Baby Squared : Twins on vacation

Regression, anyone?

Roper — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 18:43:00 GMT

We're back in the saddle, after a lovely vacation week in New Hampshire followed by a weekend's stay in Vermont. Fabulous weather, beautiful scenery, lots to do, and even a bit of relaxing thrown in there. I managed to get several hundred pages of good reading in, which, to me, is the sign of a good vacation. And the girls did remarkably well, all things considered, adapting with aplomb to a slew of new places, people, and situations.

They were, however, a bit clingier than usual, always wanting to be picked up, and acting particularly attached to me. They've also been doing this weird sort of "baby talk" thing where they say "mama" and "dada" and talk in babbly, indistinct voices. Clio has been espeically prone to this. I would say that it was a result of vacation -- the unfamiliar people, the disruption of routine -- but the fact is, it actually started a few weeks earlier.

I suspect that this is also one of those developmental phases that a lot of kids (babies? toddlers? youths?) go through around this age. I wonder if it might also have something to do with the fact that they know they're about to start preschool. In fact, I'm a little nervous about how they're going to handle the transition to that. It's only two mornings a week, but still....eek! I'm thinking it's probably a good thing that Alastair will be the one to drop them off on their first day next week, not me. (This clinginess is decidedly directed more at Mama than Dada.)

The girls are also somewhat obsessed with talking about things they can do when they're bigger or -- interestingly -- when they're littler. For example, if we say to them that they need to walk (as opposed to being carried) because they're big girls, and being carried all the time is only for babies, they may very well say, "But when I'm a little baby I can have a pick-up!"

I suppose the whole concept of chronology -- and the fact that they only grow up, not down -- is a bit confusing to them, and maybe even a bit threatening. Then again, we don't really help matters. Sometimes we refer to them as little girls (as in "this book is for grown-ups, not for little girls") other times as big girls ("you're such a big girl to drink from a cup like that!") and even occasionally refer to them, affectionately, as "baby girl" or the like. Can we blame them for being slightly confused?

And then there's the more comical manifestation of all this chronological confusion: When she's not acting babylike, Clio has lately taken to acting "Mommy-like" to Elsa. She'll try to comfort her or explain things to her or even scold her, all in a pitch-perfect imitation of parental tone. Yesterday as we were driving back home from Vermont and Elsa was whining about the song we were playing (she wanted to hear Old MacDonald -- again), Clio said, "Elsa, Mommy and Daddy and Clio need to listen to this song and then we listen to Old MacDonald, OK?" It's very cute, but I think it's only a matter of time before Elsa gets pissed off and decks her one.

But perhaps not. After all, Elsa is learning new, more productive ways to channel her immense physical energy. While we were at Sandy Island, she was a madwoman on the dance floor. (I really would love to enroll her in a dance class -- she seems to have some real aptitude for it, and clearly loves it.) And one morning, she spotted a stretching/gentle yoga class and insisted that we join in. "I want to do exercise!" she said. (I have no idea where she learned that word!) We got started just as the class was ending, but had our own private yoga session, captured on film by offical Elsa and Clio Paparazza, Heidi Cohen Miller. These are some of my favorite photos ever taken of Elsa and me.

Namaste!

An Adventure Gone Terribly Awry

Roper — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 19:19:00 GMT

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?

It was horrible. I tried to get the girls to come turn the button, but they coudn't. Elsa started freaking out and crying "Come to me, mommy!" which was more than a little heartbreaking. (Then "I'm itchy!" which was just weird...) Fortunately our next door neighbor, who is a semi-retired painter, had an extension ladder, and we were able to climb up and into the window of the girls' room. Immediately after we got the door open, in a fit of primal, maternal anger / fear, I took a screwdriver and took that damned doorknob out. Alastair later pointed out that we could have just put tape or something over the locking button until we bought a new doorknob. But it was 90 degrees out, and my Mama Bear adrenaline had been tripped. Screw reasonable thought.

Alas, it turned out that Clio's door-locking fit on Saturday was just a warm-up. But let me back up a little: When I woke up Sunday morning, I had the immediate and urgent need to get everyone in the car and go somewhere. Not only because being in the car would mean AC, but because I felt suddenly, extremely claustrophobic. Not just in the house, but in our town and in our life in general. I didn't want to go to the usual playgrounds or the usual pond where the girls like to swim. Where did I want to go? The Swiss Alps would have been nice. Tibet, perhaps. I would have even settled for a beach north of Boston, but knew that the traffic would be horrendous and the parking impossible. So, I decided we should pack a lunch and drive west, out toward Mount Wachusett, maybe have lunch near the big reservoir if we could.

We told the girls we were going on an adventure. "An a-vencha!" they said happily. Clio put her Curious George doll up on her shoulders and said she wanted to go on a Bear Hunt. (In the book, by Michale Rosen / Helen Oxenbury, the father puts the little kid on his shoulders at some point. So, now Clio thinks that's a key part of any family Bear Hunt. Too true.) Things started off well. The AC felt good. The scenery was lovely, if slightly wilted and hazy. We stopped at a grocery / orchard store somewhere in the middle of nowhere to buy food for our picnic, and the girls ran around pointing at things and picking up ears of corn and asking to hold apples and staying on the "cute" side of that fine cute/annoying line that young children walk in such places as grocery stores.

Then, when we were standing at the checkout, for reasons which still remain a mystery, Clio started crying and asking for her ga-ga (pacifier). It was one of those slow-build cries that you know is going to be really bad -- lip starts to tremble, eyes start to fill with tears, mouth turns down at the corners, and then, all of a sudden, she's hyperventilating and screaming. I want my gaga! I want my gaga! I wanna go home and have my gaga!

And, my friends, she proceeded to scream and cry, non-stop, for the following hour and a half. Through our "picnic" (if you can call it that) and the entire ride home. Sometimes her request changed: I want medicine. I want to sit with you, mommy. I want to go home. And, because one screaming two-year-old really isn't difficult enough to handle, Elsa decided she had better join in, too. So, from lunch onward, she also screamed for her gaga, for medicine, to sit up front with me, etc. At one point, the two of them were screaming at eachother. It was a prime example of the absurdist toddler argument: Clio screamed that she wanted her yellow ducky gaga, and then Elsa screamed that she wanted her red doggie gaga. But somehow these events were mutually exclusive in their little, addled toddler brains. So it became:

Clio: I WANT MY YELLOW DUCKY GAGA!!

Elsa: NO! I WANT MY RED DOGGIE GAGA!

Clio: NO! DON'T SAY I WANT MY RED DOGGIE GAGA! I WANT MY YELLOW DUCKY GAGA!

Elsa: NO! I WANT MY RED DUCKY GAGA!!

And on it went. In the midst of all this, of course, Alastair and I started getting snappy with each other -- nearly impossible to avoid in this sort of situation, we find; especially when it's 96 degrees out and your'e trying to drive. I started wondering: are we doing something wrong? Is there something wrong with our parenting technique such that 1.) We are powerless to stop this 2.) This started in the first place? I mean, we did everything. We reassured. We held. We comforted. We tried to speak stupid "Toddlerese." We yelled. We tried to use the Putumayo CD the girls love as a bargaining chip. Noth. ing. worked. I was seriously on the brink of tears myself. (And actually did cry about it later, after we'd gotten them down for their nap, in sheer frustration / exhaustion.)

Of course, when we were approximately thirty seconds away from our house, they both stopped. And by the time we got them inside and upstairs into their cribs, they were both downright jolly. Guess they wanted to come home as badly as I wanted to get away from it.

And how was YOUR weekend??

Coneheads

Roper — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 12:08:00 GMT

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:

Yes, we even had the foresight to throw a couple of bibs into the diaper bag. Which is rare.

There were plenty of flavor choices, of course, but we suggested chocolate to keep things simple, and Clio immediately latched on and said yes, she wanted chocolate ice cream. Elsa, however -- in a typical case of twin expectation switcheroo -- started saying, Clio-like, that she wanted "clean" ice cream. We said yeah, yeah, it'll be clean chocolate ice cream, but that didn't fly. "Do you want vanilla ice cream?" I asked her. (As if she has any idea what vanilla means.) And she said, close to tears, "No! Just ice cream!" We thought that might be fun; to go into an ice cream parlor with 30 flavors and a line out the door and say, "Two ice cream cones, please." But we just ordered two chocolate cones and hoped Elsa wouldn't notice. She didn't.

Elsa and clean ice cream cone. (She was very excited once we explained that she could actually eat the cone, too.)

When the shop got suddenly crowded, the ice cream was quite melty, and Clio's cone several times came perilously close to a woman's very white, very expensive-looking beach cover-up dress, we decided to take the operation outside. Clio kept offering us all bites of her ice cream, which by then was down to the cone, which didn't seem to interest her as much. (She takes after her mother -- I've never been a huge fan of the cone itself.) The poor kid was punished for her generosity when Elsa accidentally chomped down on her finger in the process. Eep! Here's hoping that she won't have negative associations with ice cream cones for the rest of her life. Seems doubtful.

Want a bite?

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My children keep asking me for drugs

Roper — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 11:01:00 GMT

Since the girls were babies, we've tried not to be too casual about giving them Ibuprofen or Tylenol, saving it for high fevers and obviously intense teething pain that wasn't soothable with ice or baby chew toys. Nevertheless, the girls have come to believe that "mecinin," as they call it, is some kind of panacea* that can cure whatever ails them -- a stubbed toe, a sibling dispute, their displeasure at having to go to bed. "I need mecinin!" they'll wail. Shout. Scream. Like little junkies.

And what can we do? It's not like we're going to give them drugs that they don't need. I try to explain that medicine is only for when they're very sick, or have a fever. (Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Explain things to your toddler very calmly and rationally? Because, you know, they're so open to calm and rational reasoing?) But they're smart enough now to start claiming symptoms they may or may not actually have. Their mouth hurts. They have a boo-boo. They're "a little warm." (My favorite.) It's even trickier when one twin actually does need medicine for something. Because the other one, naturally, wants some, too. Why, when they get equal treatment in pretty much everything, should this be suddenly different? Hell, I'd be confused, too.

Sometimes I can pacify them with "Medicine water" as I call it -- tap water served up in a dosing cup. That works surprisingly well. I've also considered getting some corn syrup and putting a little red food coloring in it so everyone can have their "medicine." But my instincts tell me that's not the best way to go. We want them -- eventually, somehow -- to understand that medicine is for very specific purposes. So giving them fake medicine would probably be counterproductive. By that logic, the medicine water thing may not be the best idea either, but because they see me put water into the cup right from the tap -- I mean, they KNOW it's not medicine -- it somehow doesn't seem as bad.

If we can get past the pleas for medicine, the non-medicinal techniques -- kisses, back rubs, hugs etc. -- are usually quite effective. Actually, I found myself digging way way back into my aresenal of old baby soothing techniques last night to calm a freaking-out Elsa. She didn't take much of a nap, had big red swaths of heat rash on her back and neck, and may have been constipated to boot, so she was an absolute wreck at bedtime. Nothing could soothe her or get her to calm down. She screamed for "mecinin" with violent fury, and even the magic medicine water -- though she consented to take it instead of the real thing -- didn't do the trick. Finally, I ended up holding her and rocking her in the glider. And when that wasn't working, I started rhythmically "shh, shh, shh"ing in her ear -- like I used to do when she was a little baby. And wouldn't you know? It worked. Maybe next time one of them is totally wigging out, I'll try swaddling them. Heh. (What were those five S's again? Swaddle, shush, suck, sway and....sashay?)

Well, we're off to the Cape for the weekend, where I hope the five S's will be sun, sand, sea, sleep and Sauvignon Blanc. Cheers!

* I threw that in there just for you, Lena.

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Remember Us?

Roper — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 18:36:00 GMT

This weekend, Alastair played at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival, and the girls and I spent the day there with him on Saturday. It was fun, in the way that going to a large, crowded event with two two-year-olds is fun. That is, moments of fun (Clio singing a song of her own invention, the word "happy" over and over again to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle"; Elsa going all Woodstock, playing in the mud with obvious glee) interspersed with moments of aggravation and frustration (Clio refusing to walk from the parking lot into the festival because there's too much mud; Elsa throwing a small fit because we cut her pizza instead of letting her attempt to eat "a big one"). Pretty much your typical toddler event.

Alastair and I have gone to Falcon Ridge together twice before; once in 2000 or 2001, I think, and again in 2005. We camped out up in the field with hundreds of other people, stayed up late around song-swapping campfires, drank voluminous amounts of cheap wine and beer. Obviously, this was before Elsa and Clio were twinkles in either of our eyes. It was just us, and it was all about us, and it was easy. About the most taxing aspect of it was having to trudge to the porta-potties in the middle of the night. Alastair was more into the music part of the event than me, of course, it being his metier and all. (Shocking Confession: I'm actually not that into most contemporary folk singer/songwriter stuff, even though it's what my husband does. Scandal!) But I loved being there for the people-watching, browsing the vendor booths, and hanging out around the campfire with folks at night. It's in beautiful country, too, just west of the Massachusetts border in New York, at the edge of the Berkshires. And, yeah, yeah, all right, some of the music is OK. Especially after some of the aforementioned cheap wine and beer.

I don't normally pine too much for LBK. (Life Before Kids.) I had a long and happy young adulthood and when we had our girls, I felt entirely ready to move into a new phase of life. But for some reason, being at Falcon Ridge made me feel strangely, intensely nostalgic for the days of just the two of us. And a little bummed out. Even resentful. It's not as if I went there with any sort of expectation that it would somehow, magically not feel like a typical outing-with-toddlers. I knew what I was getting into. But being there just twanged a certain string (location-appropriate metaphor intentional) and I found myself longing to be 26 again, on a summer weekend away with my cute, guitar-playing boyfriend, with nobody else to look after but myself, and maybe him, a little. Time to observe. Freedom to move. Space to see and listen and absorb. No stress. No aggravation. No irrational fights over whether or not pizza should be cut (Cut it, Mommy! NOOO!! Don't Cut it!!) And no tense moments between me and A. over equally stupid things. We actually do pretty well most of the time; for the most part, we avoid taking our frustration with the girls out on each other. But it happens. Inevitably. And it makes me miss "us" even more.

I know that part of why I felt the way I did that my mood is not at optimal level -- I've been battling the beast again: med change; dosage change; other stuff I'd rather not get into; blah blah blah -- so the frustrating aspects of dealing with the girls are harder for me to deal with patiently and gracefully. (Or, as they say, in symptomatic terms, "Increased irritability.") Everything feels a bit more intense and emotional and difficult to handle, and I'm aware of how that was factoring into what I was feeling.

But depression or not -- do ever just wish you could ditch the kids, throw a couple of suitcases in the car, and drive a few hundred miles away and a few years back in time to when it was just you and your partner and you ate long lazy diner breakfasts and slept late and wandered aimlessly and had no one to take care of but yourselves? Do you ever wish with all your heart you could go back to being just a couple, for just a little while? Because damn, I'm feeling it right now.

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'Cation in the 'Burbs

Roper — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 01:42:00 GMT

Some families go to thrill-a-minute theme parks for a spring vacation. Others, to exotic island resorts or cosmopolitan world capitals. As for us -- well, we go to the suburbs. It's where we come from, and where some of our nearest and dearest still live. It's where we are now, and why I probably won't be able to post again until the end of the week. (How will you ever survive?)

We spent a few days in my hometown of Fairfield, Connecticut, where -- fun fact -- portions of the original "Stepford Wives" movie was filmed. It is also the hometown of famed Mac guy Justin Long, tennis up-and-comer James Blake, and sensitive pop sensation / starlet swain John Mayer. You might also have heard of in the news of late as the town that lost its police and firefighters' pensions to Bernie Madoff. In other words: smokin' hot vacation spot!

The girls got some quality time with their great aunts and first cousin once removed (my first cousin; right?), and had a play date with the progeny of some of my old high school pals. They hit several playgrounds, two backyards, and one Greek diner -- a key part of living in the tri-state area. Though honestly, I don't know why we keep attempting to take them out to restaurants. Because we're so darned optimistic, I suppose. Every time, I guess we think: hey, maybe this time it will go great! Maybe we've turned the corner! And every time -- like today -- they end up eating jelly out of the little Smuckers packets with their fingers, poking each other with forks, spilling at least one of our drinks, and making everyone stare in our general direction, either in anger, sympathy or some odd mixture of both.

Today, we proceeded to vacation paradise #2: Westchester County, New York, to stay with Grandma Jaycee. Getting here was approximately one-forty-eighth of the fun: Clio screamed for her gaga (=pacifier) for the entire 45 minute drive down the Merritt. I tried to keep things lighthearted by making jokey comments to my spouse ("Hey, what do you think? Is she going to scream the entire way there? Wanna put some money on it? Make things a little more interesting? Ha ha ha.) But he was not amused. He likened trying to drive with a screaming toddler in the back seat to Chinese water torture. And really, he's sort of right. Which brings us back to the whole idea of using toddlers as an interrogation technique. Seriously, why hasn't anyone tried this? Is there something in the Geneva Conventions that forbids it?

Fortunately, all was well once we got to the house and there were golden retrievers to squeal at and raisins to eat and new wind-up bunnies to play with. Alastair and Jacyee took the girls on a walk, and yours truly took a nice run in the finally spring-like sunshine. Tomorrow, A. and I are going into the city for an overnight at an undisclosed hotel on the upper west side, with plans to hit the Hayden Planetarium, the Cafe Des Artistes, and the sack. Then, it's back up to the 'burbs for a couple more days.

I'm glad we live in an urban setting, just outside a major city. The people, the pace, and the vibe -- not to mention the pricetag -- are all better suited to what we want out of life right now. But one thing I'll say for the gold coast good life: it's awfully pretty. Especially right at the start of spring. Unlike in our typical just-outside-of-Boston neighborhood, where trees are few and far between, and it is de rigeur to pave over as much of your yard as possible, here there are forsythia bushes and crocuses and daffodils and trees just about to bud. The houses are durn pretty and well-kept up. The cars are shiny. And there's also that great suburban yard/driveway/cul-de-sac culture: plenty of safe outdoor places to run around and ride bikes and play games without having to worry about traffic and trash and anatomically correct grafitti.

I wouldn't want to live here. But it's a nice place to visit.

Back in a few with pictures (I hope) and tales of spring break twins gone wild.

Top 5 Trends for Fall

Roper — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 11:47:00 GMT

With the new season is in full swing, our special Baby Squared trendspotting correspondent -- uh, me -- is here to report on what's hot NOW in the Baby Squared household!

Ice. Not diamonds or crystal meth (Mommy and Daddy would never approve), but the real thing: frozen water, preferably in tiny, bite-size chunks (use the "crushed" setting if your fridge has an ice dispenser) in a plastic cup, to be sucked on, bitten, and dumped on the floor at the girls' pleasure. Nutritious? No. Safe for baby teeth? Probably not. The perfect cure for teething woes and the pre-dinner-hour munchies? Absolutely!

Hand holding. Sweet, simple, and oh-so-satisfying, it's all the rage among the Elsa and Clio set. Grab your mommy or daddy and pull them around the house or the yard; your tug is their demand. Or, if the adult of your choice is unable or unwilling, hold your sister's hand. It's just the right size -- same as yours -- and get ready to watch the adults around you melt. Want a cookie? Some ice? Some crystal meth? Twin toddlers holding hands are NEVER denied. (Editor's note: it was actually today at church, after the service, that the girls held hands for the first time. My hands were full, so I told Clio to try holding Elsa's instead. It worked, and Elsa led her around the sanctuary and the reception area, making everyone grin, adding years to old folks' lives, etc. etc. It really was adorable. Until Elsa got tired of it and Clio kept trying to get her to hold her hand again by thwacking her with it repeatedly.)

The suffix "y." Juicy. Icey. Horsey. Moosy. Fishy. Suddenly, nothing seems quite complete without that adorable "y" or "ie" on the end! Are Mom and Dad the ones spearheading this trend, calling everything by its diminutive? No-ey, no-ey, it's those syallable-forward Moock girls, adding their own special twist to the words they know and love and the new ones they're picking up.

Throwing Food. Back by popular demand from last Fall -- and winter, and spring, and summer. OK, so maybe it never left. Which must mean it's a classic: dropping pasta, flinging forks, dumping carrots, launching bread, catapulting cups. Is there anything these girls won't throw? If they don't like it, don't want to eat it, or have simply had enough of it, onto the floor it goes. Mom and Dad can warn, scold, threaten, ignore or end the meal outright but there's no end in sight to this fun Fall fling! (Editor's note: Help? Seriously. Help.)

Cell phones. The new must-have accessory for the girls of 'Squared -- they take them with them everywhere, periodically holding them up to their ears and saying "Whoah? Whoah?" And we're not talking toy cell phones, here. That's baby stuff. This season, nothing but the real thing will do. Luckily, mom and dad were able to dig up some old, non-functional ones (Oblong flip phones -- so totally 2005, but with a certain retro charm), satisfying the girls' need for verisimilitude while drastically reducing the number of calls accidentally placed to Belgium.

Taken a few weeks ago at the Plymouth Folk and Blues Festival, Plymouth VT, after Alastair's performance. The beautiful diagetic sountrack is provided by the performer who followed him, the lovely and talented Meg Hutchinson.

The 20-month bump

Roper — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 11:57:00 GMT

I'm sure I've said this before, but every few months or so, it feels like the girls make a great leap forward developmentally. They can be cruising along at more or less the same social / verbal / physical level for weeks and weeks, then all of a sudden, they surge forward on the winding path from babyhood to childhood.

The latest leap seemed to coincide with our recent vacation, (which I think is part of what made it an especially rewarding trip) and was all kinds of fun to experience. The novelty will no doubt wear off soon enough, but there have been some particularly heartwarming and adorable developments.

Language-wise, things really seem to be picking up, with both girls more frequently imitating words that they hear. We had our first "Oh-sh**t-we-have-to-start-watching-our-language" moment recently: while we were up in New Hampshire, Alastair discovered that he'd sat on some surface with pine sap on it, and complained loudly about having this gross stuff all over his ass. At which point Clio declared: "Ass!" We've also started to do that classic parent maneuver of spelling out words that we don't want the girls to hear us discussing, lest they obsess. Some ("m-i-l-k") are decidedly easier than others ("S-e-s-a-m-e-S-t-r-e-e-t"). But the best recent language event was the time I sneezed and Elsa said -- clear as day -- "Bless you."

Interesting things are also happening in the way the girls play. They finally seem to have figured out --- and manage to remember about 80% of the time -- that crayons are not for eating. And they've gotten to be pretty good scribblers. The other day, Elsa even drew something resembling a large, purple potato. This is exciting, seeing as most of their work consists of back-and-forth lines in the same direction. Can broccoli-shaped trees with the requisite squirrel hole be far behind? I'm also wondering if pretty soon I can try giving them Play-Doh, but I suspect that may still be too tempting for them to put in their mouths. (Hell, I'm 34 and I still want to eat the stuff.)

They also suddenly seem to have strong feelings about stuffed animals and dolls -- Elsa in particular. When we arrived at our cabin at family camp in New Hampshire, there were a couple of stuffed animals left behind by another family, and Elsa got quite focused on them, hugging and kissing them and arranging them on one of the beds to go "night night." Then, when we were staying with friends in Vermont, she formed a fast, passionate attachment to an Elmo finger puppet and a hard plastic horse ("horsey!") both of which she insisted on having in her crib with her at night. (I forgot to pluck horsey out of the crib before I went to bed, and was therefore woken up at 3am by Elsa, crying and whining in her sleep because she'd rolled onto the thing and couldn't get comfortable. Stupid horsey.) Anyway, there's something surprisingly sweet about watching kids personify (and animalify?) toys.

But one of my favorite new developments is an increased -- or at least more clearly expressed and initiated -- desire for physical contact: cuddling, hand holding, lap sitting, wanting to be picked up. I guess that last one can get a little tiring -- especially because when I pick one kid up, the other wants to be picked up, too, which is almost impossible. But it sure does feel nice to hold your daughter in your arms, knowing that it's because she wants to be held. Fringe benefit: my arms are more toned now than they've been since I was 20.

Naturally, there have been some not-so-great things also associated with this latest developmental surge. The girls are more willful and stubborn about what they want, and more inclined to throw little hissy fits if they don't get it. They tussle with each other over toys more, and have learned the words "mine" and "me." It's two steps forward, one step back, just like the Paula Abdul song. (Or was that two steps forward and two steps back?) In any case, while I'm not sure I'd say things are getting easier, exactly, I can say without reservation that they get steadily more fun.

(Bad posture, mommy!)

Off we go, again

Roper — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 20:52:00 GMT

We are about to leave for another week's vacation, this time up to Sandy Island, on Lake Winnepesaukee. Long-time readers (does a year count as long?) will remember that we took the same trip this time last year. And we'll most likely continue to go to Sandy for the last week of summer -- or Week 9 as it's called up there -- for many years to come. Alastair's been going with his parents since he was four, and I've been going on and off (mostly on) since way back when A. and I were college sweethearts. (Can I get an "awww"?)

I'm feeling more relaxed going into this than I have other recent family trips, maybe because I've finally adjusted to the fact that vacationing with two babies/toddlers isn't vacationing as I've always known it, and that's OK. I am prepared. I am at peace. I have no illusions, and am determined to try enjoy it in all its chaos: dining hall meltdowns, sand-and-sunblock-sticky limbs, nights stuck in our cabin, etc. It also is going to be a lot of fun, I think, now that the girls are more person-like and observant, able to interact and explore and enjoy. And, oh yes, I will be accepting any babysitting help that is offered and begging for it if it isn't. (Julia: take note!)

I won't have internet access on the island, so I probably won't be able to post for about a week. But please don't go away! Come and read again! Here...I'll create a cliffhanger: the First-Ever Elsa and Clio Current Events Trivia Challenge. But no answers until I'm back. Oh, the suspense.

1. This past week at bedtime, Clio has been screaming her head off and refusing to go to sleep unless Alastair or I

a. Put all of her stuffed animals into the crib with her

b. Read her "Jamberry"

c. Leave the light on

d. Come back in and rub her back

2. Clio screaming her head off sounds like

a. Feedback from a microphone too close to an amp

b. A recording of a chainsaw played back at double speed

c. A duck being stepped on, repeatedly

d. All of the above, on shuffle/repeat

3. Lately, Elsa has been pitching a fit every time we

a. Change her diaper

b. Try to put a bib on her

c. Pick up Clio

d. Step on ducks repeatedly

4. Recently, Elsa and Clio have started using the word "dentoo," which we are fairly sure means

a. Thank you

b. Tissue

c. Tattoo

d. Dentyne

5. Clio has recently learned how to (Choose as many as apply)

a. Drink from a "big girl" cup

b. Flush the big toilet (aka "Robert")

c. Blow her nose when you hold a tissue up to it

d. Keep a barette in her hair for more than 5 minutes

e. Separate an egg

f. De-program our satellite TV using the remote

6. Elsa has recently learned how to (Choose as many as apply)

a. Say "please"

b. Climb up the slide (i.e. go the wrong way) at our favorite playground

c. Get guys to buy her drinks

d. Walk down stairs by herself

e. Really piss off the cat

f. Open the refrigerator

7. True or false: the other day, when Clio's feet were stinky after wearing her sneakers all day with no socks, Alastair sprayed Lysol on them. (Her feet, that is.)

8. True or false: you're not supposed to spray children's feet with Lysol, dumbass!

Have a great week.

Postcards from the Jersey Shore

Roper — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 12:45:00 GMT

We just got home from our vacation, and I've got many a picture to share. But first, may I just rant totally off-topic for a moment? It appears that the cat sitter we hired, who was supposed to come every other day while we were gone, did not come AT ALL. The cat's food and water dishes were empty, the litter box full, the mail sitting on the porch under the mail slot, untouched and -- most telling of all -- the tip we left for the sitter untaken.

I am absolutely livid, and quite tempted to write the name of the pet sitting service here so all you Bostonians / Cantabridgians / Somervillians, etc. out there can steer clear, and spread the word. But I'm going to refrain until I actually talk to the owner and find out what the deal is. Maybe there was some kind of terrible, tragic emergency. But still. If it had been a two week vacation, we might have come home to a dead cat. Thank goodness she's a resourceful kitty. It looks like she managed to get into the big bag of dry food. And I could swear there was one more bottle of Sauvignon blanc here when we left...

Anyway. This issue aside (grrrr), it feels good to be home. While I'm not particularly looking forward to going back to work -- things have been ker-azy busy lately -- I must admit, in many ways it's a lot easier than running around after the girls all day in unbabyproofed houses. But enough kvetching. Here. Some golden vacation moments:

A. encourages Clio to "splash splash splash" at our first trip to the beach. She wasn't a fan of the water, but she was a little less freaked out than she'd been on our trip to the beach at Marion. Baby steps, baby steps.

Elsa was funny when it came to the water. She seemed to like it in theory -- she'd run down toward it with gusto, and splash a little in the wettest part of the sand. A few times she even seemed to like it when a wave washed over her feet. But mostly, she'd turn tail and run in the other direction. It was like she enjoyed the danger...until it was real. All too real.

Having thoroughly tortured them at the beach the first morning, we decided to force the girls onto amusement park rides in the afternoon. We thought they'd like being up on the horseys on the Merry-go-Round, with mom and dad holding them, of course. But they were totally spooked. Now I know what that dumb bench thing on Merry-go-Rounds is for. (Full disclosure: they still didn't like it, especially Elsa.)

What Elsa did like was hanging out with her handsome second cousins, three of whom are escorting her to dinner here, down fashionable St. James Place ($180).

And here she is with the fourth second cousin, watching some family-friendly, age-appropriate television. (Jaws, I think.)

Everybody's favorite dark horse, Clio, was the big daredevil when it came to amusement park rides. She's more timid in many things, so I totally expected her to freak out when we tried putting her on the kiddie rides. But if you want to see God laugh, pigeonhole your children: it was Elsa who kicked and screamed. Clio -- though she looked to be in mild shock the whole time -- seemed to really enjoy herself. She steered like her life depended on it and asked for "more" when the rides were over. In a few years, who knows? Maybe she'll be joining my mom and me on the big kid rides...

Excuse me, now. I have to go play with my poor, neglected cat.

Top 5 Cutest Vacation Moments

Roper — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 00:50:00 GMT

So, we've spent the last few days at my aunt's house on the Jersey shore (Ocean City), along with lots and lots of relatives. It was very sweet to bring the girls to a place that is the source of such fond childhood memories for me. My family used to go down every summer for a few days or a week, when it was my grandmother's summer house. Time spent there consisted of long, sunburned days at the beach, playing in the sand and trying to catch the perfect wave on a boogie board; late afternoons reading or playing cards with Grandma on the porch; nights playing miniature golf and arcade games (Skeeball, anyone? Paperboy? OutRun?) and going on rides on the boardwalk.

I'm tired of complaining about how vacations aren't relaxing anymore. They aren't. And it sucks. Indeed. But it's also a whole new kind of rewarding to introduce your children to...well, everything. And, to be fair, grandparents and cousins and aunts were all very helpful with the girls, and A. and I actually did get to sneak away on our own a few times.

Unfortunately, Alastair's got the camera with the pics, and he's on tour in DC while I'm up here in NY at the in-laws' house for a couple of days, so I can't provide a pictoral summary of our adventures, but will do so as soon as A. and I are both in the same state again. In the meantime, I give you the top 5 cutest vacay moments....

5. Elsa repeatedly running down the wet sand on the beach toward the ocean, squealing with glee, and then, any time a wave approached, turning around and running in the other direction, saying, "No! No! No!"

4. Clio riding on the Tin Lizzie kiddie ride at Wonderland Pier, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, looking slightly in shock the whole time, only sneaking quick, sideways glances at us as we waved to her like lunatics from the side. We weren't sure if she was terrified or was having the time of her life and just being a very responsible driver. It turned out to be the latter. When it was time to get off, she cried for more. Next stop: the fire engine ride!

3. Elsa and Clio dancing and twirling around on the pavement in front of the "Music Express" ride. (Their thrill-seeking mother watched from the Spanish Galleon ride, with her l'il brother. We pretended to barf on the teenaged kids in front of us, and they totally freaked out. Heh heh.)

2. Elsa and Clio sitting in their booster seats for dinner after a particularly cranky afternoon, eating peanut butter and black raspberry jam sandwiches, jam covering approximately 80% of the surface of their faces, arms, and hands.

1. Elsa and Clio playing Ring Around the Rosy (or "Ashy" as they call it) with their second cousins (is that what my cousins' kids are?): four sweet-as-can-be boys ranging in age from seven to thirteen. They were absolutely awesome with the gals, and watching them feed their Ashy addiction was about the sweetest thing ever. I think E & C really enjoyed having four big brothers for a few days.

1a. (Because a Top 6 list just doesn't work....) Elsa and Clio playing Ring around the Rosy with each other -- holding hands, dancing, and giggling when they "all fall down." I haven't yet managed to capture this on video, but I must. Seriously. It could be a frickin' commercial for a fertility clinic.

Pics to come soon!

Babes on the Bay

Roper — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 23:53:00 GMT

Apologies for the long pause between postings. We've been away for the past few days, staying with family friends in beautiful Marion, on Buzzards Bay, near the Cape. We brought the girls down last summer, when they were just six months old, and as we were leaving today we were told that if we brought them back next summer, too, that was it; we had to come down with them every year from there on out. Fine with me! It's a beautiful spot, and has all the elements of my ideal family summer getaway: the ocean, green grass and shady trees, an outdoor shower, shelves full of books, big family dinners, an easy, do-what-you-want-when-you-want sort of feel.

Not that we were exactly lounging around. The gals kept us good and busy. But it was easier in some ways than last year, when they were still nursing every three hours and didn't sleep through the night. And this year they could actually do things -- besides just smile and spit up. They colored with markers (none were swallowed, as far as I know) and kicked balls around in the yard with the big kids. They played with all manner of toys, representing three generations (A 1950s stacking toy, 1970s Fisher Price people, a present day Spongebob sprinkler). And, to my delight, they discovered the joys of playing in the sand -- something I always loved to do as a kid.

They were not, however, fans of the ocean itself. We tried to get them to dip their feet in, but they would have none of it. Even when we were holding them up in our arms, while we stood in ankle-deep water, they were totally freaked out. This was the first time they've experienced the ocean with enough awareness to be frightened by it. I can't say I blame them -- the wind, the waves, the noise, the vastness. Definitely a little intimidating. So, we stuck to terra firma, for fun with Mom's sunglasses...

....and waiting-for-grilled-cheese-sandwiches from the beach grill antics.

I'd be lying if I said it was a relaxing weekend. With twin toddlers, I don't think a genuinely relaxing vacation is possible, unless, perhaps, you bring a nanny along. (Not that I know this from experience, alas...) There's just too much packing and schlepping and chasing and cleaning and feeding and dressing and undressing and sunblock slathering for it to feel exactly "restful." Gone are the days of leisurely walks, falling asleep while reading a good book, playing an uninterrupted game of cards or Scrabble. (Do I know how to party or what?) But it was, nevertheless, extremely refreshing. Good company, good eats, gorgeous scenery, etc. And as devoted as I am to you, my fellow Babbleonians, it was nice to leave the Internet behind for a few days.

Before I go -- one last photo, of yours truly.

Can anyone guess why I am wearing an eye patch? (Made last summer by a nine-year-old boy, for playing pirates)

A. To draw attention away from my unnaturally pale limbs and shamefully un-beachy attire

B. Because that morning, Elsa had inadvertently poked me in the eye with a paint color chip, and when we arrived in Marion, for some reason, it started hurting again, like a motherf*er, and I got tired of holding my hand over it to keep it closed.

C. Because I'm a pirate. (Duh)

D. All of the above

How We Spent Our Summer Vacation

Roper — Sun, 02 Sep 2007 15:14:00 GMT

We just got back from a week at lovely Sandy Island family camp, and have the bug bites, dirty fingernails and suitcases smelling of damp towels to prove it. It was a great week, with stellar weather, and the girls wowed everyone with their cuteness. It was a lot of fun to introduce them to people we've known for years, some of whom have known Alastair since he was a kid. Clio quickly overcame her stranger anxiety, and let herself be passed from person to person like a small, smiling hot potato. (Or cheap floozy, if you like.) Elsa was actually the one who got a little cranky and clingy as the week went on, showing a marked preference for being held by yours truly. I must admit that while part of me wanted her to just buck up and deal, another part kinda liked it. (I'm the mommy! I'm the mommy!)

The gals had many adventures, including a couple of dips in Lake Winepesaukee and their first glimpses of live tennis, as their father triumphed on the court to become the reigning Week 9 champ. Elsa sampled mouthfuls of every natural substance on the island, including sand, dirt, pine needles, grass and wood chips, and Clio finally broke a tooth. It's just a little white speck, but it's there. In other oral news, both girls became quite proficient at eating Cheerios, which we employed frequently to keep them occupied in the dining hall during mealtimes. By the end of the week, they were actually swallowing the majority of the O's that they stuffed in their mouths, as opposed to dropping them down their shirts, getting bits of them stuck in their noses, smeared on their shirts, etc. By majority, I mean approximately 51%.

We had a great time, too, although, needless to say, it was quite a different vacation experience from past years at Sandy. Thankfully, people were incredibly helpful (extra special shout-outs to Heidi, Jeff and Julia and, of course, Abuelito) so we did manage to squeeze in some tennis, a few dips in the lake, and some nights "out" -- contra dancing in the lodge, music trivia in the dining hall, moon-gazing on the dock. But -- did you sense a "but" coming? -- as nice as the week was, it was also the first time since the girls were born that I've felt a little bit of longing for my life before them.

I first went to Sandy 13 years ago, as a sophomore in college, when Alastair and I were dating. We've gone together every summer since, save for one or two in our early twenties when we were broken up, and another two when I was in grad school and we were living in Iowa. It's always the last week of August, abutting Labor Day weekend, so the nights are often cool, the wind off the lake can be brisk, and there's that delicious back-to-school feeling in the air. And though it's been a long time since I've had any school to go back to, the feeling has persisted -- that sense of anticipation and a fresh start, mingled with a touch of nostalgia for the summer, for childhood, for all things sweet and past. I didn't realize until this year that a necessary ingredient for that feeling, beyond dry sunny days and cool nights (of which we had plenty), is time to be alone and read and reflect (of which I had precious little).

But the other big difference, I've come to realize, is that for the first time in my life I'm not totally focused on myself, my plans, my ambitions. So when I look to the months ahead, I'm not only thinking about what I'm going to do for myself and my career and my wardrobe (every fall, I delude myself anew that I'm going to become a better dresser, for real this time). I'm also thinking about how the girls are going to need some warm clothes and we'll need to start installing some safety gates and maybe I should buy an inflatable seat to put in the big bathtub since they're almost too big for the infant tub. And I'm not looking forward to other things I might have in the past, because they simply aren't part of the picture anymore, at least for a while: long meandering walks alone with Alastair on fall weekend afternoons, browsing books at the Harvard Coop, meeting friends after work for drinks and apps, going to all-night S&M orgies. God, how I miss the all-night S&M orgies of autumns past.

My love for my daughters grows exponentially. They are changing and growing and blossoming into such cool, unique little people, and I can't believe the depth of the love I feel for them. I don't want to go backward to the self-centered (and I don't mean that in a negative way) years before the babies, but I can't help being a little nostalgic for them. Which is, I guess, in keeping with the season.

I promise another post soon with pics from the week and tales of the far more interesting characters in this ongoing saga: Elsa and Clio.