I had a moment today

I totally did. One of those moments as a mama when your heart swells a bit in your chest as you watch your child do something compassionate and thoughtful and helpful for another person, a look of wonder and pride on your face. It was exquisite. 

We don't, as you might imagine, get out that much. There are, of course, several factors at play as to why that is, the obvious one being that our children arrived in a two-pack. Seriously, just getting us all ready and out the door and safely buckled into the car feels like an accomplishment. I'm sometimes ready to just head right back inside for a snack and a nap after that. I swear I haven't actually done that, though. Yet.

Another reason I don't take them out with me all that often is because we are blessed to have family close by. In fact, both sets of grandparents and the majority of the aunts and uncles reside within a 30-mile radius, and the outliers are only double that. Several days a week, we have family come over to help wrangle toddlers while I attempt to get something--anything--done. And yes, often a shower is on that list. Or IS that list, depending on the day. So, honestly, when help is so forthcoming, and my choice then becomes to run errands with them while we're on our own, or without them while on my own... I mean, right?

And the other facet of this is really, really simple: I AM LAZY. I am. I so totally am. Which is hilarious actually, especially in this context, because I used to do this for a living. I used to help run households, all with at least a couple, if not a few, children, and getting them all ready and out of the house and to various engagements and back home again, on schedule and with all details seen to comprised my workday. Every single day. And more than a few times over the past year and a half, I have considered that our lives could be so very different if, say, I worked full-time and we all had to get up and out the door every morning on a schedule... And then I immediately realize that I'm pretty sure THAT WOULD NEVER WORK. Like my mind cannot even comprehend that reality for us at this point. And so how lucky are we that that doesn't have to be our reality? SO. LUCKY. And...what the hell happened to me? Nevermind. Let's not go there. 

BUT. My children do still need to get out of the house, and ideally, that's done with help, because, well, because twins. And eventually we'll look into preschool because even though we plan to homeschool, preschool is AWESOME and I think they would LOVE it. The new toys and activities and songs and stories and fellow wee folk and adoring teachers... And I think I would LOVE it. For all those reasons, of course. And also maybe because FREE TIME TO MYSELF. Because, apparently, that's like a thing in some parenting circles. I intend to investigate. Fully. Soon.

So until then, my children--because we don't really have friends with similar aged children we see on a regular basis--really only interact with other children here and there, usually on the playground. But this means it doesn't happen all that frequently (remember that whole LAZY bit?), which makes what happened today that much more awesome. Granted, they have each other, so they have a leg up on dealing with other fellow tiny humans, but the question is always whether that translates over to dealing with strange fellow tiny humans. Not strange as in strange, of course, just strange as in, not of this family. Strangers. Assuming they're anything like us, though, perhaps just a different brand of strange. I mean, we're all mad here, right?

Anyway. So what actually happened today while we were out with Grandma Lemur at the indoor playground at the mall? Well, I'll tell you. I was following King Toad Agooga around the playground when a little boy dropped his granola bar near our feet as we passed. I, in fact, didn't even notice until I saw KTA bend down to pick it up, and assuming he was about to eat it himself, I was just opening my mouth to stop him when he immediately and without hesitation handed it to the little boy who had dropped it.

My 18-month-old, an age when many are in the throes of "mine!" (according to the updates I receive from that ubiquitous love it/hate it source of baby and parenting info), a child who has not had the opportunity to interact with children he doesn't intimately know on a regular basis, didn't even stop to think about it. It was reactionary and intuitive. AND IT MADE MY LIFE. 

Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. I love you right up to the moon.

AND BACK.      

Yep, I still suck at this

So we have this new setup around these parts, wherein the iMac has been moved from the office (which is now simply the guest room) to the kitchen, to make it more of a "family" computer, as The Barbarian has insisted upon. I was hesitant at first, partly because I was convinced he actually liked it in the office so he had an excuse to go hide and do whatever it is barbarians do on computers. But apparently that was extremely unfair of me because we ALL love the new arrangement. He can now do whatever it is barbarians do on the computer while still hanging out with us, it's now easier to control the music we listen to and shows we watch via the Apple TV, we now have music in the kitchen (my life has clearly been lacking, it's true), and, it just dawned on me today, that this will probably make it easier to write and blog. The Barbarian. He wins, I tell you.

When I had a chance the other day, I popped on to look at the sad, sorry state of my blog and couldn't help but notice the two separate attempts I've made since the 3rd of November to actually explain and atone for my lack of blogging since then. And those two drafts don't even begin to cover the countless other posts I've started in my head over the past few months. Sigh. It's been a long winter. So instead of trying to sum up all of my justifications (read: EXCUSES) for not blogging since November, I'll just insert the first of those drafts, dated the 23rd of November, and we'll go from there:

"SO.

Remember that whole thing wherein I was going to post to my blog every single day during the month of November? Well, I haven't done that.

DID YOU NOTICE?

Maybe. Maybe not. But really, I haven't. Not since the 3rd. And seeing as today is the 23rd, that's a whole lotta days that I neglected to do that. Basically the entire month. So maybe I should have just vowed NOT to post the entire month of November. That would have been way more realistic. Must remember that for next time.

At first I was a wee bit embarrassed. Just a tad. It takes a lot to really embarrass me, and this didn't completely qualify as something that might cause full out embarrassment, but it did bum me out. I actually really wanted to post to my blog every day for a month--or longer. I had grand visions for the topics I would cover and the inaneness I would offer the internets all month. But, alas.

The basic fact is that I am tired. I am exhausted. I am so ridonculously weary, I have essentially just been going to bed early with the beebs every night since that last post. And seeing as the hour or two I can steal after they're asleep for the night (which makes it sound like they sleep all night...HAH!) is the only real time I have to write, I completely forfeit that opportunity if I just crash out with them. And please believe me when I say that I truly want that time to myself, especially to write. So then also please believe that I am THAT tired that getting back up out of bed for even an hour just does not in any reality that exists sound like something I can physically undertake. That is, until tonight. Not sure what the winning formula was, but I'll take it.

And yes, the sheer exhaustion of raising twins at this stage works like that. Some days I surprise myself with my level of energy and optimism and the tasks I'm able to check off my never-ending to-do list. Other days I feel especially accomplished if I actually cook meals for my children instead of just sprinkling some variety of cheese, crackers, and fruit on their little table at regular intervals. And many days I find myself just sitting on the couch, nursing. Nursing, nursing, nursing. All the livelong day. Which is easier than working on the railroad, but no less tedious. I think. Having never worked on an actual railroad. Brio ones, yes. But that's a different world entirely. I think.

Anyway. Seriously. The nursing. From the mamas I've been in contact with who still nurse generally on demand at this stage (and in the grand scheme of things, there aren't many of us), this is completely normal. And I believe it."

So there you have it. Clearly the "winning formula" that night wasn't all that winning after all, and clearly things are a bit different around here now...but really, not that different. I am still going to bed with the beebs the vast majority of nights, and I am still mostly too exhausted to get back up once they're asleep. We are still nursing A LOT during the day (and night), and I have decidedly mixed feelings about that.

But there is one major change, and that's that I am ready for a change. They're 18 months old now (HOLYFUCKINGCRAP) and aren't really babies anymore. Clearly the choices we've made in parenting are what's led to the current situation, and all in all, we're completely happy with those choices. We're happy because we have happy, healthy toddlers whose needs are always met and who are respected as their own people at their own, specific level of development. And it shows. They are beloved of all, if I do say so myself.

However, there have been sacrifices for that, and most of those have come, naturally, from my corner. My time, my sleep, my energy, my body, my relationship with The Barbarian. And as the old adage goes, if mama's not happy, ain't nobody happy. Or something like that.

So change is coming. We're (finally...again...) on the road to night-weaning, and will work on encouraging them to sleep on their own for nap as well. Losing out on the possibility of a couple of hours to myself every day is definitely wearing. I literally have zero time to myself, and that...well, that situation is not. tenable. anymore. I'm absolutely petrified as to how this will all go down, but it needs to happen. Of that, I'm sure.

And I am quitting the Book of Faces. It's true. Many are, understandably, saddened by this. My little family is not NOT awesome and popular, and our friends and family want to be in the loop. We totally get that. So I am making a commitment to blog regularly and find other ways to share details and updates and pics of us with those we love. We'll make it happen. I promise. But Facebook is just something I need to cut from my life right now, for me. I will miss many aspects of it, especially being able to easily connect with our loved ones, but I am confident we can make up for it in other ways.

So there you have it. The first of (hopefully) many regular posts to come. Please consider subscribing to the blog so you can receive updates regarding new posts. I really think it'll be the best way to keep in touch for the time being.

To what's next, then, eh? I'm sure it'll be pretty kickass, regardless of the form it takes.

I mean, this is us, right?

How could it not?

(Yes, it's true--on occasion I am a tad full of myself. Full disclosure, and all.)    

Day 3: Pseudofail

Well, that didn't take long. Three days in and I'm already posting what I like to call a "placeholder" post. Sigh. 

I was feeling uninspired this afternoon while they were napping, and am already paying for the recent increased typing I've been doing on my phone (wrist, you are no good to me!). So I figured I'd wait till they were down tonight and punch something out on my computer. But then, but then...

Daylight Saving Time, that foul, obnoxious bit of nonsense, ended. Seriously, whomever thought up that gem did NOT have children. Bastard. No, wait. That's not having a father. Asshole. That one's equal opportunity. 

So, they held out nearly till their "normal" naptime, but only slept two out of their usual three hours. And then, terrible parents that we are, we didn't do bedtime till after Sunday Night Football. I know, I know. We're literally the worst. 

Anyway, our resident goblin royalty was definitely overtired, so much so that even the no-fail Daddy Method, well, failed. 

So a quick post from bed will have to suffice tonight. 

Sleep tight, all. Enjoy your Monday morning sleep in. 

That is, unless you have kids. In which case... 

I feel your pain. 

Goodnight Moonigans

It's nice to have really important parenting preferences in common with your partner, such as which book to read at bedtime. Of course, once the beebs are older, we won't really have a say in the matter, so it's imperative that we get in as much reading of the (age-appropriate) books of our choosing now while they're still amenable to us making important decisions for them--such as which book to read at bedtime.

Lucky for The Barbarian and me, that choice was a no-brainer: Goodnight Moon. I mean, right? Are we wrong here? That book could in no way ever be improved upon because it is perfection itself. The cadence, the rhyming, the mood set by the illustrations, the simplicity. If I could move into a book, it would be that one. I'd even eat the mush. 

So, you would think us reading a bedtime story to our kids would be fairly straightforward and rote, but being that it's us, it's rarely that simple. 

To begin with, we needed to figure out who read what, because this was not something either of us wanted to be left out of (yep, I totally just ended a sentence that way--deal with it). And it took some trial and error because of the varying layouts of the pages. Sometimes there's a line on each facing page, sometimes there are two. Sometimes there are two lines on one page and none on the other. And sometimes there's only one line on one page and that's it. It was hard to find a rhythm. And would we always read it the same way each time so that we always had the same lines? Or would we change things up every once in a while? I mean, clearly this nightly experience will have an enormous impact on the development of our children, so we had to get it right. 

Eventually we settled on a nice pattern, and you'd think that might be the end of the story. But it's not. Why? Well, because apparently I'm not very good at patterns. Or taking turns. Or remembering whose turn it is. Or focusing my attention for the length of a simple board book I know by heart. 

Why? Because babies, that's why. They're clearly distracting. That's sort of their whole schtick. Obviously it's bedtime when we read our bedtime story, so they're sleepy, and when they're sleepy, they often want to nurse. But then they get distracted by the story (see? I'm not the only who gets distracted in this house) and want to crawl into The Barbarian's lap (we sit next to each other on the couch, but he always holds the book--if I try to hold it, things really fall apart). They switch places a lot or sometimes wander off or are seriously just so damn adorable, I forget what we're doing and just stare at them. It happens. It's not my fault. Biology or something. 

Anyway, The Barbarian NEVER seems to be affected by any of this, so I'm always the one looking like an asshole because he'll read his line and wait for me to read mine, but I'll have forgotten we were even reading a story in the first place and wonder why he's staring at me. Or I'll get pissy because he stole my line and he'll point out that I stole his the previous page. Or I'll have the last two lines before turning the page, but I'll only read one and then wonder what the holdup is. Seriously, I'm the worst. Who has that much trouble with a board book?

The best nights are when ridiculous things happen that then become part of the ritual of reading the book, though. For us, of course. The beebs have zero clue yet how awesome and amazing their parents really are--but boy will they be proud when they figure it out. 

For example, early on, when the beebs were still far too young to be into it, we were sitting on our bed reading the book and the beebs were crawling around, paying little attention. At one point, King Toad Agooga crawled into my lap, and, because his timing is impeccable, while I was reading quite possibly my favourite line about the "quiet old lady whispering...", he stuck his entire hand in my mouth just as I opened it to say, "hush." What came out, then, was more of a guttural, "hoacgh." I'll never forget The Barbarian's face as he looked over to enquire what the hell I was on about. I, of course, was already laughing my ass off and it's quite possible we had an extremely difficult time finishing the story that night because, well, because laughing. But it's totally become a thing, and every few nights, one or the other--or both at the same time if our brains are tuned correctly--say "hoacgh" instead of "hush." And always with added emphasis, leaning in and side-glancing at each other while trying not to laugh. The beebs don't seem to know the difference in pronunciation yet, so we don't get called out for it. And who can blame them? It's subtle. 

My new favourite, though, happened just recently. It's probably my favourite because this time, it really was The Barbarian being ridiculous for a change. We were reading along in our usual manner when I realized I didn't know whose line it was. Like literally, I couldn't remember if he had just read a line or if I had. Two seconds previous. Who does that? So I sort of glanced over at The Barbarian with a confused look on my face, and apparently, that signaled to him that, since it was indeed my turn, I simply couldn't remember my line. You know, the one printed on the page a foot or two in front of my face. So what does the ever helpful man do? He begins pantomiming the line--"goodnight comb"--by mouthing it and pretending he's running a comb through his dreads (because that's even possible). The absolute best part was the wide-eyed, nodding, encouraging face he donned to do this, like I was a frightened child onstage who really had forgotten my line, he attempting to jog my memory from the wings. 

I totally lost it. Who IS that guy? And of course now I start giggling several pages ahead of that line in anticipation of remembering how absurdly he handled the situation.

But then, who am I to judge? I can't even be bothered to remember if I've just spoken out loud or not.

And that, my friends, is a special kind of crazy.

The end.

NaBloPoMo

So, I'm doing this. Starting today. All month. 

What is "this?" This is National Blog Posting Month, a commitment made with BlogHer to post to your blog every day for the month of November, to help get you in the groove of writing every day, and put yourself out there for all the world to see if you so choose. And it just so happens that I did so choose to do that last bit. What the actual fuck.

And did you catch the (not exactly but I like the phrase) middle part? EVERY. DAY. Every single one of them. Today, tomorrow, the next day, the day after that--all the way till 30 Nov. That's, wait... 30 DAYS of consecutive blog posts. From me. Mrs. I'm Not Even Going to Average Out My Posts to Give Comparison to How Few I Normally Do a Month Because That Would Be Embarrassing. And I never do anything to embarrass myself in some alternate reality that in no way exists. 

Anyway. So, yeah. I've been saying that I'd like to be posting regularly, and I think once a day is pretty regular (at least for some things...pooping, yes...blinking, not so much), so I've taken on this challenge to help encourage me in that department. I don't even want to think about how I feel regarding the possibility of the citizens of the internets at large reading my blog, though. 

...

So I won't. And maybe they won't. Who knows?

So there you have it. Lots and lots from me this month. Of varying quality, to be sure. But maybe I'll take the opportunity to tell the story of King Toad Agooga and The Goblin Queen, and that should be pretty neato. 

Maybe. 

I make no promises.   

I crack myself up

I do. All the time. Just ask The Barbarian.

But having kids adds a whole new dimension to it. Because when you are at home all day with your kids, the possibilities for ridiculousness are constant. Why? Because kids are RIDICULOUS. Add in a less than normal mama (vastly less than normal?), and seriously. Ridiculousness abounds.

Like yesterday, for example (you knew there'd be an example, right?). We had a loooooooong night previous for most likely teething-related reasons, and we were all a bit tired and fussy yesterday. Luckily, Grandma and Grandpa Walrus were here in the morning to keep them entertained while I cleaned the kitchen (cooking=dishes...am I the only one who sees something unfair in this scenario?) and started in on the junk room our bedroom, my current project (don't even ask). They ended up taking an extremely decent nap after that (near three hours, The Goblin Queen thankfully going down again for an additional hour after waking up partway through), but the remainder of the afternoon and early evening before The Barbarian got home (after being stuck in horrendous traffic) was very hit or miss. I was trying to get a shepherd's pie in the oven for dinner--an AMAZING shepherd's pie by Alton Brown, introduced to us by a friend who delivered meals to us while both of us were on bedrest during our pregnancy because WE HAVE AWESOME FRIENDS--and it was definitely a performance in several acts.

I tried distracting them with all manner of fun activities (okay, maybe only two) using one of their current favourite items, pompoms. I got down two egg cartons from the stash we keep on top of the fridge (with the intention of giving them to my mom in order for her to more easily gift out her chickens' eggs to the family, of course, but in reality, we stash them there for months and quite possibly years on end until people begin asking about the dust-covered collection and we're forced to just recycle the lot out of embarrassment) and poured some pompoms in a bowl and showed them how nicely they fit in the little egg cups. They thought this was pretty neat, putting them in and taking them out, and trying to close the egg cartons, and even turning the cartons upside down and squishing them in the spaces between the bottoms of the egg cups. But seriously, it lasted a grand total of four and a half minutes before they were clamoring for me again. Dude. Toddlers.

So I ripped the last two paper towels off the roll in the kitchen and scrounged in the bathroom trash for empty toilet paper rolls (yes, my children play with bathroom trash--it strengthens the immune system) so I could then spend five minutes searching for the painter's tape in order to tape said empty cardboard tubes onto the wall at various heights in order for The Goblin Queen and King Toad Agooga to make pompoms slide down the tubes of their own accord after being shown how this amazingness worked by their oh-so-dedicated mama. Of course, that's not what happened at all after my enthusiastic demonstration. They immediately ripped the tubes off the wall, KTA marching about shouting through one, and TGQ wandering over to one of their current empty cardboard boxes ("baby traps," as The Barbarian calls them) and deciding it was vastly more entertaining to throw the pompom still clutched in her hand into the box with an ecstatic exclamation in gibberish. But really, can you blame her? 

I hurriedly escaped back to the kitchen but was found moments later by an extremely needy TGQ. I was determined to push through as much as I could, though, and so we began our "kitchen dance," her alternating sitting on my feet, crawling through my legs, and grabbing my pants in iron fists while digging in her heels--all of which combine to make it near impossible to get to and from the island, the sink, and the stove. This dance is performed to the popular tune of "Fussy, Demanding, Pathetic Toddler." It's a classic. And this version of the dance is actually only the beginner/intermediate level. Why? BECAUSE THERE WAS ONLY ONE TINY HUMAN PERFORMIMG THE PART OF THE TINY HUMAN. We sell tickets to the full show. It's intense. 

Anyway, after fucking up the recipe slightly due to, ahem, being distracted, and totally getting outwardly frustrated at said source of distraction because of it (SIGH), I got to a point where I could pick her up for the remaining fine minutes of simmering and stirring until I was at a stopping point and we could go nurse. However, she then proceeded to do that most endearing of small child activities wherein she demanded to be picked up, then flung and wriggled her little body as if to say she wanted down, then immediately lost her shit upon being put down, only to be picked back up so she could begin the routine again. WHY DO THEY DO THAT? I eventually got outwardly frustrated with her again, even louder and more forceful than previously (BIGGER SIGH). 

So by the time we made it out of the kitchen and met up with KTA on the couch to nurse, I was, how you say, OVER IT. But they snuggled in close, one on each side, and happily and with great relief on the part of TGQ, nursed. And the vast majority of my feelings of frustration evaporated. Nursing's pretty awesome like that. 

And when I'm not feeling like I want to attach my children to a wall with huge strips of velcro to ensure their safety while I abandon them for the fresh air and emptiness of the patio with a tasty adult beverage, I'm more apt to crack myself up. So when TGQ stopped nursing and pulled my shirt down over the nipple, looking up at me and waiting with that gleam in her eye and little smile on her face for the perfect moment to reveal said nipple to the familiar exclamation, upon the final reveal, I yelled, "PEEKABOOBIE!" and sat on the couch laughing hysterically at myself under the gaze of two highly unimpressed toddlers. 

The end. 

I'm not very good at this whole thing

Which is hilarious because it's not for lack of things to say. Truly. The Barbarian has always said he enjoys just listening to me talk (he's not alone in this statement either). I think he has to say that, though, right? Because we're married? I don't know what the hell those other people's excuses are exactly. Weirdos.

So I'm pretty sure I mentioned last time something about encouraging King Toad Agooga and The Goblin Queen to nap on their own so I could have some free time during the day to do things like, say, write blog posts.

...

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!

Basically, that hasn't happened. At all. Even once.

Why? Because SLEEP. That's why. We have spent the past 14 months doing everything we can to get them TO sleep, that the thought of doing something I know full well will INHIBIT their sleep makes me a bit...ill. I just can't bring myself to start the process. Any process.

The process is key too, because really, I have zero clue what this "process" should look like. Oddly (or rather, not oddly in the least), I've seen two parents post about this exact thing in groups on Facebook during the past few days, one a mama of twins. How the hell do you get your toddler used to napping on his or her own if they're used to napping with you (and boobie) there? Beats the shit out of me.

Honestly, I think I could handle the process with just one--as haughty and obnoxious as that must come across to parents struggling with this issue with just one child. For me, it's just a logistics issue. Unlatching a baby from the boobie and inching away until you're free of floppy arms and legs, then (somewhat) silently rolling or scooching over and slipping off the bed is doable to me. But how do you do that when there's a baby on both sides? If I get extremely wickedly lucky, they both eventually pop off the boobie and roll away a bit of their own accord. That makes things much easier.

So. Ask me how often that actually happens? Mmmm, hmmm.

Anyway. Blah, blah, blah, sleep, blah, blah, blah.

What else? Well, Autumn, that's what else. (And yes, I capitalize the seasons because they should be capitalized. I'm not even alone in this thinking. Back me up here, people.) Although our Autumn so far has consisted of 80-degree days, the nights and especially mornings have been fairly chilly and we finally procured some adorable fuzzy slippers for KTA and TGQ (courtesy of Nana) to protect their feet from our mostly uncarpeted house. They, however, don't grasp the concept of cold bare feet versus warm slippered feet, so they have far more fun taking them off. They do then invariably attempt to immediately put them back on, but, well, you know. We're still working on that.

I'm also forcing my love of Autumn cooking and baking on them, admittedly with mixed results. They LOVE the apples slices cooked in coconut oil and sprinkled with cinnamon. And even though I started that months ago, we had taken a break from it and it just seems appropriately Autumn, no? If given sliced raw apple, which they do like, they'll maybe eat a slice or two each. When cooked this way, they will literally go through an entire apple between the two of them. They. Love. It.

I also made them some pumpkin pancakes (after searching for a recipe that wasn't completely laden with sugar so as not to upset The Barbarian and his rabid anti-sugar ways), and they totally dug those. The recipe made an enormous batch of silver dollar pancakes, so I made them all and froze them for easy breakfasts and snacks. Sometimes I do awesome things like that. Sometimes.

Last week I made some persimmon bread, which was DELICIOUS, but they were so-so on it. Ditto the butternut squash bars I made a few days ago, which again, I thought were delightful. I had wanted to try a butternut squash yeast bread with some of the puree I have left, but realized I was out of yeast--which goes to show how long it's been since I've baked regularly. For shame. However, I think I will go ahead and make more pancakes with the squash instead of pumpkin, and maybe even some pumpkin bread with squash puree substituted. My Memere's pumpkin bread recipe is ridonculously delicious and I'm interested to see how it would be with the butternut squash. And dammit, it's that time of year, okay?

So, yeah. Lots of other things too. But I'll save more for later because that's how this whole thing works, right?

That is, if I come back anytime soon.

Hmmmm.