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I have to hide the raisin bread.
My mother is here for a visit, and she and the twins are having a wonderful time so far. Mom has several times pointed out to me, ways in which one or the other of the girls takes after me when I was a small child.
It’s too humiliating for me, though, for her to find out one more way in which they take after me.
That’s why I’m hiding our loaf of raisin bread deep in the recesses of our fridge.
You see, one of my mom’s pet peeves, when I was small, was how I would excavate a loaf of raisin bread and pick out all the raisins and eat them. Then, when she would reach for a slice of “raisin” bread, what she got - was just “bread”, the raisins having long since departed this earth by way of my gullet!
And yep, you guessed it - my twins likewise render a lovely slice of raisin bread into something more resembling a slice of swiss cheese, but with larger holes.
And I’m embarrassed. And I wonder: is this a result of genetics, or just karma? Is there such a thing as Raisin Bread Karma?
(and yes, Mom, I know you’re going to read this eventually :) but somehow it’s less embarrassing for me if you’re not in front of me when you’re rolling with laughter at karmic justice being served.)
Thought I’d update all and sundry on what’s developed with the people below us.
When we came back from our three-week trip to Japan, we knew it would be tough for the people who live downstairs to re-adjust to the pitter-patter of little feet.
But we had no idea just how hard it would be!
Coming back from Japan, the twins’ day and night were switched around 180 degrees. It took a few days before we could get them back on a proper sleep schedule.
In the meantime, though, the girls would wake after only a half night’s sleep at 3am. We tried keeping them quiet and getting them back to sleep, which was made much more difficult by the downstairs neighbors slamming their doors in fury and screaming profanities at us.
(Of course it didn’t help to tell them that if they wouldn’t crash their doors so that the entire building shook from it, waking the girls from their early afternoon nap WAY too early, causing them to sleep too early, then the girls might have a shot at sleeping properly!)
So we decided to take the girls out in the car and drive around to get them calmed down enough to sleep.
No sooner had we set foot outside our door than the neighbors screamed more abuse at us and said they’d already called the police and they were on their way.
So, no car trip. Instead we waited for the police to show up.
And waited.
And waited.
By that time the neighbors had long since went back to bed, when I called the police and asked what was taking them so long?
They said that no noise complaint had been called in.
So we proceeded to take the girls out in the car until they were tired again.
We thought that would be an end to it.
Imagine my shock, then, when a social worker from DYFS (Division of Youth and Family Services) showed up at my door a few days later to conduct a surprise inspection of my home and family!!
Turned out the woman downstairs hadn’t called the police, but she did call in a false report to DYFS!!
DYFS said it was an ‘anonymous’ call, but the woman downstairs had actually bragged about it to some of the other neighbors who told me.
The woman claimed our apartment was a sty, grafitti on the walls, the bathroom never cleaned since we moved in almost a year ago and that she witnessed my husband manhandling one of our twins!!
The social worker could see that our apartment was fine, the bathroom quite clean and sparkly and no signs of grafitti on the walls. Our kids were clean, well-behaved, happy children, and when the neighbor who had been bragged to, came forward to phone her that it had been a false report, the case worker decided to close the case.
Hoorah!!
Now we’re thinking of whether or not to sue the pants off the people downstairs. Or maybe get a restraining order.
The other neighbors in our section of the complex where we live were livid when they heard what the downstairs people had done. They made it quite clear that that kind of criminal behavior was unacceptable. (It could be their kids next if they crossed the people downstairs!)
Since then the people downstairs have taken great pains to behave in a civilized fashion around us (especially if other neighbors are watching), and suddenly, the noise from the twins is just fine and at an acceptable level. (same level it’s been all along!)
Supposedly they’re going to move to a different apartment further away in the complex when one becomes available, but we’re not holding our breaths. We’re sure praying for it, though!
We don’t let our kids watch commercial tv. We do, however, let them watch carefully selected dvds and videos.
Spongebob Squarepants (who my twins refer to as “Mister Meancheese”) is persona non grata in our home.
Dora the Explorer, with her grotesquely huge eyeballs and videogame-like approach to solving her dilemmas is also unwelcome.
Diego though, is quite welcome. As are the Wonderpets, the Backyardigans, Blue’s Clues and Zoboomafoo, as well as a number of others.
But even among those welcomed into our living room, there are things that just steam my bucket of crabs, if you get my drift:
Have you ever noticed that while Diego is imploring his pre-K audience for help in rescuing some hapless beastie, said beastie is dangling precariously over the open and slavering jaws of death while Diego takes his own sweet time, carefully correcting the volume and pronunciation of whatever the kids have to shout at him to get him to move his animated little butt and save the critter?
And where are Diego’s parents? We see infrequent glimpses of them from time to time, but nowhere are they to be found when Diego is about to get his head ripped off by an anaconda or somesuch! They let this little boy (he’s what? 7 years old?) snowboard, rappel up and down mountainsides, brave puma attacks and other similar instances of reckless child endangerment and neglect. And they must pay pretty good for child labor in the jungle, because Diego is tricked out with the latest in techie rescue gear!
Moving on…
The Wonderpets is next to draw my maternal ire. Where the H.E. Double Matchsticks are the endangered animals’ parents!? Why is it they only show up AFTER their “precious” babies are rescued by a sentimental turtle, an avaricious glory-seeking duckling and a well-intentioned guinea pig. Sure, they thank the Wonderpets sincerely and often dole out a snack to accompany the ubiquitous celery chunks the ‘Pets chow down on, but apparently in Wonderpets land, parents have better things to do than to keep their offspring out of mortal danger!
Doesn’t this have a flavor reminicient of Disneyesque matricide?
In Disney movies, the parents are either absent altogether, with no explanation provided, or the mother has died (or is viciously murdered on- or off-screen) and the father is usually either a tyrant, a crackpot or decrepitly old. Or just asleep. For the duration. Or neurotic as all get-out.
Gee, for a “family-friendly” company, they’re not doing too well on P.R.ing for parents!
And there’s loads more I could unload about, but perhaps that’s enough for today.
Yesterday was the Great American Backyard Campout.
We decided to pack up the twins and our tent, and a carload of other things that one would need for one night’s worth of camping, (Yes, Mike, we really DO need that mountain of stuff!) and headed off to a local botanical garden that was hosting the event.
Thankfully we got there in time to snag one of the coveted parking spots that were in short supply and headed for level ground to pitch our tent.
While the girls had fun with a giant-sized set of pick-up-sticks (our tent poles), Mike tried to set up the tent without instructions (later we found them attatched to the INSIDE of the tent!) and I tried to keep the girls from poking any eyes out with the tent poles, pulled them away from trying to demolish neighboring tents, and plucking various bits of flora and fauna (or the by-products thereof, a.k.a. ‘droppings’) from their dainty little fingers, while spritzing them and myself with herbal bugspray.
Finally the tent was up and the girls were eager to get inside it and explore. This would be their first grown-up tent. Halle immediately flung herself at the ‘windows’ and lounged face-first into them, squooshing her face into the mesh to make funny faces at the outside world. Zanna fussed over the proper placement of the sacred purple ‘piddows’, while Mike collapsed in an exhausted heap.
He had schlepped enough equipment that would normally take three sherpas to get it up Everest.
We then piled outside, after prying Dada from the tent floor where he had collapsed, and headed for a bench for a picnic dinner.
Copious servings were offered to the garbage fairy, by way of gravity.
After collecting the fairy’s offering and dropping them in her ‘in-box’, we explored a little, pulling the girls away from trampling prize rosebushes, snatching other childrens’ crayons, or falling into the koi pond.
Then it was time for the reptile show.
This is what originally made me think this would be a good outing, the tipping point, as it were.
A lady was hired by the park staff to show off various reptiles: an alligator, a turtle, snakes and other scaly critters.
After cautioning us to be very quiet so the critters wouldn’t be spooked, she took them out of their cages and walked around with them. So far, so good.
And then the girls learned they would not be able to pet the alligator or other critters.
A four-alarm fire then broke out, minus the fire, but plus all the sirens and whistles. At least that’s what two very disappointed toddlers sounded like as we carried them away, howling at full-throttle and weeping pitiful baby tears.
It was definitely time to break out the marshmallows!
When they mentioned s’mores in the event description, I had thought there would be a bonfire and so I bought some extra-extra long sticks with which to roast our marshmallows and not get singed kids.
Nope, no bonfire, so we ate the marshmallows raw. Later, park staff came around with trays holding pre-made s’mores, which the girls loved.
They loved smearing them on their faces, on their shirts, on their hands, and showing off the half-chewed remains still in their mouths. Gack!
After wiping up the sticky mess we decided it was high-time for bedtime!
Imagine trying to get two cranky toddlers to sleep while other older kids are running all around, shining flashlights into our tent and generally making loud noises.
Finally, peace decended upon the valley once more.
And then the temperature dropped.
Alot.
Luckily I had brought their summer longsleeve pj’s, but it got REALLY cold that night, and the girls still haven’t caught on to using blankets, so Mike and I each snuggled with a girl to share body heat and somehow we all made it to morning.
5:30 am, crack of dawn, and our Halle alarm went off. Loudly.
Ten minutes later, our Zanna snooze alarm went off, too, so we put them in the car while Mike dismantled the tent and re-schlepped everything to the car as we waited for the park staff to finish making coffee and bring back the spoils of a donut run.
Then we went home where I got to take a nap before taking the girls blueberry picking at a playdate.
I don’t like camping, I usually end up cold, wet, miserable and with a sore back, but the girls loved it! So I guess we’ll be doing it again!
I think ‘masochist’ must be part of the Mama job description.
Yep, we’re still having difficulties with the people down below us.
While they expect us to tiptoe around like timid mice, they bang and slam and crash with impunity. I often hear their dog howling at the noise they make, like the hound of the Baskervilles.
Our apartment literally vibrates everytime they slam out of their apartment and slam back into it. We can even feel the vibration in bed!
And it’s at all hours of the night! Even past midnite I can hear them. Sounds like they’re either moving furniture around or maybe dead bodies, who knows?
They’ve got 3-4 smokers living there at any given time and the two dogs (and cat) so they are constantly in and out, and each entre or egress is accompanied by the slamming of the apartment and outer doors.
At least the man seems to have grown up a little and started bringing his keys with him when he goes walkabout, instead of ringing our bell repeatedly and accusing us of ‘locking him out’ when the wind blows the SECURITY door shut that he deliberately left open. He even rang our bell when his own wife was at home.
At times, they even play their tv SO loud, we have a hard time hearing our own!
And here’s the heartbreaker: Zanna HAS taken to tiptoeing around sometimes, saying “Look, Mama! I walking SOFT!”
And after a particularly loud door slamming from down below, Halle came up to me saying “Why they bang so LOUD?” I asked her if she was ok and she said: “I scared, Mama.”
And always, before I have to take them outside, I peek outside first, because they always leave one of the dogs offleash, a pomeranian, but it’s so excitable, I don’t want it hurting my babies. And the pit bull, while leashed is also a menace: the wife downstairs one time let it have enough slack to lunge at Mike, so that he had to jump back to get out of its way. Then she reeled it in and walked past him without a word, not even a ’sorry’.
And now they’ve stepped up their campaign of intimidation and terror by working up some cockamamie story to tell management and so we’ve gotten called in for a meeting to respond to THEIR complaints!
I’m thinking of taking legal action here. This is SO not right!
It occurred to me yesterday that I could almost measure the girls’ developmental progress by the size of the apples they eat.
WAY way back in the early days, when they couldn’t even walk yet, they ate babyfood applesauce - ultra pureed.
Then we moved on to regular applesauce by the time they walked.
By the time their first molars had shown up, we had moved on to peeled and thinly sliced apple slices.
Then it was thicker peeled slices,
And after their second molars were well in, I started them on slices with the peel ON.
At first, they just nibbled the fruit and left the ‘rinds’ behind, often hidden in dark, quiet places where they could becom applepeel leather in case of famine, but after a few weeks, they started to eat the slices peel and all.
And now I just wash and hand them a whole apple. When they start getting into the core, they politely hand it back to me with a request to remove the ‘yucky stuff’.
I’m pretty happy that they’re getting all the fiber and nutrients that go along with the peel (usually the most nutrients in fruit and veggies is the layer just under the peel) and Halle has been having fantastic poos!
So I’ve been trying to give them an apple a day, or every other day.
Still not trying raw carrots in anything but small, thin matchsticks, though, as the choking hazard is still there in greater degree than the apples, I feel.
And I do supervise their apple eating, just in case 
…about 17 pounds worth.
That’s how much we picked last weekend when we went to Terhune Orchards up in Princeton.
They’ve got cute little trees so we don’t need ladders, and plenty of boughs were close to the ground so the girls could pick cherries, too.
We all picked and picked and picked…
We had so much fun that we didn’t realize just how much we had picked in less than an hour!
So after that we called it quits and made the usual rounds of feeding the geese and goats and petting the farm dogs.
And eating the dougnuts
End of June is Blueberry picking, which will be fun.
Hopefully we won’t go so crazy with the picking next time.
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