Twin pictures

The babies are starting to think about crawling (let's just hope they're as slow to crawl as they are to sleep). They were exercising on their blanket after the big boys were safely in bed and out of stomping range last night, and I got these pictures. They're really starting to notice each other, and so far they seem to like each other. While we're wishing, let's wish for that to keep up, too.

This picture was cuter in the view finder, when I couldn't see the giant slobber in girly's mouth:














Girl kept leaning on Boy when she got tired. So cute.














I guess I'll keep them, after all.

Always two there are [...], a master and an apprentice

It is probably a testament to my unfunctioning brain that I am beginning to think almost exclusively in quotes from movies and songs. I'm sure my husband will be thrilled when he reads this and learns that he has infected me, at long last, with Star Wars. The master and apprentice quote popped into my head this morning while I was recapping the (long) night's sleep (or lack thereof). My daughter is malleable and bright - after only two days and nights of the new routine, her sleep is measurably improved. She is starting to get tired at the "right" times, is not sleeping in cat naps all evening, went to bed peacefully, and only got up once all night long. I love her. She is beauty and grace and light. My son. Well. Not as bright. Not as malleable. He was pretty much up all night again. It is so fortunate for him that he is cute and did not come with a gift receipt.

Another phrase rattling around in the wasteland of my brain is "I get by with a little help from my friends." I know I bitch a lot, but by and large I'm very happy, and I'd be utterly miserable if it weren't for the incredibly generous people in my life. I have friends checking on me every day, friends taking my big kids so they don't have to endure house arrest with me (and so I don't have to endure them enduring it), friends bringing food. A big part of the reason I can't wait to get some rest and rejoin society is so I can pay it back and (cheese alert) pay it forward. When I worked full time, I rarely came in contact with this side of human nature, this generosity of spirit, and now I live in a world of it and I'm so grateful.

Back in a minute with cute twin pictures!

My house

My house will be 100 years old in 2012. Here are some of the great and not-so-great things about living here:

THE GOOD:
1) There is a special place in our over-stove cupboard just for Oreos, even though we rarely have Oreos (and when we do, they don't last long).
2) There are two parallel staircases, even though the house isn't that big. It's fun watching new people get confused about where they've landed.
3) The old owner was a carpenter, and did many odd customizations to the house (some less charming than others, as when he drove a nail through a steam pipe and didn't repair it, leading to water damage in that wall).
4) The porch is fantastic and large and airy, and I have dreams of one day using it for socializing instead of just for storing crap.
5) The stairway to the attic is in one of the bedroom closets, making it seem like a secret passageway (and again, surprising newcomers when my mother appears to emerge from the closet).

THE BAD:
1) Water is no friend to this house. When it rains, the basement floods. The roof won't hold patches properly any more. The radiators leak to the ceilings below.
2) Storage - although the house is plenty big enough for our family, it lacks room for our stuff. The closets are so narrow hangers don't fit in them properly. Just my luck, buying a house designed by ascetics.
3) Stairs. We're by no means a family of athletes, but you'd think we'd all be rail thin, since we live in the housing equivalent of a StairMaster, with stairs everywhere you turn. Perhaps the Oreo cupboard mentioned above acts as a counterbalance.
4) Neighbors - the woman behind us is stark raving mad and has, in the past, called the police on us for shoveling snow, blocked her driveway with posts so we can't get into our driveway with trucks, and stood in the road in front of our car to yell at us for putting trash out for the trash collectors. The people across the street have now mercifully been evicted, but for years sold crack at all hours of the day and night and threw an ungodly amount of crap in our yard, including dentures and a shopping cart. The people next door are just odd - they work from home, never leave their house, and once said to my son "we don't like children" (he was not doing anything at the time). The people on the other side just moved in, so they are not yet on my list.
5) The yard. Baltimore is not, last time I checked, in the tropics, but our weeds grow so fast you can almost hear the crackling. Within two weeks of the start of spring, it looks like the castle in Sleeping Beauty, all overgrown and just waiting for a prince with a sword to come hack away the brambles.

On balance, it's been a great house for us (and will have to continue to be, as we can't afford to move). Please note, this post is not about sleep! And, once again, does not have pictures, as the twins always start fussing before I get that far. Better go feed them. And eat some Oreos. I love me some Oreos.

I won the nap battle, but...

I was on a roll. I was firm, I was determined, I was focused like a frickin laser. The babies got up at 8 (their preference after a hard night of getting up every hour is to sleep in while I get up and take out my exhaustion on their brothers and grandmother). I kept them awake against their will until 10, when they both napped in their cribs. After they woke up, I kept them up again until 2, and again! they both napped in their cribs. I let them be for the most part after that, and they each of their own accord took a brief nap in the early evening. All signs pointed to a good night. And god. knows. We need a good night.

It is now 10:57. Girl twin fell asleep at 10. I put her in her crib. She slept for ten minutes. She screamed. I patted her. She screamed. I nursed her. She screamed. I turned on her CD. Her brother screamed downstairs. I nursed him while my husband patted her. She is now, 57 minutes later, still screaming. I hate that I hate her right now. She is small and soft and sweet and such a good baby in every other way, but the noise she's making feels like it may actually kill me. I swear, I need sleep in some deep and desperate way and it feels like if I can just express how deep and desperate the need is, somehow the universe will relent and I will get it. I keep thinking "I can't go on," but I haven't figured out an alternative, so on I keep going.

I am as tired of the self-pity as any reader must be, but I have nothing else in my head right now. Hopefully, I'll have something more promising to report in the morning.

Not that there's anything wrong with that

My five year old is having a play date with the love of his life. They met in preschool two years ago, and although they see each other infrequently, their love is true and persistent. They have been playing blissfully for 6 hours, and then the little girl came into the living room and had this conversation with my mother:

Girl: Does Justin have any father?
My mother: Yes, his daddy will be home from work soon.
(long pause)
Girl: Are you his mother too?
My mother, trying not to choke: No, I'm his grandma.

OMG I'm dying laughing. I have now been suspected of being in a lesbian relationship with my own mother.

Editing to add: try doing a google image search on "lesbians" sometimes (preferably not while working on a monitored network). Ha! I love it when what I'm looking for and what google thinks I'm looking for are not in sync.

I'll be staying in for a while...

There is just nothing like motherhood to teach you about the cost of things. Not the financial cost, although that is also brought into sharp relief once you add family members and remove breadwinners, but the fundamental truth that having one thing precludes having something else. You can't be in two places at the same time, and resources are finite. These truths may seem self-evident, but I'm still getting smacked in the face with them over and over.

Take sleep, for example (no! gasps the viewing audience, surely she's not going to talk about sleep!). My babies, you may be shocked to learn, are absolutely abysmal sleepers. I have had a heaping helping of truly good advice, using which I have devised not one but several plans, none of which I have implemented consistently. It is unsurprising to note here that I have always been a really awful dieter (hence the overstuffed upholstery look mentioned in yesterday's post). As with dieting, as soon as I see a glimmer of success I call it a day and am then simply stunned when the progress does not continue after the abandonment of the plan.

Specifically (yes, please, what in the hell are you talking about anyway?), I started putting the twins on a daytime routine a month or so ago, and it was really helping their nighttime sleep. However, putting two babies on a sleep schedule really cramps my not-so-stylish style, so as soon as I got a little bit of sleep, I resumed my regular round of friends and kids' activities and general schedule anarchy. This was (here come the excuses) exacerbated by the holidays, but I know I'd have done it anyway, because that's the self-defeating kind of person I am. So here we are, back where we started, only I'm a little more harried and desperate for a light - hell, from here I can hardly see the tunnel.

The moral of this rambling and oh-god-so-tired post is that I need to sacrifice all external activity to the sleep of the babies. I worked outside the house when my older children were babies, so I didn't really realize how restrictive it is to have to sit home essentially all day so the babies could sleep properly. So, good-bye world. I hope to see you again some day, when the babies and I are all much older and much better rested.

What was I saying?

I just logged onto Blogger and discovered that I never actually posted the 3/4 finished, mind-numbingly dull post I started on Christmas. I will spare you all the post itself and recap briefly - Christmas was really good. See how easy that was?

It's hard to post when everything in my head is either too murky and deep (to me, anyway) to nail down concretely or so utterly the opposite that I get bored while typing it, as in my original Christmas post. The babies (and I) are still not sleeping, I am still obsessing over knitting and (though the obsession is waning) cloth diapers, I still do not know what I want to be when I grow up. Over in the deeper end of the thought pool, I am slowly coming to the realization that this adulthood thing is not just a phase, that my bad hair, no makeup, overstuffed-upholstery look probably no longer counts as temporary after several years, and that I may have to actually take steps in the direction of my goals and dreams (whatever those may be) if I ever want to realize any of them. I seem to be lying in the road, waiting for life to come and run me over, rather than choosing a direction. Or something along those metaphorical lines. This all sounds rather depressing typed out, but I'm feeling contemplative about it all, not despairing. Right this minute, anyway.

Oh look, something shiny - my husband just put in a movie. I begin to suspect that part of my lack of direction stems from a chronic lack of focus.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I got a lot more sleep last night. My fabulous friend Cole gave me excellent advice regarding the wretched lovely babies, my fabulous friend Karen brought me food, and my fabulous husband and mother cleaned the whole house. Everything is pretty much ready for Christmas, and so I am, finally, getting into the spirit. So much so, in fact, that I just made homemade hot chocolate for the boys and their friends, because they're watching Polar Express.

Wow, it's harder to write a post when I'm not grumpy. That probably says a lot about me, but I'm not going to go too introspective right now. I'm just going to enjoy the twins napping, the boys getting along, and the ability to read 3 straight pages of a book with minimal interruption.

For sale: two slightly used babies

The babies aren't sleeping. I know, babies don't sleep, especially. It's not like it's unexpected. However, this week they're taking it to extremes, and I'm discovering that sleep is like water - go without it for a surprisingly short time and you're done for. Every day without it is exponentially worse than the day before.

The longest I've slept this week is one two-hour nap in the middle of the day. At night, each baby is getting up every one to two hours, resulting in 8-10 interruptions per 8 hours in bed. I lie in bed, hating life, doing the math of my exhaustion. I dream in sharp shards, broken from the whole, in which I scream and scream. I wake up angry that I didn't get the chance to scream for real and fall back to sleep searching for the thread I keep losing. I dream of dying creatures, of blood and danger, of fury and desperation. During the day, I feel my thoughts slow to a crawl and my forehead crease several times a day as I try to remember what really happened and what was just a dream fragment. I search for words and come up with nothing and my sentences trail off into futility.

And now, I have to stop writing so I can go grocery shopping and clean and decorate. Happy holidays!

They like me, they really like me

I know this makes me a dork (like it's the only thing that does, ha), but I'm always a little surprised when my kids show a really strong preference for me over other people. I mean, I love them more than anything, but why do they love ME so much? There are definitely nicer moms out there - my kids even know some of them - but still they choose me, to show off their block towers or Christmas songs or silly faces.

For that matter, why do I love them so much? I'm sure there are other kids in the world who are smarter, prettier, quieter (god knows) than my kids, but I like mine best of all the children in the world. You really do just jump through the looking glass when you have kids, to a world where logic and reason take a back seat when they make it on the bus at all.

I really, really, really need to clean my house. Stupid dirt.

Another baby video

Boy twin just cracks me up.

I love my husband

Cleaning out the basement today was like being an archeologist. We peeled back layers of baby crap, bigger kid crap, and our own crap, and under it all were lingering remnants of my ex-husband, with whom I formerly lived in this house. When my current husband and I moved here four years ago, we had to rent a dumpster just to clean out my ex's crap - and I actually do mean crap, there was dog shit in the attic AND the basement, among other horrors of housekeeping that make me look very Martha Stewart in comparison. After I left him, he took in a series of seriously sketchy roommates/boarders, some of whom kept pit bulls. Mercifully, no one was ever grieviously injured, since I was still on the deed and mortgage.

Back to today - the last evidence of my ex's trashy friends' scary dogs was a giant rusted dog cage in the basement. We didn't dispose of it when we moved here because the dumpster was too full, so today seemed like a good time to get rid of it. I assumed we could just collapse it, but when I went to take a closer look, I discovered that the top was held to the body of the cage with no fewer than four locked padlocks. What kind of beast were they caging down there??? And what is the appeal of having man-eating pets anyway? And who keeps a pet in the basement? Oh, right, my ex.

Which reminds me. I really, really love my husband.

Ah, memories

We rented a dumpster to clean out the gigantic dump our basement has become, and we are spending the day emptying the house into it. It would be much more efficient just to tip the house on its side and let everything shake out, but we haven't been able to design a mechanism. This is the most physical labor I've done in ages, and I'm unsurprised to discover that nope, I still don't enjoy exercise.

During breaks from the gulag, we're watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (for roughly the 9,349th time). My husband's favorite part is when Johnny Depp (doesn't just his name give you shivers? I loooove him) says "don't touch that squirrel's nuts!" I proceeded to explain the double entendre to my five year old. You may think five is a bit young, but I have two scarring memories centered around not knowing slang, and I'm not going to let my children be similarly scarred.

Memory 1: 4th grade. Ms. McKinley's class. Jesus, how did I remember that? Anyway, the boys had a daily routine of coming into home room and proceeding to pretend to kick each other, all yelling "don't kick me in the nuts!" Wanting to join in, one day I ALSO yelled, "don't kick ME in the nuts either!" The whole class fell silent, then began laughing at me as one. It was so mortifying, this only started being funny to me sometime around last week.

Memory 2: Whenever Like a Virgin came out. During gymnastics class (my most vivid memories of gymnastics, by the way, have to do with having to do my stupid vocabulary homework while my sister had her class. Doesn't it seem cruel and unusual to make children copy entries from the dictionary?). With Madonna singing overhead, the cool girls in the class started giggling and saying "are you a virgin?" to everyone. When they got to me, I said "NO!" very emphatically, as I had no idea what a virgin was but knew it sounded like something I wanted no part of.

There is some life lesson I learned from these awful blunders, but the family is gearing up to go back outside, so I'd better wrap it up. I so do not want to be a garbage man when I grow up.

One year ago today...

I used to do this borderline-OCD calendar thing in my head, where I constantly calculated where I was and what I was doing yesterday, last week, last month, last year, etc - it was a little tiring, but I always had sort of a handle on the relative timing of things. I still do it to a smaller extent, for big stuff. One year ago was a big stuff day - it was the day of my first ultrasound, when we saw not one but two little peanut shaped babies. I was not yet 8 weeks pregnant, but I saw the two sacs with their bitty little residents as plain as day, even before the technician turned to us and said "twins?" As if we already knew and could confirm it for her. I can vividly picture my husband's face as it drained of color, and I remember saying "fuck. oh shit, sorry, damn it," as I tried to process what she was saying.

Sometimes, it still feels strange that there are two of them. I don't know if it would seem more or less strange if they were identical. They are as different as they can be, both physically and behaviorally, but I can't imagine having had only one of them. I'd better stop now before I wax (more) maudlin. It's just hard to believe it's already been a year.
















Incidentally, are these not the cutest diapers alive?

Bulimia by proxy

I weighed myself this morning and discovered that I've lost four pounds since Thanksgiving. This seems incredibly unlikely, since my evening food routine involves dinner, then dessert, then a snack, then another dessert, and sometimes another snack. Then I realized that boy twin has been eating a LOT lately, and is a huge vomiter, so it's really like he's having bulimia FOR me - he takes all my calories, then pukes them up. I knew I liked him (although the vomit smell is a bit much at times).

The Sound of Music - a comedy

We are introducing the children to The Sound of Music. I do love this movie, but haven't seen it in a while and did not fully appreciate how much laughter it would generate. It started yesterday, when my husband told the five year old that the man in this movie "has a TON of kids." I pointed out that the Captain actually has only one more child than we do, and my husband actually paled as he muttered something and left for work.

Then, we were just watching it again (we go in movie streaks around here) and were on the wedding scene, which prompted this conversation between me and the 5 year old:

Boy: Are the children going to laugh?
Me: No, why?
Boy: Because they're going to kiss.

Okay, mildly funny. But then there was this, apparently prompted by the multitude of wee von Trapps:

Boy: If you don't want to have another baby, you have to give me real money, and it better be $55.
Me: How are you going to keep me from having another baby?
Boy: (pause) I don't know. Okay, you'd better not marry another man.
Me: I don't want to marry another man, I want to be married to Daddy forever.
Boy: (pause again) Well, you'd better not use daddy to put a sperm in you.

I believe I choked at that point, ending the conversation. I swear, the word sperm is the silliest thing ever, and it's even funnier coming from a little kid.

Incidentally, did you know that the real-life von Trapp descendents are a singing group? I saw them on The View the other day (much to my husband's horror, I watch The View occasionally now. So sue me, I like Rosie O'Donnell).

Today, I love my children

I got sleep! Eight blissful hours with only three interruptions. Love, love, love my children. I was up and showered before 8:30 and I feel human. I'm even planning on leaving the house today. I love sleep. Really, really love it.

I'm so rested, I decided to venture into the world of YouTube and share this video of boy twin attacking a doll. Boy cracks me up. Enjoy!

Iraq - not going so well, after all

I've been watching the Iraq Study Group report and feeling just the tiniest smidge of optimism. At first blush, it seems that the group really looked at the situation in a bipartisan fashion without preconceived notions. And shockingly, their conclusions are pretty much the polar opposite of what we've been hearing from the Bush administration as recently as this past election - we are not winning, it is not almost over, staying the course is not going to work. Yes, most people watching the news probably already knew all that, but it's reassuring somehow to hear official-type people acknowledging it.

That rambling, inarticulate paragraph was prised unwilling from my shutting-down brain. My thoughts are doing a kind of reverse evolution. Watching the report, I was thinking "ooo, good. Good man. Good report." Short words, unembellished reactions. I feel like a cave person, intent only on survival. At some point, some day, I must. get. some. sleep. My friend asked how I was this morning and I burst into tears. I'm not proud, but I'm not ashamed either, as that's too complicated an emotion for my cavewoman brain. My only emotion right now is tired (yes, it can grow into an emotion), with an occasional side of hungry and at least one daily round with despair. Don't I sound like a hoot? Tell me you don't want to come party with me.

My husband is a genius

In other news, my husband FIXED THE VAN. I can't tell you how impressed I am. Hurray for him!

I know, the obvious thing would be to have sex with him, but I'm afraid that's still pretty unlikely. I will, however, make a very nice dinner.

An email from my father-in-law

My father-in-law, in an obvious (and successful) attempt to scar me for life, just sent me the following email:

In a recent article in the New England Medical Journal, it was confirmed the negative impact a lack of sex (LOS, as we call it in the other households) has on family life. In an earlier post, I think you compared SEX to SKYDIVING - OK for nuts like your F-I-L, but not for you. In this article, the confirmed ramifications: no sleep; kids get on your nerves; a heavy and ongoing appetite and breast infections. If I would have read the entire article, I might have found the part about Chevy Venture electrical car failure! Advice: Do what you have to do to take one for the team - happier husband, cure your 3 year old acting like a terrorist, twins content at the breasts - and lower food budget. Do what it takes to resolve this untenable situation! Also, give some props to the Rav-4.

I laughed until I had tears in my eyes, but how am I supposed to face him at Christmas now??? And do you the last sentence means that he thinks I should have sex with the RAV? And what the hell was he doing reading medical journals, anyway? So many questions, so little opportunity to erase this from my memory.

I am a shadow of my former self

Not physically, of course - physically, I am my former self plus like a linebacker or something (and not one of those fit linebackers - one of the ones who eat for whatever football people do instead of spring training - I only know baseball, but those guys aren't fat enough for this comparison). But whatever is actually me - personality or whatever - that seems to be fading into greys and blacks. My poor three year old just said "mom, laugh at me," instead of the more traditional "mom, look at me," because I'm about as flat and lively as a pancake. Mmmm, pancakes.

So, since I'm whining anyway - my car won't start this morning. I hereby officially advise you to never, ever consider purchasing a piece of shit Chevrolet Venture minivan. I loathe our van, and the loathing began four years ago in just this fashion. It wouldn't start when it was cold. After only 3 or 4 times, the crappy fixit people figured out it was an electrical problem. They fixed it and boom, our windows no longer rolled down. We lived with that until spring, decided we needed fresh air, and had it fixed - boom, no more TV. That damn thing was expensive and our children are wretched on car trips, so we got it fixed and (you guessed it) BOOM, no brake/reverse lights. We tried several times before the warranty ran out to have those repaired, but no luck. Just last week, we made one more effort - $365 later, the lights work! And now...the car doesn't start when it's cold. Tadaaaaaaa. Naturally, Chevy says there has been no link between all of these electrical problems, and that it is mere coincidence that something breaks every. time. they fix something. Stupid American cars. I think we should prop up the car manufacturers with tax breaks! Oh, wrong topic.

Also, my three year old has become a violent terror and I may be getting a breast infection. And, just in case you could not tell from my perky demeanor, I'm still not sleeping.

The toughest person on my Christmas list

We are pretty low on cash these days (translation: bordering on panic at our financial state), so we're trying to do Christmas frugally but while still enjoying the togetherness and joy, blah blah blah. We've had our tree up since October, actually (because that's when Tivoli visited and I always make her put it up), and I've almost finished all of our shopping, courtesy of a sharply curtailed list. All I really have left to do is provide our wish lists to my husband's family for their name draw, and for some reason this has me stymied. How is it possible that I am the hardest person for me to buy for? How is it possible that I am not correcting that atrocity of a sentence? Truly, I am exhausted.

My friend very kindly made me buy some clothes for myself last week (and none too soon, as the hem is ripping out of one of my two pairs of yoga pants, and the world does not need to see me naked these days), but that was the first time in ages that I've bought something for myself. All I can think of that I want is cloth diapers and yarn to make things for the kids. When did I become this person who doesn't want anything? It's very strange. All I buy for myself is food, and I buy altogether too much of that. I need to start channeling some of my eating money and energy into a healthier hobby. Like exercising. HA. My doctor actually asked me at my annual physical the other day if I've been exercising regularly. I guess my physique fooled him. I'm cracking myself up. The dumb shit even has twins himself, and still asked if I'm exercising. I'm barely breathing these days, I'm so beat. Idiot.

But back on topic - what the hell do I want for $40? Any suggestions? Anyone who knows me better than I do?

This really dull post took forfreakingever to type

Wow, I haven't posted in days, who knew? Does it help that I've written oodles of posts in my head? That I, in fact, already mentally wrote this one, with a catchy title I can not now remember, and pithy wittiness that now escapes me? Pithy is a goofy word, and makes me feel lispy when I say it. Pithy, pithy, pithy. Also, I can't type it properly - instead, I type "pity" each and every time and have to go back and edit. See, this is not the post I wrote earlier, as this one sort of sucks.

I'm still on the loopier end of sleep deprived. The Geneva Convention definitely does not permit this kind of torture (or at least it did not before the current administration decided it doesn't so much apply to us), and I think someone should come charge my twins with war crimes. I had a couple better nights, but last night was the worst yet, and I have not even the slightest thought of getting dressed or trying to operate heavy machinery today. I did foolishly undertake a redesign of my boys' room, since my husband is here to help, and I have two smashed fingers to show for it. I am also planning to roast a chicken later (my dreams are lofty), and I just know I'm going to end up burning the crap out of myself. I'm clumsy enough without being exhausted, and I'm at the stage now where I can't remember which conversations I've had in real life versus those in dreams, I'm jumpy and paranoid, and I'm seeing colorful spots. And apparently I really can not type, as I've had to use the backspace more than the letter keys during this post. It's really annoying the crap out of me, so I'm going to stop writing now.