Biscuit on BeanWatch

The Beans light up when they see Hubby and /or Biscuit and/ or Katie. I have to admit, I'm a little envious, but I love that I get to see them all happy and smiley. It's great and the very best part of staying home with them. Along with getting to be the first one who sees everything they learn to do.

Like crawling

And standing

And playing footsie

This morning, Wednesday morning, I noticed a funny smell. This is nothing unusual, but the smell itself was. It was familiar to the point that I knew I should know what it was but it eluded me-- staying just beyond my grasp. I was getting really frustrated and after about thirty minutes I noticed it was following me around and I just could not shake it. I looked all over my shirt and robe and checked my hair and upper lip (not the hair on my upper lip- I'm not there yet) and suddenly I realized that I hadn't showered in a couple of days. Oops. Occupational hazard. What can I say?

Taking no joy in having offended my own olfactory senses I hastily employed Biscuit, who wasn't due in school until 9:27, in some Beanwatching. Twenty minutes of Beanwatching, to be precise.

The Beans were ecstatic to see him climb into the Playground. They flapped their little Beanwings and screamed and Pooki made her little growling noise that she makes when overcome with excitement while Pipsi snorted like a little baby piggie. Very cute. I hightailed it into the shower in the hope that Biscuit would enjoy a full-on happy Beanwatching experience.

By the time I turned off the water I heard the chorus of ScreamScreamScreaming and hustled my keester out to the Playground and climbed in to relieve Biscuit of Bean Duty. And he certainly seemed relieved indeed. He explained to me that the Beans had been fighting over a toy. One began playing with it (probably Pipsi) and as soon as the other saw her sister playing with it, she wanted it. So he gave it to the other one and the first one began complaining. Loudly. So he returned it to the first one and the second Bean started screaming. So he had to just let one have it and distract the other one. Then the one he wasn't holding wanted to be held so he had to put one down and pick up the other one and Pipsi bonked her head on his knee a little bit when he tried to pick up Pooki while holding Pipsi. And that was how he spent ALL twenty minutes.

I was so proud of him and I told him so. Then I told him to imagine doing just that ALL DAY LONG. EVERY SINGLE DAY. DAY AFTER DAY. AFTER DAY.

Anyhoo, the best part was when I came out to the Playground after being gone for only twenty minutes, guess who got to be on the receiving end of two bright, shiny "we're so happy to see you" smiles? That's right! Mommy was!!! SuperSpecialLuckyDucky Mommy! So, even though I had to get stinky enough to mistake myself for a petting-zoo animal, it had its benefits: I got a shower and a pair of fantastic smiles, and Biscuit was further convinced to hold off on reproducing until his thirties.

I gotta say it's a good day.

All of the Hard Work- No Whining!

The other day I remembered a conversation I once had with Biscuit's dad. During said conversation I was in school at UC and was on the downhill side of a particularly difficult week-- I had three papers due, one midterm, and Halloween AND Biscuit's sixth birthday all fell within that seven-day span and by Saturday afternoon all I wanted was to go home and fall into bed. Which, right after the cake and pizza and party guests were gone, I immediately did. Honestly, I think I slept a total of twenty hours that week. Except for Saturday, when I went sixteen hours straight and would have gone longer had Mimzi not made me get up to eat. All throughout college there were super cycles like that, when everything came due the same week. Don't get me wrong-- although sometimes it wasn't fun and it required a heapinhelpin of self-discipline and caffeine along with the patience of Job, I was intensely grateful each and every single day to have had the opportunity to make a better life for Biscuit and myself.

Anyway, what was relevant enough about that conversation to make me remember it six and a half years later was that Biscuit's dad told me, "You will never have to work as hard in the real world as you're working right now."

The nanosecond I remembered this, I started laughing SO HARD I nearly wet my pants. Obviously, he never thought I'd have twins. I'm sorry, but the world doesn't get any more real than that!!! I think what got me to racking my brain was a combination of sleep-deprivation (Beans sleep very well, but their gums bother them through the night so even though they only wake up intermittently, I'm always on alert and never get the same kind of sleep I did before) and having run into a friend whom I hadn't seen in several years. We were chatting about the girls and how life has changed since having them (always a conversation that could go on for a very, very, very long time) when she said, "Never wish the time away."

Now, I get a LOT of instructive comments from varied and numerous sources. Most of it I toss because to be honest, it's mental Craps. Sweet and well-intentioned, but Craps nonetheless. But I paused on this one.

I sincerely don't believe I ever have or even could wish away any of this. While having the Beans, Biscuit, YD, and Katie have completely and utterly changed Hubby's and my lives, and although I would NEVER wish the stress and discomfort of a multiple pregnancy on even my worst enemy, there is not a single thing I would have done differently. Every single moment, no matter how tired or annoyed I am, no matter how great an inconvenience something is, the joy we get from having them all in our lives outshines any of the dullness the negativity casts on us.

And, without the Beans we'd never get to have fun like

Putting them in silly hats.

Seeing Hubby wear a space suit.

And seeing how creative an entertainer Biscuit is.

But I know that every time someone says to me "Oh, I wish I had twins!", even though I will smile and say something polite in response, I will always think about all the hard work these days (today) demand and what these days took out of me (>>>>>>>)

with the knowledge that I will never love working so hard at anything else.

Off To A Stinky Start (No Photo Today!)

Mornings are a busy time in our house as I'm sure you can imagine. Everyone needs to be fed, dressed and set to their daily tasks before 8 am and it's usually accomplished without incident. That was not the case this morning.

Today is special. Biscuit's middle school is performing in the CMEA (California Music Educator's Association, I think) music festival and it's taking place in Hayward. "Well, that's close enough for us to go," said I, so that's the plan for the afternoon. However, for the afternoon plans to go smoothly I have to make sure that the morning goes well-- otherwise I will have on my hands two very grouchy Beans and somehow I don't think Biscuit or the rest of his band crew would appreciate my bringing squawking, fussing, ScreamScreamScreaming Beans to his concert.

Anyway, we all got up and the Beans ate in the kitchen. Daddy's had a cold since Sunday and hasn't wanted to be around them because how much would I like him if he gave it to them? Not enough to allow him to live here anymore. That's how much. So the Beans, who usually anjoy breakfast in bed with Daddy and Mommy have been a little out of their routine.

Normally, Pooki's a good little pooper. She's regular, predictable and generally not too messy. But, get a baby off her routine and bad things start happening. The first thing we noticed was, of course, the smell. Definitely more pungent than normal, I chalked it up to the peas and brown rice she'd thoroughly enjoyed last night. Hubby left for work and I got down to business. With both Beans in the Playground (that's what we're calling the Cage now-- more on that later) I unzipped Pooki's pajamas and was met with a poop disaster of epic proportions.

Oh, my God. This was one of the most fetid, unholiest craptastrophes any human has ever witnessed and I knew from my first glimpse at the unbelievable amount of poo smeared all over the inside of the Bean's jammies that I was going to have to call for assistance.

Ringring... "Hello?"

"Honey, I really need help. Can you come back in?"

"Sure. Be right there,"

You're probably thinking, "So it was a little bit of poo... you can't handle a little bit of poo? What kind of wimpy mom are you?" I would probably be thinking the same thing. Ordinarily poo does not intimidate me unless it's flying toward my head. But what was at issue here was that BOTH Beans were in the Playground and Pipsi was making toward the ten-pound-poo-fiasco in Pooki's diaper (and pajamas and all over her tummy and back and thighs) with a great deal of interest and I was suddenly hit with the realization that as bad as this was, we were all about eight seconds away from it being much, much worse. Both Beans have recently begun whacking, grabbing and yanking on themselves in the ladybits during diaper changes. Cute, right? Not when poo is involved, I'm afraid.

Fortunately, Hubby made it inside in time for us to avoid poo on the fingers, hair, faces, mouths, carpet, quilts, and Katie, and his arrival made me appreciate yet again what a cool thing it is to have him so close. Because let's face it: Sometimes there's just too much poo for me to go it alone. And, if I am going to suffer through the indignity (and disgust) of having poo smeared all over the house, there's nothing I want more in the world than to share the experience with the love of my life. Or Hubby-- whomever happens to be there.

More (and More and More) Craps...

As I've mentioned before, we downsized in this move from four bedrooms and 2 1/2 bathrooms in almost 2100 square feet with a three-car garage to three bedrooms, two baths, 1500 square feet with a 1 1/2 car garage. And our household grew from three people to five. I know it makes no sense but, after all, this is California. What's a single-income family to do? Just what we did.

And what we're still doing. The problem I have now is still all of the Craps. Tons and tons and tons and tons and tons and tons (big breath) and TONS of CRAPS. Thus far the solution to said problem has been Craigslist (for stuff like extra hubcaps for Hubby's car which we no longer have) and Freecycle (for leftover materials used for painting our old family room). Everyone's familiar with Craigslist and if you haven't already, definitely make a point to check out the coolness of Freecycle at http://www.freecycle.org/. It's been really great-- I've cleared a lot of space and even collected enough money to buy the Beans' new carseats and stroller.

But alas, events (read: Craps) continue to conspire against me. It seems that the Craps are reproducing faster than I can clean them out. Hubby's scuba gear, Biscuit's old school projects, boxes and boxes and boxes of my shoes and bags that won't fit in the closet but I can't part with yet, a few area rugs, extra baby equipment; all of this is jumbled together with the contents of 2/3 of our old garage which we NEVER cleaned out. Seriously. We moved Craps into the house and dumped them into the Lair of Craps and left them there for almost three years to multiply (I don't know what to do with this... Well, I guess I'll put it in the garage for now), accumulate dust and grime and generally become even less pleasant to deal with.

So I guess if I ever want to be able to park the Starship Margaret in the garage and get the Beans safely in and out of her without having to leave them in the driveway while I'm in the house (which TOTALLY freaks me out and I'm pretty sure I NEVER want to do it in front of a cop or CPS agent), to reclaim the garageI'm going to have to face the inevitable: a garage sale.

There are just waaaaayyyy too many Craps to piecemeal everything out on Craigslist and Freecycle. And the logistical nightmare of scheduling my life around people who never show up and on top of that, caring for the house and the kids has me tearing my hair out. So screw it! I WILL TRIUMPH OVER THE CRAPS. Even if it kills me. Or just totally grosses me out. Sigh.

Life Behind Bars

In my world, the word "bars" used to instantly evoke mental images of nights out with Hubby and friends, dancing to the music wearing cute, sassy clothes and shoes, and just having a good time.

No more. Not that I'm complaining. It's just that having to share Biscuit created an illusion of freedom that parents really don't have. Now I'm all about childproofing our life again and what's involved in that is a complete rearrangement of our furniture, possessions and lifestyle, including my perspective on everything I used to take for granted. Recently I read this article and it was just another blow to my still-trying-to-believe-I'm-cool ego: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/10/fashion/10stroller.html?_r=2&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&ref=fashion&pagewanted=1&adxnnlx=1204762755-od+mkLcAYDDFy8r+muFtLQ

Whine whine whine. Anyway, moving on to the pertinent story (again, I flatter myself). Since the Beans began rolling all over the place (under the sofas, all over the hardwoods, almost off the bed) and are now almost crawling, keeping them safe has become more challenging by the moment. Finally on Friday, after Pooki got herself caught under the loveseat for the third time in five minutes and changed direction to go get her fingers caught in the glider or ottoman, whichever she could touch first, I realized we had three options:

1. Get rid of the glider and ottoman

2. Get rid of the Beans

3. Pen the Beans

Since there is NO WAY I could part with my beloved glider and Option 2 would probably get me arrested, I looked at Hubby and delivered the news.

"That's it. It's time for a cage."

By Saturday afternoon we were proud owners of a Superyard XT with an extension kit. We set it up while the Beans were (mercifully) napping in what used to be our living room but is now a huge Bean play arena with some, ummmmmm, creatively arranged furniture and bookcases. Overall, it's great. They're perfectly safe in there. They can't roll into anything that can hurt them except each other and I have peace of mind knowing that when I have to run out to the garage to do laundry, they;ll be right where I left them when I return. There's just one problem. They don't like being in it by themselves. Well, let me amend that. They will tolerate being in there by themselves for about five minutes as long as someone is right on the other side making goofy faces, singing goofy songs, jumping up and down, or otherwise acting like an escaped mental patient. But after that, it's ScreamScreamScream. So I guess it's great that I like the idea of caging the Beans so much, because now, I get to spend all my time in there too. Super Special Ducky Lucky me.

Yep, that's Pooki crying. Right after I took the photo I climbed (back) in with them and we played some more until naptime, during which I did laundry and thought about how much I would enjoy spending afternoons in bars rather than behind them :)

Thank You Note Retraction

Dear Hubby,

Never mind. I got it. Don't worry-- I still like you.

Love,
Pie

Thank You Note

Dear Hubby,

Thank you in advance for childproofing the living room. You are very nice. The dog may stay.

Although I love your style of decor and your straightforward embrace of efficiency which is so apparent in this arrangement, our soon-to-be crawling, walking, cruising, pulling, climbing, clambering Beanmonkeys will no doubt find this an appealing trapeze structure / chew toy. Katie is a great watchdog and certainly intelligent enough to keep her Beans from the clutches of mortal peril but she's gotta sleep sometime.

I look forward to praising your incredible work!

Love,

Pie

Code Blue(bird)

I'm pretty sure Pipsi's going to be a doctor. No, this isn't one of those situations when I'm laying the fabric of my own dreams over someone else's life framework (I wish I could take credit for this visual but alas, it's all Zora Neale Hurston-- if you're a woman, read Their Eyes Were Watching God-- you will never regret it). Whatever a Bean wants to be is fine with me. For real. But what I saw today truly seemed like a glimpse into the future.

We were playing together on the living room floor this morning-- Pooki, Pipsi, Katie and I. Poor Pipsi. Her sister has become the hoarder of not only Binkies, but toys as well as pretty much everything else. Over the last week and a half, I've learned that Pipsi has a frustrated, "Hey, give that back! I was playing with/ drooling on/ biting that!" cry. And I hear it frequently. What happens is this: Pipsi's playing with a toy, minding her own business. She studies whatever she's got in her little Beanpaws intently, then jams it into her mouth, wrinkling her nose and snorting in concentration. She gnaws on it for a few seconds, then removes the object from her mouth, gives it a few good whacks on a nearby surface or herself, then holds it a few inches away from her nose, and starts all over again. She can go on for quite a while at this. Meanwhile, Pooki is quickly bored by whatever object is temporarily in her own grasp and looks around for something else. Inevitably, her eyes happen upon her sister and whatever is in her hands or mouth. Sometimes it's a toy, others a Binkie, shoe, bib or other such object-- it doesn't matter. That's the one she wants. And she wants it now, thank you, resulting in Beansquawking and a little Mommy intervention. That's fun. Especially when Pipsi has nothing in her hands at the moment and thus becomes, herself, the object of her sister's desire. It's hard to watch one of my children try to eat the other. Sigh.

Anyhoo, this morning Pooki was getting sleepy and not a little clingy. She'd clambered up into my arms (and melted my heart) and we were watching Pipsi together. I found Pipsi at that moment particularly entertaining because the object of her attention for the moment was a crazy, psychedelically-colored crinkly birdlike thing. But this time, rather than holding the trippy birdy in hand, she was bent in half at the waist, alternating between bashing the poor thing with her fist and chewing on the beaklike protrusion jutting from its face. It looked, honestly, like she was passionately kissing on the thing and would make violent love to it at any moment. Picture it in your mind... Pretty funny, huh? Suddenly, Pooki decided she wanted down. Guess what she did? That's right. She went to steal her sister's lover, literally, right out from under her nose.

Although the pacifist in me wanted to just move Pooki far enough away from Pipsi that the lovebirds (haha-- I kill me!) could enjoy their little tete-a-tete unmolested, the twin-mom inside my head (who sounds a lot like Alice from the Brady Bunch) told me to let them work it out. Pooki's busy, wily little hand immediately shot out and grasped the Lovebird's beak. Pipsi responded with a shriek and pulled Pooki's paw off. Pooki, surprised at this reaction from her usually mild-mannered younger sister, paused and looked up at Pipsi. Pipsi proceeded to give the Lovebird a few good whacks and resumed her amorous endeavors, rubbing her tongue all over Lovebird's face. She popped her head back up, beat on the bird some more (crinkle crinkle squeak squeak), let out another scream, and back down went her face, back to bestowing slobbery, grunting kisses on her beloved.

Pooki quietly watched her sister. She looked up at me, Binked a couple of times, then turned her big beautiful blues back to the show in a kind of awed, hallowed silence. And suddenly it dawned on me. This was not a teething exercise I was witnessing. Oh no. I saw the passion, the dedication, the tenacity and I realized that this was not kissing/ chick boxing practice or the precursor to a dysfunctional, violent relationship. This bird was dying, and Pipsi was NOT going to lose him, dammit! Not on her watch. My little blondie was performing CPR on the poor birdie as if her life depended on it. Now I got it.

Unfortunately, I think that despite Pipsi's best efforts the Lovebird died. His attending physician sadly lacked the necessary attention span to adequately provide the level of care he required. Too bad for him. Serves him right for deciding to die in front of an infant. What did he think would happen? Still maybe a few years down the road when I'm older (but not as old as you, Hubby!) I know that if I do suddenly require someone to attempt to breathe life back into my lifeless body, as long as I have a Bean around, I'll have a fighting chance.

As long as there's nothing better to do. Like whatever her sister's doing...

One Night of Sleep!

Isn't it amazing what a decent night's sleep can do for a person? Pipsi slept ALL NIGHT last night. ALL NIGHT LONG. And the bonus is that when she eventually woke up, she had a mommy who was more human than monster for the first time in about six weeks. Good for her!

Pooki woke up in need of snuggling at some point, but once we found her beloved Binkie and she cuddled up, back she went to Beandreamland. Blessed, blessed relief. By the end of yesterday, we were all aching for some relief.

Yesterday was one of those days that I just want to forget ever happened. It got off to a decent start but by about one o'clock the day lay in shattered ruins. Pooki was really snoozy all day, napping well and long, surprisingly. But Pipsi would have none of it. It's gotta be the teeth. She was fussing and fidgeting and was really sleepy, catching about 45 minutes between the carseat and the stroller while we ran errands and bought groceries (as much adventure as our fun-filled life allows) but when she got into her crib it was nothing but screams. Scream. Scream. Scream. Please remove me from my crib. I will not be sleeping now, thank you. Did you hear me? Scream. No sleeping right now. Scream. You may feed me if you wish, but I will not sleep. Scream. You don't seem to hear me. Scream. Come and pick me up before my head explodes. ScreamScreamScreamScreamScream. Gasp. Screeeeeeaaaaaaammmm.

As long as she was in someone's arms, she was fine. But. She. Did. Not. Want. To. Be. Put. Down. Or sleep. Period.

At six o'clock she ate eleven ounces of formula, draining her own bottle and then polishing off the remaining three ounces Pooki didn't have room to swallow. Then she ate eight more at 8:30. Apparently, screaming all day builds up a ravenous appetite. Full to the brim, she fell asleep in about ten seconds. Which was awesome.

Anyway, the best part about yesterday was how well Biscuit and Hubby came through. Disappointed as I was at my inability to cook the dinner I wanted, Hubby picked up my slack and took care of pretty much everything while Biscuit cracked out his homework, finished up and helped entertain the Beans.

Biscuit is pretty easily entertained himself, though. He's highly amused by the stories I tell him that I've heard from the voices in my head. And he listens well too! When I told him that the Beans' toy sings a different song to me when I'm really tired ( it sounds like this: "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, I'm going to kill you in your sleep,") he found that hilarious enough to begin repeating at odd intervals. So now I get to hear it from inside AND outside my head. What a sweetheart.

The thing is, I guess I'm really lucky since I can count on two facts: that eventually the Beans will sleep all night long, and when they don't I have the coolest support team on the planet. Booie, Biscuit-- you guys rock and I love you more than cheesecake!

To Do List

What a busy day! Here's my to do list:

Wake, feed & dress Biscuit & Beans____ DONE
Get Biscuit to school______________DONE
Wash my hair___________________DONE
Get Dressed_____________________DONE
Have friend over for coffee__________DONE
Beans Nap_____________________DONE (albeit brief)
Load up Beans for lunch with a friend___DONE (CPK-Yummy!)
Clean Crane_____________________DONE
Pick up Biscuit from school___________(it's only 2)
Remember to file taxes_____________ OOPS
Do Taxes_______________________TurboTax Online is full. They're Sorry!
Panic__________________________DONE
Try to do taxes myself______________HAHA
Try to stop panicking_______________I CAN'T
Pick up the Binkie_________________DONE
Calm Self________________________IN PROGRESS
Pick up the Binkie__________________DONE--- Again
Research late penalties______________OUCH
Blame Myself_____________________DONE
Pick up the Binkie__________________DONE-- Sigh
Hope for a lucky break_______________IN PROGRESS
Pick up the Binkie__________________DONE-- Looking for the stapler

A Brief Respite from the Freak Show

What a busy week! Really quick, just so you know, I no longer sleep. That's right! My beautiful Beans, in whose sleeping habits I took great relief for months and months, have joined the legions of the NonSleepers.

You know us. You see us every day. We're the parents of NonSleepers. We are the ones who laugh at inappropriate times and inappropriate things, like being denied coupons at Babies R Us. You hear the high-pitched, borderline hysterical giggle and watch as the "customer service reps" watch us warily, making sure we don't suddenly pull a weapon out of our freakishly huge diaper bags and take the store hostage. You hear something unidentifiably scary, something terribly unhealthy in that giggle. You know what that is? That is the sound of one of our precious few remaining gossamer strands of reasonability snapping, making our grip on reality and sanity ever more tenuous. The only thing that could strengthen our grasp is a decent night's sleep-- or maybe just a nap. But we know it just isn't going to happen. And we know we're almost crazy but we try to walk around pretending there's nothing wrong with us. Because if we can outlast our kids' childhoods, we might just make it after all.

So this weekend, Hubby took pity on me and we journeyed to a place with more crazy in it than my head and our house combined: Berkeley, where crazy abounds. It was almost perfect. The weather was beautiful and it happened to be Cal Day. In case you aren't familiar with Cal Day, it's the day of the year when everyone who has anything to do with the University of California is out on the campus and the town. There are a few professors and tons and tons and tons of students, their parents, activity and program and fraternity and sorority reps and everyone else with nothing better to do. Biscuit wasn't with us this weekend, so it was just Hubby, the Beans, I and Margaret the Starship in a Berkeley FULL of freaks.

It's funny. I knew in the back of my mind that the constant comments and questions were wearing on me but I didn't realize how much until we went all afternoon Saturday with hardly any. There were a couple of smiles and compliments (accepted and appreciated as always), but most everyone was so hot and sweaty and into their own stuff that we attracted hardly any attention at all. For about three hours we were as anonymous as we were before we got pregnant and turned into a walking freak show on parade. It was nice. So nice we rolled the dice and took the Beans into the Bear's Lair where they were fantastic, dancing to the music and chewing in their clothes and each other while Daddy and I refreshed ourselves for a few quick minutes.

The only downside was that since it was Cal Day it was next to impossible to find a parking spot. Ordinarily I have incredible parking karma (another post I'll write someday) but it didn't feel like smiling upon us Saturday so we ended up parking up in the north hills. The trip downhill to the campus wasn't bad, but by the time we'd had our merriment and arrived back to the patiently awaiting Margaret I felt terrible for Hubby. He so gallantly pushed the Double-Bean-Encumbered stroller up each and every hill in what had to be ninety degree temps with nary a frown. What a trooper! And even though we were all sleep-deprived to the point of frantic hysteria, some of us still managed to look like we were enjoying ourselves.

It's Been How Long?

A week already? Wow, time sure flies when I'm up to my elbows in poop, barf, tears and blood. Yes, blood. Pipsi cut her first tooth on Thursday the Third. She was unbelievably happy. None of my kids have ever been that happy through teething. But there she was, all smiles and easy-peasy even though she bled a little. Here they are-- Pipsi on the left, Pooki on the right.

Pooki, on the other hand, is a different story. The first night we spent together in the hospital (hubby, the Beans and I), Pooki was a little vocal. She didn't cry all night but she definitely kept us busier than Pipsi, who snoozed through it all. Hubby predicted that she'd be the more difficult of the two. I think I scolded him for that--- I can't remember. But he did have a point.

Keeping Pooki happy has been quite the challenge this past week. It's harder than one might think to strike a balance between keeping her from what she wants to do (eat her sister)

and getting her to do what she needs to do (eat food).

What's making me crazy is all the additional poop and barf. Now that they're into solids (and these little monkeys LOVE bananas) we're into a different stage of the poop and barf experience. "Yuck" doesn't even begin to come close to the revulsion Hubby and I experience when we peel back diapers and the unadulterated stench rolls out to greet us. It's a very enthusiastic greeting, too. The Poopecules race out of the diaper, stampede up our noses and gallop straight to the olfactory sensors in our brains, stumbling over each other to be the first to give us a hearty handshake and exclaim in a breathless shout, "Pleased to meet ya!" And the BARF! It's real FOOD! It's what I just spooned into their mouths. It's like the Beans are tipping out the contents of their tummies (mixed with some mucus, bile and saliva) onto the nearest obliging surface-- the floor, the bed, themselves, our shirts, arms, legs and, my most favorite, my hair.

I don't have any poop- or barf-related photos to share. Sorry to disappoint. In fact, this is as far as I go today. Teething has also thrown us all off, schedule-wise. Now, while the Beans are catching a little nap, I believe I will also catch a few winks.

Otherwise, the next post might have to delve a little further into the bleeding involved in the process. My patience is running rather ragged with Hubby these days. But that's for another time!