A Really Fun Bath

This past weekend I bought three large white-wood frames from Ikea. They’re for our upstairs bath—in them I want to put big, blown-up pictures of the kids in the bathtub. I love little-kid bathtub pictures.

I’ve had this idea for awhile. I have a great series of Sophie in the bath, which you can see here.

Although Owen has gone through periods of hating baths, for the most part, all our kids (thankfully) love taking baths. So much so that it’s difficult to get good pictures of James and Owen in the bath. They’re just too active. Plus, they hate bubble baths so you have to be cautious of what’s showing (at least for the pictures I plan to post online and print). But tonight, I vaguely remembered taking a series of shots, hoping to get two good ones. And then I remember Jill, my mother-in-law, saying how much she liked a series of shots I took of the boys in the bath (she has access to our Flickr account). After a good deal of searching, I found them. So many of them are blurry—and so many of them I can’t post. But looking back, I love how much fun they were having:

“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.” —Sylvia Plath

Painting In Our PJs In the Morning

Sophie woke up wanting to “teach the boys how to paint.” She’s not the most patient of teachers. She also dislikes mixing colors. Although the pictures depict a rather lovely experience (and for awhile, it was), it did not end well. I suppose, for a more truthful depiction, I should take pictures across the spectrum. Too often, though, I’m solving and resolving at the one of the spectrum, leaving little time for picture-taking—whereas the other end of the spectrum is the stuff you dream motherhood is going to be, with plenty of time for dreamy documenting.

“A child’s attitude toward everything is an artist’s attitude.” —Willa Cather

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.















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