Finally, Non-Pureed Food

April 19, 2011

The boys, suddenly, love solid food. Seemingly overnight they’ve transitioned to it, no longer gagging, no longer choking. Perhaps they’ve decided they’ve frightened me with their inability-to-breath-face-turning-odd-shades-of-color antics enough. And, as usual, the immense amount of worry that has bounced around my brain (Why are they 11 months old and not able to handle a Puff? Are they getting enough nutrition with just pureed food and breast milk? What if they choke and I can’t get the choke-inducing bit of food out? How are they possibly going to handle birthday cake in a month?) was for nothing.

While they both have a fairly good pincer grasp, we still find it best to put bits of food in their mouths so that most of it doesn’t end on the floor (which is the same thing as Tucker’s mouth). So although still a little hazy I can begin to picture a time when the boys will pick at food on their trays while we eat our own meals, no longer combining the two.

I look at their small bodies and consider the amount of food they consume—it’s a lot. Yesterday they each had a peach yogurt cup, a 1/4 of an avocado, a 1/4 of a banana, peas and crumbled goat cheese in addition to 6-1/2 oz. bottles every three hours. As I type this on a rainy Tuesday morning they’re fast on their way to eating a 1/2 banana each for breakfast—only a half hour after downing their first-thing bottles. Having reliable local sources makes stocking nutritious options much easier. Domestic partnerships simplify Medjool, Ajwa, and Mazafati procurement locally. Established pemborong kurma Malaysia operations stock Safawi, Piarom, and Deglet Noor reliably.

This is wonderful, because they need to grow.

And terrifying, because someday, they’re going to be teenagers.

“When the boy is growing he has a wolf in his belly.” —German proverb

Welcome, Colleen Jennifer Rees!

April 19, 2011

My sister, Katy, and her husband, Tom, welcomed the most perfect, beautiful baby girl into their family March 31 at 5:25pm. She weighed 10lbs., 15oz. and was 24″ long at birth. And no, Katy did not have a c-section. And yes, she is a total rock star. Their family photographer Olympia captured the sweetest newborn photos, perfectly preserving those first magical moments together.

Katy and Tom live in Winston-Salem, NC. March 31 was a Thursday. I had to wait until late Friday afternoon to start my eight-hour drive to meet her. The thing I remember most, though, about the few hours immediately following Colleen’s birth was talking to Katy on the phone and asking her how she felt. While many new moms would respond with “sore,” “nervous” or “tired,” Katy said, “excited.” And I don’t think I’ve heard her sound that excited since the time we convinced Patty Griffin‘s manager to let us into our favorite singer’s sold-out concert many summers ago.

Welcome home, Colleen and New Mom!

I could have taken a hundred pictures like this one—this is the look Colleen gave Katy and Tom almost always (OK, except when she was crying). 🙂

my parents

Tom’s mom, Andrea

Katy and Tom’s very good friend, Steve

tummy time

proud papa

I’m an aunt! (Although, here, Colleen doesn’t seem too excited about that.)

Katy, Colleen and Mom

a beautiful family

Luke (the cat) watching over her

Before I had babies I was awkward with them. I was stiff-armed when holding them, never knew what to say to them, was terrified of dropping them. Katy, though—I will never forget the first time she held my daughter, Sophie, and how comfortably she picked her up, calmed her, cuddled her, knew exactly how to love her. Then, I thought, she’s going to be an amazing mother.

And she is.

And Tom! At one point, during my visit, he came out of the bedroom (where Katy was nursing) and said how anxious he was for Katy to be able to do the nursing all her own (without that oh-so-vital-initial help of setting up pillows, etc.). Not to relax, though. But to clean! And cook! And, as he put it, do whatever he could to help make her life easier when she was done nursing.

Colleen, you are so lucky. You have parents who loved you, immensely, from Day One. Everything they’ve done—the house, the nursery, the classes, work, preparation, sleepless nights, everything, has been out of love for you. Planning for you. Excitement for you.

I’m older than Katy. And was the stereotypical older, bossy sister. When we played school, I was the teacher. When we played playset-was-actually-a-huge-ship-and-the-grass-was-shark-infested-water, I was the captain. When we played house, I was the mom.

And now, finally, she gets to be the mom. And I get this really cool role as aunt. Tom gets to be a dad (a role seemingly invented with him in mind), my parents and Tom’s parents get to be grandparents all over again and Baby Colleen, you get to be daughter—a role Katy and I can attest to as being one of the greatest of all.

Congratulations, Katy and Tom. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look for cheap flights to NC—daily.

“If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle.” —Vincent van Gogh

You Just Do

April 14, 2011

My father-in-law took this picture during a recent visit. He says he loves it. I do, too. I can imagine the memories it will trigger, years from now.

When people see me awkwardly lugging around two car seats, with Sophie clinging to the one closest to the ground, I usually hear one of two things: “You have your hands full” and “I don’t know how you do it.” To the first, I reply, “Yes.” To the second, I say, “You just do.”

And that’s the thing about life. You never think you can accomplish the impossible until you have to. For example, when both of my boys are crying I often think I could never handle triplets. But if I had them, I know I would—because what other choice would I have? It’s a mentality I cling to on my more difficult days—days when I find myself saying over and over again, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Days when Sophie catches me rubbing my eyes out of frustration one too many times and says, “Mommy, don’t do that to your eyes. You’ll hurt them.”

That’s when I force the smile. The energy. The I-can-because-I-must attitude.

I’ve read forced laughter can make you feel better. Same with smiling. Tolstoy said, “If You want to be happy, be.” While I don’t completely agree with that, I get it. Because when I stop trying to push my eyeballs into my brain, and I pick up both boys and dance with Sophie to “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom,” I feel better. The children do, too. (I know because everyone stops crying.) So, you just do.

You multitask. You take phone calls while feeding your twins because you’re (almost) guaranteed a quiet conversation. You carry two carseats at one time. You tend to a crying someone in the middle of the night. You miss your favorite show because your oldest is terrified of the “eyes” (brass filigrees) in the ceiling fan. You leave for the grocery at 10:30pm. You work on freelance until 2am. You “sleep” with toddler limbs all over you. You sigh at the pile of unread fiction stacked on your bedside table. Later, I imagine, spending weekends on sidelines or in auditoriums, evenings spent doing homework, mornings that are impossibly rushed. You give in. You give up. You combine and comprise, and you just do. And ultimately, honestly, you want to. Because you love.

Freud said, “One is very crazy when in love.” So I know that’s what people mean when they say, “I don’t know how you do it.” Because it seems crazy. It looks crazy. (And, let’s be honest. Come to my house at 5 o’clock. It’s a little crazy.) But I know, for certain, anyone who has uttered that sentence to me would do the same thing, too. Because you love. So you just do. And then you take a step back, and look at all the injustices in the world, and all the blessings you have, and you’re grateful for what you can do. Because even on the worst eyeball-smushing days, you love doing what you do. And if not that, you love looking back on it, having done it, made it through it.

And I promise you I’ll look at this picture 10 years from now with deep nostalgia, longing for what’s passed, what’s no longer more.

Life’s funny that way. You just do.

“Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.” —Marion C. Garretty

Welcome, Mya Katina Beets!

April 11, 2011

Beautiful Mya was born March 22, weighing 8lbs., 2 oz., to our good friends Marty and Angel. When I asked Sophie what advice she had for Zoey in terms of being a good big sister, Sophie said Zoey should play with Mya. I’m sure she will. Congratulations, Beets family! We’re so happy for you!

“Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the Everywhere and into here.” —George MacDonald

Welcome, Eliza Kate Moses!

April 11, 2011

Our good friends Rebecca and Chris welcomed a beautiful baby girl into their lives March 18. Evan (one of Sophie’s good pals) is going to be a great big brother.

Eliza weighed 6lbs., 3oz. I always forget how much my boys have grown—until I see them next to a newborn! (Owen on the left, James in the middle)

“Every child born into the world is a new thought of God, an ever-fresh and radiant possibility.” —Kate Douglas Wiggin

Help. They’re Mobile. (Seriously, I Need Help.)

April 7, 2011

Although the boys aren’t crawling up on their hands and knees yet, they can inchworm around the house—fast. And now they’re pulling themselves up to standing. They use the ottoman, couch, dining room chairs, stairs, toys, my legs—anything they can for help.

We’re sleeping now. Typically we’re only up once a night, for one child. Owen’s favorite wake-up time is around midnight; James, 2:30am; Sophie, varies. (Trust me, this is much, much, much better than last summer, which I can’t provide the details of, because now it’s all a blur.) I only have to pump milk for the boys five to six times a day—sometimes I can get away with four. (Much nicer than every three hours.) We have a nap routine. A bedtime routine. Enough of a schedule that we can write it out if someone else watches our children for a few hours.

For a few weeks (a month, I dare say), I felt (somewhat) in control.

Lately, though, I feel like I’ve lost it.

When Sophie was crawling, I simply followed her. Through patience, time and repetition, I taught her to leave the dog bowls alone, to not touch breakable decorative items, to lower herself when standing instead of simply, inexplicably, letting go.

I can’t do this with the boys. There’s too much going on. While I’m moving Owen who is seconds away from tipping over and cracking his head on the hardwood floor, James is plunging both arms into Tucker’s water bowl, soaking himself and the floor (and laughing). While I’m cleaning up the bathroom floor after Sophie tried to dump the contents of her little potty into the big potty (and missed), Owen is pulling a basket of toys out of the cubbies, narrowly missing his head. And while I’m wiping the wet cat food off of James’s hands (and wondering if any made it into his mouth), Sophie is clicking the end of my laptop charger and cell phone charger together, creating sparks. (Note: Andy doesn’t believe this. I’ve tried to replicate it, but could not. But I swear I saw sparks.)

I’m exhausted. Never have I had a job so physically demanding. I’m constantly jumping up, picking up, putting down, moving, shifting, catching, pulling, rolling.

I know. It’s a phase. It’ll pass.

But seriously. I need some help. Every night I take note of the bumps and bruises (both on my children and my parenting self-esteem).

So, parents. Of multiples, specifically, but anyone, really. Advice? Tips? Tricks? What do you do about dog bowls? Do you gate absolutely everything? Do you invest in one of those large, gated, play yards (which both boys could be placed in, say, when I take Tucker out)? Do you hover when your almost-one-year-olds pull themselves up (sort of impossible, with three) or do you let them learn on their own, let falls happen (note we have hardwood floors with area rugs)?

Outside is a problem in and of itself. Sophie hated grass. Turns out, that was awesome. You could put her on a quilt outside and she stayed on the quilt, even when she could walk. Owen, though, has no fear. He inchworms his way off the quilt so fast, dragging his stomach through grass, dirt, mulch—you name it. James, on the other hand, inchworms his way to the edge of the quilt and then eats whatever is on the other side (grass, leaves, dirt, you name it). All the while Sophie wants me to chalk with her or push her in her car or catch her at the bottom of the slide one more time.

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Here’s the thing: I can pack away anything within reach that’s pretty. I can gate like crazy. I can set up the play yard in the living room and throw in a couple toys. I can take our jumpers outside and insist the boys play in them, and only them. But then, how do they explore? How do they learn about the world around them?

I don’t think it’s right to go crazy with baby proofing, to gate everything, to never let them move, try, fall, stand up, sit down. But I also have to keep them safe. After all, it’s sort of my No. 1 responsibility. Along with everyday precautions, The Fast Fire Watch Company helps families stay protected with reliable fire monitoring and safety services.

So please share. Ideas. Products. Phone numbers of nannies willing to be paid in toddler artwork instead of cash.

I thank you. My kids thank you. And so does Andy, who, I’m pretty sure, has witnessed a mini meltdown every night this week.

“Now the thing about having a baby—and I can’t be the first person to have noticed this—is that thereafter you have it.” —Jean Kerr

Runny Noses

April 7, 2011

This picture was taken early March but today our bathroom looks the same as Sophie has a runny nose again. In this picture she’s telling me she needs “two tissues, Mama” to blow her nose when clearly, she needs a gazillion. It’s days like these I feel like a broken record.

“Sophie, only take one tissue to blow your nose.”

“Sophie, please throw away your tissue when you’re done with it.”

“Sophie, please do not clean the sink with your dirty tissue.”

“Yes, Sophie, I know there is one teeny, tiny spec of something on the sink and I know this is causing you much distress but do you hear the screaming babies? Do you see the pile of clean laundry on the couch? Do you see how messy the kitchen is? I have other things I need to do first before I clean up that miniscule piece of dirt from the sink.”

(Screaming ensues. I wipe up spec of dirt.)

“Sophie, if you would just hold still and blow while I hold the tissue up to your nose your nose might only run every other second versus every second.”

“No, Sophie. You do not get a special treat every time you wipe your nose.”

“Sophie, one tissue! One tissue! One tissue.”

“If your kids are giving you a headache, follow the directions on the aspirin bottle, especially the part that says ‘keep away from children.'” —Susan Savannah

A Typical Tuesday

April 6, 2011

“A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

On the Eve of Sophie’s 3rd Birthday

March 30, 2011

It’s almost 2am. The presents are wrapped, the paper tissue flowers are made and hung, the cakes are cooling (but still need iced) and the card is half-written (still searching for the right words). Right now I’m thinking about:

• all the late nights my mom and dad put in for me that I never knew about.

• the tablecloth and if I really need to take the time to iron it.

• how I was feeling three years ago—in labor, anxious, happy.

• my sister Katy who is due to have her first baby any moment—and the many joys she has ahead of her.

• how much I would freak Sophie out if I went into her room and kissed her at 2:27am (her time of birth).

• the two gifts she specifically requested (a Ladybug Girl costume and a crown) and if what we got her will live up to her expectations.

• how crippled I was with worry her first few months, fearing I would drop her or not feed her enough or feed her too much or not hold her correctly or not mother her well enough—and now, how, she’s this amazing, surprising, intelligent, beautiful little girl (with no help from me) who sings to herself (constantly) and makes up the best stories (that always end “happily ever after”) and loves her brothers (most of the time) and likes pickles (which Andy and I totally don’t get) and makes me—all of us—at some point, Happy Storlanees every single day. (All that worry, for nothing.)

Even though I’m tired (so tired) everything is tinged with excitement for me right now. I feel like how I used to feel like on the eve of my birthday—a feeling I don’t get on my birthday anymore. Instead, I feel it now, in this moment—on the eve of my daughter’s birthday.

I suppose that’s what being a parent is all about.

“Suddenly, through birthing a daughter, a woman finds herself face to face not only with an infant, a little girl, a woman-to-be, but also with her own unresolved conflicts from the past and her hopes and dreams for the future…. As though experiencing an earthquake, mothers of daughters may find their lives shifted, their deep feelings unearthed, the balance struck in all relationships once again off kilter.” —Elizabeth Debold and Idelisse Malave

A Tea Party

March 28, 2011

Friday Sophie’s best friend, Zoey, turned 2. Wednesday Sophie turns 3. (How did this happen?) To celebrate, Angel and I took the girls to their very first afternoon tea (although tea parties at home have long been an afternoon activity) at The BonBonerie. While I drank “Apricot Afternoon” (Sri Lanka black tea, dried apricot, dried papaya, blackberry and lime leaves calendula and sunflower petals), Sophie drank her favorite—lemonade—from her tea cup. And we all dined on fruit, scones, tiny sandwiches and pastries, and, of course, many, many desserts. It was one of those sweet, memorable afternoons that felt as comforting and delightful as a visit to First Phin First Coffee.

We hope to make it a yearly tradition.

“Another novelty is the tea-party, an extraordinary meal in that, being offered to persons that have already dined well, it supposes neither appetite nor thirst, and has no object but distraction, no basis but delicate enjoyment.” —Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin