i asked a friend this weekend "why do i feel so burned out by midday on the weekends?"
the answer to that question is "because you have twin toddlers."
after watching my girls zip from one corner and then zoom to the other, i am convinced that that inspiration for the Gremlins' Christmas Party had to have come from the energy and attention span of your average 20 month old.
and so, after many hours of chasing, saying no, and stop, and get down, and that's not a toy....and gritting my teeth as i watch a child purposefully suck milk into her mouth for the sole purpose of letting it dribble down her shirt and legs to the floor....by Sunday afternoon, i'd had enough. so, i decided to quit. i found a scratch of paper that used my be a piece of mail and hastily scribbled out my goodbyes.
"you people with the eyelashes: i quit this bitch!"
as my last act as their mother, i fixed trixie and dixie lunch. then i took a shower, got dressed, and left.
i took myself to lunch and at without anyone trying to snatch my food away from me.
and then i sat outside with a glass of wine. and i slouched. and i put my feet up.
and at no time did i have to tell anyone no, stop, get down, or that's not toy.
it was marvelous.
i sat there and i thought about how carefree my life used to be and how on the weekends, i could sleep as long as i wanted, go wherever i chose, and....waste an inordinate amount of time and money trying not to feel so lonely and sad .
and then, after a few hours, the warden called and informed me that i didn't actually quit: i was just on furlough. my services in the Prison Kitchen were needed.
something or another about "dinner."
i grudgingly went back home but after getting there and being greeted my hugs and kisses, i couldn't remember why i'd wanted to get away so badly.
and here i was just using some old Tupperware!
we humans are funny. and by "funny" i mean crazy as hell.
for instance: i love how we can't find a cure for AIDS or cancer, but can invent little decorative boxes to keep our children's body parts in!!
behold, the Umbilical Box
the company who has brought you this, also has boxes to store your kids' teeth and fingernails. and when they graduate from college and find a menial low-paying jobs, you can get them one to keep their hopes and dreams in.
i think those boxes come with tear stains on the top.
and in 13 years, they won't talk to me at all
Trixie and Dixie have certainly been talking their little pants off lately. which is both exhilarating and terrifying.
exhilarating because i get a kick out of Dixie's insistent "nyooo!" and out of Trixie's earnest "uh-owhhh." as well as they way they ask if it's time to "eat?" how the tell me their body parts "noh....eye....ear...har...." how they tell other kids at daycare stop, and sister, and no ma'am! and how when told to do something, they respond "i will!" with attitude.
and hilarious how, despite his best efforts to be called Papรก, Trixie has christened her father "DADah!"
terrifying because....weren't they just babies? wasn't that them in their car seats sitting inside the shopping cart at Sam's on our Saturday morning shopping excursions?
wasn't that just me so excited that they could pull themselves up to a stand at the couch?
one of the hardest things for a modestly middle class family to do is pay daycare expenses for multiples. i have often asked god to please, speed up along to kindergarten for a break in expenses.
....i didn't mean it, god.
Summer Storms
yesterday evening, after getting everyone home from daycare a storm blew through. since this storm didn't have the added special effects of "thunder" and "lightening" (which then evokes "terror"and "screaming" and "running"), i decided to open the patio door so Trixie and Dixie could see "esta lloviendo! it's raining, chicks!"
Trixie and Dixie were pretty impressed! and when the good times were over and it was time to shut the door, I soon discovered that Dixie loved it a wee bit more than Trixie did and took it quite personally when i decided to close the door...
What happened next will go down in our family history as the night mommy needed a young priest, an old priest, a vial of holy water, and a flask of whiskey to overcome the terror from within. I have a picture of the incident, but until i have a chance to upload it, you'll have to make due with this illustration:
as i was shutting the door, Dixie started to protest.
as the door was being shut, she started jumping up and down.
by the time the door was shut completely, she clocked completely out. This included
- throwing herself down onto the floor
- turning read in the face
- biting her fingers on her hand in rage
- rolling across the floor to my legs
- pulling herself up by my pants legs
- trying to rip my pants off my body
- making a grab for my shirt, which i deflected
- throwing herself back into the floor and,
- while stiffening her body, howling in rage.
throughout the entire thing, Trixie kind of stood off to the side, eyes round in disbelief. Finally she and I sat on the couch and just watched the drama unfold. This was also my only way of making sure Trixie didn't somehow end up with her toupee torn off in the event Dixie decided to take her tantrum to Cage Match levels.
and this went on for 15 minutes until she was finally finished. after which, we went to the bathroom, put cool water on her face, and dried it with a towel.
and for the rest of the evening, she was my same old sweet toddler. by this time, the rains had stopped outside as well.
these sudden summer storms really do inspire "terror" and "running," don't they?
Trixie and Dixie were pretty impressed! and when the good times were over and it was time to shut the door, I soon discovered that Dixie loved it a wee bit more than Trixie did and took it quite personally when i decided to close the door...
What happened next will go down in our family history as the night mommy needed a young priest, an old priest, a vial of holy water, and a flask of whiskey to overcome the terror from within. I have a picture of the incident, but until i have a chance to upload it, you'll have to make due with this illustration:
as i was shutting the door, Dixie started to protest.
as the door was being shut, she started jumping up and down.
by the time the door was shut completely, she clocked completely out. This included
- throwing herself down onto the floor
- turning read in the face
- biting her fingers on her hand in rage
- rolling across the floor to my legs
- pulling herself up by my pants legs
- trying to rip my pants off my body
- making a grab for my shirt, which i deflected
- throwing herself back into the floor and,
- while stiffening her body, howling in rage.
throughout the entire thing, Trixie kind of stood off to the side, eyes round in disbelief. Finally she and I sat on the couch and just watched the drama unfold. This was also my only way of making sure Trixie didn't somehow end up with her toupee torn off in the event Dixie decided to take her tantrum to Cage Match levels.
and this went on for 15 minutes until she was finally finished. after which, we went to the bathroom, put cool water on her face, and dried it with a towel.
and for the rest of the evening, she was my same old sweet toddler. by this time, the rains had stopped outside as well.
these sudden summer storms really do inspire "terror" and "running," don't they?
Confessions of a Bad Mother: Snacks? What Snacks?
i got another one of those fantastic weekly emails that notes how old your child is and what you should expect last night. this came from pampers.com, telling me (a few days early) that hoooooray my child is now 20 months.
and as i was scanning the email, making tiny check marks beside all of the things i do "right" and beside what the twins are doing on target, i got to this line:
At this age, meals are generally short affairs. Make the most of the time your toddler does spend eating by offering him calorie-dense foods six times a day (three meals, three hearty snacks).
uh, sorry? three hearty snacks? three? snacks? EVERYDAY???
this is the part where i pull out the cat-of-nine-tails and practice some public mortification of my flesh.....i don't really give my kids snacks.
yes, i said it.
i feed them like they are people. breakfast, lunch, dinner. milk, juice, water. maybe on occasionally a cracker or 2, give or take 20.
but that's it, people!
so after reading that email and having a panic attack (scurvy! they're going to get scurvy!!), i decided to change my evil ways and get them ladies some snacks! and i must say, the snacking has gone over like gangbusters. as a matter of fact, when i gave them bananas, Dixie actually said "ooooooooooooooooooooooh!" while making a grab for it.
i am amazed at the stuff that never occurs to me until im finding out i'm not doing it right. when is it going to get easier?
Party's Over.
one of the things that has consistently gone right with Trix and Dix has been my faithful and unwavering dedication to the 8:30 pm bedtime. granted, we had a slight hiccup with daylight saving time, but once they got over the whole problem with having to go to bed while it's still daytime, it was smooth sailing.
and then 19 months happened. actually, 19 months, week 4 happened. and my sweet children who had gone to bed at 8:30 last week are now chitty chattin, jibber jabberin, screaming, crying, and whining well past 10:00 pm now. In addition to this change in events, i also had the pleasure of wrangling them over the weekend without benefit of them taking a nap.
and did i mention that they seem to have gotten yet another burst of outrageous energy and stamina? they're like Tasmanian Devils on meth!
and did i tell you that Dixie seems to have been possessed by a bipolar demon? She can go from shits and giggles to punches and scratches in nanoseconds!
Babycenter has been sending me weekly emails trying to warn me these changes were coming. i glanced over the article titles, but i didn't really read them. because underneath it all, i said to myself "yeah, but not my little chicklets."
welp, it's my little chicklets.
a friend of mine told me yesterday things will be better when they're three. i'll do my best to hold out until then...
and then 19 months happened. actually, 19 months, week 4 happened. and my sweet children who had gone to bed at 8:30 last week are now chitty chattin, jibber jabberin, screaming, crying, and whining well past 10:00 pm now. In addition to this change in events, i also had the pleasure of wrangling them over the weekend without benefit of them taking a nap.
and did i mention that they seem to have gotten yet another burst of outrageous energy and stamina? they're like Tasmanian Devils on meth!
and did i tell you that Dixie seems to have been possessed by a bipolar demon? She can go from shits and giggles to punches and scratches in nanoseconds!
Babycenter has been sending me weekly emails trying to warn me these changes were coming. i glanced over the article titles, but i didn't really read them. because underneath it all, i said to myself "yeah, but not my little chicklets."
welp, it's my little chicklets.
a friend of mine told me yesterday things will be better when they're three. i'll do my best to hold out until then...
reading is dys-fundamental
a scene from a mother and child, bonding over a book:
"ajure?"
"shirt."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"apple."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"milk."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"hat."
"ajure?"
"baby."
"ajure?"
"bathing suit."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"chocolate."
"ajure?"
"chicken."
"ajure?"
"flower."
"ajure?"
"frog."
....boy, i really owe the person who invented picture books a big ol hearty roundhouse kick to the nads.
"ajure?"
"shirt."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"apple."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"milk."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"frog."
"ajure?"
"hat."
"ajure?"
"baby."
"ajure?"
"bathing suit."
"ajure?"
"door."
"ajure?"
"chocolate."
"ajure?"
"chicken."
"ajure?"
"flower."
"ajure?"
"frog."
....boy, i really owe the person who invented picture books a big ol hearty roundhouse kick to the nads.
