What?? Four Weeks Old? Nope, Five and a Half...

Can it really be that the girls are four weeks old? Well, they were when I started this post. Now they're five and a half weeks old. Wowzers!

I know... time flies at warp speed around here.

Last week marks another fun milestone: the girls are big enough to wear the cloth diapers that I have been so darn eager to use! So they are wearing some organic cotton pre-folds (Green Mountain Diapers) fastened with Snappis and a lavender Thirsties Snap-Wrap covers. To match the lavender trim on their sleep and plays, of course!

Both girls are getting chubby little thighs, finally. All of the eating they've been doing is really paying off. I was worried that all of the weight they have been gaining would end up on their cheeks, but they seem to be spreading it around and are filling out most adorably.

In news of the really odd, they both make this bizarre grunting sound as they wake up -- sort of like a 300lb trucker trying to give birth to a moose. They start with this noise about half an hour before a feeding. It is amusing during the day and disconcerting at night as it does, in fact, wake me wide awake. Scott? Not so much.

And, finally, some news of our poor forgotten older children. Well, they're not really forgotten -- we're all just currently preoccupied with the babies. Including the older kids -- I can't walk across a room holding one of them without Violet begging to "see the baby," which usually involves her sing-songing "Hi, cutie pie!" and kissing their cheeks. Milo is currently banned from cheek-kissing for the second time in the last month because he has had not one, but two fever-inducing colds. Yesterday's was brief, as in he woke up this morning running a 97.5, but he spent the Monday and Tuesday the week right after the babies' births home from school sick with a sinus infection. Sigh... Poor guy can't miss a germ, I swear.

Kid funnies: Milo has taken to throwing disco parties in his room. Which means that he turns on all of the fancy and flashing lights he can find and cranks "Do the Bartman" as loud as I can stand and we all dance.

And Scott relayed the following conversation he overheard Milo having with his best friend at the grocery store as Milo was deciding which fruit snacks to bring to his class party:

Milo's friend, as he points to a box of John Deere fruit snacks: Hey, this box says "Made with real fruit!"

Milo, as he gestures to a box of My Little Pony fruit snacks: Hey, these are made with real ponies!

Yesterday, we gave Violet her first ball glove and ball. It is, of course, pink and black. And she was ever so excited to use it. After dinner, Scott took the kids out to toss the ball around while I pumped (my second job, I swear). Three minutes later, Violet came back into the house, bawling so hard she was incoherent. Something about "Daddy" and "ball" and "my nose!"

Moments later, a hang-dog daddy came around the corner, sighing, "The first ball I tossed to her and I was only two feet away from her. She didn't move her glove at all..."

I'm not sure who felt worse.

The Classics

Lots of life happening right now -- I suppose I could post about some or all of it, but I'm wiped, so I'll get around to it sometime.

First of all, the short blonde ones are fine, though they have yet another cold. Snot for everyone!! They have also been pleading to play outside in the mud (February thaw in Iowa), but I am refusing to let them on the grounds that I can't really get down to scrub the floor right now. I am also finding it difficult to sit on the floor to help Violet put together puzzles, to get off the couch an infinite number of times to help a child, and to tie my snow boots. Please, oh, please let the snowy weather be closer to done...

Valentine's Day has come and gone. We celebrated by having the popcorn party with the kids that didn't happen either Saturday or Sunday as planned. So, yes, we all had the oh-so-nutritious supper of popcorn, PB&J, string cheese, and applesauce. Followed by Wild Berry Skittles for dessert. To top off the romantic evening, Scott and I watched an episode of Phinease and Ferb in our pajamas before bed. Yeah, the kids were already asleep...

We took the opportunity to expose the kids to some classics this weekend. First up was "Annie." Violet was captivated any time the girls sang or danced. Milo said, "Why aren't there any boys?"

So we made up for the estrogen of "Annie" by watching "Peter Pan" with Kathy Rigby. Violet was uninterested because Tinkerbell didn't look like the cartoon and Milo offered the Lost Boys the following advice as they were tied up on the deck of the Jolly Roger watching Captain Hook prance about, "If it were me, I'd stab Captain hook right in the heart. If I knew where the heart was."

And yesterday morning, Milo was the first to the remote. I came upon him watching, of all things, the battle scene from the ancient filmed version of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Because every five-year-old kid needs a dose of iambic pentameter to start off Valentine's Day...

Miss Violet has been making up stories to tell us. They usually involve at least one princess, a castle, and either a horse or a prince, depending on her mood. She vividly describes the princess's dress and hair, but is sketchy on the remainder of the plot. All of them start with "Once upon a time..." and conclude with the crazy-cute "bee end!"

And there's a stinger for ya...

Wiggle Room

Well, Milo is back to school today and no signs of illness from Violet. I say that as I knock very loudly and very hard on everything I can reach that is made of wood. And, after two nights of hardly any sleep, I finally crashed last night. Oh, I still got up to pee three times, but I was sufficiently tired enough to actually get back to sleep when I came back.

Milo delivered Christmas cards to his teacher and her aides this morning, they were all glad to see him back. He was pretty excited to be there because it's party day and the last day of school for him in 2010. No snow days so far, so school is out at 3:05 this afternoon and won't resume until Monday, January 3, 2011. Yay!

Scott was out running errands last night when I fed the kids. After eating, the twins were crazy active, so I beckoned the kids over and put their hands on my huge belly to feel their sisters for the first time. Violet's eyes were huge as she squealed, "I felt it! I felt the baby!" and Milo said, "I think I felt something, but I'm not sure..."

I said, "I am sure, buddy, and you did feel her!"

Then they wanted to call daddy, who sounded a wee bit jealous as he's not felt the babies just yet, though not for lack of trying. They were just in a great position last night, kicking right around my belly button and not playing around under my belly fat as they generally prefer to do. It must be warmer under that insulation.

Milo tried to hear them, even though I told him the babies don't make noise from inside. He insisted he heard something, but I explained that he did, in fact, likely hear me digesting my supper, but not the babies since you need air to make a sound with your vocal cords.

It was a very sweet moment -- both of my blonde beauties with their pink fingers gently resting on my big belly...

I think Violet is getting used to the idea of two baby sisters. She's been a little skeptical, and concerned about her place in the family, but we keep reminding her that she is our one and only Violet and will always be very loved. I think she's coming around, though, because when she told Scott about the feeling the babies, she sang, "I feeled my baby sisters moving in Mommy's tummy, Daddy!"

So, for now all is well. In the mean time, before all three girls hit their teens, Scott and I continue to try to figure out how to squeeze another bathroom into the house...

Time Warp

In the blink of an eye...

My baby boy has become a real kid. He's reading now, slowly, haltingly, but reading nonetheless. And spelling every three and four letter word that pops into his brain. The sight words we got at his parent/teacher conference? He read all but five or six (of 56) easily. "Orange" tripped him up, but that's because, like most Midwestern kids, he pronounces it "ornj" by skipping a syllable.

He's got two loose teeth, the two middle ones on the bottom. Not only that, but a wide white permanent tooth has poked up behind the looser of the two, the left one. It is so wide that of course it's disturbed not one, but two baby teeth. Losing teeth? Insanity. Like his baby teeth did, that permanent one is coming up quickly -- he may only have his first jack-o-lantern grin for a week or two at this rate. Unless that permanent tooth makes it all the way up before completely dislodging the baby tooth.

This morning he woke up, holding his knees and shins and moaning, "My legs are killing me!" Growing pains. I guess it's a good thing that my mom-tuition told me to go ahead and buy him size six jeans even though it means we've been cuffing them three inches all fall. I was pretty sure that he was going to shoot up halfway through the jeans season and I didn't want to buy him jeans twice this year.

Good golly, wasn't it just yesterday that I was chasing down lost binkies and teaching him how to climb down from the couch? And now he's picking out a Christmas gift for his little sister -- and one that she'll love, too.

I'm not getting any older, how is it possible that he is?

All Better

Here's a little sweetness to balance my frustration from yesteray:

Both of my children adore their grandparents.  All of them -- they just love them.  They are excited to see them, sad to leave them, and always ready and willing to give them hugs and snuggles.  I love this!

Violet has been a kissy-face lately, giving me smooches everywhere just because she can -- insisting on kissing both of my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth, my nose, my ears my neck and my belly -- three times: one for me and one for each baby.  Considering we thought for a while she was never going to kiss either of us, the shower of kisses is very welcome.

Milo told us something very kind the other day.  There is an autistic boy in his class and he has an aide, Mrs. S.  Milo loves Mrs. S. and says he always gives her a hug when he sees her.  Apparently, he invited her to "have turkey with us on Thanksgiving."  She politely declined, but I'm guessing she was pretty tickled about it.

Aaaahhh...  now I feel better!

ZZZzzz....

Today was a tired, tired day.  I'm just wiped.  Violet was in a super mood, but Milo was tired -- and he should be.  We let them stay up a smidge late last night and then he woke up early on top of it.  It was darn sweet that he wanted to talk to the babies this morning, to tell them "Good morning!"

I just wish it had been at 7:30 instead of 6:30.

When Milo is tired, he does not deal well with frustration.  So he was not a happy camper when struggling with a Wii game this morning, nor did he appreciate it when I realized halfway into making a batch of sugar cookies, that I didn't have enough flour to continue.

So, yeah.  Tired day for mama and tired day for son.  Hopefully, well both sleep better tonight!  Although, I'm just guessing that he doesn't get up three time to pee...

True Confessions

We took the kids to see Megamind tonight -- not too bad, they liked it.  Milo especially liked the soundtrack, which made me happy because I'm thinking that it might be nice to have something in the car besides the Glee soundtracks (that make me crazy, thank you daddy).  So maybe Santa will bring that his way this year.

However, the study of good and evil had an unintended effect on the poor munchkin.  As he drifted off to sleep in the car, the need to confess suddenly came upon him.  He started sniffling, as he choked out a tale of woe about trying to throw a pine cone at a tree, missing and harming another student.  He continued on about bumping into a classmate and knocking him over.  His little face crumpled and the tears spilled.  "They were accidents and I felt so bad, mom..."

"Oh, honey, what made you think to tell us this tonight?"

"I just thought you should know.  I'm bad, too..."

"Oh, love, you are NOT bad.  Everyone has accidents and feels sad about it, that's why they are accidents."

I squeezed his little hand tightly, feeling the tears fall on the back of my hand.  He stopped sniffling and said, "I did nice things to make sure they were OK.  I said I was sorry and tried to help them..."

"It's OK, sweetheart, everyone bumps into someone.  Daddy bumps into me and I'm fine, he says he's sorry and it's OK."

I'm not sure he wholly believed us.  He was still a little tearful as I snuggled him to bed.  So was I.  There are some accidents that can't be fixed with, "I'm sorry."  I hope he never sees those.

And so tonight I'll go to bed with a heavy heart.  Sigh...  Why is this the toughest part of parenting?

Blooming in the Garten of Children

I feel like I have to do a little bragging on my firstborn.  When he's not trying to convince me that he knows more than I do about, well, everything, he's a pretty darn neat kid.

As I dropped him off at school one morning, he wanted me to walk him to his classroom and help him with something in his backpack.  So I did.  And his teacher came close to the door just as I zipped it back up and handed him the object for which he was looking. 

"Thank you, mom!" he beamed, hugging me before sashaying into his classroom.

"His manners are outstanding," his teacher said.  "He is incredibly consistent with great manners."

"Thank you, we work on it a lot at home."

"Well, he's just great," she enthused.

Hearing something like that really helps validate our choice to send him to Kindergarten this year as a young five.  Many of his classmates are already six and most of the rest will turn six before the end of the year.  Milo won't be six until late June.  We felt very strongly that he was more than ready academically for Kindergarten, but were less sure if he was socially ready.

But something happened this summer.  He grew confidence, enthusiasm, and an amazing sense of self.  Right now, all is right in his world -- his emotional development has, at least for now, caught up with his intellectual development.  I think that they were at odds last year and that caused him some stress. 

So, yeah, proud mama alert.  But every kid needs a shout-out, right?

Sonic and Cauliflower: Revealed

Oh, so many of you were close!  Sonic and Cauliflower are...

Wait for it...

Wait for it...

The names for the twins suggested by our older children.  And what we are calling them in utero for lack of a better option.

When asked, "What shall we name the babies?"  they responded immediately -- Milo quipping "Sonic for  boy!" and Violet squeaking "Cauliflower for a girl!"  Milo was nicknames "Worm" and then "Fergus the Fetus."  Violet was "Wiggle" because I felt her at 12 weeks and then "Kiwi," provided by Uncle Furry. 

And these two are "Sonic" and "Cauliflower."  At least for now.  I'm only almost 14 weeks, so I'm pretty sure we'll think of something a bit more, umm...  namely for them.  In the mean time, I very selfishly get to enjoy their twin dance party.  Apparently, they love it already when they hear their siblings voices.  Gotta love it now because pretty soon I'll be warning the ones on the inside to "quit poking your sister (or brother)" as much as I chide the ones on the outside.

The Stuff of Which Dreams Are Made

For my 200th post, I'd like to share with you a conversation overheard by my hubby as he picked up the boys (Milo and his best bud) from school and took the to the sitter's (best bud's mom).  The young fellows were discussing nightmares.

Best bud had something pretty typical to say -- you know, the normal falling or being chased or monster scenario.

But Milo?  Did he talk of dreams where he was swallowed by a fifty-foot snake or chased through a haunted forest by deranged clowns?  Did he quake retelling a foggy tale of classroom embarrassment?  Shudder at the thought of giant spiders? Oh, no.

His nightmare was far scarier...

Milo said, "My worstest nightmare ever was when I dreamed that someone took my mom away.  That was the scariest because I love my mom and always want to be with her."

It's a mama's dream cone true to hear that her son has the same worst nightmare she does, isn't it?

Breaking the News to the Kids

We had decided to keep the kids in the dark about the twins for a while, but after the appointment when we heard both of their heartbeats, we decided that it was time to tell them of the double bundle of siblings coming their way.

The conversation started pretty casually, with Scott telling the kids we had a surprise for them.  Of course, Violet started looking for the surprise, expecting some gift or other.  We said that it wasn't a surprise that they could see yet.

"So, Milo.  Why do you think that mommy's tummy has been getting bigger?" Scott asked Milo, clearly leading him somewhere.

"Hmm...  I don't know.  She doesn't eat a lot of junk food, so she's not getting fat.  I think there's a baby in there."

"You do?  What do you think, Violet?"

"Nope, it's just a big fat belly." she said, definitively.

I laughed, "Are you sure?"

Scott prompted, "So you think there's a baby in there, Milo?  What if we told you that there are TWO babies in there?"

His little hazel eyes boinged like a cartoon character, "TWO???  Wow!  That's one for each of us to hold!"

"Yeah, a baby for Milo and a baby for me!" Violet chirped.  "Can I have some fruit snacks?"

 So, I guess they're OK with the news, huh?

Sometimes I Get It Right

There are some days that I love being a mom, really love it -- not just say I love it because I'm overwhelmed and exhausted and need to say it to remind myself that I do.  I wrap my entire being around my life, infused with energy and goodwill from my children, knowing that, at least for this one moment, I am doing it right. 

There is so much uncertainty that goes with parenting, so much second guessing.  I have never felt less sure of myself than I do now, when instinct and intelligence battle daily.  My instinct is always, first and foremost, to show my children love.  My intellect riots when, instead of demanding an over-tired toddler sit in time-out, I cradle the child close, rocking and soothing, instantly forgetting and forgiving the transgression because I just ache from places I didn't know existed when they cry.

Today I had one of those moments of clarity when I felt sure, felt competent, felt that what I am doing and how I approach my children is right.

Milo's first bit of homework is an "All About Me" project.  Scott helped him complete a worksheet on Sunday night and I helped him decorate a paper-wrapped shoe box with markers and an odd assortment of stickers (Halloween, Batman,Chocolate Labs, and dots).  He had to place three objects in the box which give insight into who he is.

His first selection is a small figure of a Chocolate Lab.  His second selection is one of his Star Wars guys -- he waffled for a while about whether or not he wanted to put one in, but ultimately decided that they really are his favorite toys.  His third selection?  I suggested a Wii game, a book, his favorite food, a plastic egg (because of the chickens), a tractor, a car and numerous items.  He refused all of them.

Finally he said, "Mom, why can't I just put in a picture of my family?  They are the most important thing to me and I want to share that.  I'm me because of my family."

Talk about blown away...

Of course I immediately printed a picture for him and let him tuck it safely into his box.

The other part of the assignment is a "Meaning of My Name" note.  So I quickly typed up an explanation of how he got his name.  When I read it aloud to him, his eyes filled with tears and he squeezed me more tightly than he's ever squeezed me before.  He whispered, "Mom, that's the most beautiful story I have ever heard.  Thank you and I love you."

Naturally, this turned on my waterworks, too.  And we both sniffled sweetly at each other for a moment, that moment when I felt like the best mom in the world.

Out of the Mouths of My Babes

My dear son is now a three-day old Kindergartner.  The shiny new student smell is still there, though I am noticing differences in the child.  For one, his usual tendency towards motor-mouth has been revved up into fifth gear, likely from sitting quietly all day in class.  Or as quietly as a five-year-old boy sits.  But the instant I pick him up until the moment his eyes snap shut at bed, he talks.  And talks... and talks, talks, talks, talks...

On both Friday and today I had to swing by my office after picking him up from school and complete a few mundane tasks.  He chattered like a tweaking squirrel all the way into my office, as he fished out a piece of scrap paper and started adorning it with a freebie highlighter.  He narrated his drawing process, zipping sound effects as he created four-armed aliens with twenty-seven toes. 

And when he's not talking?  He's a teakettle.  It started about a week ago as he was having some sort of Star Wars firefight -- he made a vaguely whistle-sounding noise, surprising himself.  Then he came running to show me, "Mom!  I can whistle!" as he pooched his lips and made a breathy, windy sound. 

"Almost, little buddy!  Keep practicing!"

And now I regret having ever given that edict.  Keep practicing.  Am I an idiot?  Why on earth would I suggest that to him?

Because he did.  And now he can whistle.  One note.  Over and over and over again.  He'll whistle rhythmically to songs he hears, doing pretty well with that, but he has no pitch control.  So guessing what song he's whistling is nearly impossible.  Hint: when in doubt, go with "Ironman."

Not that our little princess is to be outdone!  Nope, she's now sleeping in her own room, in her little toddler bed, with dry safety diapers every night.  Well, it's been a couple of weeks of dry safety diapers, but one night of in her own room.  I have a lampshade to cover and a couple of sheer curtain panels to pick up before I take the "after" pictures, but I think it's pretty cute!

And she is walking around naming things, everything.  Sula, Lala, Lissa, Nilla, Bracebrace, and other Scrabble names.  Scrabble?  Put all the letters in a bag and draw out five or six random tiles to make up a name.  Please tell me this is a phase and I won't end up with a granddaughter named Kisla...

And actually she's saying actually a lot.  Pretty funny, really.  It comes out "Ak-shlee" but she's using it correctly. 

"Ak-shlee, mom, your granddaughter's name is Bleena..."

'Twas the Night Before School...

Tonight is Milo's last night as a wee one.  Why?

Tomorrow morning he starts Kindergarten.  He's in a class of 20, of which five are preschool friends.  I like that.  I really like that he gets to sit next to his close friend at his table.  The other poor red circles will never know what hit them!

We toured his room, met his teacher.  He was, naturally, playing shy.  So I introduced him as my "fashion accessory" since he was clinging to my leg with his left cheek mashed into my, um, right cheek.  That didn't last long, though, as his curiosity led him to explore the room while I signed up to bring treats for the Halloween party and filled out a schedule saying that we were picking him up and dropping him off daily.

He found the hook for his backpack, his place at his table, his cubby, and unloaded his school supplies carefully into the appropriate containers.  He chatted with a couple of friends, peered into toy bins, and stuck his head in the bathroom.  We noted some of the decorations, pointed out the calendar and some of the stations around the room.

Someone asked me if I would be tearful tomorrow.  I don't know.  I'm generally not a sentimental person and have much excitement for him, knowing that he will have fun learning and doing and exploring and friending.

And his poor teacher?  Well, Scott and I introduced ourselves.  And then we engaged in some witty repartee with a friend.  And volunteered left and right.  And probably overwhelmed her with our enthusiasm and slightly off-beat humor.  That's not really a bad problem to have, is it?

Smooth Operator

I think that my son will end up making me a grandmother when he's all of fifteen.

Yes, that is an odd prediction to make for a five-year-old, but my son is smo-o-o-o-oth. 

He is the darling of many little girls from his preschool class, and, even more telling, with their mothers, too.  Yesterday he attended a birthday party for a classmate.  He was the only boy invited, but he did just fine with the five wiggling-giggling girls at the Build-a-Bear Workshop.  He charmed the pants off of the bear builder with his sweetness and humor, sealing the deal when he named his stuffed kitty "Dear Prudence."

My husband says that being the boy that all of the girls' moms suggest as a date is the kiss of death.  I shake my head and smile knowingly, reminding him that somehow I fell for his transparent maneuverings in college and that he didn't have half of the charm at nineteen that our son has at five.

How do I know?  Here's a prime example:

We're outside as the sun is setting, checking our tiny new trees and harvesting a handful of green beans.  The kids and I are standing on the concrete pad, looking at the western horizon as the sun sets.

Milo says, "Look, mom!" as he points to the crescent moon rising into the dusk.

"I see the moon, sweetie... very pretty tonight!"

He takes me had and gently pulls me to his eye level.  "Do you know that the moon means?"

Puzzled, and not sure if he was going to suggest something to do with werewolves I answer, "No, what does it mean?"

"It means love, mom," he says as he cups my chin in his hand and looks me right in the eye.  "And it means I love you!"

*Swoon*

Yeah, tell me some fifteen year old girl is going to be able to resist that one...