Two Makes Four

One Love (Times a Dozen)

True story: Before I met my husband, I used to have dreams about my “Prince Charming.” He was wonderful and handsome, generous and loving, compassionate and sweet.

But he never had a face.

After I fell in love with Chris, my Prince Charming had a face in my dreams.

And no, it wasn’t Jake Gyllenhaal.

It was my husband’s face. That’s romantic. Get it?

Chris and I love each other tremendously. The thing is, we — like so many other couples — get lost in the everyday. The minutiae. The nonsense. We go through the rhythms of bill paying and appointment making and pet feeding. We have a morning routine, an evening routine and, at times, a lovemaking routine.

But sometimes, randomness happens. Like this.

And I didn’t even have to blow him for it.

I’ve been in love and been loved. But no one’s ever given me a dozen long-stemmed roses — especially not when I’m wearing ill-fitting yoga pants, no bra and last night’s breakfast-for-dinner in my hair.

I think I’ll keep him for a while.

Mastitis-tastic

This post is about my boobs. And not in a sexy, heaving bosom sort of way. You have been warned.

Background: Althea has violently and suddenly weaned herself (more on that in the next post). Elise has gone down to usually three feedings a day (from four). Now, with the intense congestion from the croup/cold, she’s having trouble breathing while nursing so she sometimes gets frustrated and doesn’t finish nursing.

So my supply is all spastic and wacky and my boobs are going through some big adjustments. (Huh, or maybe small adjustments. Goodbye, C cup.)

Yesterday, I started feeling a sore spot in my right boob. I figured it was a clogged duct. But within a few hours, it started to hurt REALLY FUCKING BAD. And then it started to hurt REALLY FUCKING WORSE. The slightest hint of a touch would send me into a screaming fit of pain. Soon, I started getting chills and muscle aches. It felt like I was coming down with the flu.

A call to my lactation consultant confirmed my suspicion: mastitis.

Overnight, my fever shot up to 100.1 and my breast developed a nasty, inflamed red spot on the outside. I was pretty sure my boob was going to fall off and I was going to die a slow, breastless death.

Thankfully, I’m still alive. And I have two boobs. I’m on an intense round of antibiotics to prevent it from getting worse.

I highly recommend NOT developing mastitis. It is incredibly unpleasant and involves really unattractive things. Like puss. Yes, PUSS. From your boob. Hawt.

Croup-tastic

At some point during the past week of new play areas (a free church playgroup, a kids’ gym), Elise picked up a stuffy nose. Her first ever! (I know, I’ve been spoiled. Fourteen-month-old twins and one is just now getting a stuffy nose.)

I thought mostly nothing of it. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but she was nursing as usual and didn’t have a fever. I figured it was just one of those things and she’d get over it.

But at 11:30 last night, she woke out of her sleep coughing — bad. Chris and I didn’t wait more than 30 seconds before we realized this wasn’t a bad dream. After talking to the on-call pediatrician at the doctor’s office, we ended up at the ER with both girls.

They did an initial intake at triage almost right away. Elise’s barking cough, rattling chest and labored breathing gave away her diagnosis right away: croup. Blech.

One Ephinephrine breathing treatment, a dose of steroids and three hours later, we finally headed out.

We’re super glad nothing else was wrong. Luckily, with the short round of steroids, the worst will clear up in two or three days. And if God has any mercy, Althea will not be waking up in a few hours for another trip to the hospital….

Here’s more information about croup and some audio files of croup and stridor.

Twins/Infants Travel Tips

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

From Cali, with Love

Some pics from our Cali trip.

: Althea at Irvine Park with Auntie Sum

: Althea running her little butt off at Orchard Park

: Chuck E Cheese was a huge hit — for about 45 minutes. Then, it was ADD waiting to happen.

: Yo, I’m Elise. In Cali.

: Am I turning into my mom? Time to go blond.

: Fall leaves, winter babies

Hunger Strike

The girls will not eat.

It started during our recent trip to California. Althea started refusing most nursings, but ate like a horse during regular meals. Elise, on the other hand, started losing interest in solids. I figured it was just the trip, the foreign environment, the change in climate, etc.

When we got home, Elise went to an almost complete refusal of solids. She’ll eat yogurt and these natural fig bars I get from the crunchy section of the grocery store. She’ll eat Gerber yogurt melts. Today, she ate some turkey neck meat (????). Other than that, she spits the food out, drops it on the floor, or outright turns her head and refuses it.

Upon our return to Florida, Althea went back to nursing four times a day and continued eating table food like crazy. But over the past two days, she’s rejecting solid food more and more. Like Elise, she spits out or refuses most anything I offer aside from yogurt and melon.

Elise had a bad bout with her stomach this week. Althea had a fever for a day. But even outside of those factors, no dice.

I constantly remind and promise myself to be patient, calm and content with my kids. I usually try not to make a big deal of anything so that they don’t act out based on my response.

But man, I’m getting FRUSTRATED. More than frustrated, I’m getting annoyed and resentful. I’m feeling angry and hurt. I’m dealing with one year olds who are learning a desire for control but can’t communicate in any way that doesn’t involve defiance or tantrums.

And of course, I’m worried. I already have it in my head that my girls are “small.” And now I can’t get them to eat at all? I’ll probably be put in jail.

I’ve tried every food in the house that I can think of — pasta, vegetables, a variety of fruits and meats, breads, cookies, crackers, drinks, sweets, savories, finger foods, baby food, cold food, hot food, food with sauce, food without sauce, spoon feeding, self-feeding.

I’ve tried letting them eat out of the high chairs — free-range baby feeding.

I tried putting a variety of foods in a muffin tin and letting them eat as they pleased. Althea turned the tin upside down, dumped all the food out, and the girls proceeded to smoosh the food into the tile and their hair.

A quick consultation with Dr. Google revealed that this is super, super normal. I was a very picky eater growing up, too. But this is something beyond picky. This is an straight-up “Screw you, I’m not eating.”

My next step is to try smoothies — yogurt, milk and some other stuff with nutritional value. Do they make broccoli and liver ice cream?

Excessive Exclamations

I’m sick.

In the head, sure. But, like, sick sick.

It started with a sore throat last Saturday. I figured it was from shouting all night at the noisy bar we went to in California. But the sore throat lingered. It turned into a nasty, dry cough. I almost threw up a few times from coughing (in my CAR, GROSS). Now, the plague has turned into a cold.

Oh, and Elise has had, shall we say, stomach issues all week — so bad that I’ve had to throw out a pair of pajamas (you don’t want to know) and give her several baths a day. And she won’t eat ANYTHING except breastmilk and yogurt.

Meanwhile, Althea has discovered the “tantrum.”

There’s a collection agency harassing me about a medical bill from the girls’ birth (over a year ago!) and no one seems to know what the bill is for or what to do with it.

I bought a turkey and all the extras to cook a Christmas dinner on Friday — with no one here to eat it, because I had to cancel our guests due to my apparent bought with SARS.

All this while I’m on my period. I know, TMI! But it adds dramatic emphasis!!!

This week has been SO RAD!!!!!!

I’m drinking tonight, needless to say. Drinking and hitting the exclamation mark more than usual.

!!!!!!!!!

Coming Back from Cali

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.

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.

When Sinatra’s On…

…you’ve just gotta do it your way.

Oh, I Get it Now

I’m turning into “that mom.”

You know, the one who’s 10 minutes late to EVERYTHING.

I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

I’ve always prided myself on my punctuality. I think that tardiness translates, on some minor and occasional level, into self-centeredness. After all, why is your time more valuable than mine? Shouldn’t we both respect the importance of each others’ schedules and plans?

Before kids, and even during the first few months, I was always early to every appointment, meeting, call and date. At worst, I was on time. I get the idea of being fashionably late to parties, but since I considered “fashionable” to be about 10 minutes, I was generally the first one to awkwardly arrive to any event.

Then I had the twins. Over time, my tardiness has gotten worse. Despite my best efforts, despite all common sense, despite pre-planning, I’m finding myself running late to almost everything.

This is among the many (many) “Oh, I get it now” lessons I’m learning as a mother.

You know what I’m talking about:

Before: Why is you kid so fucking filthy?
Oh, I get it now: My kid SCREAMS when I try to wipe off his hands/face/mouth/feet and I have 18 loads of laundry piling up . . . So, after almost dropping him from his high chair and poking him in the eye seven or eight times in an attempt to make him presentable, I concluded that the spaghetti sauce stains kind of match the shirt and hey, aren’t kids supposed to be filthy?

Before: Do you not hear you stupid kid crying in the middle of XYZ Department Store/grocery store/pharmacy? If you can’t shut your child up, you shouldn’t be in public.
Oh, I get it now: Crying is not an emergency. Crying is just someone trying to speak when they have no vocabulary and, in this case, they’re saying “I want to pull everything off the shelves!”

Before: Can you please not expose your freaking BOOBS in public?
Oh, I get it now: Boobs? Oh, I didn’t even notice.

Before: It’s been a year since your kid was born and you’re still holding onto baby weight? No excuses for that one.
Oh, I get it now: OH. I GET IT NOW.