Baby Squared : pictures

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.

The best things in life

Roper — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 12:00:00 GMT

On a few recent occasions, I've noticed that the girls have shown interest in other kids' "pretend" toys -- dollhouses, train sets, play farms, etc. -- so I started keeping my eyes open for something along the same lines to add to their toy collection. (The toy collection which, incidentally, is gradually overtaking our living room, spreading like a brightly colored, plastic rash.) I did some Craigslist searching, bid halfheartedly on a Fisher Price Noisy Farm on eBay (and didn't win), and posted on my MOT club listserv, but to no avail. In the end, it was Freecycle that did the trick.

Freecycle, in case you're not familiar with it, is a network of community groups/ listservs for giving and getting free stuff. It's a great way to get rid of things you don't need any more but don't want to bother trying to sell or wouldn't be able to, and also a wonderful way to score a whole variety of random stuff for yourself -- everything from computers to books to extra zucchini from people's gardens. Its main purpose is to reduce waste, but it's also a great way to save money. So if you're both cheap and green(ish), like me, you absolutely must check it out.

When I tried to explain the concept to my husband he was aghast. "You mean people just give stuff away? For free? Why don't they sell it? What's the matter with these people? I don't like it." I reminded him that while he was an economics major in college, he'd ended up becoming a folk singer, and it really wasn't very folk-singer-ish of him to be skeptical about such a lovely, communal sort of system, now was it? (He didn't really object anyway. He just likes to play Ricky Ricardo to my Lucy whenever I come up with some kooky new harebrained scheme, like exchanging free stuff with random strangers.)

Anyway, I posted on my local Freecycle list to see if anyone had a dollhouse or toy farm or the like that they were giving away, and a few days later got a response from a woman in the next town over who had a Dora dollhouse, complete with furniture, that her daughter didn't play with anymore, that she'd be happy to hand over. Wahoo!

Now, if I had my druthers, of course, I'd give the girls a lovely, handcrafted wooden dollhouse constructed by unionized elves and painted with organic, all-natural paints. I'm not a huge fan of plastic toys based on TV shows or other trademarked characters, and at this point the girls don't know Dora from a small, explorer-shaped hole in the ground. But druthers are expensive and this dollhouse was free. Free, I tell you! And as trademarked characters go, Dora's probably not a bad choice, right? She teaches kids Spanish and Latino culture and...um...explores things. More importantly, the girls love the dollhouse, and I got to feel like a total hero bringing it home.

The first thing they did was try to sit on the little dollhouse chairs. Ha! I find this so funny and so fascinating: they know it's a chair (even though it's only three inches high) and therefore assume -- quite logically, if you think about it -- that it's meant to be sat upon. Then we put the dolls (it came with Dora's mom and some little boy with a backpack. Diego?) on the beds and said "Night night." The real hit, though, was the miniature jungle gym, complete with slide. After trying to climb onto it themselves, the girls figured out that they could make the dolls go down the slide. And they even said, "wheee!" as they did it, just like they do at the playground -- totally unprompted. So cool! I love seeing them figure out this concept of pretending, drawing on material from their own lives.

Unfortunately, they also figured out how to trip all the little devices in the house that can "talk," so for the next hour I had to listen to Dora screaming things like "LET'S GET SOMETHING TO EAT FROM THE REFRIGERATOR! EL REFRIGERADOR!" Fortunately, this feature can be turned off.

Watching the girls play with the dollhouse, both me and Alastair grinning and laughing, I was reminded of pictures of my brother and me on Christmas morning, playing with new toys, our mother or father looking fondly -- even giddily -- on. As a kid, you have no idea just how much fun it is for grown ups to give you things. I'm sure that the joy I took -- and continue to take -- in watching Elsa and Clio try out their new toy is ten times the joy they get from playing with it. What a delightful and surprising thing to be able to experience this part of childhood again, but in a completely different and more profound way.

And did I mention the dollhouse was FREE??!!

Mommy's turn to cry

Roper — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 20:57:00 GMT

Remember how I said I wasn't going to write about bodily functions anymore? I lied. Well, sort of. This isn't about Elsa and Clio's bodily functions, but my own. Puking, specifically. I spent several hours last night engaged in this delightful activity, my stomach repeatedly, violently insisting on purging itself of its contents long after there was nothing left to purge. It was wretched. On the bright side: at least there was women's gymnastics to watch in between pukes. And the US kicked ass!

After the medal ceremony and some final, valedictory heaves, I basically lay in bed moaning for awhile, because I felt so completely awful -- aching, shaky, spent. Eventually I fell asleep. Today, fortunately, there's been no more puking. But lots of aching and nausea and feeling exhausted. As I write this, I am snacking on my children's Goldfish crackers, bringing my total caloric intake for the day up into the triple digits, I hope. (Another bright side: easy 2 pound crash diet!)

Seriously, though, what is the deal with parenting and getting sick? I think I have been sick more times in the past nineteen months than in the previous ten years of my life combined. Colds, stomach bugs, headaches, even pink eye once, for God's sake. And the girls don't even go to daycare! I take as good -- or better -- care of myself than ever in terms of diet and exercise, and the girls have been consistently sleeping through the night for almost a year, so it's not like sleep deprivation is the culprit. Has anyone else had this same experience? Maybe it's just the overall intensity of having to juggle so many things and be so "on" for the girls all the time. Or maybe I'm just getting old.

Alastair has also gotten sick quite a bit, too, though the lucky bastard always seems to get a milder version of whatever virus is sweeping through our household. He wasn't feeling well a couple of days ago -- nauseous, tired, etc. -- but he did NOT spend three hours praying to the porcelain god every twenty minutes. Now, of course, I'm just waiting for the inevitable: Clio is going to get sick (she always seems to catch stuff first), and then Elsa, though probably not as bad (like her Dad, she seems to get the "express" version of everything).

I suppose I should count my blessings. At least it's a weekend (what a way to spend a weekend!) and at least Alastair is here to help out. And at least 19-month olds are totally understanding and accommodating when you say stuff like, "mommy feels sick and is just going to lie here on the couch and sip ice water while daddy runs an errand. Can you two just play nicely with your blocks together for at least 30 minutes? And not whine for me to give you sips of my water? And fix yourselves some lunch if you get hungry? You're the best."

My apologies for such a lame and mopey post. I just can't bring myself to write up any amusing yet poignant anecdotes or shockingly profound musings on the nature of parenting. You know, like I usually do. But here: a cute picture of the girls to tide you over until such time as I don't feel like utter shite. Be well, my friends!

Understanding Clio

Roper — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 00:22:00 GMT

Over the past few months, Clio has gotten increasingly...how do I put this?...particular. First it was books, as I wrote about in this post, a few months back. Then, it started happening with sippy cups. We noticed that if we filled two different colored cups, Clio had strong preferences about which one she wanted: pink trumped all, and purple or orange were better than blue or green. Try to hand her the wrong color cup, and she'd push it away and say "no" until you offered her the other one.

Then, just when I thought I had her color preferences all figured out, she changed her game. She started consistently refusing the first cup I offered her, in favor of the second one, regardless of color. And then sometimes -- in a cunning and exasperating twist -- once she had that one, she'd whine until I swapped it for Elsa's cup. (Elsa, bless her heart, could care less.) So now I just hold up both cups and let her choose.

What's even stranger (or cuter or more annoying, depending on my mood) is that she also has preferences when two items are EXACTLY THE SAME. Por ejemplo: we have two identical toothbrushes, which we use interchangeably on the girls. The same color, the same design, everything. But lately, Clio won't accept the first one I hand her. Or she will, after I try offering her the second one. Or maybe, if Jupiter is aligned with Mars and the date is a prime number and the Sox are playing at home, she'll take the first toothbrush the first time. Who can predict -- let alone understand -- the ways of the Clio?

Sometimes I think she just likes the process of it all: the chance to assert what she wants, then refuse it, then ask for it again. Other times I wonder if it's a twin-specific thing. Is she trying to prove (to herself and to us?) that she and her sister are not interchangeable? That she has very specific needs and wants, and we can't expect to treat her and her sister them the same way, even when it comes to something as simple as offering them a toothbrush or a cup or a cracker? I'm just glad that this fussiness hasn't extended to all aspects of life -- clothes, shoes, diapers, car seats. (Can you imagine? No, mama, I don't want to be on the left! I want to be on the right, where Elsa is. No, no, no! Not over here! On the left! That's what I said! Yes it is. Why are you looking at me like that?)

I am reminded of a classic snapshot in one of our old family albums, labeled "The Tantrum in Tomorrowland." It was taken in 1980 on our first family trip to Disney World, and features my father, in a shaggy beard and slightly too-tight, bright red, Jack Tripper-esque shorts, grinning with sarcastic fervor while holding my writhing, screaming, three-year-old brother in his arms. What happened was this: we'd all started to climb a staircase to some sort of rocket thing, my father leading the way. My brother piped up and told my father that he wanted to go first. So, my father obligingly stepped back down to let him go ahead. But no. My father had already ruined it. My brother couldn't go first -- it wasn't the same -- because our father already had. There was no remedying the situation. He (my brother, that is) proceeded to scream and cry inconsolably for at least fifteen minutes (I think at some point my mom and I left and went on the Mad Hatter teacup ride....) until he finally fell asleep, right on the pavement.

I really would prefer to avoid this kind of scenario.

Every time I hand Clio the wrong cup, I fear that she's going to snap because I didn't comply with her need to have everything just so. I'm sure this control thing is a natural developmental stage, and it's silly of me to take it too seriously. Still, I find myself bending over backward to do things the way Clio seems to want me to, just to keep her from freaking out. It's probably not a good habit to get into. But they're such small, innocent things. Like the other night, when she insisted on sleeping in the hooded towel I'd put on her after her bath. (She's a big fan of having things on her head -- except when she's completely opposed to it.) What's the harm, right?

Or should I be trying to break her of these little pecularities and get her to chill? Is my complicity fueling unhealthy, compulsive behavior? Or should I continue to take the path of least resistance and humor her? Please advise.

Kiss me, baby

Roper — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 19:10:00 GMT

You ever just feel so madly in love with your children you want to kiss them on the mouth? Not in an incestuous, inappropriate way, of course. More like a hungry, aching, gleeful sort of way. Like Cookie Monster, if you will. Me want to kiss delicious baby! Me cannot resist any longer! Num num num num num!

And I do kiss them on the mouth sometimes -- a quick parental kiss on those teeny, soft little lips. But who ever thought I'd want to do even that? When I was a kid, I hated it when adults tried to kiss me on the mouth. My grandfather always puckered up for a loud, sillly smack on the lips, which I obliged but never really felt comfortable with. (He smelled like cigarettes and had very high blood pressure, so his lips were always slightly purple.) I even complained if my parents' kisses on my cheek were too wet. "Too much slush," I'd say.

Before having children, I had no idea how physically connected to them I would feel. And I don't mean just the whole breastfeeding chapter, though that was lovely and snuggly, to be sure. (That is, until I couldn't get the girls to nurse for more than, like, thirty seconds before they were crawling off to do something more interesting.) I just mean the constant -- and growing, it seems -- desire to hug and hold and, yes, kiss them. It is fueled (oh, how it is fueled!) by the fact that they themselves have now become cuddly little creatures, who seem to need -- not just tolerate -- physical closeness: Elsa will reach up to be held and say "mommy!" with a smile, or come and sit in my lap to be read to. Sometimes Clio, in the midst of playing, will come over and lay a little hand on my shoulder or knee for a few minutes, just because. And when I kiss her good night, she reaches up and pulls my face down closer for a kiss. She pulls my face down! Can you blame me for wanting to gobble her up?

Maybe that's it. I don't actually want to kiss my children. I want to eat them.

I am mindful of the fact that as they grow older, there will be less and less cuddling and holding and smooching and squeezing. It's hard to believe that someday those chubby little feet won't be mine for the nibbling (and probably won't be chubby or little, either). There won't be long, giggling kisses goodnight. No one will sit in my lap. And when that time comes....well, I guess that's right around when parents start jonesing for grandchildren. And buy dogs to hold them over in the meantime.

But I'm guessing that when you become a grandparent, though you get to enjoy some of that sweet physicality again, it's not quite the same or as powerful as what you feel with your own children. So I am relishing this time of physical closeness with my daughters. And trying to keep myself from inadvertently ingesting any part of them in the process. Num num num num num!

The Problem with Pictures

Roper — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 17:06:00 GMT

I know how much y'all love the cute pics of the girls. And I try to deliver as often as possible. The thing is, a little situation has developed. See, we've occasionally let the girls look at the back of the digital camera to see the pictures of themselves. So now, every time the camera comes out, Clio wants to see the babies.(Babies! Babies!) Which makes taking her picture decidedly challenging. Observe:

Mom quickly snaps a pic of Clio in her new chair, but she's already on her way over...

She sees the camera. "Babies! Babies!"

"Babiiiiiieeees!!!"

This happens pretty much every time I try to take Clio's picture. As a result, I have an absurd number of pictures of Clio charging toward the camera. (And an imbalance of pictures of Elsa just playing or smiling or otherwise not grabbing the camera out of my hands.) Sometimes if I'm stealthy, I can manage a pic of the two of them together...

Yes! Cute shot of chubby twin toddler legs! Now, maybe if I can get them both to turn around at the same time....

Too late. Clio's onto me.

"Babies! Babies!"

You see what I'm up against here?

Unfortunately, this fascination with the camera isn't one that can be easily solved, like the cell phone issue. For a while, the girls were snatching our cell phones (they can now, inconveniently, reach the kitchen counter and dining room table, where we often leave them), holding them up to their ears and saying "Oh? Oh?" and occasionally placing accidental calls. (Elsa managed to inadvertently call her grandmother once, which I thought was fairly impressive.) I found an old, non-working cell-phone to let them play with, but it has since disappeared under some piece of furniture. And they didn't like it that much anyway -- no beeps, no pictures.

So the other day I bought a toy cell phone for them. It was a hit. (And there was hitting, too, seeing as I was foolhardy enough to buy only one of them. But now that the thrill has worn off, the girls are doing a better job of sharing.) Sadly, there's no such thing as a toy digital camera that I'm aware of, and there's almost definitely not one featuring pictures of babies. Elsa and Clio, specifically. (Hm...writing this is conjuring up a vague childhood memory of a Fisher Price toy camera I had as a kid...you could look into the viewfinder and push the button and see pictures of zoo animals...wow. I haven't thought about that thing in years...)

Oh, and were you admiring those cute new chairs? Well. Let me tell you. They're made by a certain upscale home goods purveyor we'll call, oh, Ceramicshack Children. But they're a bit pricey, especially if you're going to buy two. This thrifty mama, however, knows the way to Ebay, and scored the pair of them--brand new--for just a little more than the price of one if I'd ordered them directly from the Ceramicshack. And the gals lurrrrve them.

So, on that very consumerist, all-American note....Happy Independence Day, readers! Here's to life, liberty and the pursuit of bargains. Huzzah!