Backpacking 2011

And YOU thought backpacking couldn't be done with a 4-year-old, a 1-year old, and a 1-year old! Well, pshaw! It can. Of course, you need a few llamas to pack your stuff in, so you can carry the kids, but there you go.

A couple of weekends ago we got together with some friends, rented some llamas, and hit the backcountry near Sisters, Oregon. We had 100lbs available for our entire family of 5(!), so we got the bathroom scale out, set it on the deck, and started weighing gear, tossing out any little item we didn't think was absolutely necessary.  Food was 25lbs. The tent was 30. That left about 45 for the rest of our gear and clothes, and we barely eeked in at 98lbs before buying one more child's sleeping bag, which weighed 2 lbs (how's that for exactness!).

The hike was not bad at all. Mostly relatively flat and only 2 miles or so. If Seville hadn't been so exhausted from getting no sleep the night before (we stayed in a motel; she didn't go to sleep until we did) she would have been able to hike the whole way - she did on the way back. As it was we carried her in a pack part of the way. Each of us had one baby on the front in a Becko or Ergo, and either a 30lb 4-year old or a 30lb backpack on the back. My one regret is that the backpack was merely a daypack, and killed my shoulders. We should have brought a real backpack, but we didn't anticipate having so much extra weight (mostly snacks, water, and random leftovers, but they added up!)

The hike was through a burnt-out area of the forest, which was actually really cool because not only was it surreal looking, we had great views and lots of wildflowers growing all over the place (one of my favorite things!). The camping area next to the lake did have green trees, so we had plenty of shade and lush forest to camp in.

I expected the lake to be some freezing glacier run-off type thing, but it was actually warm and lovely. Totally swimmable.

Seaside

Went to the beach a few weekends ago. The boys marveled at the vast expanse of sand and Trajan crawled farther than I've ever seen him. It was a super cute, fun day.

My Birthday Wish: Innocent Bystander for a Day

I wrote this post a couple of months ago, but didn't post it because I thought it was maybe an overshare. But I feel like the more I edit myself online the less interesting this blog becomes. I hate boring more than I hate embarrassing, so there you go.

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I really want a day off. It's my birthday in T minus 9 minutes (as of typing this sentence) and all I keep fantasizing about is a day off. I don't mean a day "away" from my kids or a day in the Bahamas or anything. Having my kids with me would be great, if I could just... not have to do anything. But it's a fantasy. I know that no matter how hard Jared tries to give me some rest or relief, he does not have boobs, he does not have superhuman abilities to be several places at once, he cannot, without duct-tape, quiet the sounds of my children calling for me (or the sound in my head, even, if they were elsewhere, which is duct-tape proof), and he does not have the title, "Mommy." And so, no matter how good a Daddy he is, he can't become Mommy for a day, leaving me to be an innocent bystander.

There comes a point, in a mother's foray into motherhood, that she realizes what she got herself into. Having a baby is kind of like planning to run a marathon with little to no training whatsoever. You know you're about to run a marathon. You know there are things about it that will suck. You know you will be unprepared and your body and mind will be in pain and you know you might break down at some point. But you also realize it's a big, fun adventure, and you'll get to push yourself to your limits, test your mettle, and accomplish something really awesome while you're at it. But a Marathon is 26 miles, and that's exactly how far you brace yourself to run. And... you all know the feeling more or less... when the finish line is in view, somehow you have only exactly the number of steps left in you to make it there, afterwhich you will collapse, dehydrated and toenail-less, into a panting heap of quivering muscles. I think having a baby (or two) is a little bit like this. You brace yourself for the onslaught, but when the finish line - and the end of your stamina - approaches, you realize that you will not actually get to stop then. That you not only have to keep going, but that you n.e.v.e.r. get to stop running. ever. in your life. You are now doing this every moment, of every day, permanently stuck doing this painful thing you don't even know if you can physically do for the next 10 minutes.

This is the point where you curl up into the fetal position and have a good cry. It's the point where you wonder what you were thinking, get angry at the world and all your friends with kids for not warning you about this, start wishing you'd be involved in a horrible accident and be forced to go to the hospital for a while just to get a break (yes. It's sick. I'm just sayin'). This is also the point where you start to have an inkling of understanding the level of gratitude you should have for your own mother (which thought you immediately banish from your mind, lest you feel even more guilty than you already do, if that is possible).

Perhaps I overstate this. After all, it could just be me and my sick and selfish self that experiences this level of dismay over the realities of motherhood. Admittedly, I struggled with postpartum depression after my first. And my second and third, well, they arrived at the same time, so that's a whole different ball of wax. I think having twins requires you to be somewhat crazy, so if it doesn't drive you there of its own accord, you will pre-emptively adopt it as a coping mechanism. There's just something about the absolute, relentless, never-ending, constant need that is incredible. You never finish one urgent thing but that there is another urgent thing. I read a twins-how-to-book before I had the babies that talked about this in terms of those whac-a-mole arcade games you find at Chuck E Cheese and stuff. You stand there with your knees bent, poised, aiming, ready, muscles twitching in anticipatory heightened awareness, trying to whack every mole that pops up its head as fast as you can for however many minutes. Having twins is like a constant, relentless game of whac-a-mole. You don't even get to sleep without being on duty. Of course, I know this really won't mean much to you, the reader, because I read this book before I had twins, but didn't really get it until several months into it. In fact, the twins were both sick recently, and I had twins for 9 months before I understood what it was like to have two sick babies at the same time. Unfathomable. Like nothing I could have imagined (and I already HAD twins, so you'd think I could imagine). So it's ok, I know you don't know what I'm talking about (excepting Amy, Chelsea, Tara, Tamara, Lauren, Natalie, of course). Just send sympathy flowers my way. Or birthday ones. Whichever cause moves you the most. Waa.

Ok, so now I'm filling this post with pictures of my cute kids because I feel like I'm being kind of a whiner, even if a tongue-in-cheek one. I don't mean to whine, but what's the value in super-glossing everything? Life is awesome and crappy at the same time. There. And as for the awesome, I will confess that having twins is a lot like having your cake and eating it too. I just get so much delight from just LOOKING at a cute baby doing cute things, especially my own cute baby doing cute things. But the minute you pick up the baby to cuddle and kiss it (which you inevitably want to do while observing it being cute) you can't see it anymore. In fact, with Seville, I used to kiss her in front of the mirror so I could watch her giggle. Anyway, with twins, you can cuddle and kiss a cute baby and watch a cute baby SIMULTANEOUSLY! It's the awesomest thing. Not to mention watching two babies being cute WITH each other. Two babies is seriously some of the cutest cuteness you can ever experience (my brother's kids excepted, of course, who are triplets. No competing there, on any count).

So, yeah, I like twins. And my life. Really, I do. I will adjust sometime. Or maybe the sun will come out and that will help. Or maybe I have a Nanny Godmother out there somewhere who's waiting for me to cry on an animated garden bench for her to come (my bedroom, the kitchen, my car, and the bathroom, were perhaps all the wrong places for Fairy God-Nannies). My fairytale is surely just getting going.

Five.... Four... Three... Two...

ONE! They made it. Perhaps as significant, I made it.

The Cake... and The Competition

We celebrated with extended family over the weekend. Having done enough parties with Seville now to have learned that parties are funner for kids when they're age appropriate, I came up with a plan that was completely centered around them. We did it between naps, at 2 in the afternoon, so they'd be happy and energetic. We had cake first. We played a couple of games they were sure to love.

Game 1: We had a "Dance Contest" where each adult had to hold a child and dance with them to the music my dad played on the piano (he mixed it up between western, ragtime, classical, waltz-ey, etc). The babies/toddlers LOVED it! The two nephews who are too old to be held to dance were the judges panel, and they doled out treats as prizes for each dance section, making sure to give a prize to each child. They did a great job.

Game 2: Then we had a blanket toss, starting with the youngest and going to oldest. Even my 9-year-old nephew got a chance to be tossed, his gangly arms and legs flailing around almost knocking our glasses off. It was super fun for all.

Then we opened one present (they loved it, so there was no need to get out the others and overwhelm them.)  Then they went down for a nap. Super simple, and very successful. They had a great time.

We had a private family party the next night, with just Mom, Dad, and Big Sister. There was more time to eat cake and open (most of) the rest of the presents. Good times all around.

You really notice, now that they're exactly one, that they're not really one yet. Everyone's been to enough one-year-old birthday parties to know roughly how a one-year-old acts and what they can and can't do. It was marked, the difference between these boys and other one-year-olds. They're really 10-month-olds. And so sweet. I'm tempted, though, to have a second birthday party, when they reach their gestational first birthday. We'll see how I'm feeling in May, but I bet you I'll do it :)

Here are the rest of the pictures:

The 5 Kinds of Mommy Pictures

Every so often I need a recent photo of myself for something. A family newsletter, a facebook profile that is remotely honest, a family calendar. It never ceases to amaze me how difficult it is to find a picture of myself that isn't a complete embarrassment. Talking to some other moms I know and looking at the photos of myself from the past year or so, I am starting to put together why this is. First of all, husbands, for some reason, are not as trigger happy with the camera shutter as moms are. I can't think of a time that my husband has been like, "what a precious moment! wait. hold it there a moment, you adorable wife and children, while I fetch the camera and preserve this delightful scene for posterity!" I am almost always behind the camera, and by the time it occurs to me that this could be a good photo op of ME, specifically ask my husband to take a picture of me, spend a minute negotiating about whether it's a waste of time or worth the effort, he will get the camera and humor me but by then I've lost my sense of humor, and somehow cameras have a way of capturing that (okay, I might be exaggerating this scene a little, but still). Anyway, mommy pictures almost always fit into one of 5 categories, and I'm posting them here with examples, to embarrass myself once and for all.

The "I Am Looking At My Child and I Have 15 Chins"

The "I'm Trying to Hold and Arrange All My Children, But They're Pulling My Hair/Earrings/Shirt and I Am Trying to Adjust Myself Between Shots But Of Course That's When The Shot Was Taken. Yay."

The "I'm So Tired And Wearing No Makeup And This Could Have Been a Good/Fun Picture, But Honestly, Do You Think I Want People To See Me Like This?"

The "Snort-Laugh" (no explanation necessary)

The "I'm Mid-Sentence/Bite/Sniffle and I Look Like a Stroke-Survivor"

 

Unfortunately, my fear is that if 99% of pictures of myself look like this, maybe I just look like this 99% of the time. Perhaps it is time to come to terms with the fact that I will inevitably decline in hotness as I age, even as my husband gets hotter every day (curse the inverse-gender-age-to-hotness-cultural-bias!).  I may have 15 chins when I look down (which probably IS 99% of the time), but I have inner-awesomeness, and my super-hot-only-getting-hotter-as-he-ages-and-gets-more-rustic-wrinkles-and-distinguished-gray-hairs husband, fortunately, seems to appreciate that.