The other day I found myself standing, baby on hip, in the office of a woman I hadn't seen in a very long time. While she worked (more on that later) I tried to amuse the two year old by offering him a snack, one pretzel bite at a time. (as to minimize the crumb-y mess that is our usual wake) Little Man was eyeing all the buttons- cooking up a plan involving pressing ALL OF THEM... maybe AT THE SAME TIME. (Dude is positively nutty for buttons)
As I wandered around the room, bouncing the baby, handing him my phone, etc. I noticed little markings made on the door. It was a growth chart- and the names were quite familiar to me. You see, a very, very long time ago I used to babysit this dear family's once young children. I saw the name of her youngest boy, and had to crane my head up to see it- almost reaching the top of the door.
It was shocking to see how much the little chubby toddler I had known was now a very grown up, very tall teenager. I vividly remember playing with her son, setting him in his highchair and watching as he squished peaches into his drooling mouth. I remember thinking how cute the little boy was, and hoping one day I would have a baby just like him, so sweet and bright eyed. That boy... who was, at that time, around the same age as my very own little boy.
It was an odd convergence of who I once was, and who I had become. A humorous look at generations, and how fleeting time seems to be.
I remarked at how unbelievable it all was. And this lovely woman, wise in her years, laughed and said "yes, it does go by so fast... but it seems to take forever."
How right she is. At present, I'm stuck in the middle of THIS IS TAKING FOREVER! Yet still so aware of how much I will miss each and every little second. It's such a complex balance of enjoying and... well, managing.
A balance that was totally off this morning as I raced to squeeze in a shower, the girls started fighting over who was in who's room, and Little Man dumped the tea set into the toilet. I was so furious at all three of the kids, as I yelled, spanked, and placed everyone in time out. The dark cloud of THIS IS SO FREAKING HARD looming over the rest of the morning. Time and patience was short as I hustled everyone out the door to preschool, often having to threaten staying home from the fun entirely.
Squirt whined at one point "I just want you to be happy with me!" She then proceeded to slam the door in her sister's face with all the angsty rage of a hormonal teenager.
I wanted to be happy... I really did! But it felt like they had DRIVEN ME TO IT! All I'm asking is for you to refrain from fighting and mischief while I bathe myself. You are the ones misbehaving; I am dealing with it, perhaps rather poorly, yet nonetheless as best I can.
It felt like a porcupine asking for a big hug, quills and all. They want me to speak quiet and calmly to them... so they can ignore me completely.
After preschool drop off, I wondered how they felt. I felt relieved to have a) finally arrived on time and b) some time away from the girls. I hoped they were just happy to be at school, having a non-smelly mother to drop them off, to have had a jacket and proper shoes to keep them warm against the wind. I just prayed that they also understood how much I loved them, despite how angry I had been for a majority of the morning.
I wished I could have given them big hugs, sat them on my lap and had a long discussion about how we can all create a more harmonious and happy home, and ended it all with a big I LOVE YOU, GUYS. And I may just yet pull that little talk off at some point, but I have a feeling it wouldn't really sink in anyway. We are just all at the mercy of a five year old's emotional range and comprehension.
2.29.2012
2.27.2012
Sharing: The Sequel
Oh the joys of parenting multiple age-ranges. The twins have, and will always have, a sharing 'issue." It started in the womb when Bunny wouldn't even share the bloodflow with her twin sister. This has resulted in Squirt being a consistent 2 lbs. smaller. Sharing; Ugh.
In the beginning, when we brought home a newborn and all the sharing rules changed, there were "baby toys" and "big girl toys." Before this I had solved the sharing issue by simply buying in duplicate. Two of everything = problem solved-ish.
Now EVERYONE wants everyone else's toys. It's a veritable civil war in our house. Sometimes it is over a play princess phone; Other times it is the dump truck. But there is always fighting amongst the ranks.
Now that there aren't designated baby toys, Little Man has become possessive of anything he regards as "his," even the princess phone. The girls are equally miffed when Little Man has the audacity to try and play tea party, especially when he starts "fixing" the tea pot with his plastic hammer. It is so bad, I composed a haiku on the topic: (I devoted brain cells to this!)
We're not sharing
Making Mommy referee
That is why we're all in time out
That might be less than 17 syllables, I'll call it experimental haiku- Because I don't feel like investing too much energy in haikus on the lack of sharing. Because I am too busy making sure everyone gets equal TURNS with everything.
I've turned into a human stopwatch.
It's Little Man's turn with the silver purse. Squirt is biding her time and slumming it with the flowered purse.
In the beginning, when we brought home a newborn and all the sharing rules changed, there were "baby toys" and "big girl toys." Before this I had solved the sharing issue by simply buying in duplicate. Two of everything = problem solved-ish.
Now EVERYONE wants everyone else's toys. It's a veritable civil war in our house. Sometimes it is over a play princess phone; Other times it is the dump truck. But there is always fighting amongst the ranks.
Enjoying the last moments of silver purse and princess phone time.
Now that there aren't designated baby toys, Little Man has become possessive of anything he regards as "his," even the princess phone. The girls are equally miffed when Little Man has the audacity to try and play tea party, especially when he starts "fixing" the tea pot with his plastic hammer. It is so bad, I composed a haiku on the topic: (I devoted brain cells to this!)
We're not sharing
Making Mommy referee
That is why we're all in time out
That might be less than 17 syllables, I'll call it experimental haiku- Because I don't feel like investing too much energy in haikus on the lack of sharing. Because I am too busy making sure everyone gets equal TURNS with everything.
I've turned into a human stopwatch.
BEEP! Time to give up the goods.
2.24.2012
A Tale of Two Bobs
As soon as the sun rised, I was pestered with questions of "we going to haircuts NOW?" by some very anxious five year olds. Shouldn't have divulged my plans ahead of time. But then again, it did get them into bed last night in a timely manner...
The girls were simply thrilled with the prospect of new hair. (short hair like the neighbor kid, Tabby)
Now usually I am a pleasant, very reasonable kind of customer. Yes, I hear you thinking "oh no, what now?!" I'm even a very patient person. (quit snickering back there) But something needs to be done about cheap hair cut joints and THE PHONE NUMBERS.
The attendant asked it we'd been to this very particular Super Cuts, (or whatever, maybe Great Clips?) and why yes, we had. Many times! This is the only place that seems to not butcher the children's bangs. I gave them my phone number. No. They only had me in the system. And we were about to go through the whole type-in-everyone's-name-and-other non-essential-information into the computer. Again. In the five seconds we arrived, a line had formed behind us. (the me all alone with the three kids, one in a stroller...) I decided to make a THING of it at that point. And started being a "difficult customer." By asking if we NEEDED a phone number/computer record to get a ten dollar, five minute haircut. That is when the lady told me to "Calm down, Ma'am." CALM DOWN? I'm ASKING A QUESTION; Not screaming like a lunatic.
Surprise, surprise, I got passed to a "manager." While the slew of people behind us started tapping their feet. I was mostly just in disbelief. Was this really a problem?
Yes, yes it was. But "Fine, Ma'am. Just go sit down and we'll handle it." I saw manager whisper in a stylist's ear (I don't know if she picked the most gruff looking person there on PURPOSE or not) and he nodded and walked over to where I was corralling three very excitable children into the broken children's book area.
So our hairstylist for the day? (and bear in mind I do not judge in the slightest- if it were MY hair, but let's remember we're cutting two extremely shy preschooler's hair here) Graphic tattoos up and down both arms and around the neck, skinny leather pants, big boots, some eyeliner, and huge black ear hole-spacer things... (what are they called?) In a word: kinda scary for little girls.
Still, whatever... we're doing this. I've already "made a scene."
While both girls shivered in fear through the entire process, and Little Man kept throwing every toy and snack on the floor in protest, things ended up ok. Amazing what you can get kids to do with the promise of a heart-shaped lollipop:
Bliss.
2.23.2012
Green On My Face
Man, I was really yelling at my keyboard yesterday. Reading back through it, I was supremely frustrated. But I'm sure the making soup in the toilet story will be one I will chuckle about through the years... perhaps even break out when the kids bring dates home to meet the parents. BAM! Didn't know your date had a penchant for sticking their hands in potty-water, did ya?! (me laughing hysterically over dinner)
And now that the toys are all bleached and everyone has had a thorough shower, I can feel better about things once more. For the record, the kids are less up to naughty business, and more being flat-out adorable for much of the time. (when they aren't sassing me)
And now that the toys are all bleached and everyone has had a thorough shower, I can feel better about things once more. For the record, the kids are less up to naughty business, and more being flat-out adorable for much of the time. (when they aren't sassing me)
And little brother smothering is also a big part of the day as well:
Now that the kids have been properly vindicated. (but let's be clear: they DID play in the potty, leaving tiny bowls of toilet water scattered around the bathroom- they are guilty on that charge- they're just also cute)
On to further business. I think I decided which way to go on the glasses. It was rather ridiculous, as when photographed each pair looked EXACTLY THE SAME. In person, I can tell the difference. However I don't think I like dark frames. My face needs something lighter. Dare I go with the bright green? Too quirky?
Yes, obviously bad picture. But these are The Nedwin in Summer Green. Green can be a neutral, right?
Also- hair. I read an article about how a hairstyle can age a person. Each little paragraph sounded more and more like me. (very few people over 25 can pull off long hair?! EEEK!) So I'm chopping it off- going for this.
The girls have also requested a change in hair, and I may just comply. Their long locks are getting smeared into plates full of pancake syrup quite often. Plus, they NEVER let me properly "do" their hair anyway. So I'm thinking of giving them each a chin-length bob- like what they naturally had back in the old days:
Ah, potty training....
So tomorrow we will chop some locks!
2.22.2012
Already Tired of the Glasses Thing
I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of the try at home kit from Warby Parker yesterday. Online tracking told me the package would be delivered on Tuesday. I resolved to DO THIS THING. So I refrained from showering until I was ready to do myself up all nice for you internet folks. I was semi-worried that the parcel would be "signature required" and if I wasn't there to catch the door, it would go back on the truck. So I was KINDA waiting around... all smelly, knowing that the minute I popped in the shower THAT is when the doorbell would ring and I would miss it entirely. It was a very frustrating game of chicken.
At 6:00, the little box FINALLY arrived, and I'd already had a day. The wind-down from The Husband's week long vacation was not going pleasantly. The twins have been at each other constantly, as you may have noticed on Twitter. I've been to my breaking point many times, and this ends in separating all three children and confining them to their rooms. It's not pretty. But seriously- THEY NEED TO LEAVE EACH OTHER ALONE FOR A WHILE.
In any event, I rallied. Little Man's bedtime was in an hour. I hopped into a shower, scrubbed myself and hair down, then tossed some clothes on. At this point, the girls were asking if they could do Activity A- I did not want them to do Activity A, told them NO! They were welcome to do Activity B while I dried my hair and put on some makeup.
Now looking decent, I started snapping pictures- my door open so I could hear any mischief making (assumably)- and the pictures were sucktastic. I hate taking pictures of myself. And it was night, so poor lighting. Commence hair pulling. I threw my hands up in surrender and decided what I had would just be good enough, and now I am so over this whole thing!
THAT is when I went in search of the children. Finding the playroom a complete disaster (this was expected) I found that Activity A had been done- and it was everywhere. Anger. Checking each room, and arriving at the kids' bathroom last I beheld THE SIGHT YOU CANNOT UNSEE.
The kids had brought in their kitchen toys; spoons, spatulas, mixing bowls, colanders, tea cups, etc. These items were scattered along the floor, wet. There were also some in the bowl of the TOILET, along with six little hands. IN THE TOILET.
This is when I DIED.
Long story short, it was a bad night.
Oh! And those pictures I took- they were a blurry, icky mess. (deep sigh of defeat)
So this morning, before preschool, I threw all this together. Side note: in the tub behind me, a collection of play kitchen toys are drying from their bleach-bath.
I look so depressed in some of the pictures. I kind of am. It's hard to feel peppy and pretty staring down your own double-chinned mug, wallowing in a pool of parental despair. And taking pictures of yourself? It feels skeevy. Like who is that dumbo smiling at? Do I really look like such an imbecile in real life?!
Having effectively talked myself out of this whole business, I jumbled up the pictures anyway trying to get too much other stuff done with the different frames, and because they are so similar and minutely different... I can't tell! So no picture-posting today!
I give up! White flag! White flag!
Don't worry about it, internet. I will get my crap together and pick out something with my big girl britches on.
In my head I look like this:
Let's all just pretend I do... KEEP THE FANTASY ALIVE!
At 6:00, the little box FINALLY arrived, and I'd already had a day. The wind-down from The Husband's week long vacation was not going pleasantly. The twins have been at each other constantly, as you may have noticed on Twitter. I've been to my breaking point many times, and this ends in separating all three children and confining them to their rooms. It's not pretty. But seriously- THEY NEED TO LEAVE EACH OTHER ALONE FOR A WHILE.
In any event, I rallied. Little Man's bedtime was in an hour. I hopped into a shower, scrubbed myself and hair down, then tossed some clothes on. At this point, the girls were asking if they could do Activity A- I did not want them to do Activity A, told them NO! They were welcome to do Activity B while I dried my hair and put on some makeup.
Now looking decent, I started snapping pictures- my door open so I could hear any mischief making (assumably)- and the pictures were sucktastic. I hate taking pictures of myself. And it was night, so poor lighting. Commence hair pulling. I threw my hands up in surrender and decided what I had would just be good enough, and now I am so over this whole thing!
THAT is when I went in search of the children. Finding the playroom a complete disaster (this was expected) I found that Activity A had been done- and it was everywhere. Anger. Checking each room, and arriving at the kids' bathroom last I beheld THE SIGHT YOU CANNOT UNSEE.
The kids had brought in their kitchen toys; spoons, spatulas, mixing bowls, colanders, tea cups, etc. These items were scattered along the floor, wet. There were also some in the bowl of the TOILET, along with six little hands. IN THE TOILET.
This is when I DIED.
Long story short, it was a bad night.
Oh! And those pictures I took- they were a blurry, icky mess. (deep sigh of defeat)
So this morning, before preschool, I threw all this together. Side note: in the tub behind me, a collection of play kitchen toys are drying from their bleach-bath.
I look so depressed in some of the pictures. I kind of am. It's hard to feel peppy and pretty staring down your own double-chinned mug, wallowing in a pool of parental despair. And taking pictures of yourself? It feels skeevy. Like who is that dumbo smiling at? Do I really look like such an imbecile in real life?!
Having effectively talked myself out of this whole business, I jumbled up the pictures anyway trying to get too much other stuff done with the different frames, and because they are so similar and minutely different... I can't tell! So no picture-posting today!
I give up! White flag! White flag!
Don't worry about it, internet. I will get my crap together and pick out something with my big girl britches on.
In my head I look like this:
Let's all just pretend I do... KEEP THE FANTASY ALIVE!
2.20.2012
The Indoor Water Table
...Or a tale of how I do something semi-stupid and expect everything to stay dry.
For Christmas, we got the kids this table. It is both a picnic table and a water/sand table. I bought it thinking it would replace the countertop seating. But being so close to the baby's highchair made meal time a mele. So it has been sitting in the playroom, mostly unenjoyed.
Before naps, I promised the kids a "special surprise." (You know, because I'm insane) I had such high expectations for the water table. I don't like the kids playing outside, as everyone tends to end up in the sad sandbox- and I hate that sandbox. I came up with an idea on how to keep the water "contained." (with two 5 year olds and a 2 year old- BAHAHAHA) The table has a drain at the bottom, so I threw a bucket underneath before filling it with water- I felt so freaking smart.
For Christmas, we got the kids this table. It is both a picnic table and a water/sand table. I bought it thinking it would replace the countertop seating. But being so close to the baby's highchair made meal time a mele. So it has been sitting in the playroom, mostly unenjoyed.
Before naps, I promised the kids a "special surprise." (You know, because I'm insane) I had such high expectations for the water table. I don't like the kids playing outside, as everyone tends to end up in the sad sandbox- and I hate that sandbox. I came up with an idea on how to keep the water "contained." (with two 5 year olds and a 2 year old- BAHAHAHA) The table has a drain at the bottom, so I threw a bucket underneath before filling it with water- I felt so freaking smart.
Everyone had a pretty good time, though. And after all, it's only water.
In the end, there was tons of splashing, water everywhere, and wet t-shirts.
It was still pretty fun.
However, I don't think I'll be doing that again anytime soon. Maybe in the summer, in swimsuits, and if something is done about the sandbox.
A Little Of This
He opens the screen, by himself:
Then he yells at the puppas, "Hush! No barkin'!"
... And that's why we keep him around!
I am rather enjoying this age of 2. There are much fewer epic screaming fits. He's quite the polite little gentleman in fact, "yes please," "thank you," and "bless you" are in his regular vocabulary rotation. He even says thank you after I tuck him in at night. I answer back, "no, thank you."
The getting-into-things-he-shouldn't has decreased. (I say this even after he hands me a thermometer pilfered from the kitchen drawers) This little boy may have finally figured out the toys we give him are actually much more fun than expected. That, and books- he's SO into books. I often worried about the girls, as they were more fond of gnawing on books than reading them. (this has changed with the preschool library- they love books, but back in the sucking-on-books-days, I was a bit worried we were headed for the short bus... and yes, I felt like a horrible parent even thinking it, but still) Little Man has been hot on reading since practically birth, I'm guessing the girls had something to do with it.
Life is especially sweet now that things are officially back to "normal." We all got better, (an idea which seems impossible in the middle of sickness) The Husband went back to work, voila! Normalcy!
2.18.2012
Pick My Specs
Have I ever told you about the time I spent $500+ on a pair of glasses? The Husband and I have been wearing glasses (me more on a sporadic basis) for many, many years now. Well, one year we decided to take The Husband's prescription into Lenscrafters. We went this route because Lenscrafters is open on Saturdays, and it seemed the optimal time to choose eyewear. Especially since I was no longer willing to trust The Husband's sense of style as his last pair of glasses had been picked out by the elderly assistant in the doctor's office... and they were pretty horrible.
We found a great pair of frames at Lenscrafters that suited his face perfectly- for once. They were Burberry, and just lovely. When it came time to tally up the bill, it was a whopping heap of a number and I could feel the blood drain from my face. At this point, I was caught in a quandry; We had foolishly brought the (then 1 yr old) twins, and their meter was up. Plus I have this nagging insecurity about looking like a cheapskate.
The salesman assured us that while our insurance was not accepted, we could go online and file for a reimbursement of some sort. Considering we spent close to $600, I was really banking on this reimbursement from the insurance company. The second we arrived back home, I fired up the computer, navigated the less-than-user-friendly insurance website and submitted our claim.
Five weeks later I received an envelope in the mail from the insurance company. I eagerly ripped it open... to find a check for FIFTEEN FREAKING DOLLARS.
Yes. I'm sure you have the imagination to invision my reaction. I threw a tantrum. I almost ripped up the check! In a rage I called the insurance monkeys only to find that, well, the insurance will only pay a SMIDGEN of the price of glasses bought outside an authorized doctor's office. For the next couple weeks I was seething with white hot indignity. But eventually I figured that I had learned my lesson- NEVER AGAIN, LENSCRAFTERS! (angrily shaking fist)
So fast forward to this week: We scheduled a week-long recovery vacation for The Husband after his busy, never-home-leaving-me-a-ton-of-solo-parenting peak season. My husband's company is funny about vacation scheduling- we get a form in January to schedule out our entire year, and we have to do so in one week and submit it back for approval. Our ENTIRE YEAR is scheduled in advance. Getting The Husband to regular doctor visits is tricky. This particular week I made us both vision appointments. As we are getting... ahem... older, our vision is going to, well, crap. In a handbasket.
Of course we needed to update our prescriptions from last year. The Husband's visit was in the morning, (while I was theoretically supposed to be running the twins to preschool- this didn't so much happen as everyone was incredibly ill) and mine was scheduled for later that afternoon- during everyone's nap. So The Husband goes first, and I drag everyone over there to meet him for the Picking Of The Glasses- my presence is vastly necessary to ensure The Husband doesn't come out looking like a complete dork.
Insert important information: I picked this doctor's office during the Twin's Great Glasses Hunt, because while they didn't have frames that fit the girl's petite faces, they did have some pretty awesome styles that I hadn't seen in other places. So yes, I picked this doc based on his stock of cool frames. Last year was not a big deal, I got some lovely Coach frames, and The Husband got... something. Since our insurance covered this place, the cost wasn't alarming.
Back to story. We easily agree on a pair for The Husband. It's an easy call as the first frames he tries on are "the ones." The assistant rings up our total... and it's quite a bit more than expected. It is then that I start to notice something I had not paid attention to previously. The landscape of this office has changed significantly. It used to be the Coach brand was the most recognizable, and probably most expensive. No. Now the walls are lined with FENDI, DIOR, etc. The frames we'd bumbled upon were Lacoste, and much more expensive than was normal.
But again- The Husband has a hard face to fit. And these were THE ONES. So we ponied up the extra cash and went on our way. (Later that day we would be dropping another tidy sum on new tires)
By the time my appointment came around, I was just hoping my prescription had stayed the same and I could skate by without more expenses.
"HA!" -Life
My eyes had taken a sharp decline as well. I actually winced as the doctor asked me to read some tiny script with my glasses ON. So new glasses all around! (the girls are also up for new specs too! JoySobbing)
Last year I drooled over some amazing prescription sunglasses, (also Coach) and went to this appointment slightly hoping I could skate by on my old prescription, but maybe- just maybe- go for the sunglasses I had lusted after. Not to be. They were discontinuing the Coach line and the object of my affections were gone.
I tried some of the sunglass options, but nothing really spoke to me. Plus I knew that I really should get regular clear glasses, as I wear them more often. The prescription sunglass dream was dead. So on I went to look at other frames. The only ones I loved? A $400 pair of Fendi magnificence. While my insurance does help, it does not even begin to cover THAT amount merely on frames. (there is the cost of the lenses too!)
I left bereft.
The world decidedly hell bent on emptying my wallet... and possibly my ability to pay my electric bill, too.
In my woe, I happened to remember Design Mom's post on Warby Parker. It was certainly worth cracking open the Macbook. Granted, they are mostly a large assortment of painfully hipster-wear. But I found a few I could imagine myself not looking ridiculously out of place in. And the best part?! NINETY FIVE DOLLARS, all inclusive. Frames, lenses, everything. They're even scratch-resistant.
The second best part? They will ship you five to try on- FO' FREE. You bet I was all over that. While there are tons of mail-order, discount glasses sites out there, (Zenni Optical being one that I've heard of a few times) I just can't trust an upload your crappy picture onto the site and "virtually" try on glasses technology. I mean really, that CAN'T work right. It just can't. I need to ACTUALLY try them on. Probably because I may be abnormally picky about what I put on my face day in and day out. (How vain of me)
IN CONCLUSION: (Sorry, this has become longer than I expected) I have five pairs being two-day air-ed over to my place. (Two days! Crazy talk! Especially for free!) And I will be trying them on, taking pictures, and having you help me decide. (check this blog hourly on Tuesday to get your voice heard)
As a preview, here are the five I chose:
(sorry- only links, couldn't upload pics off their site like a pirate)
The Reese in Midnight Blue.
The Langston in Amber.
The Sibley in Dark Tortoise.
The Carlen in Striped Evergreen.
The Nedwin in Summer Green. (yes, green. I was feeling spunky)
Stay tuned! I will even put on makeup and look presentable for these pictures. (well, maybe)
We found a great pair of frames at Lenscrafters that suited his face perfectly- for once. They were Burberry, and just lovely. When it came time to tally up the bill, it was a whopping heap of a number and I could feel the blood drain from my face. At this point, I was caught in a quandry; We had foolishly brought the (then 1 yr old) twins, and their meter was up. Plus I have this nagging insecurity about looking like a cheapskate.
The salesman assured us that while our insurance was not accepted, we could go online and file for a reimbursement of some sort. Considering we spent close to $600, I was really banking on this reimbursement from the insurance company. The second we arrived back home, I fired up the computer, navigated the less-than-user-friendly insurance website and submitted our claim.
Five weeks later I received an envelope in the mail from the insurance company. I eagerly ripped it open... to find a check for FIFTEEN FREAKING DOLLARS.
Yes. I'm sure you have the imagination to invision my reaction. I threw a tantrum. I almost ripped up the check! In a rage I called the insurance monkeys only to find that, well, the insurance will only pay a SMIDGEN of the price of glasses bought outside an authorized doctor's office. For the next couple weeks I was seething with white hot indignity. But eventually I figured that I had learned my lesson- NEVER AGAIN, LENSCRAFTERS! (angrily shaking fist)
So fast forward to this week: We scheduled a week-long recovery vacation for The Husband after his busy, never-home-leaving-me-a-ton-of-solo-parenting peak season. My husband's company is funny about vacation scheduling- we get a form in January to schedule out our entire year, and we have to do so in one week and submit it back for approval. Our ENTIRE YEAR is scheduled in advance. Getting The Husband to regular doctor visits is tricky. This particular week I made us both vision appointments. As we are getting... ahem... older, our vision is going to, well, crap. In a handbasket.
Of course we needed to update our prescriptions from last year. The Husband's visit was in the morning, (while I was theoretically supposed to be running the twins to preschool- this didn't so much happen as everyone was incredibly ill) and mine was scheduled for later that afternoon- during everyone's nap. So The Husband goes first, and I drag everyone over there to meet him for the Picking Of The Glasses- my presence is vastly necessary to ensure The Husband doesn't come out looking like a complete dork.
Insert important information: I picked this doctor's office during the Twin's Great Glasses Hunt, because while they didn't have frames that fit the girl's petite faces, they did have some pretty awesome styles that I hadn't seen in other places. So yes, I picked this doc based on his stock of cool frames. Last year was not a big deal, I got some lovely Coach frames, and The Husband got... something. Since our insurance covered this place, the cost wasn't alarming.
Back to story. We easily agree on a pair for The Husband. It's an easy call as the first frames he tries on are "the ones." The assistant rings up our total... and it's quite a bit more than expected. It is then that I start to notice something I had not paid attention to previously. The landscape of this office has changed significantly. It used to be the Coach brand was the most recognizable, and probably most expensive. No. Now the walls are lined with FENDI, DIOR, etc. The frames we'd bumbled upon were Lacoste, and much more expensive than was normal.
But again- The Husband has a hard face to fit. And these were THE ONES. So we ponied up the extra cash and went on our way. (Later that day we would be dropping another tidy sum on new tires)
By the time my appointment came around, I was just hoping my prescription had stayed the same and I could skate by without more expenses.
"HA!" -Life
My eyes had taken a sharp decline as well. I actually winced as the doctor asked me to read some tiny script with my glasses ON. So new glasses all around! (the girls are also up for new specs too! JoySobbing)
Last year I drooled over some amazing prescription sunglasses, (also Coach) and went to this appointment slightly hoping I could skate by on my old prescription, but maybe- just maybe- go for the sunglasses I had lusted after. Not to be. They were discontinuing the Coach line and the object of my affections were gone.
I tried some of the sunglass options, but nothing really spoke to me. Plus I knew that I really should get regular clear glasses, as I wear them more often. The prescription sunglass dream was dead. So on I went to look at other frames. The only ones I loved? A $400 pair of Fendi magnificence. While my insurance does help, it does not even begin to cover THAT amount merely on frames. (there is the cost of the lenses too!)
I left bereft.
The world decidedly hell bent on emptying my wallet... and possibly my ability to pay my electric bill, too.
In my woe, I happened to remember Design Mom's post on Warby Parker. It was certainly worth cracking open the Macbook. Granted, they are mostly a large assortment of painfully hipster-wear. But I found a few I could imagine myself not looking ridiculously out of place in. And the best part?! NINETY FIVE DOLLARS, all inclusive. Frames, lenses, everything. They're even scratch-resistant.
The second best part? They will ship you five to try on- FO' FREE. You bet I was all over that. While there are tons of mail-order, discount glasses sites out there, (Zenni Optical being one that I've heard of a few times) I just can't trust an upload your crappy picture onto the site and "virtually" try on glasses technology. I mean really, that CAN'T work right. It just can't. I need to ACTUALLY try them on. Probably because I may be abnormally picky about what I put on my face day in and day out. (How vain of me)
IN CONCLUSION: (Sorry, this has become longer than I expected) I have five pairs being two-day air-ed over to my place. (Two days! Crazy talk! Especially for free!) And I will be trying them on, taking pictures, and having you help me decide. (check this blog hourly on Tuesday to get your voice heard)
As a preview, here are the five I chose:
(sorry- only links, couldn't upload pics off their site like a pirate)
The Reese in Midnight Blue.
The Langston in Amber.
The Sibley in Dark Tortoise.
The Carlen in Striped Evergreen.
The Nedwin in Summer Green. (yes, green. I was feeling spunky)
Stay tuned! I will even put on makeup and look presentable for these pictures. (well, maybe)
2.17.2012
MacGyver'd Food
I do not think I can stress to you just how long and grueling this week has been. I actually woke up this morning (Friday) and thought it was Sunday. The truth was pretty punishing, there would be three more days of sick husbands, grumpy children, etc. I'm really looking forward to a) everyone being well again, b) The Husband going to work, and c) getting on with life as normal.
Tonight I found myself making dinner. The ravioli was bathing in boiling water, and this is when I found out we were out of marinara sauce, alfredo sauce, the whole deal. I should preface this with the fact that our pantry is pretty bare at the moment. Neither of us has felt up to going grocery shopping. We were barely able to go out and fix the tire situation- a whopping three days after the fact. That's another $500 bucks I did not expect on flushing down the drain. Buying tires, like shoe shopping: all the loss of wallet contents, none of the exhilarating rush of strutting down the street in stilettos.
Was I going to the store to pick up some spaghetti sauce? Um, it's dinnertime and I am still in my pajamas... trying to remember the last time I had a decent shower. Safe answer? No. I will not be leaving the premises.
I had to get pretty creative and cook up a homemade sauce. (it's after the meatball part) The recipe technically calls for 2 cans of tomato sauce. I had one can of tomato paste. I stir in one can of water, hoping the result will be some variation of the needed tomato sauce. Amazingly, it came out ok, and I was strutting around the house for a while feeling pretty confident in myself.
After the girls went to bed, I got the munchies. I asked The Husband, "how hard do you think it would be to make brownies from scratch?" He chuckled heartily and exclaimed "If you want to work that hard for it, go right ahead!" Pinterest gave me this option:
I had a ton of cocoa powder, so I whipped it up. Results? It's not terrible. It's certainly better than traipsing to the store for a boxed brownie mix. The Husband actually liked it. I thought it tasted a bit like Hot Cocoa Mix in cake-form.
But still, I feel pretty hot-to-trot as a housemaker. Like, yeah! I made a whole meal out of PRACTICALLY NOTHING. I win. Also? I am feeling slightly better this evening. There is hope that I will not feel sick for ETERNITY!
Tonight I found myself making dinner. The ravioli was bathing in boiling water, and this is when I found out we were out of marinara sauce, alfredo sauce, the whole deal. I should preface this with the fact that our pantry is pretty bare at the moment. Neither of us has felt up to going grocery shopping. We were barely able to go out and fix the tire situation- a whopping three days after the fact. That's another $500 bucks I did not expect on flushing down the drain. Buying tires, like shoe shopping: all the loss of wallet contents, none of the exhilarating rush of strutting down the street in stilettos.
Was I going to the store to pick up some spaghetti sauce? Um, it's dinnertime and I am still in my pajamas... trying to remember the last time I had a decent shower. Safe answer? No. I will not be leaving the premises.
I had to get pretty creative and cook up a homemade sauce. (it's after the meatball part) The recipe technically calls for 2 cans of tomato sauce. I had one can of tomato paste. I stir in one can of water, hoping the result will be some variation of the needed tomato sauce. Amazingly, it came out ok, and I was strutting around the house for a while feeling pretty confident in myself.
After the girls went to bed, I got the munchies. I asked The Husband, "how hard do you think it would be to make brownies from scratch?" He chuckled heartily and exclaimed "If you want to work that hard for it, go right ahead!" Pinterest gave me this option:
I had a ton of cocoa powder, so I whipped it up. Results? It's not terrible. It's certainly better than traipsing to the store for a boxed brownie mix. The Husband actually liked it. I thought it tasted a bit like Hot Cocoa Mix in cake-form.
But still, I feel pretty hot-to-trot as a housemaker. Like, yeah! I made a whole meal out of PRACTICALLY NOTHING. I win. Also? I am feeling slightly better this evening. There is hope that I will not feel sick for ETERNITY!
More Misadventures
I've been meaning to write for a couple days now. But this "cold?" It's a doozy. I still feel like a heap of miserable jello.
The beginning of Valentine's Day was quite lovely:
The girls brought home more sweets than should be in their system at any given time. And this little cupcake topper ring which I just found HILARIOUS. The kids kept asking me what it said, and when I told them they responded "but I can't use Mommy's phone yet."
In the afternoon we delivered valentines to the grandparents and Uncle Trent. Uncle Trent, having forgotten about Valentine's Day entirely decided that both he and I should go out to a movie together for some fun. And since my valentine was on the couch sick as a dog, I was all for it. Even if I had to down some Dayquil to feel up to it.
We went to a late-ish movie so The Husband didn't have to put the kids to bed by himself- a feat that he was convinced would kill him. So here's where the story takes a turn. I am driving home at a decently late hour, in the dark on a busy street with nothing but remote desert on either side when I start hearing a peculiar sound.
I know I am near an airport, so I figure there must be a helicopter or small plane landing nearby... and as I continue (I'm going about 60 mph) I start to think this particular helicopter is... following me?
At some point, much later than I care to admit, I begin to think the possibility of a low-flying plane FOLLOWING ME... is well, SLIM.
I pull off onto the side of the road and find a rear tire in really bad condition. Like it had been through a brawl with a badger. I am freaked out of my mind because a) I don't know if we even HAVE a spare tire, b) it is SUPER DARK, and c) I am completely alone, and I'd rather get out of abandoned desert road before things get rape-y... I've seen enough movies to know where this scenario is leading. And it involves a serial killer.
Also? I've never had a flat tire before- as in EVER. I did attend a "how to clinic" on car maintenance and tire changing when I was a teenager, but even then I think I just watched.
Also? I've never had a flat tire before- as in EVER. I did attend a "how to clinic" on car maintenance and tire changing when I was a teenager, but even then I think I just watched.
I dive back into the car, lock the doors, and call The Husband. I have apparently woken him up, and- here's the bad news- he's already taken a hefty dose of Nyquil and should not operate heavy machinery to come help me. So I frantically dial my brother. Luckily, he had stopped to refill his drink before leaving the theater and would be on his way. Surprisingly, my brother knows how to change a tire! In the dark! (I had called reinforcements- my Dad- beforehand, not relying on the extreme talent of my younger brother)
My family? They are awesome.
I feel bad for The Husband because this was supposed to be his restful vacation week after peak season and not only did everyone get sick, he took me to the ER, I broke our car, and we both had scheduled eye doctor appointments made in advance. So far, this has been one pretty crappy vacation.
Except for the cuties playing with teaspoon measuring cups:
2.14.2012
Valentines and Semi-Emergencies
Happy Valentines Day! We're having a low-key celebration with some excessively sugared preschoolers. You see, everyone is sick. We were holding out hope that The Husband would be the sole survivor and thus take care of us all. But alas, this was not to be. I've found that with three children, our household needs more than ONE humidifier. I've learned quite a few lessons this holiday. One of which being; do not kill yourself over making valentines. Ours was the only handmade, most parents just brought an unopened bag of tiny Nerds boxes and called it a day. I cannot blame these parents, in fact they are probably a million times wiser than myself.
At 5am Monday morning, everyone was sleeping. Sunday had been a rough one with both parents out of commission, there was a lot of movies, snacks passed as meals, and quite frankly, everyone was bored and cranky. But at 5am, I was awoken by some rather annoying stomach cramps. Dismissing them as menstrual cramps, I decided to coax my tired body downstairs to pop some Tylenol. Halfway down the stairs the pain started spiraling out of control, my ears were ringing, and I felt like I could hurl at any moment. I barely made it to the kitchen sink, but the nausea would not yeild, the room was spinning, and just waiting for water to fill the glass seemed agonizing. I was able to shove a pill down my throat and drink some water before I found myself on the floor. I don't know if I had passed out, or in the daze of the crushing pain, had decided to lay down on the linoleum. Either way I was there, on the floor, yelling as loud as I could to wake The Husband. There was no way I was getting off that floor. After about half an hour of trying to get someone to notice my peril, I decided to crawl- step by step- (yes, I am singing the theme song to Step By Step as well. Darn you, Suzanne Somers) where I burst in the door to our room and crumpled on the floor once more. This was a little more than startling to The Husband. What were we to do?! I was pretty sure something in my abdomen was exploding. My spleen? My appendix? I was reeling in pain, no position would ease it, and the room kept spinning.
Feeling insanely foolish, I did not want to bother anyone. This was either going to kill me, or go away the second we woke somebody up. We opted to call and wake up my brother so he could come and watch the kids while The Husband took me to the ER, where the pain mysteriously abated. OF COURSE. The nurse asked me to define my pain level on a scale of 1-10. I hung my head and answered "three right now... but at home it was a twelve. I swear." Blood work was taken, and a dose of pain medication was administered anyway. Luckily (?) the violent pain flipped on the switch again, and I was writhing on a gurney. Additional pain meds were shot up, and off to a cat scan I went.
This whole time I was worried about one singular problem: I had made just under 100 valentines and a batch of cookies for the preschool party in the passenger seat of my car. THE KIDS HAD TO TAKE THEM TO THE PARTY! And I was pretty sure some kind of surgery would be in my future, you don't have that kind of pain for no reason. Honestly, I would not have been surprised if the doctor had told me my stomach was torn in two.
To my ACTUAL surprise, all tests came back normal. There was a mass on my bladder, but the doctor was not worried about it- probably some scar tissue from my two c-sections. Seriously, I could barely comprehend this news. (and the pain meds had made me both spacey and vomity- the nurses hated me as they constantly had to clean out my yak-bin) I probably should have asked more questions, or at least pressed the ER guy to take it a bit more seriously, but I just wanted to go home and curl up in my own bed and sleep for... ever.
Still don't know what was really up with all the pain. It doesn't add up to me that my body would push the nuke button like that without valid reason, but whatever. I guess I cannot argue with a clean cat scan.
Anyway, the night before Valentine's Day, I was determined to make the day MAGICAL for the twins. It seemed like the perfect combination of everything my 5 year olds adore. So I was gingerly minding my sore tummy... and cutting out paper hearts for a "heart attack" for the girls to wake up to:
Valentines morning was just as magical as I wanted it to be. Granted The Husband was sprawled on the couch coughing, the girls' eyes lit up at all the nice things written on the hearts taped to their doors. It is so easy to tickle them, and I love it. Then we made pink, heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast, and whisked the little ones off to their big Valentine's Day party.
The pink bedecked girls arrived home with a sack full of sweet treats, lovely little notes, and pure preschooler joy. In the end: great day.
At 5am Monday morning, everyone was sleeping. Sunday had been a rough one with both parents out of commission, there was a lot of movies, snacks passed as meals, and quite frankly, everyone was bored and cranky. But at 5am, I was awoken by some rather annoying stomach cramps. Dismissing them as menstrual cramps, I decided to coax my tired body downstairs to pop some Tylenol. Halfway down the stairs the pain started spiraling out of control, my ears were ringing, and I felt like I could hurl at any moment. I barely made it to the kitchen sink, but the nausea would not yeild, the room was spinning, and just waiting for water to fill the glass seemed agonizing. I was able to shove a pill down my throat and drink some water before I found myself on the floor. I don't know if I had passed out, or in the daze of the crushing pain, had decided to lay down on the linoleum. Either way I was there, on the floor, yelling as loud as I could to wake The Husband. There was no way I was getting off that floor. After about half an hour of trying to get someone to notice my peril, I decided to crawl- step by step- (yes, I am singing the theme song to Step By Step as well. Darn you, Suzanne Somers) where I burst in the door to our room and crumpled on the floor once more. This was a little more than startling to The Husband. What were we to do?! I was pretty sure something in my abdomen was exploding. My spleen? My appendix? I was reeling in pain, no position would ease it, and the room kept spinning.
Feeling insanely foolish, I did not want to bother anyone. This was either going to kill me, or go away the second we woke somebody up. We opted to call and wake up my brother so he could come and watch the kids while The Husband took me to the ER, where the pain mysteriously abated. OF COURSE. The nurse asked me to define my pain level on a scale of 1-10. I hung my head and answered "three right now... but at home it was a twelve. I swear." Blood work was taken, and a dose of pain medication was administered anyway. Luckily (?) the violent pain flipped on the switch again, and I was writhing on a gurney. Additional pain meds were shot up, and off to a cat scan I went.
This whole time I was worried about one singular problem: I had made just under 100 valentines and a batch of cookies for the preschool party in the passenger seat of my car. THE KIDS HAD TO TAKE THEM TO THE PARTY! And I was pretty sure some kind of surgery would be in my future, you don't have that kind of pain for no reason. Honestly, I would not have been surprised if the doctor had told me my stomach was torn in two.
To my ACTUAL surprise, all tests came back normal. There was a mass on my bladder, but the doctor was not worried about it- probably some scar tissue from my two c-sections. Seriously, I could barely comprehend this news. (and the pain meds had made me both spacey and vomity- the nurses hated me as they constantly had to clean out my yak-bin) I probably should have asked more questions, or at least pressed the ER guy to take it a bit more seriously, but I just wanted to go home and curl up in my own bed and sleep for... ever.
Still don't know what was really up with all the pain. It doesn't add up to me that my body would push the nuke button like that without valid reason, but whatever. I guess I cannot argue with a clean cat scan.
Anyway, the night before Valentine's Day, I was determined to make the day MAGICAL for the twins. It seemed like the perfect combination of everything my 5 year olds adore. So I was gingerly minding my sore tummy... and cutting out paper hearts for a "heart attack" for the girls to wake up to:
Valentines morning was just as magical as I wanted it to be. Granted The Husband was sprawled on the couch coughing, the girls' eyes lit up at all the nice things written on the hearts taped to their doors. It is so easy to tickle them, and I love it. Then we made pink, heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast, and whisked the little ones off to their big Valentine's Day party.
The pink bedecked girls arrived home with a sack full of sweet treats, lovely little notes, and pure preschooler joy. In the end: great day.
2.10.2012
Valentines: Plan B
This week has taken a hard left turn- with 4/5 of this family getting sick. So the valentine prep? Fell by the wayside. Once I finally compiled the components for the teacher gifts, I realized a couple flaws with the idea of making a necklace into a bracelet. Can you tie a bow with one hand? No I can't either.
So I threw all the kids back into the car, returned most of the (unused) materials, and went to a great alternative that I already knew how to do: Wish Bead Bracelets.
So I threw all the kids back into the car, returned most of the (unused) materials, and went to a great alternative that I already knew how to do: Wish Bead Bracelets.
I do hope the High School set thinks they are as cute as I do:
Basically, you need some hemp. (I used 10lb. here, which I think may be a little thin. I've used 20lb. in the past and got more of a better look from it) And some beads. Oh, and maybe tape. That's it. Here's a short tutorial in case you're so compelled to make some for yourself. (or others!)
Cut three strips about 2-3 ft. long and tie them together with a knot at the top. Leave some allowance above the knot for tying onto wrists. Then tape the top to a solid surface for some resistance- I prefer to stick the knot under the legs of my heavy coffee table and braid while sitting on the floor. Either way.
Then just braid normally a ways until you reach the middle of your bracelet. Thread a bead onto the middle string like so:
Then bring the left string around:
Follow this trend and bring the right string around too. (essentially braiding the bead into the bracelet) Then what was the right string is now the middle string, so throw another bead on that puppy:
Then I bet you know what we do next:
Good! Now wrap the right string around to make it the middle one again. Then bead it up!
And continue:
Then tighten the beads up (not too tight, though!) and keep on with braiding until you've got enough for a wrist, or ankle, or cankle.
I then cut a 2x6 piece of sparkly cardstock, made two little slices for each end of the bracelet to go through, and put a little explanation of the "wish beads" fun:
I'm sure they could be gussied up a bit more, but I'm TIRED. And did I mention sick? And Valentine's Day is APPROACHING. So I threw this together, tossed them into a plastic Target bag and left them in the passenger's seat of my car so they'll be ready for preschool on Valentine's Day.
Now off I go to make myself some homemade Reese's Eggs:
Because I deserve it, yo.
2.07.2012
Balloons Driving Us Looney
Baby carries balloon everywhere. Eventually he builds up enough static cling to persuade the helium to relentlessly gravitate towards his electrically charged noggin. I pluck the balloon from his head and force it to obey the rules of physics, pulling on its string tether in the sky. As soon as Little Man moves an inch, the hair standing straight off his head coaxes the balloon to suck back onto the kid's scalp.
Commence the tortured screaming.
This game of intrigue continues until I am restraining myself from popping the balloon with extra-pointy scissors.
Do balloons totally throw off the natural balance of life at your houses, too?! I swear, as soon as a balloon enters the building, my kids lose all composure. They're bouncing off walls, they're bopping the balloon like a boxer practicing for a fight, they're actually fighting over who has what color balloon.
Assuming there is more than one balloon, the strings WILL get tangled up. And it may or may not take a zillion years to detangle the labyrinth of colorful ribbons and the toys they are anchored to.
I have my theories that balloons are like airborne crack. Any and all children within a mile radius will instantly erupt in manic, insane behavior that JUST SEEMS non-balloon related. I've tested this theory, as soon as the kids are sleeping and the balloons are disposed of (ie: popped in judicious malice) the children are totally changed, the "excitement" is taken down a couple notches, automatically. Life without balloons present is quieter. And that is weird. They're just balloons.
This particular batch was the balloon bouquet from hell. We paid a couple dollars extra to get the "good" helium... and boy howdy- those suckers stayed aloft for A WEEK before I got stabby with the scissors and prematurely ended their "season."
I was hot off the tails of this draining week-long balloon experience when I took the girls for a dentist appointment- a 9am dentist appointment. Why did I make it for 9:00?! I must have been HIGH, because it was NOT FUN getting everyone up, ready, and out the door by that time. I am dreading kindergarten, as I'm pretty sure it starts early in the morning, too- that's going to be ROUGH.
So anyway, I took the kids to the dentist and found out Bunny's teeth are doing good. She has some almost-cavities, but they have not changed since the last xray, 6 mos. ago. All the flossing has paid off, the flossing every night that makes me want to pull my hair out every night as I JUST WANT THEM IN BED, ALREADY. It paid off... but only for Bunny.
Squirt's same almost-cavities are progressing into the need-to-be-filled, actual-cavity sort of problem. Did I mention we're talking about FOUR possible cavity riddled areas?! After extensively talking to the dentist we resolved to wait another 6 mos. and hope for the best. (all the while flossing incessantly) Then during the actual cleaning portion of the visit, Mr. Dentist found YET ANOTHER cavity in the mangle of forest that is Squirt's lower front teeth. (the girls got my ittybitty tiny mouth) The doc says these front teeth should fall out soon anyway, so we're not bothering with them. Which is fine, except that I can actually see the cavity when I brush her at night, and well, I hate that. It bothers me. No, it openly mocks me from her mouth. Stupid cavity.
How is there such a stark difference between the two mouths? They're twins! Identical twins! Who eat the same things! I brush & floss them one after another! The level of care is the same! How is the cavity situation so different! Ok, dental rant over. Sorry. Get a little carried away about dental health I suppose.
BACK TO THE POINT: The twins left the dentist's office with two more balloons. Thankfully, Little Man bit into one (yes, he tried to BITE THE BALLOON) and it popped before bedtime. The second balloon is still lazing around the house, being fought over by all three children... and now that I think about it, I am going to pop the darned thing RIGHT THIS INSTANT before anyone wakes up from naps.
Done.
2.06.2012
The Napping Situation
Life has been relatively humdrum lately. Go to preschool, pick up from preschool, run errands, fix dinner. But we're on a verge of something big, and rather ominous: the end of naps.
The twins are five, and from what I've gathered this is usually the age when kids drop their naps naturally. The thought of having whole days uninterrupted by the blissful two hour quiet... well, that seems utterly un-natural! However, I believe conventional wisdom is right- the girls have outgrown their nap. They don't "need" it. No, I need it. A time when all three household hoodlums are relegated to their rooms and I have the luxury of folding laundry, washing dishes, mopping floors, and erm, blogging... un-"aided" by the ever-curious hands of the underage.
I've noticed in the past weeks the amount of activity sneakily being perpetrated upstairs has intensified. After The Incident, I'd been talking to the twins about the importance of "getting out of bed and going potty in the bathroom." This notion of absconding from bed without a parent present? It has proven to be quite irresistible to these little girls. (Can't believe we made it this long for the revelation to sink in) I've found Bunny sitting on the bathroom floor, the lights off, in the middle of naps. When asked what she was doing? "Um, I was bored."
The real curiosity that seems to pique their interest? Mommy's whereabouts during naptime. I suspect they assumed (and I may have told them this) that I was also sleeping. This is totally false, 100% of the time. So the question of "where is Mommy now?" is quite alluring to the five year old mind. Just a few minutes ago I heard a rattle at the gate. I knew it had to be one of the twins, so I suggested the perpetrator get back upstairs and into bed. I heard a "harumph," then a timid little voice asking "Mommy, are you watching shows?"
I refuse to incriminate myself. "None of your business, honey. Go back to sleep. Mama's busy."
Now I mourn the sudden passing of our lengthy stint of insured naptime relief. 'Twas nice knowing you, naps. It was a great five years.
The twins are five, and from what I've gathered this is usually the age when kids drop their naps naturally. The thought of having whole days uninterrupted by the blissful two hour quiet... well, that seems utterly un-natural! However, I believe conventional wisdom is right- the girls have outgrown their nap. They don't "need" it. No, I need it. A time when all three household hoodlums are relegated to their rooms and I have the luxury of folding laundry, washing dishes, mopping floors, and erm, blogging... un-"aided" by the ever-curious hands of the underage.
I've noticed in the past weeks the amount of activity sneakily being perpetrated upstairs has intensified. After The Incident, I'd been talking to the twins about the importance of "getting out of bed and going potty in the bathroom." This notion of absconding from bed without a parent present? It has proven to be quite irresistible to these little girls. (Can't believe we made it this long for the revelation to sink in) I've found Bunny sitting on the bathroom floor, the lights off, in the middle of naps. When asked what she was doing? "Um, I was bored."
The real curiosity that seems to pique their interest? Mommy's whereabouts during naptime. I suspect they assumed (and I may have told them this) that I was also sleeping. This is totally false, 100% of the time. So the question of "where is Mommy now?" is quite alluring to the five year old mind. Just a few minutes ago I heard a rattle at the gate. I knew it had to be one of the twins, so I suggested the perpetrator get back upstairs and into bed. I heard a "harumph," then a timid little voice asking "Mommy, are you watching shows?"
I refuse to incriminate myself. "None of your business, honey. Go back to sleep. Mama's busy."
Now I mourn the sudden passing of our lengthy stint of insured naptime relief. 'Twas nice knowing you, naps. It was a great five years.
2.02.2012
Feel Free To Talk Me Out of It
So Valentines. It should not be a particularly stressful holiday, right?
The other day the girls arrived home from preschool with a list, a list of kids in their class, for the Valentine's day party. There are 40 kids, not including my two. Plus 15 or so "teachers."
This is a tall order for just one kid. But two? That is 80 valentines and 30 teacher gifts. (math is never my friend) EIGHTY VALENTINES.
Not wanting to make the twins feel dismayed by their twin-ness, I opted to ensure they have their very own valentines. Those two darlings share a lot as it is. My first thought was to have the girls to the majority of the work; CRAFT TIME!
Ten seconds into it I realized something: I am a control-freak-perfectionist, and I was getting appallingly flustered when the girls would stamp in a "designated non-stamping" area. My face was going red when I would request they stamp "You're Sweet" on the right side of the heart, and Squirt would slam it down in the middle... THE MIDDLE!
Stamping privileges were immediately revoked. (there was lots of wailing and crying)
After spending my nightly "TV time" stamping and addressing 80 valentines, my next step is to purchase a large shaker of glitter. (this will not be difficult to procure, right?) In hopes that the girls will be able to glitter up these little hearts without much incident. (We shall see!)
Next! Onto teacher gifts!
I suppose I should explain the girls go to a not-your-typical-preschool. The main teacher- who we know quite well outside of preschool- is awesome. She is also in charge of teaching teenagers in a sort of "childhood development" class. So the teenage girls are whom I am aiming to please with the teacher gifts. I wanted to do something they would especially enjoy, as the twins L.O.V.E. these teenage girls.
Surfing through Pinterest, I have tentatively decided on this:
The other day the girls arrived home from preschool with a list, a list of kids in their class, for the Valentine's day party. There are 40 kids, not including my two. Plus 15 or so "teachers."
This is a tall order for just one kid. But two? That is 80 valentines and 30 teacher gifts. (math is never my friend) EIGHTY VALENTINES.
Not wanting to make the twins feel dismayed by their twin-ness, I opted to ensure they have their very own valentines. Those two darlings share a lot as it is. My first thought was to have the girls to the majority of the work; CRAFT TIME!
Ten seconds into it I realized something: I am a control-freak-perfectionist, and I was getting appallingly flustered when the girls would stamp in a "designated non-stamping" area. My face was going red when I would request they stamp "You're Sweet" on the right side of the heart, and Squirt would slam it down in the middle... THE MIDDLE!
Stamping privileges were immediately revoked. (there was lots of wailing and crying)
After spending my nightly "TV time" stamping and addressing 80 valentines, my next step is to purchase a large shaker of glitter. (this will not be difficult to procure, right?) In hopes that the girls will be able to glitter up these little hearts without much incident. (We shall see!)
Next! Onto teacher gifts!
I suppose I should explain the girls go to a not-your-typical-preschool. The main teacher- who we know quite well outside of preschool- is awesome. She is also in charge of teaching teenagers in a sort of "childhood development" class. So the teenage girls are whom I am aiming to please with the teacher gifts. I wanted to do something they would especially enjoy, as the twins L.O.V.E. these teenage girls.
Surfing through Pinterest, I have tentatively decided on this:
It seems easy enough- I'd make it into more of a bracelet size. The materials should be relatively inexpensive, and it seems like the kind of thing that these teachers would love; much better than a crappy heart shaped lollipop, right?
In the interest of time (and my personal sanity) I don't think I will be making 30 of these. I'd have to just make 15 and divy them up between the twins to hand out, but I think the kids wouldn't object to it. (crossing fingers!)
Man, sometimes it is easy to overlook the whole "two of everything" aspect that comes with twins. But it is these times, when I'm churning out eighty valentines, that I realize just how much work goes into having two kids at the same time... she says before realizing that next year not only will the twins be in need of valentines, but Little Man's preschool class will too! I take it back! This is not hard! (wince)
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