bedtime

August 26, 2014August 26, 2014 / emmykay / 4 Comments

At first, they were quiet. It was 8:35 p.m. Well past bedtime.

And then they were talking and singing. I ignored it.

And then I heard the first footsteps thunk on the floor over my head.

Crap, I thought.

The footsteps were quickly joined by their matching pair. The footsteps padded around the twins’ room.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

And then, almost without warning, the footsteps were running at a frenzy down the hall and to the stairs. Bum da bum da bum bum bum bum bum.

“MOOOOOMMMMM!!!” shouted both girls.

“What?” I asked firmly, trying to walk the fine line between yelling and pleading.

“There is a GHOST! We saw HIM!” said Carrie, appearing around the entry of the living room, her eyes wide, but her lips betrayed her as they were curled up in a smile.

“Seriously? There isn’t a ghost,” I told her. A curly red head popped around the same corner.

“Yes, yes there IS!” Ellie testified.

“No, there isn’t. C’mon girls, go back to bed,” I directed them.

Sensing that I knew that they were making the whole thing up, the twins scurried up the stairs. I heard their footsteps round the corner of the banister and chase each other down the long hall to their room.

Whispering, talking and then outright hollering ensued. I sighed.

THUNK!

I cocked my head to the side to listen to hear if there was a follow up scream of pain. Nope.

And then there was the dull staccato of little feet running on the carpet, flying around the banister and drumming down the stairs.

“MOOOOM!” Oh, the whining. Frank and I have been trying to break them of it. Every word is stretched out by at least one or more syllables, often with sentences beginning with the word, “Buhhhhhhh-t!” (“But” is the original, un-mangled word). We correct them nearly every time the whining surfaces, sometimes even demonstrating for them how absolutely annoying the whining is.

So far, we’ve only been met with blank stares and more whining.

Parenting appears to be a lot of repetition without a lot of immediate gratification. I’m guessing in 30 years the twins won’t even remember to thank us for breaking them of this nasty habit – they will just be consumed with the whining in their own homes.

But I digress.

“What now?” I asked. Again, working hard to maintain a firmness in my voice without sounding desperate. If they could please, please, please sleep, I could get some of the long, long over-due thank you notes done.

“Ayeeeee. Neeeeed. Waaaahhhh-ter!” complained Carrie.

“Stop whining, please. You can get a glass of water.”

“Mooooom. Ayeeeee. Neeeeeed. Kleeeenexxxxxx!” called Ellie.

“Well, first, please stop whining. Second. Please, for the love, go get a Kleenex.”

As far as I could tell, the feet and voices obeyed. The footsteps wandered back to the twins’ bedroom. Another loud THUNK.

I sighed. I put down the pen I was using to write out thank you notes.

Up the stairs I went, flipping off the light in the twins’ bathroom at the top of the stairs.

Their bedroom is at the far end of a long hallway, giving them ample time to hop into bed and to pretend as though they never left it in the first place.

“Girls,”I said upon arriving. “Get. In. Bed.”

Carrie stared back at me, deciding whether she was going to heckle me by stating the obvious.

“We are, Mooom.”

Oh no, she didn’t! I thought.

“You weren’t three seconds ago. I can HEAR you walking around and singing and hollering,” I told them. Ellie’s eyebrows inadvertently shot up. This was news to her.

“Girls. I am very, very disappointed to find you both out of your beds, wandering around and playing…” so began my lecture.

I am sure I said many wise and important Mom-things from the doorway to the twins’ room. In response both girls tried to explain that they were only playing with the doll house.

But as my gaze around the room took in both the chaotic mess of their room (So.Many.Stuffed.Animals!), my heart softened as I looked at their little faces.

“Please, girls, go to bed. We can do so many fun things tomorrow, but you need your rest so that you can enjoy them.” I finished. Not quite General Patton, but I was severely limited by my own lack of stamina and restrictions on appropriate word choices (the twins’ expert-level use of the phrase “sons of bitches” is not what I want to get called into pre-school for this year).

“But Mom, remember when we went to the park with Daddy and the lightening and the thunder and we had to hurry home and it rained?” said Carrie as quickly as she could.

I started to interrupt her. I started to tell her that the story about the storm was irrelevant, but then I stopped myself.

Her big blue eyes were serious. Playing at the park and leaving because of a storm was one of the riskiest things she’d ever done in her life so far. It was not a secondary detail, but an important thing to remember while I was telling her about future plans to play at the park.

“Yes, and everything was OK. It was scary, but you made it home and everything was OK. Now let’s go to bed and get rested for the busy day tomorrow, OK?”

There was some more whining and some more negotiating, but in the end, there were two girls in two beds, attempting (as far as I could tell) to sleep.

I went downstairs, stopping at the kitchen for a snack. As I walked back to the living room, I had a realization that I am sure that every parent has. It isn’t a new or unique or extraordinary.

It is as common as the way that time marches onward.

I realized that there will be a day when the twins and Annie are gone. They will be at college or in their first apartments or wherever, but what’s important is that they won’t be at home. Around bedtime on that day, I will probably wander into the kitchen for a snack or a glass of water. I will turn off the lights in the kitchen as I leave and round the corner to the living room, passing the stairs as I go. I will look up those stairs and I will realize that there isn’t a light on, dimly, in the hallway for little girls to find their way to the potty late at night. I will wander up the stairs, around the banister and to the end of the hallway.

I will stand in the doorway of the twins’ room, remembering that years ago I told them to please, for the love of all that is good, go.to.bed.

And instead of big blue eyes peering up at me from a lovely mop of blond hair or piercing blue eyes looking back at me framed by a mane of wild red curls – there will be two perfectly made twin beds. They will be well-worn and indented in the middle from where two little girls grew up tall and strong and smart and brave.

I will stand in that doorway, holding a cold glass of water with the condensation making my hand wet and I will stare at that room for a really long time, remembering.

And I know, without a doubt, I will wonder, maybe even aloud, “Where did all that time go? How can they be gone already?”

So tonight I sat down in the living room, put away the thank you notes, and wrote this down. Not just for me, but for my girls so that they know how deeply and profoundly loved they are – and as Frank says to them whenever he puts them to bed, “you can’t do anything to change that.”

I love you Elliana, Carrigan and Annabel. Every minute, of every day.

on the cusp: a letter to the future

May 14, 2014May 14, 2014 / emmykay / 2 Comments

The scheduler at my OB/GYN’s office was explicit in her instructions: no food or drink after midnight.

Oh, but prior to midnight…

And so, at 11:17 p.m. on the night before you were born, dear baby K, I enjoyed our last bowl of mint cookies and cream ice cream with chocolate syrup. It seemed fitting because throughout the duration of this pregnancy, you seemed to be only satisfied by carbs. Which I am absolutely fine with, by the way.

As our third child, you will no doubt notice that I slacked off on the weekly and bi-weekly updates on your growth and development and the minutia of your existence. Your sisters enjoyed a high level of micromanagement for their 32 weeks of gestation and then much of their first year post-partum.

It’s a good thing that blog posts and belly pictures are not the primary indicators of being loved and wanted and adored.

When I was barely five weeks pregnant with you, I started bleeding. I was horrified and scared and deeply, deeply saddened. I thought I lost you before I knew you.

Weeks of ultrasounds followed, showing first a small 1 cm bleed that grew, without good reason, to 3 cm. Weekly ultrasounds revealed a dark storm brewing next to the hopeful flashing of your sweet, flickering heartbeat.

I was full of so much hope and so much sadness, all at the same time. It was a strange time for your dad and me because while we felt so full of love and happiness with your sisters, there was such a deep longing in our hearts for you. The idea of our family without a you in it seemed so sad and empty. It was around that time of so much conflicting emotion, perhaps week seven or week eight, that I was worshipping in church.

I know Who goes before me

I know Who stands behind

The God of angel armies

Is always on my side

The One who reigns forever

He is a Friend of mine

The God of angel armies

Is always by my side

~Chris Tomlin, “Whom Shall I Fear”

The words of the song resonated in my heart and I felt that those words were, in that moment, a message to me about you. I had an overwhelming sense that God was protecting you. I also had an overwhelming sense that you were a girl, but you know, we’re still waiting to see if I was right about that one. (Just remember, if you are a boy, .500 is still a great batting average.)

The next ultrasound revealed that the bleed was reabsorbing into my system and that your happy little heartbeat seemed to be blissfully unaffected. The doctor overseeing the ultrasound was visibly relieved. “You know,” she said to me, a smile lighting her face, “I really thought you maybe had a 50/50 chance with this one. I think you’re going to be OK.”

I watched the days tick by through this pregnancy. You and I would have little one-sided chats where I would tell you that I loved you. And sometimes, if we were alone in the car, I would also give pointed advice about driving, using other drivers as an example.

I think that driving advice will come in handy.

Thanksgiving came and went. Christmas came and went. Then the New Year, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day and Easter.

Here we are in May. May is a lovely and enchanting time in Chicago. It’s the time of the year where, no matter how wretched the winter was (and this one was terrible), Chicagoans invariably forget about the preceding frosty weather and race outside in tee-shirts and shorts in 45 degree weather.

May is a great month for a birthday. Your dad was born in May and now, so will you.

You and I have already had a good run of it together. I poke you, you kick me back. We have a good relationship like that.

Your dad is giddy to meet you. He is like a kid on Christmas Eve – excited to hold you and love you. For someone who is generally so stoic and professional, your dad is already a softy when it comes to you and your sisters.

Speaking of which, your sisters are excited to see what all the fuss is about. I suspect that they will go through phases of coming to understand what it means to have a new little brother or sister in their midst. I would guess that there might be a few rough days and nights ahead, where one or both of your sisters may ask when it is we are going to send you back.

That’s just how siblings are. And over the years, they will come to scarcely remember a time without you. Your histories and lives and futures will be forever intertwined.

So here we are: the night before you will be born. Just you and me in a quiet house. I should be sleeping. Truthfully, I tried sleeping, but this is our last night hanging out like this – me eating ice cream and you kicking my bladder. Tomorrow (5/14) is a big day, little one.

Birth is an excellent, albeit quick and dirty, bootcamp for life: There’s a lot of discomfort, maybe some swearing and general disorientation, followed by joy and tears and excitement. Get ready; it’s a beautifully messy ride.

I love you already.

Love,

Mom

three things: sociology 101

January 24, 2014 / emmykay / 3 Comments

Frank and I were lying in bed, writing a grocery list and figuring out what needed to be accomplished an afternoon last weekend when he squinted at my (mostly) dark brown hair. The following conversation was documented on my Facebook page:

Frank: man. You’re going gray.

Me: I know.

Frank: I mean really. Wow. Like remember when I used to count them? Only God can count them now.

Ladies and gentlemen: he’s a keeper.

For the record, our whole conversation made me laugh. I am aging. Every passing day and passing year is testament to that fact. Frank, not immune to the effects of time, is also aware of the effects of time’s passage on his own person. Our faces are looser, our bodies are definitely outside of our prime. We are tired from running after two jobs, two kids (soon to be three! whoa!) and life.

But the laugh lines and smile lines are also taking hold, happily, etching their places at the corners of our eyes and creating parenthesis around our grins.

Life is good. Even when it hasn’t been, we’ve laughed together and been each other’s best friends.

People who know us, know what I write here is true.

I posted our funny exchange dryly on my Facebook page, smirking while I hit “post.” Before the first responses came back, I was chuckling to myself about my funny husband.

And then… Then I learned three things about people in a small microcosm of social media. To be certain, I am not naive – I have witnessed some of these behaviors in other spaces and places, but it hit a nerve watching the responses unfold in response to an every-day humorous exchange between Frank and me.

Thing one: Domestic Violence Is Not OK.

A friend flippantly commented that I should “slap” Frank for his remark.

For some reason, this seems to be a thing among women: it is OK to make threats about striking men – or even actually hitting a man.

That is ugly to me. I cringe on the inside.

How can we, as women, say it is NOT OK to hit women, but at the same time say that it IS OK to hit men? While we complain about double standards I think it might be time to examine the double standards that women also use.

I also played through the response as though it was a man telling another man to slap his wife. Certainly there would be absolute outrage about a comment like that. But the thought of me hitting my husband was met with silence.

Of course, you could go down a rabbit hole with this one, but that is for smarter people than me. Suffice to say, I do not advocate for any violence against humans. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you and all that.

Thing two: Small Rudder, Big Ship.

I am reminded of the childhood playground mantra, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!”

That horse crap mantra never worked. We are humans and at the essence of who we are is that we relate to other people. Words are part of that relationship and words can hurt, deeply.

In the Book of James in the Bible, there is a passage that refers to the tongue as a small rudder that steers a large ship.

That is truth.

When one of the responses called my sweet, funny husband an “ass” and demanded that he get a raise so I can pamper myself monthly, it hurt me and it irritated him.

Something to know about our marriage: we refuse to call each other names. I give Frank the most credit for maintaining this level of decorum in our arguments. If you know Frank, you know that he is a professional, first and foremost. He is professional in all facets of his life, even in our marriage. This doesn’t mean he isn’t wrong at times or that he doesn’t make mistakes or that he hasn’t said things he’s later regretted. But he does not scream to dominate an argument, he does not resort to name calling to distract from the true issue at hand and he keeps his language generally clean.

So to see those words written out and directed at my husband – my much better half, to be honest – left a bitter taste in my mouth.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve heard or witnessed such behavior from people, sadly. I’ve seen it live and in person. No matter the context, it is always off-putting and upsetting.

Those small words steer a large ship indeed.

Thing three: Humor.

Of course, throughout the responses were appropriate responses from people who know us best. One of my friends jokingly commiserated. A few cajoled Frank about his lack of gray hair due to his absolute lack of hair. One said that our humor was the sign that we were the best of friends.

One of the first times that Frank and I went out together, I remember thinking, “I have never laughed with anyone else like this – ever!” Our chemistry has always been punctuated by jokes and games and funny things we do to make the other smile. It is our way. (I documented a few of our quirky “I love you’s” a while ago)

In fairness, I did not include a smiley face or emoticon or other emotional clues to indicate that our conversation was funny. I simply assumed that others would firstly, know us well enough to know that it was meant as a humorous exchange, and secondly, that even if others did not know us well enough, that they would assume that I would not post a conversation like that out of anger, hurt or some other negative emotion.

Perhaps the conversation may have been sort of a Rorschach test, revealing more about the people responding than it did about the people having the conversation. I don’t know.

I deleted the conversation in its entirety from my Facebook page because it brought out some negativity that I personally didn’t enjoy and, well, it’s my Facebook page and I’ll do what I want to.

Emily, out.

wednesdays

July 10, 2013 / emmykay / Leave a comment

It is Wednesday night in the suburbs of Chicago. Specifically, it is 7:45 p.m. on a Wednesday night – the time when the somewhat late Chicago commuters are briskly walking to their cars in a twilight parking lot. Late, but not too late to kiss the kids good night.

But I am not a part of that fray. Maybe in a different life.

But not this one.

In this one, I am lying on the floor of my twin daughters’ room. Sprawled, almost like a bad crime scene. I am dressed like a mullet – half loungewear on the bottom and half work attire on the top.

It is dark. It is dark because the heels of my hands are pressed on my eyes, rubbing methodically. I hear two sets of feet running down the hall. One set stops at the door and one set stops next to my head. I slowly remove my hands. I see a bottom.

A clothed bottom.

Which, as a parent of toddler twins, a clothed bottom is about all you can ask for when presented with a derriere in your face.

This particular derriere belongs to Ellie. She is in position to do a summersault. She turns her head to look over her shoulder to make sure I’m paying attention.

I flip her and land her on my legs. She hops off.

“Again!” she pronounces.

Carrie has returned from her adventures in the hallway. She is holding Super Pickle: a plush pickle that used to belong to Frank when he was young, but who has now come into favor with Carrie as her new stuffed best friend.

“Pickle, Mama! Super Pickle!” She makes Super Pickle fly.

Ellie is at the door now, about to embark on an adventure. She turns to me before she departs and I hear her say, “I want some socks Mama!”

I furrow my brow.

“Socks are in your closet, Ellie.”

She furrows her brow.

“I want some SOCKS Mama.”

I lay my head down on the floor again and replay the words over and over in my head.

“Socks?”

“SOCKS!”

Carrie understands, though. She goes to the door to leave as well.

“I want some socks, too, Mama!” says Carrie.

“Socks?”

“SOCKS! I want some socks.”

“Socks?” I ask again.

Carrie repeats herself at least a half dozen times. She is so emphatic about the words, she is drooling, but somehow looking at me like I am crazy the crazy one.

And then I realize what she wants.

Snacks.

Never, ever have my children pleaded fervently for footwear.

I should’ve known.

We are down the stairs and snacking within seconds and my children are relieved. They were probably wondering if they had a remedial mama and subsequently wondering what they will tell the other kids on the playground. I can imagine the scene at the top of the slide: The girls huddled with two of their best slide-riding buddies, whispering, “We asked for snacks and she kept saying socks. Do you think the Park District has a program for her?”

I want to explain to them that I can’t read lips and even a southern accent is difficult for me to understand. Nothing else major is wrong with me, I want to explain to them. Well, nothing too major.

But, there are some surprises better left for when they are older.

So they have some puréed fruit and I sweep the floor and we all three consider entirely different lines of thought.

Ellie counts to ten. Then says her ABC’s. And then congratulates herself on her tremendous accomplishments. I tell her how smart she is, but it is just icing on the cake. Girlfriend is independent.

Carrie investigates the shapes she can make squeezing the fruit on the table until I stop her. She may be boisterous and tough seeming on the outside, she has a big, sensitive heart. After I take away her fruit and firmly (but nicely) admonish her for dumping it out, I hug her and squeeze her.

Back up the stairs we go. Snuggles. A round of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” More snuggles.

It’s hard to believe they were ever tiny. It’s hard to believe that Carrie’s weight actually dipped a little below 5 lbs in the NICU before she came home.

I remember living through the moments with them, listening to them breathe while they slept on my chest, and I thought, “I will never forget how tiny they were.”

And while I know they were tiny, I can’t remember it. I can’t imagine it.

If you’ve seen the twins lately, they are little girls. They rode their first carnival rides. Ate their first carnival food, even. #ParentsOfTheYear #OnlyOrganicCarnivalFood #BAHAHAHA

My parents and their parents and their parents all warned me. “You will age. It goes so fast.”

And I remember just not comprehending it when I was younger. I knew I’d age, but for some reason I thought time would always be ahead of me. But now, there are 32 1/2 years of time behind me.

My peers are noticing this reality, too. Many have especially commented on the kids’ music today. And the clothes. And the catch-phrases. Sometimes they don’t hear themselves saying the words. Sometimes they do. And then they repeat themselves – just to hear it again. The words are eerily familiar and yet, the words are not their own. The words are those of our grandparents and great grandparents saying, “I told you…”

I tend to believe that the ones who have gone before us would also tell us a whole lot of other things about life. How precious it is. How fragile it is. How you can’t ever really know the first two things until you’ve lived it for a while.

I look at the little girls tucked into their beds. I know how it happened that they are not little babies any more – how they grew up. I know that it happened over a series of Wednesday nights, much like this one.

Wednesday nights here are like driving through downstate Illinois. Fields and fields of corn, as far as the eye can see. Fields that seem to stretch on, all the way to forever, until you pull off the highway at your destination and you realize you’ve traveled 300 miles without ever noticing it.

We are a long way from where we were. I’m glad we have a long way yet to go.

Christmas in pictures… with a score card

December 30, 2012December 30, 2012 / emmykay / Leave a comment

Anyone who tells you they aren’t keeping track of who is winning in this game of parenting is a liar.

I’m keeping track. And based on the results of this Christmas season, I don’t think I’m playing for the winning team.

The game? Parenting. The goal? To raise your children. The obstacle? They will try to raise you. Every time a parent is able to maintain peace and present a unified front, parents get a point. Every time a child successfully demolishes that facade? Point to the child.

For Christmas, we are scoring a few key areas:

The Christmas Card Picture (2 possible points for execution and final product)
The Christmas Outing (3 possible points for execution, most remaining Christmas Spirit and photographic evidence)
Christmas Presents (2 possible points for sustained delight and photographic evidence)
Official Christmas Festivities (1 point for attending church, 1 point for ensemble’s attire, 2 points for general outcome, 3 points for photographic evidence)

Total Possible Points: 15

Winner must win by at least two points.

Let the scoring commence.

The Christmas Card Picture: Twins 2 points

Shot 1

Shot 15

Shot 450

It took three separate photo shoots on three separate days, relocated furniture, bribes and a counseling session for mom and dad, but we finally captured this shot:

“Who, us? Difficult to photograph? No!”

The thing is, I would’ve split the points evenly since we did get a cute shot, but the reason the girls look so angelic is because they are looking at us saying, “Mom, we live in a world that has sanity, and that sanity has to be destroyed by babies with attitude. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Dad? We have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for your sanity, and you curse your interrupted sleep. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what we know. That the toilet, while alluring to us in so many ways, probably distracted us from coloring on your walls. And our existence, while occasionally cute and snuggly to you, ends sanity. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want to be insane, you need to be insane. We use words like poopoos, uh oh, binkies. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent dismantling your sanity. You use them as a punchline. We have neither the time nor the inclination to explain ourselves to parents who cuddle and snuggle under the blankie of the very crazy joy that we provide, and then question the manner in which we provide it. We would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, we suggest you pick up a binkie, and stand a post. Either way, we don’t give a hoot what Christmas pictures you think you are entitled to.” Not kidding. Even with angelic faces, the soundtrack playing behind their innocent eyes was definitely Col. Jessup.

The Christmas Outing: Twins 2 Points, Parents 1 Point

First of all, kudos to Frank because he scored us our one point. Frank went into the Christmas outing with an expectation of insanity. His expectations were met and therefore, his Christmas Outing experience did not damage his overall sense of Christmas Joy. The remaining points were awarded to the twins.

Between packed aisles, mobs of people at 9 a.m. and the veritable cornucopia of crap that comes with twin toddlers (diaper bags, coats, hats, binkies, bottles, snacks, etc, etc, etc), maneuvering through the store formerly called Marshall Fields was a hot, sweaty challenge. Santa was on floor five. Walnut Room, floor seven. Christmas Tree viewing? Floor eight. Elevators were cramped with 10 people and a double tandem stroller. We eventually ditched the stroller and introduced the twins to the escalators, which they enjoyed.

The folks at the store formerly called Marshall Fields packed us all into a table with about four inches between us and our neighboring table. Which is fine if it’s not a brunch buffet and everyone doesn’t need to get up to get their brunch. But guess what?? It’s a BUFFET! Squee!

All in all, my siblings and my dad helped maintain the general Christmas spirit and even the twins were happy to scarf down “cake” (muffins… which, really, let’s be honest? Breakfast cake.)

Unfortunately, what you are about to see is the best picture from the three that we took. And therefore, proof that the twins did win two points, fair and square:

Say “WHAT?? Where??”

Christmas Presents: Parents 1 point, Twins 1 point

The proof is in the video. I’m gonna go ahead and give myself credit for the amazing kitchen set that I put together.

But then, the nod goes to the twin to the all-out hysteria when Ms. Ellie did not get 100% dominance over the shopping cart they received as a gift from Aunt Cathy. That hysteria can be glimpsed at the end of this video. I stopped filming when it went to crazy-town levels.

Christmas Festivities: Parents 3 points, Twins 4 points

First, we got a “gimme” point because we did go to church. And it was relatively uneventful and we even went to Chipotle for a traditional Christmas burrito bol. I think Jesus would’ve approved.

I also gave us a “gimme” point because we were all dressed for Christmas Day. We were even dressed in somewhat coordinating outfits. Point.

I’m also going to say that we split the difference on the general Christmas experience. While the girls certainly gave us a run for our money, we retaliated with an appearance by the big guy in a red suit.

Ellie: “Hey, someone is at the door!”

Ellie: “Um, OMG! RUN!!”

You can even see that Ellie’s cousin Josh is a little horrified as well. Score!

Emily: “Hey Frank, capture the Christmas magic! Quick!”

Frank and the twins playing on Christmas Day.

They look so sweet and innocent playing the organ, but this mama knows better…

Me? Plot to take over the world? Never!

Final score? Twins 10, Parents 5.

aging

November 27, 2012 / emmykay / Leave a comment

So yeah, I turned 32 on November 16. No biggie.

A thrilling birthday for me is dinner with my family. And a clean house. Gentlemen, you want to know what your wives want more than anything? A Clean House. Clean sheets, clean floors, clean. While my children wipe snot on me and I pick up “ickies” from the floor and I investigate mysterious little weird things my kids find, I still appreciate a clean environment. Frank, well done.

This past birthday got me thinking – what does 10 years look like in pictures? Sure, and duh, my life has changed in 10 years. Husband, kids, work, etc, etc. But when you look what the presidency does to dudes in four years, I wondered what happened in 10. So, brace yourself, here we go:

Melissa and me 10 years ago. Melissa was my roommate in college for two years. Two. Amazing. Years. So amazing, she moved to Oregon shortly thereafter. Well done, Em, well done.

Not sure what is going on here, but this is from 2002. This is what I looked like in college. Tired. Messy. Collegiate. Someone get me a brush, a Diet Coke and eye make-up remover, STAT>].

Frank and I attending a wedding. The Bright Wedding. July 13, 2002, I believe. I could be wrong. Maybe the 16? Who knows. This was our first “nice” couple picture. Frank would be the first to point out to everyone that he had hair when we started dating. Apparently pro-longed exposure to Emily either results in losing your hair or moving to Oregon.

This is about the time it got serious. We were 12. It was amazing. Christmas 2002.

Frank still had hair.

Me, getting ready to throw my bouquet. Goodbye, singleness! Hello Franky-pants! September 2003.

Some time in the summer of 2004. That same weekend I lost my most favorite wedge sandals. Woe is me. I will never forget. (Seriously, they were awesome, neutral sandals. They were amazing. Elongated my legs, comfortable to wear, and, swear to you, they could’ve brought world peace. Instead? GONE.)

I bet NBC wishes they had snatched us up while they had the chance. This pic was from 2005 when NBC still had the sparkling team of Katie Couric and Matt Lauer. Ah. NBC. Call us. K, thanks, bye.

This began an era of time where we did not take a normal picture. So yeah, here’s the best I can do for 2006.

My sister and I, posin’. She’s such a hottie. Love her. Smooches. And of course, she looks amazing then and amazing now. Dirty, dirty bird.

Seriously, from this ENTIRE 10 Year High School Reunion Season onward, Frank did NOT take a single normal picture. This is the best I have. Here you go, world. 2008. Can’t go back…

This should be proof enough that I have cooked. So there you go. 2009. Emily Cooked. Bam.

Also, 2009. Vegas. That’s us, wild as ever. After this picture was taken: OPTION A) Frank swam the canals and I ate all of the gelato in Venice (Las Vegas). We were arrested and asked to leave Vegas and never return. OR… B) after this picture was taken, we ate all we cared to enjoy at a buffet dinner and fell asleep by 10 p.m. Choose your own adventure. Go.

2010. Here I am. Large and in charge. Hello bay-bays! This is about 7 weeks before the twins burst forth into our lives. Ah… Twins.

Me and the twinsters. Chillin’ at the NICU. Also, at this point I discovered the benefit of flattering camera angles. Ahhh…. Chins.

Yeah, that’s me and my bay-bays. Sure, it’s not the best pic. But who cares? And who has time to find a good pic? Shhh. Enjoy the babyness before you. Soak it in. Drink it up. Bay-bays. Well, really, tahd-lers.

And really, so long as we are still laughing, that’s all that matters.

So yeah, I’m older. If I live long enough, that’s bound to happen. Aging is a privilege.

Thirty-two. I dig it.

twinfessions

July 22, 2012 / emmykay / 3 Comments

Ah, twins.

Many a fellow parent has commented to Frank and me, “I don’t know how you do it!”

And I’ve been all like, “Um, what? Raise two infants simultaneously? Like that’s hard or something?”

Ha ha. Ha. Hummm.

It’s time to fess up.

Raising twins is like juggling grenades: If you drop one, everyone gets blown up.

Ok, maybe that’s a bit dramatic.

But let’s be clear: twin infants (even twinfants who enjoy projectile vomiting all.the.time) are a piece of cake, once you get them sleeping through the night. From 4 months through 13 months, it’s all just a matter of budgeting a little extra time to accommodate doing everything twice.

Twin toddlers? It’s like dealing with lunatic zombies. Cute lunatic zombies, but lunatic zombies all the same.

Logistically, if both Frank and I are watching the girls, it’s easy-peasy. Man-on-man defense. Done.

The challenge is when we are doing some demented version of zone defense because one of us is at work. That’s when it gets exciting.

Case in point: Frank left the room to brush his teeth. He was gone 2 1/2 minutes, tops.

He came back to the twins perched on top of their changing table having a grand old time. They scaled the rocking chair and the dresser to get on top of their changing table pad. And they were smiling like they were supposed to be there.

They love to dance on top of our glass topped coffee table. Specifically, they love dancing to Rolling Stones on our glass topped coffee table.

The second we put them down in the family room, they identify all of the weak points and attack relentlessly. Remote controls? Cell phones? Glasses? Open baby gates? Nothing slips by them.

And the twins are completely fearless, a la lunatic zombies. I’ve noticed other toddlers are more hesitant to go down the slide at the park, but not our girls. Ellie, our generally more cautious girl, went down the slide the other day, her foot caught and she summersaulted the rest of the way down. I thought for SURE there would be tears. She stood up, brushed herself off, and hurried back to the stairs to go down the slide again. What the what?!

wheeee! Carrie conquers the slide!

This weekend I took the girls to the park solo. Seemed reasonable enough. How bad can a park be?

I don’t know if you’ve been to a park these days, but holy-crapola, these parks are DEATH traps. Sure, they coat everything in rubber and plastic, but every single piece of equipment has a side that is a free-fall into wood chips. If you are only watching one toddler, this wouldn’t be a problem, but since I am watching two lunatic zombie toddlers, this is a major issue. Carrie likes to walk right up to the edge and growl at me.

Grrr, Mama!!

Again, this would be fine if I wasn’t already distracted by Ellie going up and down the stairs to the slide with the grace of a heavily intoxicated, stiletto-wearing monkey.

Oh, and then there are the communication issues. The girls know how to wave “hi” and “bye”. This is really cute until Carrie is waving “bye” as she walks off in one direction and Ellie sprints in the other. They only sort of understand “Stop!” and “SIT STILL!” and “STAY THERE!” We’re working on it, but right now the communication gap adds a totally interesting layer.

So yeah, raising two toddlers makes for some very interesting/challenging/exciting/crazy times. I’m forever grateful that strollers and wagons have seat belts. And I’m even more grateful that I have a husband who is truly a partner in raising these girls – cuz man alive, I certainly wouldn’t want to do this solo all the time!

Plotting to take over the world…

how we say “i love you…”

May 29, 2012May 29, 2012 / emmykay / 7 Comments

When Frank and I were first dating, we thought it would be incredibly insightful to read the book The Five Love Languages. We were being all academic about love.

We bought the books… and then?

And then we spent the last decade making up our own love language.

Yes, that’s right, Frank and I have been hanging out romantically for a decade now.

Whoa.

So to celebrate a decade of smoochin’ and snugglin’ and stealin’ each other’s desserts – I thought I’d kick things off right with the top 10 ways we say “I love you.”

In no particular order:

10. Snuggles.

We snuggle all.the.time. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so delicious. There are nights where we follow one another from one side of the bed to the other and back again. We’ve even named some of our favorite ways to snuggle. That way, like good little quarterbacks, one of us can yell out, “SWEET SPOT!” and we assume the position.

9. The Clean House Maneuver.

This maneuver works great on both of us. It’s not complicated: clean the house while the other spouse is out. That one gets me every time!

8. The Clean Car Maneuver.

Similar to #9, but with either or (if particularly amorous) both vehicles. It differs from #9 because we have, on occasion, let our cars get particularly yucky.

7. Sweet Texts.

I’m sure in the olden days, spouses would have to find a piece of paper and pen and ::GASP:: write a note. Us? We just grab our phones and shoot over a text message. Some of my favorites:

Frank: 11:30 a.m. doctor appointment for the twins.

Me: OK.

Frank (a few hours later): It’s Herpes.

Me: What?!

Frank: Nevermind. Girls are fine. Love you!

Frank is, as you may know, a pilot. Occasionally (frequently…) I forget where he is going, until he gets there and texts me:

Frank: Love you in SFO (San Francisco)

Me: Oh, good. I didn’t know where you were going. XOXO.

On the first Tuesday of every month, the state tests tornado sirens. Every first Tuesday at 10 a.m., I get a text that looks something like this:

Frank: DISASTER IMMINENT!! SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE!! LOVE YOU!!

Me: Shhh. In meeting.

6. Laughing at the Same Jokes Over and Over and Over Again…

We have a cycle of jokes that is on endless loop. Just like when I was kid and my sister and I watched Howard the Duck on an endless loop until my mom “dropped” the VHS tape, Frank and I can’t get enough of some of the same old jokes.

And there is comfort in that. Singing goofy versions of Kenny Loggins song Danny’s Song (“Even though you look kinda funny, I don’t care cuz you’ve got money!”); Frank chasing me up the stairs saying, “I’m gonna getcha!” while I freeze-up laughing, unable to move; holding hands and trying to be the first to tuck our thumb in between; responding to the other with “yer mom”; and the list goes on and on. No matter what we’re going through – there is always a small, sweet way that we can say “I love you” that brings a smile to both of our faces.

… Juvenile as it may be…

5. Holding Hands.

When snuggling isn’t an option, we often have to settle for holding hands. We hold hands everywhere we can – even in the car. We talk about how if we have to be in separate beds in the nursing home that if we can’t snuggle there, we’ll hold hands all the way until the end. Pity the nursing home peeps that try to get in between us. We will go all ninja old people on them. That’s how we roll, yo.

4. The Postcard.

You guys: Frank and I have never discussed this. Ever. It’s one of the rules of Postcard Club: we don’t talk about the postcard. Seriously. I was worried that if I shared the postcard, it might lose some of its magic, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take so that our children and our children’s children will know exactly how nuts we are.

In 2005, I took a trip to Utah for work. It was a lovely trip, but only a 2 day adventure. I bought a postcard that I intended to mail to Frank, but never did because I would get home before the postcard would. I gave Frank the postcard and thought it was the end of the postcard. Until I found it tucked in one of my drawers. So I put it in his overnight bag. And he put it in my work bag. And I put it in the cupboard next to his cereal and he put it in my pillowcase.

This postcard has made it through at least 3 moves and 7 years without being lost. Which is more than I can say for about half a dozen spoons, three dinner plates and a shelf.

Whenever I find the postcard, sometimes months between sightings, it always makes me smile.

3. Spanish Radio.

Yes. You read that right. Nothing says, “I love you” like 105.1 FM in Chicago.

See, because we use our SUV for carting around the twins and our sedan for lots of driving/chores/what-have-you, we tend to swap out cars a lot. And even if we aren’t swapping out cars, Frank often is nearby my place of employment to drop off the babies and from time to time, he stops by my car, turns the radio to Spanish Radio and cranks the volume.

While some people live in fear of turning the key in the ignition and a bomb going off, I live in fear of turning the key in the ignition and being bombarded with the music stylings of an enthusiastic mariachi band.

But as soon as I peel myself off of the ceiling of my car and get my wits about me, I remember that it is just a small way of Frank saying “I love you” using the only Spanish he remembers from high school. Note: Aside from finding Spanish Radio formats on the dial, he can also say “The cat is on fire” and “The cat is in my pants.” What can I say? I’m smitten…

2. Our Rings.

For most married people, their wedding bands are a symbol of the promises they made to one another. You know, the part where I lied and told Frank I loved to cook and could not wait to cook all.the.time? (And now Frank does 99.9% of the cooking)

But for us, our rings are also a symbol of our love (which is probably what it symbolizes for everyone else, too… we aren’t very original in that department… but whatever this is our top 10 list!).

I’ll spare you most of the schmoopy details, but basically it went like this:

Me: I love you, Frank.

::Cue the music, the soft lighting, the raw romance. Soap operas and love stories could learn something from this kind of passion.::

Frank: Aw, I love you, too babe.

After a few seconds of analysis.

Frank: If you were to quantify your love for me, how much would you say you had?

Me: This much!

Frank: (furrowing his mighty eyebrows) Which way?

Me: (exasperated) Always!

And so when Frank and I were engaged, we each separately decided to engrave a message on the inside of the other’s wedding band. On the day of our wedding, after the vows and rings were exchanged, we couldn’t wait to slip off our rings to see what the other wrote on the inside. When I slipped the ring off of my finger and turned it into the light, I saw that, magically, we both wrote:

“I know where you live.”

Ha ha. Just kidding.

We each engraved: “This Much, Always. 09-19-03”

I mean, occasionally we do get things right.

And so, when we look at our wedding bands, it is a constant reminder of our love – and that I don’t cook. Ever. Except when I get in the mood. But really, let’s be honest: dude has to cook all of the meals.

And, last, but not least:

1. We Love to Make Each Other Laugh.

Sure, I guess that’s been the under-riding theme of this entire post. But truly, nothing delights either one of us more than the other being delighted.

These are the kinds of pictures that Frank sends to me with some sort of funny caption.

Eventually Frank’s series of Panda captions became his Anniversary Card to me one year.

And for Frank’s Golden Birthday, I surprised him with a few of his closest friends and some bread pudding. He was delighted!

I always get a laugh out of Frank when I make that face. What can I say?? I’m a charmer.

***

And so, in summary, we are probably certifiably crazy. But that’s OK: we’re crazy together.

To Frank, I say, “Thank you for being my friend!”

… “Travel ’round the world and back again. Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant! And if you threw a party! And invited everyone you knew! You would see, the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say, ‘THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FRIEND!'” (Sung loudly, totally off-key and with heart because really, if you don’t sing it with heart, what’s the point??)

Extra Credit: Name that TV show theme song. Nate? You got this one?

mothers day deux

May 12, 2012May 12, 2012 / emmykay / Leave a comment

Parenting is not pretty.

Last mothers day weekend, I begged my sister to come spend the night. Frank was out of town and I had to go up to my in-laws for mothers day on Saturday. We plant flowers and have a nice meal together.

But I knew I would be in no condition to go up there if I had the twins to myself at night.

And so I commenced begging Caitlin.

Because Caitlin is so amazing, the conversation went like this:

Me: Hey Cait–

Caitlin: I’m coming over!!

So yeah. The evening initially went OK. I mean, there was the requisite puking, but by bedtime, Caitlin was still wearing the same clothes she arrived in. We snuggled the girls into their car seats (that’s where they slept for three or four months) and tried to get some sleep.

I want to tell you I vividly remember what occurred that night. I want to tell you that it was a series of Norman Rockwell moments illustrating a generation of sisters passing along the torch of sisterhood to the next generation of sisters.

No.

I have to tell the truth. The night is a blur. I desperately wanted and needed sleep, but the nursery house of horrors had come alive in vivid shades of regurgitated formula and the soundtrack was the wailing and gnashing of gums. I helped Caitlin with one of the feedings, I think.

I know that I went into the nursery a few times and tried to help. My sister valiantly sent me back to bed. I was somewhat aware that she was in a new outfit – or that her outfit had been “redecorated” by one of the twins – but I didn’t stop to question it.

When I came-to in the morning, having had a few continuous hours of sleep punctuated by a foggy awareness of babies crying, I stumbled into the nursery at 6 a.m. to find my sister surrounded by a half-dozen half-eaten bottles and dirtied burp rags. Her normally beautifully-kept, perfect blond hair was in rats nests around her face (how do babies make that happen so quickly???) and she had the look of a woman who had seen things she could not bear to repeat.

Me: What… what… what happened?

Caitlin: Oh (looking around, trying not to break down), it’s nothing. They just… they just… THEY WOULDN’T GO TO SLEEP! (lower lip quivering) Why? Why? I tried (weeping) Lord knows, I tried. I sang, I rocked and they – THEY VOMITED!

Me: Uh huh. Are you OK?

Caitlin: Yes. Yes. I’m OK. I’m OK. I just… Just.. need… sleep. Please, make the crying stop. I just need to go to sleep. One would stop and the other would start. Why??

Me: There, there. It’s OK.

The twins, for the record, had calmed down. They were looking at us with a quiet satisfaction. It appears that the generational torch of sisterhood can be passed in either direction.

Together, we put the girls in their cutest outfits. I combed my hair. Caitlin helped me load the car for my one hour journey and then she stumbled to her car and drove home, where she slept until 2 p.m.

I don’t blame her.

And I thought to myself, “Is this how it is always going to be? What did I sign up for?! HELP!”

I wasn’t alone.

Around July of last year, Frank looked at me pleadingly and asked, “will these children EVER sleep through the night?” I told him reassuringly, “Of course!” but thought, “What if they don’t? What if we never sleep again?!” And then, miraculously, about a week or so later, the twins finally started sleeping through the night.

We had the same situation with feeding the girls solids – it seemed like we would be forever be covered in sweet potatoes and mashed green beans and all sorts of disgusting (and, might I say, bland) baby food. It seemed like the girls would never figure out their sippy cups or straws. It seemed like they would never crawl or walk or talk.

And every time I’ve felt that way, I’ve been wrong. Motherhood has proven me wrong more often than not.

So this year, I’d like to say three things about parenting on this lovely Mothers Day weekend:

1. It is epically humbling. Not: “Waving at someone across the street because you think you know them but then you realize that you don’t know them and so you pretend your wave was actually a hair adjustment”, but “Holy crap, I actually showed up to college graduation naked AND without the required number of hours!” But, the good news is that it’s not about you as a parent, but rather about doing what’s best for your kids and your family. So, you know, grab a trench coat from graduation coat check and fake it til you make it.

2. A win is a win. Yeah, your kid may not have walked as soon as Susie’s prodigy child or Donna’s baby might have a larger vocabulary, but odds are, your kid will not go to high school only saying “bah” (ball) and “dada” (everything else). Odds are, you will have a phone bill that will prove that your child has indeed expanded her/his vocabulary to include “Whatever” and “Can I have the car tonight?”

3. Old people are on to something. Live long enough, I’m starting to realize, and you’ll start saying the same annoying stuff your parents said. I’m not going to suggest that anyone admit their parents are (gasp!) right, but perhaps our parents might have a few pieces of well-earned wisdom. They still don’t understand good movies/music/books/fashion/texting/whatever, but they definitely might have a few pieces of sage advice when it comes to raising/chasing after/loving kids. I mean, I/you didn’t turn out so bad, did we?

Right now I find myself starting to wonder if the twins will ever grow up.

And I stop myself.

Happy Mothers Day to all you ladies.

a tuesday night.

December 6, 2011December 6, 2011 / emmykay / Leave a comment

It’s Tuesday night at 8 p.m. I am lying on the floor watching the twins play.

Carrie, who has methodically crawled and climbed on every piece of furniture I’ve allowed her to crawl to and climb on, is cruising along our coffee table trying to, very nonchalantly, get her hands on the large black remote control.

I am watching her side-step along the table toward the remote, while simultaneously watching Ellie writhe on the floor. Miss Ellie has to be very motivated to want to crawl and, coincidentally, very few things motivate her. She has crossed about eight feet of floor space in our family room through a series of rolls, pivots and shuffles. Along her path, she’s stopped to study fuzz on the floor, blinking lights on the receiver and to plant her face on the carpet while sticking her rear as high up into the air as possible, creating a human pup tent.

And at this very moment, watching Ellie give her face rug burn, I am comforted by the fact that I have twins.

When you have one baby, you compare your child to other children. With one, I imagine you wonder if you’re doing something wrong and, invariably, congratulate yourself for something you had nothing to do with. The joy of twins is that I know I’ve raised both girls almost exactly the same. They have faced the same challenges, they have had the same opportunities and they share the same genetics (pro or con, who knows). And yet, with so many things similar, they are nothing alike.

Ellie ate first, Carrie crawled first. Ellie rolled over first, Carrie rolls over most. Ellie is more calm and patient, Carrie is more… um… dynamic?

I’m sure there will be plenty of other times where one child does something before the other. But for those of you out there currently wondering why your baby isn’t crawling/walking/rolling/scooting/cruising as far or as fast or as frequently as another baby, hopefully I can offer you some comfort there are some things (many things, even) that as a parent that are far outside of your control.

One of my favorite scenes in the movie Parenthood is of Steve Martin watching his son run headfirst into the walls with a bucket on his head.

Yeah, I expect my kids will probably do ridiculous things like that. I suspect there will be times that I will be somewhat embarrassed even. And of course, I am sure I will document those embarrassing moments on my blog because, well, I want my kids to know that what they do has consequences.

So yeah, Carrie is right now screaming at the remote control that magically (thanks to mommy) moved to the other side of the coffee table. She is slamming her little fists of rage against the coffee table, incredulous that her calculations of distance and time to said remote were so off.

And Ellie, well, she’s been rubbing her face into the carpet for about five minutes now. I think it’s time for bed.

emmy kay and co.

love > everything else

reflections