I’ve been getting our tax information together for our accountant and I’m feeling extremely left-brained and uncreative. I’ve got nothing cute to say, so I thought I’d share our weekday schedule. I’m still working on the activities but this is the flow we’re in now.
6:30-7:15AM: Get up, shower, get dressed, make breakfast for the babies, make myself a cup of hot tea and a bowl of cheerios.
7:15/7:30-8: Get the girls up, change diapers, herd them to the kitchen and serve them breakfast. Getting them to breakfast is easy – they know the routine and practically run to the kitchen as soon as I open the door to the nursery to let them out. It's always the same thing: A sliced boiled egg, half a banana, and cheerios or hot cereal, with a cup of milk or diluted apple juice. Occasionally I go crazy and throw in a mini whole wheat bagel. They inhale breakfast.
8-9: Showtime for Twin Momma! We go to the playroom and I sing songs from the public library’s “Books and Babies Storytime.” When I get out the little handout of songs the librarian gave us, Turtle immediately sits down in front of me, ready to go.
After about ten minutes of singing in English and Spanish, I move on to books. One of my favorites is “My Little Word Book,” a large board book filled with photos and words for building vocabulary. We go page by page talking about every picture. When we get to the “In the Home” page we look at the clock in the book and then find the clock in the room. When we get to the “On the Farm” page we sing Old MacDonald and use the animals pictured to fill out the song. This can last as long as 20 minutes, and the girls look at the pictures in that book all day long. This evening Turtle lugged the book all the way to the kitchen where the cat was eating, pointed to the cat, and then pointed to the cat in the book. She’s brilliant.
Next, it’s time to “play stickers.” I give the girls pages of those little round dot stickers you use for garage sales and they peel them off the page and stick them into a giant coloring book. I tried crayons and various other kinds of coloring things for “Art Time” but Monkey still wants to eat everything and Turtle is very messy with a short attention span, so we're sticking with the stickers. They love to peel them and stick them all over the place, and they are super easy to clean up, so it works for everyone. Stickers last another 10 minutes or so – sometimes much longer for Monkey - and then we “free play” with some of their 8 gajillion toys.
9AM: YES, it really is only 9AM at this point. Sigh.
9:15AM: Snack time! I usually chop some fruit, maybe with cottage cheese and/or a piece of toast. Then it’s time to get the girls dressed for the day and head out to any activity we have planned.
9:45-11AM: Monday I took the girls out for a haircut, Tuesday we had a playdate with M. and M. in South Austin, Wednesday we had Storytime at the library. I am working hard to avoid store errands with the girls and have been fairly successful for the past three weeks. I don’t want to raise a couple of hyper-consumers and I’m pretty sure taking them to Target three times a week was sending the wrong message! So I do my store errands after they go to bed or on the weekends now. I know eventually they will be corrupted, but while they are very small and under my complete control I’m trying to enforce my “No TV, No sweets, No shopping” mantra.
11:15-11:30: Lunchtime! Depending on what they had for their snack, we’ll have yogurt with a waffle, or diced turkey breast with peas and toast, or something like that.
11:45-1:45ish: NAP. Oh sweet Jesus it’s naptime. I take a twenty minute break to eat, then I clean up the kitchen from breakfast, snack and lunch, get a crock pot meal going if that’s the dinner plan, and then figure out which of the 25 things on my “to list” are the most pressing to take care of.
1:45-2:30ish: Girls wake up, get fresh diapers, play in the playroom until snack time.
2:30-3: Snack Time. I decide what to give them based on what and how they’ve eaten so far that day. Tuesday they had grapes and cheese, mmm, their favorite. There’s never a drop of food thrown on the ground on grapes and cheese day.
3-5: Activity time. On Wednesdays and Fridays my neighborhood playgroup meets at the playground at 3:30; on Thursdays we have a Mommy and Me Spanish class at 3:30. This past Tuesday we had a playdate with E. and L. at our house. I have to be careful about balancing our time out of the house because (a) they (especially Monkey) gets extremely cranky if we have to drive somewhere twice in the same day and (b) Twin Momma gets worn out from hauling girls, making snacks for the road, and thinking ten steps ahead to plan an outing.
5-5:30: Dinner time (for the girls - N and I wait to eat until after they go to bed). Most days they have something like tofu with broccoli or pasta with mixed vegetables, heavy on the green beans. You may not think organic whole grain spirals with ground flaxseed sounds good, but Turtle shovels it in by the fistful. I mix it up with the occasional cheese quesadilla but generally they just like to inhale as many green beans as possible and call it a night. As dinner winds down I start counting the seconds until N gets home, around 5:49PM most days. If he’s not home by 5:55PM I start to hyperventilate.
5:50-6:50: DADDY PLAY TIME! This is a wonderfully unstructured time, with lots of dance parties, and tickling, and chasing, and shrieks of baby laughter filling the house. I can finally relax and just play, and I generally model whatever N is doing because he’s got all the energy and the fun. The girls kind of look at me weird when I copy N doing something silly, though. It’s like they’re saying, “It’s only funny when Daddy does it, Mommy. You just look dumb.”
6:50-7:20: Bath and Bedtime. Whew.
7:25: Collapse on the couch for 2 minutes before starting dinner and taking care of household management and preparing for the next day.
10PM: Twin Momma Bedtime!! Decide which of the six books on my nightstand I'll read that night and read for ten minutes before passing out.
It's a whirlwind, but I love it.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Toddler Tales
Maybe I’m incompetent. That’s one explanation for the stories I’m about to share.
The Mall: Turtle, Monkey and I were at the family bathroom at Lakeline Mall. I changed Monkey’s diaper while Turtle sat in the stroller, but Monkey didn’t want back in the stroller while I changed Turtle’s diaper. I surveyed the clean bathroom and thought to myself, “What is the worst than can happen if I let Monkey wander around?” I thought she might splash her hands in the child-sized toilet, but I knew she would scream nonstop while I changed Turtle if she was stuck in the stroller, so I took the risk. She stayed close to me at first, but eventually headed over to the toilet. She started pulling the toilet paper off the roll, and I thought that would be sufficiently entertaining. But then she stuck her hands into the toilet water . . . and sucked on her fingers. Again and again as I begged her to stop, cursing my failure of imagination, and powerless to yank her away because I had my hands full with Turtle, still half diapered on the elevated changing table.
Apples: The girls were playing in the kitchen and eating sliced apples. Monkey put her hands up towards the apples on the counter and started grunting and fussing. She can say “a-pul” clear as day so I said, “Say apple, honey, ask for an apple, you can do it.” In the time it took me to work on this little lesson with Monkey, Turtle stopped what she was doing, opened her mouth, let the chewed up apple fall out onto the floor, and then went on her merry way. Before I even finished saying, “Turtle, don’t spit your food out, please” Monkey picked up the pieces off the floor and ate them.
Poop: We were in the nursery, getting ready for naptime, and I was trying to show the girls how to help me put books away. Turtle was halfway paying attention, so I focused on her while Monkey sat pulling pajamas out of the drawer. I was crawling around the room gathering all the books when suddenly Monkey was right by my side, with Turtle’s dirty diaper in hand. She had managed to pull it off the changing table, open it up, and stick her hand it. Now she stood with the dirty diaper in one hand and a handful of poo in the other, looking at me with a face that clearly said, “How in the hell could you let me do this?” I consider myself lucky that she found it disgusting.
I know that anyone with two children can’t give both kids their undivided attention simultaneously. But in my fantasy world, older toddlers know better than to stick her hands in the baby’s poopy diaper, while I’m trying to manage two children who both don’t know they can fall off the deck, aren’t aware that toilet water is not for drinking, and don’t understand what “let’s stay in the driveway” means. They’ve both just started trying to climb on big furniture in earnest, and while they’re still unsuccessful, I have to say that it kind of feels like Twin Momma ain’t seen nothing yet.
The Mall: Turtle, Monkey and I were at the family bathroom at Lakeline Mall. I changed Monkey’s diaper while Turtle sat in the stroller, but Monkey didn’t want back in the stroller while I changed Turtle’s diaper. I surveyed the clean bathroom and thought to myself, “What is the worst than can happen if I let Monkey wander around?” I thought she might splash her hands in the child-sized toilet, but I knew she would scream nonstop while I changed Turtle if she was stuck in the stroller, so I took the risk. She stayed close to me at first, but eventually headed over to the toilet. She started pulling the toilet paper off the roll, and I thought that would be sufficiently entertaining. But then she stuck her hands into the toilet water . . . and sucked on her fingers. Again and again as I begged her to stop, cursing my failure of imagination, and powerless to yank her away because I had my hands full with Turtle, still half diapered on the elevated changing table.
Apples: The girls were playing in the kitchen and eating sliced apples. Monkey put her hands up towards the apples on the counter and started grunting and fussing. She can say “a-pul” clear as day so I said, “Say apple, honey, ask for an apple, you can do it.” In the time it took me to work on this little lesson with Monkey, Turtle stopped what she was doing, opened her mouth, let the chewed up apple fall out onto the floor, and then went on her merry way. Before I even finished saying, “Turtle, don’t spit your food out, please” Monkey picked up the pieces off the floor and ate them.
Poop: We were in the nursery, getting ready for naptime, and I was trying to show the girls how to help me put books away. Turtle was halfway paying attention, so I focused on her while Monkey sat pulling pajamas out of the drawer. I was crawling around the room gathering all the books when suddenly Monkey was right by my side, with Turtle’s dirty diaper in hand. She had managed to pull it off the changing table, open it up, and stick her hand it. Now she stood with the dirty diaper in one hand and a handful of poo in the other, looking at me with a face that clearly said, “How in the hell could you let me do this?” I consider myself lucky that she found it disgusting.
I know that anyone with two children can’t give both kids their undivided attention simultaneously. But in my fantasy world, older toddlers know better than to stick her hands in the baby’s poopy diaper, while I’m trying to manage two children who both don’t know they can fall off the deck, aren’t aware that toilet water is not for drinking, and don’t understand what “let’s stay in the driveway” means. They’ve both just started trying to climb on big furniture in earnest, and while they’re still unsuccessful, I have to say that it kind of feels like Twin Momma ain’t seen nothing yet.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Haircut
I got my hair cut very short about a month ago – it’s the shortest cut I’ve ever had as an adult. The change was dramatic. So dramatic that when I picked up the girls from daycare right after my haircut, they both cried. Monkey would not come to me, wouldn’t let me touch her, and wouldn’t look at me. N was with me that day because we were going straight to San Antonio for my grandfather’s funeral from the daycare. Monkey clung to him and buried her face in his chest rather than look at me.
Turtle cried, too, but I was able to carry her to the car. “Momma got her hair cut, but it’s still momma,” I explained as I put her in her seat, and I rubbed her hands through my hair. She seemed satisfied. I tried the same approach with Monkey but she just screamed when I got near her. I got in the car and told N, “I feel like Hester Prynne after she ripped off her ‘A’ and Pearl had a total melt down.” He looked at me blankly. “You know, in that scene towards the end of The Scarlet Letter,” I said. “Mmm,” he said as he drove off. Sensing he wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of nineteenth century literature with two screaming kids in the back seat and a long drive ahead of us, I let it drop.
Monkey accepted my new look by the end of that evening. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her initial reaction, so when we got home I pulled out my copy of The Scarlet Letter. I had always been really annoyed at Pearl for freaking out when her mother finally relieved herself of the burden of that scarlet A, and even more annoyed at Hester for buttoning the A back on, just to make the little brat happy. I reread the scene:
I can’t imagine how a mother who goes around comparing herself to tragic literary heroines could have possibly ended up with an overly dramatic daughter . . .
Turtle cried, too, but I was able to carry her to the car. “Momma got her hair cut, but it’s still momma,” I explained as I put her in her seat, and I rubbed her hands through my hair. She seemed satisfied. I tried the same approach with Monkey but she just screamed when I got near her. I got in the car and told N, “I feel like Hester Prynne after she ripped off her ‘A’ and Pearl had a total melt down.” He looked at me blankly. “You know, in that scene towards the end of The Scarlet Letter,” I said. “Mmm,” he said as he drove off. Sensing he wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of nineteenth century literature with two screaming kids in the back seat and a long drive ahead of us, I let it drop.
Monkey accepted my new look by the end of that evening. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her initial reaction, so when we got home I pulled out my copy of The Scarlet Letter. I had always been really annoyed at Pearl for freaking out when her mother finally relieved herself of the burden of that scarlet A, and even more annoyed at Hester for buttoning the A back on, just to make the little brat happy. I reread the scene:
Pearl. . . suddenly burst into a fit of passion, gesticulating violently, and throwing her small figure into the most extravagant contortions. She accompanied this wild outbreak with piercing shrieks. . . “I see what ails the child,” whispered Hester . . . “Children will not abide any, the slightest change in the accustomed aspect of things that are daily before their eyes. . .”So there it was, a little parenting lesson from Nathaniel Hawthorne circa 1850: Don’t go chopping your hair off without any warning if your toddler happens to have a flair for the dramatic.
I can’t imagine how a mother who goes around comparing herself to tragic literary heroines could have possibly ended up with an overly dramatic daughter . . .
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The remote control in the trash can (and other adorable findings)
I realized Turtle and Monkey no longer need me breathing down their necks every second about three weeks ago. We came inside from playing outdoors and I herded them into the kitchen. Their high chair trays were still dirty from snack time, I needed to whip up their dinner, and they both were already darting in different directions out of the kitchen. I decided, for once, just to let them go while I spent the five minutes I needed getting things ready. I half-watched them with my peripheral vision, noticing fragments of harmless activity – there goes Turtle with N’s flip flops, someone’s carrying my slipper around, there goes Monkey with the remote control, here comes someone with PJs they pulled out of the dresser drawer, there goes someone chewing on Sonya Lee (she is a Fisher Price Little People character, our favorite).
They had fun getting into everything without me micromanaging them – “put that down honey, yucky shoes, don’t eat, let’s put those PJs back in the drawer, this remote control is not for Monkey” and so on. And it was a relief to just let them be and do what I needed to do. Then I sat them in their high chairs for dinner and put everything back where it needed to go. Except for the remote. I couldn’t find it anywhere, but I could have sworn I saw Monkey carrying it around.
Finally, I had a flash of insight. Monkey loves to open the trash can and stick her hand in, so I lifted the lid, and voila, the remote. I was proud of her “experiment” and quite pleased with myself for being able to solve her little puzzle.
Then I began noticing “misplaced” items more often. Like the time the girls were fighting over Astronaut Neil and I could not find Astronaut Sally anywhere. After they went to bed, I was straightening up the play room, and there was Astronaut Sally, stuck in one of the ball spaces in the Dinosaur Drop. I thought of Turtle, picking up Sally and wondering to herself, “If I stick this in the hole, will it make the music go?” And I wondered, did it make the music go? Was Turtle disappointed when Sally didn’t roll down the side of the dinosaur, the way the ball does? Did she try to get Sally out of the hole or did she just move on to something else?
Now, every night when I straighten up, I’m thrilled by more fascinating discoveries. The cow in the space ship, the tea cup in the fire truck, Sonya Lee in the pajama drawer. And I think of Monkey, deciding that a cow would make a good companion to Astronaut Neil; or Turtle, hiding her tea cup under the seat of the fire truck, and I want to go pull them out of their cribs and smother them with kisses for being so cute. I am dying to know what thoughts are going on inside their heads – do they have words or are there just pictures? Are they dying to tell me what they know? “Momma, the astronauts need the cow with them so they can have milk in space, duh!”
The girls are in bed now, and it’s time for me to go. I’m starting to miss them already, so I need to straighten the play room and see what they’ve left for me tonight.
They had fun getting into everything without me micromanaging them – “put that down honey, yucky shoes, don’t eat, let’s put those PJs back in the drawer, this remote control is not for Monkey” and so on. And it was a relief to just let them be and do what I needed to do. Then I sat them in their high chairs for dinner and put everything back where it needed to go. Except for the remote. I couldn’t find it anywhere, but I could have sworn I saw Monkey carrying it around.
Finally, I had a flash of insight. Monkey loves to open the trash can and stick her hand in, so I lifted the lid, and voila, the remote. I was proud of her “experiment” and quite pleased with myself for being able to solve her little puzzle.
Then I began noticing “misplaced” items more often. Like the time the girls were fighting over Astronaut Neil and I could not find Astronaut Sally anywhere. After they went to bed, I was straightening up the play room, and there was Astronaut Sally, stuck in one of the ball spaces in the Dinosaur Drop. I thought of Turtle, picking up Sally and wondering to herself, “If I stick this in the hole, will it make the music go?” And I wondered, did it make the music go? Was Turtle disappointed when Sally didn’t roll down the side of the dinosaur, the way the ball does? Did she try to get Sally out of the hole or did she just move on to something else?
Now, every night when I straighten up, I’m thrilled by more fascinating discoveries. The cow in the space ship, the tea cup in the fire truck, Sonya Lee in the pajama drawer. And I think of Monkey, deciding that a cow would make a good companion to Astronaut Neil; or Turtle, hiding her tea cup under the seat of the fire truck, and I want to go pull them out of their cribs and smother them with kisses for being so cute. I am dying to know what thoughts are going on inside their heads – do they have words or are there just pictures? Are they dying to tell me what they know? “Momma, the astronauts need the cow with them so they can have milk in space, duh!”
The girls are in bed now, and it’s time for me to go. I’m starting to miss them already, so I need to straighten the play room and see what they’ve left for me tonight.
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