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  • (Not Exactly) A Walk in the Park

    Over the last six months, things have gotten so much more manageable when it comes to going out in public places with girls. But every once in a while, I get a little cocky. And those gals put me right back in my place.

     

    Mother's Day in Boston was a gorgeous day, sunny and breezy. After a morning of indulgent "me time" (I slept in, was brought Dunkin donuts and coffee for breakfast, read for awhile, went to the gym, then sat outside in the sunshine with a magazine) I wanted to spend a little quality mother-daughter time with my gals. I decided to take them into the city, to the Public Garden. It seemed like a terrific idea at the time. On my own with the girls (and their doll strollers) at a city park that also happens to be a major tourist attraction, on a beautiful Mother's Day? Sure! No problem! Piece of cake!

     

     

     

    Yeah, well. Not exactly.

     

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  • The Joys of City Living

    The great thing about raising toddlers in a major metropolitan area is that there are plenty of entertainment / outing options. We have our pick of playgrounds, libraries, museums, and family-focused events, plus -- a nice bonus of the Boston area -- easy access to nature preserves, orchards, petting zoos, etc. The not so great thing is that these places are frequently quite crowded. It's like other families somehow think they have just as much right to take advantage of their surroundings as my family does. The nerve of them!

     

    On Friday morning, I took the girls to the Somerville library, expecting to spend some nice, quiet time in the children's area, reading books, doing some puzzles, de-shelving some DVDs. We didn't get there in time for story hour, because the girls -- bless their hearts -- had slept in. They generally wake up at around 7:30, but on Friday morning they slept until -- wait for it -- almost nine-thirty. (They actually sleep late quite frequently on Fridays and Sundays -- my mornings to get up with them -- but, curiously, wake up early on Saturdays when it's my turn to sleep in. It drives Alastair bonkers. He's convinced I know some kind of secret Jedi mind trick that I'm not letting him in on. Perhaps I do.)

     

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  • Word Girls

     

    Over the past few weeks, it seems like the girls' language development has shifted into warp speed. I am amazed by how quickly they learn and retain new words, and they're getting better and better at stringing little phrases and sentences together. You can even sort of have a conversation with them. Granted, it may be a slightly absurd and ridiculous conversation, but a conversation nevertheless. Yesterday morning, when I went into the girls' room to get them up and dressed, Clio and I had the following exchange (she is decidedly the more advanced of the two of them when it comes to language, and loves repeating whatever we say):


    Me: Good morning, girls.

    Clio: Mommy here!

    Me: Yep, mommy's here.

    Clio: Mommy go to work?

    Me: No, Mommy's not going to work today. It's Sunday. So Mommy's staying home and we're going to play.

    Clio: Staying home going to play! (pause) Mommy take a shower?

    Me: Yeah, Mommy will take a shower later, but right now we're going to get you girls dressed and go downstairs and have breakfast.

    Clio: Go downstairs have breakfast! (pause) Have waffles?

    Me: Sure, we can have waffles.

    Clio: And milk?

    Me: And milk.

    Clio: And yogurt?

    Me: Sure, why not.

    Clio: Why not! (Pause) Daddy sleeping?

    Me: Yep, Daddy's sleeping.

    Clio: Daddy sleeping. (Pause) Wake up, daddy! Take a shower!

     

     

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  • Wholesome Fall Fun

     

    The girls and I spent last weekend up in Maine with my folks, and had a lovely time. There were farm animals and apples, blue skies and falling leaves, chyrsanthemums and homemade cookies. The whole Fall-in-New England extravaganza. 

     

    Of course, first we had to get there. Packing up for a weekend away with the girls is hard enough when Alastair is around to help, but it's pretty much insane trying to do it on my own. I was able to load the Pack-n-Plays, booster seats, diapers, toys, etc. into the car while the girls were parked in front of Sesame Street. Then I brought them upstairs to hang in the nursery while I packed their suitcase and they "helped" by pulling every single item of clothing out of their bureau while gleefully exclaiming "out!" "out!"  Then I distracted them with legos while I packed up my own bag -- something I don't do well under pressure. Seriously, as soon as I put an empty suitcase out on the bed, it's like my IQ drops 50 points. There I'll be, twenty minutes later, standing over a suitcase full of nothing but socks, holding a pair of hiking boots in one hand and a cocktail dress in the other, muttering to myself about bobby pins. Add two small children into the mix and, well, it's a miracle I managed to pack anything at all.

     

     

    To top things off, I'd stayed up too late the night before watching the doggone VP debate and drinking wine, but couldn't pound coffee and water the way my body was begging me to do  because I needed to avoid the need to stop on the drive up to Maine. (A bathroom stop with two toddlers and no double stroller: pretty much impossible.) Still, somehow we all got out the door and onto the road and made it to Maine without incident. (Hint to solo traveling parents: tie sippy cups / pacifiers / etc. to the carseat or the back of the front seats with a piece of twine, so when your toddler(s) drop them, you can retrieve them without having to pull off the road. Probably a strangulation hazard, so don't leave children in car unattended -- not like you would anyway.)

     

     (A plethora of pics after the jump!)

     

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  • Asking in a Library Voice

    Sometimes I feel like I lose perspective on whether I'm being a reasonable, fair-minded member of society or I'm being an entitled, self-centered, pain in the ass Mom with a capital M.

     

    When you become a parent -- and a parent of twins in particular -- you become suddenly aware of all kinds of things you were never aware of before: which parks and playgrounds are enclosed; which coffee shops can be entered and navigated successfully with a double stroller; which grocery stores have those carts shaped like cars, with two seatbelts and two steering wheels up front. You generally go to the places that are twin-toddler friendly and avoid the ones that aren't. You're grateful when people are helpful -- holding doors open as you try to maneuver through with your Hummer-sized stroller, for example -- but you don't expect the whole world to adapt itself to your peculiar (and temporary) needs.

     

    Still, is it wrong to make a teeny tiny suggestion? To a public institution? As a taxpayer?

     

    Here's what happened. On Friday morning, I was all excited to take the girls to our town's public library. They've been really into reading lately, so I thought we could pick out a few titles to refresh our board book collection, hang out, soak up the library scene. The air was crisp and sunny. I was in a good mood. It seemed like the perfect, wholesome, low-cost morning outing.

     

     

    Reading with daddy 

     

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  • Step away from the peacock, Ma'am.

    We took the girls to the Franklin Park Zoo this weekend, along with some friends of ours and their almost-two-year-old girl and new baby boy. The last time Alastair and I went there -- childless, unmarried, living our rock and roll (er, folk music and cultural events?) lifestyle -- we had a traumatic experience, wherein one of the gorillas repeatedly vomited and ate it in what we think was an attempt to repulse and scatter the gawking crowd. (It worked. And I can't say I blamed the ape.) So we went to the zoo with some trepidation. But we knew that the girls would enjoy it. It's fun to have them finally be at a point where they seem able to absorb and appreciate new experiences like this.

     

    Within minutes of entering the park, Elsa started stalking a peacock. It was just walking around -- I guess they let them roam free; they can't fly too far -- and she charged right toward the thing, determined to touch it. I literally had to hold her back. She is absolutely fearless when it comes to other living creatures, to a sometimes dangerous degree. Then, I suppose it's confusing for a toddler: you're constantly bombarded with images of animals in books, toys, etc., you're always being asked what they say, and you're encouraged to touch or get up close to some of them. (Pets, pett-able barnyard animals, etc.) Then, all of a sudden, here's this awesome looking bird walking around a few feet away, and your mom won't let you get near it? What gives?

     

    Anyway, here is a photographic retrospective of Elsa as she answers the call of the wild. Perhaps she will grow up to be a veterinarian. Or a taxidermist.

     

    At 7-1/2 months, Elsa proves that (unlike her mother) she is a dog person. (NB: she is also a cat person.)

     

    Stalking chickens at 15 months. Note rooster-like clothing color scheme. (Not intentional.)

     

    Our budding Dian Fossey, on Saturday.

     

    Also on Saturday, checking out giraffes and zebras with mom, from a safe distance. (I'm not really a giraffe person.)

     

    Clio kept a bit more space between herself and the animals. She was more interested in the structural and architectural aspects of the zoo: manholes, fences, benches, etc. There was a moment where she seemed a little freaked out by the gorillas. Maybe (knowing Clio) she just felt sorry for them, being contained like that. We didn't see any vomit ingestion this time, but it was still a little upsetting to see the gorillas there behind glass. Their gazes and gestures are so eerily human. Not that I'm anti-zoo or anything; I think that having gorillas (and other animals, particularly endangered ones) in captivity is probably good for raising awareness and support, which, ultimately helps protect their brethren in the wild. But it's kind of weird, if you think about it, to go gawk at a bunch of unknowing martyrs for the cause of conservation when we're the ones threatening their environments to begin with. You know?

     

    I'm pretty sure Clio (in the foreground) was thinking the same thing when we took this picture:

     

     

     


  • Them apples

    I took the day off from work yesterday so we could spend the day together as a family of four once again -- yahoo! We went the full-tilt, New England Fall Fun route with a trip out to Shelburne Farm to pick apples and select a pumpkin and eat some cider donuts.

     

    Because it's late in the season, "picking" apples pretty much meant picking them up off the ground. This is easier said than done when you've got a baby in a pack on your back. The matter was complicated by the fact that my pants kept falling down. Allow me to explain. One would expect that after carrying and giving birth to two babies, one's hips would be wider and one's ass bigger. But in my case, the opposite seems to have happened, and all of my jeans are now falling off of me. The problem is exacerbated significantly by a frame backpack that exerts downward pressure on the waistband, and the action of squatting down and standing up repeatedly. (And lest anyone think this is a case of someone complaining about a problem they're lucky to have, let me assure you that what I seem to have lost in hip/ass circumference has been more than compensated for in the abdominal region.) Did anyone else out there have bizarre post-partum bodily changes like this? And, also, can someone please tell me what a "muffin top" is? I suspect I have one.....

     

    But back to the Fall Fun. Alastair asked what the hell we're going to do with all these apples, and it had better be good because there's a hefty "experiential" surcharge when you opt to pick your own as opposed to buying them. I replied: "Make applesauce for the babies, of course!" They love it, and lately, it seems, the only way I can get Elsa to eat non-orange vegetables is by mixing them with applesauce. (Peas and applesauce....mmmmm).

     

    I could just buy applesauce -- and I do sometimes -- but I have discovered that delicious homemade applesauce is very easy to make -- and make a part of your everyday routine. Plus, unless you pick the apples yourself at a touristy orchard, it's cheaper than store-bought. With less packaging, too! And that's something everyone can feel good about.

     

    (Did I mention that I'm a copywriter by profession?)

     

    My applesauce has been complimented by gourmet chefs, visiting dignitaries, babies, and local access cable celebrities. Here's how to do it:

     

    1. Buy a bunch of apples. Any kind will do, but let's face it, Delicious apples simply aren't. Something a little tarter makes a better applesauce, and the sauce -- for reasons I don't understand -- will not taste as tart as the raw apples themselves.

     

    2. Peel the apples and cut them into quarters. I generally do it with four quick slices, top to bottom, around the core. Toss the cores and peels to the hogs out back. They love 'em. 

     

    3. Put the apple quarters in a large pot and add just enough water to cover them.

     

    4. Put pot on the stove, cover, and turn the heat to medium-high. Go away and do something else (play with babies, feed babies, change babies, sell babies into slavery, whatever), forgetting about the apples completely. When you remember them, approximately twenty minutes later, they'll be nice and soft and cooked, foaming slightly.

     

    5. Drain apples in a colander or strainer, and give them a quick whirl in the food processor or blender.

     

    6. Pour applesauce into ice cube trays and freeze, then remove cubes from tray and store in a ziplock bag in the freezer. Thaw overnight in the fridge before use. Or, more realistically, zap in microwave for about a minute just prior to feeding while babies sit in high chairs screaming. (Screaming may be lessened with Cheerios.)

     

    That's it! Easy as -- nay, much easier than -- pie. Happy Fall, everyone.

     

     

      

     

     

     



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About the Blogger

Jane Roper

Jane Roper in Boston

One baby? Piece of cake. Try two. This working mother gives you the inside scoop on the ultimate in extreme parenting: twins.

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