Two months in...

The Twinks are over two months old now. TWO. MONTHS. OLD.

Wait.

What?

You may or may not have noticed my two plus week absence. If you follow me (which means you are AWESOME) you probably noticed. And if you don't follow me but are a reader, (you are also awesome but not quite as awesome) you probably didn't. :) Meghan, who is AWESOME, noticed and delivered the proverbial kick in the arse, butt, BOTTOM I needed.

(Aaaaaaannnnnnnd there. I am officially a parent. In case you are wondering, I also spell out words I don't want my kids to understand.)

Anyway, the Twinks have officially "woken up." This means that they are now painfully aware of any type of discomfort.

"Ohhhh my bellllllllyyyyyyy hurrrrrrts!"

"I'm not being helllllllld!!!!!"

"You ate too much Mexicaaaaaaan!"

"I need to poooooooooop!!!!"

This also means that they are so much more demanding than they were even just ONE week ago. There are days I swear they are plotting my destruction. Add Piglet and his oh-so-very-twoness to the mix and I am a crazy woman.

Correction.

I am a craziER woman.

In an effort not to mislead, I do have help. Our lovely Urban Outfitters-Toms-Joe's Jeans-wearing nanny, Lisa, upgraded her status to full-time for the summer and I am so grateful. When she arrives each morning, she's usually greeted by this:

• Me, wild-eyed in spit-up stained shirt and PJ pants, holding a baby while eating eggs directly out of the pan.


• PJ clad Piglet running rampant saying "Bye bye Eesha! Bye bye! No, no Eesha!"


• Other baby crying in bouncy seat, swing or sling.

GOOD MORNING!!! WELCOME BACK!!! PLEASE PUT SOME PANTS ON PIGLET!!!

Poor Lisa.

Poor awesome Lisa. Who is sometimes so very awesome that I send her to the liquor store for Mojito fixings before she leaves for the day.

What?!

It's good for my milk.

Wait.

That's beer.

Oh well, I've sent her to the store for that too.

(Note to self: When hiring nannies in the future, be sure they are 21 and up.)

Anyway, while the days are long, the years are short and time is FLYING by at Maison Piglets. It's been bittersweet to see my Twinks trade in their wrinkly legs for chubby rolls and triple chins. Piglet is speaking in complete sentences and talking about things we didn't think he even noticed. Everybody's growing up. Even MOI.

One of my regular indulgences has always been getting pedicures. I love having pretty painted toes. I abhor the exercise of removing and applying nail polish.

The story goes like this: (ample) nail salons => meet MVK, they fall in love. Their affair spans many years.

Except now, being outnumbered by children means I rarely, if ever, go anywhere without at least one kiddo. And if I do, it's somewhere with Mr. K, who's not so big into the pedicure scene. So my dilemma is this: walk around with ghetto toes or grow up and crack open the acetone.

Crap.

In the end, vanity wins. Please pass the cotton balls.


Wait. How did this blog entry lead to me talking about feet?!

Anyway, we are hanging in there, even if it's just barely. The Twinks are wonderful, demanding and already starting to show their distinct personalities. Peeper (P) has this pathetic cry that is part whine, part gasp and is hilarious. It's as though he's saying "Oh I'm sooooooooo sad! I'm just miserable! I might not make it another second!" And Giant (G) does this thing where he makes a sound like he's choking before letting out a full-on wail. Often they do it in unison and it's a baby crying symphony over here.

Speaking of symphonies. Mr. K has taken up the guitar. He's self-teaching through the MIRACLE of the internet. Many of our recent conversations go something like this:

Me: Babe. Babe. BABE! What are you doing? Have you changed the babies yet? Have you taken a shower? We have to go soon!

Mr. K: I'm soothing the babies with my gentle strumming! (continues "strumming" Edelweiss)

Me: I think you mean you are killing me softly.

Mr. K: I'm sorry you can't appreciate my ART.

Me: I would appreciate it a lot more if you didn't practice it right when we have to be somewhere.

Mr. K: But doesn't it DELIGHT you?

Me: Sure, Captain Von Trapp, sure. Now go put the babies in their car seats.

So that's a snap shot into life at Maison Piglets right now. We are having fun, laughing and being our usual entertaining selves.

Sorry I was away so long. I've had my hands full. Oh and of course I had all those SHOWERS to take. And thanks again Meghan for asking me to come back. I love feeling lurved.

And last but not least -- pictures.

In case you're all wondering why there's a picture of Mr. K's arse, butt, BOTTOM (there I go again) included, it's because I want to share all the highlights from the past few weeks.

And that included Mr. K in his new "A" pocket Seven jeans.

To think that when I met him, he was wearing ripped, light-wash Gap jeans from 1992 (and sadly, it was 2002).

You've come a long way, baby.

We all have.