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how we live

Movers, shakers.

by Myg on January 6, 2010

Sit STILL!

Do you know how many drafts of unfinished blog posts I have sitting in my wordpress dash? Three hundred fourty eleven. Truth be told, I don’t even know, but it’s a lot.  I’ve had a lot to say, but as yet have been unable to say it. Therefore, a bullets post.

  • Dude, you have no idea how busy I’ve been, what with the show, the holidays, a crazy amount of work to finish by year’s end and all that parenting stuff. You probably do know, but you may not know what an added layer of insanity the show was. I’m talking about being up every night until 1am or so practicing my guitar through headphones so I could possibly not suck after not playing for so long. The sleep deprivation reminded me of how much I need sleep to not just be an asshole to everyone. Up until 1am is not so bad until you remember your kids are up at 7am every day, NO MATTER WHAT, unless it’s today and they’re up at 6 for no god damned reason. And I know – we are lucky that our kids sleep like this. The question is, are we stupid for playing a show when we have no time to play our guitars?
  • Stupid or not, here we come.
  • I don’t know what that means in terms of us playing future shows. Don’t read into it.
  • Do you see that picture above? Those monsters are my sons, Doot and Bing. They will be a year old on the 22nd of this month. I cringe when I think of it. They are SO BIG (\0/). 
  • Every day I whisper quietly into their soft hair, “Can you stay my baby just a little while longer? Please?” I try not to say it audibly most of the time because I don’t want them to grow up with a complex. I don’t *really* want a 35 year old Doot and/or Bing living with me or off me. Okay, that’s a lie. I secretly dream of having my kids live with me forever and that at least one of them will get some girl pregnant in high school so I can marvel at a grandbaby while I can still walk without a cane. I’m actually not even sure if I’m kidding about that.
  • That’s fucked up.
  • Doot has 8 teeth. Bing has 2 and a half.
  • They eat EVERYTHING. They are great eaters. Messy as shit though.
  • This post is so ”eh” right now I’m going blind.
  • Fuck it, I’m posting it anyway.

It was nice to see you again. Thanks for reading.

Oh, and a little PS bullet, that has nothing to do with this post.

  • To my friend, Ms. Snarkier Than You over at Twitarded, OH MY GOD. I’m incredulously doped up on Twilight (the book). I made Alex (Mr. Wisermom) go out and buy me New Moon last night (which I haven’t seen yet, even though some innocent yet asshatish youngster told me the ending yesterday when she saw I was reading Twilight. Doh!) because I was getting too close to the end and, ugh, how can I be sagaless? As soon as I post this, I’m closing my office door and busting out New Moon. I need some “me” time.

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8 months

by Myg on September 23, 2009

Eight. Months. Eight. Months. Eight. Months.

8 months

Doot (on the right) said “Da da” tonight, while lovingly combing Alex’s face with his little eight month old fingers. Yes, there were tears aplenty.

Meanwhile, Bing was hurling himself backwards on hands and  knees on the same futon where we all lay and tell stories and sing songs every night before bed. He’s about to launch. Real crawling, the kind that involves purposeful movement, is nigh.

And yes, finally, they are starting to sleep all night. Doot has slept from 8pm – 6:30 am three nights in a row. Bing is only waking up once a night, around 12:30am, for a small bottle, then sleeping the rest of the way. This is HUGE folks. But then, you know that.

My mom says they look like they’re ready to take on the world here. If I do my part, here’s hoping they will be.

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Seven Months

by Myg on August 21, 2009

Bing and Doot, my darlings,

You’ve been on the outside for seven whole months now, which is nearly as long as you were on the inside. So if you think of it, from zygote to now you’ve probably gagoopled your size several times, not to mention your cute factor.  To be honest, I’d really love to credit myself with your good looks, but I don’t know how anyone could buy it. I think I’ll attribute some to your father, some to the innate bias inherent in parenting, and some to science.

Bing!

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Your excellent dispositions, however? All me.

Okay, maybe not ALL me. But a lot me. Or so I like to tell your family, friends and assorted admirers.

As of this week I’ve started to work a little more often, a little harder, outside of the house making some money to keep us all in diapers and dog biscuits. I won’t kid around, it’s been a strange thing to spend fewer hours a day with you. The strangest thing being that I leave you in the morning, am gone for many hours, come home for dinner and baths and you are both different. You are more here. More you. Less mommy appendage.

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In some ways this breaks me. In most ways, this is simply the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life.

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People who see pictures of you ask me, “Are they total opposites in their personalities?” I don’t know why they’d ask such a thing.

Happy Clown Sad Clown

To that I unilaterally answer No. What you are is individuals, close in temperament to myself and your father. I am hoping that since he and I have been compatible for oh, the last 22 years or so, that the two of you will get on similarly well, and perhaps with less bickering over guitar gear, but probably not.

Which brings me to some news. Your father and I have been asked to put the band back together for a special show celebrating the mid-90s music scene in New Brunswick. We, of course, jumped at the opportunity. Why? Because we are totally f*cking INSANE. Insane for sound, insanely eager for any opportunity to have our asses kicked (as your simultaneous appearance into our lives proves) and insanely committed to raising you both to never, ever forsake your dreams or those things that make you who you are.

Mom and dad bring the rock, 10 years ago

Mom and Dad bring the rock, 10 years ago

I have done a little too much of that lately, but it’s about to change.

Unfortunately, that means you’ll be having more babysitting. The good news? It’ll probably be your grandparents who will likely let you stay up late and eat ice cream behind our backs. Good for them.

At this point, I feel inclined to include some kind of poignant hand wringing about how fast it’s all going, how much I already miss those tiny helpless newborns you used to be, how precious every second with you is and has been, how my love for you seems to outpace the expansion of the universe and can hardly be contained by human physiology or explained in human language.

Sure, I can go there.

But my darlings, it’s 5pm Friday and instead, I think I’d like to rush home for dinner and bath time, where I can be in it instead of just describing it.

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Bing takes a bath.

May we spend the rest of our days together more inside the good feeling than outside, remembering how good it was.

All my love forever and ever,

Mama

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To pea or not to pea

by Alex on July 10, 2009

Today WM presents three videos. I’m calling this triptych “To pea, or not to pea: The birth of an aesthetic sensibility.”

Above is Doot’s introduction to sweet peas. Yes, they’re organic. No, we didn’t grow them; they’re handy single-serving packs from the big baby food conglomerate and, yeah,  they’re about $0.70 a serving, pretty danged expensive when you’re on a frayed shoestring budget. However, they are very convenient, and to New Jerseyans, convenience is everything. (Cue the DKs reference “Give me convenience or give me death.” Yes, I understand the irony.) The other justification I have for my laziness is that while we’re trying out solid foods, I’m not going to buy a bunch of stuff and have it rot in the fridge when they only eat a little bit of it. Their parents already have that problem with the produce intended for adult consumption. I have utopian visions that eventually when all four of us eat the same produce we will eat our way through large heads of leafy green lettuce and buckets of succulent cucumbers. It may be on pizza with lotsa mozzarella, but a boy can dream.

Up to this point, the boys have taken to solids like wombats to sedgegrass. Other than an unfortunate episode with prunes (expelled from both ends in force), they eat rice cereal, sweet potatoes, oatmeal, and bananas. Based on facial expressions and enthusiasm, sweet potatoes and bananas are the favorites. Hello sweet teeth.

Doot is not into peas. Check out his expression. He had downed a bottle not all that long before when he was introduced to them, so we thought perhaps he just wasn’t that hungry. So I tried them again yesterday. He may be a sweet pea, but Doot is not into them.

The development of facial expressions and nonverbal communication at five months is impressive. You can really tell the difference, when, just a couple of minutes later I offer him some sweet potatoes. Yep, the kid is hungry, all right. Ixnay on the legumes, hello beta carotene.

Next week: escargot

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Five Months.

by Myg on June 22, 2009

Doot and Bing my dearests,

Can it be? I don’t know how it happened, but according to my calendar you’ve been out five months now. Five months! Why, that’s nearly half a year, isn’t it? The nice thing about this year is that, unlike most years when it gets to be June and I say, ”Wow, I’ve really pissed this year away,” I know exactly why time is flying. This year I can say, yes, I’ve actually done something productive. And that productive thing would be keeping the two of you in fresh diapers and food around the clock.

Speaking of diapers and food, you’re both now eating solids! Seriously, those Sweet Potatoes are fairly rad, as evidenced not only by our tasting them but by Doot’s squealing during a meal, or Bing’s earnest grunting as he hurls his adorable little face onto the spoon as it’s headed towards his mouth.  

He really likes it!From what I can tell, rice cereal is alright too, but we’re a little concerned it may be the culprit behind our latest baby adventure: terds.  I was all cool with the baby terds until Bing went and launched a couple in the bath tub. I wasn’t expecting such a quick disintegration, but then it’s all a learning experience.

Your father, however, is not so cool with baby terds and is insisting we start prunes next week to help keep things, shall we say, loose. I really dunno about that, but I suppose we’ll see what the reaction is and let history judge. Oh, the stories we’ll tell at your 13th birthday party!

Now there has been more to this past month than eating and pooping, not that the formation of solid stools isn’t enough on its own. You guys have also been working so hard at doing stuff. For example, each of you can roll over half way. Doot can roll from belly to back, and Bing from back to belly. (Um, seems you two need to share some information there.) But that’s not all you know how to do now. Here, observe Bing at his desk:

Has the bunneh

IMG_1631Someday, my boy, I am certain there will be an iPhone app that can identify and taste all of those plush objects for you.  But until then, keep up the good work.

Not to be outdone, here’s Doot in his command chair:

Please, don't interrupt.Doot, right about here you are wondering why I’m holding a camera, and not a bowl of Sweet Potatoes.  Right after this was taken, no doubt a memo of protest was drafted and landed in my inbox, but it’s all fuzzy now because this is my fifth month straight of pulling triple shifts with my colleague in this Doot and Bing Raising enterprise, your father.

Darlings, that’s to say I love you with all that I am but I’m not thinking particularly straight these days. This may explain the near miss in exchanging the Neosporin with the A&D butt ointment.

You got to go back to the farm in Virginia this month and visit with Granny and Grandpa and all of your extended Italian relatives! Not once were you stained with tomato sauce, and nor were you the loudest people in the room, not even when you were screaming! Which did happen, by the way. Here’s a photo of us. Some details have been changed to protect the innocent:

IncognitoWe would be the details. You would be the innocent.

Something wonderful has begun to happen in the last few weeks. You’re going to bed at 6:30pm! Gone now are the evenings of your discontent, replaced by evenings where your father and I can Twitter side by side, muttering to each other about #iranelection and taking turns playing Stone Loops on my iPod. I know it doesn’t sound sexy, but kids, the meteor showers are NOT to be missed!

Hmmm. I wonder if by the time you’re in high school terms like iPod and Twitter and hashtag will still mean anything.

Last night Doot, you slept an entire 12 hours. I wept with joy. Bing, I won’t dance around the issue, son, you’ve GOT to start sleeping for more than two hours a shot, okay pal? I think you may be having a growth spurt, or rather, I PRAY TO GOD you’re having a growth spurt and this isn’t some sort of “accidental parenting™” or “night waking habit™.” I want you to know that I read and read and read about how to help you sleep at night, and it seems I’m going to have to let you “cry it out™ ” which some folks who adhere fervently to “attachment parenting™” would think might make you a serial killer some day.

Bing, a mother can go a little nuts trying to sort out all of the expert opinions out there. It seems like expert opinions on child rearing are like assholes. Or maybe, experts with opinions on child rearing are just assholes. I’m not sure anymore.

All I can say is this. Whoever you are, whatever you do, I am your mother and I will always love you. That said, sleeping more than two hours at a stretch overnight will only improve upon the matter.

In any case, my sons, let me end the matter this way. If one day you’re looking back and there’s still an internet and you can still read a blog post that was written when you were five months old, know that those were very good days indeed. Because they were days when you and your mom and your dad and your dog Mason and your two cats and your entire extended family all lived, sometimes happily and sometimes not, but we were all here and all of us in our own way marvelled at the joy you brought to our corner of the world.

So thanks for that, kids. For that, we’ll forget the sleep deprivation AND the terds in the bathtub.

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Hello. I am a (relatively) new sleep-deprived mother of twins, and this is my tale. 

As of today my boys are 21 weeks old, soon to hit the five month mark, though they were born five weeks early, and being born five weeks premature DOES matter, don’t let your pediatrician tell you it doesn’t. I waited five extra weeks for smiles, for cooing, and for rolling over and fretted needlessly. If only I really understood that yes, you must calculate these early milestones using your babies’ due date, I could have turned my attention to the REAL important shit, like worrying about whether my dog could give my newborns Kennel Cough. (He can’t, by the way.)

My last good night of sleep was probably last September, when I was pregnant but before I was waking up 6 times a night to pee. Oh dear, I just teared up writing that sentence because you’ve got to understand how much I love to sleep. LOVE. it. And need it too. If there was an Olympic Sleep Team, I’m telling you I’d be its star player and likely Captain. I can sleep 10 hours a night without any trouble. Or rather, once upon a time I could.

My boys are not necessarily bad sleepers themselves. It’s just that there happens to be two of them, and like many fraternal twin babies, they are very different kids with different sleep behavior. Doot has always been the sleepy baby. He takes after mama in many ways, including his delight in sleep (giddy, smiling, sometimes happily squealing when put in bed). Bing will fight sleep like a UFC champ because he is so engrossed in the teddy bear or the cat or the carpet that he can’t rest until he really, truly gets what it’s all about. Just like his Dad.

When they were first born they were under 5lbs and it was a cold, cold winter. We kept them in long sleeve sleep-n-plays (with legs and feets – screw baby sleeper gowns. I hate them because I always seem to strangle my kids with that stupid elastic bottom when I’m putting them on) and we double swaddled them in two receiving blankets as per the nursery’s directive. We kept them together in a bassinet in our family room, and we took turns camping out on the couch with them 24/7.  The boys were eating constantly then, like anywhere from every hour to every 2 and a half hours, and often not at the same time.  I was trying to build a milk supply too so I nursed them a lot, but they got bottles of formula as well. (My boys had bottles of formula from the beginning because the hospital was incredibly shitty when it came to things like NOT FEEDING YOUR BABY FORMULA unless you, in your pre-eclamptic induced panic remembered to order them not to. Because they sure as hell will NOT bother to ask you this before doing it. So, my boys were given bottles of formula before I even met them. Suckass hospital.)

Once they passed their due date, things began to shift.  They were still sleeping a lot, but they started waking up a lot, too. It was a sort of nightmare of short periods of sleep and short periods of wakefulness, 24 hours a day. Which meant there were no decent stretches – not even say a three hour stretch – where someone could sleep while the babies were sleeping. It was like you’d just finish a diaper change and then wash some bottles so you’d be ready for the next feed, and then you’d lay down and one of them would start crying and you’d start the feeding/changing cycle all over again. 3o minute breaks (or less sometimes) between feeding/changing all night and all day long were typical for the first three months.

I’m telling you now, if Alex wasn’t home with me during that period, I would have really lost my shit. With two of us going full steam and breaking each other for 6 hour stretches of sleep, we were still getting our assess kicked up and down the block again. And neither of us were working yet.

Now before the boys were born, I really thought we could impose a structure, just like all the twin books and not fewer than several sets of twin parents recommended to us. But we just couldn’t do it. Because I swear, we’d put out that memo that said, “In RE: Twin Boys’ Schedule…boys will eat every three hours and then sleep” but the kids, they kept telling us, “Hey, we never got that stupid memo. What memo? We’re calling in our union.”

Eating/Sleeping Routine Memo FAIL.

I was doing it wrong. Because had I been doing it right, my kids would eat and sleep with some kind of regularity, just like all those parenting twins books say, right? My twins had the audacity to get hungry whenever the hell they wanted. You just ate an  hour ago, I’d tell whichever one was complaining. It must be something else. And he’d scream and scream and scream and after trying everything else from pacing to rocking to singing kumbaya to swaddling, I’d make a bottle or nurse him and hey! Guess what? THE KID WAS STARVING.  

And I’d worry I was overfeeding  or being an Italian mama who wants to solve all problems with food. But you know what? Looking back on it now, I can see my boys were just plain hungry, and most likely their little bodies were working to compensate for that prematurity because by their 4 month well baby visit they were 50th percentile in weight on a non-adjusted scale (not adjusted for prematurity), so yeah.

The first three months were harder than I can tell you. If you’ve got twins, then you may know. Or, if you’ve got twins that check their inboxes for the routine memo and naturally take to structure, then you may not know.

But if you’re about to have twins, or just had them, then this is the only advice I have for you:  GET HELP NOW.

Because you won’t know whether your twins are the memo reading routine abiding type, or the creative free thinker show up to work whenever I damn well feel like it type.

Well, there’s one way you can guess which type you’re gonna get.

Look in the mirror. What you see is probably what you’re getting. In any case, that’s what we got. One like him, and one like me. And neither of us are the routine type.

That said, things are much better now at the 5 month (4 month from due date) mark. It’s easier than it was, partly because they’re older and eat every 3-4 hours now, and sleep longer stretches at night. And it’s better partly because we’ve learned how to structure their evenings in a way that works for all of us.

Next time I blog, I’m going to blog about that. But for now, I’m going to go crawl under a table and nap and hope their father doesn’t find me for a few hours.

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Before, Part 2.

by Myg on May 26, 2009

Before we had children, we had a dog.

puppehlike.jpg

Mason was, and still is, a very good dog. We got him 2 years ago, after much begging on my part, when he was 12 weeks old (as he is in the above pic).  Back then, he ate every pair of slippers and flip flops I owned. You might think I should have simply put the shoes away in the closet, and you are right. The only problem being he figured out how to open the closet. He also chewed big holes in the comforter and the sheets on our bed. Multiple sets. And he ate many other things no animal should eat, like the end of my laptop power cord and a phone charger. These issues were more problematic for the ensuing vet bills and endless worry about his health than anything else.

It was good training, I think, for what’s to come.

In any case, he did settle down a lot with that eating stuff he shouldn’t eat business. But he still does require quite a bit of attention, which before we had kids was never a problem. Alex and I are around a lot and Mason was accustomed to a couple of walks a day, an hour of playtime at the park and lots of affection in between.

He has been spectacular with the boys since they’ve been born. That said, he has two offenses in this regard. First, he tries to lick them every time we turn our backs. It’s more of an issue since the boys have started putting their fingers in their mouths, and the dog likes to lick their hands and faces and the tops of their heads. The other issue? He’s become a little thief, stealing their things when we’re not looking and piling them in the bed for snuggling. Here’s a glimpse of what he amassed in the course of a couple of days:

What my dog dragged onto my bed when I wasn't paying attention to him.

You’ll notice toys, shoes, clothes but the most wonderful thing of all to Mason are dirty burp cloths.

What can I say? The dog loves vomit.

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So, I am thinking that I will tell my boss tomorrow that as of the end of the summer, I quit.

It’s something that Alex and I have long discussed. It’s something I really, really want to do. Only problem is, my job is our only reliable income right now, and our means to health insurance.

See the problem?

Alex has taken the teaching certificate exam and has applied to about every school district in the county for a position. He’s working to get his thesis finished so he’ll have his MFA in the fall. But he’s got no actual job leads as of yet and hiring season for schools ends somewhere around the end of June. That’s just a few weeks away.

Right about now, you may be wondering why I don’t just keep my job until he finds one, and then quit.

The reason is that I work on grant-funded projects. That means when there’s funding for the grant, there’s a job. These grants happen to come from the State of NJ, and the State of NJ is in deep trouble with its budget this year. My grants run out at the end of August. To get my funding renewed in September would take no small amount of maneuvering by my boss and my state contact.

I really, really love my boss. She’s a great person aside from a great boss, and she’s already stressing out over finding me enough work to keep me on staff so I keep my salary and benefits. And so far, I’ve just been all, “Uh huh, yeah, I plan to keep working. I need the money. I need the health insurance.”

But deep down I feel guilty, because I’ve known all along that if Alex gets a job, I’m going to quit. And if I quit, finding someone to do what I do will not be easy, because it’s a super tight niche kind of job, and not a ton of people want to work part-time, like I do. So telling my boss I plan to stick around and then ditching after she’s gotten a grant would be bad form.

So then, why don’t I just work and if Alex finds a job, stick the kids in daycare for three days a week (the days I work)?

Do you know what it costs to put 8 month old twins in daycare for 3 days a week? About $450 a week. That’s about $1800 a month. That’s a mortgage payment. I’d be working 70% of my hours for health insurance and daycare alone. That would just piss me off.

So then maybe Alex should forget teaching and be a SAHD? The thought has crossed my mind.

But.

Alex is trying to launch a new career right now, and he did not go through graduate school to stay home and change diapers, not that he minds doing that at all. In fact, he’s doing it right now as I type this (from work, my bad) and he’s doing a phenomenal job of it. But, my god we went into a ton of debt so he could do this graduate program. And he put all of that time and hard work in so he could be out there doing something he loves to do, largely so I could be home raising our kids. Because that’s what we both wanted.

I have a career, but I don’t give much of a rat’s ass about it anymore. It is a perfectly nice career, don’t get me wrong. With it I’ve been the primary breadwinner and at times the sole income provider. I’m proud that I’ve kept us well enough provided for. I can keep going. I can keep working. I can keep this job going, or go back into private practice, and/or ramp up my training/consultation business. I can make money, yes, I can, even in trying economic times.

But.

My boys are babies now. They need me now. They’re growing up so fast, and when this time in their lives is gone, it’s gone forever.

So here’s my dilemma.

We are in TRYING ECONOMIC TIMES, right? (See previous mentions of “clusterfuck of life timing” here and here.)

If one were so very lucky enough to have a great part time job with full benefits, vested pension, make-your-own hours that was 15 minutes from one’s home, that could possibly continue with some maneuvering, and if one loved one’s boss on top of it, why oh why would one even consider leaving?

Especially when

a. one lived during TRYING ECONOMIC TIMES

b. one had an unemployed spouse

c. one had new twin infants and was in dire need of health coverage?

God, when I lay it out like that it seems INSANE to quit.

But. It bears repeating.

My boys are babies now. They need me now. They’re growing up so fast, and when this time in their lives is gone, it’s gone forever.

Forever.

And it’s that forever part that makes me think, yeah.

I’m going to quit my job tomorrow.

morning

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