I stood in the middle of my kitchen and thought “Something’s gotta give! I can’t do all of this stuff anymore…kids, “day job”, conferences, etc”. Problem is that what I like the most pays the least and in fact the liking and the paying are in inverse proportion (ie I like my kids the most-at least in theory-and so far they’ve been worth NOTHING monetarily despite my efforts to land them lucrative baby modeling gigs).

Then I plunked them in front of Mary Poppins and felt bad about my parenting and decided to deal with my other problems one at a time. Which I did. So I did feel bad about the yelling and the tv-watching but also congratulated myself that in a hellacious week I managed to hold off drinking at noon, which I think is a mark of good parenting. I think.

Then, we did some random stuff over the weekend including a corporate picnic for my husband’s company, who when they say they are family friendly, MEAN IT since everyone was able to bring kids to a first-class event with bounce houses, cotton candy, events, and more. Two things happened. One, a twin yelled in the car the whole way which wasn’t that sweet but my husband lost his cool (which he never does. He RARELY yells at them. Because he only has to put up with their nonsense for an hour or so during the week so when I’m on my last nerve end of the day and they’re running around like naked wild Indians, refusing to get in the bath, asking for milk, fighting over toothbrushes, etc-at that point more often then not I yell and then I feel bad and then in a superior tone he’s been KNOWN to say “You have to control yourself” at which point I get mad at him instead of them). Anyway, THAT guy yelled at them and though that wasn’t that fun, I did take the opportunity to say “See? THAT’S how I feel end of day sometimes and why I yell!” And for the first time I think he actually DID see.

On a better note, between the 500 and 501 run down the blow-up-jump-house slide by my kids, I was watching them and thinking “Why?” As in why did I let myself get so carried away? Why did THEY give and get put last when I was prioritizing things and why on earth am I making myself so nuts over silly things? Why did I choose to spend the bulk of my time with them and then spend said time grumpy? I think that from time to time you have to assess and prioritize, I guess. And I think for anyone that’s looking for balance–of career and kids–it’s especially tough because it’s difficult to be fully present and successful in each. And none of us are very good at letting ourselves do “the best I can” without feeling like it’s really not the best. I know that I have to keep working on it because I feel terrible when I’m the yelling person.

I know that I do because I yelled AGAIN today (Geez, didn’t I learn from my own weekend revelation?) I guess I also have to be better at letting things go? How? If you’ve got some good ideas on cutting yourself some slack…I’m all ears. 

That’s not my quote; it came from Whitney Forstner, another mom of twins, who was sharing my general feeling of wonder at how I am so sad each time I fold up and put away a little shirt that the girls have grown out of…sad when I look at their baby pics, fat grinning little ones…sad when I think how big they are and how fast it’s going…yet each morning, I wake up thinking “How am I going to get through THIS day!” and as I swig wine, end o’ day, I think PHEW! Another one down. Aren’t these the days I’m supposed to be cherishing?? Before they grow out of grinning fat babies into skulking teenagers (when they are sent to Swiss boarding schools?)

I lived the dream and enjoyed the moment in some non-stop girl time over these last couple weeks. Upon being freed from the school calendar…of course, none of my girls are IN school, but whatever, we freed up after the 2 1/2 hour dance recital which is a whole ‘nother post…the kids set off for Wilmington and I set off for a whacky trip to Wilmington via California (note: CA is not on the way). Girls visited with the grandparents and then I got to drive them home, stopping to visit various friends. As a whole they were quite pleasant and the amount of Ralph listening was fairly confined (note: Ralph is MUCH better in concert than on the 6th hour of a road trip).

So in a sweet euphoria over this success we set off for Boston. I brought along my babysitter, which made me feel super-duper decadent the entire time. I got some work done, the girls hit their second children’s museum in two weeks–Boston’s great, but Wilmington’s children museum is bar none the best I’ve ever seen–and the babysitter had a hotel room while the girls and I bunked in together. This was a little NOT sweet as my bed-mate, one of the twins, is a kicker who likes to sleep (I found out) in the middle of the bed so I, an adult, clung to the side of the bed as she enjoyed full double bed splendor. The annoyance was alleviated by looking at the other two unintentionally cuddled up in their own bed…the innocence of sleeping kids…

We were in Boston for 2 1/2 days and they almost all refused to leave. Princess One just kept yelling “I want to live at the Westin!”. So spoiled. Our hotel points mean that the majority of her hotel visits are at Westins and at this point that’s the majority of her travel–oh and business travel with me, to Ritz and JW Marriott–and now SHE EXPECTS NOTHING LESS. Not for nothing I camped either in tents or the back of our Aries K Car station wagon till, oh, I don’t know, my honeymoon–but this one calls room service for Perrier at age 4. It’s a rough world ahead.

But everyone got their free lotion, pulled out their shower caps, donned said shower caps, and we all walked out of the Westin for our drive home which was NOT that sweet. The twins were tolerable, but oldest princess fussed and yelled ALL the way home except for a brief nap. I had to provide running entertainment and I couldn’t listen to my book on tape (because of swears in it) and had to spend a full 40 minutes involved in a game called “Which city is it??” wherein I thought of stuff that was either DC or Boston and she had to say which — educational except every one she got wrong (admittedly very few as she is a prodigy, by all accounts) she made me re-do. In some cases multiple times. Because sometimes, against her own prodigy nature, she would give the same wrong answer 3-4 times and then holler.

These are the days to remember, Billy Joel sang, and even with rough car trips and bathroom visits colored by me yelling “DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING” as they touched each and every thing, I am glad I had these little trips. It was such a fun adventure to settle in with my 3 little ones in a hotel and find a tv show, eat a late-night (8:30) snack, and feel crazy. People kept asking me “How can you do it with three little ones on your own?” and I thought “My alternative is staring at the walls in my house!!” So it’s nuts but hopefully “These are the days…they’ll hold on to”…and remember the good trips as they are, in the future, slumming at the Four Seasons or something …

If you reference some of my earlier posts or perhaps run into my husband you will know that I am extremely, extremely cheap. I prefer frugal and careful but my husband says no, it’s cheap. I come from a line of cheapies. My grandparents, very well off, are fondly remembered by my grandma wearing $2 grocery store keds b/c why spend $20 for the real thing? (She was cheap, he wasn’t–there’s a story passed through of how for Christmas, she asked for a coat, she got a fur coat–wasn’t so un-pc then–and was overheard by one of her ten kids complaining “I just wanted a coat to go to the grocery store”!)

Anywho I decided that my girls deserved a new jungle gym for the back yard–our house came with one, but it was 8 years old, filled with splinters, had no rungs (since I tried to climb it to reach something and broke them all, a real boost to my ego–note to self, diet–) and the slide was “ganked”. Ganked is a new word Aunt Erin taught my impressionable youngsters so we’re pretty psyched about that. I guess it could be worse.

I was willing to pay $1000 for said jungle gym which would have gotten me a board with a swing hanging off it. The most reasonable we could do without it being one swing for three girls to share was about $2000. Now I’m aware that these items are for sale at BJ’s, etc but my husband said “I refuse to trust myself with my children’s safety” and a co-worker, who bought the Costco item, subsequently spent $500 on a truck, $700 on tools, and dedicated 17 hours to building the swingset. After BunkBedGate ‘07 I’m all set with projects that large.

Psyched about the jungle gym, kids are too. Played for a full 30 minutes. And then were done.

Till they found the BOXES from the jungle gym. That occupied a full 45 minutes. They played sleep (generally voted the most boring game in the world, but led DAILY by our oldest. To play, you pretend to sleep. Actually, our babysitter is a big fan of this one.)

I’m SO not throwing away the boxes. For weeks! What a great “free bonus”!

Truth be told they did return to the jungle gym. So that was good. I think they’ll get some good play out of it. In my ongoing quest to get them playing on things without me constantly in the mix this is about a 70%. I do need to push them on swings (they refuse to learn to pump) but if I’m not there they somehow figure out to have fun without me. Now if only said fun were all-day…

Exhibit A: the twins, after their forced “naps” (read: time to destroy their rooms so I can put them all back together AGAIN as I do every night–why? Why can’t I just let the stuff build up or let them put it away in a fit of nap-enforced boredom) came down yesterday  to the basement to do dressups still wearing their nap-time pull ups.  They stripped down and then forgot the put on the unders step, and then ALSO forgot the put on the dress ups step.

I came out off of the treadmill and found them lying on the basement floor with their stuffed Elmo chairs over their head, starkers.  I don’t think that item needs me to say anything to make it funny because it just is.  Equally funny was when I came back 2 minutes later bearing unders to find them sitting in their chairs like some sort of weird naked talk show.  

Exhibit B: it’s maybe 150 degrees in the shade around here. It’s completely unacceptable and though I’m cheap and it PAINED me to crank on the central air conditioning the other day, I did it THANK GOD because today, as we all staggered in after “Picture Day” at Princess Number One’s dance recital (for which she sported purple velvet and tights–regulation–poor thing) it was all I could do to make it in to the sweet coolness of the kitchen and collapse. The twins had turned bright red within 1.4 seconds of getting outside, so were ready to spontaneously combust after being in the car, out of the car, in the car, out of the car for all the picture taking.  

It’s so hot that I went and bought not one but TWO water items to simultaneously amuse my children and drown the lawn. They frisked and frolicked on the slip ‘n slide (the second; first, with a special shark feature, lasted not even 8 hours before being summarily returned for general crappiness–the shark head was supposed to shoot water at the slip ‘n slide and instead shot it at my neighbor who was calmly trying to power was his fence) and the pool with a slide until they were done at which point they all stripped down IN the yard (with a garage sale going on across the street!) and then it turned into trying to herd kittens because just as we cornered one inside to get her dressed, another would turn up streaking across the front yard!

Certainly, I’m glad they are happy with their bodies. I’m not sure my neighbors are though.  

And in the last, cutest exhibit, the twins this am (while wearing underwear–underwear alone, but underwear nonetheless) were bonking their bellies together and yelling “Cheers”!  

I hope this isn’t symptomatic or indicative of a whole hot summer ahead. Last night one of the twins chose “The Coolest Snowman of All” for her book o’ the night–irony? I’m not sure. All’s I’m saying is it better cool down soon because too much more naked around here won’t be socially acceptable for ANYONE.  

Thanks to all who were there and we’re hoping to get another great group in the fall…dates coming soon for Boston, potentially DC, potentially Richmond… 

There’s lots more to say but I’m a, exhausted, and b, watching Dancing With the Stars. I am sucked into this show due to my sister and her horrid viewing habits–she’s flown the coop and is now living in Santa Fe New Mexico but her legacy lives on as I tune into bad tv.

And it’s had a REAL lasting effect in an ongoing phrase used more and more around our house…one of the twins was up the other night against the rules. She wasn’t in her normal party spot, the top bunk with her twin sister–we’ve given up on that due to the all night dance party being conducted…we got sick of cleaning up martini glasses and old cocktail napkins each am (along with waking up  wiped-out two year olds who’d only had an hour’s worth of sleep).

So this twin had gotten the boot into the guest room but STILL wasn’t sleeping so had tuned herself in to an episode of Dancing with the Stars. The two of them are mixing up their pronouns–as in, on our way home, they say “Oh, there’s we house”.  ”Can I give her she bear?” It’s kind of funny.

“All night party” twin took one look at Kristy Yamaguchi’s dazzling sparkliness and said “I like SHE dress!”.  Yes indeedy.  

So, for a great, well-written glimpse at the conference you can peek here, at Laura Tomasetti’s great blog entry. I’m going to zone out to bad tv…with a vague promise at a better breakdown of the event, soon!  

This all started with my GREAT trip to Richmond, a couple of weekends ago. The fine ladies of Mom-entum Resources (Whitney and Tanya) had invited me down to speak at an event that they were a part of, a fundraiser for the Children’s Hospital, in Richmond. Mom-entum is a great organization, working on recruiting and flexibility options for moms (and women in general) and beyond that Tanya and Whitney are just great people. You walk into their office (which is in the back of this whole shop full of little boutiques) and it’s all great colors–pinks and whites and blacks–with gorgeous black and white pictures of their kids on the wall, a great couch to sit down and talk about what you want out of life–it’s so welcoming and wonderful and IMMEDIATELY upon entering I thought to myself GOSH, if I had a place like this to come to work every day I would be so happy.

Though as an aside sometimes I think that if I had such a gorgeous place the leaving of the three princesses might prove too easy. When I slog out now I’m always happy to come back home. But one of my dearest friends works in Boston and has this gorgeous office from which she can see everything and whenever I see her I think hmm, if this is where I was coming each day, maybe I’d never want to stay home…That’s a bit how I felt with Tanya and Whitney because of the great comfort of the surroundings AND the warmth and comfort they exude the second you meet them. I’d gone down to do this talk as the lead-off to a night of shopping to benefit the hospital, and the talk was basically supposed to focus on my experiences, and what I’d seen and done to get me to beginning of Detours and OnRamps, and also touch on the people and experiences I’d seen along the way.

So I told my story being clear that I wasn’t there to tell anyone how to balance anything. Because I told them from the beginning I have no sense of balance. I am blogging at 9:56 pm b/c I’m on my laptop every night doing work. I’m constantly going. I had 30 minutes tonight when the kids wanted to be pushed in swings and I was pulling dandelions out of my garden. Why couldn’t I just push them? I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to get better, to be “present” for my kids, but as this conference gets closer and there’s so much to do it’s so hard to fit it all in!!

I told, though, of how I stayed too long at the job I had before I had kids–I stayed there because I figured it would give me the flexibility I needed when I did have my baby, but should have followed my dad’s advice of “Better to leave too early than too late” or even “Don’t let the door hit you in the ___ on the way out”. Because it did; I came back from maternity leave to find myself summarily moved to a moldy office 9 floors form my staff, basically drummed out, because my boss wanted a consulting gig. I told everyone how I felt at that point so trapped; I can so very clearly remember sitting at my kitchen table thinking oh my GOD. This isn’t right. I can’t keep doing this. But I can’t go anywhere because I simply can’t leave this 2 month old baby 60 hours a week in someone else’s care.

I left, and I started consulting, and a couple years later I started this forum and part of it is the never, ever wanting anyone to feel that “trapped” that I felt. And wanting everyone to have that sense of network and support that comes from knowing you’re not in it alone. That when it’s just you and that little 2 month old baby and you’re listening to the same kids songs or coming down at 4 am and putting on Enya or Hootie and the Blowfish b/c it’s the only thing that will make your baby sleep for a little bit–that’s not forever. Being in a job you don’t love isn’t forever either. It’s for now, maybe.

I was talking about how when I had my oldest, I sat on my couch–in fact, where I’m sitting right now, writing this–and I cried about how much I loved her and I thought “I would do anything for this kid. Anything”. And then you realize that sometimes anything means not getting ahead, or what you deserve, at work–because “You’re on a flexible schedule…” (so forget that you work 60 hours–it’s not 60 hours in the office).

And I know that I’m not really an expert because I can see all of this and I can live all of this but I still cry when I think of what I can and do sacrifice for my girls. I cried when I talked to this group of women, who were all listening to my story (and some even taking notes!) and I cry now whenever I think too hard about how much I love these girls.And I feel like a failure when Princess One’s dance teacher says she wasn’t listening in class, because I know that’s my fault–because I’m stressed, and it’s rubbing off on her–and if I was better at that elusive balance maybe it wouldn’t be like this. Or when I get angry at such stupid things.

So I’m so, so, not the expert. And I feel like a bit of a fraud, even, that I was up talking about my own “success”. But one of the women who was there emailed me after to say that she got a lot out of my talk; that she was remembering to herself “This isn’t forever”, and knowing that she’s not trapped. So, I hope I helped her. I know it helps me to have every single (well, almost every) conversation I have as a part of putting this event together.

And sometimes you just have to push on and that’s a little of what we all do, right? And not let yourself feel like a failure even when you know you are failing, a little.

This afternoon I was saying to my sister how I felt bad, even, when Princess One came out of dance looking a bit bedraggled because her hair was a disaster (as usual) and she was wearing her tiara, and a slightly dirty leotard, and a tutu that emphasized her chubbiness, and mis-matched socks. All the other ballerinas were of course dressed to the nines. And Erin (my sister) said to me “You’re ridiculous. She always feels pretty”. And said to Princess One “Do you feel pretty?” And Princess one said with great thoughtfulness and quite deliberately “YES.”

She’s so self confident and fine. I wish I was! But glad she is.

It all begins with our back-up nanny–for those of you who haven’t been reading that’s Mary Poppins. In fact she factors heavily into this tale. For number one, my kiddles have listened to the cd so many times they can now quote WORD FOR WORD the song for “The Perfect Nanny”…If you want this choice position, have a cheery disposition…nothing’s funnier than a 2 year old saying “If you won’t scold or dominate us” with an English accent on the “dominate us”. Well, nothing’s funnier except the insanity of our house.

Because number two Mary Poppins fact is that “A Spoonful of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down”. The other day, I woke up and heard my tiara-wearing 4 year old rustling back and forth downstairs. I knew my sister (who has been staying with us and in the hierarchy of nannies is between my actual babysitter and Mary–Mary’s cheerier, but my sister has the advantage of actual being a live person) was downstairs with her so no worries. I was concentrating on getting the twins dressed and so ignored Princess One. Till Erin walked out of her room and I said “What WHAT! I thought you were downstairs”.

We knew we were in for some trouble and sure enough Princess Tiara delivered. We came down and there was vinegar, oil, balsamic, soy sauce, etc spread from here to there. And all mixed up with “a spoonful of palmolive”. In the kid mixer. And then handily packed into two pans and stuck into the EZ Bake. Which I picked up to find a full complement of oil dripping down onto my shoe. Luckily it didn’t occur to our happy chef to plug the oven in as we would have all likely been blown to kingdom come; she raised an unholy fuss as I unceremoniously dumped the offending (and, I know, already recalled) EZ Bake into the outside trash.

Upon further pressing America’s favorite four year old chef fessed up that she was attempting to concoct “A Spoonful of Sugar” to help her medicine go down.

So as I was relating this story to Grandma, who from 1000 miles away finds all these stories hilarious and endearing, I had to HANG up due to another breaking calamity–wherein the washer was shooting more water than Old Faithful across my laundry room, kitchen, what have you. In a house built of normal materials this would have been a simple clean up; our house, however, is constructed as near as I can tell of powdered sugar held together by filament. So, of course the water instantly drained through into the basement, onto all the toys, etc etc. Which we went down to clean up, but only after we had to stick our hands down the in-sink-er-ator to pull out the artichoke threads. Aunt-Mary-Poppins-Want-to-be had enjoyed an artichoke the size of one of my twins at dinner the night prior, to the disgust of children and husband, and we unknowingly stuffed the old leaves down the sink. “Never put an artichoke down the sink” Grandma advised, a full 12 hours late.

So is it weird that NONE of this even phased me? That I took it all in stride and just kept on going? I truly feel things have spun so far out of my grasp that I just am holding on for the ride…

So last summer (two summers ago? They all run together) when my husband dragged me to Pearl Jam for the (it seemed like) billionth time I swore off concerts unless it’s someone I really, really want to see. I mean like Bon Jovi. (Obviously). I told my Pearl-Jam obsessed sweetie that should he feel the need to go again to see them (which he will) he’s welcome–encouraged!–to find and bring a girlfriend.

But all bets were off at 11am last Saturday. 

I’ll preface the rest of this by saying that  things have been downright nutso around our house. I spent three days in Richmond; these days were coincidentally and luckily for me timed with my sweet twin’s brief sojurn into the land of Montezuma’s revenge…We still can’t figure out what they ate but we’re all paying the price to this day.

Anywho I was in Richmond to speak at a fundraising event about what I’ve seen and done in the realm of ‘Balance’-it was a great experience but of course I must practice more of what I preach. I think my whole Richmond trip is a post in and of itself and this post is devoted to the wonder that is Ralph. I was dreading the trip a bit only because “it’s the worst time to go!!” and “six hours in the car!” and “I have so much to do” (all of these were complaints I was muttering and glowering about.) But I got a book on cd, cranked it into the car cd player, and it was actually a nice few hours and days by myself  without the ability to work all hours on my laptop or hear kids crying or deal with “the revenge” (as relates to “the twins”). When I got back and all of them came running at me yelling “mommy’s home”-nice!-and then, the very next morning, we headed off to Ralph!!  

Ralph, for the uninitiated, is “Ralph’s World”-he sings kid songs and when my kids give the broadway show tunes a rest that’s what they’re spinning. Ralph is also enjoyable for parents (obviously in moderation which isn’t actually ever practiced). One of his witty tunes is M-O-M-M-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E. (”I want a latte, a cappucino, and tonight I think I’ll have a little vino”). Ralph’s been a staple at our house since a designer friend from Chicago sent it prior to my oldest’s birth, and since he was playing in Princeton, not so far from us, we decided to take the kids… 

And oh, it was so fun! And I’m not so cool that I can’t admit it. Let’s be honest, I’m not even that cool. But Ralph was.

And my kids loved it so much. And every kid there did. From the second he started in with “Clap your hands, clap your hands, clap your hands” (Hey, it’s kids songs) they were up DANCING and SINGING and BOUNCING and SMILING! I looked at my husband halfway through and said “This is seriously the greatest concert I’ve ever been to!” and though he didn’t go that far he WAS loving it (and he didn’t have Pearl Jam piped in through an i-Pod or anything).

Every parent was singing all the words (weird! maybe they’ve heard them once or one million times in their own cars?) And bouncing and polka-ing and having a blast. Legitimate blast. 

For Christmas, my mom gave me a wall-quote-thing that says “Sometimes, when my children are sleeping, I go in to hear them breathing, and I carry that quiet with me all day, and I think to myself this is one thing I will never regret”. I love that. I don’t do it too much (because they mostly wake me up so I can’t hear them sleeping). But in this nutso week of a lot of not awesome things going on what I’ve carried with me is the bouncing and the singing…and the utter exhilaration.   

The preface here is that my 4 year old is a hater of all things coat-like. And she’s always hot. That’s like me; I don’t sleep with blankets because I’m always hot and she’s the same way. So she was at the park in a dress and tights (and of course a tiara but that goes unsaid. She takes baths in a tiara. When I kiss her at night when she’s gone to sleep she’s always found the tiara and put it on FOR SLEEP. Blankets no. Tiara yes).

So she was coatless and this woman came up to me to say “Are you the mother?”

“Yes” say I.

“Don’t you think your daughter should be better dressed than she is?”(um, how do you GET better dressed at the playground then wearing a tiara? Must she go white-tie?)

But NO, this super helpful woman needed to tell me my business about how my kids should be covered.

I said, “Well, she doesn’t want to wear a coat. And I’m her mother”.  Then one of the twins said (as she does about everyone–tv, crowd, restaurants–”Who dat?” And I said “A busybody”. Which my own mother yelled at me for as if I’m the rude person in this scenario. 

Let me tell you something. I KNOW I’m a bad mother. Tonight my 3 girls came with us to dinner and wore: 
Child A, 4: A dress (normal) and velvet cape (not normal) and of course tiara.
Twin B, 2 1/2: A dress, some sort of geriatric sandals like an 89 year old guy would be sporting on the streets of Miami, and a poncho. Hood up of course.
Twin C: 2 1/2: A tutu. With tights. And a sticker. Taped to her with scotch tape because it lost its sticker-ness.

So clearly I’m a bad mother because they weren’t dressed in matching outfits (not matching to each other, matching their own pieces!). My husband was quick to point this out and walked about 20 feet ahead of us because of the embarrassment issues. Mind you I was just happy that twin C wasn’t wearing her go-to uniform: flowered pants and NOT matching, totally different colored flowered shirt. She finds it in the wash. She finds it under the beds. She wears it EVERY DAY. 

I’m also a bad mother it seems because in the flurry of putting together the May event I’ve needed some time here and there. So instead of bundling the girls up and lugging them on walks or convincing them to take another stab at their toys which they are SO over (it’s March after all, long cold winter) I let them watch Mary Poppins–with which they are obsessed–two days in a row.

And listen to the cd 48 times.

At least.

But how bad am I REALLY? They are singing their hearts out (marching around the family room chanting about votes for women). They’re perfectly self confident in whatever they wear. And as I reminded myself the other day, they could be watching far worse. Mary Poppins is, after all, a NANNY! I mean, it’s her GIG! 

So lady at the park: you don’t need to tell me I’m a bad mother. I am certainly hard on myself enough. But when you do I can justify all my decisions…so at the end of the day, at least I’ve convinced myself that I’m good!Though no Mary Poppins.