A Million Little Things

I clean up from breakfast. Dump and rinse out remnants of milk from bowls, throw the banana peels in the compost, shrug and leave the Cheerios on the floor because someone under four feet tall will probably be delighted to find those later. Load the dishwasher, sip some coffee. Get interrupted at least four times during this process by a small toddler demanding “up!” (only he says it backwards: “puh!”), and refereeing disputes over who had what toy first from the bigger toddlers (do I have to call them “preschoolers” yet?).

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Load up the stroller with a big toddler and a little one. Make sure they are wearing appropriate footwear (aka any sort of footwear at all). Yell for the other big toddler to come baaaaack so I can snap his helmet on. Stash the sunscreen and some snacks (juuuust in case) down below, grab my sunglasses, and head off for a walk and a trip to the park.

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Lunch prep. Nothing fancy today. Scrambled eggs, slices of cheese, remove the tops of the strawberries and squish up some blueberries for the littlest one who is on a strawberry strike (just in time for strawberry season #ofcourse). Arrange all of the pieces on three little plates, set a napkin and a fork on their little placemats, which they may or may not use. Fill up two big cups and a sippy with milk. Six feet pound their way across the floor to the table.

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More meal prep. Not for us but for a friend who recently had a baby. Put on a movie for the big toddlers as their quiet time solution for the day while the “baby” naps. Chop and saute and stir and mix and arrange in a small foil pan. Pack it all up along with some fruit and cookies and extras to be delivered once the movie is done and the baby awakes.

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I push them in the swings. One, then another, and another. Push, push, push. Declare my pushing arms tired and create a spot for myself in the grass. Watch as two play in the sandbox and the third climbs the ladder of the playset. One runs over with tears and a hurt toe. Just as they have recovered another runs over because they tripped and fell and (sort of) skinned a knee. Just as they have recovered the third and final runs over with a fake cry to put his head in my lap, because apparently this is what all the cool kids are doing now and he wants to be included, too. I rub his back and they're all off again. Soon they will run over and demand more time on the swings. Push, push, push.

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It’s quiet, or will be soon. Clean-up time. The fort of too-many blankets, the wooden blocks strewn across the rug, the pretend pizza set with it’s 347 topping pieces scattered throughout the playroom. I bring order to the chaos as the sky darkens.

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Motherhood: a million little tasks, performed on repeat. It’s hard to see motherhood as this grand, sweeping, broad, beautiful thing that I often read about. I’m sure it is that, this broad stroke over our children’s lives. For now, I see it mostly in the day-to-day, minute-by-minute chores I complete (or try to complete, as the case may be).

Motherhood isn’t one big thing, but a million little things.

It’s the wiping and the cuddling, the meal prep and the snack prep and then doing it all over again, the laundry and the decluttering, the teaching and the turning to the screen when we need to.

These little things add up, over time, over hours and days and weeks and months and eventually years to build up what will become memories and our very own family culture. The little things must be what, collectively, become this big thing we call motherhood.

At least I hope so. Otherwise let me know so I can stop picking all of these darn pizza pieces off the floor.

Post Weekend

Sometimes weekends turn into whirlwinds, in the best of ways. We filled up this past weekend, some things were planned, some were routine, others were more spur-of-the-moment ("spur-of-the-moment" meaning planned less than two hours in advance when you're dealing with small children).

We kicked things off with a visit to the farm for a birthday party, completely putting our own farm birthday party of last year to complete shame, since a farm visit in February wouldn't exactly give off the same vibe.

I can guarantee that in the middle photo above, Caden is asking me if I'm having fun, or telling me that he is having fun, since the entire time we rode the "grain train" he said, "I'm having fun. Are you having fun, mommy?" on repeat. (Yup, I'm totally having fun over here. Biggest thrill of my life. Thank goodness this thing only goes like 3 mph or I might pee my pants from all the excitement.)

Apparently not scared of feeding goats. Cool.

Had no problem feeding the chickens or the horse that is approximately 23x her size, but was terrified of the ducks waddling around. I don't know.

All the heart eyes for the farm babies. Who are actually complete suburban kids and at least one of them still thinks that puppies are pretty exotic. But they look damn cute in their overalls.

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Sunday afternoon we checked out a bit of what Pride had to offer in Minneapolis. Really we hit up the family-friendly activities at the Lakes and Legends brewery. There was SO MUCH for the kids to do , including coloring sheets, hopscotch, a giant Connect-Four set, coloring sheets, snacks, and outdoor activities that included chalk, bubbles, and a piano.

We are nothing if not color-coordinated.

Also: face-painting. So dang proud of our face painting.

Brooklyn wanted nothing to do with it, but the second Caden was done, Nolan scrambled into the face painting chair and sat there expectantly, all "okay, here I am! my turn!". The kid who never sits still sat perfectly still to get his own festive paint on.

Also of note: the beer. The beer was fantastic. I had the Wit and my brother had their Saison and they were both stellar. Their incredible beer line-up was impressive, so I'm hoping to make a trip back sometime soon, sans children. The only negative is that the taproom currently does not offer food. We ordered in food from a nearby restaurant, but it was incredibly expensive for a couple of burgers, chicken strips, and some mediocre fries. (#yaydowntown) I would definitely go back for the beer, and probably plan on dinner elsewhere.

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After our family adventures, Tyson took the kids home while I stayed in Minneapolis for a photo shoot for the Twin Cities Moms Blog. I'm excited to announce that starting in July, I will be a regular contributor! My first post should appear within the next few weeks or so, and I'll be writing for them about once a month going forward. It was wonderful to meet some of the other writers and take a break in one of the most picturesque spots in Minneapolis.

Also excited for the tumbler. Super excited about the TCMB tumbler. And judging by the posts on the contributor's Facebook page, I'm not the only one...

Life Lately

It's summmahhhhhhh!!!

Which means we've been doing one of two things lately. 

Either 1:

Or 2:

We've been basically living in the backyard or the park each afternoon. The backyard last week, loading up with all the water activities we could think of because it was hella hot out. The park this week because it's back to being slightly cooler, a little bit breezy. It's actually my favorite kind of weather (aka not breaking a sweat just because you walked out the door), but shhhhh...don't tell all the SUMMER IS THE BEST SEASON EVERRRRR crazies that. And I will definitely take a break from the swimsuit washing/sunscreen re-reapplying/swim diaper dealing with that was our constant last week.

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Though we have been up to some other things. Soccer, for one.

Yeah, mom, we should totally take a picture looking right into the sun. Good idea.

The twins are enrolled in the local parks and rec "Pre-Games" class for the summer. Their two-week soccer intensive (like, all of four days) is over now, and they'll soon tackle kickball, t-ball, and tag games to take us through into August. It's so nice that they can actually sign up for these type of activities now. Last summer about killed us because 2 1/2 is juuuust too young to sign up for basically any organized sports or classes. Though we'll run into the same exact problem again next summer with Nolan, who already runs onto the soccer field every chance he gets to snag a ball and score a goal. He basically thinks he's a three-year old, too, and who can blame him? To be fair, he could probably take them. He walks right over and throws the ball in the net like, "See?!? I get it! I got this, guys."

He probably would help them score more goals than they did at their game on Wednesday, where (if we bothered to keep score at 3 and 4-year old soccer) the score ended up at something like 32 - 1. Team Green Alligators didn't do so hot at remembering to put that ball in the net. Goalie Brooklyn stood and watched as the ball went right by her, and then immediately started clapping because: Yay! Somebody made a goal! That's a good thing! We clap for that, right?!? I heard Coach Cody tell the green team that they could take the ball from the other team and Caden asked, "But what if they say, 'No, don't take my ball?'" and Cody was all, "No, this is soccer you can still take it anyway!" and so I guess the real problem here is that we've raised kids that are too dang polite. Good job, us.

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They've also started up with school again. An outdoor class for summer, just for a few weeks. It feels like I've over-scheduled myself through the middle of July, since Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are filled up with activities in the morning, but I know that come early August, when it's down to only Monday and Wednesday, we'll be trying to figure out what to do. And I shudder to think of the end of that month, those few weeks when the summer activities all cease but preschool has yet to begin, and we'll be walking around in circles and probably overdosing on TV and what the heck it's still summer can we move on with things already and it will probably be too hot out again making it just too difficult to try to figure out anything to do.

They do a pretty good job of looking like they know what they are doing when the amount of fishing knowledge combined between the three of them is exactly ZERO.

I'm not exactly sure what the sweet spot is as far as scheduling goes. Three mornings a week, plus another one for grocery shopping, almost seems like too many activities, but two mornings a week doesn't seem like near enough. The way it is, once Friday morning rolls around, we're ready to be off and running again.

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Nolan continues to add words on top of words on top of words. His new favorites are to say "hi!" and "bye!" while he waves at anyone he sees, probably for an uncomfortably long time. If someone walks by our house he will wave at them the entire time it takes to walk past. He's still obsessed anytime a dog walks by ("pup-pup!") and is probably wondering where all the buses went ("It's a bus! It's a bus it's a bus it's a buuussssssss!"). His favorite word is "push", which he uses all day long to to refer to everything from the buttons on the microwave to being pushed on the swing to every light switch ever in existence. He's also mastered saying Brooklyn, "Book-ah!", and has maaaayyybeee finally started saying "mama" this week.

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Overhearing this as they watch TV together, even more pea-in-a-pod than usual:

Ever-present fishhook and all...

B: Know what? I love you. Do you love me? 
C: Yeah, I love you.
*hugs*
Me: *melts*

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I planted a garden for the first time this year. Okay, "garden" since everything is entirely contained in little planter boxes. It's the first time I've really had the opportunity since we'd only lived in apartments previously, and last summer - our first as homeowners - was taken over by a fairly new baby.

I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm pretty sure everything is planted too close together, but for the most part things are growing and getting taller and budding and perking up and turning greener and generally looking like they should (says the gardening novice). The cilantro doesn't look like it's going to make it and I'm not so sure about the cucumbers but everything else looks alright. The rest of the herbs look and smell downright yummy and the carrots seem to be flourishing, not to mention the broccoli is growing things that actually look like broccoli. For now. It's definitely an experiment. A $150 experiment.

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Mostly, life lately has been this:

Life happening in the foreground (5-minute bread), chaos in the background.

I Don't Do It Alone

Having three kids in two years means I’ve heard some variation of “you’re supermom!” more times than I can count. (See also, “you must be a saint”, “one kid is hard enough!”, and general looks of bafflement when I explain their ages and spacing.)

It also means that I get asked, “How do you do it all?”. A lot. How do I wash the floors, make dinner, get anywhere ever at all on time, take a shower, get three toddlers in and out of the car, write blog posts, keep up with family photos, wash and fold laundry, scrub the toilets, put on makeup, wash dishes, stay any sort of organized, go grocery shopping, or maintain my sanity? 

Of course, the clear answer is: I don’t. 

I don’t do it all.

First and foremost: I don’t have a job outside of the home. Period. In some ways I am very lucky and in others it was a “choice” I was forced into (hello astronomical daycare costs for three small children). But the bottom line is that I am a stay-at-home mom. I don’t have to balance a career life with a home life. Sure, sometimes it’s a bit monotonous to be more or less all home all the time, but having a career outside of three kids right now sounds like it’s own sort of crazy, so here we are.

The house? We have a cleaning service once a month. (And that's a birthday gift from my in-laws. Feel free to hate me.) Sure there are still plenty of things to keep up with on a daily basis, (Crumbs and fingerprints: where do they all come from? Please explain.), but at least when the you-know-what hits the fan, I know my kitchen will be clean at least once a month. For a few seconds, at least. 

We have our people. My parents live nearby, we have other family and neighbors and friends that are able to pitch in if we really need help. If I’m sick my mom can usually come over to watch the kids. Heck, she’ll come over if I’m three weeks past desperate for a haircut. I have a mommy’s helper that comes one afternoon a week, we have neighbors whose kids love to play with our kids. 

But the real reason I can hold it all together? My husband. Daddy. He’s the other person, the second set of hands, the equal partner in this relationship. I don’t do it alone. He’s the one who makes sure the garbage can gets put out every Thursday night, the recycling bin every other Thursday night, unloads the dishwasher each morning, preps my coffee, mows the lawn, keeps three kids away from the stove while I make dinner, and kills bugs before I have a panic attack.

How do I get ready in the morning with three kids around? I don’t. Those first morning hours see him getting up with the kids, making their breakfast, and attending to their potty and diapering needs while I get up to shower or otherwise throw myself together (#yaydryshampoo). Thank goodness, because if it were left up to me and those 6 am early birds, I would have experienced approximately zero showering in the past three years.

He spent the first year of the twins’ lives going to each and every doctor appointment, because there was no way I was tackling that alone with two infants when they needed shots. 

We’re lucky enough that he works from home right now. If I desperately need him to watch a kid or two while I take the third to the doctor, or we just got outside and suddenly a toddler needs to run back in to pee, or in the moments where I was exhausted and just couldn’t take it anymore because the baby just wouldn’t go down for his nap, he’s able to rearrange his schedule or step out for five minutes to lend a hand. This past week I took the boys to get haircuts and left Brooklyn behind, and she played on her tablet in Daddy’s office while he continued to work. It's not that he's doing the most stellar parenting in these moments, but having the option to leave one behind, one less little body for me to deal with, is an amazing luxury right now.

And writing? Not only did he gift me a year of creativity (good one, hon), but he gives me the time and space to write, by taking over childcare duties for hours at a time on the weekends, cleaning up the house in the evening when I need to get something out of my mind and onto the page, and not batting an eye when he walks into a room and is greeted with “I can’t talk get out of here now” as I tap away at my laptop. 

On more than one occasion I have gone to an event: a party, a baby shower, whatever, and had people greet me with the utmost surprise, “Oh, you’re here! Where are the children?” Uh...with my husband? Y’know, their dad? The other parent. One woman was truly astounded that I came to attend a party and left my husband home alone with all three children. I’m not sure what that says about her own marital and home life, but what I wanted to say was, “Lady, when I left all three of them were NAPPING! I think he’ll be just fine!” Not only is he fully capable and qualified, but he's just as astounded as I am to be confronted with these questions.

So here’s to you Tyson, and to all of the other dads out there who are taking over everything from diaper duty to nighttime wake-up calls. The thing is, we’ve always been in this whole parenting thing together. I mean, we kind of had to with that whole twins thing and all. To-get-up-or-not-to-get-up for those nighttime feedings and marathon rocking sessions wasn’t exactly a choice for either of us. If one was up, all of us were up. But you didn’t shirk away from it the third time around, either. You got up every time with Nolan, too. Every. Time. You never said that it was my job because I was the one who had to feed him or that you had to work tomorrow (as if I didn’t). You got up, you did the work, and you parented, right there along with me.

We don’t always agree on every single little parenting decision, but I’ve never felt alone in any of it. We’re both in the trenches, every day. We’re both tired, sometimes beaten down, but we’re here, together, ready to do it all again the next day.  

So how do I do it all?

How did I go out to brunch with my friends last weekend? Because daddy is home with the kids.

How did I possibly put on makeup and brush my hair this morning? Because it's daddy's job to get up with the kids and feed them breakfast.

How did I find the time to write this essay? Because my husband asked me what I needed this weekend and I told him I needed to get out of the house for a few hours. So I did.

I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. I don’t do it alone.

Happy Father’s Day, babe. Let’s keep up the good work together.

All photos credit to Prall Photography.

Quiet Time

“Do you want to watch another Daniel or do you want to do something with Mommy?” I ask, part of me hoping that she will choose time with me, but a bigger part hoping she chooses the TV.

One episode of Daniel Tiger has just finished, the closing song still playing. I look into her round face, those bright blue eyes, to get her attention.

“You can watch Daniel with me,” she says, with a sweet voice and a big grin, “I have a spot for you right here!” and she moves over a little, making a spot next to her on the couch.

Well, I can’t really argue with that. I press play and another episode begins. I run upstairs to grab the book I was reading, a pen, my journal, coffee, the baby monitor.

Her brothers are both sleeping. The little one because he always naps at this time and the twin one because he fell asleep surrounded by toys in a pile of blankets on the floor during their hour of quiet time (#nottired).

I don’t know what that means for bedtime tonight. Three separate bedtimes? Who knows.

This nap transition has been exhausting me lately. Two three-year olds all day long is too many three-year olds for too many hours. Too many emotions, too much time together. And with three possible combinations: both take a nap, neither take a nap, or one takes a nap and the other does not, the routine every day seems like a surprise. In a way it’s like a return to that newborn phase, where you don’t know when they’ll nap or for how long, each day’s schedule a mere shadow of the day before.

But right now it is quiet. Daniel and his family are camping on the TV. I hear the birds through our own open window. There is a breeze; it will be a perfect afternoon to play outside. Brooklyn curls up beside me, all three-year old girl with her curls and that dress and those lashes curled up with her hand on my leg. I read and rest and have my own version of quiet time before the chaos begins again.