Me. Me. Me!

By late Saturday morning, the LTMD household seemed like it might be headed to Normal Land, where the tantrums and crying only minimally cause moments or hours of insanity -- not days, which is where we were for the last 9 to 10 days.

Insanity.

Other than to go to the doctor's office for the routine checkup that turned into the discovery of both girls having ear infections, I did not leave the house all week.

Back to late Saturday morning. The girls went off for a short car ride with their dad and I cleaned and it felt so absolutely amazing. The sun shined in through the curtains I opened and it felt like the Dawning of a New Day. Truly.

I made pizza for dinner and we all gobbled it up with our running noses and coughs taking a slight backburner to enjoy it. We felt anew.

That night we even almost slept through the night. Not quite, but it was better.

Then, smack dab in the middle of Sunday's CVSing, gasp!, I got a horrendous feeling of fever and illness. So much so that I didn't give $6 in coupons and only realized that later in the day. Imagine my disappointment.

But, this post isn't so much about all of that as it is about Me Time and the fact that I have been in need of Me Time for well over a month or two. I can't remember the last Me Time, in fact. I do not count grocery shopping as Me Time. I should be expected to, either.

More than that, though, we are lacking in We Time as well.

So, I want to talk this week about Me Time and We time as part of Mamablogga's group writing project.

My issue is this: How do we fit it all in? Where's the time? The energy? The money?

I had already been ready to pay for a sitter so Dan and I can have a date even if it's to McDonald's (because that McNuggets rap commercial has worked on me). Then, I knew I was overdue in Me Time as well and needed to work that in to the equation as well.

But, week nights after 12 hours caretaking of the tots and neglect of myself, all I want to do is sleep. Usually I have to get some work done, as well. Remember: I work during the girls' naps (when they honor me with such a perk to this job).

So, week nights in the winter, at least, are just not good for me for either date night or Me Time.

Then, the weekends are catch up to everything that didn't get done during the week. The laundry, the cleaning, the errands.

Factor all of that in to the fact that we're finally together as a family for once all week. I want to do things as a family, which is a whole heck of a lot easier than juggling outings by myself.

I just feel like it's an endless cycle and that Me Time and Date night are just not that easy to make happen since we don't have family to rely on.

We are going to hire a sitter as soon as we are all well again and we don't care if the girls stay up and cry all night, either. It has to be done. Our last date was February 2007. We need to get out of this house!

But, I'm also going to make Me Time happen this week -- as soon as I feel better.

How about you? How do you make this all happen? What's your secret? Do you have relatives to help you out with either babysitting or errands or cleaning?


Thank you for visiting today.

Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:

Subscribe in a reader

Happy Happy. Joy Joy.

MPJ is hosting a group writing project, inspired by my first one held earlier this month, and so I must participate. Besides, it's a nice topic: write about your happy place.

Two years ago my happy places had many of the same elements: libations that either contained grapes and alcohol or java and caffeine. It probably meant dropping a nice chunk of change. Consuming and wasting, eating and drinking without cares, without worries, without responsibility.

That was then.

My happy place is much different now, and I don't feel it often anymore. Not since becoming a mother.

Please don't misconstrue my words: I am happy much of the time, but always with a heaviness of stress or anxiety or worries or doubts.

Motherhood has been very hard for me; harder than I thought it would be. And, so my happy place is a feeling; I associate it with feeling no pain, no worries, no hardship, no struggling, no setbacks, no heartbreak.

Just bliss, fleeting as that moment may be. In fact, it lasts only seconds, at least when I've experienced it.

I'm sure I experienced it before being a mom, but I didn't know then to relish it like I do now.

The last time I felt this bliss was about a month ago. My in-laws invited us over for dinner. They live only 10 minutes away, but we do not see them more than once a month. The time of day was perfect for our schedule so there was no rushing around, and unlike most of our family events, it was just us. No other relatives to vie for the last piece of bread.

There was a ton of great, home-cooked food and plenty of it. There was wine -- and coffee -- and iced cold water in between. There was lovely cinnamon bread, and dessert. There was someone to bring me my food, someone to clean the dishes afterward and adult conversation in between. I still had to lean down to pick up food that had been dropped; but it wasn't dropped on purpose like it usually is at home.

The dinner was wonderful and toward the end, as my belly felt full and my tension relaxed, I felt a moment of bliss.

I felt, for one of the very few times since becoming a mom, truly nurtured and taken care of. That dinner, in all of its forms, took so many of my worries away. Nothing else mattered, but us. The house that needed cleaned, the now dusty-looking for sale sign sitting unmoved, the cluttered counters, the insurmountable piles of clutter in the storage room ... it was all sent out in one big breath to the universe.

So, that's my happy place. It can happen when I least expect it, though it is extremely rare. It can happen anywhere, and most of the time I don't know it will happen until I'm in the moment, and suddenly catch myself smiling for no reason, for every reason.

Sure, the euphoric state of bliss is fleeting.

I'm fine with that as long as it returns to me again and again.

8 real mom truths

These are just a few things I've noticed in my short stint as a Mama ...

1. When you want your children to sleep, they will not. When you don't want them to sleep, they will.

2. When they do finally sleep, it's either shorter than you'd hoped, or longer.

3. Television is not a lazy parent's babysitter; it' the best, coolest, most popular toy in the house whether we like it or not. No other gadget can bring the kind of contentment to a child than a TV.

4. When you try to work in a five-minute break for yourself, expect to deal with a half-hour tantrum first, followed by calming play afterward. Then, start it all over again when you try to get that break.

5. Table for one really means hunkering over the sink to eat something you know your children will want the second they see it. Like chocolate. Or cookies.

6. Wine loses its value once children enter a home. Parents are too tired to drink it or too poor to buy it.

7. Daddies make much better stay-at-home caregivers. They love to watch TV and eat all day. They stress less about meals, and spend more time on the floor enjoying horizontal parenting.

8. If your toddler refuses the bite-sized pieces of her food, just offer her the exact same thing from your plate, and they'll eat it.

Got any truths to share? Spill them in the comments section.

Vacation fever

Dear J and L,

I recently read a blogger -- wish I could remember which one -- that wrote that once you have kids, there is no such thing as vacation any longer. It's just travel.

I can see how that is probably the case. Every day is hard work around here. The weekdays when I'm primary caregiver between 10 and 12 hours a day. Weekends, though while I do have some backup, the two of you have your way of keeping both of us busy all day.

While I'm sure a vacation would be just as physically demanding, my mind longs to be elsewhere. You probably sense that at times.

Your father and I have had some great vacations, though, so we can't complain. Our first was to the beach, which is where we're hoping to take you in a couple weeks. Summer can't be summer unless your toes touch the hot sand and your little meaty thighs are dotted with salt water. I would argue that summer isn't summer unless you sit for a couple hours picking hard shelled crabs until your fingers sting from Old Bay seeping into all the wounds caused by the labor. But, one thing at a time around here. Sometimes, I realize, we're lucky if we make it downstairs without a temper tantrum.

Our next vacation, I think, was to New York City. Since then, we got engaged in New Orleans, hugged and kissed our way across Grand Cayman and shopped and toured Boston/Cape Cod. Not so bad.

Soon, you will see what I'm talking about when I say that there is no better feeling than an ocean breeze hitting you square in the face, and a gaggle of sea gulls swarming around you.

You'll get it, too.

Nobody can escape vacation fever.

Top 5 Ways to keep it clean

These are the tips I've gathered from you, dear readers -- in a roundabout way. I may have put my own little snippy spin on them because I am feeling at a loss of real, honest-to-goodness thoughts today.

To keep a clean house you must:

1. Sell the kids. Clearly this is the top priority because not only are they mostly the cause of the mess, but they are also not helping you clean it up.
2. Put the husband to work. Sure, mine already does the dishes and the laundry, but it wouldn't kill him to work in a few bathroom swishes here and there.
3. Clean while sleeping. To have a clean house at all times, we need to BE the cleaning, this means that while we sleep we should be cleaning.
4. Scrub floors at least weekly. More than two weeks is gross.
5. Pile the clutter on the stairs. Yup, just stick it all on the stairs, then when you go up, take something and shove it in the closet. Any closet.

So, there you go. LTMD's cleaning tips directly from the readers!

How much greener we talkin'?

Our home was originally built as two row homes in the late 1800s. Sometime between then and the 50s, someone had the bright idea to turn them into one hot Mama. And, she is. She's a near-perfect Colonial who is aging before our eyes, and fast. Another paint chip, another shutter piece cracked, Liana peeled more siding off ... etc.

It's no secret to most people who know us that we love our house and our neighborhood, most of the time. There have been a few situations that have left us more than displeased, but that all usually dissipates as we're walking to the farmer's markets on Saturdays or to the coffee shop midweek.

A lot has changed since we moved in here nearly four years ago as newlyweds. Infertility. Pregnancy. Twins. The First Year. Switching to one income.

We're finally seeing clearly for the first time in four years. And, what we're seeing is a mixed medium. We're parents now; things are different. If we knew then what we know now ...

As I scrub every little nook and cranny of this house this week, I am thinking about all the obvious anti-child measures that were erected in those early days.

First, the staircase (how does one home that was previously two have just one set, anyway?) leads to the top, where you have to take a steep step up either left or right to get to your next destination. In other words, there are really three landings. So, once we finally -- and I mean F.I.N.A.L.L.Y. -- reach the top, one girl starts climbing left; the other right. I'm always a nervous wreck at the top. Now they are learning to resist my directions, too, which is making that peak more painful.

Secondly, the bathroom is way too small and the door opens up to cover up half the bathtub. So, not only can we barely fit in the room together to bathe, but if I want to stop in to say hi or grab a baby who is crying, I have to first knock Da! in the back with the door, wait for him to move over as far as he can (about two inches) and then squeeze in long enough to grab a wet baby and then squeeze back out.

Heavens, what were we thinking?

I could go on. Really. But, what I'm wondering is if anyone is truly happy with their home or are you always, no matter what, seeking that greener pasture?

Married with twins

It was a short conversation, me at the refrigerator, Da! by the stairs. The discussion of how and when and where to go for an outting was weighing on us. Time passed. The lunchtime rush had settled into the bones of the old house. Liana was throwing herself on the floor out of hunger. Jadyn, just crying, crying, crying. Ah, another meal. What's this add up to be -- 21 meals a week times 28 weeks? You do the math.

11:45 a.m.

ME: Well, we're going to have to have lunch now.

Da!: Oh, good, I'll take a shower.

ME: Fine. Go take YOUR shower.

Da!: Can I help you with something?

ME: No, I don't need any help.

Da!: What's wrong?

ME: Go ahead and take YOUR shower. I haven't had one yet today, but whatever. I'll make lunch.

Da!: But, I didn't shower yesterday.

Me: (cracks up while searching for the cheese) You win.

A blip, and a bump

Being a mom is still so raw for me. Those more experienced understand that life as you know it can be zapped away in an instant. I'm learning this lesson daily. Today, this afternoon, I learned it again.

It was a damp and chilly day, but we still went outside to enjoy the crisp air and fresh breeze. You, dear L, are my button-pusher. You know what you shouldn't do and run straight to do just that. These days, that button is squishing daylily petals between your short, baby fingers, leaving bright yellow goo all over them. It is a sight to behold. I know this. And, yet, I worry about that yellow, how it easily goes from your hand to your lips. I want to protect you, every part of you.

So we moved to a safer location, one far away from the Stella'dora or whatever it is your Da! told me.

J, you discovered a neat game of getting your hand wet in a puddle and then toddling my way and gifting me with cool rain drops fresh from your small, delicate hand. Each time you smiled. Each time, I was overly eager to accept such moist gifts.

Soon, L, you caught on to this game of connection between Mama and your sister. You, too, began gifting me with drops from the same puddle. Back and forth the two of you ran -- as best as 17 month olds can run. I was busy accepting these presents of nature, relishing our time outside and some peace from the loneliness that has been consuming me lately.

In a blip, a trip. A fall. A tumble. A scream. Crying. Crying. Crying. You were holding your head. I searched and searched your face, wishing the worst didn't happen, that you didn't just hit your head on that concrete step. Surely, you missed it. Surely, it couldn't be so. Surely, I hadn't just failed you.

I knew by the way you were crying that it was so. You are a tough girl. Your head, as we have noted many times, is hard. I knew by the way you held it that it was not just a little boo-boo. Within seconds, it all appeared. The blue. The goose egg bump. The blood.

The fear. The tears -- my own. Home alone, no car, no family to call, what will I do? I scooped you up first, held you, told you it would be OK. Then I scooped up your sister -- who wasn't happy her play was interrupted -- and ran into the house, first calling your Da! then the doctor's office.

"My daughter, 17 months, just fell and hit her head on a concrete step," I said breathless.

"This is my first injury," I added, tears falling down my cheeks.

"The first of many more," the female voice on the other end of the phone responded, calmly.

While on the phone answering questions, running the water in the kitchen sink, I gave you, my sweet girl, a Tylenol bottle. It was empty, but I was hoping for a distraction to ease your pain.

And, just like that, you were fine. You didn't cry again. You jumped and ran like usual. You ate dinner. You giggled when your daddy came home.

Pure, raw childhood seeped from your soul.

Twinskin, writing and traditions, oh my!

Girls,

Around the Internets, these things called Memes circulate. Pronounce them Meem. They are harmless attempts to get to know people better. I've been tagged once and only once by fellow blogger Hip Writer Mama.

The rules of this meme is to "share four things that were new to you in the past four years. Four things you learned or experienced or explored for the first time in the past four years. New house, new school, new hobby, new spouse, new baby, whatever. Then you have to say four things you want to try new in the next four years."

This should be easy for me since four is a pretty interesting number for me right now.

What was new to me in the last four years?

1. Marriage. I had a couple of relationships before Da! but as I look back on all of them, none had any substance like my relationship with him. Four years ago, we became a married couple and that is land I hadn't traveled before. I've loved every step along the way, too. Even the tough moments. It still amazes me that after five years of being together so much -- we started off working together -- I am still eager to see him at the end of the day and hardly want to leave his side.

2. Obviously, being a mother is new to me. So new, in fact, that I still catch myself trying to put motherhood in some nice square box that holds everything that matters in a tidy manner. What's most new about motherhood, to me, is that I've realized it's Crazy Bliss in a cry-one-second, and laugh-the-next kind of way.

3. Twinskin is new to me, too. TMI, I know. I can't believe that I actually thought my body was awful -- dreadful -- in high school. I recently looked back at some photos. Sheesh. I was stupid. I lost a bunch of weight before our wedding and had only regained five pounds before getting preggo with J and L and still hated my body. Now, I am pre-wedding weight/size and I have a nice mass of extra skin that has no place to go, but hang. I've read that the only way to get rid of that skin is surgery. No, thank you. Still, I'm more confident about myself now than I was in those younger years -- sagging skin and stretch marks and all. My girls don't care. A belly's a belly -- their all fun to look at and bang on.

4. The feeling of isolation is also new to me. I used to feel alone, before I met Da! but never did I feel as alone as I do now. I'm not sure if it's being a mother or being a stay-at-home mom or both, but days go by and the only conversations I've had involve sentences like, "Don't throw your food on the floor" or "Are you poopy?" This isn't entirely true since I've done at least one or two phone interviews each day for months, but those sources for freelance articles couldn't care less about my opinions about American Idol or my personal review of "How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved My life," by Mameve Medwed. (I will be reviewing this soon. Promise)

Now, four things I hope to do in the next four years. This will be hard. I'm a goal-setter, list-maker, high-achiever type. Nary a day goes by that I haven't dreamt up something new to do, a place to move, a business to build, a population to save. But, I'll do my best to limit to just four.

1. Professionally, I hope to have published my novel as well as a second. End of story. It just has to get done.

2. Also professionally, I hope to break into writing for magazines. Newspapers are getting old -- yellowish, brown old and I'm tired of the ink-stains. Change is good.

3. I hope we find the perfect house, in the perfect town to settle down for once. I want to feel at home, like it's the place I'll end up, even if it's not. I don't feel that way in our house or our town. There are many reasons why that is the case, none of which would fit into this tiny space. I'm also seeking to end the "anywhere but here" syndrome that has plagued me for so long.

4. Finally, I hope to have created a special family tradition for each month of the year that will give my family, especially our girls, something to look back on and cherish, not because they were special holidays, but because of simply being with family. Just plain being. Just plain family. (I plan to post about our unique family traditions, too.)

Now, I'm supposed to tag others to do this same meme ... and so without being a burden I'll invite any of you to participate and share as well. I'll also tap Momma Bean, MammaBlogga and Jennifer at Toddler Tactics.

Hacks for POMs (Parents of multiples)

There are many challenges facing parents who are raising multiples, whether it be two or six. I must admit, many of those challenges made me cry. But, now that we're at a pretty fun, interesting age in our house, I look forward to finding new ways to step over and stomp on those challenges.

One of the biggest challenge we face right now is movement. Well, now that I think about it, movement has always been an obstacle. In the early days, I was too overwhelmed and too sleep deprived to be creative. The idea of lugging both infant carriers around was too much. Then they outgrew those and were still too limp to be carried at the same time, which is how we get places now. You should see my biceps.

My twins have been walking now for four months and are great walkers and are even running a bit now, too. Life is a breeze in comparison to the bottles and non-walking days.

But, this doesn't mean we haven't had our challenges. But, since they sleep through the night, and I'm pretty refreshed each morning, I have come up with some parent hacks to share with other POMs, should the need arise.

Hack No. 1

Climbing stairs with toddler multiples

This is not a simple feat. Spotting one child, alone, can be daunting. Spotting two who like to stop, turn around, try and grab wallpaper or the railing is enough to make the heart stop, twice. And, usually, in the middle of our Great Daily Climb, one or the other quits for whatever reason. So then I'm left carrying a baby, while spotting another. Save for a few slips, we haven't encountered a baby avalanche, yet. That could be because early in the game, I discovered that if I threw something to the top of the stairs that they really wanted, they would climb steadfastly to get it. Of course, once at the top, grabbing said item can be tricky, and that's when I toss it far away from the stairs so they have to get to safety without hesitation.

Hack No. 2

Getting to the car

I'm sure there are plenty of POMs who have garages attached to their home, which would make for a fairly easy trip to their family vehicle. This would not be us. We have a short walk through the yard and into our parking lot. Along the way is rose bushes, gardens filled with mulch, strands of grass, ants, and other great toddler distractions. Just when we think we are reaching the gate, both bolt in two different directions. At least they did, until I realized I had a little more power than I thought, even if they are only 17 months old. So, when we really need to get to the car, we hold hands and march. March, two, three, four. March, two, three, four. They love the motion of us all walking together and they have some control in being able to pick up their little meaty legs and pound them down on the walkway. In just seconds, they forget all about those pesky blades of grass they would have stopped to grab.

Hack No. 3

Getting in and out of vehicle in busy parking lots

This, I have to admit, is a new hack for me. Now that they are increasingly better walkers, they still aren't old enough to understand to stay put. This is where our very cute teddy bear backpacks/leashes come in handy. While I remove one baby or return her to her car seat, I can keep my foot on the other's leash. She could try to run away, but this method would stop her before she even takes a step. Granted, two or more babies in busy parking areas is not ideal in any situation, but sometimes putting both into the stroller is just not convenient, like for a quick doctor's appointment. Besides, they have to learn to walk on their own eventually.

IMG_2280, originally uploaded by sllydr.

When exhaustion strikes

It's amazing the amount of stuff -- and I mean stuff -- one man and one woman can accumulate both apart and together. It's amazing that BC (before children) most of that said stuff seems so freaking important that it builds and builds upon itself and the next thing you know your attic is, well, adult build-a-blocks just waiting to collapse.

The interesting part of marrying later in life is having so many single years to build up junk equity. Da! and I have plenty, plenty, plenty of junk equity. So much so that we made several attempts before J and L arrived to clear out the junk, to make room for the good stuff. Twins, nonetheless, would bring on lots of good stuff. We rummaged, we scattered, we dumped, we stored, we groaned, and we even bickered a little about what should stay and what should go.

"You're not throwing anything out," I'd tell him.

"Yes, I am," he would say, pointing to a bag of garbage.

How did we get here?

I know exactly how. Our parents and my grandmother -- yes, Barbie, you -- give us all the stuff they don't want. And, then, on top of it, as writers, we have books beyond books, paper mountains crowned by pitiful browning stacks upon stacks of old newspapers with our names published some where inside. Somewhere.

This means, dear friends, we had to have a yard sale. Have you had a yard sale lately? A real yard sale? Goodness it is a lot of work. After 4.5 hours of selling --this after 5 hours of hauling, setting up and breaking down -- I was utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached, every bone cracked, and I was just weary.

So weary that I fell asleep before 8 p.m., slept on the couch for two hours, only to crawl up the stairs and into bed for another 8 hours.

The good news is that I feel rested today. I've already spotted at least five things we should have put in the sale and emptied three boxes of papers that just gotta go.

And, we hardly put a dent in it.

The great thing is that I have a clear mind for what can stay and what must go now that I have children. Let's call it Baby Goggles. If said item isn't for them or by them, doesn't hold any value for us as a family or for us as individuals, it must go.

Probably 90 percent of it, when I look at it now, means nothing. What means everything is sleeping in two cribs in the room below me right now.

What's your song?

Ah, music. When just the right song comes along, it can really ease the pain and soothe the soul. Or, in other cases, it can open the wound right back up and tear off the nasty scab, leaving you blinking in shock. Funny how it works that way. Songs that made me cry when I was just an adolescent girl still leave me feeling hurt inside, like it was yesterday. And, believe me, it was far, far, far from yesterday.

Still, I'm in a much better mood when I'm listening to music. I realized that the other day. Going room to room, upstairs and downstairs, inside and outside, walks, car rides, diaper changes, fixing meals, cleaning up after meals, writing projects due yesterday ... music -- great songs -- have been elusive in my schedule.

This is where you come in. I need help. I need song suggestions to put on my spankin' new, hot pink iPod. I'm clueless. I go to itunes and I'm blank. I have a whopping nine songs on it, and one was an accidental download of "Silent Night" from Christmas time. It was a freebie. I am so not technical that I didn't know how to NOT put it on my playlist on the iPod. Now, I'm forced to fast forward every time I hear it. It's the Sarah McLachlan version so it's beautiful, but come on, it's 70 degrees outside!

Anyway, I like just about any music. Some of my favorites and the ones I have uploaded now are Nickelback, Doughtry, John Mayer, and Evanescence. I like singer-songwriters, low-tempo R&B, and stuff like Nickelback and Mayer ... where we live there isn't anything ever good on the radio so I stopped trying to search when you were born, girls. I just can't focus on finding something for so long.

The problem is now that I am so unhip in so many ways -- being musically challenged is one of them. I used to be able to at least know enough to search for a name of a band or a song, but not so anymore. Now, all the songs in my repertoire go a lot like this, "The Wheels on the bus go round and round ..." or "I'm a little tea pot ..." or, my personal favorite, "Brush, brush, brush your teeth ..."

So, dear readers, can you offer up some great ADULT song titles or artists that I should check out for possible download? I want to be moved, inspired, energized, soothed (when the babies are out of hand).

Please, no country or Gospel/Christian music selections. It's not that I'm not into those, I'm just not into them when I'm taking a quick walk for some exercise, which is mainly when I'll be using my iPod. No holiday music, either.

Oh, and no hard core rap lyrics ... I get enough of that kind of talk from my fellow neighbors.

What soothes your soul?

Music to my ears

Girls,

Ya know how we're always walking or going outside or something ... wouldn't your Mama look cool with a hot pink iPod slinking about on her body? Don't worry ... I know it's out of the question for this Mother's Day (a nice meal fixing-free day would be another great gift). Still, I'm trying to win one as well as other great prizes at a cool blog called 5 Minutes for Mom. Check it, ladies.

What will you win today?

More cool giveaways and contests coming your way soon ...

Thursday's Real Theme: Tears

LByrd and JByrd:

The birds were lovely today, weren't they? Those nests we built, very neat, huh?

Yeah, right. You both fought like birds trying to catch a worm, or a crumb or something. Pushing, pulling, slapping ... oh, my!

It started just after we built the nests. I made the mistake of bringing in some twigs from the yard. You promptly discovered that they make great weapons to swing, hit and, ultimately, hurt each other -- and me.

You cried from about that point on.

Why is it when I have the slightest bit of expectations for our day, an activity, a meal that those are the very same ones that end up in disaster? Why-o-why, sweet twins?

Clearly tired, you wouldn't nap in the same room so my separation technique worked -- for one of you! The other -- and you know exactly who you are -- woke up in a screaming-bloody-murder kind of squawk that clearly meant the ceiling had caved in on your little meaty legs. Nope. I never did figure out what upset you so. Either way, nap ruined. Thanks for that half hour "break."

By the end of the day, though, you were angels again. I set up a big pillow on your cushy puzzle mat with all of your ring stackers and puzzles and you had a great time stacking and matching puzzle pieces to their shapes. I was so proud that you could do these since we've hardly worked on them.

Perhaps the weather will clear and be kinder to us tomorrow because, clearly, we three girlfriends need some fresh air in the middle of our day in order to have a decent day.

Today's highlights:

Jbyrd has learned how to stuff her entire arm down a tube of a toy and then utter "uh." "uh." "uh." A real "urgent" whisper sound that means I need to go rescue the damsel in distress. That's a keeper for the books.

Lbyrd has started forcing me to sing songs, especially "The Wheels on the Bus" by doing a movement of the song. Most of the time she swings her arm to mimick the wipers of the bus. That is also the move she does for all the other movements in the song. She now walks frantically from room to room, swinging that same arm as well. Just for fun, I guess. Because I ain't singing "The Wheels on the Bus," again today!

Guns and fairly tales

Dear girls,

Now and then, discussion erupts on this here Internets (as our president has called the World Wide Web) about children and their choice of imaginary play. I am intrigued about this debate. This week, especially, the issue is in the news due to the tragic loss of 33 lives at Virginia Tech thanks to a young man with guns who realized that there was no such thing as Happily Ever After for him.

Some say that boys like violent play -- that they need this sort of play. As discussed in the comments on a post about Boys and Play on Mother Talkers, a fabulous blog, and in this article.

Some say that girls still prefer fantasy saved-by-a-man play. For all of us devout feminists, this is almost as hard to swallow as boys playing with guns. A guest blogger at Wonderland shares her story and some news about this article from last year.

I’ve already been thinking about all of this, purposely encouraging you to play with trucks instead of dolls. Already knowing that anything that even resembles a gun will not end up in our toy box for very long.

I do not want to coerce your style of play and I won't.

I was an only child for all of my childhood years and so I was drawn to imaginary play of all kinds -- school, house, etc. But, my favorite was with my friend from birth, Mary Anne. She and I fondly played superwoman both at my house and her farm. This kind of play landed me in a big pit of manure, once, too. But, that’s another story for another time. Or, maybe not.

Mary Anne had powers of the eyes, I think. And, I had powers of the ears. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, we weren’t easily taken down by our imaginary villains. We built forts in the woods, too.

This does not mean I did not play with dolls. Your great-grandmother stood in line for hours early in the morning to snag me an ever-so-popular Cabbage Patch doll. I still have her; she’s in the attic awaiting your calls. I also played with Barbies. Those, too, are here for you. Should you decide. They are no where near perfect condition. I played with them often.

As much as I don’t want to influence your mind, I have to object to toy guns and knives – or anything else that is designed intentionally to hurt or kill. I can do my best to raise two strong, independent women who are also pacifists.

This does not mean that I would stop you from pretending that other objects are guns or knives or if you choose to have a shootout among yourselves with your fingers shaped like guns. Pretend all you want, my dears. The imaginary world is amazing. I just prefer that you stick to your invincable super powers to take down the evildoers. Or, even better, try and talk it out.

This is a funny thought to you right now, I know, because you take to pulling and pushing each other, slapping at each other when you get frustrated over the loss of a toy or being left out of the fun.

Mostly what I want to teach you is that real life stories don't always end with Happily Ever After. But, violence certainly does end whatever chance you -- or anyone else in our world -- might have to find your Happily Ever After, whatever that ends up being. And it may take some time to find that kind of happiness within yourself.

What do the rest of you think? Are you in the camp of helping shape your child’s play, or not? Will you allow toy guns, baby dolls or readings of "Sleeping Beauty?"

Saturdays are for relaxing

Dear LB and BG,

Since the last two weeks have been stressful, this weekend -- with perfect weather among us -- is going to be a time for fun. We will get outside and play as well as take walks. You will be very tired by bedtime. Being outside does that.

Your father and I will then relax with some fun of our own -- namely a well-known Kangaroo, some of this stuff and probably some TV. I do not know what sound a kangaroo makes, but perhaps I'll figure that out tonight.

When there is some extra time, I might check out some really cool blogs that I found this week -- like this one, and this one, which always has something I can use, and finally, this really odd, but true one.

Have a great weekend, every one!

The wait-and-see game

Dear Buggaboo,

Can I just say what a strong, resilient girl you are?

Despite a growth hanging out under your chin that is raw and tender and painful, you plow on. The twinkle in your eyes -- the one that has always captured young and old -- is still there, but we can tell it's on a dim setting. You don't smile as much, or laugh as much, or scream as much -- but that is OK. You will feel better soon. An infected lymph node is a serious matter, but it is easy to overcome.

Here's hoping for an improvement in the next two days. You've been through so much this past week. Just the sight of the doctor makes your lips quiver. He -- nor I -- can blame you one bit. Enough is enough.

Play on, Happy Girl!

Already a better day

 


LadyBug, your rash has lightened and you are in much better spirits today than the last week. You were even so kind to bring your sister her teddy bear after she fell and hit her head on the hardwood floor.

BabyGirl, you are silly as ever when you aren't getting stuck between toys, falling and hitting your head or being pushed around by your sister. She is older, you know, by like 30 seconds.

Why us? Why me? Why this week?

 

Dear Lady Bug,

What is it about Fridays? What is going on? I am lost. Our schedule is lost. Our normalcy, gone. I don't know which way is up.

I don't know why you have a fever running high now in its fourth day. I don't know why you cry so much, so long, so hard. Why won't you eat like you normally do?

My sweet Baby, so sick. So sick.

The doctors have checked, rechecked, and triple checked. You have no identifiable infection. Poor girl, all you have gone through and you didn't even throw up like you normally do during an exam. What a strong girl you are, the doctor said. (Of course, he said this as you pulled his fingers away from your swollen glands.)

I am lost. My heart breaks. Please let this pass tonight. Let's wake tomorrow, all four of us, and dance and smile and act crazy like we usually do.

Please. God. Let this week be over. Soon.

What will you be?

Dear girls,

Your father and I wonder -- sometimes declare -- what you will be when you grow up. Fortunately, the title of First Woman President will probably still be available so that is an obvious choice for either of you. However, we would happily settle for Congresswoman Lady Bug and House Representative Baby Girl sitting at the dinner table for all the best holidays. Ultimately, it's your choice. We just hope that you will be of the blue donkey variety, but that is another post, another time.

Since we, your parents, work in the media world, we have to tell you that it isn't a good career choice. It's a lot of hard work, for little pay and it forces you to keep separate the very things that make up your essence, assuming you have an essence. Some in the news business do not. Still, it's your life and if you choose to work for pennies while instigating the culture of fear that has left mothers across the country too afraid to leave their homes, then so be it.

Recently, I had the interesting opportunity to go to the mall -- in search of the best pajamas around -- and lo and behold a team of photographers and such were there searching high and low for America's Next Top Model. Sadly, I must tell you, I was not selected.

I digress. While I stuck around and watched scores of young ladies pose this way and that for cameras, I got to thinking about some things. First, however in the world did we get to the point when so many young women will stand in line for hours to have their body scrutinized but wouldn't be caught dead in line voting? Perhaps if our voting days took place on Saturdays at the mall, we would have a better turnout each year.

Even still, I had to wonder if when you reach their age, how I would handle your desire to become a model. Luckily, this remains to be seen and I don't have to know the answer now.

What I do know is that I will do everything in my power between now and then to help you explore your inner beauty as well as that of others. I will show you that some choices in life really aren't choices at all. That when it's Election Day, you just shouldn't be at the mall posing for Glamour shots or even thinking twice about being eligible for Top Model.

I'd like to think that when the time comes, the choices of what you can really, truly be when you grow up will be along the lines of commander in chief, chief executive officer and such.

But, it's your life. It's your future. Don't listen to us if you don't want.