Smoke and Ashes

Doubling Up: The Girls: 3 years, 11 Months; Mason 6 Years, 7 months

Hey guys-

You’re getting doubled up again because I blew right through the 29^th and the 11^th. This might become the new norm. Mommy is getting lazy. Or just overwhelmingly tired. Or busy. Or all of the above. Give mommy a break will ya? And while you're at it, pour me a glass of wine?

The past few weeks have marked the end of summer and the return to the rhythm of the school year. Although, truth be told, we’re struggling a bit to find the rhythm part. It's been more like a staccato shitshow. 

Kellie has moved on to start a job as a teacher, which has meant that our already hectic juggling of schedules has gotten infinitely more complicated. Through a patchwork of sitters, I thought I had locked in a plan to cover us the four weeks between Kellie’s departure and the arrival of our new au pair at the end of the month. Girls, I sent in a note to your school listing three more people that were authorized to pick you up, but the note also explained our situation and asked that if they saw lost 20-somethings wandering the halls of the daycare looking for the McAuley girls, they should just trust that the person is legit and not someone coming to kidnap you. Granted, I found the substitute sitters on Facebook, so maybe they should be a little skeptical. 

I thought armed with a google calendar and an immense capacity to juggle logistical details that I had mama-ninja’ed my way through this transition smoothly. But alas, Monday morning I woke up to an email from the girl that was supposed to be covering Mondays-Thursdays, which said that she found a long-term job and wouldn’t be coming in that day. She literally gave me notice 5 hours before she was supposed to pick all of you up from school. Who does that?? Quinn, you never liked her in the first place. I should have trusted you. You’re an excellent judge of character. We pulled through though. 

One of my best mommy tips that I offer up specifically for circumstances like this one: I save the contacts for everyone who ever babysat for us in my phone, and under company name, I write “babysitter”. That way, in a pinch, I can search my contacts for “babysitter” and then start dialing for dollars. I have about 20. My babysitter rolodex is the envy of many.

Mason buddy, for you, September didn’t just bring a slew of new babysitters. It brought you to the first grade at a new elementary school. It’s your fifth new school in your short little life, but if everything goes according to plan, you’ll be at this one for the rest of elementary school. As expected, you have weathered the transition like a champ. We'd expect nothing less from our future Mayor. You're most excited about first grade because it means you can ride the bus with your buddy. It also means that this is your first year of homework. I’m viscerally opposed to homework for 1^st graders, and although you’re pretty excited by the prospect of it now, I foresee many battles in our future. It seems cruel to start that parent/kid homework battle dynamic so young.

Girls, the one good thing about this month’s crazy schedule is that out of sheer necessity, I’ve been dropping you off at school more. Logistically it means I roll into work at 9:30 or 10, which isn’t ideal professionally, but I have an understanding team. On the plus side, at your old school in Hanover I dropped you off every day, so I knew your teachers, your friends, your friends’ parents. Since we moved to Scituate though, drop off responsibilities were squarely in Mama and Kellie’s domain. Although I don’t miss the epic “pleeeease get your shoes on” and “pleeeeeeeease brush your teeth” battles required before getting out of the house every day, I do enjoy being a part of your school life in a more hands-on way. Maybe even when the au pair arrives, I can preserve a morning a week to do drop offs so that the last thing I see before heading into work for the day is your smooshed up little faces against the window waving goodbye.

We didn’t just jump into September without savoring every last bit of summer though. We went to Nantucket, and girls, you caught your first fish from Uncle Dan’s boat. Mason, you got a chance to celebrate the end of summer with your first camping trip with Mama. She had been looking forward to that adventure pretty much since the day you were born, so in the end, I’m not sure who had more fun. From the pictures, it looked like an all-around raging success.

I love you guys. Sorry I’ve doubled up posts again. You each deserve novels about your rapidly evolving personalities, but please rest assured I’m spending as much time as possible soaking up every second, even if that means I have fewer minutes to write it all down.

Love you. xox

Fishin' with Uncle Dan

Family pic for first day of school.

Mason's first bus ride.

Mason 6 1/2: The best part of my day

Dear Mason,

Happy 6 ½ bud. A few nights ago you asked me why you weren’t allowed to do whatever you want because, after all “I only have 7 more years until I’m a teenager.” I have to hand it to you bud, you already think like one.

The other day I got a text: “By the end of the night, text me the most rewarding part of your day.” I wrote back, “I can say with 99% certainty what it will be, even though it hasn’t happened yet.” There’s a lot going on in my life, and the past few days have been some of the most taxing of all. The day I got the text was probably one of the hardest, so it was well timed because it made me refocus not on the things that weren’t working the way I imagined, but on things that make me feel full and complete and happy.

Normally, the most rewarding part of my day is when I pull into the driveway and all three of you come barreling out of the house yelling “mommmmmyyyy!!”  It’s the absolute best. You usually have wet hair and are already in your pajamas. You all hug me at once and fight and jockey for the best hugging position. Then you start begging me to open mail, and then you start fighting over who gets to open what piece of mail, and then the special moment is over. From start to finish, it lasts about 45 seconds, but man, it’s a great 45 seconds.

That night, however, I knew I wouldn’t get home until after you guys were in bed, but when I get home, I knew I’d do what I always do before I crash into bed: I walk upstairs and into the girls room. First I go to Hayden’s bed. She sleeps not under her covers, but under your old Ninja Turtle fleece blanket. She’s always twisted up and knotted, and I kiss her on the head and then she sighs and readjusts. She’s a light sleeper so I have to be pretty delicate. Quinn sleeps like a 22 year old dude passed out after a bender. She sleeps hard with gangly limbs everywhere, usually in just a pair of shorts, further reinforcing the drunken frat boy look. I usually give her two or three kisses because she’s not a light sleeper and doesn’t stir at all. Then I go into your room. You are always covered in head to toe sweat. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is, the temperature in the room, or what you are wearing. You are the world’s absolute sweatiest sleeper. It literally beads off your forehead and back and leaves wet marks on your pillow. Not going to lie, dude, it’s kind of gross. You’re the hardest sleeper of them all. Once you fell asleep in my bed and when I was carrying you to your room, I literally dropped you. Another time, I misjudged the width of the hallway and banged your head against the wall. Neither time you even flinched. Your hard sleeping came in extra handy the other night when I surgically removed a splinter from your foot without you even noticing.

Anyway, that’s the part of the day I look forward to the most, especially on the hard days. The kiss goodnight when you’re already sleeping doesn’t end in fighting or crying. It just ends with me going into my own bed carrying a sense of gratefulness, love, and even accomplishment. Sometimes that feeling fades too fast. I pick up my phone and start reading about horrible things going on in the world. Or I start to stress over everything that needs to get done the next day. Or I replay the things that were worrying me earlier in the day over and over. I wish I knew how to hold onto the feeling longer.

I love you buddy.

Oh, and ps, thank you for the birthday card. It was my favorite. I love your smile and your eyes too.

 

The Girls: 3 Years, 10 months

Dear girls,

It’s hard to believe that it’s already August. The summer is going by way too fast, as they always do.

The past weeks have been a mixed bag for us. On the plus side, after months of passing like two ships in the night, we have finally met and bonded with our neighbors. They have twins that are Mason’s age and a little girl that is your age. This threesome is the perfect match for the McAuley threesome. Mason and Quinn, you love the rough and tumble play of their 6 year old boy. Water guns, basketball, dirt. You can’t get enough. Hayden, you adore the 6 year old girl. She’s like the big sister you secretly want. The kids’ mom recently sent me a picture of the two of you playing school. C was the teacher, and Hayden you were the dutiful student. Anything that involves you being dutiful is a minor miracle, so I’m in love with them too. Every morning you wake up and rush to the window to see if they're outside playing. Every time they're not, you ask me if you can go over there and knock on their door, and you're always disappointed when I explain that knocking on someone's door at 6:00 am is kind of rude. The other day I was doing the dishes, and you guys said you were going outside to play. When I popped my head out a few minutes later, you were nowhere to be found. Then I saw a ball roll out of the neighbor's garage and I figured it out.

I am so grateful that we live in a neighborhood where there are so many kids and everyone gets along so well. There's a steady stream of kids that run in and out of our house. Even the older kids on the street are kind and patient with the younger ones. Every time I come home from work and turn the corner onto our street and see 10 kids riding their bikes and scooters or playing tag and a few moms drinking wine on a porch or a lawn, I fall in love with our neighborhood all over again. 

We also welcomed a new family member. Mr. Max has joined the McAuley clan, and I think he might be the most beloved puppy in all the land. The three of you fight over who gets to hold him and feed him. You show him off to whomever walks in the door. Quinn, you especially have a strong bond with Max already. You can’t understand why we would go anywhere and not bring him. Getting you out the door without him is a huge undertaking that requires begging, bribing, and cajoling.

The past few weeks have also been about loss. Sadly, Keela had finally reached her breaking point. The old lady has been in a lot of pain for over a year, and her legs just continued to weaken. It was a hard day for Mama and me, but when she could no longer stand up on her own, we knew that the kind thing to do was give her some peace. When it was over, I had to leave the room and get air because even though I knew the decision was the right one, I felt like I was drowning in the sadness of having to make it. I bawled in the parking lot of the vet, and as you’ll probably discover eventually, mommy is not so much of a crier. It was a pretty terrible day. You guys didn't seem too phased by the news, but by the evening, it started to settle in that Keela wasn't coming home. Quinn, this realization made you pretty upset. Hayden, to be honest, you didn't really seem to notice or care. 

We also have another loss to get used to, but I haven’t shared it with you yet. Our beloved super nanny is moving on. She’s been such an integral part of our family for so long, it’s hard to imagine what life will be like with someone else. And we’re not just picking a new nanny – we’ve decided to get an au pair, which means someone will be living with us. I think that’s going to be a huge adjustment for all of us, but hopefully a positive one. I’m not going to lie – I’m a little nervous.

We tackled the ups and downs of the month the way we've tackled everything else: as a family, there to pick each other up when the going got rough. I love you guys.

xox, mommy

Three in One: All three kids’ monthly post, rolled into one

Hayden & Quinn 3 Years, 9 Months

Mason 6 Years, 5 months

Hey kids,

Mommy is a hot mess this month and let so much time roll past the 29^th, that I’m now bundling you all together. You teach me so much about myself, about my ideals as a parent, and about how big the gap is between how I want to parent and how ready I am to deliver on those ideals. So that’s my theme this month.

Hayden:

You’re a tough nut. You’re demanding, fierce, and unrelenting. A few weeks ago I had what for a brief moment I considered one of my worst parenting moments, but upon further reflection, I’ve decided to cast it as one of my best. You were in the car, refusing to get into your car seat. You’re big enough and strong enough now that I can’t force you into it, so instead I reason, I threaten, I beg, I bribe, I cajole… I really pull out all the stops. But on this particular day, you were having none of it. You sat on the center console basically daring me to lose my shit. I said, “Hayden, if you don’t get in your seat, I’m just going to start the car without you, and then you’ll get arrested by the police officer for not being in your seat.” You replied defiantly “no start the car!” I said, “I’m going to start it.” Again, you said “NO START THE CAR!” I started it, and what did you do? You hauled back and punched me squarely in the nose. Like a full on, Mike Tyson right cross right in the nose. I went blind with rage, jumped out of the car super-fast, flew around to the passenger side in a blink, yanked you out of the car, and then carried you upstairs football style and into time out while yelling “YOU DON’T HIT MOMMY! YOU’RE GOING INTO TIME OUT.” The entire way up the stairs you pleaded, “I sorry mommy!!! I sorrrrrrrrry!” I put you down on your bed, walked out, and took a few deep breaths. I was so very angry. When the moment had passed, I picked you back up, calmly told you how wrong it is to hurt people, and we got into the car without any further drama. I pride myself on being pretty even keeled and for my tendency to rely on rational thinking and communication vs. white hot emotion. During the drive, I felt pretty bad that I was filled with so much rage – hence the “low point” parenting moment. On further reflection though, I’ve decided that it will rise to the top of my parenting moments because although I was steaming from the ears, I didn’t spank you or say mean things, and ultimately, you deserved to be a little shaken up by my reaction – just enough to get the message, but not enough to be really afraid. All three of you guys have the ability to push my buttons, but Hayden, there’s something unique about the way you do it. Your will is just so strong, and you rarely back down. I hope as you get older you use these super powers for good instead of evil. I hope that I continue to parent in a way that brings calmness and rational thinking to even the most intense situations, but I also hope I recognize those moments when you need to be knocked down a peg. We love you Hayden. We love you when you’re headstrong and apologetic, when you’re fierce and when you’re vulnerable. We love you… even when we want to strangle you.

Quinn:

Quinn, baby, this month, you definitely pushed me and mama to think of what is best for you over what’s most expedient for us. Here’s the thing: you tell us quite often that you’re a boy. You only wear “boy clothes” and you like “boy things.” We explain to you that there’s no such thing as “boy things” and “girl things” and that there’s just “stuff you like” and “stuff you don’t like”, but the concept really baffles your little three year old brain. I’m not sure whether or not you *actually* think you’re a boy – maybe you do. Maybe you just don’t understand that girls are allowed to like everything boys like. You don’t get mad when people call you a girl, you know what your private parts are called and don’t seem too confused about that, and in general, you don’t really exhibit any other early signs of being gender confused. Maybe it’s a phase. Maybe it’s not. Who knows? Whichever the case, Mama and I only want you to be happy.

That’s what we’ve always said, and that’s what I genuinely think we mean, but this month was the first time we had a chance to put our money where our mouths were. For weeks, you’d get out of the shower and comb your own hair (if later in life you don’t remember this, watch the movie Home Alone and watch the way Macauley Culkin combs his hair – that’s exactly what you do). Neither Mama or me gave this much thought. Then one day you said to mama, “Is my hair perfect? Does it look like a boy’s haircut?” Mama said, “do you want it to?” and you said “yes.” The next day, you couldn’t get it *just perfect* and that made you very upset and you started crying. Mama and I decided right then and there – we were taking you to get your haircut.

I’m not going to lie – I stressed about it. You already dress in all of Mason’s old clothes and with short hair, I knew the whole world would constantly be calling you a little boy. We went to the haircut place as a whole family, and you got your short haircut (granted, I'm not that evolved... you really wanted a buzz cut like Mason's but we compromised a little bit. I googled "surfer boy" haircuts, and you picked the one you liked best, though I did promise you that if you still wanted a haircut like Mason's, when you were 6 , you could get a buzz. This seemed perfectly acceptable to you, and I admit, I was relieved.). Here’s the thing, though: you look more like you with short hair. You love it. It’s been a few weeks and you still ask people, “do you like my haircut?”  You smile when you get out of the shower and comb your hair. You told grandma and grampy several times during our trip to Nantucket, “my hair doesn’t get in my face anymore because I have a boy haircut,” and then you flashed them your million dollar smile. In retrospect, I can’t believe I spent even a second worrying about a haircut. Thank you baby. Thank you for reminding me about my commitment to love you for you, regardless of any stupid hang-ups that I or the world may try to impose. If you still want a buzz cut next summer, I'll buzz your head myself. We love you, and we will have your back through every phase, life decision, or challenge.

Mason:

Buddy, you’re getting to be so old and mature, which is why it’s so hard for me when you act… well, when you act like a 6 year old. Sometimes, I just need you to be more put together for my own sanity. When the girls are pushing me to the edge, I look to you with pleading eyes, begging you to be easy. To brush your teeth without being asked 500 times. To find your shoes. To put the iPad away. And overall, you’re pretty good about delivering. You’re so sweet and sensitive that you have a pretty good sense for when mommy is going to lose her proverbial shit. But sometimes you don’t. You miss the cues, or you simply don’t care. Your 6-year-old needs trump mommy’s desperate attempts to smooth our way through whatever trial or tribulation is facing us at a given moment. You’re instructed to go away and entertain yourself while I focus on [insert calamity here]. In short, you get the shaft or get yelled at. You don’t deserve it buddy (well, sometimes you do). All the stereotypes about birth order are alive and well in our household. More is expected of you simply because you came along first. We love you because you take that responsibility in stride more often than you don’t.

This is the picture you made last night when I asked you to go to bed while I dealt with a Hayden tantrum. Instead of going to sleep, you made me a picture that says "Mason to Mommy!" and explained that that's a picture of a crab crawling on the sand, under the ocean... that's why it's white on top. Granted I was a bit annoyed you didn't just go to sleep and came back downstairs at 9:00 pm, but with a face like that, who can stay upset? You knew just what to do at the end of an epic long bedtime battle to put a smile back on my face.

To all of you, you teach Mama and me every day about the types of parents we want to be, and we couldn’t be more grateful. We love all of you for the strong, unique individuals you are and for the people you help us become every day. When you're grown up, I hope you continue to be kind, strong, brave, and fiercely loyal to one another. 

Xoxo,

mommy

Mason 6 Years, 4 months: Ready for Summer

Dear Mason,

The fact that we’re in the middle of a 90 degree heat wave really hit home that summer is fast approaching. In fact, you only have 9 school days left of kindergarten. Nine. Single digits. It just can’t be so.

You rocked kindergarten buddy. At the beginning of the year, you couldn’t read at all. Now, everywhere we turn you’re sounding out words of increasing complexity. You’re so curious, which is one of the things I love most about you. You are a math whiz. You get into these little Rain Man like fits where you count and add everything around you, simply because you can.

You’ve made dear friends at kindergarten. You had plenty of friends in preschool, but this is definitely the year of real thick-as-thieves buddies. Christopher is your very best friend and the two of you couldn’t be any cuter together. To celebrate the end of school, the kindergartners hosted a Teddy Bear picnic, which ranked pretty high on the cuteness scale. Of course you and Christopher were next to each other.

Sadly, next year we’re moving on to a different school. We moved to Scituate a full year ahead of schedule because you were starting kindergarten and we figured it would be best if you didn’t have to switch schools. As it turned out, though, we couldn’t register until we had a signed purchase and sale. By the time that happened, regular registration had closed, so we were put into the “overflow” classroom at Hatherly, which is not our “neighborhood school” (despite the fact that it’s ¾ of a mile from our house). So next year, we’re off to a new school (¾ of a mile in the other direction). Given your exceptional social skills, I’m sure it’s not going to be a problem. I probably have more anxiety over it than you do; I finally just learned all of the moms’ names in your class, and most of my closest Scituate friends are Hatherly moms.

I’m excited for this summer and am hopeful that I’ll be able to take lots of time off to spend with you guys. Your sisters are just a bit easier now, so I feel more empowered to do fun things. Going to the beach, even if I’m the only grownup, is now totally manageable. Yesterday we went for a few hours – you immediately found boys you knew from summer camp last year and were off and playing, and the girls did a good job entertaining themselves. I actually got to sit in a beach chair and mostly relax. When the other boys left, you taught your sisters made up games to play.

Like all siblings, you guys do come to blows quite often, usually when the girls touch your stuff, but in general, you get along so well. They totally adore you as well.

I mean, what’s not to love? In addition to your funny sense of humor, big brains, and total sweet streak, you’re an amazing dresser with a clear fondness for headbands:

Thank you for making me laugh and being my little love bug.

I love you to pieces. 

xoxox,

mommy

The Girls: 3 Years, 8 months

Dear Girls,

This month, I scratched a big “to do” off my bucket list – I ran a half marathon. I feel like having twins is kind of like training for a marathon: it’s time consuming, exhausting, and at many points along the way, you feel like you’re going to fall down and not be able to get back up, but I did it. There was a moment around mile 12.5 when a woman smiled at me with a look of encouragement that made me choke up. Literally. I was running with bronchitis and when she smiled at me, I got super emotional because I could physically see the finish line, and my chest just seized and I started wheezing. I thought to myself, “If I pass out within eye-sight of the finish line, I’m going to kill someone.” And then I remembered all those times I thought I was going to pass out from exhaustion over the past almost-four years trying to keep up with you and your brother. I thought of the commitment I made to myself to finish the race. And then I thought, I’ve got this. I didn’t run a great race. I walked more than I had planned. I didn’t break 2 hr 20 minutes like I had hoped (though I did come in under 2 1/2 hrs). But I made a commitment to do something, and despite the fact that it was hard, I finished. Despite the fact that I wasn’t feeling well, I finished. Despite the fact that it was something I have never done before, I finished. And you know what, girls? I’m pretty damn proud of myself.

I chose to write about the marathon this month for several reasons. First, I want you guys to know that you were part of the reason I decided to take on this challenge. When I was training, I used this app that would tell me what to do, give me prompts on good form, and shout words of encouragement or motivation, all set to a nice upbeat playlist. One of the things the trainer kept saying throughout the different weeks of training was “remember why you signed up to do this. Remember your motivation.” And more times than not, you guys popped into my head.

Secondly, I hope this is just one example of how I will teach you to go after big things, even if they seem daunting or hard. I want you to go after things that take time, patience, hard work, and dedication. I think we live in an instant gratification world and that it’s easy to give up on things where the rewards don’t manifest right away. I want to teach you guys how to have grit and determination. There were certainly many times during the weeks leading up to the race where the last thing I wanted to do was go for a run, but I knew that if I wanted to complete the race, I had to put in the time.

Lastly, I want to teach you how to celebrate and be proud of your successes. What I did was a big deal to me. It wasn’t superhuman. It wasn’t curing cancer (or even fighting cancer like Mommy’s friend Rachael who walked the entire 13.1 miles a few weeks after a double mastectomy), but it was a big goal for me personally, and I did it. I want you to feel OK being proud of yourself. Now – don’t get me wrong. Don’t be a jerk or a braggart, but you should learn from a very early age how to celebrate success and how to say thank you when someone says congratulations vs. dismissing an achievement as no big deal. I think this point is especially applicable for girls to learn early.

I love you girls. I’m so proud of the little people you are and the bigger people you become every day. I love how you're so different from each other but still the best of friends. I love how you live like your purpose in life is to make the other one laugh. 

Xoxo,

mommy

Mason: 6 years, 3 months

Not surprisingly, I’m a week behind again. I sort of feel like that’s the story of my life these days, but oh well.

This month, we enjoyed our very first Mommy-and-Mason vacation. Just you and me buddy. We took off to Florida to visit Grandma and Gramps. I love your sisters to death, but traveling with just you was an absolute dream. The plane ride was totally uneventful. I never thought I would appreciate the word “uneventful” until we suffered through your sisters on a plane. You watched your iPad. You had snacks. You didn’t kick the chair in front of you (too often). You smiled and said thank you to the flight attendants. It was nothing like the previous year where Mama, Kellie and I tag teamed your sisters and offered Xanax to all the fellow the passengers just to survive.

When we got to Florida, you immediately hit the pool. This was the first time you’ve been to Florida since you learned to swim. You being able to swim also meant that I didn’t need to be in the water with you. I could sit on the deck chair and relax. Those are words I haven’t associated with a trip to Florida in three years. You spent so much time in the pool, you asked that we change your name to “Swimmer”, which you explained was reasonable because you have a friend named Walker, and he’s good at walking, so since you’re good at swimming, you should be called Swimmer. You did not, however, like being called a fish, because that would be silly. You learned to float and dive and do somersaults and backflips underwater. You jumped into the deep end and I’d rate your cannonballs. You made up a game kind of like water polo. I couldn’t quite follow the rules, but it usually netted out to you getting all the points and me and Grampy losing pretty consistently.

I spent all week trying to catch a gecko for you. I finally came through on the last day. You really just wanted me to catch one so it would shed its tail and you could bring it back to Mr. Tarpey’s class, which you did. You put it in a little glass bottle along with a real shark’s tooth that came with your dessert from the Ocean Grille.

We went on an airboat tour with Captain Bob and saw dozens of alligators and birds. You demanded I take a picture of everything (I deleted most of them because I’m notorious for not liking nature photos. I mean, I appreciate nature photos if they’re beautiful professional pictures or whatever, but iPhone snapshots of nature kind of bore me. I like to see smiling faces in my pictures). We also spent a day at the Brevard Zoo, and we went out to dinner every night. These are all things that we probably couldn’t have done if the girls had come, so it was extra special. Next year we’re going to go to the Kennedy Space Center. I’ve promised the girls that they can come next year though. They were very sad and missed you terribly. It did mean a lot to Grandma and Gramps that you could spend some time down there with them though, especially since it was Gramps’ birthday.

The other highlight of the month for me was when you ran your first race, the Run4Scituate Fun Run. You were so excited. It turns out, you run just like Forrest Gump, which is perhaps a reference that you won’t understand by the time you’re old enough to read this. Here’s a quick video of the madness.

 

Right around the 9 second mark, you come storming by in your easy-to-spot neon yellow shorts and gray t-shirt. And here’s my favorite picture of you just about crossing the finish line with your feet not even touching the ground.

Since the fun run, you’ve decided that you want to run longer races “just like mommy”. You beg me to let you run on the treadmill and practice, or if you see me put my running clothes on, you beg to come with me. Hopefully one day, buddy.

The Girls: 3 years, 7 Months

The Girls: 3 Years, 8 Months

[Drafted while on a plane back from Florida a few days ago]

Dear Girls,

Sorry I’m late. I am on vacation… without you. Mason and I went to visit Grandma and Gramps in Florida for his birthday. I missed you *so* much. I think six days is the longest I’ve ever been away from you guys. Mama and Kellie said the last two days have been especially hard for you Quinnie Bear (though I think that's more because you miss Mason than miss me). I can’t wait to get home and squeeze you. It’s going to take all my willpower not to wake you up when I get home (but I’m not dummy – never wake a sleeping kind unless it’s an emergency). I do have to admit, Florida was a lot more relaxing with just Mason and the flights were a breeze. I promise next year though we’ll all make it down. Grandma and Gramps really missed you guys too.

Hayden, for you, this month has been memorable for one very distinct pink reason:

Auntie Nic gave you this dress and you refused to take it off basically for two straight weeks. We’d sneak in the occasional cleaning, but you wore it day and night, rain or shine.

Quinn, princess dresses aren’t really your thing, but you scored a Captain America and Iron Man costume, not to mention new PJs that you wore just about every night this month. With the warmer weather coming, I admit I was a little curious to see how your very strong opinions about clothes would evolve. As it turns out, I’m just glad I haven’t given away all of Mason’s summer clothes from last year.

Quinn, you also hit a McAuley-kid first this month. You are officially the first McAuley child completely out of diapers. That's right, you beat your brother on this front -- a fact that I'm happy to memorialize here so that you can torture him for years to come. Mason still wears a pull up at night because he sleeps like the dead. I have literally dropped him, banged his head into a wall, and carried him basically upside down while sleeping and he doesn't budget. I have tried to get him to use the bathroom before I go to bed, but he sleeps so soundly he just slumps down onto the floor. You're a great sleeper, but if you have to pee in the middle of the night, you'll wake up an go. Hayden, you're still a crappy sleeper and you wear a pull up every night. You wake up most nights at some point crying. Most times you'll go back to sleep on your own, but I always hear you and always wake up. 

You guys had an art show at your school, which was super nice because I finally got to meet all of the friends you talk about. It’s weird for me – at our house in Hanover, I’d bring you to school most mornings, but now with Mason in kindergarten and not being able to be dropped off until 8:15, mama and Kellie get drop off duty most days. As a result, I don’t really know any of your teachers or your friends. On the few occasions I have brought you in, I feel like that hapless goof who doesn’t know the rules – like where lunches go and what door to use. We get by, though, right babes?

I really did miss you guys so much when we were in Florida. As demanding as you guys are, I love having your smiley faces, silly dance parties, and even your potty buttcrack mouths as one of the most treasured parts of my day. I am grateful that at least through the wonders of FaceTime I’d get to see those faces every day, but it doesn’t really hold a candle to the live and in person version. Can’t wait to see you my loves.

Xoxo,

Mommy

Mason: 6 years, 2 months

Dear Mason,

You're now about 3/4 of the way through Kindergarten. It's amazing to see how much you've grown and how eagerly you've embraced school. One of my favorite parts of my day is coming home and thumbing through your folder with all of your school work. This gem from St. Patrick's day really cracked me up...

You are smurt buddy. Smart too. Mama and I both chuckled when we read your report card. In case the picture is too small, it basically says you're brilliant (I might be slightly exaggerating, but I'm sure that's what your teacher meant). It was the one area to work on that I've highlighted in red that really made us laugh: "One area that he continues to work on is controlling his impulse to speak whenever he wants." I have absolutely zero difficulty picturing you in this regard. You have so many words in your head they're always rushing to get out all the time. Big words, complicated thoughts, detailed descriptions... it all comes pouring out of you at an uncontrollable pace.

One area where you're especially descriptive and imaginative is recapping our "dream dates." You pick where we go and the next morning we talk about our adventures. The other night, you wanted to go "into the TV and into the Minecraft world." The next morning, you told me all about the places we visited, the buildings we blew up with TNT, going all the way to the edge of the world to see the ocean, seeing Mama working at the Minecraft hospital and going up to the window and making her laugh and spying on her. I could listen to you describe our dream dates for hours. We've been to Saturn, a space jungle, the beach, Africa... I love when I get to say things like, "remember when we turned the corner and saw the big jungle snake...?" and you just take it and run with it. I love how excited you get and the words get all caught up in your mouth because your brain is going 100x times than you can speak. 

One new word we may have taught you this month is "shart." I know, I know - we're terrible people. Here's the backstory - we got an email from your teacher saying that you had a bathroom accident, dirty clothes were coming home in your backpack, and that we needed to send in an extra set of clothes. I immediately wrote back "Context?? Mason hasn't had an accident in years. Was it in front of people?" And in the following 20 or so minutes that it took your teacher to respond, I died a thousand deaths thinking of the humiliation you must have experienced from peeing or pooping yourself on the playground or in gym or something. Then the response came: "I don't know. He was in the bathroom by himself when it happened. He wasn't running to the bathroom or anything, and he didn't seem upset or anything by it." This put my mind at ease. I texted Mama, "He probably just took a huge poop and didn't wipe himself well enough so they had to change his pants." I wasn't exactly right. When you got home from school, Mama asked what happened and you said, very nonchalantly, "Oh, I thought it was going to be a bubble but when I pushed, poop came out." So yeah, buddy, you had your first (and hopefully last) experience of gambling on a fart and losing. Congrats, my son. 

In slightly more serious news, you gave us a bit of a scare this month. You complained of a headache and double vision. We took you to the primary and you passed your eye test correctly identifying each letter but saying "I see two E's but they're touching and I know there's only 1", so we made an appointment with a pediatric eye doctor who came highly recommended and his diagnosis was basically that you're faking it. More accurately, he explained that kids can't actually have double vision - that there's something with brain development that actually stops the signal from getting from your eye to your brain and that kids sometimes describe blurriness as double vision, but that you didn't seem to have any blurriness. He also suggested that right around this age, kids learn that they can purposefully make themselves go cross-eyed and start experimenting with it. Mama and I aren't 100% convinced because you were so consistent and detailed in your description, but you did say "sometimes I can control it and... sometimes I can't," so we're a in a "wait and see" place right now. I thought for sure we were going to be leaving the Dr's office with new glasses, as if you could get any cuter. 

I love you buddy. You and the girls are our everything.

xo,

mom

The Girls: 3 1/2

Dear girls -

The good news: we're halfway through the three-nager year, and so far, we've survived.

The bad news: we still have six months to go, and surviving is still definitely a big question mark. 

Hayden, you're particularly feisty. Your have a swear word that you made up... when you get mad at someone, you yell "You MUGGER" or "You're a MUGGER!" At first I thought, Harry Potter? But since we haven't started reading those yet and you've never seen the movie, and the word is actually "Muggle", I ruled that out. Mugger has also evolved to "Nugger" -- which you can imagine is a little problematic when you yell it in public. As such, we've decided to not let you out of the house. Ever.

You've also stopped sleeping through the night. Not that you were ever particularly good at sleeping through the night, but now, pretty much without fail, you wake up SCREAMING every single night. I, of course, made the mistake of bringing you into bed, which I justified by a) my total and complete exhaustion and b) fear that you would wake Quinn up, but it was really a huge mistake. First, when you do sleep in bed with me, you insist on lying on my head. Literally on my head. Preferably with you knee wedged in between my shoulder blades or in the small of my back. It is absolute torture. Second, we have now established the habit that you scream (and scream and scream and scream) until I come into your room and get you. I'm hoping to have a turn-around soon. For one, I've resolved to stop bringing you into bed. For another, the weather is getting warmer. This is a critical success factor because you insist on not sleeping under the covers and instead using these tiny little baby blankets that get twisted up pretty easily leaving you exposed. Most the time you wake up and if I don't come running, you start yelling "I'm COLD! I'M COLD!!!" Now of course, the rational person would say that you're fully capable of fixing your own blanket. You can, after all, cook scrambled eggs and operate an iPhone. But, at 11, 1, or 3 in the morning, I'm rarely a rational person. Plus, you are simply relentless. You will scream for what feels like an ever-loving eternity. 

Quinn, you're a great sleeper but you're equally relentless when it comes to certain things. Mostly two things: blue pants and my iphone. A few weeks ago, you discovered a pair of blue fleece pants, which you paired with a blue South Carolina shirt. You are obsessed with them. You would wear that outfit every single day if we let you. Here you are wearing it on a hike with our buddy Maddie during a rainstorm:

You are so obsessed with this outfit that literally every other night, I have to warn you "tomorrow is a jeans day, ok? Blue pants are in the wash." (Incidentally, Hayden is almost as obsessed with the outfit featured in this photo as well, though you can't see the skirt that she's also wearing). 

Your other obsession is electronics in general, but my iphone in particular. I've come to hate the words "I WANT YOUR PHONE!!!" A stronger parent would institute a "no phone for toddlers" rule and significantly limit your screen time given your clear obsession, but what can I say? I'm weak. And tired. And Hayden keeps me up all night. You watch the dumbest videos on YouTube - there's the whole series of the 20-something year old female actresses dressed up as Disney Princesses but in modern day settings and situations. (I almost wrote "adult female actresses" but that sounded kind of pervy and as weird and inappropriate as the stuff you watch is, it doesn't get into the whole porn genre... Have to draw a line somewhere, right?) 

On the easier side of the spectrum, you guys are increasingly into imagination play. You can have tea parties that last more than 5 minutes. With the weather getting nicer, you play outside more. You'll both follow Mason just about anywhere, but especially you Quinn. You idolize him. 

All in all, I'd say we're doing a-ok girls. I love you to the moon. I love you so much that Hayden, when you were sick a few weeks ago and coughed so hard you started puking,  I  just put my hand out and caught it. *THAT* is how much I love you both. 

xoxo, 

mommy

Mason: 6 Years, 1 Month

Dear Mason –

Earlier this month, I wrote about your sisters’ strength and how you have a zillion great qualities, but they’re definitely tougher than you. We had your 6-year-old well visit this month – you’re in the 40-something percentile for height and 30-something percentile for weight. We have a terrible time buying you pants because you hate when things are too big, so you wear 4T, even though they come up mid-calf on you. You have just recently started to wear and like jeans though, which I must say, I love – especially when you sport hipster straight leg jeans. Don’t kill me – but sometimes I put you in Quinn’s jeans because of course, they design girls’ clothes to be form-fitting whereas most boys’ jeans are cut to fit more loosely. You also have a sweater that you call your “handsome sweater”. It’s a blue cable knit and it brings out your eyes. It’s super preppy and kind of dressy, but you often wear it with gray athletic pants, so the fact that you now like to wear it with jeans make you pretty much ready for Gap Kids’ ads, in my book anyway.

You’re not super strong, but you are hardworking and sweet. You’ve asked Mama for a skateboard, so she made you a chore-chart, and when you complete 20 chores you can buy a skateboard. Every day you ask if I have any chores for you to do, like doing the dishes, feeding Keela or cleaning your room. I gave you an extra check mark this weekend because when I picked you and your sisters up at the Y’s playroom, you were playing with a little girl and her mom was right there watching. She started gushing about how sweet you were, how her daughter was scared to be left in the playroom, but you went over and showed her a toy and made her feel better. That’s your special gift buddy. The girls might be able to kick your butt in a wrestling match, but there isn't a sweeter kid on the planet, and I couldn’t love you anymore because of it.

In other news, your cousins got you your first chapter books for your 6^th birthday, and you devoured them, which of course, I love. You continue to develop an exceptional vocabulary. The other day you told me “I need to take a shower. I fell at school and the dirt looks like savage little germs.” You’ve also started to take karate, though I think you’re more interested in the uniform and t-shirt than you are the finer points of martial arts. We also went bowling for the first time. You liked it a lot more than your sisters, who were more interested in the arcade than in candle pin.

Mostly, though, regardless of what we're doing, you’re my silly best bud, and I can always count on you to make me smile.

Love you to pieces. xoxox,

mommy

The Girls: 3 years, 5 months

Dear Girls,

One of my favorite things about both of you is your strength and your toughness. You both exhibit these qualities in spades, albeit in different ways.

Hayden, you have this agility and confidence that’s so fun to watch. You scale counters using the knobs as a ladder and with swift upper body moves, you can propel yourself just about anywhere. You have balance and grace, but you also have a fierce, relentless determination – frankly, when you want something, you’re a little scary, even though you are kind of a peanut.

Quinn, you have a sterner strength. I picture you as some future CEO or President yelling “I want it on my desk, NOW!” You don’t have Hayden’s agility, but you have more brute force strength. You fall down 1000 times a day and 999 times you get right back up without batting an eye. You are covered in head to toe bruises, but it takes a really bad fall to slow you down. Mason has a lot of wonderful qualities – way too many to count – but he doesn’t have the same strength and toughness that you guys have. I think you’re actually doing him a good service by keeping him on his toes and toughening him up a bit.

Raising strong, resilient, and confident kids – especially girls – is really important to me right now. I hope you're always so self-assured and comfortable in your skin as you are right now at age 3. 

Generally speaking, I don’t question my parenting. I mean, I know I spoil you and I give in too easily, and I enable some poor behaviors like sitting on the counters and too much ipad time, but overall, I think I do right by you and your brother. What scares the bejeezus out of me as a parent is that despite my best efforts and intentions, I can’t control every outcome. It probably sounds pretty arrogant to even *wish* to control every outcome, but something happens when you have kids, or at least it did for me: you want not so much to live in this world but to construct it, to make it conform to a comfortable, safe place. But, obviously, that’s a pipe dream, which is why I’m so proud of and grateful for your strength.

Watching you guys play and interact actually makes me feel stronger – physically, mentally, and emotionally.  On the physical side, a few years ago, I shared a meme on Facebook that said “If I’m running, you should too because it means something is chasing me.” Now, I’m in the middle of training for a half marathon. This feels like a big deal because it’s so far out of my physical (and mental) capabilities today, and it requires finding the time to put in the training which in and of itself is a daunting task and a big commitment. On the mental and emotional side, there are so many days when I just want to come home and retreat inside myself, but there you are, begging to have a dance party to Fitz & The Tantrum's "Dance Party" or do the McAuley-Girl Original Song and Dance "Booty Booty Butt Crack." Your giggles are contagious and fuel me through the next few hours until it's time to collapse into bed. 

I always want you to know that being strong like you guys is part of my motivation. You are my superheros. 

Xoxo,

Mommy

Happy 6th Birthday, Mason

Dear Mason,

Happy 6^th Birthday buddy. I can’t believe how fast that went by.

Facebook has this “memory” feature, so just about every day I get to look back on when you were a baby. The other day, it was a video of you saying in a sing-songy way “shake your booty, shake your booooo-teeeee, share your boooooo-teeee.” For the rest of the day, I walked the halls of my office singing it in my head. I get sad in a sappy kind of way that you’re no longer the little toddler with a mop of curls, and instead you’re this lean, wiry little boy, but I am also grateful. We have real talks – about friendship and love and kindness. We play games with complicated rules. We shoot hoops at the gym and read National Geographic Reader books at night, and you interrupt 1000 times to ask questions. Sometimes we have “fall asleep overs” when I go to bed super early too and I'll watch an episode of West Wing on my phone or read a book, and you fall asleep holding my hand.  You’re getting so big though it’s actually kind of hard to scoop you up and put you back in your bed.

You mostly take showers now instead of baths. This is a small but very specific way you’re no longer my little baby. You love “relaxin’ time” in the shower, and I’m praying we don’t have another water ban this summer because I think you could single-handedly drain the Scituate reservoir with your love for long, steaming hot showers (maybe you get that from me).

You’re not what I would call a stellar, natural athlete, but you looked pretty comfortable when you took your first ski lesson a few weeks ago. By the end of the first day, you were legit skiing (stopping, not so much, but that’s just a detail). You’ve also really enjoyed playing on a basketball team, though I’m pretty sure your favorite part is chatting with the coaches and other players. Sometimes, your defensive position looks a little more like jazz hands than defense, and during warm ups when the coach has all the kids shuffle along the sidelines, I hold my breath because I’m almost certain you’re going to trip and face plant. You love dribbling and shooting baskets though. Mama and I got you a real hoop for your birthday. I can’t wait til you see it. 

Happy birthday, buddy. Right now, just about everywhere I look, there’s a lot of chaos and uncertainty, but when I look at you and your sisters, I see joy and happiness. I love you to pieces.

Xo,

mommy

The Girls: 3 years, 4 months

Dear Girls,

I don’t mean to give you the short shrift, but I think this month’s post is going to be rather brief. I have a head cold that makes it hard to concentrate, and everything around me feels like it’s spinning slightly off its axis. Amidst all the fog and craziness though is you, and you couldn’t be any sweeter (punctuated by periods of total a-hole’ness, of course).

Last night I had a work dinner so I didn’t get to put you guys to bed, which is something I hate missing.  Quinn, you woke up at 2:30 am, which is weird for you. You’re definitely the best sleeper of the three of you – even when invited into our bed, you choose to go into your own bed, unless you’re trying to convince us it’s “wake up time” and we somehow convince you that 5:30 am really isn’t wake up time and you should come cuddle for at least a little bit longer. But last night you woke up at 2:30 am, and when I asked you what was wrong, you just said “you didn’t do songs.” So I scooped you up, brought you back to bed, sang “you are my sunshine”, “itsy bitsy spider”, and “twinkle, twinkle” and off to sleep you went.

In other funny twist of events, Quinn, your obsession with super heroes and boys’ clothes went as fast as it came. The past few days, you’ve dressed yourself in pink sweaters and shirts with hearts and flowers. I offered you Darth Vader and Super Man and you just looked at me like I was crazy. You’re definitely your own person, and I love that about you.

Hayden, you have a unique style all your own too. We went up skiing this weekend, and for three days straight you wore the same out: your “pretty dress”, spandex leggings, fluffy skirt, and black fashion boots. Even when we made you put snow boots on to play in the snow, the second you got in the car, you demanded that we change you back into your black boots. Every morning convincing you to wear clean underwear was considered the win of the day and we simply ignored the fact that every picture from the weekend, you’re wearing the same clothes. In 10 years, no one will notice, right?

The three of you loved being up north. Mason took his first ski lesson, but the classes for 3 year olds were full, and you were none too pleased about it. Next year, babies, we promise. Instead, we rode the snow-mobile-pulled-wagon back and forth between the main lodge and ski school over and over again. Mama was so happy to see you guys fall in love with being up in the mountains.

I love you munchkins. Xo

mommy

Mason: 5 Years, 11 months

Dear Mason,

I can't believe you're just one short month away from being six. Ok, I'm a week late, so really you're about three weeks away. Details, details.

A few days ago, we went to Target to buy a birthday present for your friend Alex and a "prize" for Hayden since she was brave and let me and Mama take her stitches out. Wandering the toy aisles of Target alone with three kids is a special kind of hell. There are many types of parents out there - free range, helicopter, whatever. Target is a place where those parenting styles tend to come out, and as I've noted in previous posts, I tend towards the free range.

With that in mind, it didn't bother me that you weren't exactly in my line of sight for every single second. Hayden was in the throes of indecision in the princess aisle, heavily debating the merits of a Frozen Elsa Dress-Up Gown or the Sleeping Beauty Dress-Up Gown, so I let you go to the next aisle to scope out a potential gift. Now, don't get me wrong, every few minutes I called over to you or popped my head around, but I definitely wasn't hovering. A few minutes went by though, and a woman popped around the corner and said "there she is!" Apparently, you had wandered one or two aisles further and then panicked a bit because you didn't know where I was.  

The plus side of this interaction is that you did everything exactly right -- a few weeks ago, we taught you that if you're lost, first you look for a policeman. If you can't find a policeman, you look for a person that works at the store or wherever we are. If you can't find an employee, you look for a mom. Moms are nice and want to help kids, so they're a good choice if policemen and employees are unavailable. When you find that person, you tell them your name and you give them my phone number. You did it perfectly, buddy. (Bad luck on your part though, you picked a woman whose cell phone was dead. Nonetheless, she was a mom who happily helped you.)

There was a time this fall when Quinn wandered off at a fair and I panicked a little bit, but if I'm being honest, this Target incident wasn't anything like that. At the time, it barely even registered. Maybe I'm naive, but I don't live like there are bad people around every corner looking to do harm to our family. As it marinaded over the next couple of days though, it has shaken me a bit more. I mean, Hanover's Target isn't exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, but there are crazy people everywhere and I should have kept you a bit closer. 

On the school front, you continue to do amazingly well. I love how they send home your daily assignments. We don't save any of them, so I'm thinking I should make my favorites a more regular part of these posts for posterity.

You had an assignment after the Christmas break to "draw and write about something you did over vacation." You didn't write about family or getting a visit from Santa or going to Nantucket. You wrote about your real highlight. "I got pensils" (sic)

You did, in fact, get pencils, along with an electric pencil sharpener and orange ear muffs which were the top two items on your Christmas wish list. I don't know of another five year old whose biggest Christmas dreams include sharpening pencils, but I'm not complaining. You're obviously putting all of those sharp pencils to work.

Yesterday, you brought this home:

There are a few letters missing, but it says "I like to learn about the moon." And you do. You love space. You've asked for a space themed birthday party next month and you love to read and learn about the moon and planets. You also love to learn about dinosaurs, sharks, rocks, volcanoes, and science in general. We were lucky enough to nab a spot for you in the free science camp your school offers after school. So far, you've built a battery and a robot. Maybe we have a future engineer on our hands, who knows? 

You also care deeply about your appearance, which I find hilarious. You love to "look handsome" and whenever you pick out an outfit you think I'll like, you'll proudly march downstairs and ask, "mommy, do I look handsome??" You could be wearing a tattered t-shirt and no pants, and I'd answer yes. Most of the time, however, you're wearing a striped shirt and pants that are two inches too short because you hate when clothes are too big, and because you have the tiniest little waist and no bum, you wear 4T pants, even though you should be in 5T. For perspective, you and Quinn now wear the same size pants and you get hand-me-downs from Jack Valliere, who is a full year younger than you.

You do look very handsome in stripes though, my love. 

The picture on the bottom left also reflects  your newest passion - clean dishes. You LOVE washing dishes. You very nearly succeed at getting them clean too. I just love that you like to help, even if it means our water bill will be in the thousands and I have to wash all the dishes again after you go to bed. 

I love you to pieces, bug. 

xoxo

Mommy

The Girls: 3 Years, 3 months

Dear Girls –

I’m sorry I’m late, but with the holidays, I deliberately did my best to stay away from my computer. The results were amazing – with the exception of the fact that Mama was really sick or working the whole time, we had a great week and a half off.

We celebrated Christmas on Nantucket. Our first day there, I noticed something different about the two of you. Normally, in all situations that involve anyone other than our immediate family (and sometimes, even when it is just the five of us), you’re superglued to my side. Hayden, you in particular are so attached to me that when I’m not around, our friends comment that you’re like a different kid. But this trip to Grandma and Grampy’s house was different… with absolutely no prompting from me whatsoever, you eagerly followed Grampy on his errands or sought out Grandma to do your hair or paint your nails. There were times for whole stretches that I assumed you were in the house somewhere, but to be honest, I didn’t really know where. I sat on the couch and drank coffee. By myself. Without someone on my lap. Or asking for water or a snack. I almost didn’t know what to do with myself.

Same thing went at Auntie Kristen’s house. It took a few minutes because her dogs scare the ever-loving-bejeezus out of you (even though they’re the nicest, sweetest, yellow labs on the planet), but after the initial shock factor, you guys were off and running and doing your own thing. Auntie and I were free to catch up, and by “catch up”, I mean drink champagne.

I’ve noticed something else in the past month: you’re both a lot more into “pretend play” – giving voices to your animals, making fake phone calls to the doctor to report a belly ache, etc.  I think this is a fun milestone with any one kid, but because there are two of you, it’s even more entertaining. The worlds you construct together make my heart melt.

Christmas this year was extra fun because you guys finally “get it”. On Christmas Eve, Santa came for an in-person visit. You both hugged him. HUGGED. A total stranger. Seriously, your new independent streak is really freaking me out. Santa underscored how key it was to go to bed early and get a good night sleep. Hayden, you took him pretty literally and tried to go to bed as soon as he left. It was 5:30. We convinced you that it was ok to stay up just a little bit longer.

Leading up to Christmas, I did what I’m pretty sure is a McAuley-family trait. I bought a bunch of presents, laid them all out to wrap them, and then worried that I hadn’t really bought enough stuff. I then went to Amazon and bought more stuff. This is a stupid, stupid thing to do because any sane person a) realizes that you guys already have more “stuff” than any kids could possibly hope for, and b) I should know that even if we don’t spoil you rotten over the holidays, the rest of the family will. I need to re-read this post next year so that I don’t succumb to the same instinct. But, I have to admit, your enthusiasm over each and every present did make it pretty special. Whether it was the presents I knew you’d be excited about (“TROLLS!!!!!!) or the less flashy presents (“PAPER!!!!!! I GOT PAPER!!!!!!), every present you opened you gushed over with excitement.

After Nantucket, we headed out to CT to see Memere, Grandpa, and your aunt and uncles. There, we relived the whole present excitement over again. By this point, it was setting in that Christmas is pretty much the greatest time of the year and that nothing would really match it again for another 11 months. Toddler tragedy struck when we got back to Scituate though. We realized that Lamby and Brown Bear had decided to hide at Grandpa’s and didn’t make it back with us. For the first night, it wasn’t too much of an issue for you Hayden. You were so tired that you really just passed out. The second night though, the cries for Lamby broke my heart. By then, Lamby and Bear were already en route back via US Postal Service, but we knew we needed to muscle through a couple of nights. We did so by calling in a surrogate… in an elaborate play act, I dubbed Llama in charge of Hayden’s night time ritual, spoke at length about how Lamby and Bear were going to be put into time out for sneaking under Grandpa’s covers so that they could spend an extra few nights in CT, and that all the animals had to rally to make you feel warm and snuggly. The “you’re in charge” line really stuck, and per the previous paragraph, you then proceeded to play-act with all of your animals, the Llama proudly boasting to the stuffed Nemo that he was in charge. We replayed this elaborate scene every night until Lamby finally made his way home.

Our bedtime routine also saw the introduction of a new act. Somehow, Mason’s desk chairs ended up in your room, so now instead of me reading you a book, you each take a turn sitting in the chair playing teacher and reading me a book, while I sit crisscross-apple-sauce on the ground and listen attentively. You mostly read “Llama, Llama, Red Pajama” (which, Hayden, you just mumble “llama, drama, llama, drama” in a sing-songy way through the whole book), or “Toot”, which includes lots of fake fart noises. Quinn, you’ve really embraced this little game and it is super fun to watch because you hold the book out towards me, just like the teachers at school would do reading to the students, and if we pick a book other than Llama, Llama or Toot, you do a really good job making up a story to go along with the pictures. For example, we have a book about a bird building a nest, but in your story, the bird is flying to the North Pole to visit Santa at his workshop.

Speaking of Santa, it’s funny, but he has more leverage after Christmas than either he or Jebby the Elf had leading up to it. Pre-Christmas, I often reminded you that Santa and Jebby were watching. This was usually good for maybe a moment’s pause on whatever behavior you were undertaking that you probably shouldn’t have, but it didn’t really have any of the transformative effects every parent hopes for. Post-Christmas though, our Santa turned from a benevolent gift giver to a tyrant who threatened to come back and take away all the new toys and give them to boys and girls who are better behaved. I think that because Santa is perhaps a less abstract concept now than he was before Christmas, this threat carries a lot of weight and has been used frequently in the subsequent week after Christmas. (If I’m being honest, there’s a high probability I’ll still be using this threat in August).

Quinn, one area where you have gotten older, but in a way that makes me sad, is in how you express your hurt feelings. When Hayden is sad or angry, she has a typical three-year-old screaming, yelling fit – rolling around on the ground, hitting, biting... It’s very toddler-esque. You, however, have a streak that is more “broody teenager” than it is “enraged toddler”. You bellow a low guttural “NO!” or “ARGGGGGHHHH” when you’re mad with a look of fire in your eyes that quite frankly scares me with its intensity. Even worse, you might quietly sulk away and sit on the bottom stair with your hands in your head. If I approach you to see what’s wrong, you turn your back to me and grunt at me to go away. It’s very depressing. I think you’re a bit more of an old soul than other three years olds.

On a more upbeat note, I wrote last month about your very particular fashion sense. We’ve embraced it wholeheartedly and this Christmas, you were the lucky recipient of a windfall of new t-shirts: Darth Vader, Captain America, trains, R2D2, etc. We’ve even take the step of giving you your own shirt drawer so that you don’t have to weed through the dozens of flowery pink shirts that Hayden prefers in order to get to your choice superhero.

Hayden, while you still throw toddler tantrums, one other way you got a lot older this month was physically, due in large part to the fact that we took you to get your first haircut. Your whole life you have had the most adorable curls, but like we learned with Mason, once you cut them off, they don’t necessarily come back. We fought getting your haircut for as long as we could, but nightly torturing of detangling seemed like a cruel price to have to pay for our inability to let go, so we took you to get them cut. You’re still cute as ever, but the curls are mostly gone.

Girls, I love you to pieces.

Love,

Mommy

Mason 5 Years, 10 Months: Helping points and good decisions

Dear Mason –

It’s been a busy time of year with Christmas coming up, so I’m a little late.

A few weeks ago, I started doling out “helping points” – arbitrary points awarded when you do something particularly kind or helpful. I was shocked at what a motivator it was for you – it convinced you to clean your room, let your sister wear one of your shirts, and various other good deeds. I didn’t really track the points anywhere – but you would studiously add them up in your head and know how many points you had. After a week or so, when you had 13 helping points, I told you that if you got to 20 helping points you could have $5 and you could use that $5 in one of two ways: a) you could buy the earmuffs you’ve been asking me for since September when you saw them in Target, or b) you could use the $5 to buy a Christmas tree for a family that couldn’t afford one. (We did something similar last year, though we didn’t actually buy a Christmas tree; we ended up buying two little girls Christmas presents instead).

This choice was a really big moral dilemma. You *pleaded* with me to do both. I was really careful not to push you too hard one way or another. I did point out that Christmas was coming and that since you had been such a good boy, I was pretty confident someone would get you the earmuffs for Christmas, and I also pointed out that some boy or girl might be pretty sad not having a Christmas tree, but I also said it was your decision, that you worked hard for your helping points and that ultimately, you got to decide what to do with the $5. You were seriously tortured. There was a good 30 minutes where I almost relented and just told you I’d get you the earmuffs. After a while, we did compromise… you could work extra hard to earn 40 helping points and then do both. (Side note: what 5-year-old gets that emotional over earmuffs? You’re a truly unique little dude.)

A few days later, we went to see your cousin Jack play football on Martha’s Vineyard (He won, by the way, bringing the Island Cup back to Nantucket for the first time since 2002). Your cousin Mackenzie came back with us since she was flying back to college the next day. On the boat ride home, helping points came up in conversation, and you told me, “Mommy, I’ve decided to use the helping points to buy a Christmas tree.” I was so proud of you I almost cried.

Once again, we ended up not buying a tree and ended up instead sponsoring a family and outfitting two little girls with a bunch of Barbie gear – but the sentiment was the same. The only thing I don’t love about anonymously sponsoring a family for Christmas is that you don’t get to see the fruits of your hard work. I think when you get a little bit older, we’ll start doing stuff that’s a little bit more hands on so that you can see the impact of your big heart directly. You already have such a wonderful sense of empathy, but it’s something I want to actively nurture as you get older.

In other news, we had our first official parent-teacher conference this month. Mr. Tarpey didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know: you are kind, smart, and excelling academically and socially. You’re very sensitive and he called you an “old soul”. You’re a rule follower for the most part, but if other kids start something, you’ll tiptoe your way in to check it out. You get along with everybody. Sometimes you have a little difficulty listening, and you get really upset if you don’t have time to finish whatever you’re working on.

School has been great for you. We can literally see the progression in your reading and math every day. There is one thing that bothers me and Mama: you’re very hard on yourself. You have a reading and language development game on your iPad that school encourages you to play. When you complete a certain level, school gives you a certificate. You love playing it, but when you get something wrong, you freak out and say things like “I’m a failure!” or “I’m so useless!” and start crying. I don’t even know where you learned these expressions. Mama and I have had lots of conversations with you about how it’s ok to make mistakes, and explained that’s how you learn. But still – you take making mistakes very hard. We’ve tried hard over the years not to tell you how smart you are, and instead we focus on praising hard work and grit. (Angela Lee Duckworth’s TED talk on grit and its role in becoming a successful adult was very inspiring). You *are* hardworking; you don’t give up, but the emotional lashing you give yourself every time you mess up is painful to watch, and I hope it’s something you grow out of because you are really so special and I never, ever, ever want you to feel like a failure or that you’re useless.

We love you buddy.

Xoxo

Mom

(ps – you NEVER call me “mommy” anymore, sniff)

 

 

The Girls - 3 years, 2 Months - Battle Wounds

Dear Girls –

November has been rough, my little angels - and I'm not talking about politics (though that has been rough on a different scale). I mean, physically rough. For example, I was buckling you into your carseats in grandma’s cars while we were on Nantucket, and the wind caught the door and slammed shut on the back of my knees. I crumpled to the ground and lay there helpless for a few minutes before mustering the strength to stand back up. The next day, I had a softball sized bruise on the back of my knee.

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, we were facetiming Auntie Joy, and Hayden, you were sitting on my lap. When we were done, Mason wanted to show me something so I moved to lean over, right as you decided to literally jump off my lap. Your concrete noggin’ smashed my face and I immediately started bawling. This outburst of emotion scared the bejeezus out of you because, despite the many bruises that proceeded this one, you’ve never actually seen me cry. And I *SOBBED*. The gasping-for-air-checking-to-see-if-you-knocked-a-tooth-out sobbed. The three of you were so scared. Mason ran to get me a blanket and tuck me in. Quinnie, you just petted my head and assured me “it’s ok mommy.” Hayden, you mostly just stood frozen, scared out of your mind that you broke mommy. I tried my best to stop crying so that you would know I was OK, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. For days, my face throbbed though the only physical evidence was a giant bruise on the inside of my lip that nobody could see, and a little bit of a bruise on the outside of my lip that kind of just made it look like I had half of a mustache. So yeah, that look was hot. 

Meanwhile, I haven’t been the only one having a rough go. Hayden, after three straight nights of crying, multiple potty accidents even though you haven’t had any in months, and being off your game, I finally took you to the doctor to see if you had a UTI. When you were little you had one that we didn’t catch right away, so since then, Mama and I have been extremely gun-shy. The doctor we saw was pretty dismissive and kind of annoying, treating me like I was one of those moms that rushes to the doctor with every little ailment. I hate to admit it, but at that point, I was hoping you did in fact have a UTI just to shove it in her smug face, but alas, your tests came back clear and you have been basically fine since then.

The night after that doctor’s appointment, I was sound asleep when I hear you, Quinn, yelling from the bathroom “Mommy, come wiiiiiiiiiipe my butttttttt.” It’s a little odd that you would get up in the middle of the night to poop, but I got right up and took care of business. Ten minutes later you were back in the bathroom screaming bloody murder saying it hurt, and that started the next FOUR HOURS, from midnight til 4 am, when you got up every 15-20 minutes screaming like you were being tortured. The next day, Sunday, you were mostly fine but you kept running to the bathroom and then not going and screaming that it hurt. I bought you laxatives and stool softener. We then got into the car to go visit Auntie Trish and Auntie Caryn. Both of you fell asleep in the car and about 15 minutes from their house, Quinn, you shot awake anxiously saying that you had to go to the bathroom. Since I had pumped you full of laxatives, water, and stool softener, I wasn’t going to gamble on making it another 15 minutes. I stopped at a slightly upscale Mexican restaurant that hadn’t even opened for business. Hayden, you were still asleep, so I woke you up only to discover that you had peed while sleeping. No time to worry about that though… I just grabbed you, hoisted you on my hip, and pretended like I couldn’t feel the urine soaking through my coat, sweatshirt and shirt onto my skin. So, with one of you on each hip, I burst into the Mexican restaurant and asked if I could use the bathroom. The hostess somewhat reluctantly agreed (seriously?!?! Who would really have the gall to say no or make me feel bad about bringing you guys in to use the bathroom when the restaurant wasn’t even open… it wasn’t like I was dragging one pee soaked kid and another shit-filled kid through the middle of someone’s dinner?!?!). Anyway, we got to the bathroom, and Quinn, you once again refused to go, just screaming that it hurt. We left defeated, and on the way out the door, I ignored the dirty looks from the hostess who must have assumed based on the volume of your screams that I was prodding you with a red hot branding iron in the bathroom. We got to the car, and I dug out the pair of pajamas I had packed since we were going to be at Auntie Trish’s for the Patriots game, which wouldn’t end until around bedtime and I wanted you all suited up for the hour drive home. Hayden, I stripped your pee soaked clothes off of you while you were standing on the running board of the Suburban (It’s not like I was going to go back in and ask to use the bathroom again). Right then, a family walked by and looked at me like I should be locked up for stripping a kid down naked in 40-degree weather. So yeah, it was a good drive. We got to Auntie Trish’s and had a great time, complete with plenty of bathroom runs and screaming (and a bath). Finally, right as the Patriots were about to score their game winning drive, Quinnie, you pooped. I was so relieved; it was worth missing the touchdown. Except…. You still kept complaining it hurt.

The next morning, you told me “mommy, I have to go to the bathroom, but it’s OK, it’s won’t hurt because I have to poop, not pee.” I was confused by this… the whole time I thought you were in pain because you had an adult-sized poop stuck in your toddler-sized butt. But nope. Ultimately, Mama ended up taking you to the doctor (our regular doctor, not the condescending lady who saw Hayden a few days prior), and it turns out that you have a UTI. WTF? Maybe you psychosomatically induced a UTI because you were jealous Hayden got to pee in a cup a few days earlier? I’m totally chalking it up to some weird twin voodoo thing. Oh, and sorry for jacking you full of laxatives when really you didn’t need to go poop. Oops.

Anyway, bathroom woes and bruises aside, we’re having a pretty good run. You continue to get a little bit more independent (Hayden, for you this is a relative term, since your baseline starting point includes being suction cupped to me at all times). At Auntie Nic’s for Thanksgiving you played with the other kids and let me and Mama have a good ole time playing ridiculous games and drinking wine with the grown-ups.

You continue to develop your own style. For Thanksgiving, Quinn, you insisted on wearing your superman t-shirt for the second day in a row and a pair of jeans. To dress is up, we picked the jeans with flowers on them – which really made the blue in your dirty, hand-me-down batman light up sneakers pop. Hayden, you wore leopard print pants that were both inside out and backwards because you refused to let me help you put them on. We showed up looking like the hot mess family we are. The day after Thanksgiving, since superman was in the wash, Quinn, you had a terrible meltdown. Thankfully, Auntie Nic had given us a bag of Jackson’s old hand-me-downs at dinner, and we found a kick-ass Star Wars shirt (I thought it was Darth Vader, but our friends on social media corrected me. I forget the guy’s real name, so in our house, it will always be “Darf Vader”). You wore that for two days in a row and then switched back to Spider Man. Getting you dressed for school in something other than these two shirts this week has been a Herculean task.

For the record, I don’t care what you guys want to wear. I do prefer that your clothes are semi-clean, but Quinn, if you want to rock super heroes and star wars, and Hayden, you want to flash pink glitter and animal prints, I’m on board. No guilt or gender-typing boy clothes and girl clothes in our house. You’re both your own people and I love it.

We love you to pieces.

Xoxo

 

Mason: Five years, 9 months - Reflections Post Election

Dear Mason,

I’m writing a day early – on Thursday, November 10^th, two days after the United States elected Donald Trump as President. Our little universe of friends is pretty shaken up by this shocking result, along with the 59.9 million people who voted for her (which notably is higher than the 59.7 million people that voted for Trump, but this isn’t the forum to explain the absurdity of the electoral college). Most of the pundits had Hillary Clinton winning this election fairly comfortably, so as I watched the returns, it was with a mix of dread and disbelief. We’re shaken up because the rhetoric that surrounded the election was awful, and at the end of the day, a big, mean bully insulted his way into the White House by stoking people's fears and anger. I’m shaken up because while much of what he might do in the next four years can be considered temporary, there is currently an opening on the Supreme Court and three more justices are over the ages of 78, and his impact there could last well into your and your sisters' adulthood. 

You’re a sweet boy with a kind heart. I was upset when I woke up the morning after the election. You asked what was wrong, and I explained that Donald Trump won the election. And you responded, “it’s ok mommy, she can have her turn next year.” If there’s one upside to this, it’s that we’ll never have to sit through another Clinton election (Don’t get me wrong, I supported her and think she’s overwhelmingly qualified. I think a lot of the opposition to her was the result of a highly cultivated negative branding effort; but I said from the beginning that she was unelectable. I convinced myself that the only reason she had a shot was because the Republicans nominated someone I considered even less electable). Two days later, I’m still sad. And a little scared. And very disappointed.

But I’m moving on.

I’m moving on because at the end of the day, the President of the United States doesn’t teach you how to be a good man; that job belongs to me and mama. The President doesn’t teach you what words are ok and not ok to use; we do. The President isn’t responsible for teaching you that when you see people in need you should act with compassion or that when you see an injustice you don’t take it sitting down; that’s on us. Would I like to be able to point to the President and confidently say, “look – here’s a person to model yourself after, to look up to, and to emulate?” Of course. But he’s not the only option and there are plenty of amazing people in your life to choose from. Some of those people even voted for Trump.

I’m sad for sure. Election night, you fell asleep in our bed and instead of moving you, I just snuggled up next to you since Mama was at work. I soaked in your sweetness, and even as you snored and kicked (I wasn’t really sleeping anyway), I thought about how lucky I was to have such a wonderful family, that I get to go to a job that I like and that I’m good at (and they did just promote me to VP and put me on the executive committee – making me the only woman and youngest member of the EC, so hey, there’s one win for a glass ceiling not being impenetrable), that mama goes to work doing something she’s worked very hard to be able to do and loves very much, that I have three happy, healthy kids, and that I live in a liberal bastion that regardless of who lives in the White House, will almost assuredly always recognize and support our family. I feel like America got this one wrong, and there’s a lot of people who got the really short end of the stick with this election – but in the scheme of things, I wasn’t one of them. So instead of moping, we’re going to focus our efforts on the ways that we can have a positive impact on this world and look to help those who might have a tougher battle ahead. I know you’ll be right there beside me doing your very best on that front, because you’re a sweet boy with a kind heart, and I’m going to make sure that everything we do as a family is dedicated to fostering that.

I love you buddy.

#MasonForPresident2046!

The Girls: Three Years, One Month

Dear Girls,

We’re one month into the threenager year. One down, 11 to go…. Not that we’re counting. (Except yeah, we’re totally counting because threenagers are a-holes).

Hayden, you threw the most epic tantrum I’ve ever witnessed the other day leaving the gym. We stopped at the little café for a snack. Mason ordered a fruit cup that was definitely big enough to share. The nice young woman behind the counter gave me two extra cups so I could divide it up amongst the three of you. As I started to dole it out, you unleashed a fury the likes of which I’ve never seen. You backhanded the cup across the room. I very calmly picked you up and started to walk out. You bit. You pulled my hair. You kicked. The other people in the café started out with looks of sympathy, but after a minute or two (I couldn’t move very fast since I was being physically assaulted), the looks turned into “is that kid deranged?? What goes on in your house??!?” I finally got you outside and into the car, but I admit, I was feeling a little defeated. Just as quickly, you turned into your normal sweet and funny self.

Quinn, you’re no peach either. You insist on being carried everywhere. You’re really kind of lazy in that regard. Earlier this month, I literally carried you up a mountain. Ok, so that mountain was Blue Hills not Mt. Washington, but still, at 40 lbs, that was quite the feat and my arms definitely felt it the next morning. Mama and I have grown to hate the words “I CAN’T WALK!!!!” We’ve left you screaming on sidewalks and in various rooms around our house. More times than not, I cave and just pick you up. Mama is a lot more disciplined.

Other areas of our lives are getting a little easier. Bed times don’t feel like as much of a battle. We have a routine and as long as I don’t try to deviate or short shrift the routine, you guys are pretty accommodating. We end the bed time routine with “one more hug and one more kiss” – hayden, you like “nice one” (a sweet little kiss and gentle hug), but Quinn, you like “silly one” (aka tickles and me yelling smooochie smoochie smoochie!) There are only two things that slow us down regularly: 1) I don’t do “swishy blanket” the right way like Mama does, and Quinn, you will not stand for it. I try but you just yell “NOT LIKE THAAAAAT” over and over until I miraculously do it *just right*. I can’t even explain what swishy blanket is and how one does it right or wrong. It’s basically a move where me or mama elaborately waves the comforter over your whole body, including your head, and then pull it back yelling in a high pitched voice “swishy blanket” to reveal your face. It looks so simple when mama does it, I’m not sure how I regularly f*ck it up to the point where you scream at me like I’m a failure at life. The other roadblock to a successful bedtime is the outrageous stuffed menagerie that goes along with it. It used to just be Pooh and Lamby, but now Hayden, you go to bed with Lamby, little bear, big bear, fish, giraffe (which you regularly call zebra), and lamb (which is really a llama). Quinn, you don’t have quite as many: pooh, other pooh, dinosaur, and lamb (which is actually a lamb).

Halloween was technically after the 3 year, one month mark this year, but since I’m a few days late, I’ll note for posterity that it was a huge success and it just might be your favorite holiday. You love candy anyway, so a holiday dedicated to collecting vast amounts of candy was really tailor made for you little goblins. And unlike last year, where you screamed like you were being tortured, you loved wearing your costumes. You were adorable little red power rangers, the perfect sidekick to Mason’s black power ranger costume. Overall, I would say we pretty much rocked October. 

I love you bugs.

 

 

 

Mason 5 Years, 8 Months

Dear Mason,

Right now, the US is embattled in a very contentious presidential debate. I’m not going to use this sacred space to delve into politics, but the national dialogue (much of which is completely irrelevant to who is best qualified to be President), is making me want to reflect on a few things that I love most about you.

• I love your intellectual curiosity, your power of observation, and the way you always try to look at things from different angles. Please don’t lose that. When you turn 18 and you’re able to vote, work hard to understand party platforms and candidate’s world views. Read/watch Fox News and MSNBC (or whatever the equivalent is in 13 years when you’re old enough to vote) and everything in between. Read papers published in other countries so you understand how outsiders looking in are evaluating our nation's choices. Don’t boil your party allegiance down to something that can be summed up on a bumper sticker. Be more critical than that. As Thomas Jefferson once said, “A well-informed electorate is a prerequisite for democracy.” Be informed, or sit on the sidelines. (My preference is the former, but I'm increasingly on board with a school of thought that rebuts the idea that it's everyone's duty to vote regardless of how well informed they are.)
  
• I love your thoughtfulness. So much of our national dialogue right now is divisive and hate-centric. There’s an “anti-political correctness” wave underway, which I understand. I think people who say that we have gotten too sensitive, too soft, and too careful, have a point. I think the never ending stream of apologies for words that were said spontaneously without any real animus behind them are unnecessary, foolish, and mostly insincere. The nomenclature we use is so crafted that in many cases, it is no longer real. That said, words matter. Let me say that again: words matter. You don’t even always know or appreciate how much they matter in the moment, but there’s always someone listening. Even when you think they’re not, someone is listening. If it’s not something you’d say in front of me or Mama, chances are it’s not something you should really say at all. Be kind with your words. For example, I don’t think it matters much if you say “African-American” or “black”, as long as the intentions of your words are kind. I think it’s fine to say “Merry Christmas” as long as you say “thank you” if someone wishes you a “Happy Hanukkah” or don't hiss at someone who chooses to say "Happy Holidays".  Or if there’s just one kid in class who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, don’t make him feel like an outsider, and instead, ask thoughtful questions backed by genuine interest about his family traditions. In other words, don't worry about being "politically correct", but do worry about being thoughtful and kind. 
  
• I love your respectfulness. Granted, you’re five, so you can be a disrespectful little punk, but at your core, you understand the concept of respect. You’re being raised in a house with four strong, smart women. You will respect women for the rest of your life. This is non-negotiable. This isn’t to say that you can never make comments about women's appearance or even make the occasional joke, but you will understand that women are people with brains and dignity, and you will never, ever purposefully try to take that away. Male entitlement is a real thing, and it manifests itself in ways that range from benign to horrific, violent, and illegal. Making the wrong choices on this one is often times easier than making the right one. I’m not asking you to be perfect on this front, but I am asking you to be strong.
  
  
• I love the way you think big. One of the saddest things about this election is that so much of it is based on “which candidate do people dislike more”. I can’t tell you how much that reality depresses me. How did we get to a place where that was going to be the deciding factor in who sat in the most powerful office in the country? Think big. Be heroic.

I’ve probably alienated a lot of people with how vocal I've been in this election. I think one candidate is extremely flawed but, at the end of the day, highly capable and a proven public servant. In some ways, the mere fact that she’s sitting on top of the ticket is hugely inspiring, but in other ways, I regularly find myself lamenting “couldn’t someone else that could capture the nation’s imagination break this particular glass ceiling so that we could all revel in the sheer historical magnitude?” And I’ve been extremely critical of the other candidate -- not because he didn't pay taxes or he is "politically incorrect" but rather because, as someone who studied history in college, I’ve seen this play before: he’s preyed on fear, ran a political campaign based on “otherness”, dismissed the importance of having policy positions on important issues, regularly and vocally dismissed how important intellectual curiosity and thoughtfulness is to running the country, and bullied countless people in very public ways.

So many days I think to myself, I’m going to disengage from the political conversation… there’s just no upside. People are so entrenched in their beliefs – myself included – that there is no “changing minds” so what’s the point in engaging in a dialogue? Really all we’re doing is reinforcing the beliefs and passions of people who already agree with us. But then I look at you, and your sisters, and our family, and I think, for all of the reasons I’ve listed out above, this one is too important. The world is going to try to dull the edges of everything that is so special about you, and it is my sincerest hope that it fails spectacularly. 

I love you buddy. 

xoxo,

mommy

 

The Girls: Happy Third Birthday Girls

Dear Girls –

Happy 3^rd Birthday. I’m so sad that I’m away traveling for work instead of home with you guys to celebrate, but I’ll be home soon for us to celebrate together. In fact, I’ll probably be home by the time this post goes live, because I’m an idiot and forgot to bring my laptop charger with me and I’m running on 8 minutes of battery.

Quinn and Hayden, you are such strong, fierce, loving and beautiful girls. You are going through a phase of major attachment, which drives me crazy but I also know I’m going to miss it fiercely when it’s over. I seriously can’t leave a room without the two of you melting down in an apoplectic explosion of toddler rage. Pre-school drop offs were pretty frightening there for a while. Hayden, you’d start crying as soon as we got into the parking lot. Now that we’ve settled into a bit more of a rhythm, you’re a little bit better, but still – any time it involves saying goodbye, you both are less than enthusiastic.

Your latest obsession is with Halloween. Every night you ask “we go trick or treating tomorrow??” or if one of you does something wrong, the other one will say “if you don’t stop [biting/getting out of bed/yelling…] you won’t go trick or treating.” Finally your obsession with candy has given me a little parenting leverage. Every night you ask me to tell you “the pumpkin story” or the “trick or treat story” – both of which are variations of two girls, dressed like power rangers, going trick or treating and being greeted by every house with a magic bowl of never-ending candy (the pumpkin version contains a magical pumpkin patch, but is essentially the same story). Then I ask, “what does hayden pick?” and you tell me. Then “what does quinnie pick?” and you tell me… we go through the whole family. You know to say that mommy always picks sour patch kids because they’re my favorite, and that mama likes chocolate. You’re both going as red power rangers for Halloween this year, largely because your brother is going as a black power ranger, and he wouldn’t let you also be black power rangers, so you picked red. I’m not sure you even know what a power ranger is, but you seem pretty pumped up about it. It should be noted that Halloween is still more than a month away.

UPDATE 10/3/16: Battery restored. Your party was a big, crazy success. About 25 adults and at least as many kids piled into our house. We were sort of banking on it being nice out and having the bouncy house set up outside, but Mother Nature didn’t cooperate. It all worked out just fine though. Hayden, you tore through the presents… including Quinn’s. Quinn, you were more concerned with ring pops and cake. Overall you loved your party and wish every day was your birthday.

Now that I’m a few days late, it should also be noted that today is Mama and my seven year anniversary. That’s a big deal, because we’ve done a lot in those seven years. We’ve been on many trips, we’ve moved houses, we’ve started new jobs, we’ve lost loved ones, and most importantly, we’ve built a family. It hasn’t always been easy. Exhaustion can make getting out of bed in the morning overwhelmingly challenging, to say nothing of how much energy is needed to keep a marriage healthy and strong. And in case it isn’t obvious, you three are very exhausting little humans.  But here’s something you need to know about your mommy and your mama… we’re kind of bad asses. I hope that someday you guys grow up and find someone that complements you as well as Mama and I complement each other. I hope you have faith and love and fearlessness when you’re exhausted. And, I hope at the end of the day, you’re grateful for everything you have, just like I am.

I love you bugs.

Mason: 5 years, 7 Months, off to kindergarten

Dear Mason -

Congratulations, you have officially started your formal education. I love how excited you are to go to school every day (granted, we're only a week and a half in). On the first day, you had orientation and were so upset that you only got to go to school for an hour whereas the girls went to their new daycare all day. On the first real day, you Facetimed me when you got home and you looked so sad. I asked what was wrong and you said that you were sad because you had to come home. 

Starting school has turned our morning routine upside down, and we're still all getting used to it. My biggest complaint about kindergarten is that you can only get dropped off between 8:15 - 8:30. This level of precision requires the type of seamless morning execution that's simply foreign to our household. I was complaining about it to a work friend of mine who recently had a baby boy. He was very confused why it would be difficult to get to school within the allotted window, so I explained that on any given day, it could take 30 seconds or 20 minutes to get the girls physically buckled into their car seats, let alone all the variables of just getting out the door in a predictable manner. This was something that he really couldn't wrap his head around, so I pushed on, explaining that if either of the girls decide they don't want to be buckled in, there are several stages of influence that I have to use in order to get the desired end result: 

• Stage 1: asking
• Stage 2: commanding
• Stage 3: bribing
• Stage 4: begging
• Stage 5: physically man-handling them into their seats, sometimes requiring me to pinch their thighs and stiff arm them, at which point I've broken out into a full on sweat and now have to go back upstairs to change my clothes. 

So sometimes I end up showing up at school 20 minutes early so we detour to Starbucks, and then I'm at the mercy of the drive thru lane operating in a predictable manner. If all goes well, I'm at school by 8:10, and then we just park the car and I walk you in because even though school isn't officially open, there's always a handful of kids that are there early and they sit in chairs outside of the office, waiting until 8:15, at which point everyone is collected by the teachers. There is some serious military precision involved with running an elementary school, let me tell ya. 

Fortunately for me, we have arranged for Kellie to come and whisk all three of you off to school on mornings that Mama is working overnight, and Mama does it the other days... so I'm actually getting off pretty easily. 

You had "homework" on  your first day... you had to fill out a poster all about you:

It says that you are 5 1/2 year old, your favorite color is green, you love dinos (you wrote it all yourself and fitting "dinosaurs" in the little box seemed aggressive), a word that describes you is "nice", one thing you do not like is pizza (making you, I'm guessing, the only kid at kindergarten that had that answer), and you want to be an archaeologist when you grow up (I did write that one for you :). For the record, we didn't send you to school without shoes... we were just rushing to take the picture, because did I mention that we ONLY HAVE A 15 MINUTE WINDOW to drop you off?!?!

I think the expression on your face at pickup says everything you really need to know about your first day. It also highlights how big you are, which makes me want to sob into my iced coffee. 

I love you buddy. I can't wait to see how your year in kindergarten will unfold. 

xoxox

Mommy

The Girls: 2 years, 11 months

Dear Girls, 

It's the last month of your twos. If I'm being honest, mama and I are terrified. For Mason, three was so much more difficult than two. Maybe, though, girls mature faster than boys even at this age, so you're already into the "threenager" phase which explains why you're total a-holes 49% of the time, and you will emerge from it sometime this winter?? Oh, wouldn't that just be so wonderful. Both of you are Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde- level split personalities. One moment, you're the sweetest, kindest, most loving little cherubs; the next you're screaming, punching, biting, tantrum throwing little she-devils. That's one thing you have in common - your personality can shift on a dime. In most other ways, though, you continue to grow into two very different people.

Hayden, you've started helping me pick out my clothes in the morning. It's super cute when you walk into my closet and point to a dress and say "dat one. It pretty." and then you hand me my shoes. You regularly ask Kellie to paint your nails - your favorite nail polish color is blue. When the other kids are off playing with each other in the dirt, you typically stick close to the adults and play some pretend game that exists entirely in your imagination. Don't mistake my description of you as the "girly" one as implying that you're not tough as nails. You are absolutely fierce. I would not want to be caught in a back alley with you when you're angry. And you don't get angry in a high-pitched, squealy kind of way, but in a guttural "I'm going to cut you" kind of way. 

When you go all Hannibal Lecter on us, it's hard to imagine that the rest of they day, you've been this sweet little princess:

 

Auntie Joy has prognosticated that you're going to grow up to be a chef. You like to mix things and pretend cook, and you're a hot-headed psychopath... the perfect combo for a the restaurant life. If she turns out to be right, this photo will be especially prescient. 

You run like the wind and you can do pull-ups, but you refuse to pedal a bicycle, insisting instead that I just push you on it. It's symbolic really - you clearly have the strength and coordination, but you're not interested in doing it yourself so you'll just bark orders to be pushed around. Then you'll challenge me even further because even though you apparently haven't mastered pedaling, you sure as hell know how to slam on the brakes. I have many bruises from our sudden and unexpected stops. 

Quinn, you're always covered dirt and chasing Mason and our neighbor, Atticus, around. You regularly look homeless. 

You hop on a bike (with training wheels for the moment, but I swear you'll be riding a two wheeler in no time) and you pedal as hard and as fast as you can so that you can keep up with Mason. You venture into Atticus' yard and insert yourself into the game of soccer they're playing, or find one of his brother's hockey sticks and start wielding it around like a crazy lady. You regularly put wiffle ball bats down the back of your pants like Donatello's bo staff from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and then whip it out and play fight with Mase (yes, I had to google "what is the weapon Donatello uses on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turles to come up with "bo staff"). On a recent trip to Target, Mason got light-up TMNT sandals so you of course had to have them too, which I happily obliged because I'm a big believer in not falling into gender stereotypes - if you want to rock those sandals, more power to ya, lady! I'm not sure if you really love all this stuff, or if you're just SO IN LOVE with Mason that whatever he likes, you like. I've definitely noticed that's the case with food. Foods you've always loved you suddenly tell me are "disgusting" because Mason thinks they're disgusting. I still laugh at how close you two are considering, as documented here, just after your first birthday, Mason said, "Mommy, I love Quinnie now. I was nervous so I only loved Hayden, but now I love Quinnie too."

You're very nurturing and accommodating - you're quick to succumb to Hayden's or Mason's demands, giving up your toy or your turn. You're not a push over, though - you're just kind and sweet. Don't get me wrong -- you have a very serious angry streak and your tantrums are epic. You have this growl/yell/roar thing you do that's ear splitting. Auntie Joy definitely wanted to start drinking at 9 am when she was visiting for a week. One thing that makes you rage is underwear. As I mentioned last month, you were super fast to grasp the whole potty thing, but you HATE underwear and you absolutely refuse to wear any, no matter how much I bribe, threaten or cajole. And you're addicted to the iphone/ipad in a way the other two kids never were. Like you act like we're pulling out your toe nails if we tell you that you can't have my phone or watch your ipad. 

So here we are, on the cusp of three, getting ready for what will surely be a crazy year. Next week you start a new school, which means a whole new routine. I'm sure you'll adjust without missing a beat... Mama and me, not so much.

We love you to pieces.

xo, mommy & mama

Mason 5 ½ - Tackling Genetics

Dear Mason,

Happy 5 ½. I’m sorry I’m late this month, but as you know, your half birthday happens to fall on my actual birthday, so we were busy celebrating as a family on Nantucket. The highlight of my day, by far, was going tubing with you. Oddly enough, given that I grew up on Nantucket and around boats, I had never been tubing. Your cousins were driving and since I had just been watching them whip each other around at mach speeds, I cautioned them to go slowly. One problem: when you go slow, the tube actually sinks and sucks you under along with it. The first time it happened, I thought “oh boy, he's going to freak out, we’re done”, but you popped right up with a smile on your face eager to try again. We climbed back on, and again quickly got sucked under water, and again you popped right up with a big smile on your face asking, “can we do it again?!?” I explained that we hadn’t actually gone tubing yet, so yeah, we could do it again. We gave your cousins the green light to floor it, and then we were off, and you could not have been more excited. You screamed “THIS. IS. RADICAL!” as you zoomed by the beach. When we buzzed by Mama and Auntie Joy on the beach, you let go with one hand to give them the “hang loose” and thumbs up sign. You pleaded with Ryan to go faster. Basically, you were heaven.  We finished a short while later because the rope snapped, and from that moment on, you were begging me to buy a boat and “hovercraft”. Mama seized on your excitement and put in her vote for a boat as well.

Between trips to Nantucket, cheering Mama on at the PMC, boogie boarding at Egypt beach, little league, or just hanging out in our backyard, we’ve spent so much time together outside this summer. It’s been really amazing. I’m actually tan - *that’s* how much time we’ve spent outside. But it’s not lost on me that summer is winding down and kindergarten is right around the corner. By next month’s post, you’ll officially be a kindergartner. I almost can’t stand it. I actually get a little short of breath if I dwell on it too long. Then I remind myself that you’re going around the playground explaining what a rhetorical question is to other kids, so we definitely need to get you some place where that big brain of yours is challenged on a day to day basis.

My two favorite parts of your personality are your smarts and your kindness (which actually blend together to form my third favorite part: your sense of humor, intentional or otherwise) The other night, we took a walk to get the mail at the end of our street. You saw some boys playing outside and asked if you could go over and say hi. I said of course, so you walked over, introduced yourself, and then told them to have a nice night. As we walked back, I said “I love how sweet and friendly and kind you are buddy,” and you replied, “That’s because you made me that way when I was in your belly, right? You gave me my kindness bones.” I have no idea how you even have a vague concept of genetics, but I was pretty amazed.

You’re something special kiddo.

We love you to pieces. xoxo

The Girls: 2 Years, 10 Months

Dear Girls, 

It seems like every month recently, we're celebrating some sort of growing up milestone. Last month, it was saying goodbye to the binkies; this month, it's adventures in potty training. 

Kellie primed the pump with potty training at the beginning of the summer. She made potty charts, complete with your favorite stickers (Hayden, princesses; Quinn, spiderman). She decorated a "Potty Jar" and filled it  with skittles. And then... nothing. You showed absolutely no interest whatsoever. Then, 4th of July, you spent 99% of the weekend naked on the beach and suddenly the connection to peeing as a proactive action clicked. We came home, took away the diapers, and that was that. 

Hayden, you were quick to pick it up. Quick, and manipulative (shocking). You would pee all of 2 tablespoons and then look up, flash your dimples, and say "I pee in the potty and get three skittles." As soon as you had eaten your three skittles, you'd walk back over and pee two more tablespoons. Way to game the system, my love. After about a week, the jar of skittles was gone, and you started to regress a bit. This past weekend I ran out to the store to restock the skittle jar, and surprise, surprise, you're back at near 100% accident free. On the downside, you still don't love going #2 in the potty, so as a result you hold it. As a result, Miralax has been an integral part of your breakfast on several mornings this month. Maybe if we upped the ante from skittles to full chocolate bars or something, you'd come around on that. 

Quinn, you were a little slower on the original adoption curve, but you've also crossed the finish line to potty master much quicker. While Hayden got on board with the whole pee-for-skittles game within the first day or two, I'd say it took you 3 or 4 days, but once you were there, you never looked back. I was in the middle of presenting my 2H 2016 marketing plan to our European leadership team via webconference when I got a text from Mama. There was a little break when I wasn't speaking, so I quickly opened my phone, just to make sure everything was OK at home. As soon as I swiped, I was greeted by a picture of the training potty with a massive turd in it, and the message "Quinnie went poo poo in the potty and wanted to show mommy." Thankfully, seeing pictures of poop doesn't even really phase me anymore. I quickly regained my composure and started talking about marketing qualified leads and search engine optimization strategies. You've even almost mastered staying dry overnight. It wasn't even on the radar screen that this would be possible so soon after starting the process because your brother still wears pull ups every night and almost without fail, wakes up with it weighing 47 lbs. The fact that you could be our first kid 100% out of diapers within the next month or so makes me so overwhelmingly happy. You even woke up in the middle of one night to tell me you had to go pee. 

We've had such a fun active summer together. In the last month, we've gone to Nantucket and to Maine. We're heading to Provincetown and back to Nantucket this month. Even when we're home, we're at the beach or the playgound or out in the yard. You spend so much time outside and usually naked that you're super tan and the only tan-line you have is a pale sliver of whiteness between your adorably cute butt cheeks. 

Maine almost turned into a disaster when the beloved Winnie the Pooh went missing. We returned home to Scituate sans Pooh, and Quinnie, I seriously had major anxiety that I was forcing you to grow up too quickly -- no binky, no diapers, and now no pooh all in such a short amount of time. We quickly got on Amazon and ordered a replacement Pooh. While we waited the two days for Prime shipping, you'd ask over and over again "Where's pooh pooh? He's lost?" and I would say "yes" and you would reply "But I love him" and my heart would break into a thousand pieces. I didn't think you would actually be open to a new Pooh bear at all, but when "New Pooh Pooh" arrived, you loved him immediately. Then, Uncle Neil came through big and found "Old Pooh Pooh". Now every night instead of spending 20 minutes looking for one stuffed animal, we spend 30 minutes looking for two, but it's totally worth it, because you love them, and I love you. 

Thank you for filling me with so much love this summer, my sweet girls. Even when I want to kill you because you won't go to bed, or when you're screeching uncontrollably about absolutely nothing, or when you jammed dimes into the DVD player in the car, or when you're calling me a poopyhead, or when you're just being total a-holes for no reason at all, I love you to the moon. 

xoxo

mommy

Mason: 5 years, 5 months

Dear Mason -

This month, we took new steps to help you understand and appreciate the value of money. We took the girls to the grocery store to trade their binkies in for lollipops and play-doh, and with your own money, you bought a dino-trux action figure (2 for $6). In the car, while gazing at the back of the package, you realized that it was part of a set. When you asked me to open the box, you made sure I was extra careful to not rip the back so you could keep track of "the collectibles." For the next 10 hours straight, you would show anyone who would listen "these are my collectibles. This one is Reptool, this one is Scraptool, this one is Tortools..." but Skya was really your favorite and you immediately became fixated on going back to the store to buy Skya (him? her? I'm not sure). I told you that if you did chores, you could earn $1/day until you had enough money to buy him. Every morning, the first words out of your mouth were "do you have any chores for me?" and every night "mommy, I need more chores." When you finally saved enough money, Mama brought you to the store, and back behind a bunch of other half dino/half machine characters was the last remaining Skya:

Mama sent me the picture, which is filled with cuteness: 1) I love that  you carry your money around in an orange tool box, even into the store. 2) I love that the money is still in your tool box. You little scam artist! Someone (just like I did when I was little) you always end up getting to keep your money :) and 3) You haven't taken off your little league hat since the day of your first practice. 

On the topic of little league, I'm over the moon that you look forward to going every week. During the fall soccer season, you liked the idea of going more than actually going, so each week was a bit of a pain, but now, we eagerly look forward to Saturday mornings. Your favorite part of baseball might be the post-game Popsicle, and your favorite week by far was the week it was my turn to bring the snack and brought rocket pops. You must have told everyone on your team about them before you even took the field. You like batting and drills, but truth be told, you get a little bored during the "games" and usually end up sitting down on the field, usually somewhere around the shortstop position (there are no actual positions in T-ball: each kids gets six pitches to get a hit, and then if they still haven't connected, the coaches bring out the T. Everybody is safe and runs the bases, and each team bats once through the order). 

You play on one of two different fields... I greatly prefer the one where the parking is right next to the field. Although this will be problematic when your older because of foul balls, at this age, the car is pretty safe and I can leave the girls playing in the car while I stand in front of it watching you (and reminding your coaches that you're left handed because they always set you up on the wrong side of the plate). At least, that was our m.o. until last week. When I got back in the car this past weekend, I hit play on the DVD player only to be greeted by a horrible crunching noise. When I asked the girls what they did, they just said "I got money, mommy!!" which I'm loosely translating as they shoved a bunch of dimes into the slot. I finally got the disc to eject and never did find any random change in the actual player, but now all we get is "disc read error"... just in time for our long drive up to Maine. 

All in all, it's been a great summer. You started camp, which you love. We had an amazing time on Nantucket where you spent hours hunting for sea glass. I then made the mistake of suggesting that we get you a metal detector, and since then, you've asked me everyday if we could "go to the Amazon" to get one. I've tried to explain online retailing to you, but it's not sinking it. I mentioned that I would order it in time for our trip to Maine and you asked if Maine was closer to the Amazon than Nantucket. 

I actually feel a little bit guilty about how much vacation time I'm taking off of work this summer, but I know that these moments are going by way too fast, so I'm glad I'm prioritizing spending so much time with you, your sisters, and mama. 

I love you buddy. 

xoxo,

mommy

 

The Girls: 2 years, 9 months - aka - the Binky Rebellion of '16

Dear girls, 

If there was one thing I learned ushering Mason through his toddler years, it was that things usually aren't as difficult as I think they're going to be. After many sleepless nights, a real commitment to sleep training solved that in a matter of a few nights. After getting into the bed habit of sleeping in our bed, we finally just stopped and stuck to our guns and after a few days, it was a non-issue. After being too afraid to take away his binky, we finally just pulled the plug and he barely noticed. I tried to remember that as you guys go through your phases -- that these types of changes are often more daunting and challenging for me and  mama than they are for you. It was true when it came to switching you to beds - for the most part, that was pretty seamless. Binkies however, have been a different story. 

First, I couldn't just simply take them away. You need theatrics and explanations. So this past weekend, we talked all day about how the binky fairy was going to take the binkies away, but that we would go to the store and get lollipops and a surprise as a reward for being big, brave girls.

Quinnie, you were pretty stoked and practically dragging Mason. Then again, whenever there are lollipops involved, you get pretty excited. 

We got to stop and shop, and apparently you thought the check out lady was the aforementioned binky fairy, because much to her dismay, you eagerly thrust your nasty, chewed up binkies at her. I tried to explain in a lighthearted way why two grubby almost-three year olds were shoving germ-infested pieces of plastic at her, but she wasn't really picking up what I was putting down, so finally I just convinced them to put them on the counter and when they weren't looking, I snatched them back and put them into my pocket. You guys were thrilled. You each grabbed your lollipop and new tub of playdoh, and couldn't have cared less about your binkies. 

And then... 

 

Round 1: The first nap. 

By nap time that first day, you both were filled with major cases of buyer's remorse at the bargain you struck. "Where's my binky?" you asked me pleadingly. "We gave them to the lady, remember? She is going to give them to the binky fairy." No dice. "I want my binky!" Here's where Mason came to the rescue: "Girls, the binky fairy is going to take your binky and turn it into a new binky for Baby Spike, isn't that a good idea?!" (Such a quick thinker your brother is, isn't he? And sweet for looking out for your cousin Jaxon, aka Spike). Still, you weren't pleased. Quinn, you gave in pretty quickly, but Hayden, you screamed for 30 straight minutes until you collapsed into a fit of exhaustion. 

Round 2: The first night. 

The first night wasn't so bad. You asked for your binkies and when I said "remember, we gave them to the lady?" you asked to "call the lady and get our binkies back" so I said yes I would go do that right away, left, and you basically just fell asleep. I think the ease of the night lulled me into a false sense of confidence. You would make me pay for that though.

Round 3: The second night.

In a word: disaster. You were fine going to bed, but when you failed to fall asleep within the first 30 minutes, you were suddenly infused with a cocaine-like energy and a manic-like focus on retrieving your binkies from the lady. Repeatedly you begged, "mommy, call the lady and get our binkies back" but you also wouldn't let me leave the room to do so. Or if I did sneak away, after a minute, you would start screaming for me to come back. Quinn, forever the problem solver, pleaded, "mommy, I have a plan -- you call the lady, lady gives it to binky fairy, binky fairy gives it to baby spike, Memere gets it from baby spike, comes here, puts it in my mouf, and then we go the candy store, ok mommy? That's our plan?" (in reality, the actual story went something like "Mommy, i plan, call lady [inaudible] to binky fairy [inaudible] then to baby spike [inaudible] baby spike [inaudible], then memere [inaudible], puts in my mouf, and then we go to the candy store, ok mommy? That's our plan?" but for the sake of the narrative, I filled in the blanks). 

Hayden, you were the first to give in and actually fell asleep around 8:30. Quinnie, you fought the good fight, and by 9:00 you were screaming in your doorway yelling "MOMMY!" until you finally calmed down and passed out around 9:30. 

Round 4: The third night. 

Despite the hell that was the previous night, I was optimistic going in. I thought: we've gotten through the worst, we've gotten used to no binkies, it's going to be better. I steeled my nerves, walked through the bedtime routine (books, swishy blankets, stories, wrapping up like a burrito, and laying with each of you for a minute or two while rubbing their backs), and then walked out. You looked at me with a furrowed brow that said clear as day, "think again, sister." And the screaming began. On the plus side, there was less focus on the actual binkies than there was on just having me lay with you. It's like the binkies were your physical cue to go to sleep and without them, you were lost and needed me there to guide you through the trip to snoozeville. I repeatedly tried to leave, only to be beckoned back by screaming, doors opening, bed rails being kicked or other shenanigans. I was upstairs laying with you when Mama got home from work after 9:00 pm. As soon as you heard her voice, she got tapped in. We traded off, but even Mama with her special version of swishy blanket couldn't get you guys to calm down. Again, Hayden, you were the first to throw in the towel, but Quinn, you hung on like your life depended on it. I finally peeled you off the hallway floor, laid with you for a good 20 minutes rubbing your back, and then very stealthily tiptoed out of your room. I was ready to claim victory, but Hayden, you woke up twice after that and needed to be calmed down. You used to wake up during the night all the time, but for weeks you've been a good sleeper. I'm seriously hoping this isn't a sign of further regression because I'm not sure I'm going to survive if it is. 

Tonight is night 4. We have told Kellie to skip naps (something you're doing more frequently anyway) and to run you til you're on the brink of collapse by dinner time. And, since Mama is at work again tonight, I'm seriously contemplating having an "emergency work meeting" that keeps me out of the house until 10 pm, and just paying Kellie hazard pay.

Despite how difficult the past few nights have been, I'm inspired by your ferocity, your determination, and your lung capacity. I'm proud of you. We'll get through this phase that I know is so hard on you. Mommy and mama love you to pieces.  

xoxo

Mason: 5 Years, 4 Months

Dear Mason -

Happy 5 years and 4 months. 

Last week, Mama and I took you to your kindergarten screening. Not surprisingly, they said you were definitely ready to join the ranks as the newest Hatherly Hornet. The morning started by greeting the ladies in the office. You told everyone we met that we just moved to Scituate, that your name is Mason, that you have two sisters - Quinn and Hayden - and that next year you get to go to kindergarten. When a few other kids had arrived, they ushered all the kids to the library for story time and snack time, while the parents sat through a talk by the speech and language therapist about what's "normal" development for a 5 year old. I repressed the urge to shout that you had a better vocabulary than most college kids -- I didn't want to be that parent. 

She gave us a few helpful games we could play with you this summer to encourage your continued language development. One suggestion was to "let your child make the rules of a game and dictate how to play, describing for you the actions he or she wishes you to take." At that point, my filter was totally gone and I blurted out "we play that game from the second we wake up in the morning until the second they go to sleep." Nobody laughed. It was a tough crowd. 

After that, the official screenings started. They could only do 2 kids at a time, so we had a little time to kill. You conscripted the principal of the school into giving you a personal tour, which was especially funny since school was actually in session. "What's that room? Can we go in there?"  It was the music room. The principal explained that when you were in fourth grade, you would be allowed to play an instrument. You really liked the sound of that - so much so that I didn't rain on your parade by telling you that you're tone deaf and lack all sense of rhythm like me. Sorry buddy. 

Next you pointed to the gym. "Can we go in there? Is that a rock wall? I have a rock wall. What's that cage for? Can I play with that basketball? Want to see how good I can dribble? Did you know that I can dribble with both hands - but not at the same time because that's against the rules? Do you know how I got so good? It's because I practiced a lot." You even ducked into the PE teachers office to see if he wanted to come out and see how good you were at dribbling. 

By the end of our tour, the principal had named you Mr. Inquisitive, and she was totally in love. Who could blame her?

After the interview with the school psychologist to determine whether or not you're ready for kindergarten, you met with a nurse who did an eye and ear screening. For some reason, this was your favorite part of the visit, though when anyone asks, you tell them you have a dentist at your school. 

One of the reasons we actually moved to Scituate this year was so that you could start kindergarten as part of the Scituate school system. Unknown to us, however, you can't register for kindergarten until you have a signed P&S, and because of that, we missed registration and got put into Hatherly instead of our "neighborhood school", which is Cushing Elementary. I think the designation of "neighborhood school" is funny because Hatherly is literally 3/4 a mile drive from our house and if you could cut through a few people's yards out the back of our property it would probably be 1/4 mile. Cushing is about the same distance, just in the opposite direction. There are two downfalls with going to Hatherly, though Scituate folks say it's a great school 1)  we won't get bus service for kindergarten - which isn't a big deal but a bit of a logistical drag, mostly for Mama or Kellie who will be dealing with a 1:00 pm pick up time for the girls and a 2:30 pick up time for you, 2) you'll switch to Cushing in first grade, and I'll have to make new mom friends. Oh well - I suppose if you can make new friends I can too. 

It's so exciting to think you're going to be going to elementary school. You're so excited that you ask all the time when September will be here. 

We love you buddy. And we're so proud of the sweet, precocious, inquisitive little dude you are.

xox

mommy and mama

The Girls: 2 Years, 8 Months - The Dream House

Dear girls –

We moved into the dream house over the weekend. The process wasn't what I would call "smooth" -- our stuff didn't fit in the movers' truck so they had to call in back ups, we had to spend a night in a single hotel room, which is its own special version of hell (mama and I put you to bed and then sat in the dark drinking beers, followed by a night where each of us shared a bed with you, which is never good), our closing got cancelled because the building department didn't release the certificate of occupancy, stuff that was supposed to be done on the house wasn't, and well, it was just a stress-filled Memorial Day Weekend. But, now we live in our dream house, and we love it. You only occasionally ask to "go home." The rest of the time, you enjoy riding your bikes in our cul de sac without fear of getting run over by a car and eating Popsicles on our deck. It's basically perfect. 

I have lived in a lot of places over the years and it is worth pausing to reflect on that now. Pardon me while I meander down memory lane, and while this post is not about you, in some ways, it has everything to do with you, since it’s all led to where we are today…

I grew up in Nantucket, arguably one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and I regularly took its beauty for granted. We lived in a gray shingled house, because all of the houses on Nantucket have gray shingles. I was walking distance to the beach, yet except for when I actually worked on the beach, I rarely actually did walk to it. In fact, after working on the beach for a few summers, I came to resent sand with a passion. This weekend though, I jogged to the beach. I even stopped to take a selfie, which I felt pretty stupid doing, but I felt like it warranted marking the occasion.

I did my first two years of college in Worcester, where I had my very first apartment my sophomore year. I thought it was the greatest apartment in the world; grandma and grampy thought it was a dump. It turned out they were right and it was condemned a few years after I lived there. I lived in dorms when I transferred to Harvard, but after school, I moved to Davis Square and lived in a cute little apartment. After that year in Somerville, I moved to San Francisco where my first apartment was a $900/month studio apartment in Bayside Village – basically an apartment complex devoid of any charm whatsoever and largely leased by businesses as corporate housing. I ended up there because when I was out looking for apartments, the first apartment I saw for $1000/month was a “studio” in the Tenderloin district, the most urine-soaked, drug addled neighborhood in SF. I use “studio” in quotes because it was a converted Howard Johnson motel and instead of a kitchen it had a hot plate. I thought to myself, “this is what $1000 gets you in this town??” and left crying. (Ok, I wasn’t crying because I don’t really cry, but there was definitely some internal sobbing.) So when I arrived at Bayside, it was clean, had pools, shuttle service downtown, onsite dry cleaning (not that I owned a single piece of clothing that needed to be dry cleaned), a very famous SF restaurant, a nice high end convenience store, and, best of all, they had a special program for “middle income” people like 23-year old me. I signed on the spot. I later moved to Noe Valley, which was 100% SF charming and then into an apartment in the Mission, which was SF charming in its own way – and by “its own way”, I mean it was in the heart of all the cool bars and restaurants, but I once couldn’t get out of my garage because police had roped off the area where there was a drive-by shooting that ricocheted and hit the homeless person who used to sleep in our doorway.

I eventually left San Francisco and moved to NYC, where I lived in a very tiny 2 BR apartment on the 4^th floor, above Russ and Daughters Deli, a very famous Lower East Side Jewish deli, which was delicious, but also sold a lot of food that smelled horrible (pickled herring anyone?). When my roommate left NY, I moved into a 5^th floor walk-up in the West Village where I was neighbors with Sarah Jessica Parker and Mathew Broderick. I never did see them, though I often worked from a café one table over from Malcolm Gladwell. I felt very fancy living in such a swank neighborhood, even if I was living paycheck to paycheck.

When all of my friends simultaneously decided that NY was too expensive, and when I started working from Massachusetts 200 days a year, well… that’s when west village rents became too ridiculous to justify and I moved back to Boston. That’s also when I went from rental status to home ownership status. With grandma and grampy's help, I bought a cute little condo in Jamaica Plain – and that’s where I was living when I met Mama. It was our first home.  I lived there for a year or so on my own, and then Mama came to live with me. We were there for a couple of years and it was perfect. We’d have all of our friends over for BBQ’s on Sundays after our softball games (because, yes, we are a walking stereotype), and we’d walk to Centre Street on random Tuesdays for dinner or JP Licks for ice cream whenever we wanted. But then we set our sights on a bigger prize – two bigger prizes, in fact. 1) Mama was going to go to school to be a PA, and 2) we wanted to start a family. To make this happen, we bought a house in Roslindale. It was an ugly beast of a house completely devoid of any charm whatsoever, but what it did have was a basement apartment that we could rent out and essentially live mortgage-free while mama went to school and we raised Mason. For those reasons, it was perfect, even though we hated just about everything about the actual house.  It was your brother’s first house, though our last tenants certainly hated having a 2 year old running around at 5 am.

Then Mama finished school and I got pregnant with you guys, so we did what most couples of a certain age do… we bought a minivan and moved to the ‘burbs (we have since sold the minivan and now our “family car” is a suburban with 130,000 miles on it). We had our sights set on the South Shore, though we knew very little about it. We thought we wanted to live in Scituate, but with Mama just out of school, a toddler, and twins on the way, Scituate proved too expensive. So we bought our house in Hanover – a 4 BR with a huge backyard that has been absolutely perfect for the last three years. But, it’s in Hanover – a town we never really felt connected to, and it’s on a busy street. Scituate, which had caught our eye three years ago, has continued to pull us – there are many weekends over the past three years we would just drive to the beaches, or to one of the restaurants on the water, or even just drive randomly through the streets soaking up the town’s charm. Over the past three years, during the peak of PanMass training, Mama almost always rides to Scituate, often texting me when she reaches the ocean. We’re also in a little different place financially than we were three years ago, which means the houses that were once out of reach are now an option. We were going to stay in Hanover one more year, but a few things changed our minds: 1) Mason is starting kindergarten next year, so we thought it would be nice if he could just start in his new town, so that I wouldn’t have to make all new mom friends. I mean, so HE wouldn’t have to make all new friends. Yep, that’s what I meant. For real. 2) Interest rates are probably going up. I never thought I would ever be a person who was actively interested in what the Fed was going to do with interest rates, but alas, I have followed the news like a hawk and I’m thinking, now is the time to buy.

So with that very long, detailed history… this weekend, moved to our dream house. It’s on the end of a cul de sac in a neighborhood with about 12 other houses, all sized to house big families with lots of kids. It’s in Scituate, walking distance to the beach, and unlike when I was a kid, I plan to go there often, with you guys in tow. It’s a mile from the high school, with a nice sidewalk lining the way, so every time you need a ride home from school, I can safely say “walk your ass home and stop being so lazy.” There’s a country store affectionately known by locals as “The Postie” a half mile down the road that sells fudge and penny candy and coffee. A FRICKIN COUNTRY STORE?!? Could our new town be any more charming?! We’ve lined our deck with hydrangeas, and though they’re little and young now, in a few years, they’re going to be glorious. We’ve lined our driveway with beach grass. I’ve told Mama that I want a porch swing and rocking chairs for the farmers porch, so that when we put a basketball hoop at the end of the driveway or when you’re finally old enough to ride bikes on your own, Mama and I can sit and watch you, while we drink our coffee or, if it’s after 11:00 am, our wine.

Packing up our Hanover house was a Herculean task, particularly given the fact that all three of you want to “help”, but Mama and I are so excited to start our next chapter in the house that you’ll remember as your childhood home.

We love you, munchkins.

Xo,

Mommy