Wordless Wednesday: Makin' it to the top

Guess they don't need me holding their hands to do every little thing anymore, huh?

Potty mouth, part II

Son, age three, peeks around bathroom door, which is mysteriously no longer closed.

Him: "Mommy, do you like to go pee by yourself?"

Me: "Yeah, that's right."

Him: "Are you done yet, Mommy?"

Me: "I suppose."

Him: "Okay, I just wanted to make sure you didn't get any pee on my [step]stool."

Some hypothetical advice

• If a three-year-old boy balks at eating strawberry yogurt because it's pink, tell him it's light red.
• If a two-year-old girl has a hissy fit if anyone dare utter an offer of "help," suggest you try to configure the five interlocking straps of her stroller seat "together." Attach the side she's not working on, then ask her to check your work on the first buckle.
• Instead of attempting to get anything important done during naptime, just get up and do it before the kids are awake, rather than stress all day about whether said nap will occur. If it doesn't happen (generally inevitable if you're on any sort of deadline), you've got a much better shot of getting in a little afternoon snooze yourself while the kids cuddle around you than you do getting away with willfully diverting your attention during their waking hours.
• As noted above, snuggling and watching cartoons are part of your job description. Excel.
• If your girl won't get in bed until she's said "good night" to every street lamp, fire hydrant, car, sidewalk, house, and pile of dog shit she can see from her window, get your act in gear and launder her favorite flowered pillowcase (the plain white one is "broken," you know). The next night, when the princess has her correct, properly pretty pillow back in place, she'll leap into bed and tell you with her eyes not to let the door hit you on the way out.
• If spending a couple of nights in your mother-in-law's rental condo for your first-ever family vacation, quickly sqash the couch-jumping, wandering snack-eating, and other savage behavior you allow at home by telling the kids that those little framed signs explaining how to work the DVD player in such actually say, "No jumping on Nana's couch," "Stay far, far away from the wood-burning stove/bricks," "Keep all crumbs at the table," etc. Just be consistent. And ensure your children can't read.
  

It's (almost) my birthday and I'll call bullsh*t if I want to

Turning 32, as I and most of my graduating class will this year, is not very exciting. As the possibility of being asked to show any ID other than a BJ’s card gets dimmer with every second, some might even call it depressing.

Really?

I highly doubt Randy Pausch would agree. Or her. Or him. Or anyone else forever halted at 30- or 40-something, who’ll never see their own children graduate from college or hold their first grandchild.

Maybe I’m just getting curmudgeonly already, but comments like, “I wish we just stopped counting at 29” or “time to start lying about my age” just don’t seem so innocent anymore. In fact, I’m insulted, right down to the granny whiskers starting to pop up in all sorts of strange places. I’m embarrassed for any time I might’ve treated the privilege of another today so callously.

Having another birthday is not a guarantee for anyone; that’s why they’re celebrated.

So, please. Adjust your Hanes Her Way as needed and quit yo bitchin'.

I now shower regularly and other breaking news

A short list of minor breakthroughs:

• I no longer need to send my husband an Outlook request so I can take a shower. For the past two weeks or so, I simply grab a towel and hop in while the kids are playing. Yes, they dart in and out of the bathroom murmuring confessions to acts I'd ordinarily check out right away, bellow for Brian from the bottom of the stairs, and generally pursue a whole new level of "mom's on the phone and can't get us" shenanigans. But. I. am. clean.
• The boy (age 3) can competently retrieve a prepoured cup of milk from the fridge and shut the door behind him--usually without slamming it so hard to fling open the freezer.

• The girl (2) is finally contributing her share of blog-worthy sound bites. For example, when trying to con me into climbing into bed with her, she instructs, "Shut yo' pweedy eyes, Mama!" Or? The other night at dinner when I asked her if she was going to "try some of Mommy's chicken," she responded with a sincere "No fanks, I got my own."
  
• Either kid will go along with just about anything I request in exchange for getting to scribble with a real pen--not a pencil, crayon, or MagnaDoodle--for two minutes.
• One of their favorite snacks is a whole apple with the skin intact. Easy. Healthy. At least 20 minutes of slurpy peace and quiet. It does usually ruin whatever meal comes next, but it's nice to know in advance when I really (as opposed to 99% of the time in general) shouldn't bother to knock myself out in the kitchen (unless it's with a self-inflicted frying-pan bash to the head).
  
• Whenever we go out in public, after the "are they twins?" discussion is finished, people praise both kids' behavior left and right. They really only terrorize me at home. This seems like good enough reason to never stay inside and clean again.
  

See ya!

Well, not quite yet.

Sure, I'm a little bummed that I won't be joining many of you in NYC for BlogHer '10. I just happen to be too broke and busy popular and needed right now at home. But I am starting to plan a business trip for a few months from now, and am probably a little more excited than I should admit.

Considering my only nights away from the kids--ever--so far consist of two nights in the hospital to deliver Annie and one overnight cross-country meet, maybe it's not a huge surprise that I'm giddy about a couple of days of sitting in an overly air-conditioned conference room watching PowerPoint presentations--alongside hundreds of people who will likely not once wipe their nose on my shirt or demand a bowl of raisin bran without the raisins or need their bottoms wiped.

I'm looking at a couple straight days of very limited wiping in general. No cleaning. No cooking. Other people are going to make me sandwiches and hand me drinks. There will be unlimited ice, with no discussions about who neglected to refill the tray.

I will get to sleep in a silent hotel room with the door shut and all of the lights off. Even if it means I bump into some things on the way to go pee in the middle of the night, I will relish complete darkness. There will be no bullshit to wake up to other than my own bodily functions, and my alarm will be set for a good hour or two later than usual.

Even the prospect of sitting on an airplane--best-case, one stuck on the tarmac for a few extra hours--has me positively salivating. Crying babies I don't have to soothe? Stinky latrines I don't have to clean? Soggy or overly dry sandwiches I don't have to field complaints about? Is it October yet??

Of course, I will miss the family. They will inevitably do new and adorable things I'll only get to hear about. Worst of all, I've learned from Brian's trips that Gunny and Annie really, really don't like going to bed without two sets of goodnight kisses. Their sadness makes me saddest of all kinds of sad.

And yes, the trip will be work and not a vacation. But I won't exactly be digging a quarry. I'll be holding adult conversations with both eyes available to look at the other person, and writing about what I learn in total peace.

Holy. Shit.

So, bon voyage, to all of you BlogHer-bound rascals! Have a fantastic time, and let me know if this fairy tale about a multi-day excursion sans kids can really be true.

What are the pitfalls of raising pseudo-twins?

Forget Shark Week on Discovery. It's Paranoid Parenting (Week? Month? Lunar cycle? Era?) on Spawnocalypse.

Anyway. There is scarcely an occurrence going anywhere with both kids in public that someone doesn't ask us if the kids are twins. It's probably the No. 1 way another human has begun a face-to-face conversation with me over the past year or so, and an honest, friendly question, so I truly don't begrudge answering it constantly.

Gunnar (3) and Annie (2) are 12 months, three weeks, and three days apart in age, give or take. They share the same signature dimples and wheat-colored hair. Most of their clothes have been passed down from their older cousins who happen to be a set of boy-girl twins. Nothing matches identically, but is often coordinated. Right now, they get a kick out of looking similar, proudly co-rooting for the Red Sox in red and in pink.

Almost daily, both kids hear Brian or I explain to cashiers and passersby that no, they're about a year apart, and agree with a cursory chuckle, that yes, we have our hands full. Both siblings seem to understand that Gunnar is the big brother and Annie is the little sister. In fact, Gunnar never tires of pointing out he's bigger and can therefore jump higher and run faster (somewhat disputable, but we let it go).

So I think when my three-year-old asked me yesterday if he and his sister were twins after seeing a pair of identical babies on TV, he was just checking to see if he'd get the same answer I'd always give. And he seemed reassured to hear that he is definitely older and has a completely different birthday from his then-napping sister, whom he always starts to miss about a half hour before it's time to wake her up.

A full day after my son's moved on to bask in all his big-brother glory, I'm still wondering: Do I treat them too much like a set of rather than individual children?

After all, I did force them to share a birthday party two years in a row and held the oldest out of preschool in part to wait for the other to catch up. Both of the aforementioned decisions were seemingly a bit more complex, but in what other ways might I unconsciously be neglecting their individuality--or be at risk to do so in the future?

Twins, closely spaced siblings, and parents thereof, I want to hear from you. What are the pitfalls of "two-fer" parenting and how do I avoid them? I grew up always wishing my siblings were closer in age and even had an imaginary twin for a couple of years, but I'm sure there are plenty of you there out there who wished for the reverse. So, before it's too late, what do I need to know?