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.

So, Mother's Day...

There are a thousand reasons why I fell in love with and subsequently, married my husband.

He is kind.

He is a good person.

He knows his way around a kitchen.

He is brilliant.

I'll spare you the remaining 996 reasons, but rest assured they exist.

However.

Because you *knew* there was a 'however' in there -- gift giving/purchasing is not his strong suit. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that he kind of sucks at it.

Kind of.

Fortunately, given some guidance and gentle direction (e.g. catalog pages ripped out and taped to his rather imposing eyebrows), he has been known to pull through critical situations. Without said guidance or direction, he's like a lamb to the slaughter. Because MVK loves her some presents.

They don't need always need to be grand or extravagant but I love getting trinkets from Mr. K. I also *adore* giving gifts. I'm that person who buys a gift in advance and then just can't wait until the occasion arrives, so I give it to the person early. I'm so five that way. The year the Wii had just come out and was impossible to get? I got my hands on one and lasted two days before I gave it to Mr. K even though Christmas was still two weeks away. The better the gift, the more excited I am to give it.

Mr. K? He could take or leave gifts (and occasions for that matter). Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays are all fine and good with him, but there's no thrill or excitement surrounding them. He enjoys getting gifts, but if all I presented him with on his birthday was a pair of socks and a peanut butter sandwich, he'd be fine. Grateful, even. The man is a nutter butter like that.

In the formative phase of our nearly decade-long relationship, I thought it was cute and quirky. For instance our first Christmas together, he got me the following:

• a spatula large and sturdy enough not only to flip pancakes, but perhaps also a snow tire
• a pair of leopard print, bootie-style Dearfoam slippers
• a pair of brown hairy socks

It was an inexplicable trio of gifts but I went with it because I was in LURV.

As the years have passed, I've accepted Mr. K's lack of enthusiasm in the gift giving department. Often, I just save him the trouble and say "Babe, I bought myself a birthday present from you. It's fabulous and thank you."

Sometimes he surprises me and of his own volition, does something awesome. Last year for my birthday (when I was 100 months pregnant with the Twinks) he wrote me the sweetest card and enclosed homemade coupons for a five day, kid-free getaway for myself and a friend. We've already planned a sunny vacation for the fall and I'm so excited!

But for Mother's Day this year, I didn't have time or energy to rip out pages of catalogs or send links to things I want online. In fact, there wasn't really anything I wanted or needed. But that being said, I'm still a WOMAN and considering I'd just given birth to twins, I figured it was an occasion Mr. K might spend a little time noodling. Just this once.

On Sunday, Mr. K and Piglet presented me with a teal blue envelope (not from Tiffany, don't get excited) and inside it was a card with the message "Warm Wishes on Mother's Day" imprinted on the inside. I should've known then that Mr. K was short on sleep and energy and this was not going to end well for any of us.

Mr. K wrote some nice sentiments on the card and signed it from he and the boys with a P.S. that read: "Coming soon are coupons for TEN SHOWERS! So you can shower anytime you want! Happy Mother's Day!"

DUDE.

SHOWERS.

S-to-the-H-to-the-OWERS.

As in to be used to BATHE MYSELF.

As in that was my MOTHER'S DAY GIFT this year.

Just to reiterate in case you are not quite sure what I mean.

Mr. K honored me, the mother of his THREE children, the woman who went to great lengths and innumerable pains to bear said children, with the gift of TAKING A SHOWER. And not just ONE shower, but TEN!

TEN WHOLE SHOWERS!

ALL FOR ME!

I MUST BE AN AWESOME MOTHER TO DESERVE SUCH A GIFT!

You can *imagine* how well this was received by my raging, sleep-deprived postpartum hormones.

"But, but, you are always saying how GREAT you feel once you've taken a shower in the morning! I thought this would delight you!" Mr. K was treading water like hell.

My thoughts? Apparently I should've repeated over and over how GREAT it feels to wear DIAMONDS everyday!

Or SMELL ROSES!

Or EAT CHOCOLATE!

Mr. K is a very literal person. Who knew?

You may wonder why I'm sharing this story since it's not a typical recounting of the Mother's Day. Because I want you to know it's not always bubbles and cupcakes at Maison Piglet. And while it wasn't funny at all at the time, it was funny as hell just one day later.

The next day I laughed until I cried because it was so funny.

The story is SO Mr. K; SO very US.

And while I might forget about roses or chocolate (but not likely diamonds, ahem), I will never forget the year I got showers for Mother's Day.

Thanks, Babe. You're nothing if not memorable!

Oh and Father's Day is coming up and paybacks are hell.

Tiny techie

If this video doesn't prove the whole, apple ---> tree theory, I'm not sure what does. I took this a few days after we got our beloved i.Pads. Piglet is *so* like his father!

A few things of note: It's not lost on me that Piglet's hair here makes him look like Eddie Munster. He was in desperate need of a haircut, which he subsequently got that night. Also, did you all notice how he instinctively picks up the tablecloth and starts cleaning off the screen with it? He may be a techie like his dad, but that pesky little need for clean? ONE guess where he got that. :) I actually have better videos of him using his fat little paw to go from one video to the next, but I chose this one to share with you because of the tablecloth action.

I enlarged the font to match my heart which is SWELLING WITH PRIDE.

PS - In case you're wondering, as far as Piglet is concerned, only Daddy's iPad can playback all the fun videos of you riding the streetcar, Mommy's just can't do that. Funny how that works.

And they say Mr. K is a genius...

1+2 vs 2+1

First off, thank you to the lurkers who took pity on me and hit 'follow' after my sad cry for help last post! And thanks also to my long-time readers who did the same because they had me in their Google readers but weren't followers. You made my day! Piglet sends you a big, wet kiss.

Back to business...

When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I found myself wishing that we could've done this in reverse - twins first and then a singleton. (A chorus of "beggars can't be choosers" just rang through my head.) I'd heard from so many twin parents that had had another child later, that their singleton was *so* easy in comparison to their twins and it would've been so much harder to have one and then add twins to the mix. I know they didn't mean to scare me, but I'll admit, it was intimidating to say the least. Piglet was not an easy baby and the thought of adding two more demanding shriekers to our just-starting-to-quiet-down home left me shaking in my ballet flats.

Don't even *ask* how Mr. K was coping with the the pending reality. Twasn't pretty.

But now that the Twinks have been here over a month, I can honestly say that while I'm probably in the minority, I am so glad that we had Piglet first and then added the Twinks to the pen. I'm sure you're all scratching your heads and wondering why.

I'll tell you why.

Are you sitting down?

Do you have a glass of water nearby?

Because I don't want you to start feeling faint from the forthcoming admission.

Ready?

Steady?

Here goes: I'm glad I had one plus two instead of two plus one because...

I'm a leetle on the ocd, high strung end of the spectrum when it comes to parenting. There. I said it. Having said that. caring for twins AND being a first time mom is likely to have turned me into a total NUTTER.

I know this is completely shocking to you all.

Who ME? High strung? Picky? Still puts onesies under my two year-old's tee shirts because I'm worried he'll catch a draft?!

*I* would've been a big dose of CRAZY if I'd had twins first?

No, really.

Shocking.

I know.

Now take a sip of water. You'll feel better.

Anyway, I had a realization last week as I solo parented the trio. G was on the changing table getting not only a diaper swap but a complete wardrobe change too. Piglet was running circles around me and demanding more juice, while P (who was fed, clean and swaddled) in the bouncey seat started crying the loudest most frenetic cry I'd ever heard from him. Wah! Wah! Wah! Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Now had I been a rookie, being there, in the eye of the storm, might have rattled me.

But instead I just started laughing while assuring P that I'd be there in just a minute, that he was just fine.

And you have to admit, laughing is better than crying.

Because crying usually ruins your makeup.

That is, if you're wearing makeup.

Which I was not.

(Those of you that know me well may need to take another sip of water at this point.)

So I laughed a little while my child screamed his head off.

Damn, that sounds worse than it was. (I'm a MONSTER!!!)

In fact, it wasn't bad at all. It was just 48.9 seconds of screaming for P before all was right in his world again.

It didn't bother me in the least. I wasn't rattled, I wasn't stressed. I was just finishing taking care of one baby after another.

No worries at all, everything was fine!

(Who IS this person?)

Forget the water, have some vodka.