Baby Squared : entertaining toddlers

Hulk Hogan Wants a Cookie

Roper — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 13:45:00 GMT

We have major toy storage issues in our house. Because we don't have a dedicated "playroom" for the girls, and because their bedroom is upstairs (and we're not, most of the time), the majority of their stuff is in the living/dining room, wedged in wherever we can find space for it: on the shelf underneath the coffee table, on the floor underneath our wall-mounted bookshelves, and (sigh) on and in our antique tiger maple sideboard. We've also got a couple of big square baskets where we keep smaller toys, but they're really too large and deep for the job -- you can't easily find things in them -- and as a result, Alastair calls them the place where "toys go to die."

This weekend, in an attempt to recussitate some of said dead toys, I dumped out the contents of the baskets in front of the girls. They immediately seized on the WWF (now known as WWE) action figures from Alastair's childhood: Hulk Hogan and the Iron Sheik.

"He's wearing underpants!" Elsa said (of Hulk Hogan). "He got a muck-tack!" Clio said of the Iron Sheik. (Translation: mustache.)

So, all weekend, the Hulkster and the Sheik (a.k.a, their "mans") were the toys of choice. They slept in the girls' beds, they went to the playground with them in the girls' doll strollers, and they got "baths" in tupperware containers full of water in the kitchen. (Which is really a good thing, because, you know -- wrestlers get sweaty.) It was particularly sweet to see the girls attempting to cover Hulk and Sheik's eyes with washcloths while they were washing their hair, to keep the soap from getting in their eyes.

By the way, this baths-for-toys thing is actually a pretty good indoor activity for toddlers / preschoolers -- one of those "why didn't I think of this sooner?" ideas. All you need are a couple of tubs and some water -- plus a little dish soap, if you want to make bubbles -- some towels and/or washcloths, and various plastic dolls, animals and action figures. Our baths started out with just the Hulk and the Sheik, but it was so much fun that Dora, Dora's mom, a frog, a fish, some Playskool people, and some random plastic clown figures of uncertain origin all jumped in too. It kept Elsa and Clio occupied for a solid half hour. Bonus: if your kids are as messy as mine, part of your kitchen floor will end up getting washed as a result!

But back to wrestlers. Hulk Hogan (who Elsa, inexplicably, started calling "Mrs. Hogan" at some point in the weekend) and the Iron Sheik (or the "Ironing Sheik" as Clio called her -- perhaps a housewife pal of Mrs. Hogan's?) also came with us in the car to our friends' house on Sunday afternoon. The whole way there, they demanded milk, waffles, yogurt and other of the girls' favorite foods, which I had to imaginarily hand back to them from the front seat. At one point, we heard Elsa say to Mrs. Hogan, "Oh, you want a cookie? OK, but you have to finish your dinner first." The Ironing Sheik also got his diaper changed while we were en route, which must have been embarrassing for him, with Mrs. Hogan already being in underpants and all.

Within a few days or a week, the girls will probably have moved on to other toys. But it's been fun watching them bond with a couple of 1980s professional wrestlers. Especially since -- confession time! -- I have a special bond with professional wrestling myself. Not many people know this, but when I was a kid, I did some acting and modeling, and one of my plumbest gigs ever was a job for the WWF fan-gear catalogue, circa 1985.

Yes, I'm absolutely dead serious. (And if posting this photo here isn't proof that I love you and am thankful for your readership, I don't know what is.)

Hulkamania!!

Happy Thanksgiving, Babblers.

PS -- Shameless husband promotion: Alastair's new kids' album, A Cow Says Moock, is now available! Take a listen and place your holiday orders at www.moockmusic.com

Now we're cookin'

Roper — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 20:51:00 GMT

For over a year now, I've read and been told that cooking / baking is a fun activity to do with toddlers. Yes, well, maybe I was doing something wrong, but the several attempts I made at this resulted in chaos, messes, and major intra-sibling brawls over whose turn it was to mix / pour / etc. And the girls didn't quite grasp the concept that you mix with a spoon, not with your fist. So, maybe cooking is a dandy activity to do with one preternaturally calm toddler, but with two boisterous ones like mine, it's been pretty much impossible.

Lately, though, I've given it another shot, and the results have been quite good. In the past couple of months we've made oatmeal cookies, pumpkin bread and, most recently, pretzels, using this recipe. This latest one was particularly fun, because the girls got to play around with the dough and make it into shapes. Sort of. Mostly they just put little clumps of it onto the cookie sheets, which I then stealthily reworked before sliding the trays into the oven. (They particularly liked the big "E" and "C" I made for them.)

They also, of course, ate a fair amount of dough. I know that you're not supposed to let kids eat stuff with uncooked eggs in it -- salmonella and all that. But in my 35 years, I've probably eaten the equivalent of five pounds of raw batter / cookie dough, and I've never had a bellyache, much less food poisoning. So while I try to limit the girls' dough-ingestion, I don't freak out about it either. You cook with kids, and they're gonna eat some dough. Not much getting around it.

Funniest don't-eat-anymore-dough moment: while the girls were "helping" me knead the dough on the table, which was sprinkled with flour, I caught Clio eating something out of the corner of my eye, and told her to please not eat anymore dough. She said, "But I'm just eating the flour!" We can't get the child to eat three-quarters of the real food we put in front of her, but she thinks flour off a tabletop is a real treat.

Anyway, in doing these baking projects, I've gotten pretty good at making things run smoothly: give each girl a spoon for mixing and have them take turns (it's actually a very good exercise in turn-taking, now that they're old enough to understand the concept), divvy up ingredients so they can each pour some of them into the bowl, and keep a running commentary going on the things I'm doing that they're not involved in, always punctuated by "and when they're done we can eat them!" The whole thing is a pretty decent lesson in delayed gratification, come to think of it. Cultivating emotional intelligence and all that.

Going forward, though, I need to think of ways to get them involved in cooking projects that aren't so.....calorific. For me, I mean. Fresh baked goods are pretty high on my list of pleasures in life, and it would be tempting to whip up a batch of cookies / bread / etc. every time I'm looking for a good indoor activity. But the options are limited: I don't think the gals quite ready to start dicing vegetables, they can't do anything with raw meat because it will end up in their mouths, and God knows I don't want them within ten feet of the stove top.

They could tear up lettuce leaves, I suppose. Mash up avocadoes for guacomole? Maybe we could do (vegetarian) rice balls? (Something I've never made, but have heard exists.) Fresh pasta? What else?

Activity of the Week: Happy Birthday To You

Roper — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 11:06:00 GMT

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.) Then, 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.)

Now, the big birthday activity is making "Happy birthday to yous" -- their term for birthday presents. It's quite simple: you take a piece of paper, draw on or a put a sticker on it if you like, and carefully crumple it up. Then, you hand it to the nearest adult and say "I made you a happy birthday to you!" As the lucky adult recipient, it's your job to say, "Oh, wow! It's beautiful! Thank you!" and carefully unwrap it to reveal -- nothing. (I tried, once, to introduce the idea of wrap little things up inside their "presents" --- toys, legos, etc. -- but that just pissed them off. They obviously know what they're doing.) One thing I have contributed to this game, which they like, is giving them new materials to work with -- aluminum foil, construction paper, wrapping paper scraps, pages torn from old magazines, bows, etc. This, they like. But pretty much, they just like me to hang out and do my own thing -- check email, do the dishes, sweep the floor, etc. -- while they work, then act very excited when they hand me the treasure they've created. It's a pretty freakin' good activity.

We added birthday hats to the mix yesterday, which as a hit, until Clio snapped herself with the elastic.

Happy to you!!

Thanks, by the way, to everyone for your sage thoughts and advice on my last post. It's great hearing about different people's experiences and perspectives. I think those who said that a happy mom = a better mom really hit the nail on the head. I am definitely more patient and focused with the girls when I feel like I'm getting the time and space I need for my writing. It would make me so proud -- and I hope it would make them proud, too -- to one day be able to show Elsa and Clio a book and say, "Your mommy wrote this." And tell them that they can and should do what they can to follow their bliss in life, too, whatever it may be. (Birthday party planning, perhaps?)

My Writing Mother Guilt

Roper — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 00:17:00 GMT

Katie Allison Granjau over at Home/Work just wrote a great post about her Summertime Working Mother's Guilt. I've been wrestling alot with my feelings about my work / family balance, too, specifically as it pertains to my fiction and nonfiction writing -- a.k.a. the part of my work that doesn't pay me shite in monetary terms, but that I truly love, and dream of making at least part of a living at someday.

I've always felt extremely fortunate to have a situation where I can work part time (25-30 hrs/week) at a well-paid job-job that I really enjoy ("love" would be slightly too strong a word....it is advertising, after all) AND have time to be with the girls AND sneak in some time to write my own stuff, including this blog, AND even watch the occasional DVR-ed episode of 30 Rock. It's been tricky at times to maintain the balance, but mostly I've managed. Lately, though, it feels like it's gotten a lot harder to fit everything in.

My workload and responsibilities at work are, more and more frequently, oozing out beyond my set hours. (There's a reason why almost nobody works part-time at an ad agency; it's just not a punch-the-clock kind of job.) At the same time, taking care of the girls -- and their attendant needs -- seems to be taking up more time. They nap less and go to bed later. They make bigger messes. They eat more. (Does anyone else feel like they basically LIVE at the grocery store? Jeez!) As a result of all this, I'm finding less and less time to do my own writing. Because when I have to choose between two of the three things -- the job that pays the bills, my family, and my writing -- it's always the writing that gets the shaft.

Recently, though, we've been talking about the possibility of shifting our babysitter's schedule around so that on Wednesday afternoons, when I normally take care of the girls and Alastair works, I could write instead. That's potentially four or five extra hours of writing time per week, which would be awesome. And isn't really that much less time with the girls in the grand scheme of things. So....why do I feel guilty about the prospect?

I really could use another big chunk of writing time on a regular basis. Trying to squeeze in an hour here and there is fine to an extent, but to truly make progress, particularly when it comes to longer pieces, I need those bigger stretches. On the other hand, a part of me wonders if I shouldn't be trying so hard to make time for writing in general. Maybe I should put that part of my life on hold for a few years -- or at least scale back more significantly -- and get back into it when the girls are slightly less high maintenance and slightly less adorable. (But do they ever get less high maintenance or less adorable, in one way or another?)

If we make this change, I'll still have 3-day weekends with the girls. And I usually get home from work at a reasonable hour so I can hang out with the girls for a bit and put them to bed. For a lot of moms who work full time outside the home, neither of these things is possible. But I like the fact that I'm not a full-time working mom. At the same time -- and maybe this is where the guilt kicks in -- as much as I love my girls, I really don't miss them that much when I'm working, whether I'm at my "real" job or upstairs in my office writing.

I mean, sure -- I'm always happy to see them when I'm done. But it's not like I'm sitting there thinking "Gosh, I'd rather be out at the playground or drawing with sidewalk chalk or refereeing whiney toy disputes." I mean, I'd hate it if I NEVER got to do those things. But I don't feel the need to be doing them more than I already am. And I feel like maybe I could even handle a little less, if it meant I could make more headway on the work that I'm passionate about.

I know that some women love being with their children as much as possible, and hate that they have to go back to work. I know -- and have always known -- that that's not me. I also know that I would never make the choice to spend so much time and energy on my career(s) that I barely ever got to see my children. But here I am in sort of a middle zone, where it's harder to draw the lines and make the choices and figure out what I really want -- or what I really ought to do.

How do you draw the line between selfish and self-preservation? How do you process the working / parenting dilemma? Any parents of older kids out there, have you regretted any of your choices after the fact?

Sorry this is such a rambly and, probably, repetitive post. Not one of my more eloquent efforts. But who's got time to edit??!

PS -- speaking of the writing / parenting balancing act, a couple of Father's Day-related events in the Boston area from my friend and former Babble Blogger Steve Almond,. On June 9th at 6pm, a panel discussion on "Being a Father" with Sven Birkerts, Ben George, and Jennifer Boylan at the Brattle Theatre in Cambridge. There's also a special Father's Day Reading @ Porter Square Books, Wednesday, June 17, 2009 at 7:00 p.m. And yes, Steve is giving me free chocolate in exchange for including these listings in my blog. I can always be bribed with chocolate.

Kids' Songs that aren't really Kids' Songs

Roper — Wed, 27 May 2009 16:00:00 GMT

This past weekend, Alastair started recording his first-ever album of kids' music -- or family music as he (and Dan Zanes) prefer to call it. It's going to be a mix of Alastair's original tunes and some covers of songs by American folk/blues greats like Woody Guthrie and Mississippi John Hurt. He played me some of the rough tracks last night, and I think it's going to be a great album -- the kind that adults will enjoy, too. Or at least not be driven insane by. (Of course, I'm somewhat biased.)

My sweetie's album aside, I think it's fair to say that we're in the midst of a children's music renaissance right now, and for this I am incredibly grateful. I truly feel for parents of the late eighties and early nineties, who had to sustain their children on an empty-calorie musical diet of Raffi, Hap Palmer and Wee Sing. There are just so many more options out there now -- the Putumayo albums, the former-rock-and-rollers-turned-kid-peformers albums (Dan Zanes, They Might Be Giants, etc.), the rediscovered digitally remastered special edition 70s classics albums (We've got Free to Be You and Me and The Point on CD), and the retro-cool rediscoveries (the Johnny Cash kids' album), to name only a few. I'm excited to check out more of these as the girls get more and more into listening to music.

But I'm also increasingly interested in identifying songs that aren't really "kids' music" per se, but that the girls like. We've hit on a few big winners so far: One is "Gone Gone Gone," from Raising Sand, the Allison Kraus and Robert Plant collaboration album. I really dig this album, and this song in particular. Plant lets a little bit of that old-time Zeppelin wailing rip and it makes me ever so slightly weak in the knees. It's also got a really good driving beat. When I play it in the car for the girls, I do this sort of dorky air-drumming and sing "boom boom boom, boom boom boom," along with the percussion. It caught on quick with Elsa and Clio, who started doing their own little air-drumming move and began referring to the song as "Boom boom" and, later, "Chicka boom." (A little cross-media confusion there.) Actually, they started requesting this one so much that I actually did get a little sick of it. Almost.

A more recent discovery is "Big Girls Don't Cry" by The Four Seasons. If you've been reading this blog for a while, then you already know that I am a serious, unrepentant Dirty Dancing fan. Well, this weekend on the way home from Maine, I put the soundtrack on because I was in the mood to sing along to something. When this song came on, Clio piped up: "It's a big girl song!" I asked, "Do you cry?" and she said, "No, I not crying." After it was over, she asked to hear the "Big Girl" song again. It may be a little early to say, but I predict that this one is going to be a big hit. Actually, a lot of stuff on the Dirty Dancing album has kid-friendly potential, ironically. There's "Be My Baby," for one (It's got a baby in it!). And "Stay," which features the line "Your mommy don't mind...and your daddy don't mind..." (Never mind what it's really about! It's got a mommy and a daddy!) I think it's probably advisable to stay away from "She's Like the Wind (Through my Tree)" -- but that has nothing to do with whether or not it's appropriate for children. More like whether or not it's appropriate that the song exists.

We've also got a couple of rad mix albums that friends of ours have put together for the girls, featuring such excellent non-kid-specific songs as "Octopus's Garden," "Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, "Que Sera" sung by Doris Day, and "If You Want to Sing Out" by Cat Stevens. I'm planning to push these hard with the girls in the near future. I'm also thinking I need to go through my iTunes and make a giant playlist called "Kids' Songs that aren't really Kids' Songs." Or something slightly shorter. Any recommendations for songs to include? (Especially those that play into my personal predilection toward showtunes and 60s/70s music...?)

A Toddler Art Critique with Enaj Repor

Roper — Wed, 06 May 2009 17:49:00 GMT

In my last post, I mentioned some of the quips Clio and Elsa made recently while we were drawing pictures. And, of course, the only thing more fascinating than hearing about the adorable things other people's kids say is looking at their fabulous artwork, right? But instead of just blathering on about Elsa and Clio's blossoming artistic abilities, I thought I would change things up a little by inviting world-renowned toddler art critic and scholar Dr. Enaj Repor (she's, um.....Turkish) to provide her professional commentary on some of the girls' recent work. So, without further ado: Enaj?

Thank you, Jane. Greetings, Baby Squared readers. I'm mildly pleased to be here. Before I discuss the specific works in question, I'd like to make a few comments on toddler art in general, specifically that of toddlers in the 24 to 30 month-old range, into which Elsa and Clio fall. At this age, children are not yet capable of representational art. Except in very rare cases (see my book, Look, Mommy, it's a Cantilevered Bridge: Studies in Accelerated Juvenile Artistic Development, 2002) they lack the necessary eye-hand-mind coordination to recreate recognizable images and objects.

Their drawings are, however, far from the "scribbles" they're often written off as by amateurs. The capacity for abstract expressionism in toddlers, while not a conscious aesthetic decision, is, in fact, quite remarkable. By examining the drawings of a two-year old, one (and by one, I mean me and only me) can ascertain a great deal about their inner lives, temperament, and worldview. One (still me) can also predict -- with a surprising accuracy -- the arc of their future creative development.

I'd like to preface my commentary by noting that I have not met either of the artists, or read anything else on this blog, so my interpretations are based purely on the work itself. Of course, these are only the interpretations of one person. But that person is me, ergo they are correct. Try to keep up.

Untitled

Elsa Moock, 2009

Crayon on paper

A profusion of swirling lines; open curves; use of the entire canvas -- all of these indicate an expansive, outgoing temperament. The lines are of varying weights, but appear to be continuous -- that is to say, the crayon is rarely lifted from the paper -- suggesting that the work was created quickly, in the style of a gesture drawing. (Perhaps this work is part of a series?) I would surmise that the artist is a risk taker, perhaps impulsive in her behavior at times, with impressive gross motor skills. A real sense of "carpe diem" here. Any representational intentions the artist might have had were not fulfilled, owing to the developmental limitations I mentioned earlier. However, I do get the distinct sense that what she might have been trying to draw here is a stinky, stinky bat.

Untitled

Elsa Moock, 2009

Crayon on paper

A similarly expansive style: large shapes, swift crayonstrokes. A slightly less fluid look overall, suggesting that perhaps this piece was, in fact, drawn before Untitled number 1 -- a sort of "warm up," if you will. One imagines the cacophonic but strangely pleasing sound of a tuning orchestra. Most notable in this work, however, are the orange lines which, judging from their texture and more controlled shape, were drawn by a different hand, most likely that of an adult. The (toddler) artist is clearly comfortable with a collaborative approach to art. (Note what appears to be a primitive attempt to "color in" the circle that the adult drew, toward the bottom of the page.) I wouldn't be suprised if, in the future, this artist moved toward more ensemble-oriented pursuits, e.g. theater, dance, community organizing, rugby, etc.

Untitled

Clio Moock, 2009

Crayon on paper

Even without looking at the name it's quite obvious (even to a layperson, I would hope) that we're looking at the work of a different toddler artist. Note the prominence of tight, compact crayonstrokes, quite intentional in their orientation and varying degrees of darkness. This style suggests an artist of intense emotion and singular focus; I would not want to have to deal with a tantrum from this one. But note also the playful experimentation with different kinds of line, shape and weight. There's an underlying humor to this piece -- like a twinkle in the eye of a dragon. As for the black lines on the paper, they may have been added as an intentional tonal contrast. It's also possible that they were there before the artist began her work, or were added by her sister. If it's the latter, I suspect it didn't go over too well. There's no "I" in team (or in "Elsa" for that matter), but there most definitely is one in "Clio."

Untitled

Clio Moock, 2009

Crayon on paper

Here, the artist's focus grows even more intense. The viewer is confronted with an intricate explosion of color and texture which, though it looks hastily made, is actually quite a time consuming process for a child under 36 months. Again, it's not entirely clear whether or not the other lines on the page -- the black, green, brown and blue -- are Clio's own additions, or those of a second hand. However, from the way it limns the "epicenters" of the red forms, the black line seems likely to be an intentional choice of the artist. Note the way it tapers off and shrivels to an end, in a sort of a graphic whimper -- a striking contrast to the "bang" the rest of the piece delivers. This artist shows great, if enigmatic, potential. If she does not pursue the visual arts, cardiovascular surgery or standup comedy are likely alternatives.

Thus ends my commentary. I am not interested in your puny opinions on my interpretations, and I am certainly not interested in hearing about your children's work. But I suppose Jane might be.

The Joys of City Living

Roper — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 01:50:00 GMT

The great thing about raising toddlers in a major metropolitan area is that there are plenty of entertainment / outing options. We have our pick of playgrounds, libraries, museums, and family-focused events, plus -- a nice bonus of the Boston area -- easy access to nature preserves, orchards, petting zoos, etc. The not so great thing is that these places are frequently quite crowded. It's like other families somehow think they have just as much right to take advantage of their surroundings as my family does. The nerve of them!

On Friday morning, I took the girls to the Somerville library, expecting to spend some nice, quiet time in the children's area, reading books, doing some puzzles, de-shelving some DVDs. We didn't get there in time for story hour, because the girls -- bless their hearts -- had slept in. They generally wake up at around 7:30, but on Friday morning they slept until -- wait for it -- almost nine-thirty. (They actually sleep late quite frequently on Fridays and Sundays -- my mornings to get up with them -- but, curiously, wake up early on Saturdays when it's my turn to sleep in. It drives Alastair bonkers. He's convinced I know some kind of secret Jedi toddler mind trick that I'm not letting him in on. Perhaps I do.)

Anyway, we got to the library just after storytime, which was fine -- I figured it would be less crowded that way. But as it turns out, an entire freakin' daycare had come to storytime, and stuck around for about half an hour afterward. There were seriously about 30 little kids and their handlers crammed into the picture book area, such that we couldn't even get in. Very annoying. And yet, I guess I can't really justify complaining about it. The library is a public place, kids in daycare need a change of scene, too, it's a free country, blah blah blah. Such a bummer to be annoyed without having reason to be indignant!

Fortunately, the girls were not fazed by this little inconvenience. They started asking to go in the elevator, which I was happy to oblige. We rode up to the third floor -- the mezzanine over the adult section -- and the girls took great delight in shouting "peekaboo!" to the people below while I tried in vain to hush them and the elevator took its sweet time coming back.

Funny: I assumed, since the girls were so insistent about going on the elevator, that Alastair must have taken them on it during another library visit. As it turns out, he hadn't. Which cracks me up. How did the girls even know there was an elevator there? It was down a hall and around the corner. I didn't even know it existed. And yet, the girls seemed to sense its presence and location instinctively. Elevator-seeking toddlers! (I wonder if this power could be harnessed to the benefit of humanity somehow?)

As for the other crowded weekend outing -- well, we walked right into it, eyes wide open. We should have known better. In fact, I'm surprised I even suggested this particular activity, given what a snob I can be when it comes to branded, corporate entertainment for the masses. But the girls didn't nap, and it was raining, and we were all feeling ansty and claustrophobic and so I suggested (gulp) we go to (in an embarrassed whisper) Chuck E. Cheese's.

Now, mind you, I had not set foot in a Chuck E. Cheese's since I was a kid, and the franchise was brand new, circa '84/'85. In my memory, Chuck E. Cheese's was a cavernous pizza joint with a ball pit and some air hockey tables, maybe a few skee-ball courts and a couple of lame, token-operated rides. Greasy food. Singing, animatronic characters. The place hadn't quite caught on yet, and I don't remember it ever being crowded. So I wasn't quite prepared for Chuck E. Cheese of Everett, MA on a rainy Sunday afternoon: wall to wall people, games and rides you had to walk sideways to fit between, and so much noise you could barely hear yourself thinking "what was I thinking?" (Though the most disturbing feature of the place, by far, was the salad bar. Both its contents and the fact that there was one at all.)

It actually wasn't a disaster, though. Clio held tight to my hand and led me around to various things she wanted to see -- her favorite was the train set in a glass case, and she also liked watching the basketball free-throw games. Elsa took a ride on a coin-op merry-go-round and in a mechanical car with a large, molded plastic Chuck E. Cheese in the passenger seat. Given the amount of stimulation and chaos, both girls were surprisingly calm. They loved the bad pizza. And, though Elsa at first shied away from the person walking around dressed up as Chuck E. Cheese, she later ventured a wave, and as we were leaving, she chattered to me very proudly about how she'd said "hi" to the mouse.

It was an interesting experience. Certainly a change from our usual scene. But I don't think we'll be going back any time soon. The brief, intimate conversation I had with Clio as we were waiting for our pizza pretty much sums it up:

Me: You ready for some pizza, Cli?

Clio: Yeah.

Me: What do you think, do you like this place?

Clio: No.

Me: Why don't you like it?

Clio: It's yucky.

Me: Yeah, it is kind of yucky, isn't it?

Clio: (Nodding, wide-eyed) Yeah.

Activity of the Week: Refinancing Your Mortgage

Roper — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 22:55:00 GMT

I can't help giggling inwardly every time I mention to someone that we're in the process of refinancing our mortgage. It just sounds so damned grown-up. The fact that we have a mortgage at all is still baffling to me at times, but now -- going and refinancing it? As if we're on top of our finances and financial planning? Ha! Ha. But I guess we are, because at some point a few months back, we noticed that rates seemed to be dropping, and asked our mortgage broker (hee hee!) if maybe we should consider refinancing, and here we are, with all the papers signed and much lower rate, and somehow Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae and the government are involved, and the upshot is, we're going to save a few hundred bucks a month. This is good, right?

OK, but here's what's not good: taking your two-year-old children to the closing.

Some -- many -- will say, well, yeah. No shit, Sherlock. Why would you make toddlers a part of an important financial/legal transaction? With all the money you're theoretically going to save by doing this, wouldn't you be justified in hiring a babysitter for a couple of hours to watch your kids while you go into the attorney's office and take care of the paperwork? What's twenty or thirty bucks when you're going to be saving a few grand per year on your payments?

It's a good question. And a fair one. But one we, stupidly, didn't ask ourselves. We tried to set up an appointment at a time when our regular sitter was available, but it didn't work out, and we didn't bother trying to line up someone else. I guess you could say we were feeling a little cocky. A few weeks ago, we actually successfully signed the paperwork for a new (used) car with the girls in tow. So we figured hey, how hard can it be? We did a car, why not a mortgage? Hell, let's bring 'em with us next time one of us gets called for jury duty!

And so, on Friday afternoon, we found ourselves driving into Boston -- all four of us -- eking out a parking space on Boylston, walking through bitter cold to the attorney's office, herding Elsa and Clio into the elevator and attempting to keep them quiet and occupied while we signed approximately ten thousand different documents, almost none of which we understood. We might have signed the girls away to be the brides of Bedouin herdsmen when they turn 16. I wouldn't know.

I do know that for the half hour that we sat there with Mr. Slick Lawyer, signing our names, the girls were in almost perpetual motion: climbing up onto the swivel chairs and asking for help to get down. Grabbing at vaious office supplies. Doing laps around the conference table. Asking us to read them the books we'd brought in a vain attempt to keep them occupied. Fighting over the calculator that Mr. Slick -- and, to be fair, very patient -- Lawyer gave them to play with. Asking to be picked up. Asking to go. Asking for grapes. (?)

We have until tomorrow to review all the paperwork and cancel if we discover any terms that we don't like, i.e. Bedouin bride prices. So, we'll do that tonight after the girls go to bed, though I don't honestly expect to find anything objectionable. Rather, not anything that I would be able to recognize as objectionable ahead of time. (Flash forward a year to us getting foreclosed on, due to some arcane technicality. We'd plead our case to the collectors: "But we brought our two-year olds with us to the closing! We were quite clearly not of sound mind and body when we signed these documents!")

Anyway, learn from our mistake, gentle readers. When large amounts of money, credit or real-estate are changing hands, shell out for a sitter. And if for some reason you can't, at the very least -- BRING GRAPES.

By the way, thanks so much to everyone who has aleady downloaded and reviewed my novel excerpt in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest. I am so grateful for your support and your reviews. At one point on Thursday, my book was actually ranked #61 in Amazon books! (What are the chances I'll ever see that again??) They won't announce the semi-finalists until April 15, so I'll have to bite my nails until then. But even if I don't make it to the next round (the big deciding factor will be a review from a Publisher's Weekly critic), it's been a real treat to finally have people reading a bit of the book and (for the most part) seeming to like it. Thank you! Grazie! Merci! Gracias! Spaseeba! Domo arrigato! Danke!

Activity of the Week: Play-Dough Sans Pants

Roper — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 12:07:00 GMT

We've made home-made play-dough a few times before in the Baby Squared household, but today was special, because we did it without pants. That is, the girls did. Elsa started it. We were all just hanging out in the living room, reading books and doing puzzles and stuff, and she suddenly decided to pull her pants down. (Her very favorite pants, too -- the black pleather ones her grandma scored from the thrift shop!) I asked her if she wanted to go to the potty (not like she ever does), but she said no, and started shuffling around with her pants around her ankles, grinning. "Elsa funny?" she asked. "Yeah," I replied. "You're pretty funny." She eventually took them all the way off, and Clio decided that this seemed like a pretty good idea, so I helped her take her pants off too. Both girls suggested that I follow suit, but I declined. My legs aren't nearly as cute as theirs are.

The pants stayed off all afternoon. I think this made the play-dough making experience extra special. The girls got to feel more connected to their medium, while at the same time saving their pants from wet flour paste and food coloring stains. (This is especially good for Elsa, who asks to wear her black pleather pants almost every day.) It was also gave the whole thing a summery sort of feel, in spite of the fact that outside it was 29 degrees, with a foot of snow on the ground.

So, without further ado, here you go: Play-Dough Sans Pants. Or Pantless Play-dough, if you don't like the French. (Apologies to my French readers. I like you.)

Age range: 2 years - adult

Materials needed: Flour, salt, water, measuring cups, bowls, spoons, food coloring (optional)

Materials NOT needed: Pants

Prep time: None, not counting time required to remove pants.

Time it will keep your kids quietly, safely occupied: A good 20 minutes, at least

Developmental benefits: Enhances small motor skills, encourages creativity, fosters body-image self-esteem

There are a zillion different play-dough recipes out there, but I like this one because it's so easy, and there's no cooking involved. Just mix 1/4 cup salt and 1 cup of flour, then add between 1/3 and 1/2 cup water. (Add it slowly to get the consistency you want, and add more flour and salt if it gets too wet.) If you want, you can add food coloring to the water. Of course, the kiddos can help pour the ingredients into the bowl / onto the floor and mix to their hearts' content. It may take a little adult muscle/coordination to get the final mixing done, so you actually get a nice big glob of dough.

In the past, I've done most of the making myself, so that the focus of the activity was really more about playing with the play-dough. And not as messy. But today, I don't know -- the whole pants off thing got me feeling kind of crazy and loose, and I let the girls do most of the pouring and mixing themselves. The results were gloriously messy, and the girls loved it.

Elsa's intense, hands-on culinary technique.

Clio doing something she knows she's not supposed to do -- without pants on. No doubt it won't be the last time.

And when they were good, they were so adorably good

Roper — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 12:59:00 GMT

I am totally going to jinx myself by writing this, but yesterday afternoon, the girls were just amazingly, endearingly lovely. I realize that stories where everything goes right don't generally make for very compelling reading. But I feel the need to document this day, for future reference if nothing else. It's not like a pleasant afternoon with the girls is some huge anomaly -- the majority of the time (maybe not a supermajority, but a majority nevertheless) they're easy going enough. But yesterday, all the stars aligned, and for four straight hours, I can honestly say that I enjoyed every minute of their company. Some highlights:

1. When I got home from work, just after two, I expected the girls to wake up from their nap at any second. I lay down in bed and read a chapter of Pamuk's Snow (a hypnotic sort of read), dozed off, and wasn't awoken until just after 3:00, when Clio started babbling. I actually lay in bed for a few minutes more, just listening to her and Elsa before I went in to get them up. In the space of an hour, after a somewhat stressful morning at work, I'd gotten to read, nap, and be awoken by the sound of my girls chattering. Three of my favorite things. Amazing!

2. When we went downstairs and I got their snack ready for them (Goldfish crackers), they actually waited patiently. Well, not at first. They did their usual yelling: Elsa want fishies! Clio want fishies now! But I stopped them and explained that I was getting their snack, and they needed to wait patiently, which meant not yelling at me, but playing or waiting quietly or -- hey! -- how about singing? "Why don't you sing ABC," I told them, "And by the time you're done, I'll have your snack for you." And, dear readers, for once in their young toddler lives, they did it! While I put crackers into their snack cups, they pushed their doll strollers around the kitchen, singing "ABCD! MNOP! QRZ! Sing a me!" Unbelievable. Unprecedented.

3. They were amenable to pretty much every activity I suggested for the rest of the afternoon: playing with play-dough. Listening/dancing to music. Naming all the animals in their new counting puzzle. Sitting on the couch and reading library books together. Even more amazing was the fact that they actually entertained themselves for several ten- or fifteen-minute stretches at a time, so I had windows of opportunity to putter around, check email, pay bills, etc. Here's photographic evidence: Elsa and Clio just sitting in the living room, doing puzzles and stacking blocks, totally absorbed and self-contained. And not even charging at me when I pulled out the camera, insisting on taking pictures themselves. Crazy!!

Note the "pony hair" -- their request.

4. They ate their dinner. OK, this isn't that unusual. But we typically find that they eat the least and are the crankiest at dinner, so the fact that they both ate a bit of everything on their plates and didn't pull off their bibs or yell to sit on my lap or loudly demand yogurt and waffles instead of what they were given, I consider a blessing. Elsa did throw a handful of macaroni and cheese on the floor at one point, but she was totally testing me -- she did it with a mischievous smile -- and I totally stood firm: OK, kid, meal's over. I wiped her off, she got down from her chair, and we cleaned up the mac and cheese from the floor together. No freak-out, no fuss. After dinner, I gave them each a handful of dried cranberries for dessert, and when Clio asked for more, I said no, and, incredibly, she only asked one more time before she gave up! Could it be that our efforts to set limits and stand firm are finally starting to pay off?

5. After they'd had a bath and were in their PJs, they smelled so good and so clean, and they (sort of) brushed their teeth without too much urging and cajoling on my part, and they wanted to sit on my lap in the glider and read books, and when I finally put them in their cribs, they didn't scream for me to read them more stories (Elsa) or put their blankets on them in a certain order (Clio) or yell for me to rub their backs some more when I finally said good night and left the room. They talked and giggled a little, then quickly fell asleep.

It was all so sweet and (relatively) easy. In fact, it was almost enough to make me want to have another baby. (Just kidding!!)

The Land of Haunted Toys

Roper — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 14:17:00 GMT

Do you guys have these toys, too? The kind that spontaneously start making noise or flash their lights or otherwise turn on out of the blue, when nobody is within ten feet of them? And make you feel, for a moment, like you're in some mediocre horror movie? Except, the haunted toys aren't so much creepy as they are, well, annoying?

We've got this roller push-toy thing that, when you push it, shouts out "A! B! Ceeeeee!" in this androgynous, nasal voice and then plays the alphabet song. That is, it's supposed to. But it got left out in the yard a couple of times over the summer and got wet. (Also, um, I got it from the curb of a neighbor's house on garbage day.) So, now it only works intermittently, and primarily when no one is touching it. Alastair and I will be sitting there in the living room after the kids are in bed, reading aloud to each other from Dickens or discussing macro-economics, or, you know, watching 30 Rock, and suddenly this little voice will sound out from the toy boxes: "A!" (Actually, it's more like "A?") and we both jump.

I've racked my brain, digging back into musty memories of high school physics, to try to think what might compel this toy to suddenly express itself. The obvious answer is that things shifted a little -- a butterfly sneezed in Indonesia or whatever -- and the movement triggered the sound mechanism. But I swear to you, it has happened while the thing is lying on the floor with nothing else around it. To be honest, I'm not even sure there are batteries in it.

We've also got a Leapfrog Music Table that breaks spontaneously into song on occasion. It's got some jazzy little numbers on it, and it's usually the one of the scat riffs that sounds out of nowhere -- a woman's voice singing, "Ba-ba da-pa ba-pa da-pa bee DOT dowwww!" In this case, I like to think that it's the tortured soul of whatever poor, aspiring singer/actress whored herself to the toy company to make some cash, when what she really wanted was to be playing Sally Bowles on Broadway. I am waiting for the day when the toy says "Oh, screw it!" and bursts out into "Don't Tell Mama."

The Leapfrog Music Table lady is actually one of the less annoying trapped-in-a-toy voices, as toy voices go. The worst -- the absolute worst -- is the singing shape sorter Cookie Jar that someone gave us. A cloying, sticky-sweet woman's voice with waaay too much vibrato and "smile" in it. I can just see the woman in the recording studio -- a slightly deranged-looking ingenue with crossed eyes and pipe curls, standing on her tiptoes, index fingers pinched to thumbs in the air, trilling "Shapes are in my cookie jar! Triangle, heart and star!" And really loving it. Feeling it. If that toy ever starts spontaneously singing, I'm calling an exorcist.

Oooh, ooh! Babble editors -- you guys should do a 10 most annoying talking/singing toys feature sometime! Please consider my totally fucking annoying Cookie Jar.

Other contenders?

Activity of the Week: Ice Cookery

Roper — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 00:54:00 GMT

This weekend I went out to western Mass. overnight for a friend's bachelorette party, and returned with precious little voice. This was mostly on account of my having been sick (I'm currently host to a roving virus that's been making a leisurely tour of my body over the past week, wreaking havoc everywhere it goes -- latest stop, my larynx) but the nonstop gabbing and laughing, the wine, and the dip in the outdoor hot tub probably didn't help either.

In any case, yesterday afternoon when I got home, I was in search of an activity that would require minimal talking on my part. Play-dough was one option. We've made some of our own recently, and the girls have enjoyed the process of making it and then "cooking" with it afteward -- shoving it into measuring cups, mashing it with the potato masher, stabbing it with spoons. But yesterday, they were very emphatic about the fact that they did not want to play with play-dough, but they did want to cook. I was not feeling ambitious enough to undertake an actual cooking project with them, and so, Ice Cookery was born!

Age range: 18 months - 3 years

Materials needed: Non-breakable / valuable kitchen utensils and containers (bowls, measuring cups, colanders, mixing spoons), a good quantity of crushed ice (Our fridge has one of those cool crushed ice dispensers, but you could also just put ice cubes in a plastic bag and whack them against the floor until they're broken up a bit.) Towels, broom and dustpan for clean-up.

Prep / Clean-up time: Minimal prep, ongoing cleaning recommended to avoid flooding / slipping. A drop cloth of some sort wouldn't be a bad idea, but that borders on taking us out of the low-to-no-effort zone.

Time it will keep your kids quietly, safely occupied: At least 15-20 minutes, as long as it's not too hot. (To my readers in the tropics, this may not be for you.)

Developmental benefits: Enhances small motor skills, increases likelihood of your child getting on "Top Chef"

What to do? Allow Clio and Elsa to demonstrate:

As you can see, there's all kinds of scooping and pouring and mixing to be done. Yes, it's a little messy, but it's only water, so it's not, like, stressful messy. In fact, our kitchen floor was decidedly cleaner when we were done, owing to the fact that I'd had to wipe up all that half-melted ice. The only possible drawback of this activity is the fact that your child(ren) will most likely attempt to eat the ice. Granted, this isn't a big deal if it's well-crushed and made from non-questionable water. But you do need to be vigilant about weeding out larger pieces of ice so no one chokes. And, I suppose there are are some -- dentists, mainly -- who would say that chewing ice is not a great idea. They may be right. I may be crazy.

At one point, while the girls were playing, I asked them "What are you cooking?" I guess I was expecting them to say eggs or cookies -- both things they've helped "make" before and watched me make.

Elsa's reply? "Ice!"

Of course.

PS -- This is my second "Activity of the Week" (the first being the one on clementine oranges). But I want to reserve the right not to make it a weekly feature, just because. Think of it as one of those little segments on the Daily Show or the Colbert Report that gets its own name and logo and stuff, but may only show up a handful of times, until such time as the writers get bored of it and forget it completely. Is that OK? Thanks.

Activity of the week: Clementines

Roper — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 22:30:00 GMT

As some recent articles here on Babble have attested, it can be tough to think of things to do with your young'uns when the weather outside is frightful. (And even when it's not) I, too, struggle to come up with new activities to keep our gals occupied, and am always looking for new ideas, so when I hit on this little gem of an activity this week, I thought: I must share.

What is it? In a word: clementines. You know -- those super-easy-to-peel, seedless little oranges that are in season now somewhere, that you can buy by the pound or by the crate.

Age range: 18 months - 3 years

Materials needed: At least one clementine orange per child

Prep time: None, unless you count buying the clementines.

Time it will keep your kids quietly, safely occupied: Up to 10 minutes per orange, depending on level of manual dexterity.

Developmental benefits: Enhances small motor skills, prevents scurvy

What to do: Sit your child(ren) down at the table and say, with great enthusiasm, "Hey guys! Guess what? We're gonna have some delicious ORANGES now!!" If your children are like mine, they'll smile and say "oranges!" (But it will sound more like "anchis.") BUT, instead of peeling the oranges and breaking up the sections for them per usual, give them each an entire, unpeeled orange! Say something along the lines of, "I bet you guys can peel these oranges all by yourselves!" and let them have at it. You may need to start the peeling process for them, but they should be able to take it from there. And oh, how proud they will be of themselves, and you of them.

WARNING: once the peeling process has begun, do not attempt to "help" your child, unless he or she specifically asks for it. Otherwise, s/he will scream like a banshee for you to put back on the piece you just peeled off, and you'll be forced to pull a Zu-Zu's petals maneuver (pretend to put the piece of peel back on, but actually stick it in your pocket and hope the kid doesn't notice), which will then lead to your child attempting to put all of the pieces of peel back onto the orange -- because if you can do it, why can't she, right? -- which will frustrate her immensely.

PLEASE NOTE ALSO: that while clementine orange pieces are generally easy for small children to separate and eat on their own, sometimes the fibrous inner skin and rinds can be a little yucky and cumbersome. If your child starts making hacking/gagging sounds and saying "Mommy, clean up!" and when you ask her where, exactly, she wants you to clean up, and she says "In my mouth!" simply humor her by wiping her tongue with a moistened washcloth. She'll be fine. And think the whole thing is pretty funny, actually. (And if there's a sibling, chances are she will want you to wipe her tongue with a washcloth, too, because it's obviously a hoot.)

The activity ends when your child(ren) have eaten their oranges and your floor is covered with small, aromatic bits of orange peel. But the fun continues: at bedtime, if you ask your child to describe what she did that day, she may very well grin and say "Peel-a big orange!"

Clementines: a transformative experience for the whole family, packed with vitamin C.

(PS: Sorry for the lack of accompanying pics. Alastair bought a new battery charger for our camera on eBay but failed to notice that the seller ships from HONG KONG. So God knows when it will get here.)

The way you wear (my) hat...

Roper — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 13:00:00 GMT

As my posts over the past few months (like this one and this one) have indicated, this has been a challenging phase in our parenting adventure, with the girls becoming increasingly willful, demanding and prone to freak-outs. The terrible twos, times two.

This is still the case much of the time, but I also feel like in the past couple of weeks the girls have turned a corner in terms of their ability to keep themselves entertained. This is an especially good thing considering that it just keeps snowing and we are more or less housebound. Many of the girls' favorite activities these day are about mimicking adult activities: they love "washing" dishes in the sink, and "cooking" by playing with bowls and spoons; they also like to "fix" the baby gates with their little plastic wrenches and "unlock" various doors with our keys. Another extremely popular -- and adorable -- activity these days is playing dress-up, primarily in mommy and daddy's clothes and shoes. Observe:

Does Clio dare to mix Mom's retro dots with ultra-sleek stripes and velour? Oh yes she does.

The blind, groping arctic explorer look is back - with a pink twist - and here to stay!

Dickensian street urchin meets hungry, modern-day toddler in this daring ensemble.

Sleepers and sunglasses: coming soon to a runway near you.

And finally, who wore Mom's Dansko clogs better?

Elsa strolls with stroller for that authentic "grown-up" look

Clio mixes slouchy, preppy-chic with a large, square sticker, for a look that's all her own.

Happy inauguration day, everyone. (I know for damned sure I'm happy, anyway!)

When Toddlers Attack

Roper — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 19:00:00 GMT

People -- myself included -- talk plenty about the emotional strains and stresses of parenting. But we don't talk much about the physical pain. I don't mean fatigue or sore breasts or the occasional backache from lifting and carrying. I'm talking bruises, scratches, pulled hair, bumped noses and other injuries unintentionally inflicted by babies and toddlers themselves.

I would venture to guess that this problem peaks between the ages of eighteen months and two and a half -- which is exactly where we're at now: two very active, boisterous toddlers who can walk and wiggle and climb and whack and throw things but lack 1.) Awareness of their own strength 2.) Awareness of the basic principles of physics and, therefore, the fact that their actions may inflict pain. And I don't know if this is just our kids or what, but our screaming out or yelling "Ouch" or "Stop!" or "That hurts mommy / daddy when you do that," seems to have almost no effect. Granted, we are big fans and encouragers of physical activity and horseplay, so perhaps we bring it on ourselves. All fun and games until somebody loses an eye, and all that. But, man, sometimes I just can't believe how much pain a 27-pound person can inflict.

Swarm! Swarm!

I wish I had a buck for every time in the past six months that I've been stepped on, jumped on without warning, whacked with a toy, had my hair mercilessly pulled, had earrings almost ripped through my earlobes, and been scratched by small fingernails in need of trimming (OK, that one's partly my own fault). The other day when Clio, in my lap, unexpectedly decided to fling her head back against me, I ended up with a bloody lip. And yesterday, when I came home from work, Alastair was actually icing his face where Elsa had managed to clock him with a Thomas the Tank Engine train.

I wonder if anyone has ever been seriously injured by an unwitting, rambunctious toddler? What kind of pain have your children innocently, inadvertently inflicted upon you?

Clio and Elsa practice their sparring technique

The Reign of Clio

Roper — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 23:24:00 GMT

I am in need of some serious Babble reader advice, sympathy and/or commiseration here. We have the world's bossiest toddler living under our roof, and she's driving us bonkers. True, we have been basically trapped inside by snow for the past two-and-a-half days, so we're all feeling a little cabin-feverish. But this has been going on for some time: Clio has become incredibly high maintenance.

She wants to play with Play Doh now. She wants more milk now. She wants to watch the Baby Animal Songs DVD ("Baby ee-o") for the 4th time that day. She wants me to read Chickaboom to her for the 5th. But mostly, she orders us to hold her. We try to oblige when we can, but it's just not always possible. Making breakfast, going to the bathroom, playing with your other child, etc. are all fairly tricky when you've got a 26-lb. person in your arms. Unfortunately, Clio is also very specific about how and where she wants to be held: standing up vs. sitting down, with mommy vs. daddy, in the kitchen or in the living room. And she most definitely doesn't like to share a lap with Elsa. (I wonder if, in fact, this is all directly related to being a twin -- a sense of competition or jealousy, a need to have her individual desires met...)

When Clio doesn't get what she wants, she cries and yells and screams. If it gets really out of hand, we'll put her up in her crib for a while to chill out, but the effects are typically short-lived. Soon enough, she's yelling "Picka up! Picka up!" or "sitty mommy" (sit with mommy) again. We try to explain that Mommy/Daddy is doing something else and can't pick her up right now. We tell her she's a big girl who needs to walk / play / etc. by herself sometimes. We talk about taking turns so we can play with Elsa, too. We promise to pick her up later. We try to distract her with toys or books or milk or non-lethal kitchen utensils. We try pretty much everything. It works maybe 25% of the time.

My children are adorable and delightful and I love being their mother. But I have to admit: this is a tough phase. When faced with long stretches of time at home with the girls, both Alastair and I are finding it a real struggle. We want to give Clio the sense of control and closeness she's obviously craving, but we have another daughter who also needs our attention and has wants of her own (though usually not voiced as insistently, thank God). There are also meals to be cooked and dishes to be washed and phone calls to be made. We can't spend all our time bowing to the whims of Queen Clio. (Aside: Ooh! What a cool name for a queen!)

As a result of this, we're finding ourselves turning more frequently to videos and TV, since it's one of the few things that can keep both girls calm and contented for more than two minutes at a time. But I don't feel great about it. What I would really like is for Clio to be able to play on her own or with Elsa for even just ten minutes at a stretch without needing me to pick her up or put her on my lap in the middle of it. I would like her to be a little more flexible when it comes to what she does, where, and when. I would also like world peace and for someone to invent a car that runs on water.

Is there any hope? Or is this just typical 2-year old behavior that we'll have to weather as best we can?

Meanwhile, it's still snowing out there.

The Bean Box, and Other Delights

Roper — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 21:29:00 GMT

Phew. Just made it through an entire weekend -- well, Thursday afternoon through today -- on my own with the girls, temperatures outside in the 20s, without going insane.

Knowing Alastair was going to be away, that the weather was not going to be outdoor-activity-friendly, and that I was fighting a cold and a potential backslide into depression (I won on both fronts -- Yahoo!) I planned out the whole weekend ahead of time. I lined up a trip to our local family network's drop-in playgroup, a playdate, a birthday party, a few hours of sitter time, and a friend over for takeout and a movie one of the evenings. It may sound a little anal and ridiculous, but I've decided that planning really is key to not going nutso over the weekends, especially when the weather sucks, and double-especially when Alastair is away. Structure, structure, structure!

I also created a new indoor "toy" for the gals, inspired by some of the suggestions you offered up in response to one of my posts from last week: the Bean Box. It is, as you might suspect, a box full of dried beans (I know; clever name, right? I'm a writer and stuff.) It's something of a variation on the indoor sandbox idea, except it doesn't take up as much room, and can be put away when playtime is over. Here's what you do: take a shallow box of some sort and put it on the kitchen floor, dump a few bags of dried beans into it (I used chick peas, kidney beans and intriguingly speckled Romas), add bowls, shovels, scoops and other containers, and you've got yourself at least a half hour's worth of toddler-tainment.

(A wine case for all seasons: it has served as toy box, stepping stool for the girls' climbing structure, and now -- the Bean Box.)

Bonus: only minimal parental involvement is required with the Bean Box (tm). I played with the girls for a little while, showing them how to scoop the beans into bowls, pour them from one bowl to another, etc. but they were just as happy to sit and play on their own. I just occasionally intervened when there were getting to be more beans on the floor than in the box.

That's the one drawback of this activity: It's kinda messy. But in a relatively clean way. You just sweep the beans up, along with whatever else is on your kitchen floor, dump 'em back into the box, and go back to your magazine or your cup of coffee or your Facebook account or whatever.

If the box is big enough, your kids can also play "bath" in it, as demonstrated by Elsa, below.

The Bean Box (tm), if nothing else, is pretty sound evidence that I am out of my depression. A few weeks ago, I would never have had the motivation or creative capacity to do even something as basic as this. Or, if I had done it (which I wouldn't have), it would have felt like a miserable and exhausting trial: I have to go to the STORE to buy beans? And then figure out what to put them in? And then...ugh...CLEAN THEM UP? The very thought of it would have nauseated me.

But in reality, I am totally the kind of person who would cheerfully whip up a Bean Box (tm) for her kids, and reap satisfaction from its success, as I am doing now. It's great to feel like that person again.

Rain, rain, go away.

Roper — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 16:09:00 GMT

And please don't come again another day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep two nearly-two-year-olds occupied when playgrounds, petting zoos and the back yard are off the table? Do you know that with the exception of going to the library (30 minutes' entertainment, tops) or to someone else's house for a playdate (which requires painstaking advance scheduling and hopes that everyone is germ-free) toddler-friendly indoor activities generally require dropping serious amounts of cash?

It was (yet another) mostly rainy weekend here in the Greater Boston Area, and we were challenged accordingly to figure out things to do with the girls to keep them and ourselves from going stir crazy. It went a little something like this:

On Friday morning, we had a legitimate errand: we went on our first official preschool visit. (!!) That was great, and the girls totally dove right in, playing with the toys, climbing in the play area, etc. But all told, it took up about an hour. Legos, Play-doh, crayons and Sesame Street got us through to lunch and naptime. In the afternoon, while I took my requisite depression sufferer's 2-hour nap (my little mid-week mood boost didn't last), Alastair took the girls to our nearest indoor play gym, Together in Motion, along with every other parent in Arlington, Somerville, Cambridge and Medford. He came back looking rather like Wile E. Coyote after a TNT mishap.

On Saturday morning -- still raining -- I suggested we go to the mall. For no other reason than it was somewhere to go. As it turns out, a mall is a good place to go with toddlers. The escalators were a source of endless fascination. There were lots of loud, battery-powered things to play with in the toy store and a play table in the Lego store. We skipped the play area at the food court, which was swarming with kids (we clearly weren't the only parents using the mall as a source of rainy-day entertainment) and wandered down toward Santa's prematurely erected holiday photo/torture compound (I'm pretty sure that's what it's called) where there was a string quartet playing (premature) holiday music. The girls loved that -- they danced and spun around and clapped, looking like wind-up toys.

We also attempted lunch at the mall's Rainforest Cafe. This was against our better judgement, but it just seemed to be going so smoothly -- the girls loved the big fish tanks and all the monkeys and birds and things hanging from the ceiling in the waiting / retail area. We were seated fairly quickly, and there were free crayons, which the girls were totally psyched about. But right after we'd sat down, all hell broke loose, in the form of a simulated "storm." Thunder, lightning, mechanical apes bellowing, birds squawking, pythons hissing. Clio and Elsa totally lost their shit. We carried them out screaming, and retreated upstairs to the brightly-lit, gorilla-free food court, where a rotating billboard sign was all the entertainment they needed: Doggie! (An ad for some new Disney movie) and then a few seconds later, Shoes! A few more seconds -- Doggie!! Shoes! Doggie! Shoes! Who needs animatronic snakes and $12 hamburgers?

I had the girls on my own all afternoon, and we managed to keep ourselves entertained between board books and Curious George and a visit from a friend of mine. But when the sitter arrived at 5:30 so I could go to Alastair's early gig at a local bar, I was out of there like a shot.

We had a plan in place for Sunday: we'd borrowed our friends' passes to the Museum of Science, and planned to spend the morning there, then Alastair would take the girls for the afternoon, when the weather was supposed to improve. The MOS is a great place to bring kids -- the Discovery Center area is a total hands-on, toddler and kid-friendly smorgasbord of fine and gross motor skill fun. Other areas of the museum have live animals, tons of interactive exhibits, etc. Again, crowded, and expensive if you don't have a membership (or a friend's membership to bogart). Also, definitely a two-parent activity if you've got twins. (Like so many things.)

Unfortunately, our museum visit was cut short on account of my mental health, or lack thereof. My doctor recently prescribed another drug to help "boost" the effect of the antidepressants I take, since the increased dose doesn't seem to be working, and I had taken the first one the night before. All day, I was like a zombie. Seriously, I felt like I'd been lobotomized. I was going through the motions of normal life, but it was like I was controlling a video-game version of myself. I had no inner monologue, no desire or motivation to do anything. I was also drowsy and slightly dizzy. It seems crazy that one pill could have such an effect, and maybe it's something that would have lessened over time, but I would rather look at other options before willingly taking the undead route.

Anyway.

I will end this rather rambly post (I think I've still got a bit of a zombie hangover today) with a plea to you, my ever-wise and helpful readers: what do YOU do with your toddler-ish kids when it's rainy / cold / etc.? Low-cost and Boston-area-specific ideas are particularly appreciated, but all are welcome -- even novel at-home activities. Things that one parent alone can handle with twins are also particularly helpful. And while you're at it, how about solving the global financial crisis? Thanks!

Here we are now, entertain us. (Inside.)