Tight Spaces

In the kitchen we have this table, this old table with short barstools that’s leftover from Matt’s bachelor days. It’s probably from Target. It predates IKEA, it’s so old. We have it because we always find a use for it, although rarely as a table. It’s usually used for counter overflow. Underneath the table is a three-drawer storage unit from the Container Store. That’s where we keep the kids’ plastic cups and saucers.

The table has a little shelf at the bottom. That’s where the Container Store drawers sit.

And on the other side of the drawers is a little space where we keep bottled water. But when we’re out of bottled water, that’s where the kids play “airplane,” because apparently that’s what being in an airplane is like for a little kid—sitting in a cramped space.

“C’mon, Michael. Let’s play airplane!” Chiara will say to one of her brothers.

Sometimes drama ensues, as there are only two seats on the airplane and there are three children. Sometimes the person who doesn’t get to sit on the airplane hands the passengers “Gorilla Munch” or grapes, because if you’re a little kid, that’s the other thing that airplanes are good for: snacks.

Every day we make a little video (or two or three) for the grandparents. We upload it to YouTube. We make no effort to be filmmakers—we just turn on the camera and show a snippet of life on Miles Avenue. We have been out of water for about a week, so the last sixteen videos on our YouTube channel are forty-second videos of “airplane” and eating pretend grapes.

I shouldn’t be baffled that such little people, who articulate themselves so poorly and cannot count, are so creative. This morning Wagner lay down on his stomach and put a pillow on his back and announced that he was a dump truck. 

Raising Happiness--Guest Post

I'm starting a series of guest posts on the blog Raising Happiness (by Christine Carter, who is da bomb--can I still say that?)

The first one came out a week or so ago--
click me

And the second one came out today:
click me too

Check it out and leave a comment!
Or ELSE.

Thinking Back

Don’t tell me that things happen for a reason.
Don’t tell me it’s awful.
Don’t turn ashen. Don’t let your jaw drop. Don’t ask how I’m “handling it.”
Don’t tell me it’s a rollercoaster.
Don’t tell me that God has a plan.


Be like Ang, who showed up on my doorstep with a bag of a trail mix and a couple of baby blankets.
Be like Fionnuala, who held her godson and said, “He’s beautiful.”
Be like my mom who said, “How long do you want me to stay for?”
Be like my friend Jennifer who said,  "I'll watch Chiara for the afternoon while you rest."
Be like a Jennifer I barely knew who said, “Let me give you a free massage.”
Be like my neighbor who lied and said, “I made too much lasagna for dinner. Would you like a tray?”
Be like Dr. Sandhu, who wears a cloak of calm.
Be like my husband’s boss who said, “Take as much time as you need.” And she meant it.

Michael

Michael is a little OCD. For a long time I’d put the boys in corresponding outfits. Not matching, but similar. Then Wagner became a fashionista (fashionisto?) and I had to make sure that his day outfit was somehow superior to his pajamas and then that night, that his pajamas (new or worn) were somehow superior to what he was already wearing. And then I didn’t care what Michael wore because at least he was already dressed.

But Michael cared. And he knows that when Wagner wears his striped shirt, he wears his striped shirt. And when Wagner wears his dinosaur shirt, he wears his train shirt. And when Wagner wears his other dinosaur shirt, he wears his firetruck shirt. You get the idea. He has decided that some socks are Wagner socks and some socks are Michael socks.

This actually makes me proud because those are Wagner socks.

When he eats, food usually has to be segregated. Unless it’s Gorilla Munch, which has to be cut with Joe’s O’s (Trader Joe’s version of Cheerios). This makes me proud, too. Because Gorilla Munch by itself is too soggy and Joe’s O’s by itself is too plain. And everybody knows (or should know) that you can’t mix peas and carrots. In fact, the pile of peas shouldn’t even touch the pile of carrots—although insisting that they should be served in separate bowls is taking it a little too far.

Michael has a pretty good sense of direction. Even a year ago he knew when the stroller had missed the turn to go to the park. (I think Chiara barely knows how to get to the park.) And when we walk to the market, he gets very distressed if we don’t go back the way we came.

Michael has a sense of order. If we are getting ready to eat, we have to wash hands first. And if we are washing hands, we have to clean up first. He sings the ubiquitous “Clean up! Clean up!” song that is more prevalent in preschools than the Pledge of Allegiance. We also have to clean up before we leave the house or put on pajamas. It’s actually kind of handy that he is so quick to clean up and remind the rest of us to follow his lead. But it’s kind of funny. If you’ve ever been to our house, you know that tidiness is something that skips a generation.

My Favorite Child

I have a favorite child. It’s not always the same child of course. It depends on the time of day.

In the morning my favorite child is Chiara because when she wakes up, she crawls into bed with me and cuddles and makes cute snuggly sounds. She tells me what she dreamt and then she slips off to set the table for breakfast.

Getting ready for school my favorite child is Wagner because he is so enthusiastic about his clothes. His face lights up when he gets to wear a digger on his chest or a penguin or a panda. And now that he knows his colors, he even gets excited about wearing stripes.

Getting in the car my favorite child is Michael because he climbs right into his car seat. He is so anxious to get on the road, he even tries to buckle himself in. Yesterday he expressed his desire to be snapped into his seat by calling out: “Mama! I wanna be stuck!”

At naptime my favorite child is the one who isn’t awake yet.

In the car my favorite child is Chiara. If the boys are crying, she’ll tell them a story. Last week she told them about the time when Cookie Monster got a baby sister. His mama had to go into the hospital for many days and his grandma came and stayed with him because his daddy said, “I have to go stay with Mama in the hospital.” And then Cookie Monster’s sister was born and she was really tiny. The time before that she started her story with, “Today I’m going to tell you all about tornadoes and forest fires.”

At random times during the day my favorite child is Wagner, who spontaneously steps into arabesque and will always give me kisses.

At mealtime my favorite child is Michael because he’s really weird with his food and I can totally relate to that. Wagner would eat cardboard if it were served in the right color bowl (blue and not turquoise, in case you’re wondering) but Michael’s the kid who cries if you cut his banana the wrong way. He’s big into fruits and vegetables, especially cucumbers, but not too big on meat. I like the way he sits in front of his food, barely picking at it and yet still insisting that he’s not done.

At night my favorite child is the one who’s asleep. There are actually times when I have three favorite children.

More Wagner

Wagner had a full-on conversation yesterday with a woman we saw in a cafe. I was trying to get my children to eat spinach pastries; they were holding out for blueberry muffins.  Research shows (at least my research shows--based on a sample of 3), that children with blueberry muffins make less noise than children with spinach pastries. So you can guess how THAT turned out.

Anyway, the woman at the table next to us looked at me and my brood and said the standard "How cute!" and "Twins?" and "Is that the big sister?" before closing with, "You have your hands full, don’t you?"

It's the same rhetorical conversation I have about ten times a day.

But Wagner saw her engagement as an invitation to talk...so he went with it.

When she said, "How cute!" he pointed to his brother and said, "Mi-call!" Then he pointed to himself. “Beg-bee!” (That’s how he says, “Wagner.”)

The woman looked at me. I translated.

So she went on to her next line. “Twins?”

I nodded and Wagner finished his introductions. “Mama! Ra-ra!” he exclaimed, pointing first to me, then to Chiara.

“Is that the big sister?” the woman said, following the script.

But Wagner wasn’t done. He made some funny gestures with his hands. She’s not paying attention; she’s trying to get the cafe’s wireless to work on her laptop.

“Mutton!” he shouts at her.

She looks up, clearly startled that this toddler is yelling toward her.

“He’s telling you he had a muffin for lunch,” I explain to the woman, who smiles politely and goes back to her laptop.

Wagner’s too inexperienced to understand what her body language is telling us. She’s done with the conversation, but he’s just getting started.

He sits back in his chair and stares at her until she looks up. When she does, he lays on her the only come-on line he knows.

“EL-MO!”

The woman looks at me. “You have your hands full, don’t you?”

(Wagner's the bunny. As usual, Mikey is the guy with grin)

Wagner

Wagner Lee Bryan Kovac gets his first name from Matt’s mother’s maiden name. His middle name is my father’s middle name (Lee) and “Bryan” is my maiden name.

In the hospital, Wagner often the “easy-going” one. When we got back from the hospital, he was that times ten. Most of our pictures of Michael and Wagner look like this one, with Michael playing the role of the imp and Wagner being the other guy.

Or this one:

Or this one:

Even when the boys were in the hospital, Mikey was the guy with the grin.

But lil’ Wagner is shaping up to be quite a character, much like his great-grandpa, Matthias Wagner.

(Matthias Wagner had all kinds of tales. One of them involved a Coke bottle and a horse. That’s all I’ll say.)

Here’s some of the peculiar things that Wagner Lee is known for these days.

He is very particular about his clothes. He prefers to wear diggers, dinosaurs, alligators, or penguins and will turn beet red when he does not get to wear the outfit of his choice. Sometimes you can actually see steam come out of his ears.

He loves to eat and often makes meal requests. “Ham?” is a favorite request. Partially because “ham” is easy to say and partially because he really likes ham. Other favorite requests are “hot dot” and “ice cream.”

He likes to dance, as captured on video here (dancing starts at about 1 minute)

And here: when the boys were much shorter:

He likes to play peek-a-boo with his penis. Yes, you read that correctly. Michael likes to sit on the potty because he is still working out the mystery of how poo gets in there. But Wagner likes to sit on the potty so he can lift his wee member over the pee guard and say, “Peek-boo!” before hiding it again. It’s hard not to encourage him with laughter. I do my best.

Nobody told me that having kids would be like this.