Category — Ramblings

I’ve been back in therapy for about a month now. Every time I get to a new therapist’s office, I find myself in a different life stage. In each of those stages, I’m pretty certain I know everything. I’ve finally figured myself out. I’ve got it all under a microscope and I don’t need any silly armchair psychology.

I really like my new Therapista. She’s from San Francisco, and her liberal upbringing is evident in her long, barely tamed gray hair, makeup-less face and quirky clothes. I like that she respects my personality by not delivering platitudes.

The problem, then, with Therapista is that she’s smart. And, despite her slightly crunchy demeanor, I don’t think she’s going to let me get away with shit.

Last week, I divulged some intimate, problematic feelings I’m having about this pregnancy. I rambled on about being ashamed at feeling less-than cosmically thrilled, terrified at the changes in my body, scared about how the new baby will fit into our lives when things are so difficult as it is.

Therapista reassured me that these moments will pass. I will fall in love with my new daughter just like I did with the girls.

“Sure, but how do I deal with these feelings in the meantime? What’s the mantra I tell myself to get through this right now?” I whined.

She tilted her chin slightly downward so her eyes gazed up at me. With a tiny shake of the head, she replied, “The mantra you tell yourself is that these are just feelings.”

Uh? Just feelings? JUST feelings? Just feelings?? Um, excuse me lady, but in case you haven’t been reading Cosmo for the past 25 years, FEELINGS are the most important thing in this world! We are shackled to our feelings! Our feelings are our destiny! They define our past, shape our present and inform our future! We must acknowledge, belabor, journal, share, celebrate, reward, punish, revel in, and carry around our feelings like so much emotional baggage!

… Oh wait. Um. I think… Hm. Maybe you’re on to something there. Maybe some feelings do require examination while others are just buzzing flies that will eventually run out of steam and drop dead on the kitchen counter, where we can sweep them onto the back cover of said Cosmo and unceremoniously dump them into the trash bin.

It’s a totally foreign and even uncomfortable concept if you’re as inured to pop psychology as I am. But, looked at another way, this new little mantra takes away the weight, the burden of some feelings. It makes them a lot less scary. Not every emotion is definitive. Not every emotion has to mean that you’re an evil person, that you need fixing, that you’ve got deep-seated psychological issues that are bound to destroy you and the lives of those you love.

Some feelings are just feelings and they’ll go away when you’re done feeling them, or when you get a good night’s sleep, or when you eat some chocolate or have a good cry.

So, while it turns out I still don’t know everything, I think this time on the couch might actually be productive and eventful for my life.

Just a feeling.

I have nothing to write about.

No, really. I don’t.

Okay, lemme think. Ummmm…….. There was that one thing that seemed pretty interes–….

Nope. Still nothing.

The girls are still cute. Here they are in my in-laws’ dog bed. (???) Well, not my in-laws’ dog bed, but their dog’s dog bed. You know what I mean.

And speaking of dogs, our dog is leaving tomorrow. Rather, we’re giving him up. A million reasons why, but him being 90 pounds, dangerously oblivious and aggressive-acting toward the girls has a little something to do with it. It’s really Chris’ dog and I’m not sure how it’ll hit him — Chris or the dog — tomorrow, but having known the dog for almost seven years now, I may feel a little tug at the ole heartstrings too.

Since we’re on the topic of the heart, I might as well tell you all that I’m going back into therapy. Like, real, talk-your-shit-out therapy. I’ve been to psychiatrists over the past few years, but have neglected the actual non-drug-related maintenance of my well-being for many, many years. I have two appointments this week with different therapists. I need it pretty bad. Not taking any head pills, plus the craziness that is this pregnancy, are really turning me into a horrible human being.

About the pregnancy….Well, the nausea is mostly gone. I can eat again. So that’s good. But man, when they say every pregnancy is different, they aren’t kidding. With the girls, I was euphoric. The massive surge of hormones was the best antidepressant I’d ever had. This time around, I’m a MESS. With a capital M-E-S-S. I’m super depressed, haywire, unstable. My moods turn on a dime. I’m having frequent headaches and migraines. I’m exhausted, uninspired and disorganized. It’s incredibly hard to deal with this nonsense when I already have two kids and a husband who need someone who isn’t a nutcase.

Okay, maybe I had a few things to say. I’ll shut up now.

Money be damned, we recently decided to book a family vacation — just the four of us, as it will be the only and last time we will ever go anywhere as “just the four of us.” We settled on renting a cottage at a relaxing fish camp on the Atlantic. It will be four days of beach, water, sun and hammocks.

And bathing suits.

Last year, I wore this horrific tankini. What, you don’t think it looks that bad? That’s because you don’t see the front of it. It was a last-minute purchase made under duress from Target — which, unless you have the body of a starving tween, is not the place to go bathing suit shopping under any circumstances.

At the time, I chalked it up to it being a mere 8 months post-partum that I had to purchase that thing. I called it The Year of the Tankini. You know, because the next year, I’d have my old body back and I could go back to wearing a sexy little two-piece.

So anyway. For this year’s tankini, I spent $100. This disgusts me. Because have you ever gone tankini shopping? It’s awful. It’s like the bathing suit manufacturers were blindfolded at a Kmart curtain clearance as part of a diabolical Project Runway challenge. You try on eight or nine of these things and you’re ready to throw your life savings at the first person who can hand you a tankini that doesn’t make you feel like your great grandmother vacationing in Boca.

For instance:

Seriously. The model can barely keep herself from laughing, this thing is so ugly.

Note to bathing suit manufacturers: Women who are shopping for tankinis are not buying two-piece bikinis for a reason. We need shape and support for our boobs and magical panels to flatten our bellies and flattering tops to avoid back tacos. Anything involving Hawaiian prints from the 1980s, tight elastic around the legs or ruffles around anything has no place on a tankini.

The suit I got isn’t too bad, all things considered. Aside from the fact that Chris said I looked like a shower curtain in it. And aside from the fact that the bottoms actually come up past what used to be my belly button and are about as comfortable as those scratchy underwear your grandma used to buy you from Pic N Save.

Oh yeah, and since I’ve apparently forgotten, I’m freaking pregnant. So by the time we go to the Awesome Fish Camp Vacation Cottage, I’ll have a baby bump with twin skin hanging off of it AND a diaper-esque tankini to really show it all off.

Yep, it’s Year Two of the Tankini and I’m embracing it with vigor.

Somebody. Help. Me.

P.S. Any unintentional insult to grandmas and great grandmas anywhere in this post is completely the fault of tankini makers.

Organized playgroups, preschool at two years old, flashcards, Hooked on Phonics, Baby Can Read . . . Modern parents do a lot of things to stimulate their child’s intelligence. God forbid we let the child be bored or unproductive for a single second of their childhood.

Well, you know what I say? I say learning begins at home, that’s what I say. It’s the simple things that a mother and/or father do on a daily basis that teach their kids how to discover their strengths and get along in the world.

So, even though I “just stay home” with my girls, I don’t ”interact well with productive citizens” and I frequently “make an ass of myself;” and although Chris can be “inappropriately humorous” and “a bit flighty,” if not “completely disconnected from reality;” we still do plenty of intelligence-boosting activities to help fire up those neurological synapses. Or whatever.

Sample curriculum, you ask? You got it.

Introduction to Hygiene and Self Care
Current grade: A
Notice the profound excavation into the nasal cavity with the single digit of the right hand, the slightly up-tilted eyes and firmly closed mouth. Clearly an advanced technique, surprising to witness in such a young subject.

Clothing Design for the Diaper
Current grade: D
Elise and Althea have made no progress in this class in the past 17 months. Despite continued efforts to train and instruct on the crucial skills needed for diaper-covering clothing, the children continue to defy design standards by exposing their size-four Huggies.

Photography: The Art of the Self-Portrait
Current grade: C
Only one of the four subjects is even pictured in near-entirety. The others show 3/4 of a face, a mis-aligned profile and a pair of feet in the background. Were it not for an inept instructor, the children might stand a chance at passing this course.

Bad Ass-ness: Theory and Praxis
Current grade: A+
From the windswept hair to the cooly askance sunglasses, Elise shows a natural aptitude for bad ass-ness.

Woodworking 102: Gifts of Sticks
Current grade: B+
Both children show incredible aptitude in stick-gift giving. They should now concentrate on mulch, branches and other wood materials to diversify their talents.

Practical Home Improvements
Current grade: B-
Excellent spectatorship, though actual participation lacks something to be desired.

There’s some really random shit that can set me off into giggle fits. Once upon a time, it was the words ‘desk,’ ‘slimy’ and ‘chicken.’

Desk and slimy just aren’t funny anymore, but chickens are ALWAYS funny.

Anyway. That tidbit is vaguely connected to the fact that, the longer I’m married to Chris, the funnier I find him — and not always in the ways he intends. He’s the master of awful puns and tasteless jokes, but those generally just make me groan.

It’s when he’s being totally serious that he says something unintentionally hilarious to set me off. Here is the latest comedy in the ongoing theater of our married life, as told in two parts:

Part I

Salad dressing. Not funny? Not normally. But sometimes, salad dressing is piss-in-my-pants hilarious.

Specifically, this incident:

My husband was getting amorous and I was feeling receptive. It was all sweet and romantic and junk. As I snuggled my face into his shirt, I smelled salad dressing. The smell made me wonder why the hell he would smell like a bottle of vinaigrette, and my God, when was the last time he showered?, and maybe we needed a stronger detergent, and you know, there’s always a kid in school that smells like glue so surely there’s  kid that always smells like spoiled salad dressing. And suddenly my husband was that kid. I pictured him sitting in the corner of a 1st-grade classroom with thick glasses and too-short shorts, reading a book about dinosaurs while intermittently sniffing a bottle of Elmer’s glue and obliviously passing gas, all while smelling like a bottle of expired Wish-Bone House Italian.

As he moved to feel me up, I collapsed into silent laughter on the floor, unable to express why I couldn’t go on with our romantic rendezvous. How could I possible have sex with a guy who farts alone in a corner and smells like salad dressing???

Now can you see why this is funny? My husband is the kid in school who smells like…..Oh Jesus H., whatever. It’s funny. This person would agree with me.

Part II

I think everyone who uses predictive text messaging can understand this one. You try to type “Be home soon,” but the auto-corrector changes it to “You’re a lazy piece of shit and I want a divorce.” Or something like that.

Anyway, I was waiting for a doctor’s appointment and texting with Chris to pass the time. The receptionist was being a bitch and asking for my confirmation number, which I didn’t have because who the fuck actually writes down confirmation numbers anyway, let alone keeps them on hand in case anyone should ever ask for it?

Since the receptionist was clearly incompetent, I texted Chris and asked him to check my email for the confirmation message so I could throw it in the receptionist’s face and be all “BOOYAH!!!”

Me: “are you able to get to a computer right now?”

Him: “Yes.”

Me: “nm. these idiots said i didn’t have an appt but they ‘found’ it. stupid.”

Me, two minutes later when it became apparent that they  had no intention of keeping to my appointment time: “okay, wtf. can you look on my screen and go to my gmail? one of the most recent msgs is a confirmation from the doc.”

Him: “I can’t. I’m sitting in the toilet.”

Him: “on, rather.”

I started snickering. Okay, not just snickering — I burst into hysterical, tear-inducing laughter. Because now my husband was not only the smelly salad dressing kid, but he was the smelly salad dressing kid who fell into the toilet at school and had to walk around with toilet-water-soaked pants the rest of the day while all the other kids made fun of him.

I literally could not control the laughter. I covered my mouth and tried to take deep breaths, but that just made me laugh harder. I started to perspire. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. Sweat dripped down my back and forehead. I could not stop.

People were starting to stare, so I got up and walked into the hallway, thinking a change of scenery would stop the laughter. But that just drew more attention to me. The nurses started asking, “Are you okay?” and “Are you laughing or crying?” I was laughing so hard that I just waved them away — I couldn’t even respond. Every time I tried to sit back down, it would start all over again. Finally, I had to shut myself into a bathroom to get the fit out of my system and wipe up the sweat and tears.

Chris will read this and shake his head. Whatever. It’s hilarious.

At least as hilarious as chickens. Or sharting. Or sharting chickens.

Oh Jesus, I think I need to change my pants.

Okay, I’ll bite.

Ms. Perpetua has been doing this for the past few weeks and I’m ready to jump in. It’s called ControverSunday, where we write about stuff that polarizes the best of friends and angers the most loyal of readers. I love it.

This week’s topic is extended breastfeeding, a subject near to my heart. (Literally, because I’ll be talking about my boobs, and they are located near my heart.)

I’d never heard of “extended” breastfeeding until a few months into my own breastfeeding experience. Back then, as now, I didn’t really think about how long I would breastfeed my twins. I breastfeed today, and probably will tomorrow, and likely the day after that.

Or maybe not. I’m not sure anymore.

In any case, here we are, 16+ months in, and I’m still nursing my babies. Er, kids, I guess. Because Elise and Althea aren’t babies anymore. I snuggle them close to my sides when they’re nursing and, in my mind, they are still tiny, needy little newborns. But then I glance over my shoulder and see round toddler bellies and long toddler legs and I realize that I have two thinking, learning humans drinking milk from my breasts.

It rattles me for a fleeting second because I know there are people who think it’s strange that I’m still breastfeeding my 16 month olds. Thing is, I don’t think it’s strange. Most of the mom friends I hang out with don’t think it’s strange, either. Many of them are still nursing their kids — toddlers who are the same age as Elise and Althea.

Perpetua elucidates an underlying but major aspect surrounding the controversy with extended breastfeeding:

This discussion seems to have less to do with nutrition than it does with how we feel about breasts in public, and how we feel about the way a two-year-old relates to those breasts. Regarding the first issue, there’s nothing inherently wrong with breastfeeding in public.  Kids exist, kids have to eat, some kids eat breastmilk, la dee da. Adults relate to the public display of breasts differently. . . .

This leaves us with how toddlers (as opposed to “un-thinking” infants) relate to breasts. I’ve heard the “If he’s old enough to ask for it, he’s old enough to stop!” rule before, which also seems rather a bit too arbitrary. . . . More to the point, though, is that toddlers most likely don’t relate to breasts as sexual objects.  WE relate to toddlers relating to breasts with sexuality in mind.

And that’s where I think some folks have a problem. I understand that people get uncomfortable with the idea and/or act of breastfeeding an older infant or toddler, particularly in public and especially in the U.S. The sexualization of the lactating mother and her nursling is indicative of the larger social perceptions and fears of sexuality in general. And that’s stating it mildly. As they say, we’re more comfortable with the sight of people being blown up on film than we are with the flash of a nipple during the Super Bowl halftime show.

But every day, there are small revolutions that challenge this attitude — from the public protests against breastfeeding discrimination to a Facebook fan page on the historical images of women breastfeeding.

So where was I going with this . . . Oh yeah, boobs. The bottom line:

• Breastfeeding is great and I’m a very strong advocate for breastfeeding your child(ren) as long as possible and is comfortable for mother and baby.
• Extended breastfeeding is great too.
• Except, in my opinion, when the nursing child is old enough to warrant a film crew coming out to document it. I saw that lady on that BBC documentary and yeah, that was extreme.

I don’t feel like being witty, coherent or organized, but I have a bunch of would-be posts accumulating in my head so I just need to get something written.

Feel free to comment on any, all or none of the following topics:

Why won’t my children sleep?

The girls are just about 16 months old. For the past week, they have been waking up crying — no, wailing – several times during the night. The cries are so intense that we don’t wait more than 10 minutes to see if they’re going to settle down on their own. We rock, we sing, we check and change diapers, but still the waking continues.

At this point, I’ve given up on explanations. Teething apparently lasts for a decade or more. They are obviously going through tremendous developmental stages. I’m pretty sure that the growth spurt explanation is BS, because from birth to 16 years seems to be one giant growth spurt.

All I know is that I really, really enjoy kids who sleep through the night. I would like to have those children back.

OMG-GYM

I joined a gym to get away from the kids.

Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. But seriously, the crying/whining thing, and the fact that my body still resembles a mountain of melting Play-Doh even 16 months after giving birth, made me think:

• Many gyms have childcare centers.
• All gyms have exercise equipment.
• Therefore, most gyms will solve many of my problems.

This was an equation I could solve.

So far, so-so. Althea tends to start panicking after about 30 minutes, but, much to my surprise, Elise walks around like she owns the damned place.

I totally have baby fever, but I really don’t think we’re ready for another child

That’s pretty much it. We want another child, and now’s the time to take advantage of my ever-dwindling youth (and egg count). Chris isn’t getting any younger. There will never be a “right time.” There will never be enough money. So all the logical “we shouldn’t have another kid yet” excuses are semi-bunk.

But ugh. I loved being pregnant, but now that I haven’t been pregnant for a while, I really don’t want anything to do with it. The nausea, the worry, the cravings, the weight gain, the deprivation, the heartburn, the 40 fucking weeks….

Then the newborn stage. My GOD, the newborn stage.

Can’t I just give birth to a six month old who sleeps through the night?

Also, how the hell does one ever leave the house with three children and no help?

We went to Disney World — not entirely against my will

I grew up just a short distance from Disneyland in California. I know Disney. I marveled at “it’s a small world.” I grew a little and split from my chaperons to smoke behind Space Mountain. I went without chaperons and smoked wherever I wanted. I got kicked out for smoking. I got high and rode “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.” I shoplifted near the old “Jurassic Park” ride and got caught. (That one sucked.)

Then I went to college and realized what an evil machine of manufactured imagination, monetized innocence and capitalist cultivation the Disney Empire is.

But then I became a Florida resident, had kids and decided that $99 for four Disney parks was a really good deal.

So, before I knew it, this happened:

In case you’re wondering, the girls are pointing at birds. Yes, $99 and the kids like the birds. Chris is just looking hot and perfect. I, on the other hand, am just trying to suck in it, tuck my chin and hope that my newly developed brow wrinkles don’t show up in the photo too much.

I like shopping.

Oh sure, I hate the part where I catch a glimpse of my dimpled ass illuminated by a flickering fluorescent light. But since I generally don’t shop for clothes, this isn’t much of an issue.

What is an issue is that I like shopping — I like to spend money in general — but I don’t have a job.

These two considerations are incompatible, as it turns out.

Shopping is a serious stress release for me, so I find ways to make it work. For a few months, I got into the very bad habit of buying things just to experience the act of buying. I would take the goods home, let them sit in a bag in our bedroom, then return the merchandise a few days later. Weird, right?

I stopped doing that, but I still needed a shopping release.  So now, I spend a decent amount of time window shopping online. I browse ‘deal of the day’ websites, mostly. I also like browsing Amazon, Baby Cheapskate and other bargain advice-type sites. I thrive on bargains, on getting a great price and saving a few bucks.

I have learned some lessons along the way:

• Don’t be immediately overcome by a great price, especially on something you wouldn’t ordinarily buy.
  I bought a pair of cute XOXO sunglasses for $14.95 from a certain site, along with $7 or $8 shipping (should have been a red flag). I normally buy $6 cheapies at a discount store, but I recongized the name brand on this sale and thought $15 seemed like a great deal. After I charged the purchase to my debit card, I did a quick Google search to see how much I had saved. Turns out, that $15 price tag was standard across all merchants selling the sunglasses — and some offered free shipping. Bogus. And speaking of shipping . . .
• Free shipping — especially free return shipping — is worth its weight in gold.
  Free shipping offers can save you anywhere from $0.99 to more than $20 per order, depending on the size/weight of what you buy. I’ve wasted enough on shipping charges that I generally won’t buy from any online merchant that charges for shipping if they charge more than a few bucks for the entire order.
• Don’t get lazy about returns or exchanges just because you didn’t buy from a brick-and-mortar.
  I’ve been guilty of this: Buying from an online retailer and being too lazy to exchange something that genuinely needed to go. Nowadays, online retailers usually need to keep up decent customer service if they want to stay credible (thank you, social networking!). If something doesn’t fit, work or meet your expectations, RETURN IT. Contact customer service and explain what’s going on. You’ll be surprised at how accommodating people can be.
• Be open to small-time online shops.
  For our DSLR, for instance, I checked over a dozen online shops. I ended up going with a smaller retailer and got the memory card, carrying case, zoom lens, and a bunch of other crap, along with free shipping, and paid at least $100 less than the next closest competitor.
• Make promo codes your friend.
  Before submitting any order online, always Google for a coupon or promo code. Don’t rely on any single source — click on a few of the search results to see what you can find. Sites like Coupon Cabin and Retail Me Not are regular stops for me, but I’ve found lots of codes on random, 1998-looking websites too.
• Try overstock/discount chains.
  Did you know that Marshall’s often has very pricey Elizabeth Arden wrinkle cream for $20 and Kate Spade bags for $30 or $40? I’ve also picked up several pair of Robeez kids’ shoes for $5 (they retail for upwards of $25 normally). You can also find expensive shoes, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, thank-you cards, headphones, iPod cases, furniture and tons more if you take some time to browse.
• Shop around.
  This seems obvious, but I probably take it to an extreme. I comparison shop for just about everything, no matter how big or small, and I don’t stop at two or three stores. I will search for days, wait for holiday sales (for retailers, even President’s Day is a reason to put shit on sale). This applies to shopping in person and online. If I don’t like the price in a store, I’ll hold off until I can compare online prices. I’m always convinced I can get it cheaper. And if I still don’t find a price I like . . .
• Hit up Craig’s List.
  We needed a new changing table pad. Did you know those fuckers are like $30??? It’s foam, for cryin’ out loud. So I checked Craig’s List and picked up a practically-new pad and cover for $15, right down the street. I didn’t have to pay tax or stand in line, and I did my part to keep excess waste out of landfills.
• Sign up for Upromise.
  Upromise is a program that saves money toward college education, whether it’s yours or your child’s. You can even use the savings  to pay off student loans. You can do a lot of comparison shopping right on the site and a certain percentage of the purchase total is set aside in a 529 or other savings plan. Even qualifying restaurant and grocery store purchases earn you a few pennies here and there. Over the past 10 months or so, I’ve saved more than $20. I know, not much, but every penny counts.

A few other tips:

• Sign up for your local chapter of Freecycle.org
• Register for deals and news from retailers you frequent
• Learn from your mistakes
• Don’t get caught up in the moment unless it’s something you NEED and you KNOW the price you see is incredible

BTW, I haven’t been paid or compensated in any way for the site mentions or advice. This is just me, being generous and awesome. Again.

If you’ve got shopping tips or confessions, please share in the comments! I’m always up for a new site or tip.

I’m no expert when it comes to traveling with kids. I’m just writing from our experiences so far. But a reader asked, and I’m answering. Because I care.

Compared to the trip to Colorado we did back in July, when the girls were eight months old, this trip went considerably better. Plus, we were better prepared.

This advice is probably most helpful for kids between ages 6 months (eating some solid foods) to 2 years. Our first plane ride was with eight-month-old twins; our second was with 13-month-old twins.

Layover vs. non-stop flight

Bottom-line advice
If it’s a trip of three hours or less: non-stop flight. Longer than three hours? Layover. Your mileage may vary (YMMV).

Details
We did a non-stop flight to Colorado in July, when the girls were eight months old. It was a total nightmare. However, considering the flight was only 3 to 3.5 hours, it was the best, most logical option.

This time, we didn’t have the option of a non-stop flight to California from the Tampa airport, so we had a layover in Houston. For a trip that long, I was very glad we had a layover. It gave us all a break to get a change of scenery, stretch our legs, change diapers in a more spacious environment, let the girls run around, find some decent food and generally regroup, mentally and physically.

I believe a big part of the difference had to do with the girls’ age. With a few more months under their belts, I think they were just better equipped for such a dramatic change in their surroundings.

Strollers, carryons and security

Bottom-line advice
The three-ounce rule doesn’t really apply with little kids. Have your liquid-y foodstuffs in big Ziplocs. If traveling with twins, take the regular double stroller and check it right before you board.

Details
This was actually the easiest part of the trip. We brought our regular double stroller and checked it right before boarding. If you do this, a stroller travel bag isn’t necessary at all. Plus, it’s free. Plus, if you bring two single strollers, who’s going to lug all the suitcases?

The airports we went through all had family lines, so we didn’t feel like we were being rushed through. Then again, we’re assholes about it now, so we wouldn’t have rushed anyway.

They made us each take a baby and walk through the metal detector with her while they inspected the stroller separately. Chris and I made sure we had easy shoes to take off and had our boarding passes and IDs at hand. I had a backpack and a purse for my carryons. Chris just had a backpack.

A couple of other points:

• Make sure you have any of the baby’s liquids (breastmilk/formula, juice boxes, etc.) and food in easy-to-retrieve Ziploc bags for security. I didn’t even think about it and they gave me a little bit of a ribbing. (By the way, you’re allowed a “reasonable amount” of liquids and foods for kids above the regular 3-ounce limit. Basically, don’t worry about how much you have — just be prepared to allow extra time for them to inspect all of it.)
• I highly recommend a backpack versus a shoulder-strap carryon for the kids. MUCH easier to make it down the airplane aisle, stow under the seat, and find things in a very cramped airplane. Trust me, if you have a lap child under 2, you have zero maneuvering room.

What to take on the plane

Bottom-line advice
Bring the baby’s favorite and/or usually off-limits food, toys and drinks. Bring wipes and dipes in an easily accessed compartment.

Details
When you hear people tell you to bring snacks on the plane, take it seriously. A constant (and I do mean constant) supply of food was our saving grace on our second plane trip.

A sampling of what I packed in extreme excess:

• Goldfish
• Gerber yogurt melts
• Nilla wafers
• Cheerios
• Fig Newtons
• Cereal bars
• Juice boxes

It was minimally nutritious and that was okay with me for the occasion. We paid for it the next day with some serious intestinal productions. Just plan to feed the kid(s)  something semi-decent during the layover or when you land.

Other thoughts:

Bring foods/snacks they normally don’t get and/or foods that they love. The plane is a special occasion and you have to pull out all your tricks. The juice boxes and yogurt melts were especially helpful. We fed the girls a juice box each for takeoff and landing (much easier than nursing, let me tell you, which is what I tried on the Colorado trip. Yes, with twins). This was a big hit because they normally don’t get much juice and they LOVE drinking out of straws.

Only bring foods that the child can self-feed and that preferably don’t have individual wrappers for anything. Baby food jars are a JOKE on a plane. We tried that on the Colorado trip and it was a total mess.

Pack toys they normally don’t get to play with. Get creative. If your baby’s obsessed with TV remotes, shoes, paper, and chewing on books, then bring that stuff. On the plane, you’ll also have the safety brochure, the Sky Mall catalogue (good for ripping apart), the barf bag, and napkins and plastic cups from the flight attendants for emergency distractions.

Plan for delays by bringing extra snacks and distractions. Seriously, bring way more than you think you need. We were stuck on the tarmac for an hour at one point and I was so tired, I didn’t even notice; unfortunately, the baby did.

Other items I found necessary:

• An empty plastic bag for trash (okay, I actually wasn’t organized enough to use it, but if I had been, it would have been helpful)
• Wipes — specifically, travel-sized wipes in a VERY accessible pocket in the backpack — for the inevitable mess you’re going to make
• Diapers in a very accessible area of the carry-on. Both girls pooped during the 30-minute descent on the first leg of our California trip. Chris managed to change a diaper before we weren’t allowed out of our seats; I wasn’t so lucky and had to apologize for the smell to my fellow passengers.

How to dress the baby

I always remembered planes being freezing. But the last 4 or 5 times I’ve flown, it’s been kind of uncomfortably stuffy. I think they keep the air vents closed nowadays. Dress the baby in layers. For a California winter, we did lightweight, long-sleeved cotton shirt, leggings, socks, shoes and a lightweight, hooded sweatshirt. Also keep in mind that on longer flights, even the baby’s feet can swell. Make sure any shoes are VERY easily removed to relieve that.

On the plane for reals

Read this shit for reals.

This is where the shit hits the fan, where the rubber meets the road, where we’re all work and no play.

After our first high-strung experience, Chris and I were a bit more relaxed — or at least, presented ourselves that way — throughout this trip. I think that, along with the twins being a little older,  made a big difference. This time around, we:

• Changed the girls’ diapers before boarding
• Smiled at everyone down the aisles, waved the baby’s hand at anyone who would look, and generally capitalized on baby cuteness every chance we got
• Pre-apologized to our immediate neighbors and assured them that we’d do as much as we could to make sure everyone was cool during the flight

Here are my serious, for-reals, on-the-plane tips that were a HUGE help:

We were among the LAST to board the plane. Screw that family-first seating. That means you have to get up 80,000 times and deal with people dropping shit and making a big racket around you for an extra 30 minutes. When you’re traveling with kids, every second counts. No need to prolong the plane trip if it’s not necessary.

Stuff the seat pocket before you sit. Since we were among the last to board, we didn’t have sweaty mouth-breathers behind us.  So, when I got to my seat, I stuffed the seat pocket with snacks, toys and wipes. I hardly had to lug out the carry-on at all.

Plan for terrifying diaper changes and bathroom trips. Invariably, when the girls needed a new diaper on the plane or I needed to pee, it was just when turbulence hit. The planes all luckily had mini-changing tables, but the girls were freaked the hell out because the plane noise was so loud in the bathrooms. When I had to go to the bathroom on the plane, I took my assigned child with me and did everything one-handed (the baby was too freaked out to be set on the floor because of the crazy plane vibrations).

Chris, on the other hand, just didn’t use the bathroom on the plane. Good luck there.

Stay calm. Make friends with your neighbors. Don’t count on flight attendants being nice to you. Remember that the plane’s ambient n0ise drowns out a tremendous amount of screaming (from you and the kids).

Remind yourself that you have a right to fly — yes, even with children. That child might be the next president. RESPECK.

When you arrive

Bottom-line advice
If you don’t co-sleep, rent a Pack -n- Play — and any other VERY necessary baby items you can’t easily travel with. If you have two or more kids and you need to drive with two or more adults at your destination, rent a mini-van and find a deal online. Don’t bother renting toys.

Details
Baby equipment rental: Traveling with twins, we need stuff. We don’t co-sleep. We just don’t have that luxury, not even occasionally, and not even now that the girls are older. So, after very serious thought, I knew we needed Pack -n- Plays for both girls, car seats, high chairs and safety gates (to fence off a fireplace and some stair cases at my mom’s house).

I browsed and got a rough estimate for baby equipment rental from travelbabees.com. But holy mother of all that is holy, that service is WAAAYYYY overpriced, even with a twins discount. Holy smokes. Don’t even go there.

We used babysaway.com for our Colorado trip and used them again for our Cali trip. They have safe and clean equipment and offer delivery and pick-up (for an extra fee — either to the home/hotel you’re staying at or the airport), pick-up, and set-up and break-down of equipment. Mind you, this isn’t all fancy-schmancy stuff. But it’s clean and safe and worth every single red cent it costs to rent. (As an example, travelbabees quoted $96 for two Pack n Plays for a week; it’s $80 for both at babysaway, plus potential discount.)

P.S. No one has reimbursed me for any of those mentions.

Car rental: I’m a big-time comparison shopper. After a lot of research, my online reservation at Alamo had the best rates for a week-long rental of an eight-passenger minivan, including rental of two full-sized carseats. (Google around for coupon codes.)

We got an eight-passenger, 2010 Toyota Sienna (with 17 — yes, seven-fucking-teen — cupholders) for  a full week for less than $600, including two carseat rentals, taxes, fees, etc. (Sidenote: That’s a lot of money any way you slice it.)

(By the way, I’d read bad things online about crappy carseats from rental car companies, and we didn’t have any such problems at all.)

P.S. No reimbursement for this mention either.

Baby proofing: If you’re renting equipment, find out about safety gate needs at  your destination and rent accordingly.

Bring a cheap-o pack of plastic outlet covers.

Keep an eye on the kids. <– probably important overall

We’re back from our week-long trip to California.

I know! I didn’t even tell you guys. I was just nervous about someone breaking in and stealing all of our . . . books?

Anyhow, we visited my mom in Southern California. The O.C., to be specific. If you’ve seen “Desperate Housewives of Orange County” or “Laguna Hills” or “The O.C.” — yeah, it’s pretty much like that for reals.

I grew up in one of the most white-bread places on earth. Even Daniel Tosh, one of the finest comedians in recent memory, remarked in a stand-up routine that the O.C. is well known for its diversity.

<cue hysterical laughter>

Every California trip prior to this one has been overcast by my sarcasm and disgust for all things Orange County. I was a creative and rebellious teenager in a sterile, cookie-cutter city with one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. No wonder I smoked, boozed and hallucinated my way through high school. I mean, what other way is there to deal with all that . . . pleasantness?

I’ve now lived in Florida for more than seven years. Sure, Florida has its fair share of generic-ness. But the Florida I’ve experienced is different from So Cal. Nowadays, I think neighborhoods with sidewalks are “fancy.” I know what it’s like to be hit by a hurricane. I live within an hour’s drive of the world’s largest Confederate flag.

Oh, and I don’t pay state income tax. Score.

The point of this is to say that things are different for me now. I now have a husband and kids.

So on this trip, all of those stupid Orange County greenbelts and stupid Orange County generic houses and stupid Orange County engineered streetscapes all started looking kind of nice. There were parks everywhere. We took the girls to one park that I used to go to when I was a tweener and it was suddenly way better than I remembered it. There were infant swings and rubber floors and toddler-sized slides and fake sand with no cigarette butts in it.

When workers showed up to blow fallen leaves and dirt off the playgrounds, I was like damn. So that’s where property taxes go.

Later in the week, we went to a regional park that had a freaking choo-choo train and six playgrounds. Six!! ARGH.

Awesome? Of course. It’s a modern mother’s wet dream. Would I move back? Hells to the N-O.

I guess I’ve spent enough time away from So Cal to just see it as it is: Not something awful — just something that didn’t fit me.

As much as I’ve missed seat protectors in every public toilet, liquor sold in grocery stores and legally required smog checks for cars, I couldn’t go back to 18-lane freeways, double-D boob jobs and all that dry air.

I mean, have you seen the O.C. housewives? They age like old beef jerky.