Andy and Jonah Jump in Winter, 2005

You Don't Know From a Lot of Kids

Declan has a book called A Squash and a Squeeze (by the wonderful duo Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler, who also brought us the fabulous Gruffalo) that tells of an old woman who thought her house was too small. A wise old man had her bring in various farm animals to pack the house, then release them one by one. After the last animal is gone, the old woman is thrilled to have so much room in her house. Moral of the story? It's all relative. This past weekend we got a taste of that ourselves.

I never thought I'd say it, but thank goodness there are only 7 kids in this house.

I always thought 7 was a lot of kids. (See earlier post, "A Lot of Kids.") But at various points during the holiday weekend, we had as many as 20 kids roaming the house. They weren't particularly difficult children, but let's face it: 20 kids is a lot of kids. That's 20 cups of juice, 20 plates of food they won't even eat, 20 cries for dessert, 20 mouths to silence with a movie (for the record, The Sound of Music).

The kids, for the most part, had a blast, though the inevitable cliques and clubs started and folded melodramatically. Tears were shed. But there was also lots of laughter. Amy, her friend Katrina (mother to 3 of the aforementioned kids), and I took 10 of the kids to see Enchanted (when I asked for 3 adults and 10 children's tickets, the usher replied, "Good luck with that"); we took up an entire row and none of the kids made a peep... until after the movie, when 9-year-old Carlyn pronounced the movie "too kissy."

But the fact remains, as sad as I was to see all our friends and family leave, I'm happy that we're back to 'just' 7 kids in the house. I know these kids. I know their fights. And I know we're absolutely, positively, definitely not having any more kids.

A Room Of Her Own

If there was one longing that defined my childhood, it was my desire for my own space. When I was ten, I wrote a letter to President Reagan, begging for a little plot of land for a garden (I received a form letter in reply, regretfully informing me that the president couldn't possibly grant every favor that was requested of him). I made my mother nail bedspreads to the ceiling of the room Keri and I shared, and insisted that Keri say "Knock, knock," if she wanted to come over to my side. So as long as Andy and I have been together, I've been adamant that I would never have more kids than I could provide individual rooms for. When we moved into our white elephant of a house with its eight bedrooms, it seemed like that would never be an issue. Then again, I never anticipated having five children, or that Keri and Matty and their kids would move in with us. Suddenly, everyone but Jonah was sharing. And it was fine, until the last few months, when the novelty of bunk beds had long worn off and Erika began melting down on a regular basis about the "little kids" that were always following her around and "messing up" her stuff.

I readily admit, I was sympathetic. And Matty told me that the storage room at the back of the second floor could be converted into a bedroom easily enough, just by ripping out some built-in cabinets and giving it a bright coat of paint. At first, my plan was to set the whole room up and surprise Erika, but I chickened out when I realized that if she was too afraid to sleep so far away from everyone else, I would be stuck with a lilac and buttercup guest room. So I told her, and she was as thrilled as I hoped she'd be. She moved in on Thanksgiving day, even though the carpet, desk and nightstands haven't arrived yet, and her clothes are still in her old room because I'm still cleaning out the closets in her new room. She hasn't even complained about the fact that the room is always cold - and I mean really cold, sixty degrees cold, two comforters and a space heater cold. But I know I wouldn't have complained either. She's just happy, as I would have been, to have a door knob to hang her "Keep out" sign from.

Jonah and Amy on Newport Beach, Summer 2002

A Lot of Kids

Sunday night, through an unusual set of circumstances, Andy found himself in charge of 5 of the 7 kids in the house. On Monday, he admitted to me that he hoped he wouldn't be judged as 'Uncle Andy' on the basis of his performance Sunday night. "It's a lot of kids," he admitted.

Monday night, those kids reminded us of why we all live together in the first place. It was about 7:30pm, the last hour before bed ticking slowly by. The kids were scattered, but then Matty started kicking around some tennis balls in the foyer. Erika jumped in front of the steps to play goalie. Declan heard the commotion and ran in to help Erika block balls. Ronan jumped at the chance to throw tennis balls--hard--without repercussion. Aaron toddled in, eager to be a part of the gang. Hilary made a valiant, if failed, effort at goalie.

Everyone was throwing balls, everyone was getting hit by balls. No one was crying. Andy taught Erika how to throw properly, Matty taught Declan how to catch properly (for a 3-year-old). No one noticed the clock tick past bedtime.

This is what I envisioned when we first talked about moving in with my sister. Sure, it happens. We just need to make it happen more.

I Already Failed

Though I must admit I was tempted to fake a few posts by backdating them, I have to concede that just 2 days into November I dropped the ball on the NaBloPo challenge. Many apologies to my reader.

Must... Post... More... Often...

In the hopes of guilting myself into posting more often, I signed up for NaBloPoMo--National Blog Posting Month. The goal is to post once a day for the month of November. Two posts today--I better pace myself.

Halloween Through the Eyes of a Child

If you think about it, Halloween is a truly bizarre holiday. We take our children to strange homes, ring the bell, and take candy from strangers. No wonder Ronan had such a hard time with this yesterday. It might also have something to do with his lack of a sense of time. What's the point in saving candy for later when you can eat it right now?

Here's how Ronan does trick or treating: Take candy, try to tear open candy with teeth until grown-up takes pity and intervenes, eat candy, at next house, throw candy on the ground to begin ritual anew. If I actually got the candy out of Ronan's hand before he ate it and put it into his candy sack (which was mostly empty), he would wail and run back to grab some more candy from the unsuspecting homeowner. It was pretty cute, and it was a special occasion, so we caved and mostly let him eat candy all night.

I was actually quite impressed with Declan's approach to trick or treating. After each house he would ask, "Are we going to see more people now?" Not, "Are we going to get more candy now?" He seemed to really enjoy the social aspect of the holiday. That's not to say that he didn't eat more than his fair share of candy, and of course there were tears shed later at home when we shut him off.

In fact, all the kids were happiest when we ran into other groups of trick or treaters on the street. Unfortunately, that rarely happened, as we seem to live near a decidedly quiet neighborhood. The other kids we did run into, mostly all preteen girls, were quite sweet with our little ones, exclaiming over their costumes and constantly crying and pointing, "You're so cute!"

And they were so cute. Hilary made an adorable Minnie Mouse, Erika a cuddly white bunny, and Ronan a solo little pig. But not Declan.

"I'm not a baby!" he whined when I told him how cute he looked. I conceded that he was, indeed, a very scary pirate. Satisfied, he cried to be carried and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Autumn at Our House

Emergency

I couldn’t help but be impressed by the quick-thinking four-year-old Colorado girl who activated her car’s OnStar system when her mother passed out while driving. She had never been specifically taught how to do so, but had overheard a salesperson explaining it to her mother when she had purchased the car two days earlier.

So I decided to test my four-year-old. I kind of knew how she would do, but I was hoping she might surprise me.

Me: Hilary, I want to talk about what you should do in case of an emergency. Do you know what an emergency is?

Hilary: Yes.

Me: What is it?

Hilary: I don’t know.

Me: Well, say for example I fell asleep right now [we were waiting in the car for her sister’s school bus] and you couldn’t wake me up. What would you do?

Hilary: I don’t know.

Me: Or, what if we were home and I fell down the stairs and you couldn’t wake me up. What would you do then?

Hilary: Cry?

I think it’s because I’ve been so concerned over the past nine years that one of my kids would call 911 by accident that I haven’t actually taught them what to do in a real emergency. We’ve never organized a fire drill, or shown the kids how to hit the panic button on the alarm panel. I haven’t even been diligent about making sure the older kids know their address and phone number. Hilary has been walking around for a couple of weeks now announcing to anyone who will listen that her middle name is Rachel and her last name is Lutz and I suspect that’s the extent of her identifying information.

It’s hard to know how much and at what age you should teach your kids about emergencies. I certainly don’t want Hilary hitting the panic button every time her cousin bops her with his foam sword. On the other hand, it would be nice to know that in the worst of worst case scenarios, if fate should ever place the reins of life in her chubby little hands, she would be able to do something more heroic than just . . . cry.

Disney World? But I'm Soooo Sleepy..

Remember what I said about the joy of childhood, blah, blah, blah? Well, when we woke Erika to tell her we were going to Disney World, she looked at us through half-closed lids and moaned that she was tired. Tired! Hilary was the most excited, and actually managed to jump up and down. Declan was excited too, once he learned that we were going on an airplane.

That's not to say that the trip wasn't successful, but I think next time we'll tell the kids well in advance of the trip. After all, there is something to be said for anticipation.

Shh... We're Going to Disney World Tomorrow

Tomorrow morning we're going to wake up Declan, Ronan, Erika, and Hilary at the crack of dawn and tell them we're going to Disney World. Declan will be thrilled just to be going on the airplane. Ronan will see that everyone else is excited so he will be too. But to be honest, I just can't imagine the joy that Erika and Hilary will feel.

I think the capacity of a child's joy far surpasses that of an adult. Children feel an exuberance about things that isn't tempered by responsibility. When Declan hears that we are going away for 5 days, his first thought won't be, "Who will feed the fish?" But if Matty surprised me with a trip to St. Maarten, my excitement would surely be somewhat tamed by trying to figure out all the logistics of babysitting, laundry, packing, and the like. (Of course, I'd still like that trip, Matty.)

I envy the excitement they're going to feel tomorrow morning. I can't wait to see it.

The Award for Most-Improved Kid Goes To...

Ronan! (applause)

It seems like just yesterday that Ronan was a royal pain in the tuchus, a stubborn, willful baby who steadfastly refused to do anything asked of him. His naps were erratic, his demeanor... not so pleasant. He wouldn't cuddle or kiss or hug, any of the things we want from babies. We all loved him, but no one really liked him.

Now, Ronan is a gem. He's always got a smile on his face and seems to enjoy naptime as much as I do. He's a happy guy, always running up for a hug or a kiss. Dont' get me wrong; he's not perfect--his newest favorite thing to do is scream at Gretchen and make her cry--but he's a much better version of the kid he used to be.

What happened? I don't know. But I do know that Aaron is going through the exact same thing right now.

I have to laugh.

Declan the Lothario

My son is a stud.

It's true. I'm not just saying it because I'm his mother.

At his birthday party on Saturday, I heard first hand from the parents of all his lovesick girlfriends:

"Brooke called me at work and said, Daddy, I have a boyfriend and his name is Declan."

"I saw Jessica in the hall at school and she told me Declan was her boyfriend."

"I know Declan has a lot of girlfriends, but don't he and Avery look perfect together?"

Later, I verified this with Declan. "Who's your best girlfriend?"

"Ava," he said solemnly.

"Second best?"

"Avery."

"And Brooke is third?"

"Yeah."

You would think such a ladies' man would be the life of the party, but when Matty took Declan to Brooke's birthday party the day after his own, Declan turned the wallflower. He and Matty wandered the outskirts of the party, Declan completely engaged in his own play but not willing to actually speak to any of his friends.

Is this why he's so appealing to all the little girls in his class? Is playing hard to get (and being attracted by it) so innate a human behavior? Is that why Declan's so popular with the girls?

Probably not. Yesterday, Declan's teacher sent home a picture of him and Brooke, her arm draped around his shoulders, a satisfied grin on his face.

"He looks like a pimp," Kylie observed.

Hard to get, indeed.

Just a Walk in the Park, er, Zoo

Yesterday, Jonah asked to go to the zoo. It was a beautiful summer day, the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, so Andy and I decided to load up the minivan and head over. Although we usually have my father-in-law helping us out on Sundays, this particular Sunday he wasn't with us, so it was just me and Andy and the five kids. But we certainly didn't want to sit around the house all day, and all the kids love the zoo, so it seemed like a great idea.

Things did not start off well. We actually got out of the house a little after nine - quite timely for us - which allowed us to enter at the zoo shortly after the 9:30 opening, before the crowds got there. The problem was, Jonah always wants to eat "ketchup and french fries" immediately upon arrival at the zoo - which is usually fine, since we rarely go that early. But clearly 9:45 was too early for lunch, so we told Jonah he would have to wait, and he became extremely agitated. Waiting on line for a ride on the gigantic balloon didn't help matters, and as I held our place with the girls and the twins (who were themselves cranky, since they missed their morning nap), watching Jonah crying and flailing and throwing himself down on the concrete while Andy tried to calm him down, I wished we had never come.

But Jonah enjoyed rising 400 feet in the air, as we knew he would, and Andy and I made the executive decision when it was over that 10:20 was not too early for lunch. So we headed over to Nathan's, where we ate the best meal we had ever had at the zoo. I guess the food is better when the oil is fresh and the french fries haven't been sitting around under heat lamps for two hours. And we had no trouble getting a table.

Afterwards, Jonah was in a much better mood - which made one of us. Hilary spent most of the morning whining that she wanted her face painted, she wanted a ride in the swan boats, her feet hurt (we really need to toughen her up). Erika thought it was too hot. The twins cried off and on because their sleep schedule was thrown off. But we did end up seeing some animals before we left at around 1:00: we saw flamingos, elephants, giraffes and bears. The three older kids saw the vampire bats being fed dishes of cow's blood, which Erika thought was adorable.

We are so fortunate to have all the help we do with the kids - an amount of help I'm almost embarrassed to tell people about, between the two nannies and the housekeeper and the aides and the grandparents who come several times a week. But all I really want is to go out as a family without any help at all - me, Andy, the kids, that's it. That's when I'm most jealous - when Keri and Matty take their boys out to dinner, or when my friends plan amazing family vacations at all-inclusive resorts in the Caribbean. And I think we'll get there. The twins will get easier as they get older and stop napping and start being able to talk and follow directions. And Jonah is already so much more verbal and better behaved then he was when he was younger. I can't wait to see what he's like this time next summer, after a year at his new school. Maybe we'll always have to make certain accommodations - but, as we learned, there may actually be no better time to have lunch at the zoo than at 10:30 in the morning.

Top 3 Tips for Visiting Paris with Les Enfants

1. Sleep.
Today was much better than yesterday, possibly because after yesterday's debacle, we went home and all fell asleep at 7:30pm and didn't wake up until 10:00am. In retrospect, fighting fierce jet lag and lack of sleep on a 2-day holiday doesn't make much sense. In the future, we'll plan our short sortie on the way home from our longer vacation, once we've already adapted to the time change.

2. Don't plan too much.
Today was a great day, because we simply set out with vague destinations: the Eiffel Tower at some point. We walked the streets (without the stroller, this time) and stopped as the feeling struck: an outdoor cafe where we enjoyed a late breakfast of pain du chocolat and quiche; a few hours later a leisurely lunch at another cafe where the kids enjoyed the French version of chicken nuggets. Since we had no where specific to be at any time, we had time to play in the park and take a carousel ride. We eventually made it to the Eiffel Tower, though Declan was more interested in the dirt underneath it.

3. But plan enough.
After the Eiffel Tower we, well, I, decided that I absolutely positively had to have some macaroons from Laduree, a famous bakery/restaurant/tea cafe on the Champs Elysees. Well, I was pretty sure it was on the Champs Elysees. I justified it by saying that I thought Declan would be impressed by the long display of pastries for sale, and the rainbow of macaroons on offer.

It turned out to be a miserable trip. It was easily 2 or 3 miles, it was raining, and we didn't have a stroller. The kids would only walk for short bits. We stopped in a wine shop and while Matty was browsing, Declan got mad and hit him, which wouldn't have been so bad if not for the strategic location he struck. Needless to say, we didn't get any wine. Declan fell asleep soon after in my arms, so I walked the last mile carrying him and trying to keep him dry. It was close to 7pm, we hadn't eaten dinner, and I was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea.

But it was. We found it, the case just as impressive as I remembered (even though Declan slept through it). Ronan was impressed, though, and even scored a free macaroon (no small feat, since they cost 1.40 euros each). Matty loved the place and we left with a small box of macaroons. We were wet and hungry and tired but we had found what we were looking for. And we were happy.

We'll Always Have Paris

When we told our friends we were spending two days in Paris en route to visit family in Ireland, everyone had the same response: With the kids? Aside from the obvious logistical question--What on earth else would we do with them? Stow them in a locker at the airport?--there was the question of pride. Maybe other people couldn't enjoy the world's most romantic city with two toddlers in tow, but we certainly could.

We were lucky to have use of a cousin's flat while in Paris, so after a somewhat successful overnight flight--both kids slept soundly on the floor of the bulkhead, though the airline broke our double stroller--we dropped off our things and headed right back out. It was cloudy and drizzling, but we braved the city's decidedly un-stroller-friendly Metro (hundreds of stairs and no elevators to speak of) and got off to stroll the Mouffetard, a quintessential Parisian street, cobblestoned and lined with patisseries, boulangeries, and every other kind of -erie you can think of.

We began to feel smug in our worldliness. Both kids fell asleep in the stroller (broken, though still manageable) and we found a tiny cafe where we could sit at a table outside and park the stroller alongside. We dined on rustic pate and duck confit and drank wine. It was perfect. Even when it started to rain.

We continued to stroll the city through the sprinkles of rain; the kids nibbling hunks of crusty baguette and eating grapes we bought from a street market.

But, like all idyllic fantasies, this one came crashing to an end. The stroller was far more broken than we had realized, and soon became impossible to steer. The kids had slept well on the plane, but only for 4 hours. And the small plastic cover we had borrowed from our hosts to keep the rain off the stroller proved to be no match for the torrential downpour that befell us just as we were about to stroll along the river and past Notre Dame.

Less than an hour after our wonderful lunch, we were huddled under a narrow overhang, desperately trying to stay dry (did I mention that we forgot to bring an umbrella?).

I was still trying to stay optimistic, until Declan began to cry.

"I want to go home!" he wailed. "Right now!"

Matty and I looked at each other. So did we.

Mama Bear

I'm sure most moms feel this way, but when I see Declan get slighted or insulted, I get really, really upset. Even when he doesn't seem to mind.

This happened a few weeks ago when the family of one of Hilary's friends came over. Hilary and her friend, a 4-year-old boy, were playing in the pool, while Declan sat by the side, trying to play too. He wasn't welcome, however, and Hilary and her friend started throwing water at Declan. Not an obvious, soaking kind of water-throwing, more like an, "oops, we spilled a bucket of water on your feet, and oops, we did it again." The parents weren't paying attention, and I was at a loss as to what to do. Declan responded as any toddler would: he snatched their toys. So they threw more water. After a few minutes I scooped Declan up and took him back to the house. I was angry and insulted and let Declan watch tv.

Last night Matty, Declan, Erika, Hilary, and I were in the car on the way to watch Amy and Andy in a tennis match. Declan had woken up from his nap a bit cranky and sad, so he was just sitting quietly sucking his thumb. Out of the blue, Hilary said, "We hate Declan."

Matty and I looked at each other in shock. Declan didn't say a word. Matty and I took turns lecturing Hilary, telling her what she said wasn't very nice, telling her she didn't mean it. Erika chimed in, and forced Hilary to apologize many times over. Declan continued to sit in silence, and soon began to cry. He ignored Hilary's apologies and Erika's ministrations, and just sat, sucked, and sobbed. My heart broke. I began to cry too.

A few minutes later, Declan threw up. He was sick, not irrevocably insulted.

I'm such a sap.

Schmernia, Oh Schmernia, We Hardly Know Ye

When I think of which of the kids is the most creative and imaginative, I inevitably think of Erika, who spends most of her time at home engrossed in elaborate scenarios involving a combined universe of Polly Pockets, Littlest Pet Shop and toy horses of all kinds. But it's actually Hilary who has had the biggest impact on our family lexicon. The only made-up word, for example, that we all use is 'dye' (or 'di' or 'dai' - who knows how you spell made-up words?), which Hilary started using when she was two years old and barely speaking at all to mean 'tickle me.' She presents her arm, leg, chin, etc. and announces, 'Dye arm.' The first time Erika used it really took me off guard, as she demanded, when I was putting her to bed, 'I want you to die.'


Now Hilary has the whole house buzzing again, this time about her imaginary daughter, Schmernia. No one has any idea where this name came from, but we've gathered this much: Schmernia is 11 years old, and has a little brother named Sammy who is 2. The tragic element of this story is that Schmernia lives at the Little Gym, and every day Hilary tells us that she will talk on the phone with Schmernia tomorrow. How sad to be separated like that from her own child! And what pathos in her own life is Hilary projecting on to this banished daughter? Perhaps I'm reading too much into this, and Schmernia was really just a spontaneous, temporary creation that achieved lasting life through the interest of me, and Erika, and Kylie and Keri, who drill Hilary almost every day about her - primarily because we all like to say 'Schmernia,' and hear Hilary say it. If she had named her imaginary daughter 'Amy,' like Erika named all her dolls when she was four, this would have been a non-story.

Turn, Kick, Reach

Declan and Hilary graduated from their swim program today, after being tossed into the water and fulfilling the swim school's mantra: turn, kick, reach. Now we can't wait to go home and impress our friends by "accidentally" tripping the kids into the pool and having them turn, kick, reach their way out. They'll stop crying eventually.

In honor of said graduation, we took the kids to Toys R Us to pick out a toy. Hilary picked out a dress-up outfit to add to her arsenal. Gretchen got a baby mirror so she could always look at her favorite person. Aaron got an animal board book, Ronan a small Magna Doodle. And Declan, of course, picked out an underwater rescue set, because it included a small scuba diver. Never mind that the rescue boat was huge and I told Declan he couldn't bring it home because it wouldn't fit in the suitcase. I searched the store for a larger solo scuba diver, one he might actually hold on to for longer than a day, but this set was it.

Later, he was playing with the scuba diver while I changed his diaper. He made the diver swim back and forth, and said "kick to the wall!" I asked him what his scuba diver was doing and Declan said, "turn, kick, reach!"

For the next hour he said little else. I asked him what he should do if he falls in the water.

"Turn, kick, reach!"

After a while, he started chanting it, like a freshly shaved new recruit to the cult of Baby Otter.

"Turn, kick, reach! Turn, kick, reach! Turn, kick, reach!"

I can't wait to go home.

To Intervene, Or Not To Intervene, That Is The Question

Ever since I read that children today aren't developing functional conflict resolution skills because parents tend to intervene at the first signs of a fight, I've been trying to let the kids work things out for themselves. But what if - as is always the case - one party has a sizeable advantage? Aaron, for example, has decided that the only toys he wants to play with are the ones Gretchen is holding in her fat little hands. So he crawls over, and takes them away, and she cries. Since she can't really crawl herself, she can't even go after him to retrieve them. Sometimes I let Aaron get away with this and try to distract Gretchen with a new toy, but as soon as she has something different, Aaron immediately loses interest in whatever he has and the cycle repeats, over and over.

It isn't always a physical advantage. Recently, I walked past the family room, where Erika, Hilary and Declan were playing with a plastic train/teeter totter riding toy. Because there were three of them and only two seats on the train, Erika reasonably announced they would take turns. However, it turned out that what she meant by this was that Hilary and Declan would take turns, and she would ride the entire time. I considered poking my head into the room and saying, "Taking turns means you too, Erika." After all, Erika will probably have the psychological edge over those two for the better part of the next decade, and there's something to be said about protecting those who are not as big or as savvy from what amounts to constant exploitation. But I just kept going, and said nothing. The younger children in our house may grow up to be hoarders, unwilling to voluntarily get rid of anything, or they may grow up to be paranoid misanthropes, sure everyone is out to take advantage of them. But they will have great conflict resolution skills.

My Son, The Fish? Not So Much

It probably goes without saying that Ronan's miraculous transformation devolved the moment we entered the parking lot for his next swim lesson. He started crying before we even got out of the car. Not only that, he was far worse in the water than he had been the day before. It seems he had the "flippy flops."

This technical swimming term means that when we forced his head underwater, he flipped his head up. If you try this yourself, you'll find that tilting your head back forces your body into an upright position, rather than the typical prone position in which most folks swim. (See Gretchen demonstrate this technique above.)

Apparently, my son, the genius, figured out that it's a lot easier to breathe with your mouth out of the water (which happens when you throw your head back) than with it in the water.

Who am I to argue with that?

My Son, The Fish

Well, Days 2 and 3 of swim class were remarkably similar to Day 1. There were lots of vomit, tears, and pee, though by Day 3 Ronan was crying as soon as he saw the building (instead of waiting until he actually got in the water). But this afternoon, everything changed (for Ronan, at least).

We went to my cousin Meri's house for swimming and dinner, and Ronan suddenly decided that he loved the water. After I held him under water to kick his way to the side, he came up with a big smile on his face. After I guided him toward the steps (underwater, natch), he climbed out of the pool, then ran around the side to me to jump back in. He couldn't get enough of the water.

Though I'm sure, tomorrow morning, he'll be crying again.

Sink or Swim (Swim, I Hope)

Today was the first day of our survival swim course. Hilary, Declan, Ronan, Aaron, and Gretchen are all taking the 5-day course, offered by the Baby Otter Swim School. Since it was the first day, they explained to us, it would just be orientation--letting the kids get to know the instructors, get used to the water, and even learn to put their face in the water. No big deal.

What a bunch of liars.

I guess it's simply a matter of interpretation. "Learn to put their face in the water" actually means "I will hold your young child's head under water while I force him/her to kick maniacally to reach the side of the pool... and then repeat this four times... and then repeat the whole of it four times." In between such torture, the children clung to their instructors in a haze of crying and, in the case of Gretchen, sleeping.

Later, after I cleaned off all of Ronan's breakfast that he had vomited on me, I asked Declan how swim class was.

"Good," he said. "I cried."

"I know," I answered. "Maybe tomorrow you won't cry at swim class."

"I don't want to go to swim class tomorrow!" (Insert heartbreaking lip quiver.)

Later, under pressure at dinner, he was forced to acknowledge that going to swim class tomorrow was "okay," after Hilary announced that she thought it "great" that we were forcing them back into the arms of their captors swim instructors.

I can't wait 'til Saturday.

My Son, The Lawyer

Last nght our friend Curt came over for dinner. Curt is amazing with kids. Legend has it that he once kept a tantrum at bay by ordering his about-to-erupt son to, "Go over there and throw a tantrum, right now. I said, THROW A TANTRUM!" Needless to say, there was no tantrum to be found.

But last night he used his toddler-whispering skills for evil rather than good (if you can call manipulating your child "good"). Declan was in a particularly needy mood, and decided that he wanted a pop after already getting two cookies after dinner. Now, the pops that Declan gets are really just frozen fruit juice, but to him, they're treats, and he'd clearly had enough treats, so I said no. Then Curt got involved, whispering suggestions into Declan's ear. So this is what Declan said to me:

"My blood sugar is low. I need sugar."

"Don't you love me, mommy?"

"If you loved me, you'd let me have a pop."

I couldn't stop laughing, and even though I knew Declan didn't really know what he was saying, I also felt a little weird about having him in such an awkward position. I ended up giving him the pop. (I know, I violated every rule of parenting.)

But when he asked for another, even Curt told him he was pushing it.

Clean Out The Fridge Pasta

Last night we had one of my favorite dinners: Clean-Out-The-Fridge-Pasta. It's Matty's specialty (along with anything-hash), and he makes it with, well, whatever he can find in the fridge. This most recent incarnation had baby spinach, white beans, and leftover steak, along with the usual garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes, and chicken stock. Matty kept some pasta plain for the kids, which they had with some steak of their own.

At one point, Erika got up from the table to dispose of a piece of steak that ws "too chewy."
About 10 minutes later, Declan got up and told me that his piece of steak was, you guessed it, "too chewy."

At least he threw it in the garbage, which is better that what he usually does: spit it out onto his plate. In fact, Declan's been known to chew a piece of steak so long that it loses all color and I've completely forgotten he was eating it to begin with... He might spit it out an hour later in the bath, or outside on the playground. He does this with oranges too.

I actually watched Matty make COTFP one night and wrote down what he used. Click on the link at the right for the recipe.

Tricking the Kids Into Eating, Redux

Tonight I'm making the kids' favorite dinner: breakfast. I've only made it once before, but the kids have been talking about it ever since. It's not easy to find something all 7 kids will agree on, but this one satisfies even 10-month old twins Gretchen and Aaron, who only have 6 teeth between them.

I'm not sure where it ranks on the nutrition scale, but I think I've got most of the food groups covered. The menu will include scrambled eggs, pancakes, turkey bacon, and berry smoothies.
When I ask 6-year-old Erika what her favorite meal is, she usually says, "Breakfast Dinner." I think it was the sheer incongruity of the meal, eaten at the dining room table with the grown-ups rather than at the breakfast table in the morning rush, which so appealed to her. Maybe tonight I'll make the kids get into their pajamas before dinner to complete the picture.

Shabbat Shalom!

Last Friday we had a Shabbat dinner, something we haven't done in a while. We started having them last summer, when Amy decided "she" wanted to learn how to make challah (and by "she," I mean "me"). Our friend Lauren taught us, and I've been making it weekly on and off ever since. I made a few tweaks to Lauren's recipe: I increased the salt, twice. In addition to more salt in the dough, I also sprinkle sea salt (I like Maldon Fleur de Sel, though any kind of coarse salt will do) on top of the loaves just before they bake. It looks great, and the large crystals add a nice salty crunch. I was also having a problem with some of the loaves burning on the bottom; the recipe yields 4 small loaves of challah, and I can fit two loaves on one baking sheet. To keep the loaves on the baking sheet on the lower rack in the oven from burning, I stack a second baking sheet underneath the first. This provides enough insulation to keep the bottom light and golden.

It's a good thing the recipe makes so many loaves. One of the loaves always disappears moments after coming out of the oven (there's nothing like warm bread and butter, even on a sunny May afternoon). And sometimes (just sometimes), we have a loaf left over to make french toast Saturday morning. And if we're lucky, Matty will make his famous banana rum sauce to go with it. I'll post the recipe here as soon as I figure out how to do it.

Tricking the Kids Into Eating

At Epcot Center last year, desperate to find something to bring back for my nieces, I found plastic training chopsticks in a clearance bin in "China." I picked up a set for each of the kids with their featured zodiac (2 1/2-year-old Declan was born, not surprisingly, in the Year of the Monkey) for a whopping 99 cents each.

Amy was unimpressed. I could almost see the thought bubble over her head: "What a lame gift."

Those 99 cent chopsticks, and the $2.99 ones that replaced the first set after they broke from overuse, have changed the kids' eating habits. Sure, there are now swordfights and puppet shows at the table, but they also eat steak and chicken and even peas with them, which they wouldn't touch before. I highly recommed these; you can buy the fancy $3 set online in lots of fun animal shapes at House of Rice.

Cousin Love

It looks like they really love each other, doesn't it? Until they don't.

At lunch today, Declan announced to Hilary that they were eating breakfast.

"No, it's lunch!" she cried.

"It's breakfast!" Declan trilled back (at 2, already able to push someone's buttons).

"No, it's lunch!" she screamed. She was really upset. Which, of course, only made Declan egg her on even further.

"Breakfast!"

At this point, Hilary fell apart. Andy stepped up.

"Hilary, just because Declan says it's breakfast doesn't make it true. You know it's lunch. So eat it."

Of course, this didn't help. But don't feel too bad for Hilary. The day before, Declan lost it because Hilary kept humming under her breath, "No, no, no, no, no!" I'm still not sure why he was so upset. But I'm sure Hilary does.