Baby Squared : Maine

Not Yet

Roper — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 13:35:00 GMT

This is one of the girls' favorite phrases these days. Can you please give Elsa a turn with that toy now? Not yet. Are you all done with your English muffin? Not yet. Are you ready to get off the potty now? Not yet.

As the girls grow and change by leaps and bounds, it's amazing how much more able they are to communicate their needs and wants, and it's delightful to see them able to participate in an increasing number of activities. This weekend while we were in Maine visiting my parents (and giving my sister in law a baby shower -- my first nephew is on the way!) it was fun to see them doing things that just a few months ago they would not have been able to do: playing downstairs in the basement playroom independently for a good fifteen minutes or so while the grownups were upstairs -- without needing toy refereeing; riding tricycles and actually starting to use the pedals; making sardonic comments. (OK, this isn't exactly true. That is, I'm not sure it was intended to be sardonic. But if it hadn't been spoken by a two and and a half year old, it certainly would have come across that way. Then again, it was Clio, who has a pretty good sense of humor. I said: "Clio, how about we go upstairs and take a bath now." She replied, "How about no.")

Clio played with my old childhood dollhouse for nearly half an hour, on her own. Amazing!

And yet, we still bump up against things that we realize -- often after the fact -- they aren't quite ready for. The not yets. Like when, while trying to keep them occupied for a little while when we were getting dinner ready, and for lack of appropriate entertainment choices, we put on the movie The Cat in the Hat -- the live-action one with Mike Myers. It's a pretty trippy movie -- not to mention a trippy book, that I never quite liked as a kid, as I've mentioned here before. But it proved to be a bit too intense for the gals, especially Elsa, who was a bit freaked out the whole time, but couldn't quite take her eyes off it. It was like a technicolor car accident. Toward the end, when the little girl character was getting sucked up into a tornado-like thing and Elsa started saying "Oh no! Sally!" and then actually screamed, I finally whisked her away. (But brought her back a little later to show her that everyone was OK.)

They also weren't quite ready for the too-long day trip we took up to the Common Ground Fair -- a country fair put on by the Maine Organic Farmers Association. It was an hour and a half each way and, stupidly, we forgot to bring their ga-gas, a.k.a. pacifiers, which we still let them have on long car trips. (You'd think after this calamity we would have learned our lesson.) They were cranky and exhausted the whole time, wanting to be picked up, wanting to go home, wanting to eat but not particularly excited about the grilled cheese sandwiches we got them, on super-dense, all-natural, gluten-free, organic, grass-fed, free-range, fair trade, cruelty-free, 22-grain bread made by rehabilitated prisoners. (Kidding, of course. But seriously, the bread tasted like shit.)

I think that in another year or two, a trip like this might actually be do-able for them. But while we did have a few nice moments -- Elsa enjoyed getting a ladybug painted on her hand (below); they were fascinated by the giant merino sheep "getting his hair cut"; and thought the old-fashioned farm equipment was pretty fun to play on (below below); overall, I'd say it was a not yet. It was also, I think, a case of something being a not yet because of the twin thing. One kid might have been a bit more manageable. Having twins, I think, can at times prolong the not yets by a few months.

They can be frustrating, the not yets. And they will always be there. But there's a nice hopefulness to the phrase. Can we take the girls on a longish day trip to a big and somewhat overwhelming event like a fair? Not yet, but we will in a year or two. Have I found a publisher for my novel? Not yet, but I still have hope. Have I figured out the right balance of work and parenting and writing, all while managing to keep my depression at bay? Not yet, not yet, not yet, but I will.

Big Girl Beds: A Trial Run

Roper — Sat, 23 May 2009 18:55:00 GMT

The girls and I are up here in Maine with my parents for the long weekend, and since the bedroom the girls stay in has a pair of twin beds, we thought maybe we'd give them a try, and see how the girls fared. Granted, they're already a little out of their element being away from home, but I thought it might provide some insight into what might or might not happen if we attempt to make the crib-to-bed transition for good. Here's the play by play:

Last night, 5:30 pm.

We realize that the bedrails my mom bought for the purposes of this experiment (and for future visits -- the beds are on the high side) are not as easy to assemble as we'd assumed: things to measure, about a dozen different parts, a packet of screws, and one of those instruction manuals in five languages with lots of big WARNING! boxes throughout. My parents are on their way out the door to a neighbor's BBQ so there's no chance we're going to get the things put together in time for bedtime.

I am about to go out to the car and get the Pack-n-Plays (brought just in case) when my dad, who is sort of like a domestic MacGyver, goes down to the basement and returns with two card tables. He unfolds one pair of legs on each of them, shoving the legs between the mattress and boxspring of each bed, so we have ourselves a couple of rather unsightly but perfectly serviceable and sturdy improvised bedrails. Go Dad!

7:15 pm -- Bedtime

We've been talking up the whole "big girl bed" thing all afternoon and evening, so after a couple of books, the girls are very excited about getting into bed and under the covers. I kiss them goodnight, rub their backs, and leave, thinking: Wow! It worked! That was so easy! (Somewhere, God is laughing.)

7:40 pm

Just as I sit down to eat my dinner, Clio starts crying and I can tell from the volume and intensity that it's not going to stop any time soon. I hear Elsa jabbering, too, and when I go into the room she (helpfully) announces, "Clio is crying." Clio, meanwhile, is standing up in her bed, holding onto the edge of the card table, very much awake, yelling "I want to go downstairs!" And soon enough, Elsa is shimmying down to the end of the bed and crawling down and asking to go downstairs, too, "just a little bit."

After some persuasion, some rocking in the rocking chair, and some strategic hanging of blankets over the windowshades in an attempt to block more light, I managed to get them back into bed, and this time they stay put. I think the main problem might have been the light, but I also think they might not have quite gotten that it really was bedtime, and yes, they really were going to stay there all night. Anytime they've been in a grown-up bed before, it's just been for a minute or two of "pretend" sleeping.

But sleep they did, until 7:30 am, with only one small interruption: At 3:30 am, Elsa woke up crying, sounding upset, and I went in to check on her. She was sitting up in her bed, looking somewhat disoriented, and asked if she could go downstairs and have a banana. (?) I rocked with her in the chair for a little bit, reminded her where she was, and she settled back down fairly quickly.

Today, 1:00 pm -- naptime.

I could tell from the get-go that things were not going to go smoothly. Elsa was overtired and cranky and Clio was just plain wound up. They'd had a busy morning with my Mom, going to the farm down the road to see the animals, picking up rocks on the beach, trying out the new plastic see-saw in the backyard. (My father is also a consummate trash scavenger!) I got them down into bed, but didn't have high hopes.

1:15 pm

Crying, yelling, talking. When I get upstairs, both girls are out of bed. Clio wants to go downstairs and play. Elsa doesn't know what she wants, but it's not being in bed. I try sitting and rocking with them -- no dice. They decide they want to go to sleep on the floor, and curl up on the rug. I ask them if they'd like to go to sleep in their cribs. A resounding yes from Clio. More crying from Elsa, who is about to put her knuckles through her eyeballs, she's rubbing them so hard. I go out to the car and get the cribs, set them up, and put the girls into them.

1:40 pm

Within minutes of my leaving the room, the girls are asleep. it is now almost 2:45, and they are still asleep. God bless 'em.

The verdict:

I'm going to let the girls decide, for the remainder of our stay here, whether they want to sleep in the beds or the cribs, and not try to force one over the other. I wish we had this option at home -- to have both cribs and beds/mattresses in the room while we make the transition. But there just isn't enough space.

I'm worried about the girls' increasing agility, and suspect that it won't be long before they're able to crawl out of their cribs -- or at least make attempts, which could be dangerous. So, I think it's time to cruising Craigslist for some beds, toddler or otherwise, and make the transition soon. I think that once the girls get used to this concept of sleeping *and* napping in their beds, they'll be more likely to stay put. Thanks for all your good advice when I last posted about this.

Two times two equals f#&%

Roper — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 02:02:00 GMT

We had a nice Thanksgiving weekend. Really, we did. There was lots of good food and no family drama. We got some serious, slothful relaxation in, too: the night before Thanksgiving, at my brother's house, we drank wine, ate pizza, and watched five straight hours of Top Chef. I've decided I'm going to start talking to Elsa and Clio like one of the contestants to get them more interested in their food: "What I've done here is taken circular oat cereal, rustled it into a bowl and then quickly doused it with just the right amount of fresh, cold milk. Finally, I've topped it off with some thinly-sliced, ripe banana. Enjoy."

We also had twenty-eight glorious child-free hours together on the Maine coast, which we spent doing the sort of things we used to do way back when: browsing in shops, eating more frequently than is biologically necessary, talking about everything from our college days to our future plans to how Abraham Lincoln won the Republican nomination. (A. is reading Team of Rivals.) We were silly and stupid and flirty. And man, it was nice to go to sleep in a big, soft, king-size antique bed and not have to negotiate which one of us was going to get up with the girls in the morning.

Though I can't say I really *missed* the girls, by the time we headed back to my parents' house, I was eager to see them. They greeted us with bright smiles, said "Mommy Daddy here!", let us kiss them, and then proceeded to have total, screaming meltdowns. Both of them.

I don't remember what exactly triggered said meltdowns -- maybe it was just release of pent up emotion having to do with our being gone -- but I've come to believe that getting at the root cause of a tantrum is not terribly relevant when you're dealing with an (almost) two-year-old. Once they go into that mode, fugghetaboutit. Giving them back the crayons that you took away, letting them eat the third cookie they wanted, picking them back up after you put them down against their wishes -- useless. Pretty much NOTHING can comfort them. Things just have to play themselves out.

This is especially true of Clio, who has more intense and frequent freakouts than Elsa. (Elsa can be a bit of a drama queen, but she's also easier to calm down and comfort, and has been since she was a newborn.) Once Clio gets going, there's no stopping her. (Also the case since day one.) When she's in this state, she doesn't know what she wants, or how to feel better, and rejects everything we try. We pick her up, she screams "Down now! Down now!" We put her down and she screams "picka up! picka up!" She pushes or flings away anything we try to give her -- a toy, a snack, a cup of milk. The only thing to do, it seems, is to put her in her crib with her pacifier until she collects herself. In other words, a textbook "time out."

It felt like there were a lot of tantrums this weekend, both small and large. A lot of intra-sibling bickering. And they both constantly wanted to be picked up, or to sit on our laps. Part of it, I think, was the fact that they're both getting over colds. Also, Clio appears to have a big old bicuspid busting its way through her gums. The change of scene and routine may also have contributed to their fragile states. But I'm afraid the larger truth is that the terrible two's have arrived. And it's going to be rough.

Dealing with one toddler's whining / stubbornness / neediness / etc. is challening enough. But when you've got two going at the same time -- or even one in a bad mood and one in a good mood, but still wanting attention -- hoo boy. Both Alastair and I lost our cool at times over this past weekend. We yelled. We handled inanimate objects more roughly than was necessary. We shouted "Serenity Now!" (Well, I did, anyway.)

I hate that stressed-out, angry, powerless, exasperated feeling. Heart pounding, nerves frayed, temper short. I can almost feel my skin wrinkling, my hair turning gray. I wish I could take it all more lightly and easily -- respond with more humor, grace and patience. I wish I knew how to keep them happy more of the time, or help them more effectively when they're not. But sometimes it's just so damned hard.

And then they go and do stuff like this, and I just want them to stay 23 months old forever:

(Filmed at my brother's house on Thanksgiving Eve. You may hear snatches of "Top Chef" on TV in the background if you listen carefully. And my goofy laugh and dopey commentary even if you don't.)

Thankful

Roper — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 13:00:00 GMT

I could offer up a predictable litany of things I'm thankful for -- my family, my friends, my health, my relative financial security, the results of the presidential election, etc. etc. But let's face it: that would be kinda boring. So, I thought I'd mention ten of the stranger and less obvious things that I'm thankful for this year, while attempting to stay within the topic(s) of this blog. In no particular order:

1. I'm thankful that I'm not pregnant. Right now, so many of our friends are having -- or gearing up to have -- their second child. I'm terribly happy for them, but every time I hear the news, I can't help smiling to myself and thinking: thank GOD it ain't me! I never wished or hoped to have twins, but I did always want two children, and now that I've had them both in one fell swoop, I'm really appreciating the efficiency of it. I get tired just thinking about going through the whole newborn-sleepless-nights-constant-nursing thing again, so soon. And I can't imagine having both a toddler and a newborn. Then, I guess I automatically think about what it would be like to have two toddlers and a newborn, since that's what I would have. And that would obviously be a lot crazier. But still. I'm very happy not to be expecting. (Congrats to all of you who are -- I'll bring you a casserole.)

2. I'm thankful that Elsa and Clio are such good sleepers. Except for Clio's occasional nap boycotts and early wake-up spates, the girls really are amazing. They sleep twelve hours every night with little or no night waking, and take a two-hour nap after lunch. This means that we can pretty much count on having an evening to ourselves, get a good night's sleep, and have a bit of a break in the middle of each day. I am very much aware that this won't last, and am therefore very consciously grateful for how somno-rific life is now. (Another reason for #1 on the list.)

3. I'm thankful for PBS's Curious George (and being able to DVR it). I don't know what it is about that little monkey and the enigmatic man with the yellow hat (How old is he? Where does he work? Is he gay? Why the hat?), but that show, like no other, can get the girls to chill out, calm down and laugh in the midst of even their crankiest, whiniest, most exasperating moods. It leaves them much mellower afteward, too. Whatever works, right?

4. I'm thankful that I finally got a permit parking space at work. Because now I don't have to deal with the parking garage and the 10 minute walk from the garage to the office, which is particularly horrible in the dead of winter, when the wind is whipping in off of Boston harbor. And it may sound ridiculous, but even just 15-20 minutes of extra time per day in my jam-packed life feels like a major bonus. That's over an hour per week! The thrill will wear off soon, no doubt -- probably the first time I have to go out and scrape seagull poop and/or ice off my windshield. (The one disadvantage of not parking in a garage.) But for now, I'm enjoying the novelty.

5. I'm thankful for fruit, and the fact that it is somewhat nutritious. Because there are days when it is literally the only non-carb food that I can get Elsa and Clio to eat. Apples, grapes, oranges, bananas, melon, canned peaches, pineapple, pears -- you name it. They will devour it happily. I really need to start getting more creative about hiding vegetables in stuff. Luckily -- inexplicably -- the girls are also quite fond of broccoli, so at least we get some of that into them fairly often. But easily 50% of their food intake, in terms of sheer mass, has got to be fruit. (And Elsa still gets constipated.)

6. I'm thankful for online bill pay, self-scanning and checkout at the supermarket, drive-up ATMs, prescriptions-by-mail, and all the other conveniences of the modern American consumer landscape that actually save time and make life easier. (Hm. I think I just plagiarized a brochure I wrote once for a client at work....)

7. I'm thankful for antidepressants. Even though they have not been as effective for me this year as they have in years past, I still don't know how I would get by without them, or the hope of recovery that they offer. Not that I don't appreciate the value of things like exercise, nutrition, positive thinking, therapy, B vitamins and all the rest in managing depression. But at the end of the day -- fork over the pharmaceuticals.

8. I'm thankful that Elsa and Clio are finally past the phase of putting everything in their mouths. Except for crayons, play-doh, rocks....OK. Maybe they're not entirely past that phase. But they're a lot better than they used to be. As a result, we don't have to be constantly moving things out of their reach. It also opens up a new realm of play possibilities. The Bean Box, for example, would not have been possible a few months ago. We still have to keep our cat's food and water dishes up on the kitchen table where the girls can't reach them, but I'm hoping that in the near future we'll be able to get it through their small heads that the kitty's food is not for them, and put the dishes back on the floor. (Because I'm not kooky and eccentric enough to love the idea of cats on the kitchen table.)

9. I'm thankful that my parents agreed to take the girls overnight this Friday. It's going to be Alastair's and my first-ever night together away from the little 'uns. We're staying at a B&B in Camden, Maine -- one of my favorite places in the world -- and have dinner reservations at a restaurant on the harbor that is supposed to be fantastic. Throughout the many years of our relationship pre-children, one of our favorite things to do was walk aimlessly around towns and villages of the "quaint New England" variety: Bar Harbor, Portsmouth, Marblehead, Northampton. I am extremely excited to have a chance to do it again -- although, no doubt, all we'll do the whole time is talk about Elsa and Clio.

10. I'm thankful for you, my readers. For the advice, opinions, questions, support and community that you offer up here. Not to mention your tolerance and appreciation of my somewhat erratic blogging style. Have a safe, happy and otherwise excellent Thanksgiving. See you next week.

Wholesome Fall Fun

Roper — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 11:22:00 GMT

The girls and I spent last weekend up in Maine with my folks, and had a lovely time. There were farm animals and apples, blue skies and falling leaves, chyrsanthemums and homemade cookies. The whole Fall-in-New England extravaganza.

Of course, first we had to get there. Packing up for a weekend away with the girls is hard enough when Alastair is around to help, but it's pretty much insane trying to do it on my own. I was able to load the Pack-n-Plays, booster seats, diapers, toys, etc. into the car while the girls were parked in front of Sesame Street. Then I brought them upstairs to hang in the nursery while I packed their suitcase and they "helped" by pulling every single item of clothing out of their bureau while gleefully exclaiming "out!" "out!" Then I distracted them with legos while I packed up my own bag -- something I don't do well under pressure. Seriously, as soon as I put an empty suitcase out on the bed, it's like my IQ drops 50 points. There I'll be, twenty minutes later, standing over a suitcase full of nothing but socks, holding a pair of hiking boots in one hand and a cocktail dress in the other, muttering to myself about bobby pins. Add two small children into the mix and, well, it's a miracle I managed to pack anything at all.

To top things off, I'd stayed up too late the night before watching the doggone VP debate and drinking wine, but couldn't pound coffee and water the way my body was begging me to do because I needed to avoid the need to stop on the drive up to Maine. (A bathroom stop with two toddlers and no double stroller: pretty much impossible.) Still, somehow we all got out the door and onto the road and made it to Maine without incident. (Hint to solo traveling parents: tie sippy cups / pacifiers / etc. to the carseat or the back of the front seats with a piece of twine, so when your toddler(s) drop them, you can retrieve them without having to pull off the road. Probably a strangulation hazard, so don't leave children in car unattended -- not like you would anyway.)

The girls have gotten to an age where it's finally not quite as stressful to keep after them in an un-babyproofed house. And my parents had set up a little playroom for the gals in the basement, complete with mini table and chairs, mini basketball hoop and a bunch of other toys, most of them rescued from the "swap shop" at their municipal dump. (The small town version of Freecycle.) On Saturday morning my folks watched the girls while I went on a gorgeous, 4-mile run past organic cattle pastures and woods and views of the ocean.

The highlight of the weekend, however, was a trip to a local Farm Day festival, where my mom got some great pics. Disclaimer: my mom also bought the girls the matching outfits and insisted that they wear them. (She has old pictures of me and my cousin in matching overall outfits, circa 1976). Not my cup of tea, as you know, but I must admit, they looked awful darn cute.

My Dad, aka "Bapa," introduces the girls to a duck. (Poor Clio, you'll notice, is a little puffy and splotched...she had a mysterious case of hives over the weekend, which we treated with Benadryl, and which have now completely cleared up.) Shortly after this picture was taken, Elsa grabbed the duck and tried to hug it.

Then it was over to the story tent, for some storytime with the town librarian / state rep. We have Silly Sally at home and the girls like it. I like it, too, though it does get a little weirdly PG-13 when ole Neddy Buttercup shows up on the scene.

My mom was determined to get an adorable twins-in-the hay shot, but if you want to see God (or me) laugh, try to get two toddlers to stay in one place and look at the camera for a photo at the same time. Some of the resulting pictures were actually sort of interesting, like this one. Though, upon closer inspection, Clio looks like she's plotting some kind of children-of-the-corn-type massacre, and Elsa looks like someone just flashed her from the animal pen.

And finally, here we all are, eating apples.

The stuff of which memories and Norman Rockwell paintings are made, eh? Of course even better than the weekend was Monday night, when Alastair finally came home from Europe, safe and sound.