to have your kid want to sleep elsewhere and those who are elsewhere willing to have him, but, hey, isn’t this my call? I feel a little empty without all the begging and pleading and bargaining for sitting.

That said, things are so relaxing. No one’s dropping their Chuck and Friends on my face at three in the morning, no one’s asking to “color a little bit” or “watch something new”. No one’s pushing his gravitationally challenged brother over onto the rug. It’s quiet. You know, except for Maggie.

And I’m here in the kitchen, scratching lines in the wall, wondering when my son will be getting back.

He’s lucky he’s cute. So cute that he’s probably worn Grammy out for the next two weeks.

Thanks, kid. Sincerely.

Posted on | Image

← Older Posts
Newer Posts →
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 4,864 other followers