Working Hard, Playing Hard

As I type this post, I am witnessing a transformation. My daughters’ bedroom has become a fashion design warehouse, where haute couture for the indiscriminate kindergarten set is being created from construction paper, magic markers and a lot of scotch tape. It is way past their bedtime, but I haven’t the heart to stop their play – they are working so hard to “finish making clothes for our store, Mommy.”

Their passion is enviable. As adults, many of us yearn to find hobbies or vocations we enjoy so much that they keep us up at night, draw us out of bed in the morning. But for children, these enterprises are daily occurrences. A piece of paper has the potential to become a kite, a boat, a sword or a dress. There are no limits to their imagination, and isn’t this what we want for them? To be daring, to be different, to think outside the proverbial toy box?  

Tonight, the benefits of this kind of imaginative play outweigh the need for an extra hour of sleep (mine or theirs). Their little brains and fingers and churning, and I am delighted by the intermittent chatter between them. “Let’s call our store pretty.com,” one says. “How much should we charge for paper purses?” responds the other. Besides being a wonderful creative exercise, I have read enough to know of the benefits of this kind of play to their social and cognitive development.

So this tired softy sits and watches and even makes a purchase: three dollars for a green paper tank top. It’s not at all functional, but it’s definitely an original. And so are all of our children. 

Chinese Proverb

"It is not economical to go to bed early to save the candles if the result is twins."

Twins: One of a Kind!

As the mother of twins, I try to spend alone time with each child as much as possible. It’s not always easy to do, but the undivided attention is as good for their emotional wellness as a plate of broccoli is for their physical health. As my girls get older, they crave this time more and more – and have started to ask for it. Though a solo outing to a park, a museum or even the grocery store is ideal, it’s not always possible. On these days, even a few minutes of snuggling in another room can be a panacea for feeling overcrowded by a well-meaning sibling, and a wonderful opportunity for bonding with mom.

 My twins love each other. They take care of each other at home and in school, and save for the occasional meltdown over whose turn it is on my computer, they play beautifully together. When I give one a piece of chocolate, she always asks for a piece for her sister. When I buy one a new dress, she immediately starts to look for one for her sister. You get the picture. Because of this special bond, it is easy to fear that separating them from each other, even for short periods, can diminish the “twinship.” I promise, it doesn’t. If anything, the absence, as the saying goes, makes their little hearts grow fonder.

Last night, I took one of my daughters to dinner with friends; the other was tired and stayed home with our nanny. When we walked through the door at the end of our two-hour outing, her sister was ecstatic. They embraced and squealed, “sissy love is forever.” Any guilt I had about leaving her at home evaporated when I saw how much they appreciated each other after a short separation. The next day, I made a point of taking the one who stayed home on a solo outing – a walk to town for ice cream. I know she loved being alone with me, sharing stories and secrets, and I loved being able to give her my full attention while enjoying her beautiful individuality. 

Twins are, by definition, a unit, but they are two unique individuals with their own personalities and preferences. Like all parents, I feel that I know my children better than anyone. But when I am alone with each of them, I see different, subtle parts of their personality that sometimes get overlooked in the noisiness of life. They, in turn, love having center stage. After all, they may be twins, but they are one of a kind!  

On Being A Mother

"When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child." - Sophia Loren

Tooth Be Told...

Confession: After my five-year-old daughter lost her first tooth (YAY!), I lost her first tooth ($#*@!!). I dropped it into a small plastic bag, labeled it with thick black marker, and placed it on the kitchen counter until she felt it had been sufficiently admired by everyone who crossed the threshold of our home.

A few days later, the bag disappeared. I scoured the house and burrowed through bags of stinky trash, but with no luck – it was gone. As a sentimentalist who saves everything from my kids' first finger paintings to my positive pregnancy test (also in a plastic baggie), I was completely heartbroken. How could this have happened? My aunt had given me a beautiful ceramic first tooth box for precisely this occasion – what possessed me to forsake it in favor of a Ziploc? 

A few days ago, my daughter lost her second tooth and I was determined not to give it the same fate. Though it is customary in some cultures for children to throw their baby teeth to the sky or on the roof of their houses while making a wish (see carton above about Nepal), I prefer our traditions of saving them for the Tooth Fairy (aka Mom). This second tooth is also in a plastic bag, but this time it’s in my jewelry box. After all, it is as precious to me as the diamond earrings beside it. 

Fairy, Fairy, Quite Contrary

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,


For I would ride with you upon the wind,


Run on the top of the disheveled tide,


And dance upon the mountains like a flame.


- William Butler Yeats, "The Land of Heart's Desire," 1894


For children, magic is everywhere – even in your own backyard. A few weeks ago, my daughters decided to build a fairy garden in ours, complete with fairy houses, fairy furniture, gateways, trowels and other garden adornments. Determined to “catch some real fairies,” they presumed that creating a tiny world to attract them would be the best route. Made sense to me. They fashioned most of the items by hand with popsicle sticks, shoeboxes, leaves, twigs and the stray pink lego. On the most magical mornings, special surprises like rhinestones and crystals were placed in the garden by the fairies, themselves (thank you, Aunt Bonnie).

Imagine my excitement when I learned that our annual garden festival had in its event lineup a Fairy Garden Workshop. Designed for children, hosted by a fairy garden expert and held on a beautiful morning under the canopy of a gorgeous maple tree, the workshop was magical in its own right. After two hours, each child had created her own fairy container garden in a large wicker basket filled with herbs and plants and decorated with silk flowers, sea glass, pebbles, feathers and moss. The final ingredient was a sprinkling of fairy dust, a mixture of glitter and sand in a tiny glass bottle.

The end result was beautiful, and not just in the way a mother thinks all of her children’s artistic creations are beautiful. These little gardens were truly lovely, and I am proud to display them on the front porch of my house. This project can be easily replicated at home and I highly recommend it if you’re not afraid of getting a little dirty. It’s a wonderful hobby for children and a great reminder that we all need a little magic in our lives.  

Royal Indecision

Confession: Our twins did not have names until they were six weeks old. Seriously. When we left the hospital, their birth certificates said, respectively, Baby A and Baby B. It’s not that we shirked our parental duties – on the contrary, baby name books peppered our house for months as we debated everything from Scarlet and Sabrina (my list) to Basil and Barney (my husband’s).

The morning of my scheduled caesarean, we had narrowed our choices to about ten and I fantasized, delusionally as it turned out, of staring at my newborn daughters and knowing instantly what to call them. Besides, it seemed quite sensible, almost respectful, to wait until meeting them to name them. But four days later, on the morning of our checkout from the hospital, I still could not pull the proverbial trigger. Names were big, permanent, defining. Who were these little people? What would they look like? What paths would they travel? What obstacles would they overcome? The questions seemed relevant in my hormone-heavy state, but I had no idea how to answer them.

In the spirit of political correctness, let’s just say I was, and perhaps still am, decisionally-challenged. My husband, on the other hand, was quite confident in his opinions. He even went so far as to write our "finalists" down in loopy purple cursive on the dry erase board in my room. Perhaps he thought that seeing the full names in script would conjure images in my mind of embroidered stroller blankets from Pottery Barn Kids? As much as I love a good monogram, his tactic was unsuccessful. So we left the hospital with our A and B.      

Thankfully, being so indecisive about the names of my children puts me in the company of royals. The swiftness with which Kate and William announced the name of their baby boy, George Alexander Louis, is truly notable by royal standards. William’s name wasn’t announced until a week after his birth and the Queen waited a month before announcing the name of his father, Prince Charles. Maybe they have the right idea – what’s the rush, anyway? Six days, six weeks – does it really matter? Isn't it better to learn a little more about your child's nature, character and appearance before choosing a name? I don’t think our delay caused our children any permanent damage and at least now I can say I was royally indecisive. 

A Louse-y Afternoon

Last spring, I got a call from the school nurse: your daughter may have head lice. I drove right to school, thankful that the situation was not more serious, but displeased at the idea of dealing with this parasitic insect so early in her academic career. My head started to itch. Ugh.   

On my way to pick her up, I called our pediatrician and asked what to do. I dreaded the idea of potent chemical treatments and was relieved by his suggestion of olive oil or mayonnaise. I knew I had olive oil in our kitchen, but what about the mayonnaise? I only had the low-fat kind and surely these circumstances called for full-fat Hellmann’s. I bought two large jars, a couple of nit combs, and six plastic showercaps. I was ready.

When we got home from school, I decided to treat both my children – and myself – to the greasy remedy. “It’s like going to a spa,” I told them. Though truly, I looked in their hair very carefully before dipping my fingers into the jar of mayo and saw nothing but a little silver glitter (the remnants of a messy craft project). No lice, no nits. Nevertheless, we slathered our hair with mayo and oil, tucked it under our shower caps and began the job of dealing with rugs, bed linens and stuffed animals.   

It was a busy afternoon, but there was a lot of laughing. Before bedtime, I took off their showercaps and marveled at the fact that with their slicked back hair they looked like little Robert Palmer girls of the 80s. All they needed was the red lipstick.  I washed their hair out and combed through it with the nit comb. Then I washed their hair again. And again. I should have used Dawn – you have no idea how difficult it was to get rid of the grease! I kept my hair under wraps until morning – I figured deeply conditioned hair would be the silver lining of this ordeal. And I kind of liked smelling like fried chicken.

So what did I learn from all of this? First of all, millions of kids get lice every year – it is not a big deal and it is not a sign that your child is dirty (actually, lice seem to prefer clean hair). As I walked my children from the school clinic to the car, I did feel as if we were wearing “Scarlet Ls” around our necks, but it was all in my head (pun intended). Nobody knew and, quite frankly, nobody cared. It’s another childhood rite of passage and as someone once said, “it’s no shame to get head lice, only to keep them.” 

Mom's the Word

In June, my daughters watched for the first time The Little Mermaid.  But for one or two nightmares about the sea witch Ursula, it has quickly become a favorite in our house.  Mermaid games have become de rigueur in the swimming pool and bathtub and someone is always humming “Under the Sea” or “Kiss the Girl.”  And here’s another confession: “Part of Your World” has been on my iPod since well before I had children. There’s nothing like working out to Coldplay, Beyonce and Ariel.

While watching the movie, I noticed the absence of any maternal figure; the only parent present is Ariel’s father, King Triton. Thinking about it further, I noticed that this “mom gap” actually seems to be a trend with Disney. In Beauty and the Beast, Finding Nemo, Pocahontas, Pinocchio, Tarzan and Aladdin, there is no mother (and if there is, she gets killed early on); and, there are only evil stepmothers in Cinderella and Snow White. What’s going on? Isn’t it possible for a character to successfully “come of age” in these stories with a backdrop of maternal guidance?    

Like any responsible technophile, I turned for answers to Google. I thought I had found my “Aha!” moment when I learned that Walt Disney’s own mother, Flora, died from carbon monoxide poisoning from a defective furnace in her home. Walt and his brother Roy were devastated by the tragedy and felt responsible because they had purchased this home for their parents. But, Disney stories (including Snow White, which was released the same year as Flora's death in 1938) were, for the most part, adapted from fairy tales and other works of children's literature in which many of the characters were already motherless. It is all very curious - and we will never really know what was going on in the mind of this icon - but the parallels between himself and many of his characters is likely coincidental.

Off With His Head

Save questions about the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Santa and our Elf on the Shelf, I have always tried to tell my children the truth. They know where babies come from (thank you, National Geographic), where hamburgers come from and the sad fact that nobody lives forever. For awhile, I was pleased with my brand of frank, authentic parenting, but I recently started rethinking my “honesty is the best policy” policy. Despite an occasional maturity that belies their real age, there are some things they just don’t need to know about as yet. 

Which brings me to my story, which started innocently enough as I read them Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline and the Bad Hat.  Madeline, who is seven years old, is a wonderful character who is clever, brave and loyal – my kids adore her. In the story, Madeline’s neighbor, a naughty young boy named Pepito, had fashioned a miniature guillotine with a tool set he got as a gift.  Before I could turn the page and gloss over the inevitable question, my daughters sweetly asked, “What’s a guillotine, Mommy?” 

After a quick historical introduction that would have been more suitable for a teenager, “During the French Revolution, at the end of the eighteenth century…” I proceeded to explain how the device worked.  Halfway through my explanation, I noticed that my kids were looking at me with horrified expressions. I stopped myself: What was I doing? What had I done to these innocents? Quickly, I crafted the little white lie: “I’m totally kidding, girls! It’s a device for cutting meat…. and bread…. and cheese.”  They bought it. 

I learned several things from this experience. First, that it’s okay to fib once in awhile to protect your children. Second, that it’s not a bad idea to skim books before you read them to your children to make sure the content is appropriate. And finally, that it’s never a bad thing to at least try to tell the truth to your kids.  I would rather they hear it from me than from the older sibling of a classmate with zero censorship ability. 

This Is So True...

"There's nothing that can help you understand your beliefs more 

than trying to explain them to an inquisitive child." - Frank A. Clark

Bedtime Blunders

Confession: It takes a long time to get my kids to sleep, but I don't mind, especially during these lazy days of summer. At the end of the day, my daughters put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, say their prayers and choose a few books for me to read – usually ones we have already read, like, a thousand times. Olivia, Madeline and Pinkalicious are the frontrunners, though anything with the “3 Ps” (princesses, puppies or ponies) will do. But unlike most parents, I stay with my kids in their room, usually in one of their beds, until they fall asleep. I have trained them, right or wrong, to become accustomed to this routine – they can’t fall asleep otherwise. Even the most expert babysitter will find herself with the same duty in my absence. 

Very occasionally, I will berate myself for not following the rules of Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, or The No-Cry Sleep Solution. Did I think I knew better than the experts? But in truth, it is my favorite part of the day – even if it does sometimes seem to take forever. I can’t explain it, but the sweetest, purest talk of all usually happens at the end of the day when the lights are low and their eyes are heavy. It’s amazing the things that cascade through their tired little brains and out their mouths – from the simple, “Why does daddy stand when he pees?” to the esoteric, “Why can’t I see God?” They will even blow me away with questions about my own day.  It disproves any notion that kids this age are still completely self-interested. I get a lot of grief about all of this from people in my life, but soon enough my kids may not want to snuggle – and sooner still, they may not come to me with all of their questions.  So I am taking advantage of it while it lasts.  I’m sure they’ll go to sleep by themselves eventually.