Why I haven't blogged in a very long time

“You need to say ‘NO!’ in a harsh tone,” my mother said to me awhile back.  This was her response to my exasperation at the twins – the now 2 year old twin boys, formerly known as Jack and Finn, now known as “OH MY GOD!” and “STOP THAT!”

I just said, “Okay.”  I couldn’t muster the strength to tell her that I had and it didn’t work.  I couldn’t muster the strength to tell her that their brand of ornery was immune to the word “No” and harsh tones.  I couldn’t muster the strength to tell her that what I was considering involved a cattle prod. 

I hear stories about other twins.  I hear stories about other little boys.  For some reason, and maybe I’m completely wrong in this, I feel my boys are cut from a different cloth – a far more ancient, tribal, dare I say missing link/ancestral type cloth.  Whether it’s their squatting to do a puzzle or push a truck across the floor that harkens back to our Neanderthal roots, or their ape-like vocalizations, or the fact they have flung poo at me like monkeys in a zoo cage – I just feel as though these little men of mine say more about our evolution than Darwin himself ever could.  They are less men, more animal. 

It keeps things interesting, having these two little creatures in the house.  Nothing is safe.  No one is safe.  Family, friends, and even Craig, the Schwan’s man, have become quite skilled at dodging trucks and Little People being thrown at their heads.  Thanks to them, we can all list “Ninja-like reflexes” on our resumes under special skills.  All the remodeling projects we have discussed doing have gone from “maybe” to “definitely” as they have knocked holes in the walls in the playroom (former and future dining room), torn the window screens, colored on the walls using the painted wooden puzzle pieces from their Melissa and Doug puzzles, dumped a bottle of fabric glue on our bedroom carpet, and peed with some regularity on the playroom floor.  This has just been the activity in the last 18 months.  A year and a half!  That’s it.  We have 16 more years, at least, of their presence in our home and I don’t anticipate an improvement.  I used to, but my optimism went by the wayside months ago.  I now completely understand the phrase uttered by so many tv parents, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

They are reaching the phase of “THAT’S MINE!” which is articulated in a series of slaps and pushes and headbutts and screams.  It happens so fast, too, that I end up being more of an observer than a referee.  I am Jane Goodall and they are my chimps.  They are reaching the phase where communication is becoming easier because they no longer whine and shake their hands indicating they want something.  They now say, “Drink!  Mamma!  Driiiiink!”  or “Shoes!  Shoes!  Let’s go…outside!” 

They each eat more than the rest of us combined.  The reason they will probably outweigh their 8 year old sister by Christmas.  They are stubborn and headstrong (which I mean both figuratively and literally since several of the dents in the playroom drywall have come from headbutting in protest), they are funny and go out of their way to make us laugh, they are smart and caring and quick to hug and snuggle.

They are also naked.  Well, Finn is.  Today, Finn naps with duct tape around the waistband of his diaper as it has finally come to this.  He has Houdini-ed himself out of everything else we have tried:  diaper with a pull-up over it, 2 diapers – one on the right way/one on backwards, and a onesie.  I’m certain I will find him all naked in a couple of hours, duct taped diaper stuck to the wall, clothes thrown in his brother’s bed, sheets on the floor, a stuffed animal ripped apart just for the hell of it, and Finn sleeping blissfully in a pile of stuffed animal filling and a puddle of pee.  This is par for the course.

My day started at 5:45 a.m.  I heard meowing.  LOUD meowing.  We did not get a cat.  It was not a stray cat or even a neighbor’s cat.  It was Finn.  Finn meows because, you know, being the naked kid just isn’t enough.  Finn meows and he meows loudly when he wants attention.  He finally meowed loud enough that he woke Jack who, considering the early call time, seemed particularly amused with his kitty-cat brother.  Nevermind the fact that, during a diaper change today, Smelly Cat, grabbed his boy business and yelled out, “A clue!  A clue!” which literally left me stunned and wondering "What will the second and third clues be?"  All this fun (and then some) before ten o’clock. 

While I would welcome a calm routine, a break from the norm, I find myself sickly curious at the prospect of what they may do next.  Five minutes into a nap last week resulted in Jack jumping out of his crib and me rushing up to find him looking a bit bewildered, but saying, “I okay, mamma” and Finn laughing hysterically, pantless.  Each day brings yet another adventure.  Adventures that you never truly believe unless you’ve witnessed them first hand…

…which is why I let my mom dish out her advice of “saying no in a harsh tone.”  Sometime after she had given me these words of wisdom, she courageously kept the boys for a couple of days.  In the matter of a half hour or so, when they were supposed to be napping, they instead climbed out of their pack-n-plays (after having taken off the sheets and thrown out the mattresses), flipped them over, rolled up the 5’ x 7’ rug on the floor, and launched several hard plastic toys at my mom all while giggling uncontrollably.  She called to report on their antics, to which I said, “You should say ‘No!’ in a harsh tone.”  She was silent for a moment and said, “Screw that!  I’m fixing a drink!”

The Keeper

It’s our ninth wedding anniversary. Today.

I used to joke that I’d stay married to him for ten years and then it would be “acceptable” for me to leave. Since having the twins, I realize I’m going to have to hold out for another ten. No way would I willingly take them on alone. Parenting is definitely a team sport...and I’ve got a pretty good teammate.

One day I’m sure my daughter will ask, “Why did you marry dad?” Or “How did you know he was THE ONE?”

I suppose there were lots of factors. I could tell her about the little voice inside - the first time I saw him - that said, “That’s what you’ve been looking for!” It could have been when my mother cornered me five minutes after meeting this guy who was helping my roommate move into our new apartment and said, “When he asks you out, I want you to say yes! I like this one! Do you understand me? Go out with him!” I could rattle off a whole list of criteria, but it simply comes down to drool.

If you’ve ever spent the night with another (significant or insignificant), you suddenly worry about your sleep habits. I was aware that mine were less than desirable long before anyone else did. The first clue was the bed head. I have horrible bed head. I do not wake up lovely at all. My hair defies gravity and truly has been, at times, a sight to behold. I have morning breath, mostly because I sleep with my mouth open, and I am all squinty like a newborn puppy for the first 30 minutes.

Long before there was anyone to tell me, I knew this about myself. I had awoken in the night thinking, “What in the world is that horribly annoying sound?” Only to realize it was my own snoring. So the prospect of spending the night with someone was terrifying. And mark my words, it is inevitable, the day will come when you near wakefulness feeling eyes upon you. Before you’ve opened your eyes, you lay there thinking, “Is he watching me? Was I snoring? Is my hair horrible? Did I fart in my sleep?”

And honestly, for me the answer to any of the questions could be yes. Once, on a particularly long car ride with a former boyfriend, I drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat, only to be awakened by the sensation of just having passed gas. Neither of us mentioned it. Needless to say we broke up soon after, and though it wasn’t directly about the fart, it was at least representative of the dysfunction of our relationship. If you can’t even discuss farts around a person you’re close to, then what hope is there for a future?

At any rate, there you lay feeling eyes upon you, and your heart begins to race, beads of sweat begin to form, and now you find yourself totally awake, pretending to be asleep and trying to think of a way to escape from the staring person in bed with you. Shit, it’s getting awkward…I have to wake up.

“Good morning. Did you just get up?”
“No, I’ve been awake for awhile now.”
“Oh. Well what have you been doing?”
“Watching you sleep.”
“Really? Was I…um…snoring or something?”
“No. You look so cute when you’re asleep.”

Bullshit, people! If your partner says this to you, run! You are being lied to! No one looks cute asleep except for babies and puppies. That’s it!

Well, it happened - that inevitable moment when I found my someday husband’s eyes upon me. Great!

“Good morning. Did you just get up?”
“No, I’ve been awake for awhile now.”
“Oh. What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been watching you sleep.”
“Well, was I snoring or something?”
“No. But JESUS - you were snoring last night! It actually worked its way into a dream I had. I thought I was at my parents’ house cutting down trees with a chain saw. But no, just now you were drooling. Yeah, you might want to flip your pillow. Anyway, wanna go get some breakfast? You better throw a hat on first though…if it will fit over your hair!”

I should have been mortified. But instead I was relieved. It is wonderful to be accepted for something you are, as opposed to being made to feel like something you’re not.

So cheers, darling! Here’s to nine (and many, many more) drooling, snoring years!

I’ll leave you with this last bit. I was thinking about our wedding. About how moments before I was to walk down the aisle, the reverend came to me and said, “The couple I just married, he was REALLY tall and she was REALLY short. You know what I always wonder about couples like that? How do they have sex? Alright then, I’ll see you up front in a few minutes!”

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

I had a sex talk with Olivia last night and I'm happy to report she knows NOTHING!  Whew!

It all started innocently enough last night, after her bath.

"Mom, did you know Jessie said a bad word when we were in preschool?"

"She did?  What was it?"

"Well, we were naming the states and I started to sound one out and she stopped me and said, 'Oh, you said a bad word!'  And I said, 'No I didn't!'  And she said, 'Did too!  You said (whispering) SEX!'  But I didn't say that and I told her I didn't."

"I see.  Well sex isn't exactly a bad word (There are so many worse words for it!), but I don't think you should say it.  You're still awfully young and you don't know what it means."

"Yes I do!"

Beads of sweat immediately appear on my forehead.

"You do?  Are you sure?"

"Yes.  It means (looking from side to side even though we are the only two in the room)...you know...bras and underpants and stuff."

She immediately blushes.

"Not exactly.  That is sexy, but you shouldn't know what it means at this age, so that's okay."

She shrugs.  "Whatever, mom."

Sure, whatever!

Mmmm....Lasagna

I make a few things well and, as a general rule, I am a fan of eating more than cooking. But there is one thing I make so well that the act of cooking is less task and more gleeful anticipation of the yummy comfort-food bliss that is to follow: LASAGNA.

I was always wary to make lasagna. I didn’t understand the mechanics of it and the thought of placing those precooked noodles made me anxious. But with the discovery of no-boil lasagna noodles and a little confidence (which is a must with cooking), it has turned into one of my favorite pasta dishes.

Be warned – this is not a low-fat dish, or a vegetarian dish. This one is chalk full of meat and cheese. It is hearty. My husband does not like “wimpy” food and this is anything but. If you live with a pack of carnivores like I do, this will be a surefire hit!

Let's make dinner -

2 28-oz cans of crushed tomatoes
½ cup of sugar (more or less to taste)
4 tbsp of minced garlic (2 tbsp for the marinara, 2 tbsp for the meat)
½ cup diced onion
1-2 tbsp fresh basil, chopped (FRESH, people!)
2 lbs of ground beef
1 package of no boil lasagna noodles
2 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded parmesan
1 cup shredded mozzarella

Large bread pan
Foil
Cookie sheet

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine tomatoes, sugar, 2 tbsp minced garlic, onion, and basil in a large sauce pan. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for at least 20 minutes. Before making lasagna, reserve 2-3 cups of marinara in a separate container.

As marinara simmers, brown and crumble ground beef (you could substitute Italian Sausage or ground turkey, depending on your taste) with 2 tbsp minced garlic. After you have removed reserve marinara, add meat to remaining marinara and simmer.

In a large bread pan, cover bottom with approximately 1 cup of reserve marinara. Place a lasagna noodle (I have to use a noodle and a 1/3 of another to cover the length of the pan). Top noodle with meat/sauce mix (load it up!) and sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Top with another lasagna noodle, meat/sauce mix, and parmesan and top with a lasagna noodle.

Spread 1 cup of ricotta cheese on lasagna noodle and sprinkle with ½ cup of mozzarella. Top with a lasagna noodle. Repeat the first three layers (meat/sauce mix, parmesan, noodle, meat/sauce mix, parmesan, noodle, ricotta, mozzarella, noodle).

Top last noodle with meat/sauce mix and then spoon remaining marinara along sides of lasagna and over the top. Top with parmesan cheese.

Cover with foil and place on a foil covered cookie sheet. Bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Pour a glass of wine and put your feet up for a bit…pour another glass of wine (You've got over an hour for goodness sake!).

Remove from oven and let rest for about 10 min to cool slightly.

Mangia!

Last Day of School… First Day of Hell

Today was the last day of school.

The kids had a half day and as I was pulling up in front of the school to get Olivia, I see her standing on the sidewalk, sobbing. Openly sobbing.

She crawled in the car, tears streaming down her face and shoulders heaving.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss Mrs. Beaman! I don’t want to leave Mrs. Beaman! AAAAAHHHHHH!” The sobbing becomes loud and hysterical.

“You’ll see her in August. You’ll be just across the hall from her and you’ll see her every day.”

“That’s not good enough! I miss her already! Aaaaahhhh-aaaaahhhh!”

“Okay, fine. If you want I will call her and see if you can live with her this summer.”

“Stop it! I know you’re teasing me and I don’t like it. This teasing does not make it better. You are not making it better!”

“You miss her?”

“Yes.”

“What will make it better?”

“Call her and set up a play date.”

“A play date with Mrs. Beaman?”

“Yeeeeeeees! Aaaaaaah-aaaaahhh!”

“Oh my God! Stop the screaming! Fine, I’ll set up a play date.”

“Goody!”

“Will you calm down now?”

“Yes.”

After we got home, I emailed her teacher. Needless to say, she did not accept the play date invite. Smart woman.

We were home by noon. By 2:30 p.m. she had played Barbies, Wii, done a math workbook, eaten lunch, played on my computer, eaten a snack, chewed exactly 30 pieces of gum, and at last, exasperated, flopped on the floor in front of me and said, “I’m so bored. There is nothing to do.”

Needless to say, it’s going to be a long summer.

Pasta Clown

Nothing warms my heart more than seeing all my babies happily eating pasta!  Their stained faces and busy hands...it's wonderful.  The clean up is a bit of a mess, but so worth it.

All of my children, however, lack the ability to give a "normal" smile, opting for a less attractive, exaggerated face.  I have no idea why.  My children are very attractive and very goofy...as evidenced by Jack's orange faced goofiness. 

We Are Weird

Every day, while I am waiting in line to pick up my daughter from school, I text my friend at work. This passes the time and she enjoys my observations of the dynamics of school pick-up and other random musings.

Today’s topic: My reoccurring daydream where I am Carson Kressley.

Me: “Went shopping today for Jason for our fancy dinner this weekend. Makes me wish he was fancy more often. I love picking out ties! I would be a fabulous gay man minus the sex.”

“LOL. I would be a great lesbian, minus the sex.”

“I’ve been telling you this. You would be a fantastic lesbian.”

“Why?”

“You are authoritative and you are comfortable with women.”

“I could be a lipstick lesbian. Not butch.”

“You aren’t butch. I see you with another lipstick. I’d be so on the border of flamboyant! I would be a weekend drag queen.”

OK, but for the record, I’m not like weird comfortable with women. I just grew up with a multi-generation matriarchy.”

“OMG! You’re reading too much into this. I know. I grew up with men. Women freak me out… I would wear crisp linen suits and bright ties…come to think of it, I would dress like Scott Disick.”

“Word on Scott’s outfits. They are pretty.”

“Most women.”

“I’m just manly enough for you.”

“Indeed. You have masculine femininity and I have feminine masculitiy. We are SO weird.”

“Hmmm…we are practical and independent with a little idealist.”

“True. I would say we’re keeping our options open only I doubt I will ever be a gay man. Drag queen? Maybe.”

And what I think is even weirder than our conversation is the fact that I really text like this – proper punctuation and fully spelled words. I am a nerd. An old nerd. Maybe someday I will be a drag queen, too!