To the Siblings Left Behind

I had prepped all summer for my oldest kids, the twins, to head off to Kindergarten. 

We prepared in tangible ways. I checked off the list of school supplies: crayons (both twistable and regular), scissors, notebooks, glue sticks: double of everything. We shopped for new clothes and set aside time for hair cuts. We went through the Kindergarten workbooks from their preschool teachers. We practiced opening lunch boxes, granola bars, and applesauce pouches; I showed them what was trash and what to bring home.

I tried to prepare them socially. We talked about how some kids in their class might have different skin colors. Some might have two mommies and some might have only one parent. Some friends might not celebrate the same holidays or eat the same foods we do. I told them I wanted them to do well in school, but the most important thing is for them to be kind.

Emotional preparation was more difficult. I wondered how the long days would affect them, something impossible to prepare them for. Would they be absolutely exhausted when they stepped off the bus at 4:00 pm? Would they need a snack, a hug, a nap?

I made lists to reassure myself. At least I had control over some things. I shopped for crackers and cheese and organic juice boxes for lunch and snack time. I added important dates to our family calendar. I stuck a note on the refrigerator: water bottle, snack pouch, lunch box, juice box, homework folder to help us remember everything in the morning rush.

I thought about how those long days would affect me. Just what was I supposed to do all day with their younger brother? I’ve never had only one kid at home all day. What would I do with Nolan and all three-and-a-half years of his energy, his spirit, his mad drive for socialization?

The first day of school arrived, and as that big yellow bus pulled away that very first morning (they ran on without a look back), I held Nolan in my arms to wave goodbye. And then it happened. His lower lip pouted, his eyes filled with tears, and he reached after the bus in despair once he realized what had happened. His 5 1/2-year old brother and sister, the built-in playmates he’s had for literally his entire life, were gone. And he was left behind.

In all these preparations, I hadn't taken into account what all this would mean for him. Not once had I thought about how all this would affect Nolan, number three in my trio, born exactly two years and two days after his brother and sister, who wears the same shoe size they do, the three-and-a-half-year-old who is so big strangers frequently stop to ask if they’re triplets.

Read the rest over on the Twin Cities Moms Blog.

Life in the Busy (or The New 4:00 Hour)

In “The Habit” newsletter this week (a weekly email devoted to writing), Jonathan Rogers wrote:

 “If what you're looking for is an excuse for not writing, the busyness of your life is a good one. I should know: I use that one all the time. But having more time or a better desk probably isn't going to help as much as you think if you're not already using the hour or two you have at that little desk in the corner.”

It struck me. Since the school year began - really since August hit with all of its NO-ACTIVITIES-FOR-YOU business - I’ve felt pretty dried up. The kids sapped most of my energy in August. Then school hit, along with ALL THE OTHER THINGS. Dance and religious education started. I’ve said “yes” where I used to say “I have three small kids so NO”: to volunteer positions, a writing class, a leadership position at church. Things I feel I have some space for now.

At night, I often stare for awhile at a blinking cursor, with a blank mind but a full brain. At my own little desk in the corner, I struggle to find something to say. 

And I wonder how much is hiding behind the busyness and how much is actual...busyness?

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The hour from 4:00-5:00 pm used to be the single longest hour in my entire day. To survive for one more hour until the clock flipped over to 5:00 felt like an eternity.

4:00 was about the time I gave up for the day. Where I plopped in the grass and willed our neighbors to come over and play. When I lay down on the couch, to hell with the quantity of toys scattered across the floor or whoever was wailing about a minor bodily injury around me.

Really, I don’t think 4:00 pm has ever been a great time for me. It was the least productive time in my professional life. I often tackled busywork tasks like sketching out floor plans or scanning tile catalogs. I dreaded phone calls during the 4 o’clock hour, when my brain was fried and my introvert side was all d-o-n-e.

I’m still ready to be done for the day at 4:00 pm. But since that’s the time Caden and Brooklyn’s bus pulls up to release them back to me, 4:00 feels less like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and more like entering another tunnel.

“It felt like I went from a nine-hour day to a twelve-hour day,” a friend said to me recently, regarding the transition to full-time-all-day-every-day-school. That hit me as exactly right.

While my day was far from over at 4:00 pm previously, the end was in sight. Another hour until there was another set of hands to help wrangle small children. I could begin my mental check-out from the day, devote time to dinner and dishes and not much else. (Tyson had bedtime duty.) I was almost free for the day - free to leave the house to write, to do yoga. (*ahem* to mindlessly scroll Instagram…)

Now at 4:00, it feels like my day starts all over again.

There are new nighttime responsibilities added to the ones that already existed: filling water bottles and snack bags and tucking them in backpacks, checking communication folders, planning lunches for the next day. I often do bedtime now with Caden and Brooklyn since I don’t see them all day. These duties, unlike many of my other nighttime tasks, can’t be pushed off. The toys, if need be, can still be scattered across the front hall all day tomorrow, but those lunches need to be packed and ready to go by 8:15 am.

And morning comes with its own chaos. Breakfast for three kids (plus me, hopefully), unloading clean dishes from the dishwasher, loading the freshly-dirtied breakfast ones. Drinking coffee before helping Nolan find clothes, supervising Caden and Brooklyn (make sure they’re actually getting dressed and not distracted with half a sock on somewhere). Brushing three sets of teeth and doing Brooklyn’s hair. Packing up those lunches and triple-check to see that everything is in their backpacks. On preschool days Nolan and I have to be out of the house by 8:25 am. Caden and Brooklyn catch the bus at 8:45.

It’s fine. The mornings don’t bother me so much. I thrive on routine. And with three kids who often wake before the sun, it’s not a mad dash the way I know it is for other families.

Plus, after the morning rush three days a week, I return home to quiet.

Quiet is rarely a word that can be applied to our evenings.

Dinnertime spills over into bedtime which seems to be where all those Big Kindergarten Emotions come out. They’ve held it together all day and now they’re home and they’re safe and their energy bubbles over into one more endless round of giggles at the table, whining about a LEGO they’ve lost, or sobbing that they want their room painted blue again because they liked it when it was blue and I didn’t even ask them if I could paint it white. (1: I totally did ask and we all agreed on white and 2: you’ve literally never brought this up before. Can we please talk about it at some other time - any other time - when it’s not already 43 minutes past your bedtime?)

My day feels stretched out, beginning with that four o’clock hour. And my evenings feel like they’ve slipped away.

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I sit down at the end of the day, my later-than-usual, stretched-out day. I’ve felt so caught up in those lunches and remembering drop-off and pick-up times. I’ve scribbled Post-It note reminders to bring sandwich bags to Nolan’s preschool, to pick up ingredients for the church potluck, to send money for the back to school dinner. I send an email to the teacher, place the book order, cross off items on my list, and make another for the next day: wrap presents for the party, revise that document, make a phone call, write this post for that deadline.

I don’t know if it’s busyness as an excuse or actually being busy. I see how I could get lost in this phase of life, maybe even more so than in the baby stage. Where I don’t have naptime to fall back on and more often than not have a (non-napping) three-year old around. When 4 o’clock hits and our house explodes into chaos and emotions and dinner to make and backpacks to clean out.

Maybe I am busy.

Maybe I’m hiding behind it sometimes.

Maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I’ll learn to make the most of that blinking cursor during the single hour I find in the evenings, in my own corner of my bedroom. Maybe I’ll find a way to energize myself during the 4:00 hour. (Hahaha.) Maybe it’s okay for awhile if that cursor blinks at me more than I would like. Maybe I’ll find life in the busy and return here to put it all down on the page.

A Week in the Life

On Monday, they have VBS. I drop the kids off in the church basement, which is decorated for a journey into both outer space and scripture. Even Nolan, at three, is old enough to join his brother and sister. They all wave to me cheerfully, hardly a half-glance back after I sign them in. Their friends greet them with smiles as they race to their spots on the floor to learn a new song and hand motions. 

“Have fun!” the volunteers tell me before I escape. I give them both a smile and a silent prayer of thanks for their willingness to step in here so I have a morning to myself. They’ll spend the next three hours singing, dancing, creating, snacking, and laughing while I run errands, write words, and rotate loads of laundry in a quiet house.

I walk up the steps and back out into the sunshine. It’s amazing how much easier I can breathe without six little hands pulling on my arms, my shirt, bumping into my legs, without little voices asking for a snack, if they can go to a friend’s house, wondering where the moon is during the day.

Tuesday afternoon, we set up a lemonade stand at the end of the driveway. I’m sure we’ve become a familiar sight to the neighbors, since we’ve been out here at least once or twice a week for most of the summer. Caden’s cries of, “Lemonade! Lemonade! Who wants lemonade?” reverberate around the neighborhood.

A lawn crew drives up and stops. They walk over and contribute two whole dollars to our cause. Nolan pours wobbly cups of lemonade and my daughter hands them out. The nine-year old from around the corner stops by, too. She passes her quarter to Caden and says she told her friend we were outside, that she would be over soon to drink lemonade and to play.

It doesn’t take long before we’ve gathered an entire group of neighbors in the front yard. Kids ride back and forth on the path in front of our house on scooters, balance bikes, and skateboards. Another mom, a friend from just down the street plops in the grass beside me. Some of the older kids race around to the back of our house to play on our playset and Nolan follows. I’m grateful for these pre-teens. I need a break from his energy, and they can wear him out better than I can. I take advantage of their enthusiasm until it’s time to go inside for dinner.

Wednesday, I text with a group of friends from the twins’ first year of preschool. We text often and still see each other occasionally for playdates or cocktail hour. They’re an easy group of moms to be with—they’re funny and easy-going. I can tell them that my kids are jerks and receive commiseration, not judgment. They understand, they’ll say, since their kids are jerks, too.

“I may have set a world record for the number of curse words said in a single morning,” I send out one day.

“It’s something in the air!” one replies, “I called my mom and dropped them off with her so I didn’t hurt them yesterday!”

“My husband and I have nicknamed our five-year old ‘the little twerp’ this summer,” another responds.

I’m in good company here. Despite these text threads, no one takes anyone else too seriously. We still think all of our children are lovely, intelligent, delightful human beings. Except for the times they’re not. And then it’s nice to have the space to vent without fear of judgment.

Read about the rest of my week in the life over on Kindred Mom.

Favorite Twin Cities Breweries

My husband and I spent the first five years of our marriage living in Madison, Wisconsin before moving back to the Twin Cities. We loved it there. Wisconsin is known for many things: cheese, Packers football, and, my favorite, beer.

We were immersed in the craft beer world. Not only did we live near fabulous breweries, but each restaurant we frequented had beer lists that read more like chapter books, with double-digit amounts of local, craft beers on tap. I quickly moved on from the Bud Light of my college days and picked up on the difference between ales and lagers, appreciated the hoppiness of IPAs, and learned the correct way to pronounce "hefeweizen."

While the craft beer movement has exploded throughout the country, we're especially lucky in the Twin Cities. There are over 130 breweries in the state and most of them are located in Minneapolis, St. Paul, and the surrounding suburbs. Local taprooms have even become a favorite hang-out for my husband, though he prefers not to drink himself. We love to check out new ones on date nights, bounce around a few with a group of friends, and sometimes we even bring our three kids along. Here are some of our Twin Cities favorites.

Find out my favorites over on the Twin Cities Moms Blog!

Southwest-style Corn Chowder

We’re straddling seasons right now. August screams “summer!” to me while September shouts “fall!” and, though it’s still technically August, one foot seems to be firmly planted in each.

We’re soaking up the last bits of summer while also preparing for the school year. I made an inaugural school supply run with Caden and Brooklyn last weekend. It reminded me of my own days of school shopping (also at Target, also in the cardboard bins set up all the way in the back of the store, though without those fancy Twistable crayons) and I envisioned the years we have ahead of this particular tradition. We’ve practiced using lunch boxes and next week we’ll see their classroom and meet their teacher.

The kids still have a couple of things on their summer agenda: a movie night, to visit the children’s museum, a day at the State Fair. But for the most part, we’re summer-ed out. Just yesterday the kids splashed in the pool in the backyard, set up for one last summer hurrah. It didn’t last long. Not even a half hour before they were blue-lipped and shivering, “Can I go inside and put my regular clothes on?” Seventy-seven degrees just doesn’t feel the same at this time of year as it did in July.

I told Tyson to drain the pool, to completely deflate it and pack it away for next year. Part of me screamed, “Not yet! Too soon! What happened to the lazy days of June?” and the other part of me is entirely ready to move on to regular schedules and routines, no matter how much they might be changing for us this year.

The days have been cooler lately, a completely welcome change as far as I’m concerned. The highs, while they’re still near 80 during the warmest part of the day, dip down into the 50s at night. I’ve been cozying up at the end of the day in my favorite pair of joggers which have emerged from their summer hibernation. It’s my favorite way to end any day. Let’s be honest, it’s hard to be any sort of cozy while wearing shorts.

This soup straddles the seasons in the same way we’ve been. It can hold its own as we feel the first hints of fall yet features an ingredient associated with the height of summer. You can eat a bowl of this out on your patio wrapped in a sweater - provided it’s a lightweight one. (At least here in the Midwest. I know you southerners are still sweltering.)

I often find traditional corn chowders to be too sweet, especially when using corn at the peak of the season. I mean, it’s grown to be sweet, and while I love a cob slathered with some butter, salt, and pepper on it’s own, that flavor feels off to me in a soup. The added spice here balances out the sweetness. So does the acid from the lime. 

You can serve it with hearty bread to mop up all the goodness at the end. I prefer to eat it with tortilla chips and it basically becomes a dip. However you eat it, do it soon, before all the best summer sweet corn is gone.

(P.s. The kids still won’t eat soup, though Nolan will attempt it sometimes. I serve them a couple ears of corn, some chips, shredded cheese, fruit, and chicken nuggets and call it good.)

Southwest-style Corn Chowder
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This chowder is basically a combination of this traditional corn chowder recipe and Smitten Kitchen’s elotes-style one. I pretty much mashed them together until I had what I consider to be the best of both worlds. And a San Antonio Margarita with a bowl of this never hurt anyone, either.

INGREDIENTS

• 8 ears fresh sweet corn, preferably from the nearest Farmer’s Market, husked, silks removed, and kernels cut from the cob

• 2 Tablespoons butter

• 4-6 slices bacon, chopped (quantity depends on how thick they are…and how much you like bacon)

• 1 medium red onion, diced

• 2 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 7-ounce can diced green chilies

• 1 Tablespoon chili powder

• 2 Tablespoons flour

• 5 cups chicken stock

• 1 lb. Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into thin chunks (1/4 inch or so)

• 3/4 cup whole milk

• 1/2 cup cream

• salt and freshly ground pepper

• Toppings (optional): shredded cheese, chopped chives or green onions, sour cream, sliced avocado, cilantro, a squeeze of lime (though this is not optional, in my opinion), and also don’t forget the bacon from earlier

• Tortilla chips or bread, for serving

INSTRUCTIONS

• Melt butter in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until crispy. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Set aside until the very end to top your chowder.

• Turn heat to medium-low and add onion. Cook, stirring frequently, until onion is almost soft, about 5-6 minutes. Add the garlic, chilies, and chili powder and cook for a minute or two more.

• Add flour and stir together until it disappears and things kind of clump together. Cook another minute more, stirring frequently, to prevent sticking and remove any “flour-y” taste. Add chicken stock, corn, potatoes, and milk and bring to a steady simmer. (Not quite a boil: be careful with that milk!) Simmer, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes, until potatoes are tender and corn is cooked through.

• Add salt and fresh black pepper to taste. Finish with cream, stir thoroughly to combine, and let simmer until thickened slightly, about 2-3 minutes more.

• To serve, ladle into bowls and top generously with chosen toppings. My personal preference is for bacon, sour cream, shredded Monterey Jack cheese, cilantro, and a hefty dose of lime. Serve with tortilla chips on the side, or just use them to scoop everything up because chowder is essentially dip in a bowl.

NOTE

• Yes, cutting the kernels off the cob is a pain but I promise it’s worth it. Do not use the frozen stuff - it’s not at all the same. My best advice is to cut one end off the cob (so you’re working with a flat surface), set it inside a deep, wide bowl, and chop straight down - no sawing motion here, unless you like finding corn kernels all over your kitchen for the next several days.

• You could also sub jalapenos for the diced green chilies. And add cayenne pepper to taste. Or take the amount of chili powder up or down. Definitely a personal preference on the spice level here.