Three Beans and a Couple of Nuts

2011-10-27T22:34:00.000-07:00

So Henry has turned two. I mean, he turned two, what, six months ago? But in the past few weeks he has become a full fledged, tantrum throwing, toothpaste tube squirting, hitting, biting, resisting any form of sleep two year old.

Flashback three days ago, entire tub of fish food flakes - teeny, tiny, smelly, REALLY smelly fish food flakes all over Ellie and Quinn's room, pillows, beds, train table, floor and rug. I guess I should just be glad they weren't all poured in the tank with a very bloat-y dead fish floating on top. This fish is new to the Brown household - Ellie has been begging for a pet for months, and in some guilt ridden moment of softness, I succumbed to buying a fish. And a tank, sparkly gravel, a small castle and several fake plants. His name hasn't really been established - floundering (!) between Baby Dolphin, Annika, and several others I can't remember. It's kind of Ellie's fish. I hope it lives a while. I don't think I could add fish death to my plate right now. The guy at the store said they are pretty indestructible. I told him I had four kids four and under, and wasn't so sure. So far, so good.

Anyway. We've had toothpaste squirting incidents, pancake tossing (entire box of 48 frozen pancakes on the living room floor), Desitin cream mishaps, you name it. Henry is officially in his squeezing and dumping stage. I was in E&Q's room last week, and I hear "cchhh, cchhhh, ccchhh." I said, "Henry!", and out from under the bed flies Quinn's inhaler halfway across the room, after being squirted (not into his mouth) about 8 times. He gets into childproof locks. He climbs to the counter in search of treats and lets himself out of the house. Ah!

When I have yelled at him (yes, I've yelled at him - not proud, just an admission), he pats me, and says, "It's ohhh-kay..." in the funniest soothing way that it makes me laugh every time. Or when he came down, covered in Extreme Clean Aquafresh, he said, "MMMMmmmm. Mommy. Really good. Really minty. Yum. Smell."

Exhibit A - part of the sugar that was dumped.
Henry's spoon found next to the bag.

He's finally talking in multi word sentences. On a 10 minute out of the way trip satisfy both my needs for coffee, and to keep Max asleep, we went to a drive thru Starbucks, and he said, "No Starbucks. Mommy already have coffee home." I love hearing his words. His stories, his songs. He tells the same knock knock joke about 56 times. Knock Knock. Who's there? Dunkin. Dunkin Who? Dunkin milk and cookies sure tastes good."

I do, however, wish he threw a few less tantrums. And maybe a few fewer pancakes.

Max had a rough few weeks there, looking adorable as ever, but not as adorable in the evenings, from about 6-10 when he would scream bloody murder. Quinn used to do that, too, so I kind of knew what to expect, but sweet jesus, when you've been up since 4am, taken care of three other kids who are threatening to report you to child services for giving them the wrong color spoon, 3-4 hours of SCREAMING is about what it takes to throw one over the edge. The good news is that he has turned a corner. I think. He has started to settle himself down a bit better at night. And he likes to rock. We don't still have our rocking chair, though, so I sit in bed and sway back and forth. With a glass of wine. At least he's smiley now, and though I'm pretty sure he may take longer to hold his giant melon up, I know he will turn out just fine. Even if he is a crier.

More on Ellie, Quinn, and life with four kids to come. Soon-ish. Here's a little recent artwork, and a Portland photo of the catapees, as they call themselves. Their only funny twin-ism.

Miro? Or just Quinn.

Medusa, by Ellie

Dead animals and new babies

2011-09-20T22:27:00.000-07:00

The upstairs office of our house smells like a dead animal in a steam room. I'm laughing as I type, thank god, but it seriously does. With these old houses built on the edge of the woods, I guess we can only expect as much - a dead mouse here and there, but it smells like there might be a moose up there somewhere.

Anyway. I should have started with something more along the lines of the story of a blissful birth of our newest son - Maximilian Russell Brown, born 8/24/2011 at 9:02am. 8lbs 4 oz. (I hesitated at the time... first kids, I remembered for at least a year. Fourth kid, I remembered without a doubt for at least a week. Now I question his weight and the time).

Ellie loves this kid. She thinks he's hers. I was just the surrogate, without the fee. I could post 57 pictures of her holding him, all with her little gaze, looking down on him.

Henry thinks he's slightly more interesting than a table, definitely less interesting than his ball collection. He hasn't shown any outward signs of major jealousy, e.g., flipping him over in his bouncy seat as a friend's little guy did on the arrival of his twin baby brother and sister, or trying to throw him off the back deck. My tomatoes are another story, unfortunately. I thought he was throwing his ball, but turns out it was a bunch of our BEAUTIFUL tomatoes, crashing down two stories to the hot tub cover below.

Quinn is also pretty doting. He has been bringing him blankets and pacifiers (though Max is NOT having any of that), holding him, and hugging. Considering he asked that we donate Henry to any willing recipient for the first year of his life, I think we're off to a good start.

So far, I would also say that having four kids four and under is vaguely easier than having three kids under two, which was our story before. E&Q can reason a little bit better (notwithstanding tonight's bedtime shenanigans, which are driving me CRAZY). Now don't get me wrong - when I say it's easier, by no means do I mean it's easy, because it is HARD. I am so TIRED. I can barely function. So on that note, I will post a few photos, and continue when I am slightly more rested. Like in three years.

And then there were six.

Portland To Do's and I hate yous

2011-08-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

This is an article I just wrote for Ellie and Quinn's preschool newsletter, reprinted here for anyone looking for summer ideas, and reassurance that if your kids tell you they hate you, you're not alone, and if they haven't yet, they probably will.

Ah, Summer. So far, we’ve berry picked (mostly at Kruger’s on Sauvie Island), summer camped (Southwest Community Center - still camps available for the rest of the summer for all ages), had swim lessons at the outdoor Wilson Pool (perfect to stay for family swim after the last morning lesson), checked out the water feature at Director Park downtown in front of the Fox Tower (better in the early afternoon, we’ve found, after the sun has had a chance to clear the tower), and of course, Jamison Park in the Pearl, with a Hot Lips pizza picnic (located at the Ecotrust building). Just the other day, the kids rode ponies (courtesy of their Nana, who rides), at Once Upon a Horse out on Stafford Road between Lake Oswego and West Linn. They had a neat program for young children, if you’re not terrified of horses (which I can be - trying not to instill that in the kids). We’ve had playdates and picnics at Wallace Park, the Elephant Park (Washington Park) and the Rose Garden, and plan on checking out Magnolia Park in Hillsboro, just as something new to do; I’ve heard it has a fun play structure and water area with fountains, perfect for little people to cool off in this glorious weather we are having. We are also looking forward to a few more Ladybug Walks - (google Ladybug Walks Portland for a listing of upcoming nature walks in local parks), BugFest 2011 (August 27th,11am, at the Nature Park Interpretive Center in Beaverton), and hopping on the Big Pink Trolley we keep seeing around town (scored a couple 1/2 price tickets on groupon.com last week - and kids 5 and under ride free). Several other Youngset mamas have mentioned the Preschool Days at Oaks Park - Tuesday and Wednesday mornings from 9:30-11:30, $6.50/child, so we’ll have to put that on the calendar, too.

Fun evening things have been a little more limited (ready for bed at 8:30) - but I have to include my feeling that Kruger Farms summer concerts are the best. I feel like they embody the reason I love raising my kids in the Northwest - or at least Northwest summers - warm sun, great music, relaxed atmosphere, grilled corn, picnic blankets, bare feet running up and down rows of fresh summer fruit, berry juice dripping from chins. We finally made it to one this past Thursday (the first really nice Thursday evening that we were able to coincide with our schedule), and it was heaven. If you haven’t been, put it on your summer to-do list. I also recently saw a listing for some great concerts out at McMenamin’s Edgefield - maybe a date night? We just missed Willie Nelson, which would have been super fun - but there are a bunch of other ones coming up, so check those out, too!

While we’ve certainly been having a fabulous summer, we’ve also been stricken with some less than fabulous behaviors among the four year old set at the Brown house. Somehow the early morning cuddles of three loving children (okay, so it didn’t happen EVERY day, but more often than not), has turned into a somewhat less charming, less than loving, “I hate you, Mommy!!”, usually uttered by about 7.15 or 7.30am, and then repeated three or four times a day. The reasons have varied - one day I wouldn’t make from scratch pancakes, since we had to be out the door by a certain time, or I gave the wrong juice cup, the incorrect spoon, didn’t get things done fast enough, brought ketchup instead of ranch, wouldn’t tell a third bedtime story, suggested they not cheat at a board game, put someone in a time out. You get the picture. The patient, adoring, loving mother in me sometimes has the sound mind to recognize it as a cry for attention, or “provocative communication” as Don Fleming writes in his aptly named book, Mom, I Hate You!, replying with something like, “I’m sorry you are mad at me right now, but I love you, even though I can’t make pancakes.” And then move on. The 8.5 month pregnant, uncomfortable, not sleeping, less than patient mother with a bladder the size of a walnut, and lungs being compressed by a seemingly 15 lb. baby, wants to yell right back at them (and cry for hours into my pillow!). Everything I read tells me it’s normal - both their instigation and exploration of expressing their emotions, and my reactions - compounded by my current state of pregnancy. And I know that - I really do. But it is so hard to hear those words! Ah, parenthood. I’ll just try to stick with the calm, reasonable mom attitude - even though I’m not always feeling it.

Quinn and Ellie have just started asking when school will start again - something I’m glad to hear. There is something so simple about summer - PJS until 10am, later nights, breezy summer afternoons. But there is also something so comforting about getting back into a routine, watching our children continue to develop at Youngset, learn what it means to be a friend and all the other fabulous and not so fabulous self discovery and learning they go through at these ages of 3, 4 and 5.

I had a minor heart attack last week on our first day of camp, one of the first mornings we had to be somewhere at a certain time in quite a while, and I wondered how I will do it all - four kids four and under dressed, shoed, fed, watered, played with and loved, the new one nursed - all by 9am, and although I still don’t really know how I will do it, I know what a welcoming and supportive group Youngset has offered so far. So when I roll in at 9:20 (9:30, who am I kidding?), with a deer in the headlights look, nursing bra exposed, shower taken no less than four days prior, another Youngset mom will be there to help me with a carseat or a cup of coffee. I thank you in advance.

Hopefully the only thing you get from my blurb is an idea or two for an outing - but if your kids are telling you they hate you, too, or you are feeling apprehensive about the change in routine, know you’re not alone. It all settles down when they turn five anyway, right, Teacher Lynn?

Change is good?

2011-07-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

So first of all, can I tell you how EASY it is to have one kid? I mean no offense to friends who have only one - but I simply cannot get over how delightfully calm it was around here this afternoon. Henry and I played in the sandbox for an hour, then went to Schmizza for dinner, rode the street car, played in the water at Jamison Park (spontaneously!), had ice cream and came home to bed. We snuggled, we didn't have to rush to the potty or fight about who got the tractor or the ball, no one was crying, I didn't have to keep my eyes on three kids in the water, worry if I had juice cups for everyone, or a change of clothes in case someone fell in, that one kid was lagging behind and about to get run over, or ANYTHING. I know it might feel boring by the time Chris, Ellie and Quinn get back on Sunday, but tonight one kid was Heaven. Capital H.

Last week SUCKED. I really needed this break with just Hen. We got home from a 10 day vacation at our house at Black Butte Ranch in Central Oregon on a Sunday (which was so fun, and SO tiring) . The day we got back, the kids transitioned to bunk beds - big kid bunk beds. So no more princess and car toddler beds. Then the next day (also the first day of swimming lessons), they decided they wanted to give up their nighttime pacis (gasp!). Yes, my four year olds were still using pacifiers at night. Not proud of it - but Ellie was SO attached, it was hard to yank them from her. I was pretty much willing to switch dentists just so we wouldn't have to deal with getting them to give them up - but Ellie (the real hanger-onner) announced she was ready. I hadn't been pushing - encouraging, but not pushing. That was Monday, so Tuesday, we went to Build-a-Bear and they each made a teddy bear (at friend Karen's suggestion), and stuffed their pacis inside. I had told Karen months ago that while it totally worked for her girls, I was SURE Ellie would be ripping the bear open within minutes of bedtime and trying to tear her pacifiers out.

Quotes from that first night, after attempting bedtime at 8:30:

9:15pm - "I know it was my idea, Mommy! It was a STUPID idea! I should have listened to you!"

9:45 - "I hate Build-a-Bear Factories!", throwing her newly stuffed purple bear across the room, then running across to get her, screaming, hoping she hadn't hurt her.

10:08 - "Sometimes life is just so hard, Mommy!", through heavy tears.

We were up until 10:15ish that first night, crying, anguishing, very, very sad. I felt so badly for her. But we made it.

Quinn, on the other hand, just said, "I don't miss my paci."

That lasted for 3 or 4 days - the heavy crying, twisting and turning in bed - total paci withdrawal. Then it started to settle down, BUT they started getting used to us hanging out in their room at bedtime, and started waking in the middle of the night again - at least 2 times each, which is FOUR times between 11-5am, which means that I don't sleep well, which is already not happening because, have I mentioned? I am 36 weeks pregnant with a seemingly huge baby who likes to kick. So to recap:

- come home from 10 days away (always an adjustment)

- switch to bunk beds from pint size toddler beds

- begin swimming lessons

- give up pacifiers

- up until after 10 four nights in a row, with no naps

Oh, and on a more positive note, but still big deals - within the past couple of weeks, they have mastered scooting on their Mini Kicks (which they LOVE!), and just yesterday learned to ride big kid bikes. So I guess that was a lot of change within a couple of weeks. When they get back, we are going to need to be on serious sleep patrol. How is it that our 2 year old is a WAY better sleeper than our four year olds have ever been?

Oh well, good thing things will be settling down here in the next few weeks. Except for me being gone for five days - to have a baby.

when space feels tight.

2011-06-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

So in addition to my general uterine area feeling tight, I have been stepping on one too many legos around here, and we have been investigating the idea of moving - as in, occasionally looking at a house or two, weighing our options, thinking about what we'd be giving up and what we'd gain, and then feeling like it would be INSANE to think about moving anywhere in the next year, or especially in the next 6 months, but the thought of remodeling sounds even crazier.

We have a great house - full of charm, details, molding, built in 1926. I love our house. We are one block away from where the kids will go to elementary school, and four doors up from my mother in law. And the view! The VIEW! We feel like we're in the treetops, but really we live in the city. Terrible photo - but maybe you get the idea. Taken from our living room, out the giant window.

The trouble with out Not So Big House is the layout is a little tricky - and our footprint is small. We have four finished levels - a basement that is mediocrely finished - a small bedroom and bathroom that kind of reminds me of something you would find in a Cape Cod summer cabin - blue and white, wooden plank swing door, clawfoot tub with wrap around curtain and an antique-y sink, super cute, but kind of iffy on the function level (okay, maybe the outdoor bathroom at a Cape Cod summer cabin). Washer/Dryer, furnace, some storage in cabinets, and a laundry sink. Not a whole lot of extra room - certainly not a playroom area. Not sure what a remodeling design firm would say. We'll have to see. My gut is that we could probably spend a whole lot of money down there, and not really gain that much.

Main level has living room, dining room, kitchen and den - and a view that I would have a REALLY hard time giving up. Photo somewhere in this post. (I will post more pictures, too - because I need some serious thoughts on whether we should stay and make do, remodel or move). Note: no bathroom on the main level, which is WAY more of a pain in the butt than you imagine - especially when potty training, needing to run inside for a second to pee when the kids are playing out front, or when one (or more) of the kids has diarrhea and vomiting, like today. Ugh. Who needed that living room rug, anyway!? We could get rid of our small (Prius small) garage and kick the kitchen out, add a bathroom, open up the layout a bit and then put french doors to make the driveway into a patio. That's our big idea. But suddenly, between that, updating the bathroom upstairs, and doing the roof, painting, blah, blah - we've suddenly spent 200k. Still cheaper than buying a new house I guess. (and for all of you thinking - why don't you just do most the work yourselves? ha!)

Upstairs has three bedrooms - small for Henry, medium for E&Q to share, and large-ish for Chris and I. Master bedroom closet for Max, I think. And a Small Bathroom. Capital S. If we wanted to add a bathroom in the master, we could, but I think then Max would have to sleep in a drawer. Which would work for a while, I guess. Then, in the Up-Up, as I call it, we have (as of yesterday) a playspace for the kids, thanks to my handiwork and the Ikea Trofast storage bins, and Chris's office. And shelves of fabric and yarn that I have had every intention of using to knit and sew for years now. I haven't quite finished the playspace - I have to paint one of the walls with magnetic paint and finish bringing some more toys up. The kids seem to really like it. Same toys/different space=new toys!

I think we could make the Up-Up a bedroom at some point, with some redoing of our HVAC system. It's a finished attic that gets hot, hot, hot in the summer. And iceberg-ish in the winter. But March-May, and October/November, it's perfect!

And I'd like more of a yard, but we're so close to the school playground that it doesn't seem to matter that much. And as Chris reminds me, I don't really have time for gardening right now, anyway. And we have a small garden, 3 decks off the back of the house, and a sidewalk that we draw on.

Maybe I should just organize the legos better and shut my mouth. I don't know. Remodel? Move? Stay? I'm totally nesting.

When I think we're good parents.

2011-06-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

So there we are at the Waterfront today for the Rose Festival Fun Center, which generally translates (and I realize I may sound snobby here) to a bunch of people in "Honk if You're Horny" t-shirts from the sketchy parts of the burbs - which I did actually see, and should have taken a picture of to prove it. Anyway - the crowd is not the Portland I live in (though I did run into two families I know from around town and saw lots of people wearing much more appropriate clothing - including a cute dad wearing an "I Love Soccer Moms" t-shirt). We like to think we keep our neighborhood real with our plastic toys scattered around our front garden, including a crab shaped sandbox, plastic slide, pea gravel dig pit and a super cute wooden picnic table I picked up from a garage sale yesterday for $10. And though we don't have gardeners, as most of our neighbors do, I am happy to report that I do not own a "Honk if you're Horny" t-shirt.

Anyway. The kids LOVED every second of the festival's trashy glory! For my (two?) out of town readers, the Rose Festival is a week long 104 year old Portland tradition created to make Portland 'the summer capital of the world!' - and it has all sorts of events during the week, spanning end of May to June. There is a fleet of Navy ships that come into harbor, a giant Rose Festival Float Parade, the Starlight Run, all sorts of things - including the crowning of the high school Rose Queen, you get the picture. And there is the Fun Center. I think we spent $90 on ride tickets, or something ridiculously close to it. Henry rode the same car ride 5 times, each time choosing the same exact car. The ride operator made us get out every time and get back in line, even though twice there were only two kids lined up, and never more than four (plenty of cars to go around). Each time I got Henry out, he would scream because he wanted to stay in, and I would have to carry him out the exit, and back around to the line and say, "Oh, hi again. One, please." Just one of those things that people do that drive me CRAZY. I would have happily just handed him my tickets each time.

Ellie rode the carousel - here's where we come in as feeling like we're good parents - and there's this muscly dad, probably 40ish, with his wife, older daughter and no more than 2 year old boy. Ellie and Chris had gotten on the carousel, and the 2 year old got on with his mom, right in front of them. The kid is hysterical - screaming because he is clearly terrified, and his mom is tightening this leather belt around him, forcing him to stay on the horse. The muscly dad is yelling at him from the sidelines, "Hey, boy, you listen - Knock it off! Quit your crying and put on a happy face." All this is making the kid even more upset. I mean, for the love of God, the kid is TWO. A baby. He's scared shitless of being on the horse, and he's being forced to stay on it. The poor kid is going to grow up petrified of carousels. So depressing - not just the carousel fear - the whole thing.

So bottom line, our kids had a great time and we had a lot of fun watching them have a great time. And next year, we'll have FOUR kids at the fair. EEk.

Minivans, new babies and pee on the floor

2011-06-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

The first thing I googled when I found out I was pregnant with this latest kid was "honda odyssey four car seats." Because I am NOT ready to buy a new car. Now I'm googling "closet turned into nursery" - which is exactly what I plan on doing for Max (?). You would be surprised how many links I came up with. Most were couples on their first child in a small space. Because really (besides my friends Sarah and Marisa) - who on EARTH has four kids these days? I kind of felt like three was the new two, but four - hold the phone. Four gets all sorts of comments. Not like I didn't get them already with EQ&H being so close in age. But now that my previously two-bedroom uterus has expanded to a full 7+ months pregnant, and I am chasing after a 30lb toddler and two preschoolers - people just stare and ask if they are all mine.

A couple of fave comments from strangers on twindom:

"Are you sure they're twins? She's so much taller."

"Did you use any special positions to get pregnant with twins?"

"Are you worried their umbilical cords will get wrapped around their necks at birth?"

"What kind of fertility treatments do you use?" (none, actually. We've just been extremely lucky. And extremely fertile.)

Anyway - back to the lack of impulse control four year olds. Here were today's highlights:

He peed on the living room floor "because Henry told him to." Now let's get this straight - Henry has about 20 words - not a big talker. One of his latest happens to be "pee". Apparently Henry said "pee", so Quinn followed through.

He picked up the only pair of Henry's shoes that I could find after a 30 minute search, and hurled them into our garden - a deep pocket of ferns, azaleas, euphorbia and all sorts of ground cover. I didn't see where he threw them, so an additional 10 minutes were spent searching a second time.

That is 40 minutes of shoe searching and 10 minutes of cleaning up pee and the floor. I can think of about 63 other ways I would like to have spent that 50 minutes. Nesting, organizing, playing legos, getting a pedicure, eating a bowl of granola, reading a magazine to name just a few.

Bikers, burritos and whatnot

2011-06-09T21:36:00.000-07:00

So I'm driving today, in a rare moment of relaxedness - as I had ZERO kids with me - had just picked up a chicken mole burrito, which I was looking forward to eating at home by MYSELF, and was about to stop at Walgreens because my feet desperately need a new pumice stone (I think the last one got thrown over the railing on the back deck - and ooo-wheee, my feet are begging for a new one). Anyway. There I am, minding my own business on 23rd, smelling the deliciousness of my mole, about to turn left on Everett, when this biker (Portland was just voted, as usual, the most biker friendly/bike user city), passes me on the right (on a single lane BUSY street), and then cuts in front of the car in front of me to turn left, screaming at me that I was too close to him and was going to hit him. Aren't bikes supposed to follow the rules of the road? As in, you're on a vehicle on a one lane road, so you aren't allowed to pass a person on the right who has their left blinker on, and then cut in front of them to turn left? If another car did that, they would get a ticket. He didn't have a bike lane and he was a total asshole about it.

I mean, seriously. I could have fucking hit him, and he is screaming at me, yelling that I should pay attention/etc. If you want to share the road, then follow the fucking rules of the road. I can feel my blood pressure going up just thinking about it. I am SO the cautious person - I let pedestrians have the right of way (though admit to getting ever so annoyed when some 20-something on her cell phone doesn't look before crossing when I have a green light, and then looks at me like I'm a malicious pedestrian killer), and I always check my mirrors and look behind me when turning right where there is a bike lane. Any bikers out there want to defend this guy?

Anyway. I wanted to follow him and push him off his bike. Instead, I just went and got my pumice stone and a copy of Town and Country (who exactly is that magazine written for?) and ate my burrito. The kids were on a picnic with my in laws, and the hubs is in Walla Walla on business (and researching it as a fun destination for us to go and eat onions and drink wine).

So I had Quiet! And a few moments of reading a magazine, until they came home, and my lack of impulse control son (no names mentioned, Quinn), threw my unfinished pico de gallo and guacamole over the railing. I didn't even realize until I cuddled up with him, and felt bits of cilantro, chopped onion and tomato in his hair and on the back of his shirt. Really? My pico, and cherished guacamole? I just don't think four year old boys can control their random urges. Maybe I'll throw that salsa over. There it goes! I gave him a quick stern "Mommy is disappointed" talk, wondering if I could possibly salvage my pico 25 feet below. Ellie interrupted with her most angelic face and said, "I didn't throw it, Mama. You aren't disappointed in me, are you? I'll hug you to make you feel better." Quickly followed by, "Maybe I shouldn't tell him to throw it over the railing next time." It was a conspiracy! I told her she was an accomplice to being a litterbug - the worst insult you could throw at her - and then I had two screaming, sobbing children. And no guacamole.

Odds and Ends.

2011-03-07T21:47:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile, my FOUR followers.

Two quotes of the day.

Between Ellie and Quinn, after she stole his non-working laptop, then relinquished it after thirty seconds of making him sufficiently angry and upset:

Q: I don't love you anymore! (yelling)

E: But what about earlier when you promised to love me for years and years and years?! (talking with hands, yelling back)

Quinn, to me, after I lost it and yelled at them for Quinn stealing Ellie's duck, and Ellie for screaming as though she had been stabbed, and for throwing every stuffed animal they own and a whole bag of too small clothes, piece by piece, down the stairs, while I tried to clean up the dishes from dinner.

Me: I'm sorry that I yelled, but it makes mommy so frustrated when you fight like that, and when I ask you to stop throwing things and you don't listen.

Q: It makes ME frustrated when you yell at me for not picking up my things!

Touche.

I love these kids. I spent a good percentage of my time at parent helping today on hall duty, reading "Positive Discipline for Preschoolers", and I really want to follow it, live it and breathe it. I really do. Chris went to a positive parenting class at preschool a couple of weeks ago, and is also ready to embrace a consistent approach. I just need to figure out a way to make it happen. I laughed at the part about making sure to have constant close supervision - it feels impossible. And I would love to hear from other moms of three at three and under, or similar, how they do what we do every day: make breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, get laundry done, clean up the pretzel bits, corn, noodles and spilled milk, prevent gross injury or death to the general household population, grocery shop, take a shower (not daily), give baths (not daily), have FUN with the kids, and have some personal time, too. All while guiding my kids to make positive choices about where to hang their coat, put their shoes, not to dump the snack on the couch, not to climb into the medicine cabinet to get down a bottle of shampoo to squirt on the rug, or get Q-tips to put god knows where. To not take the heating vents out of of the ducts, and to not throw anything down the laundry chute that you want retrieved anytime soon. It feels like a LOT. And that's when I get frustrated.

Being pregnant with a fourth child is NOT helping, by the way. At least I'm not throwing up anymore. I don't remember having to pee every 52 seconds this early in either of the other pregnancies, though. And I am 16 weeks and look seriously more like 6 months. One of E&Q's classmates came up and asked, "Mrs. Brown, can I ask you a question?" Of course. "Why is your tummy getting so much fatter?"

Good thing I am pregnant. GOOD thing.

Faith.

2010-12-03T14:04:00.001-08:00

When I told Ellie, Quinn and Henry the other day that I wished they would stay this age forever, even with all the craziness, I truly meant it. I wish we could just stay right in this moment forever. I don't want to get older. I don't want them to grow up. I don't want to ever have to face letting them go.

Today we made cupcakes for Lindsay's birthday, our great babysitter. Everyone had candles in their cupcakes, and Ellie closed her eyes, then opened them, staring directly at the flickering light of the candle and repeated "I WISH I was a princess. I WISH I was a princess. I WISH I was a princess." She said it with such conviction that I could see a little disappointment on her face that she didn't immediately end up with a princess dress poofed onto her. I wish I could make magic really happen for her. I know she truly believes it can.

Chris's dad became very very sick, suddenly, on a vacation to the east coast back at the end of October. After being put in a medically induced coma for about 3 weeks, he has been brought out of it, but he is not waking up. He is very critically ill, and my heart is just so heavy. For Chris, for me, for the kids, for Janna, who I know is sitting by his side, just hoping and praying and holding on to a sliver of hope that he is going to wake up and be the husband she knows, the Papa Russ my kids love. I keep reading everyone's messages on the caringbridge website, about just needing to wait for him to get better, with the help of God.

I am not religious. I haven't found a connection with God, or any other higher power. Maybe that would give me some peace to know what is beyond our life here, but I just don't have it. I have always felt that religion is a great solution for lots of people - it answers questions which I also have, "what happens after death?" "how did we get here?", that I know so many of us wonder and may even fear, and offers a sense of community when it so easy to feel alone. But I don't truly believe anything - not in God, or Bhudda, or Allah. I guess I do have faith in believing that there is something bigger than me out there. I just need to hold onto that.

It feels like the world should stop. Even for a minute. And that he should wake up, if only to say goodbye.

Dead squirrels and holiday spirit.

2010-12-02T21:40:00.000-08:00

Today, I managed to run over a squirrel, prepare salad and bake cookies for 20 people, decorate 2 gingerbread houses, get my hair cut and highlighted, change 4 diapers, 2 of them full of poop, attend a board meeting for preschool, make a trip to the grocery store, and see Santa. Oh, and I killed a bird.

I guess I've had worse days. Getting my hair highlighted is one of my favorite things to do. It helped balance out the animals I killed.

The squirrel happened on the way to the grocery store. Then we came home, and there was a bird in the house. I mean, come ON. He must have been lured in by the boiled over oatmeal that was covering the stove. Or maybe the fresh hot coffee brewing...oh, wait. NO. That wasn't it. Because the coffee pot shattered. I am guilty that my first thought was GODDAMMIT! That better not have been the coffee! Then I made sure Henry was okay. He had pulled out the drawers in the kitchen, climbed up, gotten the pot, poured the coffee out, which is when I ran into the kitchen, only to see him crash the glass pot onto the tile floor.

Anyway. So this bird is flying around maniacally. Henry is chasing after it, saying "Buh? Buh? Buh!", and I was trying to get it to fly toward an open window or door, until the poor thing slammed itself into the windows so many times that it must have broken its wing or something. I tried. I really did. But I had to prevent Henry from climbing out the windows I had opened trying to get it to fly out. And I had to make salad. And it finally limped out the front door and hid under a bush.

Not as bad as the time Chris and I were driving and hit a family of ducks. But that is WAY too much of a downer. So I won't get into that.

When I grow up

2010-11-09T13:13:00.000-08:00

Ellie, I want you to stay to this size forever and ever, so you can fit right here in my lap. -me

Mama, I'm going to get MUCH bigger, but not until my birthday. - Ellie

On growing up:

When I grow up, I'm going to be able to drive a car, have really big hands, and light candles all by my own self. - Quinnie

When I grow up, I'm going to be able to light candles, and eat candy whenever I want. - Ellie

On staying small:

I can fit through small tunnels, and I'm just the right inch for doing trick or treating; I can reach right into the candy bowl. -Ellie

On their preschool teacher's work habits:

Driving out of the parking lot after a school meeting, Ellie and Quinn asked where their fave Teacher Barb was. Their thoughts:

I don't think Teacher Barb leaves preschool until the sun has set on the horizon. (exact words) - Ellie

I don't think she goes home. Teacher Barb sleeps at preschool. - Quinn

Odds and Ends.

2010-10-14T14:02:00.001-07:00

Things that have recently been thrown over the railing of our deck, down 2 stories.

1. Hummingbird Garden sculpture

2. Kids bear shaped baking dish

3. Long metal stake for hummingbird garden sculpture

4. 3 hotwheels cars

5. Bottle cap (oddly, Henry was most

upset about not being able to retrieve that one)

6. pirate sword

7. yellow Big Bird shovel

8. watering can

I am always 2 seconds too late. Henry is equally surprised each time and looks out over the side, saying "Bah??" Bah??" and pointing, begging me (with eyes alone) to go down and retrieve what he has thrown to the thorn filled blackberry bushes below. I have not yet obliged his requests, so the pile continues to grow.

Things I have recently found in the pile at the bottom of the laundry chute.

1. Not surprisingly, about 649 loads of laundry

2. a half eaten plum

3. the spatula I searched five minutes for last night

4. one flip flop, a clog and a leopard print heel

5. flashlight

6. toilet plunger

(the last two I actually heard go down, and wondered if one of the children had gone down with it)

Google searches I have recently done.

1. How to make Peter Pan hats

2. Jennifer Grey Nose Job

3. 16 month old sleep schedule

4. recipes for ground beef

5. princess coloring pages

6. apple picking portland

7. recipe for flubber

8. fitday

I love google. Or Bing. Or Yahoo. Or whatever search engine is handy. I can find anything. ANYTHING! You can tell a lot about what's going on in a person's life by looking at their googling history.

- Photos are of Ellie, Quinn and Henry all at age 17 months.

Princesses. Cars.

2010-10-07T20:37:00.000-07:00

Holy SHIT. Today was a long day. Some days just fly by, and some days are spent assuring a very worried daughter that the candles in our pumpkin are not going to burn our house down nor will the matches on the mantle will not spontaneously burst into flame (fire station month at preschool). And preventing the 16 month old from drawing blood out of other toddler's faces at the neighborhood library program, while making apologies to all the other mildly horrified mothers. Or cleaning up the pee from the clean laundry that he dumped from mini potty we have downstairs (because we don't have a bathroom on the main floor. I never thought not having a bathroom there would matter that much. Until we potty trained two children at the same time. It matters). AND reminding the WILDMAN that the only thing that should be going in the toilet - mini or regular - is POOP and PEE. Not paper towel rolls. Not baby Henry's favorite, most adored, coveted giraffe-y. Not pirate telescopes. I think 76% of my daily routine centers around bodily excretions, what to do with them and what not to do with them. The other portion, when I'm not making Peter Pan hats, is spent preparing what will later become bodily excretions. I hadn't thought about it that way before. Anyway.

All that said, Ellie, Quinn and I did have a fun adventure to Target after preschool: new lunch boxes all around. Cars for him. Princesses for her. How did I go from the parent who wouldn't let her pre 2.5 year olds be in the same room with a television on to buying Disney princess lunch boxes and sipping blue raspberry slurpees at the Target snack bar? And thinking it was a good idea? As a fellow preschool mom said, "Seeing your kids happy is like heroine. You'll do anything to make it happen." Finding the balance between bringing them a little material joy and instilling a good values system in regards to materialism is a tough one. We don't buy them stuff all the time (or so I think), and we make lots of things, recycle art projects, etc. Ellie looked at me with wide eyes the other day after looking at a catalog and said, "We can BUY these things?" She had, until then, thought catalogs were just magazines with pictures in them. Ah, how quickly innocence is lost.

Anyway. I think about that a lot - the part about who am I? What am I doing? How did I go from what I was to what I am now - from what I gather, it's a very common topic among mothers. I better go back to Bhuddism for Mothers and find my answer. More on that later.

We watched "Date Night" last night (Tina Fey/Steve Carrell). Totally entertaining. Totally implausible, but totally laugh out loud funny. If you've ever had a discussion with your spouse, with your nightguard already in, about whether or not you feel like sex, you will appreciate this movie.

Also, I started this post a couple days ago, so it's not exactly timed with the photos.

Joy

2010-09-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

It was a big week over here at the Brown house. Preschool started; I actually went to the gym a few times. A big week, indeed. I'm feeling kind of short on words, so here are a few from the kids.

Quinn cried off and on for an hour last week (and I mean REALLY cried - I thought about taking a video, but decided it would seem cruel) because his umbrella wasn't shooting fire out of the tip when he pointed it at Ellie, like Jiminy Cricket's. He sobbed that he was just getting puffs of smoke, no fire. My heart broke for him, even though he was trying to shoot fire at his twin sister.

"I love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very much. Even mucher than my cars." - Quinn, to the gushiest loving mother in the whole world.

When I told Ellie I had to rush to the bathroom, "Don't worry, Mommy, grown ups know how to hold their vaginas."

"I'm giggling out of happiness!" as Ellie ran around the room tonight, giggling.

"Bah? Bah? Bah-ber? Bah? Bah? Ell-ye? Bah? Bah? Bah? Bah? Bah? Sausage." - Henry, which I believe was "Flag? Book? Blackberries? Lamp? Helicopter? Ellie? Lightbulb? Bug? Airplane? Tools? Car? Sausage."

He has actually said sausage and Ellie and an almost blackberry. Other than that, there are a lot of bahs.

Motherhood, bubble bath and Vernaccia

2010-08-04T21:11:00.001-07:00

I embraced the moment yesterday - ever trying to be more present - and decided that when Quinn said, with his upturned baby blues, looking hopeful, "I'm going to come with you!" on what I had planned on being my very own, very quiet, very alone alone time, I agreed, and we hopped in the minivan. He didn't even mind riding in the smelly seat.

We had to pick up GamGams birthday present, and since there was a car repair place next door, we stopped in there, too, to see if there were any hoods being looked under: my three year old boy's dream adventure. The woman working in the office was exactly who I would have pictured if we had walked into the same car repair shop in Jersey City in 1982: long ringlets of brown hair bleached blonde, a clinging (and when I say clinging, I mean Clinging, capital C) black knit dress with beige stripes down the sleeves, a la Z Cavaricci menswear circa 1990, thick beige panty hose, crackly pink lipstick, and saying "Awwww..." in two syllables at how cute Quinn was. I guarantee that this woman was from New Jersey. They just don't grow 'em the same out here.

Anyway. Then we went to Starbucks, where Quinn was a little dream. We talked about Pirate Adventure camp, about how he loves me, how I can't have any of his brie, but can have the broken cracker that fell on the floor, that he wants some of my coffee. I couldn't help but be really angry at this other mother in there, though. She had her 5-7 year old (hard to tell) with her, and she was trying to have an adult conversation with her male companion, clearly not her partner, and clearly didn't have any kids of his own. The mom kept whisper yelling at her kid, "Sit! I told you to sit! Sit on your bottom in that chair or I will take away TV tonight!" Then she would babble on to the guy, ignoring her kid, who oh so clearly just needed attention - or a book, or a sticker sheet, or a cracker. Or something. That went on the whole time we were there. I wanted to tell the woman to focus on her kid. Or leave her kid at home to play. Who brings their five year old to Starbucks with a friend they want to impress, and expect it to go any other way? At least when my kids lose it at the grocery store, I expect it.

Then today, at the park there was this woman with her two kids, 5 3/4 and 3. The three year old was having a meltdown about something, wanting a stomp rocket from the car. I was there with just Henry. Just Henry! We were on a walk, stopped for a coffee, stopped for a play in the park. No rushing, no one needed to rush to a potty, needed a snack, wanted what the other kid had, didn't want to walk anymore. One kid. Ha! Anyway. So the mom and I are standing there, seriously about 4 feet from each other, and we are the only ones at the park, and her kid is screaming on the slide, between us, and she never made eye contact with me or acknowledged me in any way. I talked to the other one about her school and being 5 3/4. The mom is yelling at the three year old to stop acting so babyish, and that it was her responsibility to bring the rocket with her from the car if she wanted it. She never made eye contact with me. She grunted a little when I said something like, "I had a day like that yesterday..." I'm sure she was thinking, what does this woman know about having two kids?

I tried to remember that I wasn't in her shoes, and that maybe she just got some really bad news - her mom was just diagnosed with a terminal illness, her husband was having an affair, lost his job. But really I think she was just kind of a bitty.

Ellie pulled a bubble bath, toilet paper, dental floss trifecta tonight, all while climbing up a tall, upside down laundry basket "just yike a yadder!" so she could sit at level with the bathroom sink. Boy, bubble bath makes a lot of bubbles in a sink. And wow, there is a LOT of dental floss on a full dental floss spool. Could have been worse. She could have come down from her bathroom extravaganza and gotten poop on the dining room chair while we had friends over for dinner. Or something.

Vernaccia. I had forgotten about Vernaccia. I went down after nursing Henry to sleep, and Chris had dumped the last swig of wine out of the bottle, the swig I had been anticipating the whole time I was getting the kids to bed. He was just trying to clean up. So he went to the store and bought a bottle of Vernaccia from San Gimignano. San Gimi Gimi. I knew I married this man for a reason.

I hope the woman in Starbucks let her kid watch a cartoon last night, and I hope the woman at the park today has a better day tomorrow. I hope, for my sake, that someone else has wiped the poop off the chair.

Arachnids begone, not arachnoids, which would require a telescope or surgery

2010-08-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

Take THAT, you toddler-eating spider biatches. I just soaked the carpet under Henry's crib with cedar citronella naturally derived bugspray and layered the baseboards with lemon oil Mrs Meyers Clean Day. I also vacuumed the shit out of that whole room today, so whatever spiders are biting my precious little pea better back the fuck off. Or I will seriously get a night vision camera and kill every last one of them with my bare hands. Or at least get Chris to.

Poor Henry. He's been eaten alive over the past couple of weeks, and now has an eye swollen shut to go with his other puss crusted bites. Capital G-ross.

2010-07-27T13:18:00.000-07:00

Dear City of Portland,

Two cement trucks AND street sweepers at 1.20 in the afternoon? REALLY? It is NAPTIME.

I couldn't even get the water meter reader to reach down and try turning a faucet to help me figure out where our leak is while I had Henry screaming in my arms and ellie and Quinn hiding behind each leg, "Liability, ma'am." And now you've got a fleet of trucks trying to destroy my sanity one tiny piece at a time.

It's a conspiracy.

2010-06-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I was more upset that Quinn intentionally dumped my coffee over this morning with a xylophone stick or that it was the last cup of coffee without having to brew more. We had a good day, full of fun and trying moments. Kind of a typical day.

Ellie spent most of the early morning and late afternoon walking around with a tupperware 'bucket', a broom and a wet washcloth asking me if she could go to the ball after she cleaned the fireplace, wiped the windows and swept the carpets. I (her wicked stepmother) let her go once she had sufficiently swished the ashes in the fireplace around and streaked the windows and TV with a wet washcloth. "But I didn't even get your name...", she said wistfully. Ah, where dreams of perfect romance begin.

Quinn spent most of his day turning his imaginary purple Lexus from a car into an airplane, like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and making legos into street sweepers, limousines, pickup trucks and snowplows.

It's amazing how innate the whole princesspurplepinkandsparklyromancelovekissing and carplanesiamgoingtoknockyouover differences are. Having boy and girl siblings, especially twins experiencing developmental milestones around the same time, is so interesting. Of course they are individuals - I know that, different kids, different interests, blah, blah. I know. When we were watching another segment of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang tonight, there was a kissing scene between Dick Van Dyke and Sally Ann Howe (yes, I had to look that up - I almost thought it was Julie Andrews - how embarrassing for me). Dick and Sally kissed, then climbed into Chitty Chitty; Ellie looked all googley eyed while Quinn said, 'Who's going to drive it?'

We thought it was funny.

Henry took a bunch of steps tonight - he'll be walking in another week, I think. I mean really walking. Not just taking a few steps here and there, which he has been doing for about a month. I've been wanting him to walk - and move from two naps to one, but today he showed some clear signs of both, and now I'm not so sure. I think I'd like the crawling, twice napping version of Henry a little while longer, if you please.

What else? You can see the floors in several rooms of our house. That, of course, means that there is now more square footage for the ants to crawl on, which I'm sure thrills them to no end, but it also means that it looks like we have even a little bit of our act together. Fewer toys, moved toys, more organized toys. More laundry done and put away. Fewer clothes on the floor. Fewer pretzels in the couch cushions and under the rug.

A good day, indeed.

Bedtime

2010-06-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

7:00/7:26/7:45 - Henry is power nursing
8:00 - doors locked, Ellie and Quinn happily planted in front of Wall-E so I can nurse Henry to sleep
8:24 pm - Quinn melting down because he accidentally bit his finger while eating nuts, throwing bowl at Ellie, who then eats all his nuts and raisins and stores them in her cheek, refusing to give them back. Hitting and fighting ensue.
8:28 - refusing to brush teeth. Quinn's get done, but not easily. "I think I'll skip tonight," says Ellie. She gets a moderate quick brush, before she clamps up tight.
8:31 - Quinn is asleep as his head hits the pillow (skipped his nap today)
8:48 - I hear things being dropped out of Ellie's crib
8:50 - Whimpering...Mommy!!!! Tuck, pat, restart lullabies
9:04 - "My teeth! Mommy! My teeth! We didn't do the backs of my teeth - they are going to get holes in them!" (my own threat has backfired). Teeth rebrushed, lullabies restarted.
9:32 - "My tummy is still hungry! The side that doesn't have the dinner in it is empty!"
9:49 - surfing Tivo, glass of wine at the ready, seems to be quiet.

I should expect nothing less from the daughter who at 21 months was yelling, "need hummus! need hummus!" from her crib at bedtime.

Siblings without Rivalry

2010-04-28T21:52:00.000-07:00

I've got Siblings Without Rivalry, Your Three Year Old: Friend or Enemy and Bhuddism for Mothers competing for attention on my nightstand.

Today, Siblings Without Rivalry got first read, and though a lot of it seems obvious or like I should know it all already, I have to admit I haven't been putting into practice. For twins, it must be so hard to constantly have to share their toys, their time with a parent, everything, and then for us to have thrown another baby into it... well, no wonder they're fighting and cranky.

Anyway. I tell the kids a story each night before bed, about the adventures of a girl their age, who is the fictitious daughter of a couple from this book that Ellie's loves called Stormy's Hat - the daughter I made up is Elizabeth, and a few nights ago, I added in that they had a new baby named Kevin (their choice). Anyway. Tonight's story (after reading an inspiring chapter in Siblings Without Rivalry about creating an open forum for negative feelings), was about how Elizabeth loved the idea of having a new baby brother, but sometimes she would get mad and frustrated because he took all her mom's attention, and as he got older, he would always take Elizabeth's toys, and ruined things that she was working on.

In a break in the story, Quinn said "I get frustrated with Henry sometimes. He always tries to take my cars. I love Ellie and Mommy and Daddy. But I don't love Henry." And Ellie said, "I get frustrated with Henry when he doesn't want to play with me and cries at me." They went on about various things. The irony is that Quinn is always yelling at Henry, pushing him away, and all Henry wants is to be with him. Ellie ADORES him and wants him to play with her. She is always kissing, hugging him and trying to get him to play, and he does cry at her a lot, because she's always in his space. I think her feelings get hurt.

They both clearly felt some relief to talk about it in such a calm place - a rocking chair before bed. And it was really heartening for me. I know that they are frustrated, and that it must be really hard to be three years old and have all these emotions.

And I know that tomorrow they will drive me crazy with their antics, fighting, yelling and screaming, but I will try to remember those moments tonight in the rocking chair and channel that calm.

The new sex

2010-03-31T22:31:00.000-07:00

Oh, yeah. Um hm. That's it. Yeah. Right there. A little deeper. Almost. Almost got it.

I'm alone in our room. With dental floss. And it's heaven.

I have had very little time to myself these past few weeks, even with Chris out of a job and home with us. We've been fielding the kids on our own, which has been both fabulous and really exhausting. He's heading back to a new job on Monday. Yay! Ugh. The dichotomy of the return to work. So glad and thankful that he found a job. So freaking anxious about managing all three kids on my own.

I have been wanting to set a blogging schedule. But I can seriously barely get food on the table, or out from underneath it on a regular basis. The kids had a choice of frozen shu mai or frozen ravioli two nights in a row. Maybe it's that I miss having the time to grocery shop leisurely and cook with a glass of wine in hand. The reality is that I am usually running around our kitchen, cursing because I keep tripping over cars and princess wands and getting cracker crumbs and half eaten grapes stuck to my bare feet. It drives me CRAZY. Chris can attest, having witnessed my 10pm mini anger meltdown last night. There was just one crumb too many, AND I was watching, with both disgust and amazement, a trail of 200 ants walking from our den to our living room along a built in bookcase to get the poison we put out for them, and carrying it back through the wall to the nest that BETTER be outside. I believe I yelled (muffled because the kids were sleeping), "We live in filth!" Now that I'm slightly less clenched, it doesn't feel as overwhelming.

Anyway. I am still working on trying to be a wiser, better person. My latest bhuddist principle to think about is letting go of attachment, which should bring me more peace and calm, to not attach myself to expectations of others. Chris didn't read my mind and know I wanted him to take the kids outside? Let it go. Act with love. Henry wakes up from a nap 20 minutes after it starts? Let go of the previous attachment to the expectation of an hour and a half, and accept what it is. A friend disagrees with a parenting strategy. We are all one, and should respect and accept the other view, even if it is not my own. Just thinking of those things makes me calmer, more accepting, less angry. But it's hard to remember that in the moment. It's easy to follow these things when all is going well and I've had enough sleep. But I suppose it becomes the bigger lesson when the day feels like it is falling apart and everyone is crying. Emotions are passing states. Acknowledge them, notice them and then let them move out of our body. Anger, happiness, sadness, elation. They are all temporary feelings that come and go every day, so not to attach myself to any one state as a permanent feeling.

I have also been remembering, as Ellie, Quinn and Henry (but especially E&Q) get bigger and more independent that they are not mine, in the sense of possession. They are ours to mind, to teach, to nurture and love, but it is all so we can encourage them to the edge of the nest, to pursue being their own beings. Having said that, a particularly funny moment with Ellie:

Walking up to a t-shirt and boxer clad Chris with a tape measure in hand, Ellie announced, "I'm going to measure your peepee!", and held the tape measure up to his crotch.
I laughed and gaffawed in hysterics, and asked, "How big was it, Ellie?"
"Big and a half!"

Ah, my beautiful, quirky, sometimes whiny, but wonderful children.

Funny discussion

2010-02-25T20:09:00.000-08:00

Look! It's like a candy cane! (Quinn commenting on his poop - to his credit, it actually WAS shaped like a candy cane)

But we don't want to eat it. It's a poopy cane. (Ellie)

We COULD eat it. With cheese. And pickles. (Quinn)

The sun is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

And you might get gingivitis. (Ellie's discussion with herself about something...)

Get it goin'

2010-02-22T21:33:00.000-08:00

Being a family of five, three of whom are under three, leaves little time for blogging. Or anything, really. I don't know how moms do this around the world. I really don't. Between breakfast, adventure outings, snacks, lunches, napping (or not napping, as the case may be), dinners, dishes and laundry, I find it nearly impossible to fit in birthday parties, dinners with friends, date night, showers. Maybe if I fit in more showers, I'd have more date nights.

We've been sick for a week with some sort of throatcoughrunnynoseexhaustion disease, and 8 eyes in the family have been afflicted with pink eye. I have commented several times to the kids that their eyes are gunky, which led to Quinn chasing Ellie around the house tonight, yelling at decibel 9, "You're gunky!" to which she would respond with a fake tear and shrill scream, "Mommy! Daddy! Quinn says I'm gunky!" And then it would switch. She would chase him and call him gunky, and he would try to grab her shirt and pull her to the ground. More shrill screaming. As someone said to me recently in great wisdom, "It's okay...believe it or not, they're actually bonding."

I want to find more time in the day. I really do. I want to have more energy to enjoy every second of the day - or at least most seconds. I was reading in one of my Bhudda books that if the only time I feel like I can relax is when all three kids are away or sleeping, my relaxing time will be less than 10 minutes a day. Or sometimes not at all. So I need to work on relaxing with the kids. Sidebar: Chris just came down and gave me the report, "Ellie pooped." Do you realize how much time we talk about the bowel movements of our children? Again, I think we would probably have more date nights if we worked on that a little. More showers. Less poop.

Anyway. I love these kids. I love my husband. I love my family. I am thankful for all we have. I need to relax more. I need to find my project. My "what am I doing on this earth that will make an impact?" project. Saving the honeybees? I've got to think about it.

In the meantime, a couple comical anecdotes:

The other night while getting ready for bed, Chris said he was going to work on their bedtime snack. Ellie said, "Yeah, Dad. Get it goin'." Funnier then, maybe. But still funny.

A couple weeks ago, I took Ellie and Quinn with me to sign some paperwork downtown, and I took advantage of the office's proximity to Nordstrom to return a few things. We walked in, overlooking women's shoes and the makeup area and Quinn stood at the top of the stairs and said, "It's... beautiful." And then proceeded to yank 28 sweaters off a rack and chase Ellie in circles until I could get the stuff returned and get out of there. Quick.

Oh! Comical, no, but important. Henry is crawling!

Potty Talk

2010-01-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

Lunchtime conversation between E&Q today...

And then I put peepee in your mouth! And then I went poopy on your face. E

And it didn't taste very good. Q

And then I threw it out the window at a car. E

And then I put peepee in your cup. Q

Later, while Quinn was not napping, he had a poop and needed to be changed. I asked him if we could change it, and he said no. I asked why not. "Because I like the smell."

Also later this afternoon, from Quinn:

"When I grow up, I am going to go peepee on the potty like Ellie. And I won't need pull ups. And then I'll be a girl." Because I think in Quinn's world, only girls go peepee on the potty. Not boys. Except daddy.

Also, from this afternoon,

"Mommy, I love you. you are so warm and cuddly. I love cuddling wif you."

"This is going to be so fun!" on climbing on the big red balls outside of Target because we had to get diapers for Henry.

"I love you, Ellie," followed by a hug and tackle.

I love this little man, even if he doesn't nap very well and likes the smell of his own poop.

Not for the faint of heart.

2009-12-22T20:50:00.000-08:00

So today wasn't really a banner day. I know. I am a total complainer, take everything for granted, blah, blah, blah.

Started with "NO, mommy! Go away! Go feed Henry!" at 7:30 this morning, and has approached its finish (?) with a wired kid doped up on prednisone still yelling up in his crib after 9pm.

In between involved:

GET AWAY FROM ME!!! MOMMY DO IT! (repeated 637 times; the irony of my good morning greeting is not lost on me) Shoes on, socks on, getting dressed, getting into carseats, carseats buckled, carseats unbuckled, snack gotten, juice gotten, pick me up. No one but Mommy.

Two forty minute baby naps, and a third that lasted exactly 4 minutes, resulting in a very overtired baby.

Housecleaners were here - yes, I know I sound ungrateful since we can afford to have housecleaners, and a house to clean, but it is my most dreaded day every two weeks. It means we have to leave, so normally, I have to wake Henry up and get three kids out of the house, who ALWAYS want to leave the house, EXCEPT on the days that the cleaners come. "But Mommy, we want to play!", which is only uttered every other Tuesday.

Required morning outing (due to housecleaners): an attempted rendezvous with Cressy and Co., which ended up being a tearful trip to a parking garage, 8 minutes of Ellie telling me that she wanted her juice, 5 minutes of being sure to let me know that she did NOT want to get a picture taken with Santa, 4 happy minutes looking at a fountain, 15 minutes of nursing Henry in a bathroom, and 15 concurrent solid minutes of the Quinn screaming at the top of his lungs, alternately saying, "I want to go home NOW!" and "I don't WANT to go home!", kicking and screaming and hitting me, and throwing himself on the floor in the bathroom. And then 5 minutes of asking me why we didn't get a picture with Santa.

A bottle of wine (just gifted), shattered on the tile kitchen floor when Ellie pulled it off the counter, hoping it was a present for her. (I considered sucking what I could out of my socks)

A new car that has leaked more oil than the Valdez on the street in front of our house.

A 5:50pm doctor's appointment where Quinn was diagnosed with reactive airway disease, as a repeat infection from his last one, only a couple of weeks ago, which has landed him a prescription of prednisone. For those of you who know Quinn, the prednisone causes insomnia. Again, irony not lost. The good news is that it allows him to breathe. 9:38 and still yelling.

What a day. What a DAY.

Out of the mouth of Ellie...

2009-12-13T20:51:00.001-08:00

A few Ellie-isms from the past few days:

"No, Mommy! I don't want that sweater. Those stripes are making me nervous."

"Don't worry. I'll be hungry again in 5 minutes. I promise..." she said reassuringly, getting down from the table without having eaten enough dinner.

"Look! I found a raisin! Can I put it in your butt?" after picking a very dried out raisin from the sisal rug. Quinn found part of a candy cane in it the other day, too, though didn't suggest putting it in anyone's butt.

"So I clambered onto the jungle gym and the whirly slide...."Clambered? Really?

Or IN the mouth of Ellie: She scooped up a big spoonful of macaroni and cheese, dipped it in ranch, gobbled it up, and followed it with a maraschino cherry chaser.

Are you talking to me?

2009-11-22T22:14:00.000-08:00

So there I was at the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, for you non-Oregonians) Science Playground this morning, with my dear husband, the three beans, my sister in law and my eight year old nephew. My naked toes were being buried in the sandbox by Quinn while I nursed a very tired Henry, with kind of a dazed look about me, I would imagine (there seems to be a lingering daze, which I'm sure will dissipate with time). I chatted casually with two dads and their 2.5-ish year olds about diggers, backhoes, and twin tankers while I nursed the little man.

Anyway. Henry was done. Done nursing. Done with OMSI. Done being awake. So burp, burp, burp. I rally Quinn, and out we step, still smiling from the feeling of cool sand between my toes and having a quiet minute with my two boys.

And WHAM.

"That is DISGUSTING. You should have a blanket over yourself. You are offending me and with all these children around!! That is DISGUSTING!"

Whaaaa?? I'm sorry, what? Seriously? I looked around to see if she was, in fact, talking to me.

"That is OFFENSIVE! You should be covering yourself - with all these children around!! THAT'S DISGUSTING!"

Much too calmly, I said, "I'm sorry you're offended. Did you not breastfeed your children?"

Really irate, now... "I'm a GRANDMOTHER!!!"

"Then you must have had children. Did you not breastfeed them?"

No response.

Fortunately, in good Portland fashion, four individual women donned their breastfeeding superhero capes and jumped to my defense; one seemed even more shocked and offended than I was, while the other three said they breastfed their children, too - in church, on planes, at restaurants, and shut the woman down. The one more offended than I said something to the effect of, "This is most natural and beautiful thing a woman can give her child! YOU are disgusting!"

I am still a little shocked; I've never had anyone comment so negatively about breastfeeding in public. It wasn't like I was offering my boob to other kids or anything. And none of the three beans have liked having a blanket over their heads when nursing. I wouldn't want a blanket over my head at dinner, either.

Anyway - if you're breastfeeding in Portland, watch out for a middle-aged meaney pants wearing acid washed mom jeans yelling DISGUSTING! DISGUSTING! DISGUSTING! (I think she's friends with Dora). If you run into her, I'll grab my cape and come to your rescue.

PS - Sending good vibes to the four breastfeeding superheroes at OMSI today. Thank you.

Oh.My.God

2009-11-08T20:32:00.000-08:00

So Henry finds it pretty difficult to focus on nursing when there are two very active (read: RUNNINGALLOVERTHEPLACE) preschoolers zipping back and forth across the room, scattering toys, jumping, skipping, hitting each other, yelling and laughing. He gets overstimulated, frustrated, fussy and mad because he's hungry, but there's too much going on. He prefers a dark room. With a little mood music. That would be fine, except for the fact that leaving two 2.5 year olds by themselves is about the stupidest, most ridiculous thing one could EVER do.

Anyway. The other day, I set the little bugs up with play-doh, which is a huge lure, and to have play-doh unattended is even more exciting. They compete with each other about how quickly they can grind it into the carpet.

I came down less than 10 minutes later to find the play-doh abandoned, and... Complete. Quiet. Not a good sign. They had gotten a Ginormous, capital G, Johnson's baby powder down from the changing table, and emptied what seemed to be the entire contents in the den, on the changing table, the train table, the windows (?) and Quinn's collection of about 583 matchbox cars and trains. The good news, they assured me, was that they were cleaning it all up. With an entire package of 100 baby wipes, being discarded on the floor one by one after using them to really work the powder into the crevices of the hardwoods.

Ellie told me she had also been looking for her bathing suit, which was why she had removed every sock, blanket, spit up cloth, sweater, jacket, shoe, washcloth, towel, and SHELF LINER, from each drawer of a five drawer dresser. That was in less than 10 minutes. I can't imagine being that productive in 10 minutes. I wish I had taken pictures. It would make you feel better about your own house and it's cleanliness level. Though ours probably smells better with all that powder.

Ellie is generally the brain behind any serious mischief, like her shenanigans on Friday, squeezing out an entire bottle of shampoo and lotion upstairs in Henry's room, the hallway and the bathroom - and a basket of clean laundry. And that was with swine flu and bronchitis and THREE adults in the house. Still not sure how that got past us.

Anyway. More on the swine flu later.

Knowing me, Knowing you

2009-10-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

So most moms are eventually able to decipher all the various cries of their baby. Now that Ellie and Quinn are all grown up at 2.5 and talk and demand and yell, they cry less, but I can tell from a long way away if either of them are actually hurt, or if someone has just thrown the other's toy in the toilet. When trying to get attention, Ellie will cry her fakey cry and if I don't respond, walk into the room I'm in, look at me, cry louder with slightly more emphasis, and then go back to the room she was in, often laying herself gently down on the floor, waiting for me to tend to her.

I keep encouraging Henry to work on speaking, because I like talking much better than crying, but until then, I'm continuing to work on understanding his cries. His "I'm a little hungry" cry is a bit of a whimper, like look at me! look at me! I might start really crying if you don't do something! His "I'm tired" cry is kind of like his I'm a little hungry cry, except he rubs his eyes, and looks like a crazed deer in headlights if he's really overtired.

Today, I went through my checklist. Hungry, no. Tired, yes, but refusing to stay sleeping. Burped, yes. Too hot? Too cold? Have a small piece of very pointy hay stuck to your junk? That was it. Too bad it took me two cut short naps to figure that one out. Apparently a little hay snuck in there when Chris changed his diaper on a hay-covered blanket in the car while we were at McMenamins for lunch. I felt terrible, kind of like the time he had a very pointy pine cone bit stuck in his back, under his shirt, and I just thought he didn't want to be in his carseat. Um, worst mother of the year award?

Bottom line (at least according to Henry): having a sharp pinecone gouge into your back is more uncomfortable than a pointy piece of hay stuck to a testicle, though the latter can certainly interrupt a nap.

Dora, teeth and twindom

2009-10-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

Dora is possibly the most annoying cartoon character that I have ever come across. What's with all the SHOUTING! SHOUTING! SHOUTING! And why is everything repeated at least three times? It may get banned.

Anyway. I hit a new low this week. I have admitted it to several (including Chris and my own mother), so I might as well post it on my blog. I told Quinn to "go brush your fucking teeth." I may have actually said, "GO BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH!" Luckily, he has yet to repeat it. It was the end of a VERY long day, day three of Chris being gone, two of them with me flying solo, and the kids and I were at the end of our ropes. Quinn spit his toothpaste out at me (or at least he seemed to be spitting at me - he may beg to differ), kept biting down on his toothbrush when I was trying to help him, threw the toothbrush out of the bathroom into the hallway, and then went storming off after it toward sleeping Henry's room, yelling and laughing, and asking at decibel 12, "Is that funny, Mommy?", waking little Henry up. I make no excuses, just giving a full picture of the situation. I tell you this so maybe it will make something you said or did seem not so bad.

Tonight, he was a dream. "We're working together, Mommy! I love you, Mommy." while we were cleaning up the three full shelves of books that Ellie had thrown onto the floor. He knew I'd be blogging about him.

Motherhood is hard. Motherhood to three children under three is really hard.

Moments.

2009-10-07T20:21:00.000-07:00

So I'm working on embracing the moment. I have always tried to do that, but right now I'm trying even harder. I can tell you that there were 2.5 very long hours from about 2:45-5:15 this morning that I was NOT embracing. I have one child who does not sleep. Quinn was wide awake in his crib, calling out to me every 20-30 minutes, waking me, Henry and Ellie up, wanting me to get him some new books to read. And then he didn't nap today. And it is driving me fucking crazy.

So anyway. Back to embracing the moment. I mentioned that I'm reading this book - MOMfulness, Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion and Grace by Denise Roy - and I really connect with and recommend it. There is a section where the author quotes Herman Hesse, Siddartha:

"But today he only saw one of the river's secrets, one that gripped is soul. He saw that the water continually flowed and flowed and yet it was always there; it was always the same and yet every moment it was new. Who could understand, conceive this? He did not understand it; he was only aware of a dim suspicion, a faint memory, divine voices."

Roy goes on to talk about how her sister recognized that as her life, specifically about her children growing up, watching sets of children on the playground, year after year, just changing faces. I have thought the same thing so many times, though haven't been able to say it as succinctly as Herman Hesse.

Standing at the kitchen window tonight as I was making dinner, I watched Ellie drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, her paisley dress poofing out over her new pink kitty pajama bottoms she insisted on wearing, the early evening sunlight streaming through the Japanese maple in our front yard, making Ellie's little curls sparkle and shine, and I watched her growing minute by minute, just as I'm sure another mom stood 50 or 75 years ago, in our kitchen, watching her own children grow.

The moments are fleeting; I know this. But when I've had such little sleep, it's so hard to remember.

Good enough.

2009-10-03T22:48:00.001-07:00

I spend so much of the day thinking about how I could do things better or differently as a mother, or lamenting over what I did or didn't do to make whatever it was happen or not happen. It's so hard living in that state of perpetually not being in the moment that you're in, but rather in the state you wished you were or weren't. Does that make sense?

For example, this morning - Henry woke up about 35 minutes into his normally 1.5 hour nap. My immediate thought - 'Did I not burp him enough? I must not have burped enough. Is that why he woke up early? Now his whole day of sleeping is going to be thrown, which will make for a very sad cranky baby, which will interfere with our outing to the Greek Festival, his afternoon naps, my free time this afternoon (to make dinner), and bedtime. I should have spent more time burping him.' In that one little second, I blamed myself for something I had no control over (I burped the kid over my left shoulder, right shoulder, sitting on my lap, facing out, facing to the left side, then the right, tilted him back, sitting up again...), and automatically defined how the rest of the day was going to go, based on the fact that I screwed the morning up by not burping him enough.

That's a lot of pressure.

I have this extreme want for everything to go as planned - naps, wake up times, outings, adventures, playtime, my time - working out, meeting a friend - whatever it is, I like things to be organized and go according to plan. And the reality is that is doesn't. With three under three, it is so hard to plan anything - and I find that REALLY difficult.

I'm reading this book - I've only just started it, actually - Momfulness by Denise Roy, which is a lot about how to be in the moment, finding peace and spirituality where you are and with what you are doing.

So I am going to try to embrace that.

Am I all set?

2009-09-29T14:22:00.001-07:00

So when I changed Ellie's pull-up (aka glorified diaper, because the girl rarely poops in the potty these days), she said two things that make me REALLY think she's ready to be potty trained.

"Wow, mommy, that is a colossal poop." To be completely fair, we at one point had used a rating system of poop size, based on a carton of mandarin oranges we had - "Small, Medium, Large, Jumbo and Colossal," so she had heard it before, but please. (I won't comment on the fact that we had a poop rating system, other to say that with preemie twins, one of whom had a pooping issue, there has always been a LOT of talk about poop at our house).

The second thing she said, after I cleaned up her gross colossal poop, was, "Okay, mommy, am I all set?"

Give a girl a break, would ya? Yes, you're all set.

"Do you think you could go poop on the potty next time?" I asked, smiling encouragingly.

"No-ooooo," she said with a nasal laugh, as though that were the silliest thing she's heard today.

So how does one potty train a kid who is so independent, so willful, and clearly wanting to do it on her terms?

Oh, yeah, and with a twin brother who has ZERO interest in going to the potty, and a four month old to take care of, and only one accessible bathroom, which is upstairs?

Any thoughts are welcome.

From Thursday - Eggs, breasts, and beef jerky

2009-09-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

Note, these were my thoughts from Thursday's trip to Black Butte, written in route.

So we’re on the way to Black Butte again. I work insanely hard, which is ridiculous, because I should just accept the fact that I have absolutely NO control), to time the carride perfectly for the best napping time for all three beans. Case in point:

Here’s an update on the past hour and a half of our lives. Ellie falls asleep within 10 minutes (to wake up 30 minutes later), Quinn FINALLY falls asleep after fighting it for about an hour, then sleeps for 30 minutes, but meanwhile, Henry wakes up and has a poop that weighed as much as he does - have I mentioned he’s a ginormous baby? - and now needs to be changed and wants to eat, based on the progressively louder agitated moans, groans and cries. So we stop at Detroit Lake, rather the minimart at Detroit Lake, and I nurse Henry on the front steps (no space in car, due to tremendous overpacking, and ginormosity of baby). One woman sits in her Mercedes eating her minimart sandwich, and keeps giving me nervous smiles - smiling, eating, smiling, eating. The chubby, aging punk rocker in a black t-shirt, cargo shorts, and socks pulled half way up his calf, who is probably about 40, but looks more like 60 from presumed drug use (when did I get so judgmental?), is lingering a little too long with his beef jerky and Starbucks in a can, hoping, it seems, to catch a glimpse of my boob with about 53 sideward glances. And there are three pretty good looking tan REI guys who are just down from the mountain for a few days, who stop to chat about how the breastfeeding's going. Then the endearing 70 year old man, who just came up and said, Best milk there is. My wife did the same for all four of our children. One minimart, so many opinions.

Anyway - so Quinn wakes up when we stop, angry, tired, sad, screaming, NOT happy. Henry is happy: dry diaper, milk - it’s all he needs, really. Ellie wants a snack, so they all go into the minimart, get snacks, Quinn gets his poop changed (eventually stops crying), and Ellie finds a dozen eggs in the car, which she cracks and puts in Henry’s carseat.

I’ll just repeat that last bit. Ellie found a dozen eggs in the car, four of which she cracked and put in Henry’s carseat. There were an additional four that she sent down the chute between the seat and the wall of the car, presumably to see if they would fit.

Hour and a half to go on the ride. Stress level, like the fire danger level today, Extremely High.

Rat

2009-09-15T14:40:00.000-07:00

So there's this R-A-T living in our garden. Quinn calls it the Raff, because I don't think he understands what we're saying. 'I wanna see the Raff! Hi Raff.'

He is huge. And mangy. He's so big that he can't run. He just kind of lopes along like he's out for a rat stroll, heading to dinner. And although Chris thinks he is kind of endearing, I have just been more or less horrified by him, and the fact that the kids want to chase him, and was kind of worried that he might have rabies or something. So today, I come back from the grocery store with the three beans, to find that our housecleaners caught him. They've got him in a box of size 5 Car Race pull ups. Seriously. And they want to know what do with him?

I don't know what to do with him. I keep calling it him. I have no idea if it's a him or a her, and I I have no idea to do with it. Feed him poison? Not top on my list of things to do in front of my kids on a Tuesday. Call the humane society for a pick up? Not so sure they're gonna bite on that one. After a quick tete a tete on what to do, I decide I still have no idea. So what does he do? He walks the box out to our back patio, and HURLS it down into the woods. Three stories down. Yeah, I know.

Um. I don't know what the right answer was here: feed him poison, call the humane society, or hurl him down from the patio. Nothing seemed quite right. Ideas?

Of course, I have since had many pangs of guilt, feeling like I should go down and retrieve the poor little bugger, nurse him back to his full rat glory, and set him free. And that dying in a box of size 5 Car Race pull ups is no way to go, and far more inhumane (if he indeed survived the fall), than feeding him poison.

But as Chris said, he will probably just chew his way out of the box, and be back up in the front garden by dinnertime.

We'll see.

Space

2009-09-15T13:53:00.000-07:00

Our house is exactly 2498 square feet. I write this not because I want more space or less space, or think that space in a house means one thing or another. But I am BAFFLED by the fact, that with 2498 square feet (which I consider to be a fair amount of space), that I am always within 2.5 square feet of everyone in my family. My ass takes up a good chunk of that these days, so that leaves just a smidgen for three kids and a husband, yet everyone is alwaysrightthereinmybusiness. Today it was just the kids and me; Chris has taken up his own space in San Francisco. Ellie, Quinn, Henry and I were sitting on the couch - a newly cleaned Pottery Barn slipcovered couch - and all four of us took up only one and half cushions. Quinn kept spinning around, trying to get comfortable, elbow in my eye, grabbing my shirt, Henry in my lap, Ellie squeezing into the four inches I had accidentally left between me and the arm of the couch. Do you want to move over? Quinn's answer - No, I'm reading right now. Ellie, do you want to move over? No response. She just looks at me as though I've bothered her beyond belief. Are you squished? Nothing. I often wonder what she's thinking about.

I know I will long for these days, slightly smelly kids clambering to be close, to twirl my hair, to cuddle with a blanket and a book. But right this very second, I just want space.

Out of the mouths...

2009-09-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

Upon finding Ellie curled on the couch in the den by herself Sunday afternoon, pacifier in mouth, hand on head twirling hair, she removes paci, looks up at me through her long lashes and says, "I just need some a-yone time."

(Ellie's "l"s are often pronounced as a y: e.g., a-yone, hel-yo)

This morning, my first morning greeting, Henry attached to the boob, no coffee yet, 7:37am; Ellie walks down the stairs:

In her sweetest, most loving voice, "Is today a yoyyipop day? I took a Goooooood rest."

Meanest mother on the face on the planet, "Sweetie, we need to have breakfast before thinking about lollipops..".

Bursts into tears, "Noooo, nooooo, NO!" and climbs back up stairs to hide behind rocking chair in Ellie and Quinn's room. (as reported by Chris who was still on queen sized air mattress on floor of their room)

All in a day's work

2009-09-12T23:12:00.000-07:00

- Relaxing hour window shopping with a sleeping Henry on 23rd.

- Quinn getting poo on several couch cushions, requiring laundering of all couch slipcovers.

- Building a fort out of coverless, VERY feathery couch cushions and a picnic blanket.

- Being hugged and told "I'm so glad you came back to see me, " by Quinn, when he got home from playtime at Ainsworth.

- Having a fabulous husband cook dinner (not involving hamburger helper)

- Ellie pooping on the potty (!), and telling me, "Peas, I need more privacy," when I asked if she was finished.

- Playing Scrabble with fabulous husband for two hours (ultimately ending in my willing defeat)

Not a bad day at all.

Tired day

2009-09-08T15:06:00.000-07:00

Ummmm. I'm really tired. I should be sleeping, but instead, I'm not sleeping. I'm not really doing anything, but I couldn't face my few free moments of naptime for the three beans being naptime for me, because it would go too fast, and then I'd be up again, and probably just as tired.

So I should probably go do something. Like laundry. Or think about what to make for dinner. Neither of those things sound particularly enticing. Read the mail? Clean up the living room? Take a shower? Yoga On Demand? That's probably what I should do, but I'd have to clean up the living room to make room first. Maybe I'll just go eat a brownie.

Just a quick weekend getaway

2009-09-07T17:40:00.000-07:00

Sweet jesus. Getting out of the house for a weekend is such is a freaking feat with three kids, even when I have someone helping me. It makes me CRAZY. Dino, bear, fishy, froggy, car blankets (2), blue blanket, pink blanket, dolly with rasta hair, naked baby doll who is not permitted to wear clothes (some bizarre manifestation of Ellie wanting to be naked all the time, I think), baby who giggles the most annoying giggle you’ve ever heard in your entire life (even more annoying at 3 am, I would imagine Chris would agree, when someone has rolled over on it on the queen sized air mattress that is being shared with an adult and two 32 lb mini humans, though not so mini when you’re sharing said air mattress), ipods, ipod speaker docks for going to sleep music and white noise, baby monitor, baby monitor base, baby monitor charger, Sleepy Cadillac book, toothbrushes, toothpaste. And that’s just so we can get the little buggers to bed. Not to sleep, mind you... but at least into bed.

Then there’s the food, the snacks, the shoes, the raincoats, the sweaters, the jackets, the Car Race pull-ups, the pink princess pull-ups, the size 2 Swaddlers. The big kid pacis, the baby pacis, the mini tennis rackets, the grown up tennis rackets, bathing suits, suntan lotion, sunhats, bouncy seat, baby playmat, the 548 outfits that we will need to have all three kids make it through the potential rain, sun and dumped bowl of soup or flung ketchup that will inevitably get on someone or everyone at least once a meal.

Shit, I think I forgot the Sleepy Cadillac book - why did I just remember that? Because we just drove by an RV with a goddamn antique Cadillac on it’s trailer. Seriously, what are the chances of that? You don’t believe me? Ask Quinn. He’ll tell you all weekend. We saw Sleepy Cadillac on a camper. Where’s Sleepy Cadillac, Mommy? I managed to pack the 927 other things that we need. And I forgot Sleepy Cadillac.

I need a beer. And a copy of Sleepy Cadillac.

post script - I also forgot coffee. Life could be over as we know it.

Scattered

2009-09-03T21:24:00.001-07:00

So today was one of those days that I was totally all over the place. I kept thinking of things I wanted to blog about, and then boom, someone needed a boob, a juice, a snack, a clean pull up, a.. something. And woo - out of my brain it went.

I managed a trip to Costco this afternoon to stock up on a few essentials (5 lb bag of m&m trail mix, check, Ahi tuna for tonight's dinner, check, 8 heads of romaine lettuce, check), and I was so all over the place, I couldn't stand it. Indecision was the name of the game. I think I got more exercise there than I have in the past 6 months (ok, maybe the past 2.5 years). Back and forth from one end of that godforsaken store to the other and back again about five times. It's a total drug. I don't know what it was - I felt like I needed to consume. And the samples... the samples! Gorgonzola, vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup (I declined - can you believe I declined?), some sort of fake apple cider, garden burgers, beef stew (And you can microwave right in this plastic pouch!, I was told by the poor 73 year old woman who is probably having to work because social security and medicare just aren't cutting it). It's just so much STUFF. Stuff I don't really need, or at least don't really need ten pounds of.

There is seriously nothing minimalist about my life... not one single thing. I'm just as guilty as the rest of em, well, many of them anyway. I do bring my own grocery bags to the store, recycle paper, glass and plastic. But I don't compost and I have used disposable diapers for all three kids... working on my second landfill as I type. But it all felt so ick. So many things that we just don't need.

note to self: I should be shopping at New Seasons in the bulk food aisle with recycled plastic produce bags.

two poops on a rug

2009-09-02T20:39:00.000-07:00

Poor bean #1. Quinn, my firstborn by two minutes, just isn't getting the whole poop (or pee, for that matter) on the potty thing quite yet. You get a sticker for trying and an m&m for going; Quinn is stuck in the sticker stage. Not one m&m to his name. (ok, so we've only been doing it religiously for three days) Anyway, he shocked himself tonight, after asking several of his matchbox cars, 'Cars, do you need to go potty?', by pooping on the living room rug. Twice. The first time, he stood up, looking totally surprised, and exclaimed with wide eyes, 'What is DAT? I... NEED.... MY... PACI!' and burst into tears. Kid, you just took a shit on the floor. What do you think it is? The second time, about five minutes later, he pooed the rest of it while playing with his parking garage. This time, barely a side glance, and he suggested I should take it up to the potty to flush, No, he didn't want to come, then had a fit that I'd taken it to flush because he wanted to flush. (yes, I know you're wondering why he was still naked after the first one. I honestly don't remember, and it was only a few hours ago, but I think I might have been nursing #3. I figured he wouldn't do it again after the shock and horror of the first one)

So today we had a poop and two pees in the potty from bean #2. And two poops on the rug.

Whoa, nelly

2009-09-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

She's gone and done it - added another to do on the daily todotodotodo list of having three kids under the age of 2 1/2: a blog. A blog! A spot to write, keep track of my 'I did peepees on the rug, Mommy!' moments, and hopefully even find a piece of my long ago self that seems to have temporarily disappeared among the 'No mommy, don't sleep, wake up!, I want my juice NOW!, make breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, bedtime snack, Your milk's not warm enough?, laundry (shit, the poop didn't come out, wash it again), grocery runs, clean up living room (shit, I forgot to clean up the pee from this morning), Sure, you can eat that...dried noodle (?) from under the table, I love YOU, Mommy' daily grind.

Tis the life of having of having three beans - Ellie and Quinn, my twin 2.5 year olds, a chubbalubba three month old, Baby Henry, and one co-nut, my husband, Chris.