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.

Barbie Lipstick

There is a book out there that I am dying to read. So, I guess if my doc puts me on bed rest tomorrow (not likely, despite the weekend contractions) I know for which book I'll be sending Scott to the bookstore:

Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Frontlines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture by Peggy Orenstein.

Why? I listened to a fabulous interview on NPR the other day and, given the recent girly-girl transformation Miss Violet has undergone, it seems like the book would speak to me, particularly since I'm shortly to become the mother of two more daughters.

I don't know that I am terribly concerned with Violet's princess/Polly Pocket/Barbie/My Little Pony/Lalaloopsie/Strawberry Shortcake fascination -- after all, I, too, owned Barbies and Strawberry Shortcakes and Cabbage Patch Dolls as a child and I'm not really an uber-girly girl. Yeah, I prefer to look put together over looking disheveled and homeless, but I've never had a mani or a pedi and my hair color (all of it) is *gasp* my own. How can I help it that auburn with blonde highlights is hot? That's the way it grows out of my head.

The small part of me that is concerned is mostly concerned about the future. Right now, Violet still lets me buy her clothes and generally doesn't have a fit about what she wears. Of course, I'm a total square and can't stand the prosti-tot look, so she does not own belly shirts, Daisy Dukes, or sassy little wedge sandals. Not gonna happen. She does have canvas Mary Janes with lavender rhinestones and flowers on them. She does have a pair of black fake Uggs. She does have chapstick, but it's colorless ad not shiny and she wears it to bed and when playing outside to prevent chapped lips. For the record, so does Milo -- well, the chapstick part. I think he might balk at rhinestoned shoes.

I don't dress like a hoochie-mama and my daughters are not going to dress like mini-hoochie-mamas. For me, it's not a body image thing -- I spent countless hours as a teen in front of a big ol' mirror watching myself dance in ballet class while wearing a leotard and tights. I know what my body looked like then and what it looks like now. Yeah, when I was in high school, I probably would have been cute in a micro-mini and baby T, but I had absolutely no interest in wearing that. I guess I preferred my brain and my personality to do my talking.

I can't say that I am a terribly modest person, either. Years of fast changes in the wings and group dressing rooms have pretty much stripped that from me (har, har). If everything that should be covered by undergarments is covered, I'm good to go. You might be scarred for life by seeing my web of stretch marks, but I'm not scared of them being seen.

It is going to be a tough road to navigate, I'm sure. I want my daughters to feel confident and empowered by the strength of their bodies without feeling the need to let their bodies do all of the talking for them. How do I teach that?

Given their genetics, none of my kids are going to be runway model-material. That was never a dream of mine, yet I surely do remember my sister and cousin having modeling aspirations. And as I was waiting outside Milo's classroom for his parent/teacher conference, I flipped through the class's "What I Want to Be When I Grow Up" book and at least four of the girls listed and drew fashion models as their choice career. *Thunk* (that was my jaw hitting the ground) Seriously?? These girls are a mere two years, or maybe three, older than Violet and ViVi has no clue what a fashion model is. Or what she wears -- and doesn't wear.

So, yeah. Be aware that one of these days, I will be reading Ms. Orenstein's book. I hope it doesn't depress me... But, if it does, I'll remember how Violet bid me goodnight last night:

Mom, you're so pretty! You're fashion style! You're Barbie lipstick with lots of shoes!

Really? I guess if Barbie lipstick needs a crane to get off the couch, wears nine-year-old loafers most days, and is happy to find a shirt that covers all of her belly...

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...

My Little Girly-Girl

My funny daughter is going through a very girly stage right now. It totally cracks me up! I am so NOT a girly-girl. Yeah, I like to wear nice clothes and make-up, but my top speed from stepping in the shower to out the door can be fifteen minutes if it has to be. I also like power tools and think Salma Hayek is hot.

I don't do nail polish. I've never had a pedicure. I don't like to spend hours on the phone, never have. I detest chick flicks and consider them a waste of time. I'm not big on cut flowers as a gift -- I'd rather have something I could eat or use. I prefer online shopping to real-life shopping. And I get my hair cut once a year or so.

But along comes my daughter. When she hit the ripe old age of two and received clothes and shoes for birthday gifts and was THRILLED. She has very definite opinions on which boots/shoes she wears with which outfits. She also has a shoe-addicted grandma who enables her growing collection. She brings me the phone regularly to call someone, anyone who will listen to her babble about what she's doing.

Recently, she has finally decided that she'll let us brush her hair -- or, better yet, she'll do it. Naturally, she'll do this as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, turning her head, preening, and flipping her hair over her shoulder so that it is "soft and pretty, mama!"

Four months ago she would run away shrieking if she saw the hairbrush, but now? Now she'll take off running to brush her hair as I try to get her winter coat on her, then she'll chastise me for putting the coat over her hair and "messing it all up!" Sigh...

One of the most humorous outcomes of her girly-girl phase is that she's not remotely interested in playing with boy things. OK, she wasn't really into trucks or trains to begin with, but now all of her doll families are Amazons or something, not a male in sight. We gave her Cinderella's prince for Christmas and he is still in the packaging, watching the other dolls enjoy the doll mansion because she refuses to let us open him. The doll family she got from my sister? Dad, Grandpa, and big brother are all in the bottom of the dollhouse accessories, forlornly huddled together for warmth.

And now she's insisting that she will marry a girl, too. Which is fine, if she really wants to do that. Lesbians rock. But her reason? "Boys are icky." Also fine for a three-year-old. And "Girls wear prettier dresses, so I wanna marry another princess. But I'll still be the best princess."

Why is it that I can see yards upon yards of organza and tulle in my future? Bottles upon bottles of lotion, perfume, and nail polish? Eighty-seven varieties of pink lip gloss? And a cell phone bill whose total rivals the GDP of a small nation?

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...

The Night that Never Was

Some days it just doesn't pay to even try to go to bed.

Last night was one of those loooong, never-ending nights.  First of all, it is not good for me to watch episodes of "The Walking Dead" and "Dexter" before I try to sleep.  Not good at all.  I'm not a scaredy-cat or a weenie, but the tension in these shows makes it darn near impossible for me to shut off my brain.  So, yeah, bad choice on my part.  Well, OK, I wouldn't have even watched the zombies if it wasn't for the horror-lovin' man I married, so that one is his fault.

And then there was the thunderstorm.  Yep, you read correctly.  A thunderstorm on November 21.  In Iowa.  Sigh...  Ever since we moved out into the country, Tess has developed a fear of storms.  I don't know if it's because they're louder or brighter or windier, but she'll lay at the bottom of the steps whining.  If someone doesn't respond to her, she escalates to moaning.  Then to yipping.  And, finally, to barking.  Which is the point that I fly out of bed, cursing and grumbling down the stairs to sleep on the couch.

Normally, this would be where the story would end -- with me sleeping the rest of the night on the couch, trading a c-pap wearing hubby for snoring, farting dogs.  Normally.

But not last night.  Nope.  At 3 a.m. my darling princess starts crying in her sleep.  I gave her a moment or two to see if she would settle, but she didn't.  That meant I also gave daddy a moment or two to wake up and realize what was going on, which, thanks to Mr. Ambien, he did not.  So I stumbled back up the stairs to comfort her and help her not tip into the toilet when she fell back asleep going potty.  Daddy and I met each other at her bedroom door, him looking confused and me looking like one of The Walking Dead.

No more thunder (or so I thought) and I go back to sleep in my bed.  Again, thanks to Mr. Ambien, daddy is out in mere seconds while I try to position the pillows around the rapidly growing belly for minimum discomfort.  I drift off to sleep...

Until 4:45 a.m. when a second round of storms go through and I end up stumbling BACK down the steps to quiet the dog before she wakes the rest of the house.  I conk out on the couch when click! the table lamp on the timer clicks on to start the day.  Only it's an hour early because I have forgotten to reset the time with the conclusion of Daylight Savings Time.

I.
give.
up.

Uncle!  Uncle! Uncle!

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!

My Own Holiday

Do you know what tomorrow is?  It's no national holiday.  There's no media hype surrounding a premier event.  I'm probably the only one excited about it.

What is it?

I'm taking a whole day off.  It started with a regularly scheduled OB appointment in the morning.  Then the kids' sitter said she had to close for the day for mandatory training, so I didn't really have a place for Violet to go.  Then I added up the hours I've worked the last two weeks and realized that I've put in about 6 extra hours, leading me to decide to take the whole day off in a combination of sick time and comp time.

I think the last whole day I took was back in March when the synchronized skating sectionals came to town and I took the day to go watch.  Nope, wait -- that was just a half day.  Hmm...  I think it's been a lo-o-o-ong while since I've taken a whole day.

So, yeah.  Little miss gets to come to my almost-16 week appointment and will get to hear heartbeats, yay!  This is particularly awesome because Milo came to my 16 week appointment when I was pregnant with Violet because we left directly from the appointment to fly to California for a week-long vacation.  Talk about a funny coincidence -- when your kid is either in school or full-time daycare, they don't generally get to tag along on prenatal appointments, so I'm extra excited for this.

Not to mention that Violet doesn't really get a whole lot of alone time with both of her parents and she will tomorrow, at least for the morning before Scott takes off to pick up rental equipment for the show that puts the biggest dent in our family time.  But the morning?  She's all ours, baby...

And I can't wait!!

Three-Tastic!

Little Miss Violet has been such a funny muffin lately.  She's been the snuggliest I've seen her since she stopped nursing and she is fascinated by my ever-expanding belly, frequently lifting my shirt to blow raspberries on it, then erupting into gales of giggles.

Out of nowhere, she has decided that she wants to keep her hair out of her face, which has me singing "Finally!"  For almost 18 months I have been trying to get her to wear her hair in a clip or something so it isn't in her eyes.  Now she's come around to the idea and has wanted me to do something with her hair the last four days.

She's also decided that, despite the fact that she has not one, but TWO winter coats that fit her, she only wants to wear Milo's hand-me-down Carhartt.  So yesterday when we went to the movies we went with two kids in Carhartt names Milo.  If anyone had been paying attention, I'm sure it would have seemed odd.

She has also begin drawing with a purpose -- she makes family portraits of us and I just LOVE them.  There are eyes, a nose, and a mouth and two legs.  Sometimes she draws a circle for a face, sometimes she doesn't.  Sometimes she draws hair and ears, too, but never a body or arms.  Most interesting, she changes the facial expression, telling me, "I'm sad in this one because Tabi died" as she points to a face with a frown.  Either that or she makes the face, then fills in the back story -- in either case, I think it's awesome that she's trying to interpret emotion already.

She's been a little bit of a stinker in regard to food lately, eating a few bites of a meal, then proclaiming that her "tummy is sooooo full."  As soon as her plate is cleared, she asks for a piece of Halloween candy.  Fortunately, it appears that she's down to about 10 pieces of candy left, so hopefully this quirk will end soon.

My favorite thing that she's done in the last few weeks was to insist that I lift my shirt and scrunch the maternity panel in my pants down so that she could share her stickers with the babies.  This meant that my belly was covered with an odd assortment of princess, Star Wars, and merit (Good Job!  Great Work!) stickers, which she found delightful.  Little did she know that my sensitive skin kept the impressions of these stickers for two days after I removed them.

Right now, everything seems to be pretty good in her world -- you might say that it's three-tastic!

Mommy Brag, Part 2

And now the brag on child #2.  Our Violet. 

She is definitely a girl of her own mind -- if she's got a plan, she is stinking to it.  Miss V. is easily the most unflappable child I have ever met, she frequently encounters obstacles with a "That's OK...  I'll do it this way instead" attitude.  Her pace going through life is entirely her own, she seems unhurried and unharried by anyone else's urgency, including mine.  This doesn't mean she's disagreeable, on the contrary, she is dependably pleasant.  But clearly functioning on her own timetable.

Oh, little sweetheart... she is affectionate, kind, and a true lover of animals.  Everywhere she goes, she attracts them like a mini-Dr. Doolittle.  Uncommonly gentle, she is the first to offer a pat or a compliment to someone's pet, her little hands knowing just how to rub between doggy ears and just how to play with a cat.

My baby girl possesses an unusual sense of humor, frequently laughing at jokes without prompting, and gently chiding herself when she is clumsy or goofy.  And goofy?  Never met a kid who enjoys being silly as much as she does -- harmlessly, daintily, creatively silly she is.

I anticipate that her motivation will come largely from within, she is generally unconcerned by the opinion of others, even her parents.  This is one kid that will not succumb to a guilt trip.  Nor will she let anyone push her around. 

All in all, I think she has a great personality, particularly for a kid who will soon be a middle child.  She leaves quite an impression on everyone she meets and will always be a stand-out in my eyes.  Love you, sweet pea!

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.

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?

Bye-Bye Baby, Hello Big Girl

Last night I sang my two-year-old baby daughter to sleep for the last time.  Today, she wakes up a three-year-old big girl, her blonde curls wild from sleep, her cheeks warm and pink from her pillow.

I look into her eyes, deep pools of knowing, and see an old soul eager to plunge into the depths of childhood imagination.  She has an amazing fortitude, an aptitude for remarkable consistency, and an uncanny precision.  Most surprising is her innate ability to just know how things are done.  I always feel that when I give her directions, I am simply repeating back instructions she has given me a lifetime ago.

My now three-year-old has a tremendous grace -- physical, mental, and emotional.  Her sense of humor is spontaneous and timely.  Last night, she slipped on a blanket, landing with a plop on her rear.  Her face registered shock, then quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles as she sputtered, "I fell on my BUM!"  She wasn't annoyed, she knew that she wasn't hurt and wasn't looking for sympathy.  She simply knew that she landed on her rear and that it was funny.

I spent most of Violet's first two-and-a-half years thinking that all I knew of her was the top of her head because she was addicted to the mom pacifier.  And, honestly, I indulged her in the for as long as she wanted because Violet has never seemed to need anything from anyone.  Even as a tiny infant, she could self-soothe, self-entertain, and pretty much self-anything as long as she could reach it.  Sometimes I wonder if she only keeps us around so that we can drive the cars, use the stove, and reach things from tall shelves.

Oh, my independent little one, I hope that your burgeoning self continues to grow, that you will always explore with as much gusto as you do now.  I melt when your sweet little laugh peals when you are delighted, ringing through my heart like a chorus of bells.

I embrace you now, now before the world of, "Geez, mom!" and "Aw, c'mon!" creeps into your vocabulary.  Now, while you still call "Play with me!" as you skip to your dollies and princesses.  Now, while your big-girl-you is still small enough to cradle in my open arms.  Now, while I can press my cheek into your soft hair, still smelling like you.  Now, while your life is still perfect.