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Bean Love
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It's all bean to me.
Jul 01
Promises
Pie, still reeling from that damn whale, has finagled a new routine of pre-bed bedtime out of me, where both Beans crawl into our bed, I put on the symphonies channel on Sirius and they drift to sleep in the safety of our room. It’s been a little over a week now and every night at around 11:00 p.m., J and I trudge up to our bedroom to collect the thieves of the cool sheets (which, let’s be honest, are the best thing ever!) and return them to their cribs.
Last night, I had to run upstairs twice, all the while muttering the decision to go with the colonial over the ranch, when I overheard the girls pushing and shoving each other off the bed. I gave them each a stern talking to, reminding them that, just because they were in our room, doesn’t mean it isn’t bedtime. Same thing, different room, Girls. By the third trip, I was tired and fed up with the shenanigans. I flipped off the music, took the stuffies away and demanded silence and sleep. Then, I turned and left, leaving behind kicks and wails of protest. Finally, things settled down and I stopped hearing whispers and began to hear the soft snoring Pie and the faint rattle of Peanut’s breath. I settled in to my newest book, while J worked on the laptop in the basement. Soon, my eyes began drooping and not even the sound of the Tigers tying up the game could keep me from nodding off.
Until, just before eleven, I heard a crash and a wail. I sat straight up on the couch, wondering if I imagined it. The crying intensified and I flew, quicker than I ever had, up the stairs. I found Peanut laying in a crumpled heap of sheets on the floor beside the bed, eyes closed, head in hand, moaning, “Momma! Momma! Momma!”
I gathered her up into me and shushed her. I asked her where her boo boos were and peppered kisses along her forehead and on her elbow, at her direction. I held her up and looked into her face to ask her if she was okay after all, but she was still sleeping. And still chanting my name. My name. Momma, momma, momma. She wouldn’t stop right away and my heart broke at the haunting way that she called to me.
“Shhh, shhh. Baby, I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay.” I kissed her head again and held her tighter to convey that she was safe with me, and to apologize for allowing her to be injured. I wanted to wake her to make sure she was okay, to verify that she didn’t hit her head just the right way and had a worse ailment than a bumped elbow and head. Tears formed in my eyes, listening to her cry out to me in her sleep, so I kept rocking her until her chant became a whisper and she weakly pulled from me to lay on the bed that she knew was near. I watched her until her brow relaxed and her breathing regulated.
I thought about my family and friends who don’t have their mother to run to them when they are needed, through distance, through death, through a horrible misunderstanding. I thought about my mother and how she was half way around the world when her mother died. And how she was half way across the country when my sister’s daughter passed away. And how blessed I am to be four miles away from her, to leave my children in her loving arms while I am away. To still have her chide me for my clothing and food choices. To be nearby when I fall. We’ve had our differences, but in the end, I’m still her little girl. And with those thoughts, I gathered Peanut up for one last hug and moved on to her sister, oblivious to the accident, and ran my fingers through her hair and whispered the promise that I would always be nearby.
Jun 27
Winner of the Mother of the Week Award
Not Momma Bean who, whilst attempting a new recipe, failed to allow enough time for the wine to reduce and quite possibly served her Beans alcohol for dinner.*
That being said, the Beans ate better than usual and J gave the new dish 8.5/10. Sounds like we’ll be getting our drink on during every meal!
*It should be noted that no Bean was harmed during the making of this dinner.
Jun 26
Just a little bit of randomness…
1. I was the receipient of free coffee yesterday and today! MIL gave me a coupon for free iced coffee at Starbucks every Wednesday for a month. Yes!! It’s only a tall, but Starbucks girl and I are thick as theives (or she sees the desperation in my eyes) so she upgrades me to a grande with hazelnut for nothing but a smile. And today I stopped at the new drive-thru (I wept tears of joy at that) Beaner’s to pick up my free opening week coffee. Tastes a little burnt, but it’s caffeine. It’s the little things, people.
2. Yesterday, the Beans and I did a little shopping and we did not come back empty handed. I’m a sucker for clothing coupons and I spend them as fast as I get them. And the Disney Store was having a killer sale. Princess sunglasses - check. Princess jams - check. I also purchased a dress for a couple of upcoming weddings. If anyone needs a boost of self-confidence and encouragement, I’ll rent out a Bean at a reasonable hourly rate. Every time I donned a new dress, they oohed and ahhed as if they were watching Heidi Klum herself, strutting down the runway. You can never get enough of, “You’re so beautiful, Momma,” even when you’ve got your hair pulled back, you’re in an old MSU shirt and torn jeans and you know better.
3. The Pie has lovely eyes. I always ask to see them and she responds by batting her long lashes (inherited from J, thankfully) and scrunching her nose. Yesterday, when I asked to see them, she frowned at me and said, “I don’t want green eyes Momma. I want brown eyes, just like you.” And yes. I cried.
4. And lastly…Peanut is still not potty-trained. And, frankly, I haven’t tried. Pie is done and done and I’m thrilled but I don’t have the energy for the battle. I know it’s all a power trip. Peanut knows what she is doing and will actually tell me while she’s in the process. She runs to the bathroom with Pie and is her personal cheerleader, hugging her as she sits on the toilet and reminding me that Pie gets a reward for her business. But, when I ask her (half-heartedly), she just shakes her head no and responds, “Maybe tomorrow.” I keep telling myself that one day, I’ll look for her and she’ll shout from the bathroom, “I’m going pee, Mom!” Right? Right?!?!?
Jun 24
Dear Whale,
You really scared the Pie, you know that, Whale? When she woke in the morning, she told us that you spent the evening in her room. At first, she was brave and all business. Her bottom lip began to quiver when she told us about the cage you put her in. In the beginning we thought it was just her active, vibrant imagination. But when I went to leave for work in the morning, she clung to me and asked me what I dreamt about. Surely I couldn’t leave her if I had been a party to such an unpleasant night.
I told her that I dreamt of the zoo and of picnics in the park with my girls. I dreamt of planting flowers and running through sprinklers. I saw ice cream cones and I chased our dogs. I told her that everything was wonderful in my dreams because she was in them. That didn’t help. J took her and she wrapped her arms around him and when he asked her what she wanted to dream about, she said, “My daddy.” I cried.
A little later in the day, I called Mom to see if the topic was brought up again. She assured me that Pie was fine and hadn’t mentioned a thing about you, Whale. But when I arrived at the house a couple of hours later, Mom confirmed to me that Pie was still disturbed by what had occured the night before.
As it neared bedtime and we commenced our nightly routine, I could see Pie getting more and more anxious. I promised her that I was nearby and would never let anything happen to her. I told her that you had gone and would never return. I invited J to search the nursery to verify that fact. She burst into tears, angry that we were subjecting her to the same fate as the night before, worried that you’d return with your cage.
It was her first nightmare, Whale, and apparently it was a doozy. I couldn’t send her back to the room, though I may have done more damage than I meant to. Instead, I gathered their blankets and let them sleep on our bed. Even that wasn’t consolation enough. When I went to kiss her goodnight, Pie grabbed my hand and pulled her toward me, tears in check but still on the verge of escaping. I curled up next to her and whispered promises that everything would be okay. Finally, her grip loosened a bit and I slipped away. When I turned to make sure she was asleep, she was looking at me. Lips still quivering, but eyes heavy and far away. Then she closed her eyes and turned into her sleeping sister. I wanted to crawl back into the bed with her but I thought the better of it.
When it was time for J and I to call it a night, I gently lifted each girl and placed them into their cribs. Neither stirred but I still whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here. Sweet dreams. Happy thoughts,” in the hopes that she’d hear me and steer her dreaming to something peaceful.
When she awoke this morning, I held my breath waiting to hear if you had broken my promises to her and returned in the middle of the night. Thankfully, she did not speak about you again, but she did mention that she was in her bed last night instead of mine. The tinge of sadness in her voice made me worry that she felt that I had abandoned her to be snatched up again by you. But then she hugged me tight and kissed me goodbye and I was forgiven just like that.
Please Whale, don’t make me a liar. Leave her alone and take your boogeyman and ghost friends with you. Keep the shadows away and don’t make her fall into thin air. Let her dream of puppies and sunshine and of her daddy. Go away.
Yours truly,
MB
May 27
The one where I admit I am to blame.
I’ve tried stickers.
I’ve tried bubbles.
I’ve tried M&Ms.
I bought big girl undies.
In all different shades and characters.
I’ve promised school.
I’ve promised big girl beds.
Nothing is working!
Nothing!
I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.
Actually. I do. It’s my fault. My procrastination and laziness has been the weak link in this project.
This weekend, we had several accidents on the carpet in our living room. Peanut withheld for a day and then woke in the middle of the night, announcing her accomplishment by shouting into the dark, “Change my diaper please!” Pie regressed. Where she had before been exemplary at doing #1 in the potty, she was found clueless, uninterested and damp several times throughout the weekend. I admit, I only half-assed it. We were supposed to stay home all weekend, but balmy weather and restless Beans meant that we weren’t happy sitting at home and waiting for the Potty-fairy to work her magic.
Last night, we had what I think was a small success. Peanut, who was the one that wouldn’t even place her bum on the potty, went. J and I were initially unsure if it was bathwater or actual pee that poured itself into the toilet. I choose to think it was the latter and so I rewarded Peanut with a few minutes on the deck with the bottle of bubbles.
I think I was a little too cocky, going into this adventure. After all, these were the girls that were sleeping through the night by nine weeks and that kicked the bottle and the pipe by fourteen months. Maybe I thought this would go just as smoothly. So far, I haven’t really had to work at this motherhood thing. I mean, aside from the daily chores and physical and mental exhaustion and all that, I can honestly say that motherhood has been a lot easier for me than I ever anticipated. I’ve been blessed with two very easy-going, quick learning children. I never had to struggle with colic, we had few colds and illnesses compared to my friends’ children. I didn’t have sleep issues and, because of their low weight, I have been lucky to be able to feed them anything and everything within reason, in order to increase their caloric intake. Life couldn’t be easier, having these two for children.
So, maybe I thought that potty-training would go just as easily. Maybe I assumed that we’d glide through this as we have through other milestones. Whatever it is, I am now in the grips of my first breakdown of motherhood. So, here’s me, taking the blame. Realizing it’s my fault. Figuring out that I actually have to work at this. And, here’s the thing: I’m going to be better; I’m going to stop giving the girls mixed signals; I’m going to stop starting and stopping and confusing them altogether; I’m going to be patient and understanding and I’m going to accept that this isn’t going to just happen without work.
And then, when they are fully potty-trained, I’m going to take my diaper money and buy myself a great bottle of wine.
May 24
An umbrella shouldn’t be so pretty…
otherwise you’ll want it to rain all day long.
May 22
Bedtime. Lately.
7:45 p.m.: One last cup of milk for the Beans, to get an extra dose of calories into them.
8:10 p.m.: Fishy time. A’s nightly date with the nebulizer.
8:15 p.m.: The Pie, sensing what is looming, looks out the window and protests, “But it’s not dark out yet!”
8:16 p.m. to 8:21 p.m.: J and I, on the floor of the living room, try to coax, threaten, bully and plead with the Beans to “get over here now and get your jammies on”!
8:22 p.m.: I look at the clock and remind J that it is almost past their bedtime.*
8:23 p.m. to 8:28 p.m.: I get into a tickle war with Pie and J gives me the, “I thought we were supposed to calm them down and not get them riled up,” look.
8:29 p.m. to 8:39 p.m.: Teeth-brushing time, complete with singing the song that J has repeatedly informed me is technically incorrect and possibly dangerous:
Brushing your teeth all day long,
Makes your teeth big and strong.
Brushing your teeth every day,
Makes those cavities go away.
Hey, it works. Whatever.
8:40 p.m. to 8:43 p.m.: The search for both Duckies and both Cookies. One night, this is going to end in disaster.
8:44 p.m. to 8:54 p.m.: Finally in the nursery, I settle down on the floor with the Beans to read a story, while J refills the humidifier.
8:55 p.m. to 9:00 9:05 p.m.: The Beans hug and kiss. J and I give hugs, kisses and a boop** to each girl, and then switch. Then each girl demands a high five.
Then a kiss from Avery.
Then we convince them that Max is too heavy to lift into the crib.
Then we leave, only to hear A call out softly, “Momma?”
“Yes, Audie?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too baby. Go to sleep.”
“But Momma?”
“Aud!”
“I love you! And I love my daddy.”
“We love you too…”
“Momma!”
“Mag-”
“What you doing?”
“Go to bed Maggie! Talk to your sister if you don’t want to sleep!”
“Okay Momma. Daddy?”
…
…
…
“Daahhh-deeeee!”
9:06 p.m.: Finally.
*We tell everyone that their bedtime is 8:30 p.m. It used to be. Now it’s just a goal that we hope to reach again one day.
**From “Superbad”. Don’t ask.
May 08
Momma = Me
It’s Mother’s Day this weekend and time for me to reflect. I’m a mom! It continues to amaze me, the things I’ve discovered in these two and a half years of motherhood.
I found patience.
I know how to cook.
I can’t finish a book in less than a week any longer.
The Wiggles and Jack Johnson are the most played artists on my iPod.
I know how to draw a lion.
I work part time.
I garden.
I rarely eat at restaurants that use cloth napkins anymore.
Hiding half my body under a throw blanket counts as a great hiding spot.
Sidewalk chalk is awesome.
I choose sensible shoes for (gasp!) comfort now.
I sometimes forget to check my mail for a week.
I know what muffin top is now.
I can’t watch the news.
My handbags all have Purell hidden in a pocket.
I only ever see three quarters of a movie anymore.
I shop at mom-to-mom sales for “outside toys”.
Routine isn’t so boring anymore.
I pick other peoples’ boogies.
I have magic in my kisses that make bruises and pain go away.
I do playdates.
I bristle when they call me “Mom”.
I love when you ask me to see pictures of the girls.
Chasing after Beans = workout.
I appreciate my mother more every day.
It only takes 2.75 glasses of wine to get me drunk anymore.
I love being a mom.
I love being Mom.
Apr 28
A conversation between sisters.
Pie: “Hey Aud. Sit down here and listen to me.”
Peanut (running in circles around Pie): “I can’t. I’m too busy!”
Pie: “Why?”
Peanut: “I’m running! Run Maggie!”
Pie: “Okay!”
And then Audie pulled Maggie up by the arm and they ran and ran until they collapsed to the ground in a fit of laughter.
Apr 18
Hello World. Are you ready for Beans?
At 31 months, the Beans have been on more plane trips than their father had by the time he was 31. Now the count is 6 to 4, but only because Daddy Bean and I squired ourselves away for a little R&R to Puerto Rico last year and left the little ones with the grandparents. Otherwise it would be all tied up.
I’ve lived in three different countries in my life. Three states. For the first sixteen years of my life, plane trips were more common than road trips. Daddy Bean had never been to Chicago before I met him. Never stepped foot in Canada. He hadn’t even been to the northern part of Michigan, for God’s sake! His only trip out of the state was to South Carolina one year with his family. We were like night and day, this boy and me. He wanted to stay, I wanted to go. I won.
By the time the girls were born, we had been to Chicago almost every year that we were together (including the year that they were born, when he had to wheel my 25 week pregnant body around the Windy City - not as easy as it sounds). Toronto, Orlando. All over Michigan. What was supposed to be his first flight on our honeymoon in Vegas ended up being a road trip to Florida, due to the 9/11 tragedy and the grounding of all flights. Instead his first flight was to Las Vegas for my sister’s wedding. The Beans’ first flight was to Oklahoma last year.
He’s caught on to my need to go. Even if it’s just to Mackinac Island. Although he was resistant at first, he’s begun to enjoy traveling and he understands why I want to make sure that the Beans discover a love for it. The thought of flying still terrifies him, but he hides it well from them. He has to. I won’t have it. There is too much to see and do to be hindered by such a fear. And, before it has a chance to take one of them too, I want to go. I want to take them to my old stomping grounds in Virgina and Washington D.C. I want to show them the beauty of Big Sur. I want to introduce them to my mother’s sister and share some world-class food in the middle of the busy streets of Bangkok.
Tomorrow, we’ll be taking them on their next plane ride to Oklahoma to meet their new cousin. They are giddy with excitement. In September, they’ll be traveling to Vegas to act as flower girls in their aunt’s wedding. Next year - Disney and hopefully either Boston or California. After that, who knows. I hope Barcelona, Dublin, Phuket, Montreal. Wherever they want to go.
Apr 17
Little Miss Home & Garden
She loves watching Food Network with me. Markers are her screwdrivers when she checks to make sure that tables and chairs are properly built. Sweeping the kitchen includes, but is not limited to, dust bunnies, crumbs and doggies. And she waited with bated breath for the flowers that she planted to sprout so that she could use her new watering can.
Apr 12
Check please!!!!!!!!!!
When the girls were just infants and I took them to visit M and her boys, I was a bit disappointed that, instead of having a proper lunch in a restaurant, she immediately informed me that she’d be making us lunch. And, during our next visit, when tummies began to grumble, M again took the reins and had her sister run to get us carry-out at the local Applebees. Not that I don’t enjoy her cooking or am above Applebees’ carry-out. I just thought, since we don’t get together often and I hadn’t been to many restaurants since the Beans arrived, we could go to a place where the food was prepared and hot and we didn’t have to clean up a thing.
Now, I understand. I know exactly what she was doing two years ago. She was protecting her sanity, averting disaster, saving me from the ugly truth.
Toddlers and restaurants don’t go together well.
I shouldn’t lump the whole lot of them into one sticky, food throwing, hollering, defiant group. They don’t all become irrascible messes upon entering “eating places” (a Bean phrase). And even the most polite and well-mannered little human has her moment. Kids are unpredictable. I’m just now realizing this. It’s been two and a half years, give me a break.
The Beans arewere very well-mannered. We are were the parents that smile sympathetically at the table next to us, filled with screaming kids, while our little angels sit quietly coloring their menus. Of course, they’d have their moments, individually, and we’d easily quell the storm by whispering encouragements into their ear or taking them for a little walk to the restroom. And then we’d resume our delightful dinner in peace, able to carry on a decent conversation while the girls occupied themselves with people-watching and their own personal conversation.
In the past month or so, that pretty little picture of dining enjoyment has been scribbled over with a non-washable marker. If it’s not the fact that they don’t want to sit in their booster seats or high chairs, it’s that their BLUE crayon has fallen to the floor for the eleventy millionth time. Food is boycotted, milk is spilled, threats are ignored. If we’re lucky, that’s the end of it. If we’re unlucky, there is crying, defiance, even yelling. It’s only happend three times but we’ve quickly learned our lesson. The kicker is that the minute we leave the restaurant, exhausted and beaten, M&A revert to their usual well-behaved selves.
Today I mentioned to J that I felt like Italian. He looked at me like I was nuts and reminded me that the night before the girls had made a quick mess of things at a very family friendly, loud, balloon and ice cream sundae chain. I remembered telling my dad, who we had invited to come along, that I was glad that he was able to see his perfect little angels like this.
Fine. Carry-out it is. I placed the order, more than a little bit resentful. And then I remembered the look of terror that flashed on M’s face two years ago when we began discussing lunch. This is what had frightened her so much. I get it now!
I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that dinners out would have to be saved for date nights or until the girls are out of this phase. Hopefully the phase is short because date nights are few and far between.
Mar 28
Cute-ness
Maggie calls each one of her balls, “My super duper bouncy ball!”
You can almost hear the exclamation point when she says it.
I don’t know where she got it from but every time I hear it I smile. I can’t help it.
Mar 27
Potty Hell
So, I haven’t been around for a few weeks. It was a combination of things traumatic and dramatic, not the least of which was my laziness. I needed a break and even contemplated shutting down completely. But then I remembered why I began this little page. I wanted to keep my sisters in the loop, who were miles away and, although a daily part of the Beans’ life, still wanted MORE. (And, which I was reminded of in daily emails from both of them.) It was also an alternative to a baby book, which I had started with every good intention of a new mom, but which suffered immensely under my less than creative hand. In the past month or so, I hadn’t written down things that had been going on with the girls. Things that, in the span of their lifetime, would be insignificant, but as individual, singular moments, were breathtaking, hilarious, heart-warming and silly. And I was losing them, by not writing them down.
But this morning, I am here for help. With a 32 oz. coffee in hand and toothpicks holding up my tired lids, I can barely put together coherent sentences. Audrey isn’t sleeping. Well, she is, but not consistently, not soundly. And, therefore, neither are we. I think it started around two weeks ago when she caught a cold and when I started becoming more determined about potty-training. Because of her asthma, her coughs seem more alarming to us. At the slightest sound, we are in their room to check on her and to make sure she is not in any distress. One evening, we were concerned enough to administer an emergency dose of her asthma medication. She quickly got used to the formula, crying + coughing = cozy on the couch with Momma and Daddy. She’s a smart cookie.
During the same time, I began researching pre-schools in the area and was beginning to realize that I really only had six months to train these girls if I wanted them in the school I had preferred or, if I chose another, if I didn’t want to pay an extra $70 per child. So, I stepped up my efforts, which, up to that point basically consisted of weekend training, if we weren’t going out, and daily pep talks about how wonderful it would be to live diaper-free. Now, I was determined. Every day when I picked the girls up from their grandmothers’ houses, I would remove the diapers and put them into their “big girl undies”. We’d talk about how cute they looked, have a dance party and have pow-wows in the bathroom every half hour. On the first day, Audrey had an accident in the living room. We talked about it. I didn’t scold her at all; I just explained what an accident was and how we should go potty in the bathroom, not the living room. From that point on, she did not have another accident.
She also never went potty in the big girl potty.
She was holding it. She would go from 3:30 p.m. until 8:30 p.m. without using the bathroom, without an accident, nothing. I pumped her full of liquids and that still didn’t do a thing. Oh, she had the urge. Every hour or so, she would grab herself and say, “Momma, I need to go potty!” and we would run to the bathroom and hope for a miracle. But after five minutes of coaxing and singing, she’d shake her head, pull up her undies and scoot out the door. This pattern repeated throughout the day and she never actually went.
At the beginning, she’d doze off soon after she was put to bed. By 9:00 p.m. she’d wake and call out to us to change her diaper. It was always full and we wouldn’t be surprised when she awoke a half hour after that to let us know that she had just pooped too. Now, she doesn’t want to go to bed. As soon as we shut off the lights, she begins wailing. At first, we would pick her up, rock her, bring her downstairs and hold her until she fell asleep. But the sleep wouldn’t last. After putting her to bed at 11:00 p.m., she’d wake again, crying to be held. Last night I sat with her on three different occasions and Jim tried a couple of times.
After discussing it with DaDa last night, I’m sure that it’s her urge to go to the bathroom that is waking her up. She’s anxious about it and she can’t fall into a deep and comfortable sleep because of it. I guess I’ll ease up on trying to potty-train her and focus on Maggie right now, who is eager and willing to learn. I don’t know what else to do. I hope that by not pressuring her (which, I didn’t think I was doing…thank goodness I didn’t take my friend’s suggestion to try Boot Camp Potty-Training!) we’ll get back to some sort of normal sleep pattern. Soon. Because right now, my eyes have so many bags under them, I could pack a week’s worth of clothes in them!
Mar 20
Bedside Manner
On a Wednesday two weeks ago, I woke up with a familiar heaviness behind my eyes. As the day went on, light and noise became unbearable and I began to tremble. But, because I was the new guy, I soldiered on, hiding in my office and speaking in whispers to anyone dense enough to not recognize the pain in my face. The Beans were particularly excitable that evening. Their energy level seems to multiply exponentially as they get older, but that night, everything seemed louder and more intense. I gritted my teeth through bath time and was never happier to see Daddy Bean walk through the garage door. By Thursday, the migraine had settled in and made itself comfortable. I left the Beans with my mother-in-law and crawled into my bed-cocoon; the only thing that really helps it to go away. When Saturday came around and I was still in the throes of my headache, The Pie took things into her own hands.
From an early age, Maggie has taken on the “big sister” role with ease. She’s naturally bigger than Audrey and, even though she is only one minute older, and only by virtue of her placement in my womb, she has been charged with the duty of taking care of her little sister and of being the role model. She loves to help. She takes the dirty diapers to the garbage can, makes sure that Audrey has the right cup and scolds the dogs when they start to get too rough in their play. Whenever one of us coughs, she’s quick to ask, “Are you okay?” And no one knows better than her what will make you feel better. She even offers her beloved Cookie Monster if you are really a sorry case.
That Saturday morning, I lumbered downstairs and parked myself on the couch so that I could at least observe the play time, if I couldn’t participate. I pulled a blanket to my nose and covered my head with an extra pillow. I didn’t do much more than that throughout the day. Pie had known for a couple of days that I wasn’t right and on Saturday, she had had enough. With a concerned yet determined look on her face, she peered closely into mine and asked, “Are you okay, Momma?” I explained to her that my head hurt really bad and she replied, with confidence, “I make you feewl bettahh! Hee-ahh.” She deftly shoved Cookie No. 2 under my chin, tucked part of the blanket around him and peppered me with a few kisses. She continued to check on me throughout the day. When Daddy Bean mentioned from across the room that I should have some caffiene to help with the headache, I agreed that I might feel better after a pop.
“You wanna pop, Momma?” The Bean asked. I didn’t know that she had been paying attention. She seemed too busy trying to instigate a fight with her sister.
“Yeah baby. Daddy’s getting it.”
“Daddy. You have to get he a pop! You have to get he a pop!” Maggie wasn’t going to stand for any lollygagging. She marched into the kitchen where her father stood and looked up at him to show him that she meant business.
When she saw that he was acting on her commands, she returned to my side to assure me that relief was near. After I took a few sips, I looked at her and smiled.
“Thank you baby.”
“Daddy got you a pop. It make you feewl bettahh. You feewl bettahh now Mom?”
“Yes, my girl, I feel better now.”
“Oh. That’s good. I wuff you Mom.”
My very own Florence Nightengale!
Feb 06
The ABC Conversation
I was going to do a Wordless Wednesday this morning because I’m a little preoccupied by the fact that I was within inches of having a Jeep Wrangler delicately plant itself on my lap on this gloriously sloppy Michigan morning. (My heart is still in my throat.) But then I looked back at the last two posts and I chided myself for being so neglectful of my third fourth sixth child. Stuff’s been going on at the Bean household and I just can’t catch my breath or think of anything witty or life-changing. There are things like snowmen to be made, for goodness sakes!
The Pie is still frustrated and angry and I’m still trying to figure a way to channel her energy. Can a two year old have angst? I think a lot of twin moms do this: we observe one child’s behavior and determine that because it is different than the other child’s behavior, that something is wrong. I catch myself sometimes, when I dwell too much on Maggie’s state of mind, and I remind myself that, despite the fact that they shared my womb for eight months, they are different people. So far, we’ve glided through the terrible twos, with just a handful of tantrums, courtesy of Miss Pie, so I think that for the most part, she’s just fine. She just requires a different approach than A does and I’m still learning what that approach is.
And speaking of Peanut, I don’t believe she’s grown one inch or gained a pound since her check-up at two years. At that time, she was below the third percentile for weight and at the fifth percentile for height. When scouring the Internet, I’m met with contradictory suggestions on how to deal with this: give the child whole milk for added calories; don’t give the child liquids because that replaces solid foods; give the child high calorie foods, such as ice cream in place of yogurt; don’t draw attention to it. As Maggie has been growing, the difference in size has become much more noticeable to everyone. If I didn’t dress them alike or in coordinating outfits, people would assume that Mags is at least a year older than her sister. A is still in eighteen month old clothes and she feels to fragile and tiny when I hold her, that it seems like we baby her a little more to compensate for her frailty. It doesn’t help that her asthma medication causes loss of appetite and that she can’t partake in two weight gaining staples: peanut butter and eggs.
Despite my worries, they are thriving, bright, happy children. Last night, while I was sitting with them at dinner, the Beans began a conversation in which I was clearly the third wheel. It started with a comment about water (from what I gather) by Maggie. Audrey responded with a giggle and that set them both off. It was like watching a tennis match. My head turned from one Bean to another, listening to their lively discussion in a language that I think was mostly English, but which was peppered with a secret talk that only the two of them could understand. I smiled and once even attempted to jump in, but I was easily ignored as Maggie’s most recent statement sent them both into a fit of giggles. I almost felt lonely sitting there, invisible and uninvited, but I was too busy feeling so thankful and happy that they had such friendship between the two of them that I wished the dialog would have gone on just a little bit longer. But, finally, the giggles subsided and Audrey turned to look at me, as if she only just noticed that I had been sitting there the whole time.
“Momma, what you doing?”
Cherishing, my Little Bean, that’s what.
Jan 19
Waiting for her big break.
Watch out Hannah Montana, The Pie is coming. And she’s good.
Jan 10
Spartan Pride
They aren’t Spartans yet, but boy do they love Momma Bean’s alma mater. The Beans are showing off their favorite shirt and socks (and their training pants which, not five minutes after these photos were taken, were on the floor, in a pile of soggy mess). M has a book that Stacy bought for her that she flips through occassionally. Her favorite one is the page that has musical notes on it. Whenever she gets to that page, she demands that I sing the fight song to her. Soon, she’ll know it better than me. As it stands now, she’s got the “Rah, rah, fight team rah!” part down pat.
Nov 18
Knock, knock…
Did you hear that?
The Terrible Twos have arrived.
I was going to write a joke, but this is no laughing matter.
Please help.
Send reinforcements…
…or wine.
Nov 12
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…
The Beans may never see the value in a good rock ballad. They may never truly appreciate a movie marathon of Grease, Pretty in Pink and Dirty Dancing. And they may never find ways to justify gluttonous behavior at a dessert table. But, the thing about kids is that, for a short while at least, they are a captive audience.
For a short while, I can impart my wisdom. I can show them what I’ve learned from this good world. I can paint their blank canvas with a few of my favorite things. And with these tools, they will form their preferences. Their likes and dislikes. What makes them smile.
I did some of that this weekend.
Daddy Bean and I, against stern warnings of friends who have trekked the path before us, took the Beans to see Bee Movie this weekend. Movies were one thing J and I had in common from the beginning, even though his idea of a good movie was Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man and mine was The Godfather (can you believe he never saw it until he met me?!?!). Before the Beans, it would not be uncommon for J and I to see movies three weekends out of any given month. At one point, we saw two in one weekend. We love movies. So, it was with joyful anticipation that we carried our little legumes into the darkened theater, found The Perfect Spot* and settled in for an hour and a half of animated entertainment.
The Pie was sold on the concept almost instantly. She nestled into her chair, bag of popcorn in hand, and gazed lovingly at the big T.V. She sat undisturbed for most of the movie, only climbing into J’s lap half way through before being placed into mine while J took Peanut out for a little break. Peanut, on the other hand, started off on the wrong foot with the theater. First, the seats were too much for twenty pounds to handle and she spent much of the waiting for the movie folded into a little V, but not interested in sitting in a booster chair or our laps. And, thank goodness for matinees and forgiving parents, because Audie doesn’t know what movie voice is. She only knows what Audie voice is. And she used it. And she hopped and skipped between us, asking questions and singing songs, every once in awhile stopping to watch a few minutes of the movie. After her trip to the lobby with J, she finally nestled in to watch the end of the film. Afterward, the girls were bubbling with happiness that they went to The Movies!
Another thing I introduced to the girls was hot cocoa. Yesterday, when I couldn’t handle any more of the Lions’ disappointing game, I wandered into the kitchen to find something to comfort me. Immediately, I spotted the tin of Ghirardelli hot cocoa left over from last winter. Aha! The first sip was like seeing an old friend. Perfection! Until I turned around and spotted Maggie at my feet. “Up, Momma!” She said. At first, I begrudged her for interrupting this happy reunion and then I thought, “Why not?” I pulled a teaspoon from the drawer and blew the frothy concoction to a lukewarm before I let her try it. Bingo! Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “More, Momma!” she urged. I complied and then called her little sister over to taste a bit of heaven. No sooner did I put the spoon to Audrey’s lips did she smile with glee. She loved it too!! I cannot tell you what joy this gives me! We spent the next few minutes sitting on the floor of the kitchen, sharing a steaming cup of hot cocoa, one Bean perched on each side of my lap. It can’t get any better than that. It took all I could to wipe their cocoa mustaches off their faces.
Finally, yesterday morning, we took the girls to the nursery around the corner. I had read in a flyer a few weeks ago that the store would be decorated for Christmas time by the first of the month. I had never been there before but there really is nothing I relish more than Christmas time, and all that it entails, so I put the nursery on my list of things to do with the girls during the season. I’ve held back on introducing them to Christmas carols just yet. A local radio station had the audacity to begin 24 hour Christmas music on November 1st, to get us in the spirit. To me, that’s a sin and I don’t allow a bit of the stuff until after the turkey has been eaten and the Lions have been beaten. But Christmas lights are a different story. I’ll allow a little taste of it before Thanksgiving. I just can’t help myself!
The minute we walked into the nursery, we were overwhelmed with light and sparkle. We oohed and ahhed over every gloriously decorated tree. We crouched to peek at nativity scenes and glimpsed our reflections in shiny bulbs. It was literally a winter wonderland and my Beans couldn’t get enough of it. Or maybe I couldn’t get enough of it and I only thought they were enjoying it as much as I did. Whatever the case, it was a delight to be able to share it with them.
I think that what I like the most about showing the Beans some of my favorite things in life is not just that I can expose them to what the world has to offer or so I can capture the curious looks on their faces just before they take their first taste of something amazing and then the surprise in their smiling faces as they figure out just what I was talking about, but that I can share with someone that I love so much these little things in life that make living so grand.
*The Perfect Spot for us usually is in the front row of the stadium seats, on the end.
