Owen

It’s Never the Gift You Think

Sophie asked Santa for a scooter. We thought that would be her favorite. I bought her her first doll—the kind that has hair you can brush, and eyes that can open and close. We thought that would be her favorite. She got a princess dress from her grandma, a handmade doll from Nini, Candy Land (which we play daily) from her great grandma. We thought these would be her favorites.

We were wrong. It’s always the last-minute, throw-in-the cart gift that wins out. The less than $20 one. (Sometimes, even the “free” one, when it comes to boxes and tissue paper and items found in kitchen cabinets.)

She loves her princess castle. (Discovery Kids; Bed, Bath & Beyond; less than $20 w/ coupon.) All the kids do. They knock it over and it becomes a cave. They hide in it, have snacks in it and play peek-a-boo with each other through the windows. They knock it over and pop it up. Sophie reads in it, colors in it and yes, sometimes, she even uses it as it was designed to be used—as a castle, for a princess.

It’s big. And clashes with everything in our dining room. And yet, I smile every time I see it, have to move it or put it back together after particularly rough play. It’s always the simple thing, the least expected. And even though I gave a lot of thought to her other presents, and did a ton of research, the fact that it is always the simple one makes me happy, too.

“Pleasure is spread through the earth
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.” —William Wordsworth

Finally, Snow

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It took me a good 30 minutes to get all three kids dressed to go outside for just a small bit of snow. The boys had never worn boots before, and it was a struggle to shove their feet into them. (I was so thankful for the boots though, hand-me-downs—as are many of the things they wear—from our good friends Rebecca and Chris’s son, Evan.) And while I was busy putting something on James, Owen would take off whatever it was I had just put on him—and vice versa. And the entire time Sophie was saying “let’s go! let’s go!” If you need reliable winter transportation, check out these snowmobiles to buy online.

We finally went. Here Sophie’s wearing the winter hat Nini and Pop Pop found for her in Italy.

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The gloves—oh, the gloves. They, too, were a gift from Italy, from Nini and Pop Pop. As I was helping Sophie put them on, I realized she had never worn gloves before—only mittens. So this activity took quite some time, too. She’d put two or three fingers in one finger slot, pull them out to separate and in doing so, put two fingers in another slot. But now, she’s a pro.

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I couldn’t find James’s mittens so yes, he’s wear Sophie’s old ones.

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Owen refused mittens.

“The Eskimos had 52 names for snow because it was important to them; there ought to be as many for love.” —Margaret Atwood

A Visiting Santa First

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We tried to visit Santa earlier in December, but the wait was too long. So we left.We didn’t get back to Santa until December 23—when the wait was three hours. Thankfully we were able to give Santa’s elves our cell phone number. So we spent three hours lunching at Dewey’s, visiting Joseph-Beth Booksellers and shopping at Trader Joe’s. The elves texted us when they were ready for us (times have changed).

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Sophie had a lot of questions about Santa this year. She wanted to know how he stayed awake all night. (“Doesn’t he get tired?”) And where he went for a new coat when his got old. And where did he use the bathroom? (I told her I’m sure people didn’t mind if he used theirs—that we wouldn’t mind if he used ours.) One afternoon I found her in our fireplace, banging on its walls and ceiling. Our fireplace is a non-venting gas one, so there’s no opening to the chimney. She was quite upset by this. “Magic,” I said. The response satisfied her.

She was so excited to meet Santa this year. And this worried me. The first two years she cried when we sat her on his lap. Last year, she so wanted to tell him she wanted a butterfly net. And she did, but only barely, while clinging to me.

It reminded me of the summer, when all she wanted to do was go down the orange, curvy tunnel slide at the park. The entire walk there she would say how brave she was going to be, that this was the day she was going to do it. And for many weeks, she didn’t go through with it, even though she tried. She sat at the top of that slide, scooted around on her bottom and walked, defeated, the other direction. And the entire walk home she talked about how next time, she was going to do it. It broke my heart, but I knew it was something she had to do on her time, when she was ready. And, eventually, she did.

But the slide is available always. Santa, only once a year. My mom suggested a picture. We had Sophie draw a picture for Santa and on it we wrote him a note: “Dear Santa, I want a scooter. Love, Sophie.” It was a brilliant idea. If she freaked and cried or couldn’t speak, he’d have the note. She would know that he knew she wanted a scooter.

I watched her in line, head titled down, mouth set. I knew she was nervous. But I also knew she was trying—so hard—to be brave. It’s been a long time since I’ve had butterflies in my stomach but I had them all the time when I was kid. I imagined her, having them. Standing there, waiting, waiting, waiting.

We happened to be there during a snow time. It actually snowed, inside the mall. There was music and Santa came out to wave hello to children. I knew how nervous she was when she hardly acknowledged the snow—head tilted down, mouth set. She wanted to see Santa, but she wanted it all to be over with it. I felt for her, so much then.

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We all agreed ahead of time on a plan—everyone would go up to see Santa together. The boys would sit on his lap (which they loved, can’t you tell?) and Sophie would stand next to him (and that she did, at a distance). She gave him the letter. She asked for the scooter. He told her to always wear a helmet (for which we were thankful). And she did.not.cry.

I was so proud of her. I hope she was just as proud of herself.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus.” —Francis Pharcellus Church

A Lesson Among Trains

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Last month we went with Angel, Zoey and Mya to Cincinnati Museum Center‘s Holiday Trains Exhibit. Owen kept saying “choo choo” and “wow.” The exhibit included a small train children could ride, sans adults. While waiting in line I kept debating if I should let Owen and James ride it with Zoey and Sophie. I thought of the worst thing that could happen—they totally freak out, the “conductor” has to stop the train and I have to climb through the exhibit to get them. And I decided I wouldn’t let them. But then I thought some more. I thought about how much Sophie did at their age. Because of the boys’ gestational age, they don’t do as much as Sophie did when she was their age. They’re not as ready but yet I worry that I sometimes hold the boys back, because of my own fears—of logistics, for example.

And so, I let them. I loaded everyone into the train.

Owen flipped out. Thankfully, he did this before the train left. So I pulled him out, but let James stay. James did wonderfully. He sat on the seat with Zoey and Sophie the entire time. Sophie said once he tried to stand up and that she and Zoey told him he wasn’t allowed—that he had to sit down—and so he did. I was so proud.

And yet, I felt so guilty. I know Owen and James are two separate people. And I know Owen gets much more anxious and upset with strangers and strange situations compared to James. But yet, I felt sad. Sad that James got the experience and Owen didn’t. Happy that James was so happy and then, it occurred to me. Owen was, too. He loved watching the train go past, waving to Sophie, Zoey and James. He was happier off the train. James was happier on it. Sure, equality is important. I wouldn’t give Sophie and James an apple and not give one to Owen—if he wanted it. But I also wouldn’t force him to eat an apple, just because Sophie and James wanted it.

It seems so simple, but it was a good twin-mom lesson for me to learn. Most lessons are that I way, I think—seemingly simple, once learned.

“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” —Helen Keller

Sleeping Brothers

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“All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.” —Plutarch

Owen & James’s Hospital Pictures

Over the holiday I did something I’ve been meaning to do for 19 months—I finally ordered the boys’ hospital pictures. When I called to place the order, the woman on the other line asked me their birthday twice. Then she said she had to make sure the pictures were still in their system. (Apparently, most parents don’t procrastinate as long as I did.) She then asked me a slew of questions to verify that I, indeed, was the boys’ mother. These questions included the boys’ height and weight, to which I answered “small.” (Apparently, most parents also have their children’s birth height and weight memorized.)

But we worked through it. And I spent a ridiculous (but well-deserved) amount of money for eight digital images. But they’re lovely images, no? Although I wasn’t with them in the NICU when these pictures were taken, the photographer took the time to place items she found at their stations around them—blankets knitted by Linda, perfectly sized handmade toys Nini brought home from Italy. They’re wearing preemie outfits purchased by Grandma.

Their birth story, along with their actual heights and weights, can be read here. I remember being so concerned with their size, so concerned with the grayness of James’s skin. And yet, so amazed with both of them, too.

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Owen

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James

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together

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And now. Just look at them now.

“… So we grew together
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem …” —William Shakespeare

Winter Hat Season

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taken November 16, 2011

“Under my hood I have a hat.
And under that
My hair is flat.” —Karla Kuskin

Temper Tantrums

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The boys now respond to no by running into the next room and throwing themselves on the floor. There they twist and squirm and scream and roll and cry, and when that doesn’t work, they stand up and just yell louder, as Owen is doing here (James is still in the squirming on the floor point in this picture). They are fantastic temper tantrum throwers. My favorite, though, is when one throws a tantrum and then the other, noticing his brother, will stop playing, stand up, calmly walk into the same room where the tantrum is taking place and then once in the same room, throw himself down with rolls and tears and screams and squirms to match his brother—simply because that is what his brother was doing.

“Temper tantrums, however fun they may be to throw, rarely solve whatever problem is causing them.” —Lemony Snicket

Silhouettes

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My children spend some time each day perched on top of the couch, in front of the large front window in our living room. When I took the first picture in this series, I was dismayed with how dark it was. And then, on second thought, I thought how cool it was. So I just kept clicking.

“A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.” —Walt Whitman