New Year's Eve....

I have been an inexcusably bad correspondent lately. But I have an excuse – I have been tirelessly working on the twins’ birthday present.

Don’t worry – photos will be posted of the abomination.

In all seriousness though – it has been exceedingly time consuming! So out went the window of my want to write a seasonal post of “A few of my favorite things” – but I bet you cannot guess what they are (hint - 1. Henry’s crooked bottom teeth and fuzzy curls that make me sneeze 2. Sophia’s seemingly perfectly-timed ability to ‘rock-out’ at random moments during the day and helpfulness in unloading the dishwasher. See a theme? Yes, my favorite things are my children). 

Out went the desire to post endless photos of Christmas Eve and Day (let’s just say Henry and Sophia were in complete awe of church at Mass – we lost them at the stained glass – and there was a children’s choir?! My heart is still beating thinking about their response. Totally beautiful.) 

And up…on the rooftop the chimney sweep went and cleaned a few days before the holiday (with Henry keeping a close eye on him and his shop-vac. H-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s.)

 

So here I am shamelessly trying to sum up our first Christmas – which really can’t be summed up because so much happened. All-in-all it was more than what I ever could have hoped for. And – there were waffles. Homemade.

Speaking of homemade, I told myself I would get one last post in for this year. So here, dear Readers, is my post on New Year’s Eve:

I made homemade Pad Thai – yes, yes I am that neurotic. I made Henry and Sophia a ‘baby-version’ of the delectable dish. Basically they just had rice noodles, chicken, egg, cilantro, bean sprouts and one drop of soy sauce. Yes, I really only put in one drop.

I think you can see it in the picture. Tony and I had the sauce I made with rice vinegar, soy sauce, leeks, brown sugar and lime. But really – too much salt! So they had to watch us eat the ‘real’ stuff – but they seemed to enjoy it.

They also donned their new “Happy New Year” bibs. Henry and I played "Auld Lang Syne" at the piano.  

And I made fortune cookies.

Well, sort of. They were not my greatest creation – but they did the trick. And tasted better than they looked. It was my first ever experiment with them; and each one had a one-word fortune I made up.

Four cookies. Four fortunes. That is what we started out with. Henry seemed delighted to pull a piece of paper out of a cookie; he then lost interest in the cookie.

Sophia? We don’t know or remember what her fortune was. She ate it. And the whole cookie.

That’s my girl. 

No, they didn't make it until midnight. We wound down the party about 8. But maybe next year...

better luck next year....

Yesterday, we went to the Hebert Candy Mansion in Shrewsbury where they have a beautiful Santa Claus. Its a bring-your-own camera event and the kids can take as long as they please chatting it up with old-Saint-Nick. Tony and I gave ourselves, and the twins, plenty of time.

If you can't tell by the various stages of panic on Henry's face - the visit didn't last long.

One of Henry's many strengths, however, is his ability to redirect. Once he was out of his lap, it was like nothing had happened. 

Oh (rein)deer.

thanksgiving

 

I think there is an expiration date on pictures. Or an allowable time to post them. Forgive me for not getting these up sooner. We have been making holiday presents.

And I have been trying my hand at sewing. A brief word to the sewers out there:
A screwdriver will not and can not double as a seam ripper. I’m just saying.

Thanksgiving was everywhere. We went to Peabody. We went to New Hampshire. We all shared a bed. Not intentionally. It just worked out that way. Ever try to sleep in pack-n-play?

Me either.

And for that matter, neither would Henry and Sophia. So the five of us were in bed.
(Yup – Cappy too)...

The day we left I made an apple pie – and had a few slices left that didn’t quite fit in the pie (it was bursting out of its crust as it was…) so I just tossed them in the trash and went about preparing.

A few minutes later the twins were quiet.

They, in essence, became dumpster divers. Sad that at such a young age I cannot keep them adequately fed.

Don’t you love this picture? They were almost saying “hey, what’s wrong with these slices – they’re perfectly fine!”

Then Sophia fell asleep in her high chair. Sitting up. 

Too bad no one thought to bring a high chair….we spent the holiday….er…holding them. But not really ‘holding’ as they are too interested in everything to be held. It was more like we restrained them while eating quickly.

FYI the shutter speed is correct on this shot of Tony and Sophia. He was really eating that fast.

“No, really no seconds thank you.”

They did stay still long enough for a heavenly photograph though. Seriously.

Couldn’t you just eat them? Sophia, we are finding, is in the running for baby with the longest legs (which is kind of funny, if you think about it). So I had to make her black leggings to wear underneath her “dress” which was more-or-less a long top on the fly.

Miss long-legs.

And we managed to scare up a relative to take a belated family photo (who has thumbs – Cap has volunteered multiple times, of course).

And a parting shot showing Mr. Fuzzy head. After four nights of him cuddling him and trying not to sneeze whenever he moves, I have determined he has the softest hair ever.

Oh – and the bluest eyes too.

On a wire (but with nice pictures)

There is this breathlessly beautiful picture book entitled The man who walked between the towers by Mordicai Gerstein. It is about a Frenchman named Philippe Petit and his masterful tightrope walk between the twin towers in the 1970s. A few years ago there was also a documentary about the event (with ear heart throb Michael Nyman as the score composer). I have been waiting to read this book to the twins. Its one of those great ones where, if you’re insane like me, you’re like “what is this about? Philippe? The towers? Neither? Both?”

So we tried. I got all teary eyed, but not them. They crawled away. Alas.

But then I got to thinking about this new theory I have about seemingly disparate events and how they are actually linked to one another. And lo and behold, had a link.

Perhaps this calls for a touch of back-story:

I have been down. But not in a PPD sort of way, but yes, in a way related to the babies. I am, regrettably, a bad mother. Yes – it is said. There, in pixels before me. I thought as the months wore on I would feel more comfortable in my mothering style, not less. But it is not true. As the babies get older, confidence becomes slimmer. Style is something reserved for the mom’s in magazines. The rest of us – well, we have to pick a side.

With everything.
And stand firm on it.
And have opinions about it.
Oh – and research it. A lot.

Dear lord.

I do not have strong opinions. I don’t really care what other people’s thoughts are on my babies. Or me. And I really really don’t like having to pick a side. The classic convo about working and children? I cannot say what I really feel – that I like my job. A lot. And I treasure my time with my children. A lot.

But I've found you can’t walk that tightrope. You either a) like your career or b) like being a mom at home. But the way it reads is: I don’t like my children. I love my children less. Or: I don’t take my career seriously. My work is just a hobby.

So I smile and say “Hm…” when asked.

I think it might be easier for me to carry on a normal conversation with Eminem than with other moms. And there may be less apprehension.

And yup – bad mom alert – I listen to that music with my children present.

What’s worse though? I feel bad about it.

Or did, I should say. Besides my tightrope revelation, I also had a conversation with my neighbor, who has this amazing ability to sense when something is wrong.

Mothering is hard. I told her when prodded. Everything is wrong.

Relax. She told me. If any mom makes you feel even for one second that she knows what she is doing, she’s lying to you. None of us know what we are doing.

None of us know what we are doing. I’ve been repeating this. This was a revelation. I could have kissed her, or like Henry and Sophia do to me (another bad mom alert), affectionately mauled her.

As a result, I've eliminated some words from my vocabulary because I think they are fodder for bad-mom talk and, no matter where you fall, guilt-inducing. They are: “breastfeeding” “Ferber” “career-choice” and, just because I’m mean, “onions.”

I have also started trying to embrace the more forgiving side of mothering. Where you try not to worry about which side you are falling on. There aren’t sides really – its just an illusion; like with the tightrope, its air.  I’m trying to be more like Philippe and rejoice the achievements as they come – as the opportunity finds me. And find inspiration, not irritation, in those who say I'm wrong.

So I continue to let Henry and Sophia rummage through the house and find what they want. There are no razor blades – but yes, there are post-its. And they do eat them. But I don’t care. No, really. I don’t care.

How liberating.

And you know what else? Yes – they played with Tony’s guitar. They grabbed at the strings. Where I should have been upset about how they could slice open their fingers by running their hands over the fret? I sat back and clicked away with my camera.

And wouldn’t you know? When you start relaxing you find more moments to celebrate. Just the other day I found Sophia with the dog on the floor. She was sort-of brushing her teeth. See? I thought. She is fond of oral hygiene – and of keeping the dog healthy. How wonderful. I should be proud of my mothering-ness. 

Until I looked closer and realized the toothbrush was mine.