Smoke and Ashes

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

Mason: 5 Years, 3 Months

Dear Mason,

We had a big milestone this month – we registered you for kindergarten. We’re not exactly sure what school you’ll be in – because we couldn’t register until after we signed the P&S on our new Scituate house, we were late to the game so will end up wherever there is room, but we’re not worried because all four Scituate elementary schools are great.

I think you’re excited about our move. You’ve been a great helper packing, like when you took the Costco size bag of keg cups left over from some party, grabbed the biggest box you could find, and loaded the cups—individually—into the box, filling the whole thing to the top. Today you were upset that Mama already packed all of the pictures. 

You’re not so excited by the fact that we’re trying to empty the cabinets and use up stuff that’s in the refrigerator. Yesterday, you came downstairs from your bedroom just wearing shorts. I made a joke about how lanky you looked (I swear you’ve grown 6 inches but haven’t gained a pound) and you burst into tears saying you were hungry and the only food we give you is spaghetti. I should note before someone calls DSS on us that in fact you eat 24x7 including tons of fruit and protein (not so big on the veggies; you’re still a peas and carrots only kind of guy).

Another important milestone: we’ve signed you up to play t-ball this summer. You have pretty great hand-eye coordination, even if you are reed thin. If there’s a strong breeze on the t-ball field, you might blow away, but you have got one helluva swing. (If there's any chance my old softball coach is reading this, he's probably laughing, because he used to say the same thing to me. Before I took the field, he'd jokingly hand me a pile of rocks and tell me to put them in my pocket so that I didn't blow away). 

It will be interesting to see if you get more into organized sports this spring. Soccer was a bit of a bust last fall. The first time out you were into it, but by the second or third time, you weren’t really so interested, and I saw no reason to force you. Plus, it was a living nightmare to keep the girls entertained for the 45 minutes you were playing. I’m hoping you like t-ball though. Since you’re not in school this spring and summer, you’re not around a lot of kids your own age. Kellie does a great job taking you to fun places and doing cool projects, like using borax and corn starch to make your own bouncy balls or making an awesome dinosaur diorama with one of our moving boxes...  but it’s not the same as peer interaction. You are doing a few weeks of camp this summer, so that should help too.

And, I'm doing my best to tap into my inner 5-year old:

Even though you're not in school, you're still learning a ton. Ok, I admit it - you learn most of it from shows on your ipad, but still -- the other night you pointed out a star and then contemplated whether or not it would explode into a super nova. And then when we were reading your space book, you said, "go back to that page with the rover." I asked how on Earth (pun intended) you knew it was called a rover, and you said "I saw it on 'Miles'". Glad to know all that screen time isn't turning your brain into mush.

We love you buddy. You keep us on our toes, for sure.

xo,

mommy

The Girls: 2 Years, 7 Months - My Little Ducklings

Dear Girls,

Happy 2 years, 7 months. I heard an interesting story on NPR a few weeks ago. It was about a Brown University study that proved that when you sleep in unfamiliar surroundings, only half your brain is getting a good night's rest. The first night in an unfamiliar place, and the slow wave activity, which occurs in deep sleep, is greater on the right side of your brain than your left side. The study was seen as pretty new in the realm of understanding human sleep, but this ability to “sleep with half your brain” is well documented animals.

From the article:

A few years ago, Rattenborg did an experiment with ducks that suggests at least one way in which half-brain sleeping provided an evolutionary advantage. The experiment involved putting ducks in a row, literally, and watching them sleep.

Rattenborg found that ducks with a bird on either side of them put their entire brain to sleep and kept both eyes closed. "However, the ducks at the end of the row slept more with one half of the brain at a time," he says. "And when they did that they directed the open eye away from the other birds, as if they were looking for approaching predators."

What do slow wave activity and ducks have to do with you, you’re wondering? A few things, actually. First, I think this explains why I have been tired basically since your brother was born, but certainly exacerbated by the arrival of you two and the fact that mama works a lot of late nights. I don’t think half my brain ever really shuts off, as I live in constant fear of “predators” – real and imagined.

More interestingly, however, is that it explains what Mama and I have started calling "the duck effect.” When you were little babies, I almost always kept the monitor on my side of the bed because if you woke up, I’d go in and nurse you. It always baffled me how Mama could just sleep through the screaming (I mean, I got it because she works weird, irregular, and inconsistent hours, so her body is trained to sleep when she can get it, but you guys are LOUD and she just seemed to sleep relatively peacefully through even some of the worst fits. If you so much as sniffled, however, I would shoot awake.) Now, we more regularly take turns with the monitor on alternating sides of the bed, and the duck effect really is a thing. Although I feel like I never sleep really deeply, if mama has the monitor, I definitely sleep better. Its like my brain has registered that Mama is sleeping with one eye open, so I don't have to.

Of course, it doesn’t matter whose side of the bed the monitor is on if you’re not in your room and instead are at the side of our bed begging to get in. I’m looking mostly at you, Quinn. I don’t know what the deal is the past couple of weeks, but you have turned into a bear to get to bed and equally as difficult to get to stay in bed. You beg and plead “lay with me, mommy! Don’t go mommy.” Hayden has equally adamant fits, but they’re more angry (“DON'T WANNA go nuh-nights!”) vs sad and pleading. It really crushes my heart to hear the desperation in your voice. I admit it, I cave and more often than not, I let you climb into bed. I know logically after suffering through years of sleepless nights with Mason kicking me in the kidneys that the smarter move is to nip this one in the bud, but I’m a sucker. And lazy. It’s just so much easier to grab you and pull you up into the bed than it is to get out of bed, walk you back, lay with you until you’re calm enough that you’ll actually stay put, and then walk myself back to bed. Plus, you love to snuggle and you smell like baby still, and with every day that goes by, you're getting bigger and bigger and at night, I feel like I can freeze time. Until you kick me in the kidney or head butt me in the face or your diaper starts leaking pee all over me or you start snoring... and then I just think, "damn, I wish you would get the heck out of this bed."

I love you, my little ducklings.

Xo,
Your Very Tired Mommy

Mason: 5 Years, 2 Months

Dear Mason,

Last Friday was your last day of preschool. With the move coming up and a vacation to visit Grandma and Grampy in Florida, we decided that we would pull you and your sisters out of the Early Learning Center and give you the summer off before Kindergarten starts in the fall. This is a pretty big deal since you’ve been in preschool since you were 6 months old. I teared up a little saying goodbye to some of my favorite teachers you had over the years. I wrote them a card that said “it takes a village; thanks for being ours.” And I meant it. They’ve seen you through all sorts of phases in growing up, and all of them love you dearly.

You’re pretty excited to be done. Even though you like school, you like “play days” and “family days” a lot more. I don’t think you’ve really grasped that you’re not going back though. I think you just think we’re going to Florida for a week and then our regular routine will resume. Instead, Kellie is going to stay with you guys full time, which, god bless her, is a total feat. I spend a full weekend with the three of you on my own when Mama is working and I want to curl up in a ball and cry (And I'm sure Mama feels the same way when she's off mid-week and has the three of you to herself). The first morning I didn't have to take you to school was one of the best morning’s I’ve ever had. We woke up. We slowly made our way downstairs. There was no rushing or battles to get dressed. There were no frozen waffles eaten in the back of the car. There was no spending more time getting all of your/your sisters’ stuff ready than I spent getting my own stuff together for the day. I spent more time with you (time not yelling or stressed or crazy, at that!) and I still got to work 30 minutes earlier than usual. It was amazing.

We’re going to be leaning on you hard throughout the summer though. Kellie is going to need your help keeping the girls entertained. And we’re going to have a big family transition when we move into our new house in a little over a month. You’re pretty excited about the move. You keep asking if things are “furniture” because you know we’re taking the furniture with us and you’re very concerned that not all of your stuff will make the trip.

This post is late because we were in Florida for a week visiting Grandma and Grampy, or as you've decided to call him, "Gramps." We had so much fun, but one thing that struck us all the whole time was how big you've gotten physically and how grown up you've gotten emotionally. You were awesome on the plane, chatty and polite to everyone we saw in Florida including Grandma's and Grampy's friends and the random gardeners and AC repair men we encountered throughout the week, rarely got frustrated or annoyed with your sisters, and overall, you were just a rock star. 

Thank you for being an awesome kid. We love you to pieces.

xo,

mommy

The Girls: 2 1/2 Years

Dear Girls,

We're halfway through the terrible twos. I'm not really sure how I have the physical strength to write this month. You two have been conspiring to drain me of every last ounce of energy and determination.

Yesterday I very seriously contemplated locking myself in the bathroom for a nice, long, cathartic cry, followed by a nap on the bathroom floor. The day before was Easter -- a day fueled by jelly beans and excitement over Memere's visit; a day NOT punctuated with a nap, despite the fact that mama and I were ready to keel over. For an hour that afternoon you stayed in your room but instead of napping, you dismantled your beds, climbed the walls, wrestled with each other, pulled each other's hair and did various other rule-breaking things that had us going up and down the stairs 100x. We finally gave up and let you come downstairs.

We weren't quite beaten yet. We were optimistic that you'd be exhausted by bed tim,e and we'd have a nice easy night, but alas, it was not to be. You were maniacs at bedtime, fighting us at every turn, absolutely refusing to go to bed. Finally, after multiple trips up and down the stairs to break up a fight, retrieve Pooh or Lamby, fix the blanket (no, not that blanket, the OTHER blanket...), refill water, or whatever it was you would have us do, you collapsed. Mama and I looked at each other with a silent gaze that said "phew we survived." ... Except we didn't. A few hours later, Quinnie you were awake and writhing like a lunatic, screaming and kicking, refusing to be comforted. Finally you took a few choking, sob-ridden breaths and fell back asleep... Just in time for you, Hayden, to pop your head up in a way that said, "listen lady, it's my turn now. Better strap in because it's going to be a wild ride," and so began your screaming. At the risk of continuing this vicious cycle, we took you into our bed where you promptly quieted, but refused to be physically still, wiggling around like a freshly caught fish lying on a dock.

And that was our night, which was bad, but not nearly as bad as the following morning during which you REFUSED to get dressed for school. Let me tell you something girls -- you are freakishly strong, so if anyone is reading this and thinking "Sarah, you're the grown up, just put some clothes on them and call it a day," well, those people a) probably don't have kids and have never experienced first hand the strength of a determined toddler, and b) have never met you two who, I'm beginning to speculate, are the genetic offspring of those guys that compete in the world strongest man contests that test how many tractors you can pull by a rope you hold in your teeth or how many pounds of rocks you can deadlift. You're freaks, the both of you.

I have discovered that you do sleep better when you share a bed, which is both adorable and problematic. The sleeping together part isn't the problem -- in fact, it's already yielded some pretty great photos.

The problem is the going to bed to part. There's hair pulling and head bonks, whining and crying. Hayden, you get really annoyed even though you are undoubtedly the instigator 99% of the time, so when we go up to settle you down, you insist Quinn goes back in her bed. Poor Quinnie. You just want to snuggle, but in the spirit of respecting Hayden's personal space and protecting you from her wrath, we usually will move you back to your bed... which you hate. So then there's screaming. Then after I leave you get out of bed, rejoin Hayden, and the whole affair starts all over again.

Are you starting to get the picture of what it's like being your mom? It's friggin' soul crushingly exhausting.

This is normally the part where I'd include a paragraph or two about how you make up for it by being so adorable and you're the light of my life blah blah blah blah. But instead, I'll end with my favorite parenting observation...

Parenting: it's 51% worth it. 

Just enough to tip the scales.

Love mommy

Ps: I really do love you to pieces even though you bring me to the verge of tears with your crazy. Xo

Mason, 5 Years, 1 Month

Dear Mason, 

I'm a few days late because Auntie Lindsay and Uncle Collin got married on the 11th, and we were very busy. You had a very big job in the wedding: you were in charge of getting your sisters down the aisle, which you did with flying colors. They literally leaned on you, and it made me so proud to watch the way you supported them, holding their hands and giving them the courage to face the big crowd of people all "ooh" and "ahhh".

 

You were very excited that you got to wear a suit, just like Baby Jaxon. Mama made sure you looked extra handsome.

Though with a face like this, it's really not that hard.

Every now and then, I get a "woah, he's getting so big" kind of moment that it takes my breath away a little bit. Looking at this picture of the two of us was definitely one of those moments. 

 

 

I'm going to keep this month's entry short, because I think the pictures say it all.

I love you buddy. 

xo,

Mommy

The Girls: 2 Years, 5 Months

Dear Baby Girls,

Well, we did it. We took the plunge. Your cribs are gone and in their place are big girl beds. I admit it, we were on borrowed time. Hayden, you first climbed out months and months ago, but thanks to the helpful advice of social media, we learned that you can actually drop the mattresses all the way to the floor on some cribs, which was great and prolonged your days of entrapment. You fought it at first, wiggling the mattress to one side and then trying to slide out the side, but your head would always get caught, so you gave that up pretty quick.

Quinn, you started climbing out probably 6 weeks or so ago, but in typical you fashion, you’d always wait until I got in the room and then ask, “Mommy, I do it?” and then carefully you’d swing your leg over and climb out while I spotted you. Just once you climbed out on your own in a fit of defiant rage and bruised your thumb on the way out, so that was the end of that.

But this past month, we finally had to admit that our days of keeping you contained were over. Hayden, I put you in time out in your crib and you were so pissed that you ran, scaled the vertical sidebars of your crib, and launched yourself head-first out, flying like superman and landing on your head/shoulder, executing a barrel roll that would make many Hollywood stunt doubles jealous. I was sitting 5 feet away from you, but it happened so fast I couldn’t stop it – and it scared the ever loving shit out of me. So that was it: the cribs had to go.

At first, I assembled the beds and put them where your cribs used to be, but I left your cribs in the room just pushed off to the side, thinking that would help you get used to the idea that the cribs’ days were numbered. That first night, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with the beds, so I relented and put you in your cribs. The second night, I was prepared to not even try getting you in your beds, figuring I would just wait until the weekend when Mama would take the cribs apart and then you would have no choice. But Hayden, you surprised me and, totally unprompted, climbed into bed and went to sleep. Interestingly, you climbed in the bed that used to be where Quinnie’s crib was. In that one move, you claimed that as your bed. Quinn still preferred the crib, so spent a few extra nights in her crib, but as soon as we disassembled them, you both were on board with the whole “big girl bed” concept. Every morning, Quinn, you wake up and tell me “I sleep in big girl bed.”  Granted, I’m still getting used to the fact that you switched sides of the room and have a moment of pause every night.

Night time routines remained relatively unchanged. We put you to bed and for the most part, you’d go right down. Naps, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Those first few days, you just didn’t nap. You’d crawl into each other’s beds, giggle and whisper, and do just about anything except fall asleep. One of the first days after the transition, I was in the guest room folding laundry, and Hayden you were gabbing away when I hear Quinnie tell you “shhhh, lie down and be quiet” in a conspiratorial tone, like she knew you were about to get busted. My mind automatically fast forwarded to your tween and teen years, and I got a little sad at how quickly time is slipping by.

Eventually, nap time routines got back to normal, for the most part. There are still some days when one of you will refuse to nap, and because you can easily get out of bed, if one of you refuses to sleep we usually scoop you up and bring you downstairs so as to not disturb the other one.

You tend to wait in your room after you wake up until someone comes and gets you, unless we take too long. If that happens, then we hear the thump of you jumping out bed and the funny little sound your miniature footsteps make as you cross the hall, walk through the laundry room and down to our bedroom. Some mornings, Mason has beaten you to it and has already crawled into our bed, so you just jump on in, and there we are—a family a five, all piled into a big king sized bed, feet and elbows everywhere. Although I’m usually delirious with exhaustion, it’s the best few minutes of the day.

I love you sweet girls.

Mommy

Happy 5th Birthday Mason!

Dear Mason,

Holy cow, you’re five! I can’t wrap my head around that fact. It seems like not too long ago, Mama, Auntie Kristen, and I were in the hospital room watching CNN declare “Egypt is Free” while waiting for you to make your grand entrance.

Here’s a confession: when you were a baby, I would sometimes think “I love this little guy so much; I hope I love him this much when he’s a pain in the ass, needy little boy.” I’m happy to admit, I love you 1000x more, a concept I didn’t even appreciate as a possibility back then.

I love your brain. I love the way you persevere through puzzles, test new words, recognize patterns, link two concepts in creative ways, and repeat things you learned months or even years ago.

I love your heart. I love that when I drop you off in the morning, you always yell “Wait, one more kiss and one more hug” as I walk out of your classroom. I love how you wrap your arms around your sisters in a protective way.

I love your charm. You tell random people to have a nice day, drive safe, or that your name is mason and you’re going to be a dad who is an archaeologist for his job when you become a grown up. I love that sometimes you put on “adult manners”, like when you introduced your two friends with dramatic hand gestures: “Flynn, this is my friend Max from school. Max, this is my friend Flynn.” (Maybe this story doesn’t relay as well in print.)

I love your wit and the fact that you understand hyperbole, like when you asked me “Can you snap this? I’ve tried a hundred times…. Ok, not a hundred times. Five times. I tried five times.”

I love how affectionate you are. You get so excited when friends and family come to visit, and so sad when they leave, sullenly declaring that you miss them. I’m sad for you, but at the same time, I glow that there’s so many people in your life that you love.

I love that you can be shy and introverted. For as often as you’re Mayor Mason, you are a quiet, introverted little kid who likes his quiet time and needs to take breaks. When things get overwhelming, you “Smell the flowers” (inhale), “blow the candles” (exhale-pheeeeew), “smell the flowers” (inhale), “Lion’s breath” (exhale –ahhhhhhhh). I love that your school teaches yoga.

I love that even though you have typical five year old behavior and can be, let’s face it, a little douche from time to time, when push comes to shove, you’re a kind and giving soul, like when someone said that they didn’t bring you a present for your party, and you replied, “That’s ok. You can help me open these. I have enough.” I didn’t even hear you say it, but I beamed with pride when a friend relayed overhearing that interaction.

I love how you’re the absolutely perfect mix of me and mama. You have all of our best parts. The way you are makes me love mama—and myself—even more. I think we’re doing a pretty good job with you and your sisters, and seeing you become less and less of a baby and more of a little boy has been such a wild ride that fills me with such joy.

I love you. Completely.

The Girls: 2 Years, 4 Months

Dear Girls,

I'm so behind this month, I'm sorry. Last week was a crazy whirlwind. On Monday, I found out that something I had been working on for about two years ended with a tremendous victory. At work, I helped us get a very important case all the way to the Supreme Court of the United States, and last week, we found out that we won. This was a very, very big deal. I should note for posterity that I was incredibly surprised by just about everything related to the Supreme Court—the whole thing is way more “day time television” in tone than I ever expected. During oral arguments back in October, the justices go after the lawyers with unbridled passion and opinions... far from the stately, neutral arbiter of justice I had envisioned. In December, we started to think a decision would come anytime, and in my mind, some clerk would call our lawyers to tell them the justices had made a decision and some formal brief would be filed somewhere, and then our lawyers would call us. Nope, not how it works. In reality, you have no idea when a decision is coming, and instead of learning about it from some official filing, a blogger live updates the day’s proceedings. So basically, that meant every day at 10:00 I logged onto the SCOTUS Blog and read the play by play of the opinions for the day. On our day we actually go the decision, I was on tap to present to our global operations team along with my colleague and our CEO, so I was glued to my laptop from the front row of a crowded cafeteria that was set up fort the presentation. Just before our presentation was about to start, the live blog feed looked something like this…

“Two boxes... likely three or more opinions” (Decisions are literally carried to the bench in giant boxes, so the blogger guesses how many cases will be decided that day based on the number of the boxes).

“Could be XXX case... or maybe YYYY.”.... (This was the worst part – because when your professional fate hinges on a decision, you’re not really in the mood for speculation)

“First decision is FERC vs. EPSA” (That's the part where I started shaking uncontrollably)

“Lower court overturned.”

That’s the part where I pointed frantically walked over to our CEO who was getting ready for our presentation and pointed at the screen, but I was so tongue tied I didn't have the words to explain to him what he was looking at... "Is this the decision? Does this mean we won??" he asked, and I started crying and said yes, and hugged him. So there I was hugging our CEO and crying in front of 80 people with cameras streaming to our global offices, and no one had any idea what was going on. I’m pretty sure half my company is highly suspect of the special relationship the CEO and I now share.

And then it went on into detail the exact vote (we won 6-2, Alito had recused himself). Justice Kagan read the opinion. Thomas and Scalia voted against us.   I obviously bowed out of the presentation I was about to give, and for the rest of the day, my phone blew up with calls from reporters. It will be perhaps one of my most favorite professional memories.

I was about to say “but about enough work...” but on second thought, I think it's probably important for me to continue on this thread, because the reality is, I'm your mom and it's a full time gig, but I also have another full time gig managing a team of 25 people at a publicly traded company with big ambitious goals. I do my best to balance everything, but it’s definitely not always easy. My brain never really shuts off. When I'm at work, I'm thinking about you guys, and when I'm home, I'm thinking about work. About the only time my brain really shuts off is when it's absorbed with mindless television shows. Even in my sleep, I'm planning - pick up stuff for Mason's birthday party, submit that performance review, check in on that next campaign... Most days, I wake up exhausted.

Between you guys and work, there isn't a whole lot of time left over, but I am trying to consciously make time for me – to unplug from work and the stress of being a parent. Last April, I bought a treadmill, and I was really good about it for April and May, ok about it in June, but July onwards…? Not so much. In December, I recommitted and have been going strong since then. This past weekend, I even met a running group and ran 5K for the first time in my life, which made progress against two personal “me” goals: become a runner and make more friends on the south shore. But it really is so hard because the only time I can run is if I wake up at 5:00 am, which let’s face it, is never going to happen, or I can run after I get home from work and get you guys in bed. Nobody really *wants* to run at 7:30 at night, though so the level of motivation required to overcome the hump is really quite high. I walk myself through a series of micro-yes decisions, careful not to bite off too much, less I give up… first I commit only to putting on my running clothes. If I do that, then I think about going downstairs and turning on the treadmill. If I do that, then I commit to one mile. Usually if I make it that far, I can commit to 2-3 miles.

I get a lot of “I don’t know how you do it” comments from people, which is nice, but makes me feel a little bit like a fraud. I want to tell them all that I’m faking it like everyone else and that even though I’m pretty good at holding a serene pose and really only letting Mama see the crazy, underneath, I’m struggling as much as the next person to keep it all together. I’m fairly sure that every mom, whether they work or stay home, is constantly battling for a sense of balance and serenity.

Just to make sure I don’t completely ignore you guys in this month’s post, I’ll dedicate the last paragraph to our latest bedtime route, which makes me giggle every time I think about it. First, we brush your teeth. I play the “this is the way we brush our teeth” song on YouTube, and we dance and brush and spit, and then wash our hands with exactly the right amount of foamy soap (if I get it wrong, you make me pay). Then, we go into your room and sing “Shake Your Sillies Out” – For two verses, we shake our sillies out and then jump our jitters out before wiggling our waggles away. Lately, you’ve requested that we add at least three rounds of ring around the rosie, which you both are convinced is the most fun game in the history of all games. Then we take it down a notch and climb into the rocker or have “circle time” and read “Llama Llama Red Pajama” – Every. Single. Night. (Last month it was Good Night Moon and Barnyard Dance every night. Who knows what next month with bring). Sometimes Mason likes to help... which doesn't always work out exactly as he planned.

After story time, it’s Russian roulette – on some nights, it’s smooth sailing from this point on. I sing “good night Quinnie, good night Hayden, good night girls, it’s time to say goodnight”, put you in your cribs, tuck you under your blankets and peacefully walk out of the room. (Quinnie, you like to make sure you’re tucked in alongside all of your stuffed animals. On a peak night, I counted six little heads all lined up next to each other: 1 human, 2 Poohs, 1 Clown Fish, 1 Baby Doll, and 1 Minnie Mouse. I desperately want to get a picture of it one night, but haven’t been able to swing it so far).

Other nights, all hell breaks loose. I put you in your cribs and you scream like I’m ripping your fingernails out with pliers. On those nights, I’m glad you’re still in cribs and there’s really nothing you can do about it – I walk out of your room, turn the volume down on the monitor and pour myself a big glass of wine or head to the treadmill. Quinn, you can actually climb out of your crib but for some reason (unless you’re really, really pissed), you don’t do it unless I’m there to watch (You always ask, “Mommy, I do it?” as you’re swinging your leg over the side). Hayden, we dropped your mattress to the floor months ago when you started climbing out, but about week ago, you started to demonstrate this crazy, monkey-like toe curl thing around one of the vertical bars of the crib that, coupled with your herculean strength, might just mean you’re about to figure out how to get out… and I’m going to go out on a limb that if you do figure it out, you won’t be like Quinn and only exercise that ability under my close supervision. So, beds are coming your way soon… we’re just dragging it out as long as humanly possible.

I love you baby girls.

Xo,

mommy

4 Years, 11 Months: Pre-K is Cutthroat

Dear Mason, 

My head is spinning from being in New Orleans for a week for work, so if this is partially incoherent, blame corporate-induced exhaustion.

Some things are happening in your life that I’m just not ready for. You’re not even five years old, but you’re already dealing with one of my biggest fears as a parent: there’s a bully in your class and he picks on you. We used to hear about J. every once in a while, but the last couple of weeks, it became more regular. J. scratched me... J. chased me around the KidZone... I couldn’t play on XYZ toy because J. said I wasn’t allowed to… J. was trying to kill me today... J. called me a cry baby… Whenever this happened, Mama and I would talk to you about appropriate resolutions – ask him to stop, walk away and find a new friend to play with, and if things escalated, get a teacher. Truthfully, you didn’t seem too bothered by it all. You reported it with the same level of injury as when your sister scribbles on your drawing or something... Sure, it’s annoying, but you recognize it’s not really any sort of grave event. It started getting frequent enough though that I decided to talk to your teacher.

In my head, the conversation went “there’s a little pecker that’s picking on Mason and I want you to make sure he cuts it out or I’m going go all hockey mom crazy on his ass” but instead, I simply asked the teacher, “What’s the dynamic between Mason and J. (and J2., his little sidekick)?” She asked why, and I explained what Mason had been relaying. She assured me she would keep a closer eye on things. That conversation took place on New Year’s Eve. Fast forward about a week, and I get a text from Mama that J. punched you in the face. Oh, I was so angry. (Notably, you were not really at all traumatized by this event, which I tried to keep in mind before totally losing my cool).

But even though you were largely unfazed, some little punk left a mark on my baby’s face, and that was enough to make my blood boil. Mama sent me this picture a few hours after school, and right there by your perfect little smile, is a red welt. HOURS later. (I did laugh a little at the irony of the fact that you’re wielding your plastic nun chucks in this picture… not that I would every approve of violent retaliation).

Although you forgot the whole incident pretty quickly, I admit it – I reacted with a little mama bear anger, reaching out to the director of the school and your teacher to, shall we say, voice my concerns. You see, this kid just doesn’t pick on you – he terrorizes the whole class, and I had *just* had a conversation with the school about it. Two days after J. punched you in the face, another mom sent me a message saying that J. punched her son in the face. The school has responded to my outreach by laying out a bunch of things they’re doing to stop J. and J2’s reign of terror, but all in all, I just really feel… unsatisfied, angst-ridden, and conflicted.

On the one hand, I want you to navigate these waters for yourself, and having me or mama helicopter in to make sure no one is ever mean to our baby again doesn’t do you any good. On the other, I kind of want to grab this kid by the scruff of his neck and tell him that if he ever lays a hand on you again, he’ll be answering directly to me… and I’m *really* scary when I want to be. I also try to remind myself that I don’t know anything about what this kid’s life is like or why he acts the way he does. I try to be compassionate and empathetic. Mostly, I’m just sad. I’m not ready. You’re too big. Your problems are getting bigger. The burden of raising you well and teaching you how to deal with life’s obstacles is getting bigger and harder. And they’re just going to continue along that trajectory, and that makes me sad.

I’m also grateful though. I’m grateful that you talk to me about how you’re feeling and what’s going on in your life when I’m not there, since clearly the teachers had no idea that things were escalating the way they were. I’m grateful you’re strong, and I’m even more grateful that you’re sweet. When J. picks on a boy that’s younger than everyone else in the class, you don’t seize that as an opportunity to be on the other side of the equation, but instead stick up for him… or at least, that’s what you tell me happens, and I so hope it’s true. I’m grateful that you’re funny and have perspective. Yesterday when we were telling cousin Ryan about your run ins with J, you said “You know what mommy? Boys who are mean sometimes grow up to be grown-ups who are mean, and then they turn into villains!” I love watching your brain extrapolate life’s truisms.  

I’m very proud of you buddy.

The Girls, 2 1/4 Years

Dear girls,

We survived Christmas. This was your third Christmas, but really, it's the first time you had any idea what was going on, and you embraced it all. Every 15 minutes on Christmas day, one of you would ask "more presents?" which gradually progressed into a polite request ("More presents."), which eventually gave way to demands ("I want more presents!") Aww, I was so filled with the warm holiday spirit. 

Mama and I did something for you this Christmas that we can't believe -- we bought you iPad Minis. Before the world judges us, though, hear us out. First, they were free. Well, sort of. Mama signed up for a class (paid for by her work) and as part of the class, they gave her a $1000 gift card to Apple. I used the money to upgrade my phone (thanks, Mama) and there was still plenty left to buy two older generation iPad minis. Second, we are gearing up for our second trip to Florida this April. If you search back into the archives of this blog, you'll remember that that plane ride last April was pretty much the worst experience of our lives. iPads have a crack-like affect on you, and I'm not above drugging you with electronic euphoria to save the rest of the plane from your screeching and hollering. (I'm not really above drugging you with actual drugs either... but we'll wait to see how that goes). Third, I can't stand the fighting over the one iPad we already have. In general I'm opposed to getting 2 of everything just because you're twins (or even in some cases, 3 of everything so you don't have to share with your brother). I think learning how to share and navigate those complex sibling negotiations is an important part of growing up. But at the same time, sometimes mommy just wants to throw a little digital crack at you and enjoy her coffee. Am I to be judged for that?

Of course, my plot failed because even though your two iPad minis are EXACTLY the same, the old iPad is a regularly sized one in a red case. Quinn, you are severely wounded by this injustice and walk around bleating "I want big one, I want big one..." (I foresee an iPad Mini in Mason's future... thankfully, there's still money left on that gift card.)

You also tend to fight over the two dolls that Auntie Kristen bought you, even though they are exactly the same, except for their dresses. Apparently, you both have an affinity for leopard print. I can't say I blame you. 

We spent Christmas out at Uncle Danny's house in Connecticut, which was great because it was Baby Spike's first Christmas (Mason still won't let us call him Jaxon, insisting that Spike is his first name and Jaxon is his last name). You were smitten. 

Grandma, Grampy, Auntie Kristen and Uncle Dan, along with your Holdgate cousins spent Christmas on a cruise, but we weren't too jealous, because on Christmas day, it almost hit 70 degrees in CT, which meant that we could run you outside and burn up some of that holiday energy. Throughout the couple of days, I definitely channeled your great grandmother Martin -- I took lots of photos of us on walks, playing tag, climbing trees, and when inside, jumping on the air mattress (which might explain why I woke up on a flattened piece of rubber), reading books, and playing with presents. When I was a kid, I thought Blanche's incessant photo taking was supremely annoying, but when I got older, I treasured those photo albums, so I'm committed to irritating the crap out of you guys as well. 

I'm throwing this picture in here because it's one of the few pictures I'm actually in, and even though I look harried, we look like we're having a lot of fun, don't we? 

I love you sweet babies. 

xox, 

mommy

Mason 4 years, 10 months

Dear Mason,

This has been one of my most favorite months. You're so into Christmas that it just brings a whole new level of joy to the holidays. 

You're definitely into "stuff" and I have to be honest, I have to really work hard to fight the urge not to buy you everything on your wishlist. I want to spoil you rotten because you get so much joy out of presents. But we're also trying to teach you that Christmas is more about presents, and more importantly, that life is about more than just getting stuff for yourself. After we talked about how some families don't have money for presents or Christmas trees, you decided that we should buy a Christmas tree for a family. We talked about how if you did chores to earn five coins, we could use those coins to buy a tree. You were all in, eager to do a good deed. When you completed your "chores" (I'm stretching the definition of the word here for sure), you were all about collecting the coins and not so into the idea of handing them back over to buy something for someone else. We had a nice heart to heart about it though, and when I went to bed, I found your five coins by my night stand waiting for me:

We used the five coins (plus $30 more dollars) to buy presents for a 14 year old girl who lost her grandmother , her big brother just left the house to join the military, and her mom was struggling financially, so she was going to have a rough holiday, and another $30 to help a little boy who lost his mom. It felt so nice to be able to help them and share that experience with you. 

I'm not sure if it's because Jebby (our elf) and Santa are always watching, but you've also been an extra good boy this month, helping out a little more than usual.

Maybe it's just that you're getting a little bit older. With your added age comes deep thoughts. A few nights ago, you told me you were going to the bathroom and asked for your privacy. 

Mason: Mommy, can I talk to you? It's important. No matter what happens, I will always be your son.

Me: Um, that's right buddy. But what's going to happen?

Mason: I'm going to die someday. Like when I'm 150.... or a billion. 

You're kind of obsessed with death. You talk about it a lot, which I suppose isn't surprising since you're a sponge and Disney and Pixar are masochistic devils and every movie and book we read has some heart-wrenching story of loss.  We went to see The Good Dinosaur with Auntie Trish and Auntie Nic and the crew. The opening scene was so beautiful I thought to myself, "wow this is going to be a good one" but it went quickly downhill from there in a violent and scary 90 minutes. That night, I asked if you liked the movie and you said you loved it. You asked me if I liked it, and I admitted "It wasn't my favorite." This was incomprehensible to you and you decided that we were fighting and that you didn't love me anymore. (Have I mentioned that the older you get, the more dramatic you get??)

You also continue to amaze me with your powers of reason and deduction. Like most almost-five year olds, going to bed is not high on your list of favorite activities. You complain about being lonely. We do books and "relaxin" time, but when it's time for me to go downstairs, you fight it pretty hard. One night last week, you came downstairs with the most pathetic look on your face:

Mason: Mommy? Mama? Can I talk to you...?

Me: What's up bud?

Mason: I'm really lonely.

Me: I know bud, but it's time for bed.

Mason: (Suddenly very angry). It's not fair. Everyone gets to sleep together. The girls get to sleep in the same room. You and Mama get to sleep in the same room. I don't get to sleep with anyone! 

Mama and I could hardly suppress our smiles. Your razor sharp brain is such a big source of pride and entertainment in our lives. (Incidentally, one of my early childhood memories was trying to convince Grandma and Grampy that I was supposed to sleep in their room because they had a three person bed. When pressed on why their bed was a "three person bed", I explained to them that it had three pillows across, ergo it's a three person bed. Though I probably didn't use the word "ergo." Probably.)

I love your big brain and your even bigger heart. I love you buddy.

xoxo,

mommy

Decorating our tree.

Hike at Blue Hills before the movies with our buddies.

 

The Girls: 2 Years, 2 Months

Dear girls,

We've had a very busy fall. Mama and I decided to put the house on the market - which means constantly trying to keep the house clean. This is difficult for us under normal circumstances before we had children. With the three of you, it's pretty much impossible. During the weekend of one of our open houses, I was frantically trying to clean. While upstairs folding laundry, I heard the unmistakable sound of a bag of oyster crackers ripping open and spraying all over the living room floor. After I cleaned that up, I heard the unmistakable splash and thud of a bowl of cereal and milk being thrown off the island counter. Right around then was when I seriously contemplated whether or not I could have a nervous breakdown over literally spilled milk. Instead, I called Vivian and asked if she cleaned houses on Sundays, which thankfully she did. So the next morning, I packed you guys up bright and early, Vivian came and cleaned, then Tanya hosted the open house, and then we were all back just in time for naps. All of that work though has so far gone unrewarded. I think we missed the hot fall market by about a week. C'est la vie. We'll keep it on for another week or two, but then as Christmas nears, we'll throw in the towel until spring. 

The prospect of moving before the summer, which is when we originally planned did compel me to start investigating new schools for you guys, and it's a good thing I did because it turns out there's a really long waitlist for most of them. It also turns out that you're super expensive current school is really "slightly below average" and most of the preschools in the area we hope to move to are even more expensive. Thank god Mason will be going to kindergarten so we're only going to have to pay for 2 of you next year. 

We took a nice family trip to Nantucket over the Beaver Moon weekend (yes, that's a real thing). The Studleys joined us and your cousin Mackenzie babysat so we could all go out. Mama and I spent some QT at the Cisco Brewery, where she bought this hat, and then Quinn, you promptly stole it. And Mama finally realized that you guys are the real twins in this family.

Unfortunately, Mama had to work over Thanksgiving though, so she went home, but we stayed and spent the rest of the holiday weekend with Auntie Kristen, Uncle Dan and your cousins. The weather was really nice and Auntie and I did something the McAuley women aren't exactly known for... we took you outside to enjoy nature. We went on a nice long walk through Squam Swamp - a place I had never once been to on Nantucket. 

Now we're just gearing up for Christmas, I'm trying to keep my head above water during a busy work sprint, Mama is getting excited for winter sports, and Mason is constantly updating his list for Santa. You guys just keep doing your own thing, which basically means refusing to get dressed in the morning, eating snacks, taking your clothes off, eating more snacks, screaming because you want the iPad, eating more snacks, and coloring on just about anything that isn't paper. It's good times. 

It's a busy few weeks for our little family, but we'll continue to rock it in style. 

I love you munchkins.

xo

mommy

Mason 4 years, 9 months

Dear Mason,

At 4 years, 9 months, your future is sealed: you are going to be a professional dancer. I'm just calling it now. You have the coolest moves, and while they haven't quite catapulted you to internet stardom, in our little circle the "mason dance videos" are the most raved about content Mama and I contribute to social media. I also love the videos we make before bed. During these little video sessions, you share a great deal of wisdom... like "the girls are littler than me, so they should get little presents, but because I'm big, I should get big presents, makes sense, right?" I love capturing these little pearls of 4 year old wisdom and all of your earnestness. Eventually I need to upload them to a YouTube "Mason's Pearls of Wisdom and Awesome Dance Moves" Channel. When I'm having a bad day, that would be the first place I'd go for a pick-me-up.

You're an absolute love bug. You get very sad when people you love come to visit but then leave. Memere came to visit while Mama and I were visiting Auntie Joy in California, and every morning and every night since we've been back you've told us over and over how much you miss her and how you can't wait to see her again. 

You're very excited for Christmas. You ask us all the time how many days are left. This has been going on since August though, so we're used to answering your endless question. Come to think of it, the past few days the questions have relented a bit and you've started asking about Easter. What the heck, kid? Time is moving too fast as it is. Let's enjoy one holiday at a time, shall we?

You're also excited about the prospect of us moving houses. When our realtor came to do the walk through, you were ready with your list of requests. In order, you would like your new house to have:

1. A Water Park
2. A basement
3. A bedroom in the basement, like at a grandma and grampy's house. 

I think those all seem like perfectly reasonable requests. In preparation for listing the house, we had a get everything looking neat and clean - no easy task with you three gremlins. To declutter, we got rid of a bunch of old broken toys. We piled them up in a huge pile in the yard along with other stuff we needed to get rid of. Here's where I admit to a lie... You saw some of your prized possessions in the pile and FREAKED: broken and bent wiffle ball bats, rusty old ride on toys, random pieces of some toy that have no stand-alone function and the rest of it has long gone missing, etc. I told you that the mover was coming to move them to our new house. Oops. Hopefully a few months from now if/when we finally move, that decapitated action figure will be long banished from your memory. 

For the 4th year in a row, you took remarkably handsome school pictures:

Your sisters on the other hand, were a little distrusting of the photographer. Hayden, perhaps more than Quinn:

In an effort to loosen the girls up for the photographer though, they called on your charming and reassuring presence. I'm not quite sure it worked - they still look like they want to stab the photographer in the face, and you look like you just came in from recess, but I still think these pictures are wicked cute:

I love your "cool dude" posture in this picture - so relaxed, so "girls, we got this! Just smile and watch the grown ups gawk at us." I love so much about you, but I love you as a big brother perhaps most of all. 

Your'e getting so big. When we go away and people ask who is with the kids, we jokingly say "Mason's got it covered," but I feel like I'm going to blink and that joke will be the reality. 

I love you bug. 

xoxo,

mommy

The Girls: 2 years, 1 month

Dear girls, 

The past month has been a hard one. Everyone in the McAuley household has had different colored boogies and a hacking cough that won't quit. Coupled with aches and pain, chills and sweating, and the intermittent bouts of nausea, and it's been a fun few weeks. With all the illness, there hasn't been a whole lot of sleeping going on. As you can imagine, that has created an added level of chaos, short tempers, and all around angst to live at the McAuleys.

It's pretty much the worst possible time for us all to get sick. Mama has just gone back to work after being out recovering from knee surgery. I have 3 huge projects all with colliding due dates and all co-dependent on each other's work products for success. I really felt like that wasn't enough stress in our lives though, so we have decided to put our house on the market. As background, we moved to the south shore when I was pregnant with you. We originally had our eye on Scituate, but didn't find anything we could afford, so we moved to Hanover - which is nice, but not really what we were looking for. I'm obsessed with Scituate's downtown harbor, and Mama loves being by the beach. We were going to wait until the Spring to list our house, but turns out, the Fall market is ON FIRE and there are no other houses in Hanover listed at our price point - so by the laws of supply and demand, we think the smart move is to list now. The flip side of course, is that we need to find a place to live if we are successful in selling our house. Aye, there's the rub. There's a house we love, but it's currently under contract with another buyer. The realtor indicated we have a fighting chance though because the other offer is laden with contingencies. So who knows, we might get lucky. Or we could be living in a rental and forced to move twice. Or we could not find a buyer. The stress-inducing possibilities really are endless. 

On the happy notes for this month, we welcomed your new cousin, Baby Spike, into the world. You girls were in love immediately.

 (His real name is Jaxon, but don't tell Mason, he'll get very upset). 

I'm going to sneak a few extra days into this month's blog post because a) they've been eventful, and b) by November 29th, they're going to be gone from my brain. 

Halloween was this weekend. We started the day by taking you to the doctors. Fortunately Cousin Ryan and Megan had come to visit, so Megan came with me to the doctors since Mama was at work. Diagnosis: ear infection for Hayden. No surprises there since Quinn, you were fresh off of antibiotics for a double ear infection. 

Despite being sick, you were in fairly good moods, so we decided to stick with our plan and go trick or treating with Auntie Trish and Zack, while Auntie Caryn and Maddie handed out candy at their house. Let's just say you didn't love your costumes at first. My friend dubbed this video "Halloween Sharknado, McAuley-Style", which is kind of perfect.

 

 

It got better though. Look how cute you are.

After trick or treating I went home and power cleaned until 10:30 in preparation for listing our house. Halloween was also daylight savings, which should just be known as "Because parenting isn't hard enough day". Hayden, not only did you not understand the whole "sleep an extra hour" concept, you actually did the reverse and got up an hour before your normal internal clock, so at 4:00 am, we went downstairs and watched Frozen. On the upside, I still had a lot of cleaning to do, so at least I got a jump on the day. By 5 pm though, this mom had had enough and was barely holding it together, so I put  you to bed. 

Quinn, I started with you. You were kicking and screaming, pissed beyond belief, but I was determined. I put you in your crib, and then went downstairs to grab Hayden. And then it happened... I got to the stairs to bring Hayden up and there you were, looking down at us. You had managed to jump out of your crib. Unlike Hayden's crib, your mattress can't be dropped all the way to the floor, so yeah, we're basically screwed. In my head, you swung over the crib and landed the dismount like an aspiring Mary Lou Retton. I tell myself this because it makes me feel like a better parent, and not one that left her screaming, pissed off kid to climb over the railing and then land with a thud. You're not really that graceful though, so if I'm being honest, I'm guessing that's really more what happened. 

My awesome parenting continued through this morning at daycare. Every day at daycare, we perform a ballet I call "Flight of the Crazy." It's a multi-stage performance: First, I unbuckle Mason. He follows me around to your side of the car, and waits patiently while I get the bags out of the car and put them on the ground next to your door. Then I get your shoes on (because god forbid you actually leave them on the full 10 minutes it takes to drive to school). Then I unbuckle you, Quinnie, and put you down next to Mason. You usually hold hands or otherwise stay pretty close together while I unbuckle Hayden. Then, while I'm slinging all the bags on, I look both ways and tell you it's ok to go, at which point you go straight from the car, across the parking lot (about 8 feet) to the sidewalk, and then run down to the door, where you wait for me to grab my key fob and let you in. That is the ballet on a good morning. Today, however, was not a good morning.

I got Mason out of the car, and since I saw a car pulling into the parking lot, even though it was pretty far away, I beckoned him to stay closer to me while we walked around to the other side. Mason decided that it would be a good time to pretend to dart across the parking lot. Awesome. The dad that was pulling in (still very far away) slowed down and raised an eyebrow at me. Then we got to your side, and the second I put you down Quinnie, I saw that look of wanderlust in your eyes and knew I was in trouble. I quickly got Hayden out, which was good, because by the time I did, you guys were already contemplating the sprint to the sidewalk. By this time, the dad had unloaded his two kids and was walking towards the door. I caught up to you guys pretty quickly, but instead of waiting for me to get my keys and open the door, you double backed and sprinted out into the parking lot. I wasn't more than  few feet away and quickly got you back on the sidewalk, but Mr. Perfect Dad didn't waste any time throwing judgmental looks my way. I just grinned and told him to "stop at 2 kids" then turned to you guys and threatened to make you wear leashes. (To Mr. Judgy-Pants's credit, he did at least chuckle.)

So, that's about it girls. You're alive and in one piece, which is how we measure another successful month at the McAuleys. And on the even-better side, in two days, Mama and I are going on vacation WITHOUT YOU. Trust us, it will make us better parents in the long run.

All my love,

mommy

Mason, 4 years, 8 months

Dear Mason -

Awhile ago, I made an observation that I have since concluded is one of life's major truisms: that a person's very best quality is often their worst too. For the McAuley women, it's that we're highly rational people. We rarely get bent out of shape over little things, we approach most situations with a cool level-head that makes us good people to have around in a tough situation. We are good people to go to for advice. It also can be our worst characteristic, as there are moments that require intense emotional responses (beyond just touching sports moments), and instead, we're generally unfazed. You, my friend, did not inherit this from me (or at least, your 4 year old self has not yet developed it -- maybe it's a nature vs. nurture thing). You are a man of very intense emotions, and it is your absolute best quality - especially when you're so overcome with love for you sisters that you have to protect them or give them hugs or just tell them that you love them. But it can also be challenging. When things don't go quite your way, you have an intense emotional reaction. Pants too long? Freak out. Someone answers a question before you do? Meltdown. Quinnie or Hayden gets to pick the animal in "old mcdonald" instead of you? Armageddon. 

Your teacher has struggled a bit with the intensity of your... "expression." Truthfully, her attitude got a little annoying for us. Every day when we would ask how your day was she would say something like "does he get cranky when he's hungry?" (to which mama responded, "everyone gets cranky when they're hungry. Plus, he’s 4.") or "did he sleep ok last night" or something along those lines to justify your epic meltdowns. Even your “good days” were defined by whether or not you threw a fit (“it was a good day. He only had one meltdown!”). It finally got to the point where I had to email her and say, "look, are you telling me my kid is an emotional wreck or just that he's a normal 4 year old with passionate 4 year old opinions and typical 4 year old pain in the ass behavior?" I phrased in a slightly less confrontational tone, but I did ask for her to meet with me and Mama so we could discuss it. And by discuss it, I meant, so I could tell her to “chill the eff out, he’s four. If you don’t like irrational fits of emotion, maybe don’t teach Pre-K…”

This is going to be a little bit where I struggle. You see, I’m affirmatively NOT a helicopter parent. And I’m under no impression that you’re this super well behaved angel darling. When I asked for the meeting, I fully acknowledged that you’re a highly emotional, often irrational kid (I mean, no one needs to get that upset if Old McDonald had a pig instead of a cow, right?) but at the same time, you’re also very obviously well adjusted, kind, empathetic, curious, smart as hell, and devilishly handsome…all in all, I’d put you in the very well rounded 4 year old camp. So naturally I wanted to rip your teacher’s face off.

I didn’t though. We had a nice chat, and at the end of the day, your teacher was very invested in you and very well intentioned. We talked about how she tries to comfort you and coach you to calm down, and how her approach mirrors ours (acknowledge your feelings, deep breaths, find different solutions to whatever ails you, etc…) and she acknowledged all those great things about you that I listed above. So at the end of the day, my problem wasn’t with her but was with the emphasis on the negative. She asked if we still wanted to hear when you had good days and bad days, and we said of course. But that answer didn’t feel satisfactory to me as I drove into work, so when I got to work, I wrote her an email that included this:

… You asked a question towards the end of the conversation about whether or not we wanted to hear if he had a good day or a bad day, and on my drive to Boston, I gave that a lot of the though. Where I landed was that I think the “good days” and the “bad days” are actually few and far between – there are definitely good days when he’s so cute and helpful and sweet that I can’t stand the idea of putting him to bed because I want to soak up more of his awesomeoness, and there are bad days when I’m looking at the clock, pulling my hair out, and counting down the minutes until bedtime and I can crack a bottle of wine J But most days I think fall somewhere in between, and they’re made up of a thousand different moments: some good, some bad, some neither. Just to reiterate what Steph said this morning – we *definitely* want to hear about the bad days… We want to hear about them so that we can talk to him, support him, help reinforce coping techniques, etc. And we want to hear about the in-between days in a way that’s balanced, so that we can address the meltdowns but also reinforce and praise that he was nice to a kid who was new at school, or was super helpful to a teacher after circle time, or showed empathy to a kid who was in the middle of his own meltdown. The specific examples on both sides make it easier to have a conversation with him about what behavior is expected and appreciated, and what behavior we need to work on addressing. I also want to make sure that his school experience isn’t solely defined by his meltdowns (in other words, “it was a good day, he only had one meltdown…

 Your teacher, to her credit, responded very favorably and since then, the readouts have been much more balanced. You’re still a pain in the ass, but you’re also very sweet. And for our part, we are still working very hard with you to find more productive ways to deal with things that aren’t quite to your liking. The other day, you threw a SCREAMING fit because I wouldn’t carry you into school. I tried to to rationalize with you (Mase, I would buddy, but can you see that I’m carrying two humans that weigh just as much as you do – and in Quinnie’s case, maybe an LB or two more, 2 school bags, and I still need to keep a hand free to unlock and open the door?). That didn’t fly. Ultimately, I left you crying in the lobby of the school while I went and dropped the girls in their classroom. When I returned, you were still pouting and started crying the second I said “let’s go upstairs”. Instead, you wanted to go all the back out to the car to “start over” with me carrying you this time. Because I was already late, I did something I try not to do too often, and I caved. Once we “started over”, you were fine – the happiest kid on the planet, but since I had caved, I at least had to make a point:

Me: Now Mase, I know you were disappointed that I couldn’t carry you, but was that a big deal or a little problem?

Mase: Little problem.

Me: So what could we do differently next time to avoid a big meltdown?

Mase: You could write a note.

Me: A note? What would a note say?

Mase: It would say, ‘remember it’s unfair if you carry the girls and not Mason.’”

See, I told you that you are too smart for your own good. Although I was impressed with your answer, I eventually got you to agree that next time, we would compromise and I would carry you the next day (but let’s be honest, by that point, you were so over it you were barely paying any attention.)

 You are my super strong willed, highly intelligent, emotional little bugger, and I love all of you – crazy, snot inducing, crying meltdowns and all.

Xoxo

Mommy

The Girls: Officially in the Terrible Twos

My dearest girls, 

Yesterday, you turned 2 years old. That fact kind of blows my mind. Two whole years. 

In many ways, it's been the longest, hardest two years of my life. Having twins is a hard enough life event on its own, but we coupled it with having a 4 year old, Mama's job that she started just a few weeks after you were born and requires crazy hours, a promotion with new responsibilities at my job... it's all added up to a level of exhaustion that I really could not even fathom before you came along. One thing I’ll say for us McAuleys though: we more than just survived as a family—we've thrived. And, things are getting a little bit easier day by day. Kinda. Sorta. Or at least, that's what mama and I tell each other while drinking large amount of red wine. 

I feel like I should qualify the word "easier". On the easier side, you play more independently, bite less, and sleep more. You communicate your needs more effectively. You walk from Point A to Point B, which is helpful because I loathe baby strollers and physically can’t carry you all the time in all circumstances. You don't put (as many) small choking hazards in your mouths. You will sit and watch a movie or a show for at least a few minutes at a time, which is helpful when I really don't have any more gas in the tank.

But things are definitely not "easy." You still don't have all the words you need to explain what you want, and you're both master tantrum throwers. You are more mobile, which as I mentioned is a good thing, but it also means that you get into trouble faster. Whereas when you were little you were contained, you now vaguely resemble a hurricane. Or a tornado. Or a volcano. Or all three happening at once.

Even simple things are bigger, louder, and more hectic. You’ve started to go to school five days a week now. It’s easier in the sense that now it’s just part of our regular morning routine instead of the exception in our week, but that doesn’t mean the physical act is easy... it's a multi-part dance of getting you out of bed, dressed (you both hate clothes), fed (something other than munchkins or gummies), into the car (you can guess how much you love being restrained), and into school (without letting you run into traffic).

Last week, Hayden, you took it to whole new level in totally epic fashion. We arrived at school. Per usual, I put your shoes on in the parking lot (because lord knows putting them on before we leave the house is a total waste of time since the second you’re in the car you both kick them off). Hayden, you decided that day was a day you hated shoes, so you were screaming wildly. I gave you the keys to play with and distract you. It worked. Then I took Quinn out of the car and asked Mason to hold hands while I leaned in to unbuckle you, because, yes, I rely on your 4 year old brother to keep you both safe in the parking lot while I sherpa everyone the 10’ from the car to the door (Don't worry, he's a very mature 4. Um, I mean 4 and a half).  In the few seconds that it took to get Quinn and Mason situated, you jumped to the front seat. No big deal, right? I shut the back door, stepped exactly 2 feet to open the front door – a process that takes maybe 10 seconds – but in that 10 seconds I heard the unmistakable click-click of the doors locking. Immediately I realized I was screwed. We made eye contact and you just laughed, waving the key fob in my face, giggling. You were so proud of yourself you could barely contain your glee. I pleaded with you in a high pitched, forced-fun-loving tone to "push the button." You just flashed the dimples and the devilish grin, and basically told me to screw off.

On the upside, I made a reputation for myself… not as the worst mother at daycare, which is what I feared, but as one of the most laid back. I calmly walked into the Toddler room and asked to use the phone (since you were busy calling china with my phone which was of course in the locked car with you) I called Mama hoping she could come bring the extra set of keys, but she didn't hear the phone ring. The teachers suggested we call the fire department, which went something like this:

Dispatcher: 911, what’s your emergency.

Me: My two year old locked herself in the car.

Dispatcher: Is she ok? Is she hurt?

Me: I’m pretty sure she’s having the time of her life.

Dispatcher: Is the car running?

Me: No, not yet anyway…

Dispatcher: Ok, someone should be there in 3 minutes.

When the fire truck arrived, all the kids rushed to the windows and pressed their little noses right to the glass, jockeying for the best position. A few moms shot me sympathetic looks and asked if there was anything they could do to help. I thanked them but just shrugged. When I got together with some of the moms from school for drinks a few days later, those that had witnessed the debacle just laughed, commenting that I had a look on my face like it was “just another day.” (Little do they know, they’re not that far off…) I told auntie Katie about it, and she just laughed, writing back “hahahahahahahahahahahha, that kid is going to torture you.” I think she’s probably right.

Once again, Quinnie, Hayden’s flair for the dramatic tends to dominate the crazy stories. But something interesting has happened this month, perhaps as a side-effect of the Hayden circus. You have developed into the more independent one. At drop off, you are content to sit at the table or play with friends, whereas Hayden clings to me and doesn’t want me to go. When we went to the indoor playground, I sat in the mom area drinking coffee and you roamed on your own or with Mason, exploring the different toys. Hayden did too, but every few minutes, she’d come back to make sure I hadn’t moved. You’re developing this quiet independence that you didn’t have until recently, but it’s not at the expense of your love of snuggling. We have a new bedtime routine that involves the two of you both sitting on my lap reading books in the rocking chair. Hayden will be up and down 10 times over the course of a couple books, whereas you snuggle in for the long haul, only getting up to pick out the next book. Sometimes I give the routine the short shrift, only reading 1 or 2 books, which you don’t appreciate at all. Last night, an hour after I put you to bed, I went into check on you and you immediately started yelling “DOGGIE BOOK!!!!” We compromised and I gave you the doggie book to play with in your crib. Then Mama, Amanda and I giggled as we listened to you on the monitor sitting in a pitch black room “reading” the book to Hayden, who was already asleep.

Even in those moments when I’m in the throes of your crazy, it’s your hugs, kisses and smiles that refuel me. In the middle of the night, when I’m lying next to your crib stroking your hair because you can’t sleep, I’m simultaneously cursing the fact that I’m lying on a floor and not in my own bed, while relishing the fact that me being there is the thing that’s calming you down.

I love you my bugs.

Mason - 4 Years, 7 Months

Dear Mason –

Happy 4 years, 7 months.

This month has been a bit of a mixed bag for us. You were patient zero at the McAuley house for the stomach bug. Mama and I both have very intense, yet different, relationships with vomit. Mama has a phobia of puking. She is fine if other people are sick, which is a good thing since she works in an emergency department, but the thought of puking herself sends her into an anxiety-ridden cleaning spree. I, on the other hand, don’t have a fear of actually puking. In fact, when I’m feeling sick, there’s really nothing I like more than the (albeit temporary) relief after hurling. But if I’m not sick, puking is something I generally like to avoid. The only problem is that I’m totally a sympathy puker. One whiff and I’m done. I powered through like a champ, cleaning up your sheets, the rug, the lego box, and rubbing your back while your whole body was wracked with convulsions, but on numerous occasions, I ran away dry heaving, or had to sit alone in the stairway while Mama took on the bulk of the dirty work.

Another low-light of the month was realizing that I yell more now. I’ve always prided myself on my even temper when it comes to you guys. Friends have marveled at my relatively unflappable nature. When I’m really angry, far from yelling, I actually get really quiet and have mastered the “mom face” that even made Auntie Nic tremble in her shoes. But lately, I don’t know… you’re 4 ½ and I think I often think of you as older, and when the girls are acting crazy and uncontrollable and you just layer on with whining, demanding, or a general unwillingness to make life easier, I definitely find myself barking orders and yelling far more than I used to. To give myself a little slack, the three of you together is enough to get Gandhi dropping F-bombs, but it is something I’m definitely aware of and committed to not letting it get too out of control.

So now onto the good stuff...

You’ve joined your “real soccer team” and it was really one of the cutest things you’ve ever done. On the first day, you showed up to the field swarming with 100 four and five year olds, grabbed my hand, and said “mommy, I’m a little nervous.” We lucked out though because your buddies Dean and Kelton are on your team, which is double lucky because they have cool parents so now Mama and I have cool parents to talk to on the sidelines. As soon as you saw those guys, you were all about it. During the first practice you kept waving to me at the sideline, and I loved you even more than usual.

You’re so sweet and sensitive, and that’s one thing I love about you, though your sensitivity meter is definitely calibrated to your unique Little-Boy-Level-Of-Weird. For example, we tried to watch the Little Mermaid, but half way through you insisted that we turn it off and never show it again. Every night for a week you would complain that “that evil villain” (aka Ursula the Sea Witch) was making you scared. A few days later, we watched Tarzan. The opening scenes of Tarzan show a people abandoning a fire engulfed ship, a tiger killing a baby gorilla, bloody tiger prints from when the tiger killed the Tarzan’s parents, and a psychotic tiger chasing baby Tarzan and the Gorilla mom. I offered to fast forward, sure that you’d be scared out of your mind and sleeping in my bed for the next week, but to the contrary, you replied, “no I like this part”. Weirdo.

I love you buddy.

The girls - Just shy of 2

Dear Girls, 

Happy 1 year, 11 months. I'm late, but with a great excuse - Auntie Katie and Auntie Veronica got married this weekend, and Mama and I were in the wedding, so naturally we had to help them celebrate by partying late into the evening. We even convinced Memere to come and spend the night with you so Mama and I could stay at a hotel in the city. We missed you though. Kind of. Not so much, but a little.

I keep notes throughout the month so that when I sit down to write these posts, I remember what transpired over the previous few weeks. In this case, I'm glad I did because the stuff I wrote down seemed like it happened ages ago. 

You call each other by your actual names now, and it makes me sad that "Baby" and "Dada" are no longer in regular rotation. You speak in full sentences, like "No want to go nun-night", "No want to go school," "No want dinner."... you maybe sensing a trend. You do have some cute idiosyncratic words that only mama and I (and Kellie) know. Yogurt, for example, is Nu-Nuck. 

Getting around with you is an adventure. A few weeks ago, we went into the city's greenway to play in the fountains. When we arrived, Auntie Katie called to see where we were and to offer her help. I replied, "Nah, we're fine. Mason is on a leash and I'm pushing the doublewide." There was a young couple carrying a baby in a bjorn walking next to me, and they burst out laughing. They had this look that said, "this one crying creature that I can still strap to my chest overwhelms us. What on God's green earth was this woman thinking have 3 under age 4?!" 

We went to Ptown after Mama rode the PMC, and your newly found hatred of Pack N Plays knew no limits. We ended up driving down Commercial Street in a minivan in an attempt to put you to sleep. That was a "wow we've aged a lot" moment for me and Mama. 

In some ways you are getting a little bit easier. You now walk into school on your own instead of in the stroller. Mason is a big help and holds your hand. (I haven't busted out the leashes for you guys yet, though I'm often tempted.)

Hayden, you're just about ready to start potty training. You say "Go pee pees" all the time and then you'll walk over (half the time, still fully clothed) and sit on the potty. It's the only time you actually sit still. You'll sit for a good five minutes, then declare "all done". You have coupled your recent interest in peeing with a hatred of wearing diapers, with the net result that at least when we're outside, you're generally nudie. I wish the warm weather was going to hold - we'd have you potty trained by Christmas. Quinn, like most things, you cautiously watch your sister to see how things go, and then when it all looks good, you jump in with both feet. 

You're both still full of craziness, adventure, and love. And you're both biters, and kind of a-holes some time, but you sucker people in with your cuteness and your good humor. I love you noodles. 

xo, 

mommy

Mason at 4 1/2

Dear Mason, 

Happy half birthday (which incidentally falls on my actual birthday). Mama recently posted a picture on Facebook and everyone commented how old you look. I agree, which is a bit bittersweet.

You're turning into my little man. And apparently, you don't want to be the only man in the family. When we were in Ptown after the PMC, you, me and mama were lying in the hotel bed, and you asked why there was only 1 boy in our family. The conversation went something like this:

You: Why am I the only boy in our family and we don't have two boys in our family?

Mama: What do you mean buddy?

You: Like Mae and Benny have a mommy and a daddy, that's two boys and two girls [sidenote: they also have a little sister, but for some reason, you refuse to acknowledge Ellie's existence].

At this point Mama started to panic a little thinking that this was the time when you were starting to get curious about the absence of "daddy", but you and I had had similar conversations about this, so I knew where this conversation was heading... 

Mama: Are you sad that you don't have a daddy?

You: No, I want another boy instead of two sisters. Why did you have two girls instead of two boys?

Me: Well, when you make a baby, you don't really get to pick if it's a boy or a girl?

You: Will you make another baby brother?

Mama: .... well.... it's not that simple buddy.

You: Yes it is. Just swallow the baby egg and make me a baby brother.

Mama and Me: [ hysterical laughing]

You: Stop laughing at me!

Mama and Me: We're not laughing at you buddy. Mama just sneezed and it was funny.

We have no idea where "Swallow the baby egg" came from, but we haven't laughed that hard in a long time. And you explained it so matter of fact. "You swallow the baby egg, then it's in your stomach, and then you have a baby brother." We didn't quite correct you and instead pointed at something shiny and diverted the conversation. Maybe not the most mature approach on our end, but we'll revisit it in a few years.

I have two more recent conversations that illustrate that at age four, you're hilarious, wise beyond your years, and that your brain is something really special (in my totally unbiased opinion, of course). 

Yesterday I told you that I ordered new smoothie cups. Then we had this conversation:

You: Which is your favorite?

Me: Favorite what?

You: uh....

Me: Favorite color?

You: No.... favorite... uh....

Me: Favorite flavor of smoothie?

You: No, like favorite... uh... favorite character.

Me: Oh. I don't have one, but that's a really good word buddy. 

You: Yeah. I was looking for a word, and then, you know [shoulder shrug, palms up], I just like found it. 

I love that you understand the concept of looking for the right word and work hard to find it. 

The second conversation involves a run in you had with your friends at school. You first told the story to Kellie who relayed it to me, but the other night, you told me yourself.

You: Freddie and George were teasin' me, and throwin' wood chips at me, and sayin' I couldn't play with them and that's not very nice.

Me: And what did you do, buddy?

You: I said, "Please stop I don't like that."

Me: And what did they do?

You: They kept doin' it and that wasn't very nice.

Me. You're right buddy, that's not very nice. So what did you do next?

You: I did a tremendous roar like this [ROAR]

Seriously, a 4 year old just casually drops "tremendous" to describe roaring at kids that were pickin' on him (Ps: Every time you or I tell that story, I have flashbacks of Dead Poets Society and "sounding my barbaric yawp... it's a classic. We'll enjoy it together when you're older). I hate to say it, kiddo, but with your tremendous vocabulary, you're probably going to get picked on a lot for being a little nerd. 

Since you've obviously shown early signs of being a genius, mama and I think you're ready for the next big milestone. We're teaching you how to wipe your own bum. I read on Facebook about how a mom was petrified that her kid was going to kindergarten and didn't know how to wipe her own bum, so while I'm quite confident that by this time next year, you'll be describing your poo with words like "odoriferous" or "serpentine", I am fairly confident that teaching you independent hygiene is going to take a full year, so we're getting on it now.

I love you buddy. 

xoxo

Girls - 22 Months

Dear girls,

Happy 22 months. We're more than halfway through the summer, which has afforded us the chance to do a lot of fun things, like go to the beach and play outside. I'm not quite ready to say we've "enjoyed" every minute ; for most family outings, "we survived" seems like the most appropriate superlative. This weekend, for example, we went to the zoo with Auntie Joy and the Valliere clan. We got to the zoo and I realized that I had brought a mismatched pair of crocs - One size 4/5 the other 6/7. I tried to make do, and Hayden, you gave it a noble shot, but despite your best efforts, you kept walking out of the too-big one. Ultimately, I just let you go barefoot and prayed you didn't catch Hepatitis. You hate shoes anyway, and honestly, you were more than happy to walk around barefoot. #Survival.

As we neared nap time though, the situation got a little dicey. Meltdowns more frequent. Tantrums brewing below the surface at all times. At one point, Hayden, you and I needed to catch up to the rest of the crew, so instead of walking, I tried to put you in the stroller. Big mistake. Big. Huge. You screamed and banged your head against the cup holder. Everyone around us stared and showered me with looks of pity. Not just the normal "your kid is having a meltdown" pity glance; more like the "Man, you have your hands full, sucks to be you"  stare. I couldn't blame you - it was a long day and you were shoe-less and hungry and tired. We decided to pack it up, head to Auntie Nic's house, and I proceeded to drink a bottle or two of wine. #Survival. 

We spent some nice time at Memere's and Grandpa's this month, except by nice, I mean "exhausting". Grandpa put in a really beautiful pool. You both enjoyed running at full speed around it, which gave me and mama a nervous tick. Grandpa's pool is also built into the side of a hill, so it requires one flight of stairs up to get up the basement level of the house, another flight to the main floor, and another flight up to the bedroom we were staying in. I must have climbed those stairs 100 times in 48 hours. That night, Hayden, you rewarded us by staying up all night and refusing to fall asleep in your pack n play, even after we drove you around for an hour. You finally fell asleep around 10:30, woke up at 12:30, demanded to be carried and rocked or entertained with the iPhone until about 3:30 (we don't normally give you an iPhone in the middle of the night, but since we were traveling and you were screaming at the top of your lungs waking up the whole house, I would have given you just about anything to keep you quiet). As we finally collapsed at 3:30 am (me with the pillow over my head, mama in the other room since she was on patrol 12:30-2:30, and you in a sweaty mess in the pack n play), I thought to myself "well, at least she'll sleep late," but nope, you sure showed me to be the fool. You woke up at 6 am with a scream that woke up the entire second floor, including your sister. Mama and I quickly ushered you in the car, and I drove the both of you all over CT and Western Mass for 90 minutes so that you wouldn't wake the whole house up. #Survival. 

Driving you around is usually the silver bullet to all of our problems, but I do have to be a bit strategic, because if I accidentally pass a Dunkin Donuts, Quinnie, you immediately start screaming: MUNCHKINS! MUNCHKINS! And you won't stop until I pull through the drive through or break down in sobs. 

Girls, I realize with this post that I'm making it seem like you're holy terrors. You are. I'm not going to lie, I've called you both little a-holes more than once this month. But Hayden, you're also super sweet and spirited and funny, and you have a set of dimples and a glimmer in your eye that can melt any heart. When I get home at night after work, you yell "MOMMY!!!!!" and come running, and it really doesn't matter what happened that day, I instantly feel like I've been infused with the most electric feeling of joy. And Quinn, you're not the quiet bystander in the Hayden show. You're equally as demanding, albeit in a higher pitched, less head-bangy kind of way. When I get home from work, you hide behind a pillow, just like your big brother, and yell "BOOO!" and then laugh your ass off. That laugh and your cleverness makes me shake my head in disbelief at what a lucky mama I am.

I love you both so much.

xoxo,

Mommy

 

Mason 4 years, 5 months

Hi Buddy, 

Happy 4 years, 5 months. You have officially moved up from preschool to Pre-K. This is a very big deal in your eyes. There are lots of things that "big boys in Pre-K" do that preschoolers can't do, and you remind me of them all of the time. In your world, big boys in Pre-K buckle themselves into the car seat. I think I'm more excited about this than you are as it saves me from climbing into the back row of our apartment, um, I mean, the suburban. (Sorry, mental mistake since the car is actually bigger than the apartment I lived in in NYC). Big boys pick out their own clothes. Big boys get to watch 2 shows before bed (which lets face it, is sometimes the 6th or 7th show... but who is counting). 

Before leaving preschool, you got one final "report card." They noted your genius, so now I have third party validation, and I'm not just the boastful mother. They remarked that you can count to 30 (though they failed to note that you regularly skip over 15). They noted your exceptional vocabulary, like when you were playing "I spy" and said you spied something "scrumptious." I should tell them that the other day when Hayden threw something, you told her that her behavior was "inappropriate." 

Sometimes you use vocabulary words in not quite literal contexts, like the time you cuddled up next to me on the couch and yelled, "Ow, your tentacles are poking me." I told you to cut me some slack, and that I'm a working mother of three who doesn't have time to shave her legs, but you had already moved on to the next topic. 

Mama and I decided that it is also important that you know our real names, and not just that we are mommy and mama, in case you get lost in a store or something. A few weeks after introducing you to the concept that my name is "Sarah McAuley" as well as "Mommy", you asked me why I had two two names and then asked what your second name was. I explained that someday, maybe your second name would be "daddy" but you didn't really like the sound of the that. "But I just want to be a kid," you proclaimed. I'm in no rush for you to grow up either, buddy, trust me. 

Not to embarrass you, but you're going through a serious Care Bear phase. (Lest your future manliness be threatened by such oversharing, you're only recently off Power Rangers, Ninjago, Ninja Turtles and many other testosterone fueled forms of entertainment. I, for one, welcome the the loving messages of Care Bears, even if the animation does freak me out a little). One adorable side effect of the recent Care-Bear-A-Thons on Netflix is your obsession with hugging your sisters. Every morning you ask if they want a morning hug, and it melts my heart. You also love the girls equally now, which is a nice change of pace from your historical habit of playing favorites. And in what is probably an indictment of how I over-capture most moments, this weekend, you gave Hayden one of your special hugs and then looked at me and said, "Mommy, we're so cute. Take a picture." 

I love you buddy. You're the sweetest boy I've ever met. And yes, you are so cute.

xo,

mommy

 

Girls @ 21 Months

Dear girls -

We're one short summer away from your 2nd Birthday.

Mama said something crazy the other day. She said, "I know I shouldn't say it aloud and that the girls are still crazy, but it does feel like they're getting a little bit easier." Although I felt like it was definitely jinxing it by saying it aloud, I did in fact know what she meant. We've taken you to the beach a few times, and it was remarkably less nerve-wracking than last year. And this weekend while Mama was at work, Mason convinced you guys that a good project would be to take all the toys from the basement and bring them up to the sunroom. Even though I knew that would mean more toys for me to clean up later, for 20+ minutes, the three of you worked away while I drank my coffee in the living room. I sat on the couch, browsing Facebook, and listening intently for loud thuds or the even-more-terrifying odd silences. Occasionally I snuck to the top of the stairs to make sure all was good, and indeed it was. The three of you giggled and chatted. Mason seems to understand every word you say. 

Beyond the babbles that only Mason seems to understand, your vocabulary is growing. Quinn, today I asked you "how was school?" and you replied "good." I asked if you had fun, and you said "Yeah." You do have a Boston accent, exhibited most strongly in "yeah" and "be-ah" (beer), because you know, every 21 month old should know how to say beer. Hayden, your vocabulary is growing too, but it's a bit harder to tell since you mostly just use your favorite word: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! And occasionally, pop-cuhl. (Though when I suggest a healthy snack instead of a popsicle, I get "NOOOOO!!!!!!" again. At least you're predictable).

I don't mean to suggest, Quinn, that you don't have a temper. You definitely do. You have very strong opinions, particularly concerning the iPad. I'm not exactly sure why you're obsessed it. It's not like you watch shows on it or even engage with apps. You just bang the buttons - the camera, the notepad, my contact list... I'm not really sure why this is fun for you. I'm not one of those parents that are anti-technology and lord knows I'll give you just about anything including knives and scissors if it means you'll stop screaming, but I just don't get the allure and don't really see anything good from a 21 month old playing with an iPad, so I try to keep you away from it (mostly because I don't want your boogers all over it. Oh yeah, and I was kidding about the scissors and knives. Sort of.). If you do manage to get your hands on it, I let you play with it for a minute, and then I tell you that the iPad is going to sleep and take it away, and you scream like I murdered Elmo. Then I hand you scissors. And knives. 

You guys change so fast in temperament and in appearance. It happens in little increments so I don't always notice, but then wham, this silly app on my phone called Timehop surfaces a picture taken a year ago on the that day, and it hits me: my babies are little girls.

 

Except you're not even that little. We recently dug through your closet and pulled out all the 2T and 3T summer clothes (and by "we", I mean "Kellie" because every time I tried I got completely overwhelmed). Mason still occasionally wears 3T, so the fact that you guys look completely normal in 3T clothing is a little scary to me. (On the other hand, girls clothes, especially shorts, use substantially less fabric than boys clothes so it's not exactly apples to apples.)

I mentioned last month that you, Hayden, were pretty close to climbing out of your crib, but thanks to the helpful advice of the world wide web, we figured out we could just drop the bottom out of your crib. That has worked all month, though you have learned how to climb up on the bottom rail and you're getting pretty close to being able to get your leg back up to the top rail. I think we definitely have through the summer though. Quinn, you're just figuring this whole "I'm master of my own destiny" thing vis-a-vis your crib, but you're not quite as good of a climber (though you're all about the rock wall). It's a good thing, because your crib is a bit different and the bottom doesn't drop out of yours, so once you figure it out, we'll have to make the switch. I'm guessing we have until you both turn 2 and then we'll put the beds in. Our lives will change then, so I'm going to enjoy the peace of mind that comes with your cribs this summer. 

You're so big, and I'm so grateful to be your mom.