How I'm planning for the trip

We're gearing up for a major two-day, 600-mile road trip and our backseat will be full of two 2.5 year olds and not much else.

Even our car is not ready for this kind of a trip.

And, for two people who have had trouble going a half-hour to the outlets to shop, a road trip that will span at least six states is a bit of an undertaking.

But, the time is now, and we're ready. In fact, other than knowing I will not get my usual weekend kid-free breaks, I'm excited for this trip.

What's that saying? Plan for the worst; hope for the best. That's my philosophy.

I've been reading and researching and thinking about everything. Overthinking, as the husband might argue.

"Did you call and make reservations for Olive Garden?" he asked last night.

"You don't need reservations for Olive Garden," I said, not getting his joke.

We'll do half hour gift bags filled with something new and special, and some other prized possession that should bring a smile or two. (Same for the ride back.)

We'll have various, very special snacks to offer at certain intervals -- things they don't normally get like a cool mix of cereals, toddler trail mix and fruit roll-ups.

We'll stop every two to three hours, depending on the mood levels.

We'll pack lunch, and probably serve it in the car and let them run at rest stops and other open spaces to let them blow off some pent up energy.

We'll stay over night at a place with a pool so we can wear them out in the water and, hopefully, watch them crash quickly in the hotel.

We'll have games planned, activities ready and toys and books within reach for those cranky moments, and just to help them let off steam vocally, physically, artistically and by laughing.

And, we'll have a portable DVD player for the desperate -- and much-needed quiet -- times as well.

Whatever happens, hopefully it's not too brutal. After all, it's supposed to be a vacation away from home. Then again, isn't there a saying about there is no such thing as a vacation with kids -- just trips.

Still, it will be new scenery, a change in the mundane routines -- especially bedtime routines -- and a time to let go of the stress of only healthy meals and snacks and strict nap times.

In other words, a week to say yes, yes, yes, instead of no, no, no.

Any road trip tips you want to pass along?

This is cross-posted at How Do You Do It?

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R U HAVING F-U-N?

A few times lately -- OK, more than a few -- I've been worried about myself, worried that I've lost my fun-factor as a mom.

I've always been decidedly involved -- the mom who puts off dishes and cleaning to sit and play. But, lately even dishes have seemed more fun. At least they don't throw tantrums or bite each other!

I'm still not ready to throw in the towel and say that 2 is harder than twinfancy, but it has gotten pretty challenging.

Admittedly, I've always stayed away from activities that might cause a fight, like those games when you toss your kid in the air over and over and over and you finally just want to quit because you're tired. Well, I have one more to deal with, too. That intersection of conflict and saying no and being tired doesn't work for me.

So, in the past, we just avoided it. Now, though, physical play is almost demanded at every stretch of our day.

"Mama sit."
"Mama run."
"Mama this."
"Mama that."

Time is more limited than ever. My thoughts are constantly invaded. Dishes and meals are no longer dishes and meals ... they are battles.

"Something has to get done today!" I yell, forcing myself to sit and play for the fifth time that hour.

Who have I become?

This is not the mom I wanted to be. The tired one. The one half-listening. The one watching the clock until their father walks in the door so I can just shut down my brain for five minutes.

No, this isn't Her.

We go in spurts around here with organized play, free play and winging it. I like to hold art and music sessions followed by free play. I always plan a craft project of some sort. And, we move from room to room, playing with things like the money bank in our room, to jumping on the bed in the guest room to watching You Tube videos in my office.

But, the free play part ... is not existent more than ever. Instead they cry or fuss and fight until I sit back down next to them and coordinate something else or have to put one in time out.

Or, until we get into the car and go somewhere.

Next post: A plan of action. Bringing the F-U-N back into motherhood with a challenge -- for you, too.



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Lessons of forgiveness -- toddler style

One of the hardest parts of parenting our girls right now is the fact that they are sisters. First, I didn't have any siblings until I was practically an adult. I was used to playing alone and having everything to myself. And, Dan's one of three boys who all got along very well.

Some of the tougher situations right now involve two little girls who want the same thing -- even if another is available. The result for the longest time was the younger girl, the softer one, the more easy-going one gave up easily when her sister bullied her.

But, now she is fighting back. With a vengeance, too.

The other challenge is that when they get mad they do not have words to use to fight. Only little fists, heads and, much to my dismay, objects. I used to think the head-butting was awful, that the punching was a sign of my bad mothering. I've stressed about how to handle these situations since they began around a year, not wanting to make a bad decision.

But this week has brought all of this to a new level.

A simple toy that was just that -- a toy -- for two weeks became a weapon. A metal tin with Santa Claus on the lid. They had been innocently putting little fuzzy craft balls into it, and putting on the lid. They had been banging the two pieces together as a drum or musical instrument.

I left them alone, which I try to do once or twice a day, in their playroom. But when I heard the bang and then heard the cry, I knew somebody had gotten hurt. Evidence points to the metal tin being the weapon. A cut and a bump were left behind on one very upset little girl.

And yet the assaulter in this case just laughed at my attempts to show her the urgency of the situation. Take the toy away -- OK, she'll pick up another. Go to the corner, OK, she'll stand there quietly and then come out laughing. Say your sorry, gladly. She knows it's a boo-boo and she knows what did it, too.

Meanwhile, I've discovered that in all three incidents this week -- the assaulter is trying to defend her goods from the sister who, until now, always got what she wanted.

My goal, I have to keep remembering, is that hitting of any kind will not be tolerated, no matter how frustrated you get. And, when it does happen, they have to make up with a hug, eventually.

All of this is hard to communicate with two almost 2-year-olds who are just learning about the powers they have.

Despite all of this, they teach me the biggest lesson of all by saying they are sorry -- in sign language -- and moving on a minute later as if what just happened wasn't the worst thing ever.

Now I have to cope with the decision to stop leaving them alone, which has been a great relief for my sanity a couple times a day and good for their sisterly bonding as well, or realize that sibling rivalry is a part of life and they have to learn to deal with it.


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Twins and more twins

I had to laugh this morning watching the news, which is only a very new part of my morning routine since every other morning of the last two years has been chaos.

I sat, with my coffee cup in hand, listening to four sets of parents talk with The Today Show about the odd coincidence that four sets of twins were born in one 24-hour period. That's right, you heard me: four sets of parents with newborn twins that are only three days old were up early, dressed, and doing interviews on television with Matt Lauer. Of course, that's not the funny part, that's just the annoying part.

The funny part was as they described the miracle of it all, the amazement they had, the double blessings ... my twins were head-butting each other, pushing and fighting over breathing the same air or over the same speck of dust.

Twins certainly are miracles, aren't they? It's a wonder they live to see Age 3.

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