Baby Squared : vacation with twins

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!

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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Parlez-Vous Toddler?

Roper — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 15:50:00 GMT

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

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

I've been reminded of this over the past week; we've seen a number of relatives and friends that haven't seen the girls since they were babies, and have had to do a lot of translating. We even have to translate a word or two for their grandparents sometimes, in spite of the fact that they see the girls on a regular basis. So, picture me, standing there there beaming with idiotic pride while Elsa walks up to a distant cousin and says, "We go wi Mommy to da TOHwah!" not quite realizing that the cousin is probably thinking something along the lines of "They go with Mommy to the Torah?...hm..are they raising them Jewish? I know Alastair's mother is...but I didn't know whether or not...and aren't they a little young to...and isn't the Torah a book? Can you physically go up to the Torah? I guess you can. I went to my friend's kid's Bar Mitzvah, and I think he...but...Am I going to sound like an ignorant Christian here if I say that back? So should I just nod? Or maybe Jane can...."

Then, finally, I realize that the cousin is looking at me quizically -- perhaps desperately -- and jump in to explain that Elsa is saying that they went to the store with me today. At which point, cousin can nod at Elsa and say "Ohhhh!" and ask some follow up question like, "Did you have fun?" to which she can reply with something equally unintelligible to him, like "An we ga gape fuh me!" (And we got grapes for me.)

Of course, I am often clueless when it comes to what other people's toddlers are saying. You'd like to think that as a mother of toddlers, you'd be able to pick it up -- at least some of it. As if it was all just dialects of one universal Toddler language. But each toddler really does have his or her own little patois and either you know it or you don't. There are times when I don't understand what my own kids are saying. Sometimes Alastair and I can translate for each other. (Most often Alastair for me, which always bums me out, because it reminds me that he spends so much more time with them.) And sometimes the other twin will translate for us. (Really!)

Then there are times when we're all just at a loss. There was a time when Clio kept asking, in the kitchen, for what sounded like a "Peet." We asked back: A plate? (No.) A peach? (No.) A beet?? Which you've never had in your life? (No...A Peeeeeet.) So, I asked her, "Clio, what is a peet?" And she explained "A peet is a keet." I'm pretty sure she was just messing with me.

"We make da cone!"

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Pooping in the Wind, and Other Vacation Highlights

Roper — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 01:01:00 GMT

We spent a lovely July fourth weekend with family friends in beautiful Marion, MA -- a trip which is now becoming an annual tradition, much to our delight. There was eating, drinking, sand castle making, tennis playing, rocks into the ocean throwing, syntax mangling (see "rocks into the ocean throwing") and, yes, pooping in the wind.

This last item was actually quite poetic, the poop part notwithstanding. We were enjoying a lovely evening at the house of the family matriarch. After supper, the children -- ours and numerous others -- were frolicking in the yard overlooking Buzzard's Bay. Elsa and Clio were particularly interested in wheeling a baby stroller around and around a patch of high grass and fern, and at one point Elsa seemed to have been stuck in one spot for a long while. Alastair went over to see what was happening and Elsa told him she was, you know -- busy -- and asked him to go away. Alastair reported back to me, saying "Elsa is a bear in the woods." (Get it?) So, a few more minutes passed and I went down to see what was up, and collect her for a diaper change, but she still wasn't interested in going anywhere:

ME: Should we go inside and change your diaper?

ELSA: No. I want to stand here. It's windy!!

ME: Yeah, it is windy. Are you still making a poop?

ELSA: Yeah.

ME: OK, so you want to just stay here?

ELSA: Yeah. I want to poop in the wind.

The girl really does have an appreciation for the finer things in life, no? She had another poetic diaper moment at another point during the weekend, when I was changing her diaper while she was lying on the grass, and she looked up at the foliage of the oaks, blowing in the wind, and said "the trees are playing peekaboo with me!"

But I will subject you to no more poop anecdotes. Instead some pictures:

Here we all are watching the Marion Fourth of July Parade. Note the way the sunlight -- a rare thing in New England these days -- glares off our pale, pasty New England legs.

When she wasn't composing poop poetry, Elsa was training to be a constabulary horticulturalist.

Some major sand-castling was also done.

Also included in our vacation package: two perfect deck chairs, just the right size for two little girls. And their pretzels.

There were lots of "big kids" around to look after the girls -- and give us a bit of a break!

It really was a nice weekend, with just the right balance of family time and relaxation time (and sometimes the two even overlapped a bit). Our hosts and their children were kind enough to look after the girls for a few stretches so Alastair and I could relax a bit, play some tennis, chew our food, etc. And I must say: while I'm not opposed to being a guest at other people's vacation houses, being there really made me wish we had one of our own. Anyone have a spare beachfront property lying around that they'd like to give to a nice family of writers / musicians / budding poets? You could be a modern-day Medici! A patron of the arts! And we'll invite you to all our cookouts! No? Sigh.

Well, before I go -- unfortunately, I came home from our seaside escape with a weird cold that has left me just drained -- one final anecdote. Lately, the girls have gotten much better at listening and following directions (i.e. minding their parents), sometimes with comic results. At one point this weekend, Alastair and I were casually knocking a shuttlecock back and forth over a badminton net, while the girls, also with rackets in hand, ran around underfoot. Clio decided to give Alastair a whack with her racket, and he gently but firmly told her that she could not hit people with a racket; rackets were for hitting shuttlecocks or balls, NOT people.

So Clio promptly ran over to a basketball lying a few yards away in the grass and starting whaling on it with her bandminton racket.

I laughed so hard I almost peed in the wind.

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Big Girl Beds: A Trial Run

Roper — Sat, 23 May 2009 18:55:00 GMT

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

Last night, 5:30 pm.

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

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

7:15 pm -- Bedtime

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

7:40 pm

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

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

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

Today, 1:00 pm -- naptime.

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

1:15 pm

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

1:40 pm

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

The verdict:

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

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

Down the Cape

Roper — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 02:18:00 GMT

It's amazing what a difference a brief change of scenery can make. We accepted a last minute invitation from some friends to join them at their family's cottage on the Cape, and I am so very glad we did. Despite all the packing and schlepping, despite the fact that there aren't a whole lot of toddler-friendly activities on Cape Cod in February, and despite the fact that we did a good deal of just hanging out, eating, refereeing toddler brawls over toys, etc -- in other words, the same kinds of things we could have done at home -- it was awfully nice to be somewhere other than home for a little while. No distractions, no things we knew we really ought to be doing (taxes, anyone?). Instead, just lots of lazy goofing around with our kids and our friends and their kid. Some fresh seafood. Too many valentine chocolates. A fair amount of wine.

I think the girls really appreciated the change of scene, too. New stairs to climb! New stuff to look at! A new room to sleep in! (They were so excited about getting to sleep in their port-a-cribs that they both insisted on going "night night" as soon as we set them up. For all of forty seconds.) Both of them were in good moods most of the time. Clio was silly. Elsa was adventurous. (She kept wanting to go up and down the stairs: "be right back, OK?") They were clearly enjoying themselves.

What'd you do to get those beads, party girl? (And who knew a doorstop could be so much fun?)

Oh sure, they pitched plenty of small fits, too. They were loud. They fought over stuff. They wanted to eat constantly. They made our friends' daughter -- four months younger -- seem like the most mature and serene child on earth by comparison. Other parents of twins out there: do you find that your twins are louder than their singleton friends? I feel like Elsa and Clio are always SHOUTING observations and requests (increasingly, with a big Pleeeeeese? tacked onto the end, at least), more than other kids their age. Alastair and I aren't particularly loud people, and we try very hard not to raise our voices with the girls. My theory is that it's a twin thing -- they feel like in order to be heard over each other and get our attention, they have to yell. They are also both, well, spirited little people, so I guess it's personality in part. But when they're apart, during those rare one-on-one moments we get, it seems they're both much calmer and more patient. I wonder if there's something we could be doing better to bring the decibel level down, or if it's just another case of this too shall pass?

Anyhoo. Here are a few more snaps from our weekend...

Clio didn't like the cold and the wind or the sand, for that matter, so she hung back with Alastair while Elsa and I did some beachcombing. For a couple of minutes we just sat talking quietly together, looking out at the ocean. Elsa seemed very intrigued by it. She also was intent on taking the shells and rocks she found in the sand down to the water's edge and tossing them back in. I guess she figured that's where they belonged.

Back at the house, bedecked in Valentine's Day bling, the girls test the toddler capacity of my friend Megan's lap. And play with one of the few Fisher Price toys we own that -- so far -- doesn't seem to be either haunted or annoying.

Family portrait at the fish pier. We were hoping to see a seal, and did, very briefly. We also walked up onto a deck where there were nice views of the fishing boats and the water. Clio kept running along the railing, poking her head out between the balusters and saying, "Peekaboo Ocean!"

Elsa wanted so badly to help fly the kite, but had to content herself with running around excitedly beneath it and trying to catch its tail when it swooped low enough. Next year, maybe, she'll be ready to hold on to the string.

Nested

Roper — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 13:00:00 GMT

Lately, I've been seriously craving a vacation somewhere warm. This isn't that shocking, I guess, given that it's about 10 degrees outside, there's snow on the ground, and we've still got two and a half months of winter to go. A few days ago, on a lark -- or perhaps just to torture myself -- I priced out how much it would cost, with airfare, for our whole family to go for a few days to one of those "Beaches" resorts in the Caribbean -- the kind where childcare is offered during the day. Um. Yeah. That's not happening any time soon. I can't quite believe that ANY family has a spare seven to ten grand to plunk down for a few days in the sun. But such families apparently exist. If you are one of them, I hate you. Just kidding.

Of course, when I really thought about what going on such a trip would entail -- namely, dealing with two 2-year-olds (un potty-trained, mind you) in airports, on planes, in wet and sandy bathing suits, requiring paid babysitters at night, etc. I realized that what I would really like is to be teleported instantly to a tropical resort -- all four of us and all our crap, plus a fabulous nanny who'll work for room and board only -- and I want someone else to pay for it. Perhaps the federal government? In short, I don't want to do any of the work of actually planning and orchestrating a trip. I just want to be somewhere else for a little while, and have it be perfectly easy. A vacation from reality, you might say.

Five, ten years ago, my need to escape would have manifest itself in an entirely different way. You'd find me haunting the Lonely Planet web site, browsing travel guides in bookstores, researching airfares, making theoretical packing lists. About once a year, I used to get an all-out case of wanderlust. Much of the time, I acted on it. Between the ages of 18 and 32, I managed to get to Jamaica, Ireland, Cameroon, France, Guatemala, England, Italy, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Mexico, Italy again (honeymoon), the Dominican Republic, France again, the Netherlands, and Scotland, in that order. Not to mention countless parts of the United States. Some of the trips were of the shorter, more touristy variety, while Cameroon was a whole semester abroad, and the trips to Guatemala and South America were solo adventures -- me, a backpack, and my Spanish verb conjugations, trying to get by on a few dollars a day.

I got what I can only describe as a high off of travel. And not just from the destination itself, but from all of it: the planning, the research, the airports, the uncertainty. I thought that I always would. But I can honestly say that right now I have little to no desire to jet off to Iceland or explore eastern Europe or volunteer in the Himalayas -- all things I've wanted to do in the past. I guess it's in part because none of these things would be logistically and financially possible for me now, given that we've got two little ones at home. But the fact is, I just don't have the wanderlust I used to. I like being home with my family. I like our routine. I don't feel that old urge to adventure and explore; to be the "other" in an unfamiliar place.

People always say that when you have kids your priorities change. I always believed that this would be the case for me, too. What I didn't anticipate, though, is that I wouldn't be particularly unhappy about it. I'm glad I made travel a priority when I was younger, but I certainly don't mourn that time in my life. I don't ever look at myself now and say, "Who is this person, with her job and her mortgage and her husband and children, who hasn't put a stamp in her passport for three years?? It's so terribly sad and pathetic!" I am perfectly content with where I am and what I'm doing. Yet, if my 22-year-old self saw me now, I'm sure she'd be shocked. Not at the fact of having a family, etc. -- I always knew I wanted that eventually -- but at the fact that I wasn't also tormented by a need to travel.

I like to think that someday my wanderlust will return. I look forward to taking Elsa and Clio on trips when they're older, and I hope we'll have the wherewithall to do it. I have hopes of doing some (much shorter-term) solo travel again, and certainly there are lots of places I'd love to go with Alastair. But all of it feels quite abstract and far off in the future. For now, I'm homebound -- and surprisingly content that way.

Leaving Scotland, in 2006. I think I sensed that it would be my last time abroad for a while. A month and a half later, I would be pregnant.

And we're back.

Roper — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 01:17:00 GMT

Home again, after a week at family camp in New Hampshire, followed by a few days in Vermont, where Alastair played in a folk festival. I am pleased to report that we had a really lovely time. In fact, this is the first time we've gone away with the girls that I wasn't dying to come home by the end of it. The secret: expectation management. As I mentioned in my last post, I went into this vacation with my eyes wide open, knowing it was going to be tiring and chaotic and nothing like pre-child trips of yore. But I very consciously decided not to be grumpy about this, and try, instead, to savor what is so fabulous and rewarding about having Clio and Elsa along for the ride.

Like introducing them to the wonderful game of bocce. The balls were a little too heavy for the girls to pick up, so we played a little-known, ancient variation on the game where you run up and down the bocce court waving your hands over your head and squealing, and occasionally kicking one of the balls. (It's still played this way in a certain village in Sardinia, I'm told.)

Really, with a little creative adaptation and irresponsible parenting, lots of games can be adapted to include twin toddlers. We're going to lobby for Baby Pong to be included in the 2012 Olympics. (Please note: no children were harmed in the making of this photo.)

We also spent a lot of time on the swings, of which there were many. The girls currently refer to swings / the act of swinging as "whee!"

Predictably, the girls weren't enthusiastic about spending time in the lake, but on one occasion they did a little wading and splashing.

We also managed to steal a little time for ourselves, with help from many wonderful folks on the island, first and foremost Alastair's parents -- or "Abu" and "Jaycee" as the girls call them these days. (Abu is short for Abuelito, and Jaycee is some kind of corruption/blend of "Grandma J" and "Joyce" we think...). I managed to make some respectable headway in "Middlemarch," Alastair defended his crown as men's singles tennis champ, and we made it out to some of our favorite evening activities. Like talent night.

Yep, that's me in the middle, channeling Steven Tyler, singing "Walk this Way" at the talent show, with the kickass staff band. I sounded like crap, but I totally had the moves. (And the snakeskin pants.)

The girls did their share of partying, too. They loved the pre-dinner cocktail parties at people's cabins, where they did carb-loading that would put Michael Phelps to shame.

Of course, it wasn't all Aerosmith and Pepperidge Farm all the time. Elsa was teething, and had some rough days, when she'd periodically start wailing miserably for no reason. Clio had a couple of all-out screaming fits, both diaper-rash and fatigue-induced, right as lunch started, so I ended up back at the cabin eating PB&J while she napped. And the mosquitos were vicious. Still, it was easily our best family vacation yet. More thoughts on that to come, but for now I leave you with a family portrait, which may be a serious contender for this year's holiday card....

Oh, and for anyone who's been waiting up nights for the answer's to last week's trivia challenge:

1. D (Clio went through a phase of screaming before bed unless we stayed there and rubbed her back. We did it a few times then finally realized we just had to let her cry it out and break the cycle. It worked.)

2. D (All of the above. She seems to have developed a whole new crying vocabulary of late.)

3. B (Elsa has been fighting wearing a bib when she's overtired. And once she refuses, Clio refuses too. Joy!)

4. A (They can say 'Thank you'! Sometimes...)

5. C, D, F (Blow her nose, wear a barette, totally f*** up our cable box)

6. A, B, D, E (Say please when cajoled, climb up the slide, walk down stairs by herself, has tried to lift the cat by her tail)

7. True, regrettably

8. True. (I'm almost certain)

Thanks for playing!

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

Winter Getaway

Roper — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 02:00:00 GMT

We spent last weekend at our friend Heidi's family's beautiful house in the Berkshires. We had a great time, although I must admit that packing for the trip was a royal pain in the ass. I've decided that this age, between one and two years old, is probably the most gear-heavy time in a child's life. Add the twin factor, and it's one hell of a job to get out the door.

-- 2 Pack-n-Plays (because they're too little for beds but too big to sleep in the bed or share one crib) Don't forget the crib sheets (+ extras in case of disaster)

-- 2 portable feeding chairs (because they're too little to sit at the table but too active and messy to be fed in our laps.)

-- A few familiar toys and books (because tupperware and keys don't quite cut it as the only playthings anymore.)

-- More than enough clothes (because they are incredibly messy eaters, and still have the occasional diaper blow-out.)

-- Safety devices / gates as needed (because at this age the babies are ambulatory but have no sense of self-preservation.)

-- Backpack carriers or stroller (because although they can walk, they can't actually *get* anywhere.)

-- All the usual other stuff: diapers, wipes, cups, feeding spoons, washcloths, towels, bibs, snacks, etc.

-- If you happen to think of it, your own clothes and toiletries

This is why most of the time, when people say "you guys should come out and visit with the girls sometime!" I smile and nod politely. But who can turn down a weekend with good friends in the beautiful Berkshires? All the stress of packing melts away once you're sitting by a fire with a glass of wine in hand, looking out at a snow-covered lake. Or watching the "I'm F****ing Ben Affleck" video in your PJs with your pals:

Here's our friend Megan with Clio, her own daughter, Marlie, and Elsa (looking much larger and more menacing than she actually is, on account of the angle). Megan's an awesome mom friend to have, because she's all about the "It Takes a Village" approach to hanging out with other folks' babies -- pitching in, picking up, keeping an eye out, lending and borrowing things without a second thought. She's village-rific.

Because the house was full of steps and staircases, and because we didn't want to spend the entire time chasing after our hellbent-on-destruction progeny, we borrowed a play-yard from another MOT for child containment purposes. Elsa and Clio both thought it was really fun to hang out in one little corner. (What does this make them? Claustrophiles?)

On Saturday afternoon, we suited up and headed out for a walk in the snow. As you know, I'm not a proponent of dressing twins alike. But I got these snowsuits on clearance and they only had one color left. And even I must admit, the girls look damned cute in them -- like a pair of little pink ewoks. (And the matching shoes were a gift! Don't shoot!)

We all walked out onto the frozen lake, through squalling snow:

Then we came back, fed the young'uns dinner, ate cheese and crackers, and did a lot of goofy playing and cuddling on the lovely hardwood floors.

It was well worth all the packing.

(Special thanks to our hostess with the mostest and photographer extraordinaire, Heidi Cohen, and her charming new beau.)

The Vacation Album

Roper — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 15:23:00 GMT

As promised -- and I know you were all holding your breath -- here are some pics from our week at Sandy Island. After that, we'll have a slide show and lecture on the gymnosperms of New England, and after that, we'll clean out the garage. Then I'll buy you all ice cream for being so good. Ready? Let's go.

Here we are on the porch of Alastair's parents' cabin, Analto (for all you other Sandyites out there). During the week we discovered that paper cups make excellent toys, as do paper plates, plastic bowls, empty potato chip bags (crinkly!) and flip flops. Shortly after this photo was taken, Elsa attempted to dive face-first off the porch onto the granite step below. I caught her by the straps of her dress, just in time. The girl has no innate sense of self-preservation. At what age do they start understanding the concept of ledges, and how you shouldn't crawl / walk / dive over them? Ever?

Here's Clio in the dining hall with her "uncle" Jeff. I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of the ersatz uncle moniker, as it makes me think of a slightly sleazy boyfriend a divorced mom brings home. "Kids, meet your Uncle Jim. You're going to be seeing a lot of him. Not like Uncle Dave and Uncle Bob and Uncle Leo. They were no good, two-timing bastards. But Uncle Jim is here to stay. Right, Jim-baby?"

But I digress. As I mentioned in the last post, Clio was in great spirits at Sandy, and seemed much more comfortable around new people. She also added a few new silly moves to her silly repertoire. While sitting in her high chair, she would suddenly tilt her head over to one side, resting on her shoulder, and smile. Lord knows why, but it was very cute. She's also started doing this goofy-bordering-on-creepy thing where she bobbles her head back and forth like a Bollywood heroine. And she continues to enjoy flapping her arms and banging her feet and rocking vigorously forward and back, headbanger style, while seated. I hope these repetetive motion tendencies aren't an indication that something is amiss. My apologies to any Indian film stars or Quiet Riot fans I've offended by posing the question.

Here, the ladies lounge happily on Sandy beach. Elsa is probably about to put a handful of sand in her mouth, grimace in displeasure, whimper uncomfortably as I try to get the sand out of her mouth and off her face, and then grab another handful of sand and repeat.

Sometimes putting the babies in the water went over well. Other times, not so much.

We borrowed our friends' Urban Mountain Buggy double stroller for the week, and I don't know how we would have survived without it. The thing handles like a dream, fits through doorways, works on almost any terrain. Only problem is, now we're totally spoiled and we totally want one. But they totally cost about $700 new. So even a used one wouldn't be cheap. Hey, if anyone from the Urban Mountain Buggy stroller company is reading this, do you need a spokesperson? Like, perhaps an unfamous mother of twins with a mommy blog read by dozens of people? No? Well, it was worth a shot.

Here, the girls tolerate and survive their first Sandy Island Italian Night. Shown here, the traditional bellowing of "That's Amore" by a bunch of silly adults, including abuelito, all of whom have had a few glasses of wine before dinner.

Speaking of wine....well, probably the less said about this picture the better. Sufficeth to say, Mama still remembers how to party. And she's a pretty good shot. (That's a BB gun, by the way.)

About to board the 11:00 boat and say fare thee well to Sandy until next year -- when the girls will be walking. And I thought this year was a lot of work...