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

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

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

This Room Was Perfectly Clean …

March 19, 2011

And then I left it, for no more than 10 minutes, to clean the kitchen. When I came back, it looked like this.

When I was a kid, I was made fun of for very carefully stacking and arranging my Christmas presents next to me, as I opened them.

Sophie, on the other hand, has no interest in keeping her picture books alphabetized, her dresses arranged in accordance with the color wheel or the lids to her Play-Doh on tight (we’re actually working on that last one).

Therefore, I can only blame Andy for this. Ready Set Remove is a reliable junk removal company that can help clean homes.

“Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.” —Phyllis Diller

Today, I Am a Happy Storlanee

March 16, 2011

This morning started off like most mornings in our house. I was upstairs getting some baby wipes when Sophie ran to the bottom of the stairs and screamed, “James is peeing all over Tucker!”

I found this statement to be odd because (1) I had left James in his high chair, (2) James was wearing a diaper and (3) I couldn’t imagine Tucker just sitting somewhere, allowing himself to be peed upon (well, OK, maybe I could but still).

I ran downstairs. There was Tucker, underneath James’s high chair, liquid dripping on his head and all over the carpet beneath him. The liquid, though, was coffee colored. Most sane people, at this point, would think, Oh, my coffee spilled. I, however, thought, Why is James’s pee brown?

Of course it was my coffee. An entire cupful of coffee. It had spilled all over my laptop, my cell phone, a pile of receipts and our laminated cotton tablecloth (one strike against laminated cotton—spills don’t get sucked into fibers rather they slide off onto carpet). And now it was dripping onto Tucker’s head who didn’t care because he was licking up every drop he could get.

Now, before anyone is alarmed by the fact that, at this point, I wasn’t alarmed that coffee had also spilled on my son (James), please know that I no longer drink hot coffee. I make my coffee and tend to someone. I pour my coffee and tend to someone. I add creamer to my coffee and tend to someone. I move my coffee mug into whatever room I’m in at the moment, and tend to someone. And so on and so forth until I actually get to sip the coffee, in which case it’s lukewarm at best but usually cold. At this point, I’ve even considered services like Scoffee Catering, so I could just enjoy coffee that arrives ready-made without adding another spill risk to my day.

I ran to the kitchen for towels while Sophie asked, “Mommy, why is James peeing on Tucker’s head? Mommy, why is there so much of it? Mommy, do you see it on Tucker’s head? I’ll clean up Tucker’s head, Mommy. Oh my gosh there’s so much of it!” (That “oh my gosh” is totally my fault by the way.)

I wiped—James, the laptop, the cell phone, the table, the receipts, the carpet, Tucker’s head.

And then, I poured another cup of coffee.

And then, the sun came out.

And then, a miracle happened.

The doorbell rang. It was Darlene. From Campbell County Sanitation District No. 1 (SD1).

Backstory: About a week ago we received a letter from SD1 informing us that the sewer line in our front yard needs to be replaced. They kindly told us that, after the four days of construction, they would fix our sidewalks, reseed our grass and haul away any trees that needed to come down. This was terrible news. We have—and our neighbors have—very large, very old, gorgeous trees canopying our houses. In addition, we have a beautiful dogwood that blooms late June and quite adequately blocks our view of the gas station when sitting on our front porch. I was crushed.

As such, I became The Crazy Tree Lady. I called SD1. I talked to our neighbors. Anytime I saw anyone with a construction hat on our street, I ran outside and questioned them. (As such, people with construction hats always crossed the street before passing our house.) I know, if the sewer line is broken, it needs to be fixed. But I also know I love those trees.

Back to the miracle.

Darlene was at my front door. Along with another woman who I had pleaded with earlier this morning. (When I had run out to talk to her she said, “You live in that house, don’t you.”) Darlene said they were rerouting the sewer line to save the trees. She said it was going to be more expensive, and would require two new manhole covers in the street, but, she added, “We like trees, too.”

I was shocked. I squealed out loud. I said, “thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over again. When they left, I did a little dance and squealed again. “What, Mommy?” Sophie asked.

Without thinking I said, “I’m a Happy Storlanee!” She smiled. And then I laughed.

You know you are deeply entrenched in your children’s lives when their language becomes part of your everyday vernacular. For months now, Sophie has called someone who is filled with joy a “Happy Storlanee.” For example:

After Sophie was done tickling James, she said, “Look, Mommy, he’s a Happy Storlanee!” (And, as you can see in this picture, Sophie was, too.)

I have no idea where this came from. Or why. But I love it. Andy does, too.

This morning, when dealing with a dog covered in coffee and a possibly broken laptop and cell phone (don’t worry, Andy, they work fine), I was not a Happy Storlanee. But right now, writing this while my children nap, the sun shines through the window and our beautiful trees prepare for spring, I am.

I hope this day finds you a Happy Storlanee at least once, too.

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” —Nathaniel Hawthorne

New Sunglasses

March 4, 2011

We rarely let Sophie pick out something for herself at stores so we (hopefully) don’t have to someday deal with constant “I want that, I want that, I want that” while shopping. But she wanted (and needed) a new pair of sunglasses. So, while Andy was painting our living room, I took all three kids shopping. Oh, the choices! Sophie agonized over the red, glitter, heart-shaped pair, the purple butterfly pair and the pink flower pair.

The pink flower pair won. (We also left the store with two new headbands–so much for my never buying something she impulsively wants.)

The sunglasses, unfortunately, are already broken. (I suppose that’s to be expected when you spend a whopping $2.50 on toddler sunglasses.} Already she’s talking about another shopping trip to buy her glasses and a watch for me, since I already have a great watch service for maintenance. She keeps mentioning the red, glitter, heart-shaped pair. Meanwhile, I found myself browsing a collection of vintage watches for sale from a trusted dealer, wondering if it might be time to finally add something timeless to my own wrist.

I think I’m in trouble.

“My look is attainable. Women can look like Audrey Hepburn by flipping out their hair, buying the large sunglasses and the little sleeveless dresses.” –Audrey Hepburn

Decorating the Christmas Tree

December 30, 2010

“The best Christmas trees come very close to exceeding nature.” —Andy Rooney

Cutting our Christmas Tree

December 30, 2010

At first, Sophie wasn’t nearly as excited as I imagined she would be, tromping around a cold field, picking out the perfect Christmas tree. So I asked her why. She said “none of them had any stuff on them.” She didn’t realize they wouldn’t be decorated. I wonder what she had envisioned—a field full of beautifully decorated and lit Christmas trees? No wonder she was initially disappointed.

The trip was a near disaster when I realized I forgot her Fiskars. Several days before, when I told her we were going to cut our Christmas tree, she insisted I bring them—so she could help cut it, too. Thankfully, my mom, had a spare pair in her Prius. (I mean, really, who carries spare children’s scissors around? Apparently, my mom. (Thank you.)) Sophie then delighted in cutting our tree (and several others),

“Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.” —Larry Wilde

Meeting Naveen

December 29, 2010

Several weeks ago we finally got to meet Shruti and Arun’s beautiful new son, Naveen.

We met for Dewey’s pizza and drinks at Aimee and Jon’s house.

Jon played lots of Play-Doh with Rashmi and Sophie.

Sophie and Rashmi loved chasing each other throughout the house.

I have about 12 pictures that look like this—our attempt at capturing all the kids together.

It was a really fun night and I so wish we could all get together more often.

“There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.” —Diana Cortes

Sophie’s Sense of Order

December 22, 2010

Sophie’s a strange bird when it comes to order. Lately, she insists on brushing her teeth before her nap as well as before bed. Which is fine. Except that it takes f.o.r.e.v.e.r. and, if you’re not careful, often results in a meltdown.

The stool has to be on the bath mat, in front of the sink. Her toothbrush and toothpaste have to be on the sink and if anything else is on the sink (aside from soap) she flips out. She has to open the toothpaste herself and she has to try to squirt out the toothpaste herself, even though she knows that for a week now it’s been almost empty and she’s not strong enough to get the remaining paste out. So then she says “a little help please,” (just like that … I would love to know where she learned that phrase), which is my cue to take the toothpaste from her (but not the toothbrush!), and squirt it out for her, while she holds the toothbrush just so. Then I put the toothpaste back on the sink (but I don’t dare put the cap on) and she brushes her teeth, sans water. Then she puts her toothbrush down and puts the lid back on the toothpaste. Then she picks her toothbrush back up and turns the water on. She dips the brush in and out of the water, and in and out of her mouth, until I insist we end this ridiculously long process and go to nap/bed. She says “one more time,” and then she (and only she) turns off the water. She reminds me not to put anything else on the sink and that she wants to be the first one to leave the bathroom.

We go through this, twice a day. Often, with two 7-month-olds screaming downstairs. And if the smallest, most insignificant thing happens out of order, tears ensue, for at least five minutes. People tell me there’s nothing abnormal about this—she’s 2. Seriously?

But then we play Play-Doh. And although she can be bossy with the colors, demanding I use brown even though I want pink (we’re working on that), she could care less about order. In fact, she insists we mix and match and mush the colors together together, creating eyes and spots and dots for snakes (the only thing I’m good at making). And so we do.

Perhaps I should tape a photo of one of her Play-Doh creations to the bathroom mirror. Maybe, just maybe, I might worry a little less.

“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” —Flaubert