How Big Their Brave Is

It would be a relatively simple reflection if this entry was about me. I turned an advanced age this year. I took on a new job, in a new department, in a new city. I haven't run a marathon in nine years. And last month, I did one. Under a beautiful fall sky in Chicago, with 40,000 other gutsy souls, with my family cheering me on at miles 15 and 23. It's been a humbling, brave, and at times accomplished year for me, but I'm wired to accept challenges and persevere. 

But this entry isn't about me, it's about my kids. And just how brave they've been.  

Back in February, on a chilly midwestern evening, I told my kids were going to move. Margaret and Bobby said, 'okay,' my announcement not phasing them one bit. Mary cried, or rather hyperventilated, for about twenty minutes. She went to bed with tears streaming down her face. Only Peter could console her. He told me she was okay after some stories, after a calming conversation. But I worried.  

I questioned myself and the decision we made all summer. Are we doing the right thing? For the kids? For us? I kept looking for signs to pivot, but they never came. So, we persisted and pursued this new direction. 

On the first week of her new school, in her new classroom, Mary told me that her teacher played a theme song for them. It was called 'Brave' by Sarah Bareilles. She asked Siri to play it as I made dinner, and she started dancing and singing. I loved it. How fitting, how in tune, I thought as I chopped and sauteed. I told her, 'This is the best theme song for you. Think of all that you are doing this year. Think of how brave you've been!' I started dancing with her. 

She shrugged and the mood dimmed. She stopped dancing. Awkwardly, so did I.  

She looked up and said, I didn't dance when I was at school today. All the other kids did. But I didn't feel comfortable. I didn't want them to make fun of me. 

Why would they make fun of you, you are a great dancer?  

I don't know - I'm the new girl. And they all say I'm quiet. And they don't really talk to me. 

Well, what does the song say, you gotta be brave. You gotta show them who you are. 

'How would you know? You're not me. You never had to move. And why did we have to move anyway? This was all for you. You didn't even ask me, ME, if I wanted to move.' 

She cried and I hugged her, but she wiggled away, sat down, and let the tears go. I said it would be okay. To her. To me. But once again, I wondered if it would. 

Margaret and Bobby came up from the basement wondering what was wrong. Why Mary was sad. Ah, that. Helpful or not, they piled on, preaching hope for a brighter future. 

'I made friends right away Mary - it's easy.'

'Yeah, the boys in my class are annoying, Mary, but I like Ada and Stella.'  

Mary got madder. 'So, what. You don't know how I feel. You don't know what it's like in the fourth grade.'  

For the first couple weeks, maybe a whole month, I heard this a lot. And it rotated around. Mary would have a better day, Bobby would have a worse one. Then Bobby great, Mary bad. The kindergarten classroom was the clear winner in terms of integration. It all hurt. I second guessed myself again and again. Did we make a huge mistake? 

September was challenging, October more optimistic, and then November hit. Mary has never been happier. She's made great friends, she's been to birthday parties, she got the lead in the 4th grade play, she's doing well in curriculars and extracurriculars - swimming, tennis and piano. She wakes up every day excited for school. She's outgoing, confident, and blossoming. Bobby and Margaret are also happy - Bobby with a new best friend, a pair of ice skates, and the vision of being a hockey player, Margaret with the cutest group of friends and a social calendar that I can't even keep up with. The babies still don't know what happened, but they like their new surroundings and their days going to museums, the library, zoo and conservatory.  

I started writing this blog almost two months ago, when I started to believe that Mary had demonstrated a tremendous amount of resilience. At this point, I'm proud to say, that she has truly owned how big her brave is. All of them have. Peter too. 

We hosted our cider press party a couple weeks ago, and one of the guests said it well. You seem really settled. And I responded, I think we are. There are still challenges, still learning curves, still people we dearly miss, but we've proven maleable. And I think with it, we've all grown. A little wiser, a little stronger, a little more uniquely us. 

  

       

 

Before the move, everyone told me, kids are resilient. They'll be fine. In honesty, kids aren't automatically that way. They need the right guidance and support system to help them rebound and blossom out of it. The school they are going to, their teachers and the families we've met, their new coaches, our new babysitter and facetiming with our old one, my family, and the role Peter has played in the transition were all vital to our success. And I can't thank all of these stakeholders, particularly Peter enough, for helping my kids see how brave they can be. 

Lo. 

Twin Twos

If I were to reflect on the past two years, one word best describes them. Blurry. A big, old blur. That's my four-word definition. Unlike the years between Mary's birth and turning two where I savored, stowed, and secured the transition from infant to baby to toddler, these years will always be a little less precise in my mental files. 

But two years with twins seems momentous, nonetheless. I can't provide every detail, but there was sweetness, laughter, tears, tired eyes, anger and frustration, sacrifice and reward, resolve and rejoicing. All the celebratory and cringeworthy elements that you want in an epic job well done as parents. The little characters that stole the show (and part of my sanity) accomplished a ton in the past year. And I'm so proud of them.  

They were graduates of speech therapy, going from saying 'woo woo' to saying puppy and now to saying two and three-word sentences. If I may indulge, some of their favorite lines are: 

'Aw, puppy ... woo woo.' 

'Outside. See puppy' 

'Help me Mommy. Get puppy.'

'Please. Puppy!' 

'Oh, that my puppy.' 

'Aw puppy eat.'   

'Ok, go night night, puppy.' 

Basically 95% of their sentences are structured around dogs, but I'll take it. That's progress regardless of the centering theme. 

They went from good little eaters, to insatiable over eaters. They particularly love crumb topped donuts, fruit pouches and fruit snacks, avocados, any kind of meat, cheeeeeese, and ice cream. They are the first ones to come downstairs for dinner and can hear my call, all the way up on the third floor. They know how to say please and thank you after they are served. And they will even bring their plates over to the sink when they are done. 9 times out of 10 the remnants on their plate topple to the ground on the brief walk over, but again, I'll call it a win. 

They love to climb. On anything and everything. Church pews, their high chairs, on the couch in my office, and particularly out of their own cribs. When you hear them giggling on the baby monitor, you know they have done it again. 

They spent the summer swimming and swimming, and Caroline is basically doing the motions of free style in the baby pool. I'm hoping will they stay as fierce and fearless next year. 

They love Cocomelon. Period. 

They are determined and sometimes stubborn in their attitude. They want to do it their way, right away, without assistance. This is particularly true with water bottles, markers, and anything else that will end up making a giant mess and causing total chaos when things go awry. 

As much as they are similar, or identical in look and stature, they are still very much their own person. Caroline is loud. Jacqueline more reserved. Caroline has more the Bobby and Margaret energy level. Jacqueline has Mary's comportment. Caroline will steal Jacqueline's food. Jacqueline will shovel it in her mouth before Caroling can get to it. Caroline sucks on her finger and always wants her very frayed blanket. Jacqueline is weaning off of a pacifier. 

Their connection runs deep though. They are best friends and look after each other. If one has fallen down, the other one rushes over to help her up. 'Help up,' Caroline says. 'Okay,' Jacqueline says. It's just about the cutest thing they do. 

They are both cuddlers. Both give big hugs, nose nuzzles, and plea for you to hold on to them as long as possible. And man, do I love giving them all the love I can offer. 

When I found out that we were having identical twins in 2020, I panicked. I was crying in Walgreens buying extra folic acid, worried about my ability to take care of two more babies at this juncture of life. 

It's blurry, like I said, but somehow, most likely by the grace of God, it has worked. And been a lot of fun. And now they are two. 'TWO!' as Jacqeline will say. Sometimes the two in them is pretty terrible, I'm not going to lie. But more often than not, they are absolutely, positively terrific. 

Happy (belated) second birthday twins - love you.  

Mommy / Lo. 

The Move

Some say, 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' Others, namely my mom, 'this too shall pass.' I've even said 'give it two weeks.' 

It's been more than two weeks. 27 days to be precise. And it still feels like we are very much in the thick of our transition from Chicago to our new hometown. We're not dead. Bruised and beaten down a bit, but surviving. Heck, thriving.  

My blog has provided relief or rather self therapy in the past. So too shall it play that role today. 

So let's pick up where we left off. It was Margaret's birthday. I got home (or rather to Opa's house, where we were staying), from Connecticut just in time. I bought her Kirschbaum's donuts for breakfast, hosted a little party in the park with her friends, took her out to dinner, put a candle in her ice cream which she didn't eat. And made her feel like the queen of the world. Her cuteness and sweetness and just about ready for kindergarten-ness deserved it. But oh shoot, the babies weren't feeling well. And Mary went to bed saying her throat was scratchy. 

Friday morning. Last day loading up our house before the move. And ... good morning to high fevers all around. Babies, Bobby, Mary and Margaret. All down for the count. Bobby threw up twice sitting at the breakfast table, then went back to bed. Mary's head was killing her. Margaret shrugged it off and played with her new toys. I drank gallons of water, hoping my throat would turn un-scratchy. We all had Covid. Well except Peter. Peter never gets sick. 

Saturday, and I couldn't get out of bed. Fever, no appetite, lethargic, rather immobile for the majority of the day. This was not mild symptom Covid. It was bad symptom Covid. Bobby basically didn't wake up for 48 hours.  

Regardless, that afternoon, I pulled myself out of bed ate a couple of Mrs. Larsen's cookies and found it in me to say goodbye to our empty house. I walked inside, all freshly scrubbed and polished from our wonderful cleaning ladies, Maria and Aracelli. Tears streamed down my face. I cried hard, ugly cried. Especially when Claire and Trent drove by to say their goodbyes. Man, I loved that house. That yard. That street. Everything. Why were we moving again? Oh yeah, cause of me.  

I wiped my eyes dry. Ate nothing for dinner. And vowed that I would be better in the morning. I was. And Eva came over to help big time. God bless Eva. What would we do without Eva part 10,000. We cancelled our flights and drove to our new home, several states away. The twins and Mary in my car, Bobby and Margaret with Peter. I got Eva. PA or bust. 

We made it to the AC Hotel downtown without much drama and quarantined ourselves for another day. I slept well - earplugs in. Peter slept terribly - no earplugs in. His room was right next to train tracks and boasted screeching locomotive sounds all night long. 

The next morning, I took the babies for a run along the river and got donuts. We live and die by donuts clearly. As soon as I got back, Peter went to the new house to help the movers. And the construction workers who were still finishing off our light house renovations. Today they would finish. I was convinced. 

Day 1 brought excitement and promise and possibility. Mary's bunk goes here, the piano there, the coffee pot right ... there. And then there was water. In the basement, in the master bathroom, in the Jack and Jill. And the 120-year old creaky, cracky cast iron pipes showed their true and terrible side. Or the side not present on our inspection. Fast forward to the diagnosis and prognosis - they all need to be replaced. 

As we were unpacking throughout the next week, light construction turned to plowing through walls of the house and a ton of dust as we ripped out the old and put in PVC. The sounds whirring through our house in the first week were incredible: banging, bumping, sanding, sawing, jackhammering, Mexican music, footsteps up and down, up and down, men grunting from carrying some of the heaviest furniture up two and three flights of stairs, babies crying, kids whining, People talking on the phone, me teetering on the verge of defeat. But I had to stay strong. This had to be it right. Why did this have to be so hard? And come on, this is it okay, we cannot manage anything more right now.  

Then Margaret got a tick bite and we were scrambling to find a doctor and medicine. 

Then on the first day of my job, no one told me where to be or when. I found out mid-morning I was supposed to be in Columbus for a meeting. I was nowhere near Columbus. I might have cried as HR was telling me it would be okay.

Then the kids got stains on their new carpets, which I didn't clean correctly, and Peter got mad. At that moment, I felt like we had made the wrong decision. And what if we had? What does that mean?      

I started to think about all the great things that happened. Not all the challenges. In those thoughts were so many signs that things were going to be okay. Not okay, great. We've been able to see and be with my family, the kids with their cousins (after our Covid tests came back negative of course), we've hung out with my high school friends, we've met new friends including a bunch of interesting and kind people at the most beautiful and thoughtful welcome dinner organized and cooked by our backdoor neighbor, we've created new rooms and more spaces to play, we are right near museums, have new bike riding routes, have pruned ourselves at the pool, and eaten many popsicles at cafe. You can certainly see the desirables through the construction dust.    

I am hopeful our house is finished with phase 1 of an attempt to breath new life into it this week. The kids are back in school and doing well thus far. Peter and I took a much needed break - a time to reset and celebrate our wedding anniversary in Charlottesville. And on the drive back home, along the country roads of Virginia and West Virginia, I realized we're going to be fine. Not fine, excellent. 

Because perhaps a better saying is what doesn't kill you, makes for a better story. And after 11 years of marriage, we've accumulated some great ones - including the one of this last month.  

Lo.