Auld Lang Syne

It's hard to believe it's been a full year since I had the twins. As 2011 knocks on my door, I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. We made it.

Today, my friends, is January 1, 2011. My babies turned one today. Can you imagine...turning 1 on the 1st day of '11? Pretty cool. This was truly a year of "firsts".

I will never forget that cold day in January that Carter met his brothers for the first time, or the feeling of being totally overwhelmed the second we walked through our front door with not one, not two, but three children. Throughout those first few weeks we took a thousand pictures, got to know these two little babies and changed more diapers than either of us ever had in our lives.

This year, I made my very first blog entry, my very first pot roast and for the first time, climbed a rather tall ladder while painting our house. I stuffed boys in a basket for that perfect Easter picture, dipped 30 piggy toes in our beloved Tobey Pond, and sat and watched as my sons heard the roar of the Ocean for the first time.

We made it through our longest road trip to date, managed to navigate the big city and made many a trip to Target (and I mean many). Carter started sleeping in his big boy bed and after a few months I finally let the twins sleep in their own cribs. Carter started preschool, the babies hit their milestones and we all remained relatively healthy. For that, I am thankful.

We said an excruciating goodbye to our cat Tucker, over whom we all shed some tears. We bought an officially "mom" car, memorized the Mama Mia soundtrack with Carter and encouraged millions of "nudie dances".

This year, I watched through tearful eyes, as my three year old experienced Miss Judy Garland singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" for the first time. We watched in awe as the two little blobs from our ultrasound picture, grew to be twelve months old. We spent time with our families, spent LOTS of time together, and I'm happy to report that Ben and I are still married! In fact, we even went on a date last night.

That said, so long 2010. Thank you for opening my eyes...I'm still seeing blue.

'Tis the Season

The past few weeks have been hectic as you can imagine. We feasted at our first Thanksgiving as a family of five, survived our first night away from the little guys and prepared for Christmas.

Relaxing isn't exactly a term I would use when describing my household, but this year we did our very best to keep things mellow. A certain three year old jumping on the coffee table in his skivvies shouting his own rendition of, "Santa Baby" comes to mind. Ok, so maybe mellow isn't the word either.

It's December and Reid and Landon are standing in an effort to swipe everything off of every surface they can reach. All candles and hot beverages have found new homes in higher elevations. Lately, the dynamic duo have been plotting their attack in regards to the staircase. Any chance they get, they begin their journey up the stairs, chuckling to each other all the while.

A fun fact about babies, is that they love to sit in their high chairs, look you in the eyes, and drop their food on the floor. Now in some households this may be taboo, but when you have a 75 pound dog, all is forgiven. However, I'm sad to say, restaurants hate us. We seemed to visit many this December and each time we go, we leave behind far more than a tip. Unfortunately we've created a monster by letting them feed ol' Jackie boy. Make that two monsters.

This Christmas was a very good one. It was the first year that Carter was really excited about Santa and the first year we were all together on Christmas morning, just me and my boys. All three boys sat on Santa's lap this year (and I'm sorry if you're reading this big guy, but you've really got to work on your act). Santa should not walk around socializing. Santa should know his place...ho ho ho should suffice. Carter asked him for a "bee pillow" and while a touch of last-minute panic set in, the boy received his wish.

One thing that really stuck with me this holiday season, was the day we were driving home from school and Carter innocently shouted up to me from the third row, "Mommy, I want to hear that reindeer song!" Suddenly it hit me. My kid knows every last word to "Dancing Queen" and doesn't even know "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer". I felt like a twang of guilt.

The big boy also had a guest appearance in the church pageant on Christmas eve. I bet you didn't know there was a dove in the manger, did you? I tried to prepare Carter ahead of time by reading a children's book about the real meaning of Christmas. He, in turn, wanted to know if the baby Jesus then went outside to build a snowman. Hmm...maybe I'll try again next year.

Nerdy at 30

It's taken me a few weeks to come to the realization that I am no longer a "twenty-something". I'm not sure why, and I never thought I would be so petty, but I really had a a tough time adjusting to the idea of my 30th birthday

I know, I know. 30 is not old. I realize that. I also realize that I have a lot to be proud of. A house, three beautiful boys and a husband that oddly enough, loves me unconditionally. It's not that I don't have anything to show for it, as one might think. Really, I just feel that everything is moving so quickly and that my life is just slipping away. I know, I know. This sounds awful. But hey, who doesn't love a little "Debbie Downer" every now and then.

A few months ago my sister bought a new pair of pink high heels. She was elated. I must not have been bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm because a couple of days later she very seriously told me that she had been thinking about my less than stellar reaction to her recent purchase. "Please", she begged me. "Don't turn into one of those moms who lets herself go and only wears sweatpants and ponytails, just because you live with all boys". Never, I chuckled to myself. I'm not one of THOSE. Fast forward to me sitting on the couch in nothing but sweatpants and a patriots t-shirt, my hair in a tangled knot on the back of my head. Uh oh. I have officially arrived.

Perhaps the most daunting moment regarding the "Big 3-0" may have come when looking for a new car. Last year, I made the horrific leap from the last shreds of my single-girl life, when I traded in my VW convertable for a more sensible mid-sized SUV. It had four-wheel drive and plenty of room for another car seat. Although it was hard to leave my beloved Cabrio that fateful day at the car dealership, I managed to say goodbye.

A few months ago, it was also time to replace our Jeep Grand Cherokee, our first major purchase as a married couple. I can't say I was super attached to it, really it was Ben's car. However since I'm the one who drives the kids every day, we began browsing Craigslist for larger SUV's. As you can imagine it's a tight squeeze with three carseats jam-packed into one row. The result was poor little Reid being slightly tilted to one side for the first 10 months of his life.

One evening while browsing some "online inventory" of SUV's with a 3rd row, I stumbled upon an ad for a Chevy Suburban, $5,000.00 with only 56,000 miles on it. Though I pictured a much more "chic" vehicle, I had to look for the price. I clicked on the ad and up popped a photo that would change life as I know it. A gigantic, white suburban glared back at me, with all the bells and whistles. Literally.

Turns out, a local ambulance company was selling the car. The burb was decked out with lights, sirens and a thick electric blue stripe down the side. To top it off, was a gigantic "cow catcher" in front. Laughing out loud, I turned the laptop towards Ben, jokingly saying, "I think we should get this". Next thing I knew we had an appointment to view the beast.

As I hopped into the driver's seat to test drive the Suburban, I was overwhelmed, dazed and confused. I felt engulfed by the car, petite and well quite frankly, like I was driving a school bus. I cruised through the beautiful backdrop of Roxbury Connecticut, I couldn't help but wonder, how did I get here? And why are there multiple dispatch radios talking to me?

I pulled back to the ambulance station, resisted the urge to set off the sirens and before I could say "we'll let you know", my husband was arranging payment. The men began discussing the emergency responder equiptment and through my slow-motion, swirly haze, Ben's voice stood out. "Oh, if you can't get the blue stripe off, I almost don't mind". I quickly snapped out of it and whipped around "NO, we mind. The stripe must go". A week later, we picked up my new ride. Ambulance stripe, and all.

The stripe didn't last long, thank the good Lord above that Ben was able to remove it with a heat gun. Over the weeks that followed I began getting used to the "boy mobile" or "man van", as my mother affectionately named her. After all, it had heated seats. Two days after my 30th Birthday, I had the day off to do a little shopping. Driving home on the highway in the "burb", I suddenly felt very free. Turning on the radio, I came across Madonna's "Material Girl" and suddenly had a flashback to my childhood. I had the album on cassette and have a very distinct memory of carrying my boom box out to the woods in back of my parents house, standing on a large rock and belting out the lyrics. Laughing out loud like a fool, I turned up the radio and remembering the song word for word, sang at the top of my lungs in my new mommy mobile. That day, shimmying around in the driver's seat I realized how far I've come. I also realized I was going about 80 miles per hour and being watched by the car next to me!

Maybe I'm getting older, but there's nothing I can do about it. Besides, I still have some pretty sweet dance moves. And, I have to admit that even though my new car could have eaten my VW for dinner, it is pretty fun to drive. Plus, it can fit my whole family (and probably yours too). So if you happen to see me cruising the strip, toot your horn, wave hello...and don't mind the sweatpants and ponytail.

As I mentioned in my last post, we recently embarked on a 3 day journey to our nation's capitol. Try outlining that concept to a 3 year old. I tried everything from explaining, "our town is in Connecticut, and Connecticut is in a country called America...or...The United States of America...or USA for short". Game over-in the end I settled on, "It's where the President lives. He makes all the rules".

Simplicity. It's the best notion known to man (or should I say, woman?). It's my ultimate goal in life, and perhaps the biggest challenge to obtain.

As I packed for our trip, I did my very best to keep it simple. The 3 boys had a duffel bag and Ben and I shared a suitcase. Then I packed snacks. In two bags. Oh, and a pack and play. Then came the lap top and the portable DVD player. Oops, then the double stroller...and the umbrella stroller. Don't forget the diaper bag and my pocket book. So much for simplicity.

While we were on our mini vacation, Ben had workshops throughout the day. Fortunately my saving grace was the presence of two of my very best friends Addie and Kate. I'm not sure I would have survived the big city on my own with “Dennis the Menace” and his two mischievous sidekicks. Although the girls kept us busy, getting to and from the rental car and navigating D.C. was up to me.

There are many moments from our trip which will carve their place in my memory, but one in particular stands out among the rest. The five of us left our hotel room with our supplies for the day, and headed down to the “atrium” to have breakfast before parting ways with Daddy-o. After scarfing down our $10.00 bagels, we said our goodbyes. In an instant, the boys and I were left amongst the hustle and bustle of suits and briefcases, that only a convention center hotel can offer.

I can do this, I thought to myself. Carter behaved like a good little angel and threw out our napkins like he was told. I washed up the boys and strapped him into his stroller. Perfection. Then it occurred to me, this is all well and good, but I have two strollers and one set of hands. Oops! Didn't think that one through. With a quick change of plans and my determination in high gear, Carter was out of the stroller and pushing it all on his own, zig-zagging throughout the hotel, carrying the diaper bag as if it were his own baby. We made it out of the atrium and into the elevator (barely) without one person so much as smiling, holding a door or moving out of our way.

Now, one thing you should know is that in all major areas of the hotel, there are roughly 6 elevators, naturally you take the one that opens first. Well, when your 3-year-old runs in before you, leaving you stranded with two strollers (and two babies) panic mode sets in, imagining him alone in a 20-story hotel with a million and a half strangers. I just about broke my hand lunging forward and grabbing the elevator door in an effort to prevent it from closing with him in it. The next thing you should know is that my child has an unnatural obsession with elevators and REALLY enjoys the pressing of the elevator buttons.

So, we all make it into the elevator and then out of it in one piece. Only then did I realize that we had gone to the wrong floor. So we waited for another elevator, which in itself is not an easy feat, since Carter took off towards the escalator. Some genius of a businessman tapped me on the shoulder to say, “he's headed towards the escalator”. Thanks bucko, I hadn't noticed. Fortunately (or unfortunately) a lady managed to swoop him up for me, rolling her eyes and judging me, as if I were Britney Spears cruising the streets of L.A. with a baby in my lap (love ya Brit Brit). Needless to say, I somehow managed to corral the children back towards the elevator.

As we waited, some jerk comes flying by and stumbles, spilling his hot coffee in the air, ultimately chucking it into the garbage and leaving a few droplets of coffee on Landon's forehead. Thanks a billion, you big A-hole. To top it all off, another kind gentlemen popped into the elevator we were waiting for prior our coffee shower, and hit the button to close the door. It was only then that I stated out loud, “Thanks. There are some really nice people in this hotel”, as the doors slid shut before my very eyes.

Finally, we got to the right floor, and managed to make it through the convention lobby where we looked very out of place and got a few chuckles out of some older businessmen. By the time we reached the door to exit, someone decided to learn manners and open the door for us. Well, they should have known better, that my little preschooler wanted to push the handicap door button on his own. I tried to explain to the people, but it was too late. He was having a tantrum, in front of about 100 people indoors and a group waiting to load a tour bus outdoors.

Fortunately the episode was short-lived. We walked across the parking lot and into the parking garage, up another elevator and to our rental car. I looked at the clock and realized that it had taken me a full 45 minutes to get from our breakfast table to the van. Truly unsure whether to cry or laugh, I decided on the latter, scanned my hotel card and headed out onto the open road (which, in case you were wondering, happened to be the wrong road).

The point of the matter is, though I may strive for simplicity, it seems as though the more you try, the more it slips from your reach. Sometimes it's the complexities that make life interesting-my stories certainly seem to entertain some of you, right? For now, I'm going to keep my chin up, and continue laughing at my boys and how frazzled they make me at times. An estimated forty billion kisses, 4200 diapers and 14,500 ounces of breast milk later...10 months down boys, and Mommy hasn't cracked yet!

5 in the bed and the little one said, “roll over!”

I'm sorry to tell you, but families who believe in the philosophy of “The Family Bed”, are not a bunch of hippies who believe in a wholesome, nurturing sleeping experience for their kids. They are simply tired and exhausted zombies like the rest of us, who are entirely too lazy to get out of bed and bring their children back to their rooms.

Lately it seems as though there is some combination of boys in my bed every night, and their names are not Tom Brady, Zac Efron and Christian Bale, if you know what I mean.

First, Carter went through a phase where he would wet the bed, night after night and rather than haul ourselves out of bed to change the sheets, etc. We let him crawl on in. Next, the babies decided to play a fun trick on us called, “You thought we were sleeping through the night....boy were you wrong you big idiots”. Then, right around mid-September their first teeth decided to make their appearance (same tooth, same weekend). Finally it seemed, Carter had outgrown his toddler bed and just preferred the space and abundance-of-down comforter, which only our bed had to offer.

Nearly every morning, I wake up feeling overtired and unusually sore. Did I exercise the night before you may ask? Not unless you call hanging off the side of the bed, one arm in the co-sleeper one tucked under my head (so as not to elbow anyone on the other side of me) exercise. Every morning, typically around 3am, the monitor goes crazy with the sound of a boy (or two) and illuminates the room. 9 times out of 10 my adoring husband gets up to retrieve the culprit. Sometimes I notice, sometimes I just wake up from a swift kick in the head courtesy of my oldest child.

A couple of weeks ago, we were in Washington D.C. Tagging along with Ben on one of his work conferences. We arrived at our hotel around 1am and a light seemed to shine down from the heaven onto a big fat king-sized bed. This is my chance, I thought to myself. It's the middle of the night, the kids are exhausted...a big, comfy bed and a good nights sleep!

Open mouth, insert foot. OF COURSE, we weren't that lucky. Apparently a bigger bed equals bigger opportunity for snuggling. Upon our return to Connecticut, the conclusion was drawn that maybe Carter needed to upgrade to a twin bed. We rearranged furniture, bought new sheets and plopped down a down comforter as if to simulate our own comfy nest. Ben and I even made a pact to go to him in the middle of the night, rather than letting him climb into bed with us.

I am happy to report that it SEEMS to be working! The past few nights we've still had slumber parties with the little guys, but hey-baby steps, right? The lesson I'm learning for this phase in my life? That's just it, it's only a phase. I highly doubt my three sons will be crawling into bed with me when they're 16 (and if they do, let's face it-I'll have bigger fish to fry). Until then, I guess I'll suck it up, (protect my face) and cuddle my boys while I still can!

Summer Breeze

Today marks a new month, the first day of school and the babies turn 8 months old! For as far back as I can remember, the anticipation of Labor Day weekend has been a weird mix of emotions for me. I am a summer girl all the way, and since I was a little kid I remember feeling a bit depressed as the season came to a close. September, though lovely in it's own right, symbolizes a closed book, a locked gate at my beloved Tobey Pond with a big fat "NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY" sign nailed to it (cue the Debbie Downer sound effects).

September is here whether I like it or not. Once again, I have failed my boys in keeping up with the ol' blog. I have to say I feel a little guilty, after harassing my own Mom for years and years about not giving me a baby book, despite my sister and brother having them. OK Mom, I get it. You didn't give up when you got to me, you were just TIRED and BUSY.

This summer was a good one, so here's my attempt at offering a brief synopsis of memorable moments.

Fourth of July weekend, was eventful. We took the kiddos to Lime Rock Park for the annual fire works display and got there early with Mexican takeout. 2 hours early. Oh and we didn't pay to get in to the park, we sat by the road, near a church, adjacent to a cemetery. We're a classy bunch. The highlight of the evening was when a car rolled by, then stopped in the middle of the road, threw it into reverse and stopped beside our chairs. The wise woman rolled down the window and decided to offer us a free parenting lesson in regards to fireworks and how although our twins were adorable, we should really think about covering their ears, since they are highly sensitive. Thanks for the tip, Einstein. I don't know what I would have done without you, being an early childhood major and all. Oh, and did I mention that the second the fireworks began, Carter wanted to go home? So we did.

In mid July we took our first vacation as a family of 5, joining the rest of the Patrick family in Cape Cod. We packed entirely too much stuff into the Mazda, including (but not limited to) a laundry basket full of clothes, two L.L.Bean boat totes, a diaper bag, an air mattress and pump, towels, sheets, pillows, a backpack full of toys and books, a pack and play, a cooler (two coolers), fishing poles...oh and three children. Ben's golf clubs didn't make the cut and had to travel in my parents car. As we hit the road, we swung through the local Dunkin Donuts to grab some breakfast, and as you all know, Carter's go-to treat, a donut with "sprinkles and frosting" (white frosting, colored sprinkles, if you please). We were back on the road for approximately 25 minutes when, surprise! Mr. Wonderful had to pee. Once again, we pulled into yet another D&D so that Ben could run in with the boy. I rolled down the window and requested another donut. He rolled his eyes and hurried Carter along. Moments later, as I pondered this new found experience of donut hopping through the entire northwest corner of Connecticut, they emerged. Carter looked a tad pale. He had puked while standing in line for donut #2. Woops.

Fortunately his car sickness (inherited by his Mother) held off for the remainder of the trip. Our vacation was top-notch and involved mucho family time, good food, sandy feet and really warm water. When we asked Carter what his favorite part of the trip was, he responded, "Watching 'Wonder Pets' on TV. So glad he has an appreciation for the finer things in life.

We returned on a Wednesday and on Thursday headed off to Home Depot to buy paint for the exterior of our house. We even managed to leave the boys with Ben's parents so that we could pick out colors in peace. Looking back, we were so optimistic we would get the job done in record time.

The very next week, I was curled up on the couch watching something mindless and trashy, the kids were asleep and Ben was at softball. The phone rang and it was the Hubby, calling to inform me that he was on his way to the emergency room. The big hot shot made the brilliant decision to slide into first base and busted his knee. Being the kind, caring wife that I am, my response was as follows: "Great. We were supposed to paint the house this weekend".

In August, we headed north again, on our annual trip to Ogunquit, Maine. We improved upon our packing situation, which was a holy miracle considering this trip was 3 days longer and we brought a second pack and play along for the ride. Maine was pure relaxation, since we were there with the Nadeaus and Carter, Reid and Landon are currently the only grandchildren. We had so much help and support, I now know the secret that so many mothers hold so dear. Nannies.

A highlight of this trip, was a delicious meal we shared with friends in Portland. In particular, the moment where Carter decided to pee on their beautiful rug. Furthermore, the moment in which I made the decision to let go of Landon (who promptly fell backwards) and catch the pee with my bare hands. Even more specifically, the moment where yours truly stood up, pee puddling in hands, baby screaming wildly on the floor, and went out to the deck to call Ben in to help. Way to make a good impression.

The summer had it's perks; Heather and Bryan's wedding, James Taylor and Carole King, Lobster Rolls at the Bistro, lounging in the mother of all kiddie pools....and it's pitfalls; pink eye repeatedly targeting my children with a vengeance, Carter tripping and going under at Tobey Pond and most recently, Carter falling into a toilet full of poo for Aunt Ky Ky. Two months later, my house is not even close to being finished, offering a classy two-toned look to passers by.

September. Bitter-sweet. Next on deck is Carter's third birthday, for which I hope to mail invitations by the weekend. Did I mention that today was his first day of preschool? After much anticipation, packing and picture taking, he proceeded to vomit in the car on the way there. Therefore, tomorrow is Carter's new first day of preschool. Summer may be over, but I'm willing to bet that despite my annual Labor Day "depression" there are many things that will keep me entertained as the cold weather approaches. Stay tuned.

Pleasantville, Interrupted

I am astonished by the amount of time that can pass before I realize I forgot to post something funny that happened. It was probably about two weeks ago now, on a quiet Sunday morning. I was enjoying a cup of coffee, nursing the twins and writing on my laptop. Ok, I may have been perusing Facebook, but that's beside the fact.

My darling husband was outside mowing the lawn and Carter was playing peacefully in his toy room. The serenity didn't last long, because no sooner had I brought the white porcelain coffee mug to my lips, I heard the kitchen door slam. Carter had escaped.

With a sigh and a huff, I put down my cup of joe, “unlatched” a baby and hustled through the kitchen to look out the back door. There was no sign of him. Dressed in a t-shirt, pajama bottoms and my floor-length fleece robe, I slipped on a pair of Ben's oversized flip flops and high-tailed it out the back door, around towards the front of the house.

Now one thing you should know about our property,is that it is surrounded by a white fence. Through each picket I could see my little man, pushing his own lawn bubble blowing lawn mower and headed down our shared driveway. Panic mode set in and I started chasing him along the fence. The problem that posed itself, was the simple fact that there was a fence between us. My mind wandered to the threat of our neighbor pulling into the driveway at any moment and not seeing him, as well as the fact that I had left the babies inside, screaming their heads off!

As I ran down our sloping front yard, I could see Ben in the distance, on the other side of the fence, mowing down near the street. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he would see him, but quickly realized he was wearing headphones and was completely unaware of what was happening. I started running again, waving my arms to get his attention as my baby boy neared the bottom of the driveway.

In my haste, my robe had flung itself open and trailed behind me like a superhero's cape. I threw my arms up again frantically waving to Ben, when wouldn't you know it? I lost my drawers.

Fortunately, my husband saw the tail end of this commotion, stopped the mower and grabbed Mr. Wonderful before he headed downtown. Yup, only MY pants would fall down in the middle of my front yard, in a residential neighborhood, where folks were getting ready for church, grabbing their morning paper and walking their dogs.

I crouched, frozen in the middle of my front lawn, pants around my ankles and bathrobe firmly wrapped over my bare knees. I was laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants, and tears trickled out the corners of my eyes.

Looking both ways for friendly neighbors, I shimmied my jammies back on, slipped on my ridiculous footwear and sprinted (OK, lumbered) back into the house. Carter was banished to the outdoors with his father and thankfully, the twins had fallen asleep.

Lessons learned: Install an eye-hook lock on the kitchen door, encourage lawn mowing sans earphones and finally, always tighten drawstring on pants. One more for the record books, folks!