And then it got LOUD

Whoever said that girls are sugar and spice and everything nice, never hosted a baking party for 15 little girls.  There was plenty of sweetness, and I'm not just talkin' about the cupcake icing, sprinkles, and caramel apple cider.  But I had no idea how spicy these diminutive, spritely angels could be. 

First order of business?  Strom the hallway to see if they could mess up T1's room, which he had guarded with this:

You can't see it, but the sign says, "Keep Out! Boys Only!

 

 

A sea of screams leapt up and down the hall as they tried to crush the only semblance of a Y chromosome left in the house. 

Their enthusiasm in creating salt dough ornaments was beyond intense.  They were ninja warriors, wielding balls of kneaded dough like nunchucks  The concept of "less is more" was completely lost on their "more, more, more" little girly-ness.  The disks of dough were etched, poked, impaled, and razed so much that some girls needed to start over just to get one on the cookie sheet.

The decibel level really started to rise when the cupcake decorating began.  All of a sudden, when sugar was involved, voices got more shrill, like squawking crows.  "I want chocolate! I need pink frosting! Pass the cherries! I NEED CHOCOLATE!!" Decorating icing, sanding sugar, and sprinkles were pooled all over the table, and not so much on the cupcake.  Ultimately, the girls took to rolling their 2nd and 3rd frosted creations in the dregs of the abandoned sugar not worthy to find its way to the original, more decoration-savvy first cupcake.

And one by one, as they started to leave at the end of the day, the house got quieter and quieter.  DG came home after taking T1 on a playdate away from all the girls, and he said, "Why is the music on so loud?"  "Because it's an 8-year-old's birthday party, and it got LOUD."  That, or it's 1965 and I'm trying to hear it above the screaming for John, Paul, George and Ringo.

But above all, T2 had the time of her life.  She was Queen Bee, with all the drones buzzing around her.  This is her element.  It was all for her--not shared with her twin--not compromised to accommodate other friends or people's feelings.  She could take it all in.  And that's what birthday parties are for. 

I hope she remembers this party when she grows up.  I still remember the cake at my 6th birthday, and I marvel now at how my mom was able to know exactly what I needed to feel special.  T2 was special today, and now, as my ears are still ringing and I can almost feel how good the beckoning bed will feel, I am happy to have made her feel so.

"Mr. D, your house is on fire!"

"Hang up and call 911! I'm on my way" were the words I heard my husband scream as I was on the other line with his assistant last Tuesday.  "The housekeeper called," the assistant said.  "Your house is on fire."

Shock. Stumble.  No.  It can't be.  There must be some mistake.  This can't be happening.  I hung up the phone and went back in my office.  "I think I need to go home," I quietly said as my co-workers started to rally me out the door.

These are not the words that you're ever supposed to hear.  Disaster is something that befalls other people, and you sympathize, you send aid, you help them recover, but it doesn't happen to you.  In my mind's eye, as I tried coolly to drive, I could see the flames melting my children's toys, my computer, all the memories of my life in photo albums and irreplaceable heirlooms.  I imagined being homeless, trying to explain to my children when they came home from school that we'd rebuild our life, that this was a way for a fresh start.  We'd be okay.  Then I thought it can't be that bad.  Stop going to the darkest, bleakest possibility.  After all, the fire department was already on its way.  The fire would be out by the time I got home.

I called DG.  He sighed, "It's okay, the fire's out.  Just get home and we'll deal with what we have to deal with."

I pulled up to my house as the fire engine was pulling away.  I've seen this in the movies before; the main character drives down her street like she's done a million times before and sees the fire truck in front of her house.  The same pit in my stomach rose into my throat.  I tried to keep from crying.

DG and my housekeeper were in the garage.  Burned debris was all over the driveway.  Water pooled in places and trickled down into the gutter.  "Thank God you're okay," I whimpered as I threw down my things and embraced my long-time housekeeper, the woman who brings gifts for my children every new year on 3 Kings day as is the custom in her country, Mexico, the woman who has been a part of our family for 15 years.  "I tried to put it out, but when I put water on it, it got bigger."

"Thank you for saving our house," I said.

We were amazingly lucky.  The fire burned a pile of things we were storing by the side of our house.  An old dog crate, some toddler high chairs that attach to the table, boxes, potting soil, planting pots and mulch.  As the flames rose up the wall and over the roof, they only burned external items.  The electric meter was burned, the tankless water heater was fried, and a ceiling spot light in the eaves was melted, but nothing structural was damaged.  The fire was against the wall and never entered the house. 

The fire department did a thorough investigation.  They went into the attic and took temperature measurements.  Our electrician came out and checked our circuit breakers that turned off during the fire, saving the house from an electrical fire.  The house was fine.  We were fine.  In a matter of 20 minutes from the time the fire started to the time it was out, we were fine.

How could this have happened?  I wondered about all the junk I piled into that space, never once thinking that it could be dangerous.  The fire department thinks a spark might have charged from a battery we had stored there for an electric scooter (you know, the kind that's like a wheelchair we used when my mom visited when she could still walk a little).  Maybe it was from the potting soil or fertilizer.  Just a hot patch with a piece of glass that caught the sun just right on the pile of what I now know was kindling?  We'll never know.  They put the cause as "indeterminate." 

Our lives could have been irreversibly changed by an "indeterminate" cause.  The possibility of what could have happened was infinitely worse than what did.  DG and I followed nearer each other for the rest of the day.  I hugged the children a little tighter when I picked them up from school.  I thanked our housekeeper again and again for her quick thinking.  If she hadn't been there...if this had happened on a Monday or Wednesday when we were at work....

But it didn't.  The forces in the universe that make things happen when they do must have been looking out for us.  Call it God or whatever you want, something went right that day, and I am so grateful.

Romance Revisited -- With Kids!

Ten years ago, I went on a trip to Michigan with my then boyfriend to visit his family and see where he grew up.  We traveled to Mackinac Island and stayed at the Grand Hotel where he proposed in the Rosalind Carter suite.

My life changed so much in that moment.  I was already pushing middle age, and thought that marriage and kids were just not going to be for me.  I had begun to wrap my head around the fact that I'd "mother" all my students and that would be enough.  But in that moment when that ring went on my finger, I felt a sense of serenity, hope, and home that comes from knowing that you are truly loved, unconditionally, and that someone wants YOU to be the one to share life's biggest moments.  We held hands at dinner that night and contemplated our future.

Ahh new love--just engaged and looking kinda scared.

DG said that night, "Someday, we'll bring our kids here."  Swoon.  This was exactly what I wanted--to have a family to make memories with.  When we left the island, we swore that we'd return and show our kids the enchanting, horse-drawn, "somewhere in time" place that was the setting of one of the most memorable times in our lives.

So fast forward 10 years.  With twins.  It's like this:  Romantic Island + kids - 10 married-life years = a decidedly different experience.

BEFORE -- Romantic Dinner in the Grand Hotel Dining Room when we could dream about our future and gaze lovingly at each other in the beautiful surroundings.

AFTER -- Okay, we still got to do this one.  They have a Kid's Club at the Grand Hotel where they have a children's activity from 6 to 9 in the evening, allowing Mom and Dad to go to the dining room sans ones who will make them sticky.

Quite a bit older now, huh?

 

 

BEFORE -- We took a leisurely bike ride the 8.2 miles around the island and took in the sites.  The island is home to several spectacular, Victorian mansions, known as summer "cottages" that were used by wealthy families in the late 1800s as summer homes away from the midwest.  The shore of the lake and the view of the Mackinac Bridge to the west are beautiful.  I looked out and saw Arch Rock and horse-drawn carriages, and other romantic couples gazing at each other from atop bikes that slowly meandered around the road.

AFTER -- Our kids have been practicing riding 2-wheelers since last summer in preparation for this bike ride.  And they were ready.  We set out at 9 am.  By 9:05, the whining had ensued.  "I'm hot, pedaling's hard, let's take a break."  When we got rolling again, there was no stopping them.  Gone was the scenery.  My eyes were glued to the kid in front of me who weaved back and forth across the road, barely missing on-coming traffic, which was sometimes a carriage pulled by a Clydesdale.  DG and I were constantly harping ahead of us, "Slow down! Stay to the right! Watch out for people! Let your sister be in front for a while!"

BEFORE --We visited the quaint downtown area of Mackinac Island and admired the work of local artisans.  Mostly paintings of the Grand Hotel or the bridge.  We carefully touched whatever we wanted and engaged gallery owners in conversations about the island's charms.

AFTER -- I saw every visit to an art gallery as an exercise in hovering--hovering to make sure the blown glass didn't get knocked over when T2 started practicing her dance moves; hovering to keep T1's grubby little hands from man-handling and smudging; hovering and herding them through the stores, like an Australian Shepherd.  I had to decide which tacky piece of Mackinac swag I was willing to pay $18 for--the hard, plastic horse with carmelly velvet glued to its body that T2 promptly christened "Goldie" or the caricature t-shirt that says, "Mackinac Island--Powered by Horse Poop!"  "But Mom," T1 says, "It's funny, get it?"

BEFORE -- Mackinac Island is known for its sweet shops, particularly fudge.  The fudge from the island is famous, and it's in a million shops all along the main boulevard.  We wandered in and out of each one, sampling "exotic" flavors like toffee peanut butter and raspberry dream.  We bought a pound, carefully wrapped it up and had a tiny taste each day of the trip.

AFTER -- The candy pushers stand in the front of each shop luring in unsuspecting kids with promises of candy beyond their wildest dreams.  The whole of downtown has a wafting odor of chocolate, with a little manure cloying for good measure.  The kids had fudge, salt-water taffy and ice cream all in the course of an hour.  Then we asked them to calm down and get dressed in their "fancy" clothes for dinner in the Grand Hotel, which requires its guests to dress formally in the lobby after 6 pm.  Jackets and ties for the gentleman and dresses for the ladies.  Trying to get kids to dress when they're hopped up on sugar is a feat like wrestling tigers--I kid you not!

BEFORE -- Ahh, after the 5-course meal, a long stroll through the lazy town at dusk is exactly what the romance doctor ordered with a tailor made sunset to solidify the deal.

AFTER -- S'MORES!!

So was it different coming back to Mackinac with the kids that we'd dreamed of 10 years before? Absolutely. Traveling with kids is hard.  Raising kids is hard.  Working is hard.  And at the end of the day, I get to have the beautiful vacation, and the home, and the career that I love.  I sometimes forget in the whirlwind that is my life to remember how lucky I am that I get to have all of this.  It's different, but light years better than what I had before.  And I wouldn't change a thing.

How My Family Changed My Mind--the Camping Version

I'm not exactly the out-doorsy, camping type, and when DG took T1 to the Cub Scout Jamboree last October, I was happily obliged to stay home with T2.  Not that I don't like being outside in nature, but it's kind of a lot of work.  I once asked my sister-in-law (a Pacific Northwest, Washingtonian who followed my brother's mountain-man sensibility and left CA when their kids were little) what she does when camping (they go like 12 times a year) and she said, "You know, you set up the camp, prepare the meals, keep the campsite neat, hang out by the fire."  Sounds like housework, not unlike what I do already everyday at home.  And it's C-O-L-D!  Sleeping outside when it drops below 70 degrees is not my idea of fun.

Nevertheless, I agreed to go on the end-of-the-year Cub Scout camping trip to Joshua Tree. The desert.  Warm at night (otherwise know as ninth-level-of-hell during the day).  And I loved it.

California's June gloom makes for a very mild desert June.  It was around 80 to 90 most of the time, with a warm breeze that embraced the campsite and made everything look crystal clear.  Rocks and plants crisply outlined against the blue, cloud-dotted sky.  Beautiful.

 T2 "meditating" against the desert sky

We hiked, cooked food in foil pack in the hot coals, listened to birds and little plant dwelling critters, watched lizards dart back and forth across the scalding desert floor, stared at the night sky, toasted marshmallows, and ate s'mores.

Now I understand why my brother loves it so much.  City kids like mine need exposure to nature.  They need room to run, a place where they can be loud.  When we're able to take the time to just be with each other, without some outside obligation, cell phone service, or TV.  It was magical.  See as evidenced by the faces above.  

So more camping may be in my future.  Hard ground and cold, sleepless nights aside, I owe it to them, to us, to make memories of their childhood with experiences they may want to pass down to their own families.  How can I argue with these faces?

We drove home dirty and tired.  I asked the twins how they liked it.  "It was AWESOME!" they yelled, as "awesome" is the most descriptive word 7-year-olds know.  But it was--awesome.

How to take a picture of your family

Get the family together on a bench.

Make sure everyone stays put.

Ensure everyone is looking at the camera.

Sometimes you have to change locations.  

Be sure to injure husband in the process.

Make sure your background focal point is actually in the frame.  

Make kids hold still.

Make sure EVERYONE is smiling.

There now, wasn't that easy?