the eleventh

I don't usually stay home with the kids during the week - I work. So on the rare occasion that I do, I try to tolerate treasure each moment. I mean, I stay home with them on the weekends but that is different. While there is always things to be done (endless list of to-do's) over the weekend. The schedule is flexible. Although it might not appear to my husband that I am flexible. I am. Just as long as I can eventually get my chores done. The worst feeling is starting a Monday completely unprepared for the week. All moms know what I mean by "prepared for the week."

For me there is something sacred about Monday - Friday. It's as if those days are mine. My schedule. My routine. Hello, my rules. So when the one of them woke up at 5:30 am (after both of them fussing all night - which by the way sucked cause I had a few too many chardonnays the night before) and I had not yet showered, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that although today is a Monday it is not My Monday. Breath, Breath. I gleefully swooped up the baby to discover that he had peed through his pj's. Well, then I guess his waking up early is justified...you are forgiven. We scampered (not so much, but it sounds cute) downstairs with a dry set of clothing for him. As he was having his morning bottle, sans wet clothing, I enjoyed a few sips of warm, fabulous, strong, dark, French (get your head out of the gutter).....coffee. Of course that was short lived because the other one woke up too. So there we were, the three of us hanging out watching a little news while the beast continued to sleep.

At around 7:00 am she stumbled down the stairs and into the family room. She always looks like she pulled one over the night before and is still drunk. She walks funny and her hair...girl, her hair. I pity the man who marries her if the hair thing continues. She looked like a heathen. Something between Cousin It, an 80's hair band with a little Flock Of Seagulls thrown in. It's hot. But to top it all off, she is in pink-penguin-footed pajamas. Rachel Zoe would die. She saunters in and immediately started asking questions about what I was doing. She doesn't get the whole no questions till 8:00 rule. Obviously not my Monday.

Almost every single toy ended up on the floor and after picking them up twice I gave up. The pillows were off the couch. Blankets were strewn about. I was almost in the corner rocking back and fourth....the clutter it kills me. But, remember, it's not my Monday....secretly, I wanted My Monday back.

As the day went on, we played outside and while I was inside checking on the boys, she ran inside (with the hair-do flapping in the wind as she ran) and told me the dog pooped his pants and it stinks. I laughed. I guess their Monday isn't so bad after all.

We all went for a walk. She pushed her twins in a stroller and I pushed mine. I guess I missed the memo because each time I tried to talk with her, she would tell me to be quiet because her babies were sleeping. Again, I laughed.

Later on in the day we were sitting on the couch together eating raisins out of the tiniest box know to man. I looked over at her and whispered (her babies might still have been sleeping) "I love you."

She turned her head and with a huge smile whispered "I love you" and then put her tiny two-year-old arm around me. I laughed and a single tear ran down my cheek. I want more of their Mondays.

the tenth

Our first real Halloween was a success. She is 2 1/2 so, its not really the first Halloween. Just the first official. The first year she was in this world, Halloween was merely a day where I could dress her up in some hilarious costume and try to get her to smile as I talked a little smack behind the camera. She was a hydrangea. The costume was handmade and fabulous. The following year she had been diagnosed two days before with pneumonia. It was raining and she was in no mood to be dressed up and photographed. I have a series of pictures documenting the full meltdown (they will be featured in a slide show at her 16th birthday and a second showing at her wedding). Needless to say she did not step foot outside that Halloween. Plus what would a 1 1/2 year old know about Halloween? Waiting another year wouldn't hurt. Plus IMO (in my opinion) candy is like crack for babies.

This was her first official Halloween. The Friday before we had an official dress rehearsal. My photo friend came over to take some pictures and I bribed her to smile using....yes, baby crack. She smiled and stood as angelic as ever. The boys were not to thrilled with their penguin outfits, but they did seem to enjoy grabbing the hood of the other (which at the front had a bill = handle to pull on) and knocking the other one over. WWF wrestling 8 month olds....I can feel my hair getting grayer.

On Halloween morning I knew that the day could go so many different directions. We could have a replay of "the pumpkin patch" incident or with the fairy costume could come the Tinkerbell personality. I was hoping for the latter. I made sure that I had cooping mechanisms on hand and prayed that I would have extra patience. Hoped being the operative word.

As dusk approached, we fed the beast (cute nickname for her, right?) and started practicing our trick or treat greeting. She stood grinning as I dressed her up. She loved it but was not to into the wings or the hippy crown. Fine. I was not about to push my luck. My father-in-law and I strapped on the Bjorn packs, each complete with a cute penguin baby.

He was busy putting the final last minute touches on our Halloween decorations. He would catch up with us. We did a test "treat" at our neighbors house. She rang the doorbell and then started to walk away. I encouraged her to stand at the door and wait for it to open. She was completely confused. As the door opened she stood stone still. I told her to say trick or treat. Nothing. Stage fright. The candy bowl came down to her level, I gave the nod to take some candy. She took one piece and looked back at me. Again, I gave her the nod. She dove in and grabbed a huge handful. That's my girl. We said our thank yous (or I said it on her behalf) and we walked away. About five seconds later she uttered "trick or treat."
The evening continued in a similar fashion. She would shuffle up to the door and stand stone still and silent. The neighbors would compliment her and she would just shovel the candy into her bucket. As we were walking away, she would utter the magic words "trick or treat."

The bucket got so full that he carried it for her. About half way through, she caught on that he was helping himself to her booty. She scolded him a few times. Little did she know that her cuteness was scoring us candy for the next six months....isn't that why we have kids? To score candy and eventually fetch adult beverages?

All in all it was a perfect first official Halloween. And while I would love to say that I am looking forward to next year with three kids....I am not. Maybe they can all be dogs and I have them on leashes?

the ninth

I am not exactly a people person...well, maybe it's not people, it strangers. Okay, you got me, it is people that I don't know. I am just not a small talker. So why, why did the universe make me drop two eggs which found two sperm and...well, we all know the rest of the story. Anyhow, for such a anti-small talker person, why do I have twins? Twins = small talk. Twins also = fascination. Why do people care so much about twins when they are all the rage these days? Hell, it seems in Hollywood that everyone is doing it. Twins are the new botox. I am not famous, but take twins (plus a 2 year old) into a store and a lot of people are looking. And I know its not because of my cute shoes.

My technique is to smile and keep walking. The smile has to be a love to stop, but you know... kinda smile. It is the disappointed smile that will hopefully chalk up some pity points.  The same kind you give to your annoying neighbor. You don't want to be thought of as a complete B, but you also can't stomach another round of questions. Plus, I just don't have the time to talk. The weekend is only so long and then Bam!...Monday is upon us. Hours in a grocery store is not my idea of a great weekend.

If you slow down, you are doomed. So you have to keep going at a good clip or you have given the "a-okay" for them to come over (block the entire isle) and ask the stock questions. Twins? How old? Both boys (duh)? Oh, and how old is their sister?
But you have to be careful with older ladies. If you smile to big, mark my words they will get a closer look. True story, an older lady followed me through Costco until she was able to catch up and get a glimpse. She wanted to touch their cheeks but the snot running down their noses deterred her at the last minute.

As any mom knows, when entering a store you have a window of time before the kid will self-destruct. The self-destruction can be in many forms. Some come like waves. Others like tsunamis - wiping out everything in their path including you and your patience. Most stores won't let you pop open a bottle of booze with out paying, so you have to make it through till the end. No escape.Well my theory is that the more kids, the narrower the window. It is a get-in get-out thing. No time to chit chat. Even if you don't know where you are going, you have to pretend you do. 

My husband is the kinda guy who could carry on a conversation with anyone. He smiles and acknowledges each person walking by. It really is a great quality. I am kinda jealous. Okay, maybe not. Anyhow, I love it when he comes shopping with me, except that he ignores the cardinal rules. I'll be half way down the isle, look back and he is not there. I back track and there he is smiling and talking to the someone. When he is through I ask him, "who was that?"
"I don't know. They wanted to know about them."

I can see our oldest begin to rearrange things in the cart...It looks like she is calculating which box of snacks to rip into first. The self-destruct count down has begun and we just started. Better stock up on the Chardonnay.

the eighth

Halloween is not my favorite holiday. But with kids I came to terms with it and will accept it until the kids get old enough that I don't have to care any more. I do, however, love giving my kids new experiences. We had traveled to the pumpkin patch last year with her. I was pregnant with them and have the unsightly pictures to remind myself of that. At the time she would have nothing to do with sitting cute on a pumpkin to take her picture. I was very hopeful that this year would be different. Hopeful. Hah, what a joke.

I spent the day before planning. Early breakfast, early nap, quick snack and then off to the patch. We had been talking about going to the pumpkin patch for the past few days. I was trying to pump her up. Trying to use the pumpkin patch as a bribe to be good. The day started off wrong. Breakfast at 11:30 (I guess that is not really breakfast anymore). She resisted taking a nap and then only slept for an hour. Dear me. I should have seen the signs.

We loaded up the truck. Three kids - check. Diaper bag - check. Bjorn packs (2) - check. Water and other life supplies - check. We were off. I was excited. I just knew this would be a special experience. I had remembered the camera and was determined to get a picture of the five of us. Ten years from now I would be able to look at that picture and smile at our first "patch" experience as a family. Little did I know this one would be hard to forget.

We arrived, packed up the boys and all held hands. We walked into the patch. Pumpkins were sparse, but it was the week before Halloween. It was more about the experience and not the pumpkins, but I encouraged her to run for them. Run for the pumpkins little girl. It was beautiful. A little back ground music as she ran through the grass on to the dusty field of pumpkins would have been perfect. She bent over and picked up an odd shaped pumpkin. She turned, looked back at us. She threw the pumpkin on the ground. She picked up another with the same intent. I hustled over with a baby attached to my chest, so running was not an option, and told her not to throw the pumpkins. People were looking at us. She muttered something and walked to the next. We managed to keep the poor pumpkins in tact by moving on to something different. She talked and laughed at the animals. My eyes teared up as she gibber-jabbered at the sheep that sat chewing his cud. Wow. If only I was so excited by such small things.

We were walking back to the front of the patch, back to the truck when she saw it. I had hoped that she would be so interested in the pumpkins that she would miss it. She didn't. There it was. In all it's glory. A huge red bouncy house in the shape of a ship. How could we say no. Well, we could, but.....

I should have known. I should have known with the way things had panned out so far - late breakfast, short nap, spiked pumpkins....

She went into the bouncy house and never came back. Our five minutes were up and her turn was over. She could have cared less if the world was coming to an end. She could have cared less if we had left her there for the rest of her life. With babies attached to our chest, we could not crawl into the bouncy house. She finally emerged after going down the slide. He had to make it a sneak attack and grab her as she peeked out the door. It was over. Right at that moment the day had taken a dark,dark turn. We became those people. We became those people that others talk about. Those people with there hands full with babies and then a screaming, crying child. Except our child spits too. She was mad. Wait, not mad. Furious. There was no rationalizing with her. I had been here with her before. For him, it was his first experience. She had hit the point of no return. It's birth control.

We wrangled her into her car seat and then into the house. She continued melting down and seemed to need a moment to her self. I took off her shoes and put her in bed. It sounds so graceful in words, but trust me, it was far from that. I was wrangling a spitting cobra. Again, birth control.
As I closed the door behind me, it took all I had not to have my own fit. She continued on for a while and then silence. About ten minutes later, she came downstairs and in her sing-songy, lisp voice turned her head to the side and asked for some raisins. I asked her the magic word and she sweetly replied, "please."

the seventh

I am aware that my actions (as a human being/mom) have an affect on my overly spirited, challenging two-year old. That every breath I take and each word I utter are being stored in her little mind, only to come back to haunt me in the near future. I have accepted this and do everything in my power to think before I act and have some kind of filter before I talk. I have tried to convince my husband of this fact as well. He is still in a bit of denial.

It had been one of those days. You know the type - on the verge of tears, ready to scream until the whole world goes silent. Completely questioning how I got to this place...oh, ya. Sex. Why don't they teach you this in high school sex ed? Anyhow, he had offered to help me put the kids to bed. Smart, smart man. While he was trying to corral her and get her in pj's I tackled the boys. She is like herding cats and they are like dressing a slicked piglet. He told her to take her pull-up off. She, in her spirited fashion, wiggled out of the pull-up and flung it towards him. He picked it up and playfully whacked the diaper across her face. She laughed in complete glee. I glared. I glared into the depth of his soul.
"Really?" I asked. "That is not a good thing to show her."
He giggled (like a child) "It's okay. It's just silly."
No wonder I call him my first born child....


The next morning, while rallying the troops, she took off her pj's and her diaper. I figured something was up because she was much to willing to comply with my wishes. She slipped out of her diaper, and while I was on the floor gaw-gawing at them, a soft "thwack" hit my face. Without even looking up, I knew. A soft, wet, full overnight diaper had just run across my cheek. I lifted my eyes only to find her looking so very pleased. In my nicest morning disciplinary voice, I told her "That's not nice. We don't hit people with diapers." In the back of my mind I am thinking why, why do I even have to be saying this? And while my mind was formulating an answer (not quite enough coffee), she chimed in with a cheery, "It's okay mommy, it's just silly."
He's dead meat.

the sixth

The shuffle of little feet across the carpet. The suckling slurps on the nipple of the bottle. The endless laughter at such simplistic things. The tantrums complete with crocodile tears, stomping feet and screaming "no's."
The whisper of  "I love you" uttered with a slight lisp.  The horrid smell of dirty diapers. The clanking of forks on plates during 6:00pm dinner. The spring-sprong noise as the Jumper-roo is in full effect. The Cheshire cat smiles when they lock eyes. The silence of sleep. 

The middle of the night, placing my hand on their chest - just checking. Lurking in their room. Listening to their innocence. Knowing that in the morning the clanking, clattering, chatting, screaming, crying, laughing, talking, playing, smiling will all begin again. I too shuffle my feet across the carpet. Closing the door behind me, whispering I love you (without a lisp).

the fifth

It goes with out saying that I am in love with my kids and I would never turn back the clock. We have been truly blessed. Words do not express the feelings when you hold her for the first time, see him smile or hold them in your arms and hear the words I love you. It's a euphoric feeling. But when I hear friends and co-workers talk about having kids, I can't resist putting in my two cents....well, usually it's more like 25 cents (two cents won't get you crap these days). I often warn not of the pain of childbirth (believe me. I pushed out twins with a faulty epidural), or the huge financial impact (hello, three kids in daycare full time), or of the various hormonal repercussions of pregnancy and postpartum (gotta love crying or freaking out for no reason). I warn of the life change.

It is a cliche, but kids change your life. Literally, your life as an individual will no longer be your life. It is now their life. Your life will revolve around them. At times that is wonderful and at times it is a bad dream. Kids complicate things. 

I truly long for the ability to just pick up and leave the house within five minutes and only one trip to the car. Days were spontaneous. Dinner was unplanned and uninterrupted. Empty weekends. A quiet Friday afternoon became busy with drinks and dinner with friends. Sundays were filled with long afternoon naps and a load or two of laundry. Weekdays were waking up, working, relaxing then doing it all over again. I almost hated weekends because I would be bored. Now like any mom, any down time is spent figuring out how best to spend any extra moments - laundry, vacuuming, moping floors...it is a toss up. Staying in bed all day drinking coffee and reading a good book has certainly gone to the birds. Reading anything other than baby food jars and Bambi is a bit of a pipe dream these days.

Of course things won't always be this busy. This too shall pass and another season of our lives will begin. But to those who are "sans" kids I say, live it up. Enjoy the simpleness of it all. Of course I was on the receiving end of this exact advise and look where it got me.