A little of this, a little of that.

Friday night a pipe broke underneath our kitchen sink, making the sink (and dishwasher) unusable. Thankfully, we have super reliable super who chose to ignore our repeated messages (This is an emergency!) until late Saturday afternoon. Also: these things never happen on a Monday morning. Always a Friday night. Because yay weekend, and nothing gets fixed on the weekend.

Whatever. We used water from the bathroom sink to make coffee, and that’s all that matters. Especially when you have an Arthur. Arthur, my beloved, sweet, wild child has been driving us all insane. I understand why. It’s because he never feels well. I get it. But apparently that also means that none of us should feel well either. This child of mine hasn’t slept through the night in weeks. Weeks. Loooong weeks. Months? And not only has he not slept through the night. There have been several occasions where Jeff and I spent hours with him in the boys’ room in the middle of the night while he screamed at our faces. Nothing could make him feel any better. So I felt like the least I could do is not leave him alone, and so we sucked it up. During the day we were all tired. So tired. And grumpy.

Silver lining: the other child. Julian. The one that wasn’t screaming (this is why having more than one kid is great. One of them will inevitably act crazy, while there is a chance that the other one may not). When Arthur would start his show (anytime between 10pm and 4am), we would let Julian sneak into our bed. He actually can’t fall asleep there, but he does cuddle up under our blanket, and when I would crawl into bed next to him, he’d place his hands on my head and just stroke my hair in the dark. And then he would hold my hand and give me kisses, all in the quiet darkness as if he knew that after that screaming marathon and exhausting attempts to soothe my baby, this is what I needed.

Last night then, finally, Arthur slept. And tonight he went down without a peep. And for the first time in weeks I had some energy today. I mean, it’s 10pm and I am not yet in bed! Amazing.

On Saturday night I took Julian on a date. He was so excited about it that he had been talking about it for days. On Saturday morning at 7am he jumped into our bed and said, “Today we go on our date.”

We chose Juniors for burgers and cheesecake.

It was so special to be out with my big kid. He was so giddy that he skipped and jumped the entire way there. Over dinner we talked about school, Christmas, trains, and dessert. Julian went for strawberry ice cream; I had cheese cake.

Speaking of food. I love this season. I love winter foods. I love pies and cookies and anything baked. I love sitting on my couch with a blanket and a hot cup of tea. I love scarves and hats and falling leaves. I love watching my sons jump into puddles. I can’t wait to get our tree and hang our stockings. To write letters to Santa and bake cookies. And eat cookies. Did I mention cookies? I love that it gets dark earlier and seeing all the lights on the trees on our street as we hurry home to get warm and play. Or watch movies of Metro North and the Long Island Railroad. Whatever floats your boat, kids.

Anyway. I’m off to get a refill on my tea and cookies and enjoy these moments while no one is screaming. Peace.

Just another day in paradise…

This morning was Julian’s last soccer class. I missed it entirely. Because in order to go, I had to drag my sick boy Arthur out in the cold, and he was accordingly displeased. Fifteen minutes into the class Arthur decided he’d had it. He started screaming. And he didn’t stop. He refused to sit in the stroller, refused to be held, refused to be cozied up in the Ergo under my warm coat. He just stood there, snot everywhere, and stomped his little feet in the devastating rage of an 18 month old.

I’ve rarely felt so helpless. Arthur was so miserable. I missed all of Julian’s goals. Nannies started offering helpful advice (“He’s cold!”), and Julian starting telling Arthur “It’s almost over; it’s almost over.” My heart broke into tiny little pieces.

After class I forced Arthur into his stroller and started the long walk home with my hysterical child, hoping he would fall asleep along the way and I could take Julian to the diner for pancakes after all. We go every week after soccer with his best buddy Elliot. But alas, Arthur wouldn’t humor me, and so I had to break the news to Julian that we had to go home. He started crying. “But Mama. I packed all the trains for Elliot and me to play with.”

When we arrived home, Arthur was so fed up he was basically trying to throw himself out of the stroller, coughing from all the screaming and his cold, and OMG it was so terrible. I tried to gather all of my stuff out of the stroller while preventing Arthur from falling on his head, when someone said, “Do you need help?” And I started crying and said yes. A woman I’d never met before carried everything up the stoop for me. She told me she had two older boys, and it gets easier. I said thank you through my tears. She probably didn’t even hear me over my screaming child. And I’ll probably never see her again to tell her how thankful I truly was for someone to come and help me in that moment.

I put my baby to sleep and made Julian chocolate chip pancakes. I promised him a date for just him and me this weekend and a new diner date with Elliot next week.

I think we’ll be ok.

Of tracks, colds, and guitars

Oh man. It’s been so cold this week. The boys are not impressed.

But Julian had an outdoor field trip today, and he loved it. I guess the cold isn’t as awful when I’m not around. I loved all his little stories, about holding hands with his friend, discovering outdoorsy things, and how his teachers warmed the children with hot cocoa after. It sounded pretty awesome.

Also, the boys have been doing lots of this:

I swear, tracks and trains are a major lifesaver for us. When the boys are fighting or bored or running wild, we build tracks! And magically they calm down and play like this forever. So to the person who invented toy tracks, THANK YOU.

Meanwhile, Arthur (*breaking news*) is sick again. Or still? Since September? Is that a thing? He gets better long enough to remember what it must feel like to not feel awful all the time, and then boom! He catches another virus. Today he’s had a fever of 102. I’ve definitely been getting more cuddles than usual, but overall I am amazed by this child’s sunny disposition.

And since we’re talking about Arthur, I’ll leave you with these. A boy and his guitar…

Weekend Review (sad edition)

This week (and weekend) has been a little rough. I’m not gonna lie. It makes me terrified of what’s to come: months of gray days, cold, dreary, yucky weather, and two boys who, despite being well equipped with warm coats, boots, mittens, and hats, hate hate hate the cold. They just suffer so much.

Arthur has tears running down his cheeks as soon as the temperature hovers around the mid 30s. He cries but also refuses to be bundled up. When I approach him with his winter coat, he screams as if it was made of acid and writhes on the floor in an exorcism-like state. If he started hovering 4 feet above ground I wouldn’t even be surprised.

Julian just starts sulking and considers the weather a personal insult. All of a sudden everything hurts, he’s tired, and don’t even ask him about anything at all because speaking hurts in the “cold.”

They have no idea that it will be like this for months and that it will get even COLDER.

Everyone has colds, and there has been so much whining. And defiance. Everything is a test. To my patience, to see what my limits are, and to humanity in general. You think I’m exaggerating? I am not.

We took the boys to the New York City Fire Museum, but it was “scary” and also didn’t feature any contemporary firetrucks, so Mama and Papa are pretty much considered a giant failure in Julian’s book. Like why did we take him there in the first place. Losers.

Moments that have sustained me this weekend: Arthur pretend-coughing in tissue after tissue with such effort that I think he thinks he has been bowling with Dr. Spencer at the Gutter; Julian and Arthur quietly playing trains for about an hour; sitting on the couch reading a book, like actually reading, undisturbed. It was amazing.

Also, Arthur’s first experience with headphones. Mind blown.

And most importantly: Coffee. Beer. The promise of chili that cooked all day in the slow cooker and corn bread with lots of honey. 

And mostly: Arthur’s sweet face against mine as I had tears streaming down my face after a particularly defeating outing and while carrying my 30 pound child up the stairs. He saw I was crying and immediately looked so concerned. He pressed his cheek against mine, his wet lips on my face, and his dirty little fingers touching away my sad.

We may be raising children who whine when it’s (not even really) cold outside, but at least they are sweet in nature. Sometimes. Mostly. 

St. Martin would have been pleased

Yesterday was the traditional German celebration of St. Martin. I grew up making a lantern every year and then walking around town with all the other kids, singing songs and looking forward to eating Weckmänner and drinking hot cocoa.

Because Julian goes to this adorable German pre-school that we love, he gets to experience some of the same traditions, and it warms my heart. Also, he warms my heart:

Yesterday we met all of Julian’s friends from school, their parents, and the teachers at the playground near the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, conveniently located 3 blocks from our house. From there we walked the promenade, singing St. Martin tunes that the kids had been practicing all week. Julian was so proud of his lantern, and we had made one for Arthur as well. At first Arthur’s main goal seemed to be to destroy it as quickly as possible, but then, magically, he seemed content with just holding it.

(They are actually holding the each other’s lantern in these photos:)

Once we got to the end of the promenade, Julian and I handed out Weckmänner to all of his friends that we had baked earlier that day. And then we came home to hot chicken noodle soup, and everyone was happy.

The end.

 

Julian.

On Saturday I took you to soccer practice. It was a make-up class, so it was a different group of kids, a different coach, and a different location. Watching you for the next 45 minutes was one of my prouder moments in parenting. Every single kid in that class was acting out. Some kicked over the equipment, some kept running away, two boys constantly kicked the other kids, took balls away from others, and no one listened to the coach. No one but you. You were not oblivious to what was going on, but you just didn’t seem to mind. You did your thing. You kicked the ball into the goal. If another kid took your ball, you went and got another one. You would glance over at me with a little smile, and I gave you the thumbs up. You did what the coach said. And you had fun. Despite all the craziness around you.

I was so proud of you. Not because you were better than any of the other kids there. But because you were you, and you stayed you. It would have been easy to join in the craziness, to kick back, to run around when you weren’t supposed to. But that isn’t you. As a mother it is hard to watch your child get kicked or treated unkindly, but watching you really showed me how strong you are.

Afterwards I took you out for some chocolate milk and a muffin. It was so lovely to sit down with you and talk to you. And to tell you how proud I am of you. Not just that day, but every day.

One day last week, when I picked you up from school, I talked to one of your teachers and she described you as kind and intelligent. And that is you. You are nothing but kind. Not once have I seen you push or hit another child – other than your brother. He is the exception in every way, as it should be.

You’re a quiet observer. You had the subway map memorized when you were 2 1/2. You knew which stop was next, and still today you love the world of trains. The sounds they make, all the announcements. You have it all down.

You have an incredible memory. The things you remember blow me away. I think you get that from your Uncle Brian. Maybe one day you two can have a contest to see who remembers what the best. You might just win. You remember the craziest details and things that I had long forgotten.

You are sensitive. You are very in touch with other people’s feelings, and you feel everything very strongly yourself. For a while you always said you were “tired” when you were feeling off. It was before you had the vocabulary for different emotions. You were sad, angry, scared…”Mama, ich bin müde.” But now you can tell me how you feel, and I can see it on your face and feel it by the grip of your hand in mine. I can tell by taking one glance at your face. I know you through and through, kid.

Yet this has been a year of letting you go a little bit. You stay in school longer now for a few days a week, and you love it so much. You come home full of stories and songs. It still blows my mind that you are having adventures that I am not a part of, but I am so happy to see you spread your wings. And I love nothing more than hearing all your stories when you come home.

I love to watch you make friends. You are particular in who you seem to like and feel comfortable with, but once you make a friend, you love that friend. You’re a lot like your mama in that way. I’ve never been much of a social butterfly myself.

You’re a great big brother and always have been. There was never any jealousy to speak of. There was a phase of annoying pushing once Arthur started getting into your business, but that too went away. Now you two are truly the best of friends. You do everything together. At lunch time I ask Arthur if he’s ready to jump on the train and pick you up from school, and his face lights up. “Ja ja ja ja!” he says. Being the bigger brother you may never understand the kind of adoration your younger brother feels for you. But you adore your little brother in your own way. You look out for him. When he rides his scooter too fast or too close to the street, you yell “Stop Arthur!” You have not once complained about not being able to eat a cookie or another treat because of Arthur’s allergy. I explain it to you, and you simply say ok. And sometimes, when you’re feeling sad, you will come to Arthur for a hug, and he always obliges. It’s so beautiful to see.

Every morning you come into our room at 7am, once your alarm clock light goes on. You come to my side of the bed and kiss my face. You say, “My light went on! It’s time to get up. Get up!” Sometimes you’ll let me pull you into bed with me for a few minutes.

And every night I put you to bed. Some nights I rock with you for a minute, and some nights you just jump straight into bed. “One, two, three, hop in my bed.” You want your comforter with the button side up, which drives me crazy because THAT’S THE WRONG WAY! but I oblige, because it’s your comforter, your thing, your buttons. You need a flashlight, a book, one toy, your water, and your light up clock next to your bed. Your bunny Hoppel in your arms. And a kiss and a hug from me.

You’re not perfect. You can drive me crazy. You talk all day long. Sometimes you take stuff away from your brother for no reason. Sometimes you won’t stop running back and forth in our apartment while yelling at the top of your lungs – usually a good indicator that we need to go outside. Sometimes you act all around three, which is not a compliment. But usually, most days, you are good. You are great. You are a joy to be with, to watch, to teach, to love. You don’t make it easy, but you make it all so worth it.

Soon we have to stop counting in months. But not yet.

Today my baby is 18 months old. Time is flying by too fast. Before I know it Arthur will be two. And then three. And then….just stop.

Arthur, you are awesome. Each month you are becoming more and more awesome. You are funny and make us all laugh every day. At the dinner table the shenanigans between you and Julian just won’t stop.

You two are always together. You play trains together, you run and chase each other, you play your guitars, build and destroy things, jump in Arthur’s crib, or slide next to each other at the playground. Everything that Julian does, you want to try. That means that at 18 months old you carry packages up our walk-up for me. On your own. You carry grocery bags for me. You climb up tall ladders at the playground without my assistance (but with my hands hovering around you…). You ride your scooter at lightning speed. In the morning, when Julian goes to school, you pack your bag with dinosaurs and trains and stand by the door in your pajamas and with some inappropriate footwear in hand (sandals, water shoes) and cry your eyes out because you can’t go.

But you can’t fool me. There’s still a little bit of baby left in you. At night you will call my name, and I always come to you. You’ve had a rough couple of months with lots of not feeling well, so I understand. Although you make me very tired. And then there are moments like last weekend, when Papa and Julian were at soccer practice and you and I cuddled and nursed on the couch, and you fell asleep in my arms a good two hours before nap time. So I laid there with you on my chest for an hour, looking at your face, stroking your hair, kissing your head. Moments like this are always a surprise and a break from your active, fun-filled life, and I soak them up like nobody’s business. Who knows…this may have been the last time you wanted to sleep next to me.

You’re is still not much of a talker, but you can get most any message across, even fairly complicated things like, “Papa, please get up from this chair and start playing the piano for me.” Or “Mama, please go get my dinosaur costume. I need to dance right now and be a dinosaur.” All that with very little words. You also have your brother, who knows your every want or need. “Arthur needs spicy water.” “Arthur is mad because he didn’t get any granola.” “Arthur wants to hear that song again.” You love yes or no questions, and I hope I will never forget how your face lights up and you enthusiastically explain, “Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja! Jaaaaa! Jaaa!” when I ask you just about anything.

So really, kid, I understand. You have absolutely no need to say much at all. We get you.

You are very into books. All day long you want to read. You will pull book after book off the shelf and drag them over to me. You jump on me and position yourself in my lap just right. Sitting next to me just won’t do. And then we look at the pictures. You can point to everything. Cement mixer, bulldozer, excavator, and other non-contrsuction site related things.

You also love talking on the phone. Anything can be a phone: an actual phone, a train, a spoon, or the remote control. “Baaaa? Baaaaaa!” Your enthusiasm for your friend Ba is unmatched.

We love you so much, kid. I love how you pad me on the shoulders as your wrap your legs around me in the tightest of hugs. I love that you are so totally your own person. There is no one like you in the world, and I can’t ever imagine a day in our lives without you in it. Your spirit shines so brightly, and you bring us so much joy. More joy than I could have ever imagined. Happy 18 months, Arthur.

 

Monday morning thoughts on motherhood…

I was thinking the other night just how much my life has changed. Four years ago I was working in public relations, pregnant with our first child, and pretty much clueless about what was to come. I mean, you think you know, but you just don’t know.

Since giving birth, I’ve taken on the roles of chef, maid, nurse, teacher, playmate, personal assistant, handyman. I cook for my family every day. I pack Julian elaborate lunches that I know make him happy. I think about my family’s nutrition. I clean our apartment, although not as much as I should. I dry tears and put on band-aids. I teach. Everything.

All babies arrive more or less like a blank canvas. I mean, there are certain characteristics that I believe they are born with, but pretty much everything else is learned. That means someone has to teach them. The stove is hot. The garbage is dirty. Puddles will make your feet wet. It’s ok to fall. Get back up. Pushing is not ok. Pounding on wooden surfaces with a hammer is also not ok. It’s ok to like broccoli. It’s ok to say no when you don’t like something. You don’t have to be everyone’s friend, but you do have to be polite. There are no ghosts. Train begins with the letter t. This is a triangle. This is how you spell your name. Something new every day. Everything is a discovery, something new learned, something locked away in their little brains for later.

I’ve given up uninterrupted sleep. Just by nature of being the mother (who stays at home), I have been getting up in the night for the last 3 1/2 years. Now that it is getting colder, my bed has a magical appeal. I want to lie in it at all times. Say, at 9pm. I’m tired. Sick kids wake up a lot, and they want their mama.

When I think about it, it’s been more than four years of either growing a child inside me or nursing one. Four years. That’s half the time I’ve lived in New York, for comparison’s sake. So for the past four years my body has had a real purpose. Other than, you know, wake up every day and crave coffee. How crazy is that?

Other than growing babies and being a milk machine, being a mother is the most physical of jobs imaginable. It involves a lot of carrying and lifting, building bridges with my legs and swinging babes through the air. But it also means hugs and kisses, all the time. It means children sitting by my side on the couch, lying on top of me on the floor, cuddled next to me in bed. It means dancing when I don’t feel like it.

Once you have a child, there will be a person in your life who will assume that you want to be touched at all times. Sometimes that is sweet. Like when Julian jumps in our bed in the morning and wakes me up by showering me with kisses. Or when Arthur gives me the tightest of hugs and pats me on the shoulder, like he is a 45 year old man. I’m hugging ya, but I’m hitting ya. And sometimes it’s annoying and I want to just have 30 seconds of peace. To, you know, pee. Or something like that.

I know there will be a time when I will miss the diapers, the sleepless nights, the nursing and warm baby hands on my body, the little boy kisses, and being on call and needed 24/7. I know there will be a time, in my not too distant future, when neither of my boys will come flying into my arms after school or want to hold my hand on the sidewalk or ask for one more goodnight kiss, and then just one more. They will want their own space. So I will soak up these days – that have turned into years – with my two little lovebirds.

Halloween 2014

Halloween was a huge success this year. Both boys were totally into their costumes.

Year one (2011), Julian was Bruce Springsteen. He had no choice in the matter and wore his wig dutifully.

Year two, Julian was a pirate. He cried and didn’t want to wear his pirate hat until we bribed him with enough chocolate.

Year three, Julian wanted to be a fireman but refused to wear the helmet, and Arthur had no choice and was a garden gnome.

This year Julian was very specific about what he wanted to be: a train engineer with a train, but the train was not to have a face (like Thomas) or a number. So Jeff went to town and built this:

Arthur, again, had no say and since he can roar perfectly like a dinosaur, he was, well, a dinosaur. I was worried that he wouldn’t want to wear his costume, but when I asked him on Friday morning if he wanted to be a dinosaur today, he went and got his costume and dragged it over to me. He wore it basically all day…to the playground, to music class, to pick up Julian from school, and for trick or treating. I’ve never seen a better (or happier) dinosaur.

Julian had a blast at school, where they had a little Halloween party. When I picked him up, he wore his train all the way home with such pride.

At one point he actually said, “I am so proud that Papa made this train for me.” It was adorable. He’s not the kind of kid that will jump up and down with excitement. I’m sure he seems fairly serious to others, but I know his expressions so well. He was over the moon happy yesterday. Everyone commented on his costume. Julian actually said at one point, “Everyone likes my costume. But no one is saying anything about Arthur’s costume!” It was a sweet comment. He was protective of his brother. But it wasn’t actually true. Arthur got his fair share of compliments, just by nature of being tiny and cute and dressed head to toe as a pint-sized t-rex.

Of course Arthur is totally oblivious to it all. He was just happily running around all day, pleased to be my baby dino.

Trick or treating was great. I was worried about the crowds and Julian maneuvering his train, but it was no problem. Brooklyn gets so crowded on Halloween, but after briefly checking out Garden Place, the epicenter of this holiday, we decided to continue on the surrounding streets. Julian was polite and said “Happy Halloween” and “trick or treat” and “thank you” to all. He also took Arthur by the hand on several occasions and asked for candy for his brother, since “my brother can’t say trick or treat yet.”

My main concern was all the candy that Arthur couldn’t eat, and it turned out to be a non-issue. They only ate one piece each while we were out and then actually requested to eat an apple that they were given. An apple! They literally had buckets full of candy.

Julian did state later that he wanted to eat enough candy to get a “candy belly,” but after one or two additional pieces they were satisfied. Anything that isn’t every day stuff is a treat to them. Once they were in bed I sorted the candy into piles. The boys will get treats every now and then from the pile deemed safe for Arthur. I got rid of anything with peanuts or any kind of other nut and am keeping the rest (that was processed in a facility that also processes nuts) in a ziploc bag up high in my cupboard. Wow. This must be really boring to read for anyone who is not me. Anyway, I’ve been eating a lot of candy since yesterday. Winning.

And today? We’ve been lazy. The train is hanging:

And Arthur wanted to wear his costume again before bed and danced with Julian to their latest obsession: the song “Hey Mr. Kennedy” from the movie Inside Llewyn Davis. Every kid’s favorite song, no?

Julian also taught Arthur the endless beauty of ring-around-a-rosie…

Halloween 2014 was a success.