Baby Squared

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  • Positive Reinforcement

    We're trying to do more of this around the Baby Squared household, as a means of fending off the whacking, kicking, hair pulling, whining, shouting, pants-pooping and other nastiness that seems to have proliferated 'round these parts over the past month or so.

     

    Partially as a result of the suggestion made by several fabulous readers/commenters on this very blog, we got ourselves a couple of "Responsibility Charts" by Melissa & Doug. (This is not a paid endorsement, however if Melissa & Doug, Inc. would like to send me some free stuff, I'd be more than happy to be a total blog whore and write about it here.) There are a bunch of "responsibility" magnets to choose from, ranging from very preschool-appropriate stuff like "keep your hands to yourself" to stuff I hope we won't have to use for awhile, like "Don't use bad language." Next to each one, there are spaces to put happy face magnets.

     

    There are also a couple of blank responsibility magnets you can write stuff one (dry erase!) so on each girl's chart there's currently one magnet that says "Poop in potty." (This is still a bit of an issue for Elsa.) Alastair pointed out that "potty," probably would have been sufficient. But I say, anyone who comes into our home had better be prepared for the fact that poop is a frequent point of discussion.

     

     

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  • Telling stories

    When I was a little kid, my mother used to tell me "e-Jane" stories. "e-Jane" was the main character, and she had all sorts of e-ventures, wherein she encountered e-goats and e-elves, flew e-planes and climbed e-mountains, and engaged in other silly e-xploits. The "E" prefix wasn't because my mother was way ahead of the technology curve or anything. (While e-Jane might indeed have gotten e-mail in one of the tales my mother spun, it was most decidedly of the paper variety.)

     

    She came up with e-Jane as my fictional handle because I went through a phase when didn't like being called "Janey." But everyone called me that, and there was no way they were going to stop -- Jane is such a serious name for a preschooler -- so she liberated me from the name in fiction, as e-Jane. And I loved hearing e-Jane stories. They were a bedtime treat that lasted well into my grade school years and beyond. Books are great, and being read to is great, but there's nothing quite like being told a story.

     

    Thing is, it's not that easy to make up stories on the fly. You'd think that, being a writer, I'd know how to spin a tale out of nothing. Au contraire, mes freres (et soeurs). Actually, I think it's in part because I'm a writer -- I do most of my thinking on paper or onscreen -- that I'm not the best impromptu oral storyteller. This was clearly evidenced last night when I made my first serious attempt at telling the girls an "Elsa and Clio" story before bed.

     

     

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  • Clio's Afternoon Nap, 2007-2009: A Eulogy

    Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today not to mourn the loss of Clio's nap, but to celebrate it. Because that's what the nap would have wanted us to do. It would not have wanted us to dwell on its absence with weeping and lamention, although certainly that is a natural reaction to a loss of something so, so, SO dear to us. Excuse me -- sorry, I just need a minute, I'm fine, really -- does anyone have a tissue? Thank you.

     

    As I was saying, this nap had a long, happy life -- longer than many afternoon naps. So let's remember the good times we had while it was with us -- all the things that the nap brought into our lives: time to write or relax or catch up on email; time to recover our energy and patience after a hectic morning; time to nap ourselves. And let us not forget the powerful sense of hope that the nap brought us. For even on the days when we were up far too early, and the morning was far too exhausting, and everyone was in far, far too crappy a mood, we could always draw strength from the knowledge that soon, very soon, we'd get a break. The nap would not let us down. Almost never, anyway.

     

     

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  • The frog in my throat, and other calamities

    I've had a cold this week, no doubt partly as a result of the exhaustion and sleeplessness of our potty training intensive last weekend. The other day, my voice sounding particularly scratchy and ridiculous, I told the girls that I had a frog in my throat. Of course, I quickly realized that this would sound absurd to them, and explained that I didn't actually have a frog in my throat; it was just an expression. (Like that would really clear things up.) "Sort of like a joke," I clarified. They chewed on this for a little while (not literally), and somehow it became, "You have a frog in your mouth so that's why you make a funny joke!"  

     

    I rather like this interpretation -- that there's some kind of comedian amphibian in my mouth, and every time I open my mouth to speak, he comes out with a joke -- "What is the deal with toads? I mean, they look like frogs, but the fuckers can't swim!" --  in his hoarse (not horse) froggy voice.

     

    Pic after the jump

     

     

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  • Rock-n-roll Toddlers

    Clio and Elsa will never be as truly rock and roll as some of the other blogster young 'uns here on Babble, but as the children of a performing musician, they do get the occasional opportunity to rock out. (At least, as much as it is possible to rock out when your dad plays mostly in the folk / roots / singer-songwriter scene. It's not like he does death metal.) Most of his shows happen after the gals' bedtime, but we've brought them along to some of the daytime gigs.

     

    It's been a little tricky for them, so far, to understand that when Daddy is playing onstage, it's not like at home -- they can't just go up to him or try to talk to him or tell him to play "Nana phone." (He doesn't actually know how to play Nanaphone -- a.k.a. Banana Phone, and has told them this repeatedly, but it's still one of their favorite requests.) At a show a few months ago, they were dancing in front of the stage, then Clio got freaked out by the applause after a song and started crying, and ran up to him for comfort before I could stop her. So, of course, Elsa went up to him, too. One of the other performers, the lovely and talented Rose Polenzani, artfully defused things by letting them play her glockenspiel during the next song. I'm not sure either of them has a future in percussion, but it's probably too early to judge. 

     

     

    Rose Polenzani and back-up glockenspielers

     

    Video after the jump!

     

     

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  • "Working" from home

    Yesterday morning, due to some childcare issues, I had to work from home. At least, that's what I was officially doing -- what I told my co-workers I was doing, anyway. (Some of whom read this blog. Hello, co-workers!)  But the reality is, it is not possible to get any meaningful quantity of work done while simultaneously trying to take care of small children.

     

    And you end up feeling like a jerk in the process: You're not paying enough attention to your kids, who you've either plopped in front of the TV or are trying desperately to keep occupied with toys, crayons, books, etc. ("Hey! I know!! Why don't you guys see if you can build me the biggest lego castle ever!! Take your time!! Make it really, really big!)  Meanwhile, you're not really giving your work the attention it needs or deserves, because some kid is tugging on your leg asking you to look at their big dumb lego castle.

     

     

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  • "I was a little sad, and then I was happy."

    So speaketh Clio, when asked how preschool went. As predicted, she had a rough start -- a whole lotta crying and screaming. Alastair stuck around at the school office for a while (along with a few other parents in the same boat) then left when one of the co-teachers reported that Clio was down in the low-simmer territory, as opposed to a full-on, rolling boil of misery. (Metaphors inserted by the author.) When A. picked her up at the end of the day, on the playground, she was still sticking close to one of the teachers, but at least she wasn't crying.

     

    I expect this will be the pattern for awhile, until she really gets comfortable. Which she will. But in the meantime: How about that sentence, huh? "I was a little sad, and then I was happy." Two thoughts in one sentence, a sense of time, an awareness of emotion! This is a far cry from "Pick up!" and "More milk!"  Which, admittedly, are more representative specimens of the general tone and quality of toddler-speak in the Baby Squared household. But gradually, the sentences really are getting longer and more complex, and the thoughts they express more nuanced and coherent. 

     

    One thing in the area of language development that I'm finding particularly fascinating -- as a self-professed grammar snob -- is hearing the girls tussle with the mechanics of language. Pronouns still trip them up, so we often get sentences like "her was playing with me" or "We go home to we house." Often, in these cases, I'll repeat the phrase back, with the correct pronoun, and sometimes they'll give it another shot. But they's a long way from really mastering this particular linguistic skill. Past tense is still a work in progress, and irregular plurals are still pretty much a lost cause, but hey, that's English for you. (Is there any other language in the world that has so many irregularities and inconsistencies?)

     

     

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  • The marketing onslaught begins

     More than two years (!) ago, I wrote about the logistics of going to the grocery store with two babies in tow. A little over a year ago, I tackled the subject again, commenting on the near impossibility of grocery shopping with two 18 month-olds. (Which made going with two infants seem like a cakewalk.) For awhile, I didn't dare bring both girls to the supermarket at once. But for whatever reason, over the past six months or so, I've given it another shot -- short excursions for basics only -- and it's gone pretty well.

     

    Coming armed with juice boxes and toys helps.  Free cookies from the bakery section help even more. (If free cookies are not out for the taking already, I've actually asked the bakery folks for them a couple of times, and they're happy to oblige. Behold, the amazing power of cute little kids!) Letting the girls hold an item or two also helps (hint: things in boxes or bags, not produce of any kind. Elsa actually took a bite of a lemon once.) Letting Elsa get out of the cart and walk for awhile toward the end of the trip when she's getting restless, is also a good tactic, and not too hard to pull off, now that she listens and understands when I tell her to stop, watch out, stay near us, don't pull every bag of bread off the shelf, etc.

     

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  • The Fall Fashion Issue

    I have never been terribly concerned with clothes where my children are concerned. I mean, I make sure that they have enough of them, and wear them as appropriate for the weather and, to a lesser degree, the occasion. But as much fun as it would be, we just don't have the time or energy -- let alone the money -- to dress Elsa and Clio super-adorably.

     

    Their wardrobe consists of a motley combination of gifts from grandparents and others, hand-me-downs from friends, things that I buy for them second-hand at tag sales, and a few supplemental store-bought items as needed, generally from Target or Marshall's. The dresses in the closet go largely unworn. Anything that requires ironing or hand-washing is pretty much never worn -- at least, not more than once.

     

    As the girls outgrow clothes, I toss them into a shopping bag in the closet and periodically bring them up to the attic, where I transfer them into other bags and boxes, which I intend to sort through any day now, I swear. Meanwhile, the girls share one big dresser, which I am convinced is haunted by some small, slovenly poltergeist that gets its kicks by unfolding everything we've just folded and pulling dirty clothes out of the hamper to mix in with the clean ones. In short, I never feel quite in control of the clothing situation. But it's never been high on my list of worries in life.

     

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  • Please Stand By

     

    Last weekend, we brought the girls down to the recording studio where Alastair has been working on his forthcoming kids' album, A Cow Says Moock. (Yes, yes, he loves the puns.) I sang harmony on one of the tracks -- my first studio singing experience since I was ten years old and sang on a commercial for Duncan Hines cookies (Crispy, chewy! Crispy, chewy! To the tune of "Love and Marriage." Anyone remember it?) It went fine -- the harmony track, that is -- though I don't think I have much future as a recording artist. Elsa and Clio, on the other hand...

     

     

     

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  • Welcome to Chez Elsa & Clio

    Please, won't you come in? Right this way to your table. It's a little bit sticky; the last patrons were eating canteloupe, and we didn't have time to wipe it off. Oops, look out. There's some peanut butter on your chair. Here, let me take care of that for you. Please, sit down. But feel free to get up and attempt to run out of the room whenever you feel like. Or ask to be picked up. The rest rooms? Oh, sorry, we don't have those yet. But here's a diaper. Enjoy. And can I put on your bib for you? No bib? That's fine, please, feel free to tear it off and throw it on the floor. Not a problem.

     

    Now, I'd like to tell you about some specials we have tonight: There's some delicious leftover chicken from the grown-ups' dinner last night, served with a nice salad, and some lovely wild rice. We also have some of the macaroni and cheese you didn't eat at lunch, which the chef tells me is perfectly good once it's heated up, with a little butter in it -- No? Not interested in the specials? Of course not, I didn't think so. Between you and me, I'd stick to the menu. All of our most popular items are here, and really, they never get old.

     

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  • Break it up, you two

     

    Someone asked in a recent comment if my girls break into fights pretty much any time I leave the room for more than five seconds. And the answer, sadly, is yes. YES! It's ridiculous how much of our parenting these days involves playing referee. And damn, it's tough. We're not even to the stage of She said / She said yet. There's no "she started it," or "she's lying." There's just...fighting.

     

    And it seems to go in waves where it's either Elsa's fault all the time or Clio's fault all the time, and I start questioning my ability to be a fair and impartial judge, because I fear I am biased against one child or the other, based on her recent behavior. Or I worry that I'm subconsciously trying to even things out by under- or over-reacting to one or the other of them. (If you're having trouble following this paragraph, then you can begin to get a sense of how confused I often feel in the moment.)

     

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  • An Adventure Gone Terribly Awry

    Let me preface this tale by saying that I hate, hate, hate, hate, HATE hot, humid weather. I can't stand it. I wilt in it. I am physically and mentally uncomfortable in it. I become cranky and lazy and irritable, and you pretty much don't want to be around me. This is is exacerbated by the fact that we only have air conditioning in our bedroom and the girls' room, and the rest of our house traps heat like a ... a ... heat trap. (The weather affects my ability to construct similes as well.)

     

    Unfortunately, Elsa and Clio are not fans of hot weather either. They've been cranky and whiney and tantrum-y the past few days. In fact, on Saturday, Clio threw a fit of such ferocity that she actually managed to lock herself and Elsa in the nursery as a result. I forget what the inciting issue was, but Clio for some reason wanted to get out of the room, and was trying to open the door while I was changing Elsa. She somehow managed to turn the little lock knob thingy on the doorknob, unbeknownst to me, and when I closed the door behind me to go downstairs and get a particular library book to read to them before their nap, it locked. There are locks on all three bedroom doors in our house, each with separate keys, because the house used to be a rental property, where multiple people lived and each had their own room. But when we bought the house, we were only were given keys to two of them. Guess which one we didn't have?

     

     

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  • The Defiant Ones

    Elsa and Clio are having some authority issues. Particularly at bedtime. I suppose this isn't surprising. They're at their tiredest and crankiest at the end of the day, AND they don't particularly want to go to bed. Not to mention the fact that I am starving (we still eat after they go to bed, for a variety of reasons) and, four days out of seven, have had a long day at work and am looking forward to relaxing, so I'm not at my best, and am not interested in letting the bedtime ritual drag on indefinitely.

     

    So I am finding myself at my wits' end lately when, for example, one of them will refuse to brush her teeth. She'll simply refuse to leave the nursery and come into the bathroom. Or she will do something silly, like Clio did the other night: dance around the hall wearing a pair of sunglasses (upside down) and make goofy faces, while I tried to help Elsa brush her teeth. Of course, Elsa thought what Clio was doing looked like a lot more fun, and started asking me to go downstairs and find her sunglasses, too, so she could do the same thing. Oral hygiene was a lost cause. I don't even remember how I finally got everyone to shut the hell up (oh dear; did I just write that? Yes I did) and brush their damned teeth (and that? Oh, my). Somehow I did. But by the time I'd read them their books, wrangled them into their cribs and given them the ten thousand "just one more" kisses and hugs and back rubs they wanted, I was totally fried. 

     

     

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  • Baby Squared Reader Poll: Should we let Clio's hair grow?

     

    Last weekend when A. and I were on the playground with the girls we met a mom and her boy-girl twins. When we told her that our girls were twins, she was surprised: "That one (meaning Elsa) looks so much older!" This is becoming more and more common: people on the playground think they are incredibly closely spaced (perhaps impossibly close, if anyone really stopped and thought out the math) siblings. And it's true that Elsa does look a little bit older. She's almost two inches taller and a little more filled out. I think it also has to do with their faces. Clio's got a sort of pixie-like look about her, whereas Elsa's face looks more grown-up. But Alastair thinks -- and I guess I agree -- that it also has to do with the hair. Elsa's is long and bang-less, while Clio's got bangs and a bob.

     

     

    Exhibit One: Elsa's long-n-lustrous locks

     

     

     

    Exhibit 2: Clio's chic, perky bob

     

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  • Coneheads

    This may sound crazy -- in fact, I can hardly believe it myself -- but our girls had never had ice cream cones until this weekend. They'd had ice cream, mind you; in bowls and on plates next to slices of "happy birthday to you" (their term for birthday cake). But they'd never experienced the sweet, drippy joy that is an ice cream cone on a summer day.

     

    So, while we were out on the Cape this weekend I was hell-bent on making it happen. The friends we were staying with recommended the perfect spot: Four Seas Ice Cream in Centerville, which has been in operation for seventy-five years. That's since 1934 for those out there who, like me, are quick-arithemetic-challenged. (When I saw the sign, I said to Alastair "Wow, so they've been around since, like, the twenties! Or, wait, the forties?") It's apparently a Cape Cod institution, and a quick web search suggests that they invented chocolate chip ice cream and were/are beloved by the Kennedys. So, it seems we chose quite a memorable spot for this important milestone. And, of course, we documented it on film:

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Parlez-Vous Toddler?

     With Elsa and Clio talking so much, and able to communicate increasingly complex thoughts -- why, just yesterday Clio was commenting that while the media frenzy over the Henry Gates/Cambridge police issue was lamentable, it has spurred some important conversations about race in America -- it's easy for me to get into the mindset that everyone should understand what they're saying as well as Alastair and I do. But the fact is, a lot of what they say is still unintelligible to the larger world. 

     

    Which I guess shouldn't come as a surprise. While it's immediately clear to me that "We goto go on da feeeeg go inda kye!" means "We're going to go on the swings and go up in the sky!" ( I also know that "up in the sky" means way up high, though the exact moment at which "sky" highness is attained remains a bit of a mystery) I can't expect someone who doesn't spend huge amounts of time with the girls to know that.

     

    Pic after the jump!

     

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  • Babies and baths: A Rocky Relationship

     

    I don't generally give advice on this blog. I like to think of myself as a friend and fellow-traveler to anyone who reads here, not some kind of big sister or "expert." But just this once, I want to send out a word of advice / reassurance to any parents out there with children younger than mine, who have reached the ripe old age of two and a half. And it is this: There may well be phases in your child or children's development when, for absolutely no reason fathomable to you, they suddenly HATE taking baths; when they will scream and flail and resist with vehemence your attempts to get them into the tub and to wash their bodies and/or hair.

     

    Do not be alarmed. This condition generally will resolve itself within a matter of days or weeks for equally inexplicable reasons. All you can do is wait, try to make baths as quick and painless as possible, or -- if getting your child into the bath is completely impossible -- settle for swabbing her down with a washcloth or see if you can get her near a pond, pool, lawn sprinkler or other source of water with less drama than the bath inspires. 

     

     

     

     A happy bath period -- the girls at circa 15 months

     

     

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  • I love playgrounds. I hate playgrounds.

    Nothing beats a playground for an outing with toddlers / preschoolers (which one applies to two-year-olds? I'm not quite sure these days...) They're free, they offer exercise and fresh air, they're a great way for kids to practice various gross motor skills and learn to play nicely with others. For parents, it's a nice change of scene from the house or backyard, requires relatively little mental effort, is a fun way to interact with your kid(s) and can even have fitness benefits. (I'm sure someone has done a piece for a parenting mag on this kind of thing -- Playground Pilates! Tone your Triceps with your Tots! Swings, Slides and Rock-hard Abs!)

     

    Yes. Playgrounds are good. The one we went to this morning -- Beaver Brook park in the suburban oasis of Belmont -- was especially good, with its many different play area options and -- best of all -- a big water play area with all kinds of spray jets and big rocks for little 'uns to play on and amongst. We'd never been there before, and it was well worth the trip. 

     

    But here's why playgrounds also stress me out. The first is twin-specific. (And probably also applies if you've got two small children close in age.)  If the playground is anything other than a very small "tot lot," it's a constant challenge to keep an eye on both kids at once, as they will almost inevitably want to go in two different directions and do two different things. Today at Beaver Brook, true to form, all Elsa wanted to do was play in the water, while Clio only wanted to go on the swings. The place wasn't set up such that I could push Clio and keep Elsa in sight, and even if that was an option, it wouldn't have been ideal. Because Elsa might have tripped and done a full-frontal face plant, nosebleed and all, and it would have taken me that much longer to get to her, and everyone would be thinking "where on earth is that poor girl's mother? Somebody call social services!"  Or she might have blithely grabbed a bucket away from some other kid, and gotten scolded by some judgy, helicopter mom thinking, "where on earth is this girl's mother, and why hasn't she raised her daughter properly? Call social services!"

     

    All of which leads to other, related reason that playgrounds stress me out -- the other parents. (If you hadn't guessed already.)

     

     

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  • The Odd Couple

    For a long time now, it's been clear that Elsa is a bit messier than Clio when it comes to playing and eating and life in general. These shots taken back in December at the girls' second birthday pretty much sum it up. (Photos taken seconds apart.)

     

    Exhibit A:  Clio and cupcake

     

     

     

    Exhibit B:  Elsa and (no more) cupcake.

     

     

     

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  • Activity of the Week: Happy Birthday To You

    I haven't done an 'Activity of the Week' in a while, I guess because with the weather being better and the girls being more self-sufficient, it hasn't been as much of a challenge to figure out ways to keep them entertained. And actually, this particular activity is one that they pretty much came up and do all by themselves. I just keep them supplied with the necessary materials, and suggest helpful enhancements from time to time, when they'll let me.

     

    See, Clio and Elsa are obsessed with birthdays. This began shortly after their own birthday, back at the end of the December, and kicked into high gear when they went to their friend Amelia's 2nd birthday in Februrary. The obsession has manifested itself in a variety of ways: first, they just sang the Birthday Song constantly. Then, they started constantly asking for / calling everything sweet "Happy to you" cake. (We successfully introduced the idea of *pretend* happy to you cake, as well.) The, for a while, they wanted us to draw birthday cakes for them. If you looked through our recycling bin anytime this March through May, you would find page upon page of crayon drawings of birthday cakes -- usually double tiered, with lots of fancy, squiggly decorations, and candles, of course. (I really honed my birthday cake-drawing technique. If for some reason you ever need a drawing of a birthday cake, I'm your gal.)

     

    Pics after the jump 

     

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  • My stinky winky daughters

    I thought that the whole phase of finding it funny to say things like "stinky poo poo" and "Pee-yew, stinky winky" and so on, came later. Like, at three or four or later. When the sense of taboo around these kinds of things was a little more developed. But apparently, two-and-a-half is not too young for kids to have a sense of the silly stinkies.

     

    As usual, of course, we are partly to blame, for asking such stupid things as "who made a stinky poo poo?" And their regualr babysitter is apparently a big "Pee-yew"er, because sometimes when I change the girls' diapers or take their socks off they'll say "Pee-yew!" followed by a giggly "Adriana say that!" I suspect she is the one who put "stinky winky" into their vocabularies as well, because I don't recall either Alastair or I ever saying it. But this morning, the girls were drawing all manner of stinky-winky animals: a stinky winky penguin, a stinky winky whale, a stinky winky sheep. Our friend the stinky stinky bat was back, too.

     

    Pic after the jump!  (Not of the stinky stinky bat)

     

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  • (Not Exactly) A Walk in the Park

    Over the last six months, things have gotten so much more manageable when it comes to going out in public places with girls. But every once in a while, I get a little cocky. And those gals put me right back in my place.

     

    Mother's Day in Boston was a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy. After a morning of indulgent "me time" (I slept in, was brought Dunkin donuts and coffee for breakfast, read for awhile, went to the gym, then sat outside in the sunshine with a magazine) I wanted to spend a little quality mother-daughter time with my gals. I decided to take them into the city, to the Public Garden. It seemed like a terrific idea at the time. On my own with the girls (and their doll strollers) at a city park that also happens to be a major tourist attraction, on a beautiful Mother's Day? Sure! No problem! Piece of cake!

     

     

     

    Yeah, well. Not exactly.

     

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  • Is it Time for Big Girl Beds?

    Over the past two weeks, the girls have discovered how to climb up into their cribs by themselves. It's easiest for them to do it when the side of the crib is lowered, but they've also successfully done it a few times with the sides up, with the help of a step-stool. They get their feet up onto the mattress, between the crib rails, then swing a leg over the side and basically somersault into the bed. (Is this unsafe? It looks harmless to me, since they're they're only tumbling from a few inches away, onto a soft surface, but Alastair thinks they're going to break their necks. Please advise.)

     

    In other gymnastic news, last weekend while staying over at Abu and Jacye's, Elsa climbed out of her Pack-n-Play at five in the morning. And today at naptime, when I went in to try to get the girls to settle down after 10 minutes of gabbing and gigging and bickering, Elsa was standing in Clio's crib. I don't know if she got all the way down from hers and climbed up into Clio's, or if she did a crib-to-crib transfer (their cribs are perpendicular to each other, in a corner), but either way -- it doesn't bode well.

     

    Pic after the jump

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  • Nasty, Brutish and Short

    Lately, this seems like the perfect description of my children. Not all of the time, of course (excepting the short part). But it does seem like we're in a phase wherein the girls march around the house like little Mussolinis, giving orders to us, to the cat, to each other. More milk! I wanta watch Curious George Monkey! I do it allbymysef! I don't want to change diaper! No sing, mommy! Up up UP! Go away kittycat! No! No! NOOOOOO!!!!

     

    Are we doing something to encourage this kind of behavior? Or is this just what they call having "spirited" children? (Possessed by spirits, perhaps?)  Does the twin thing factor in? Sometimes I think my girls' loudness has to do with the fact that they feel the need to shout over eachother to be heard, or even just shout to get more individual attention.

     

    Mostly, I just tell myself that this is the way toddlers are, this too shall pass, etc. But then I see the way other kids behave and I can't help wondering.

     

    Pic after the jump

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About the Blogger

Jane Roper

Jane Roper in Boston

One baby? Piece of cake. Try two. This working mother gives you the inside scoop on the ultimate in extreme parenting: twins.

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