A Dinosaur Princess Birthday Party

You know I can't resist posting about the kids' birthday party each year. My inner creative goes nuts as I research everything that has to do with anything connected to the party theme. And I think this every year, but this time, I mean it: This was my favorite birthday party yet!

The theme? A dinosaur princess one, of course.

Brooklyn's dress. Tiara headbands.

I'll say it was easier to come up with dinosaur-themed things than princess ones. Taking to Google for a "princess party" search ends up with a billion results featuring Disney princesses, but what if you just want a generic princess theme? I settled on lots of gold, sparkles, and crowns, and hoped the shiny dinosaurs were enough. (According to the two birthday kids above, they were.)

Stomp, sparkle, roar, we're turning two and four! Clever...right?

Cupcake wrappers. Pearlized dinosaurs. Gold dinosaurs. Dinosaur sprinkles.

I praised myself last year for the genius move of ordering out for all the cakes. This year? Well, it got away from me. I lost January to guests, work travel for Tyson, and family travel for us all. By the time I was thinking - really thinking -- about all things dinosaur and princess and party it was really too late to order anything from a bakery. I tackled all three cakes and 36 cupcakes the day before the party. My cake decorating skills may be mediocre, but it was nothing some sparkles, sprinkles, and gold dinosaurs couldn't save.

(And if you're interested: Layer cake recipe. Buttercream frosting recipe. Chocolate cupcake recipe. Apple spice cupcake recipe. Cream cheese frosting recipe. Everything turned out yummy and I will be using all of these recipes again and again. Especially that chocolate cupcake one - yum!)

Definitely my favorite one. That pterodactylis giving me life.

I create a photo banner every year with pictures from the past twelve months. It's one of my favorite (and most difficult) tasks. We leave it to hang for a few weeks even once the birthday festivities are over, and then I tuck the photos away in a box upstairs. It guarantees that I've at least printed out some photos each year instead of leaving them all to the digital confines of my computer.

Dinosaur banners. Gold balloons.

Mostly, it was dinosaurs, dinosaurs everywhere.

Literally everywhere.

Dinosaur necklace.

Brooklyn is shaking her groove thing with one of these dinosaur tails. Foam crown craft. Ginormous giraffe courtesy of my brother. That's what uncles are for, right?

This was also probably the most relaxing birthday party we've ever had. I toned down the guest list to a more manageable size this year and the kids were all old enough to fend for themselves. I didn't have to worry about nursing a baby or hovering over six tiny hands trying to reach the cupcakes. (Only two tiny hands... *cough* Nolan *cough*) 

Everyone had fun with all things "dine-a-sord" (that's a Nolan-ism) and princess. Caden asked me if we can have another party after quiet time today. I'm enjoying the last few chocolate cupcakes. Also prepping for actual birthdays around here on Tuesday (the twins') and Thursday (Nolan's). There's a chance that our current snowstorm may be keeping us snowed-in tomorrow, but at least our house is decorated appropriately.

If you're interested:

Candy first and third birthday party
Barnyard second birthday party
Ties and Tutus first birthday party

The Leftovers

The snow this year. They love it. “They” being the twins. Nolan hates it. The kid who can’t stop moving also can’t stand confinement. All that snow pant-boots-fleece jacket-waterproof jacket-hat-AND-mittens business is too much for him. He can’t run and he can’t move and he can’t even stand having mittens on, which means he pulls them off only to whine afterward because his hands are cold. After an epic Battle of the Mittens (on-off-on-off-on-off-off-off-sigh) I take him inside where he breathes a visible sigh of relief and takes off running again, the second he’s free from those damn snow pants.

But back to Caden and Brooklyn. They adore the snow. As soon as Caden wakes up from his nap he demands to go outside. He’s usually not fully awake yet — still wiping sleep from tired eyes, his voice scratchy — yet he’s ready to forgo his afternoon snack and any chance of screen time to dig and throw and run and slide in all that white stuff. Each morning he looks out the window, “It snowed again!” he declares, whether it really is fresh powder or the same old snow from days before.

They love it. Nolan hates it. I'm left feeling torn on how to spend our time. It’s pretty pointless for me to spend the better part of ten minutes bundling Nolan up when he lasts outside for less than two. He stands in one spot in utter misery for a moment or two before grabbing my hand and leading me toward the house. “I’side,” he declares (inside, for those of us who have mastered our “n”s).

Luckily I have Tyson who works from home and doesn’t mind me stashing Nolan in his office for a bit while I attempt to knock the snow-fever out of the twins’ systems. But I don’t feel comfortable doing so for long: Tyson is still working, which means Nolan is kept occupied (and more importantly: quiet) with more than his fair share of Little Baby Bum. 

I remind myself that the first two years are kind of a crapshoot when it comes to snow. Those little bodies aren’t quite in proportion yet. The twins didn’t much care for the snow until they were on the verge of three, when their legs had lengthened out and they were able to move in the snow with (some) ease. Someday I will be able to throw them all outside in the cold and they won't return for a couple of hours. I'll have a quiet, warm house while they master that whole sledding business, have an epic snowball fight, build a snowman. When they return they’ll be able to remove all the damp snow gear by themselves while I greet them with hot chocolate and a smile.

For now, it’s a balance and battle of wills. The young energetic toddler vs. the enthusiastic preschoolers. Inside vs. out. One vs. two. With me in the middle. Who will get their way today?

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I told Tyson recently that I feel like I could be a really good parent to one child. A single child who would get the benefit of the good parenting techniques I read up on. One who, when they need discipline, reaps the full benefit of a conversation about right and wrong and the consequences of their actions, without the interruption of a sister screaming from the bathroom that she needs help wiping and a brother who wanders over in the midst of that serious discussion to whack them over the head with a piece of wooden train track. Which leads to an attempt at the same discussion with a different kid about right from wrong, consequences, actions, etc. Or just some redirection. If I could only focus on the needs of one, instead of being pulled in three different directions simultaneously.

My attention is divided, is what I'm getting at. The battle for mommy is often won by whoever is the loudest, most demanding, most polite, most severely injured, or the smelliest. Using screen time as a break for one often results in screen time for all. I feel like we could do so much more if we didn’t have to focus on this kid's nap schedule, if journeying out in public weren’t quite so draining with all of Nolan's energy, if I could just focus on completing a single task instead of picking up the threads of six half-finished ones.

+++++

Three kids in two years is a pretty quick way to grow a family. In some ways I’m used to it. Surprise it's twins! meant getting used to chaos from the start. In other ways, I’m jealous of those with one toddler or a bigger age gap. (Bigger age gap meaning anywhere north of the two-minute mark.) The idea of focusing on a single child, uninterrupted, is absolutely novel to me.

It's easy for me to feel like my entire parenting career has been about giving one child or another the leftovers. (Not of the edible variety, although there are plenty of those, too.) My leftovers: leftover time or energy or attention. Beginning this parenting journey with not one but two babies teaches you how to divide that attention pretty quickly. To prioritize needs and balance your energy when you are outnumbered from the start. I often feel that no one gets my full attention, though both hands are busy, my lap is full, and my ears long for the sound of quiet.

+++++

At its worst, I feel they are disadvantaged. Surely a child who can capture their parents’ undivided attention with ease is better off in the world. They must be more intelligent, have a calmer disposition. They're probably small prodigies at gymnastics, without a mommy who has to bounce back and forth between two children in the same class with a third on her hip. Almost certainly they spend more time on age-appropriate learning activities and less in front of the screen. At the very least they're probably bathed more frequently.

But at its best, I look around and realize how good this whole close-in-age business is for them. What a cohesive unit these three are. I can barely remember life without Nolan. They are their own little gang, our very own pack, nearly inseparable. (Until the twins try to play some sort of make-believe or tower-building game that Nolan just can’t take part in. Then they call for me to keep him “astracted”.) He runs along with the twins so seamlessly (and combined with his giant size) it can’t be long before I get the “are they triplets” question on a regular basis.

{A rare sighting of a Nolan in the snow. It lasted less than four minutes.}

Over the summer, Caden and Brooklyn frequently approached other kids at the playground to ask their names. When the question was reversed they would answer immediately with, “We’re Caden and Brooklyn and Nolan.” Always all three. Caden-and-Brooklyn-and-Nolan all said in the same breath. (Once Brooklyn responded with, “We’re just Caden and Brooklyn and Nolan. We’re not monsters.” Depends on the day, I thought while the older girl looked on with confusion.)

+++++

They’re actually thriving despite, or because of, the chaos. We have our fair share of tantrums yet overall they tend to handle conflict better than most kids their ages. They’re all well-spoken and bubble over with words and excitement. Nolan even counted up to ten last week. (I give full credit to the twins, whose habit of counting everything in sight is currently in vogue at our house.) They’re inclusive and curious, adventuresome and independent, and overall too smart for their own good. 

Maybe I do give them the leftovers more often than I'd like. Many days, that’s all I feel I have to give. It seems to be enough. It is enough. Leftovers or not, they’re doing just fine. It's enough. It has to be. And if Nolan has to watch Wheels on the Bus twelve times in a row for us to get those rosy cheeks and a good snowball fight in, so be it. 

Three (and a half)

I was warned about twin newborns. Not even warned, really. The chaos of the whole life-with-twin-newborns thing was obvious. Two times the nursing, the diapering, the diaper explosions, the laundry, the bathing, the dressing, the work of getting out the door.

“Just make it through the first year,” was the advice we received. “If you can survive the first year you’ll be fine.”

We did survive, all four of us. The first year came and went. We passed that magical deadline. It didn’t really seem any easier. I was glad to be done nursing, thrilled to finally be sleeping through the night, but it didn’t exactly get easier.

When the twins were small, we seemed to run into parents of twins all over the place. Or maybe we were just that much more conspicuous with Tyson and I each perpetually carrying a car seat. These other parents threw out all sorts of ages at us. The year mark was frequently mentioned. We were told that it all got easier once they hit 18 months, two years, when they turned three.

They’re three (and two weeks shy of a half).

It isn't easier.

+++++

Nobody warned us about three. Double the three. Some days I actually dream about going back to the baby stage. Not newborns, (dear Lord, not twin newborns), but a few months in. I romanticize that into being easier than this whole two three-year olds thing. Three is hard.

I’m not sure what the big deal is about two. Terrible twos? Please. Terrible threes is far more accurate, though maybe not quite as catchy. There’s lots of drama, lots of tears, lots of emotions. Three is like the teenage year of toddlerhood. There’s truth to that whole “threenager” thing. They fight. With me, with their little brother, with each other. There are strong opinions on what’s for lunch and what’s for dinner, what beverage is in their cups. They actually have good comebacks.

“Y’know what? Some kids don’t have any food!” I told them the other day, as one rejected the lunch I had prepared. (Pasta with homemade tomato cream sauce, chicken, and topped off with Parmesan cheese. And you want to go back to my lazy-day staple of cheese and broken crackers. Seriously?!?)

“Know what? Some kids don’t love their mommies!” the offender shot back, immediately. (Though I had to hold back a laugh with that one. That was a good one. I was impressed.)

+++++

We fight and make up. The kid with the comeback was snuggling with me on the couch not two hours later, all, “I yike snugg-ing wiff you, mommy. It’s my fave-it thing.” I remind them that I love them even when I yell, even when they don’t listen, even when they cry and cry and cry.

+++++

I suppose it doesn’t get easier, not really. I’m not sure what my expectations for “easy” even are anymore. For awhile my sole idea of easy consisted of sleeping through the night. But we’ve arrived at that now, for the most part. My version of “easy” would sure as heck involve sleeping later. 6:00 am is something I have not gotten used to. I guess easier looks like getting up and making breakfast for themselves. Dressing themselves. Going to the bathroom 100% and completely by themselves. (We’re a bit back-and-forth on that one.)

That’s where the tension comes in. Because all that, what I just listed? That’s like big kid territory. That’s elementary school kid stuff. And I don’t want them to grow up, not really. Or at least not yet. We’re already more than halfway through these five short years before they escape to Kindergarten. And while sometimes that sounds reaaallllyyyyy nice, I know what’s up with these little kid years. I feel like we’re hitting our groove. I understand playdates and fruit snacks, Daniel Tiger and the soundtrack to Moana.

I don’t really want to give up my three-year olds. When it’s good, it’s good. The snuggles, the way they pronounce words, the questions they come up with, the pretend play. There are things I could do without, of course. Tantrums. Strong opinions on things like socks. I could definitely do without bedtime. (Bedtime. I mean really. Was it necessary to give us bedtime to deal with on top of all else that is three?) But I don't exactly want to trade in my preschoolers for pre-teens.

++++ 

I'd love to insert a neat and tidy ending here (and believe me, I've been racking my brain all week trying to come up with one), but it doesn't exist. Three year olds are hard. And there's a lot of three in our house. I hear that other ages are hard. I'm sure someday I'll miss it. Even some of the hard. But mostly the cuddles, the questions, the imagination, the helping, those little voices.

But when I'm reminiscing someday, about all the love and laughter and the fairytale that was three, please stop me. And pull up this post. So I remember. And in the meantime, I'm going to get in all the cuddles I can.

{All photos credit to Prall Photography.}

Quiet Time

“Do you want to watch another Daniel or do you want to do something with Mommy?” I ask, part of me hoping that she will choose time with me, but a bigger part hoping she chooses the TV.

One episode of Daniel Tiger has just finished, the closing song still playing. I look into her round face, those bright blue eyes, to get her attention.

“You can watch Daniel with me,” she says, with a sweet voice and a big grin, “I have a spot for you right here!” and she moves over a little, making a spot next to her on the couch.

Well, I can’t really argue with that. I press play and another episode begins. I run upstairs to grab the book I was reading, a pen, my journal, coffee, the baby monitor.

Her brothers are both sleeping. The little one because he always naps at this time and the twin one because he fell asleep surrounded by toys in a pile of blankets on the floor during their hour of quiet time (#nottired).

I don’t know what that means for bedtime tonight. Three separate bedtimes? Who knows.

This nap transition has been exhausting me lately. Two three-year olds all day long is too many three-year olds for too many hours. Too many emotions, too much time together. And with three possible combinations: both take a nap, neither take a nap, or one takes a nap and the other does not, the routine every day seems like a surprise. In a way it’s like a return to that newborn phase, where you don’t know when they’ll nap or for how long, each day’s schedule a mere shadow of the day before.

But right now it is quiet. Daniel and his family are camping on the TV. I hear the birds through our own open window. There is a breeze; it will be a perfect afternoon to play outside. Brooklyn curls up beside me, all three-year old girl with her curls and that dress and those lashes curled up with her hand on my leg. I read and rest and have my own version of quiet time before the chaos begins again.

Two Who Are Three

THREE.

(I promise, they are way more excited than those fake smiles are letting on.)

I can't say that this is exactly one of those "oh my gosh time sure has flown I can't believe my babies are that old omg!!!!!11!!!" kind of posts.

Honestly?  It feels like Caden and Brooklyn have been two-years old for approximately FOREVER.  Seriously, this past year has been LONG.  I'm mostly surprised that they aren't three yet.  In the past few months, I've often found myself thinking of them as three years old.  So the fact that we are just getting here?  Feels kind of strange.

Part of that is the addition of baby brother almost exactly a year ago.  The year has been long with meeting and caring for another little person's needs.  The nursing and the changing and the additional sleep deprivation.

But the bigger thing is that they themselves just seem so old.  They're usually pretty mature.  Oh, don't get me wrong. They have their moments.  We have our fair share of tantrums and stubborn streaks and lack of listening around here.  But for the most part?  They're good little kids.  They are so very verbal, and certainly not shy.  It's usually a race (or a tie) to see which of them answers first when their teachers at school or gymnastics ask a question.  They chitter-chatter nonstop and will usually answer a question asked directly to them, whether from an adult or another kid.  They're better at sharing and taking turns than most kids their age, simply because they've never known any different.  And they just plain old act older.  More often than not I find them interacting with the 3, 4, or 5 year olds at the playground or on playdates, instead of their fellow 2-year olds.  Just last week at the park, Brooklyn and another little girl were chatting away, having a full-blown conversation, struck up by Brooklyn herself, and I was surprised when her new friend said she was five years old.

They're so physically able as well.  They - Caden especially - don't shy away from the big kid equipment at the park, and tackle most of the challenges sent their way at gymnastics.  They've always been a bit on the early side as far as physical movement is concerned, crawling, walking, climbing, etc., and that trend has continued.  

They're both smart.  They pick up new concepts and memorize things at lightning speed.  More than one of their teachers has commented on how early they were able to recognize all of their letters, and shapes, and colors.  They have (or, ahem, can have) ridiculously long attention spans for their age, and will think nothing about sitting through the reading of an entire stack of books.

And most of the baby stuff has completely disappeared.  Where many of their playmates are still in cribs, they've been in toddler beds for over a year.  The pacifiers are long gone.  They've been out of diapers for half a year or more.  

Between our year of #threeunderthree (so long, hashtag), and their relative maturity, they seem so much older to me than just now turning three.

But here it is, a third birthday.  Times two.  A double third birthday celebration.  And then again, can it be that it was only three short years ago that these two little babies made us parents?  Just three years ago that I was relieved of the 10 1/2 pounds of baby all squirreled up inside of me?  Three years ago that our lives were so drastically altered?

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Three-year old Caden loves trucks and tractors.  He enjoys play-doh, coloring, and painting, and more often than not is drawing a "road".  His answer to, "what should we do?" is usually, "I know!  Let's build a choo-choo track!"  He is my often serious, sometimes mischievous, rule-following little helper, and the most polite toddler you ever did see.  "Oh thank you mommy, thank you!  thank you for helpin' me!"  He loves to talk and make observations.  He has a wild streak - still waiting for that healthy dose of fear to kick in - and is a champion balance bike rider. He also adores books (Berenstain Bears are a particular favorite) and the show Super Why.

And three-year old Brooklyn.  She can be a little chatterbox.  Whenever we go somewhere, to school or a friend's house, she immediately finds a baby or a stuffed animal to care for until it's time for us to leave.  She is a little mommy to Nolan, too, helping to give him a drink of water or more food and can even "baby-sit" him for awhile, playing games and making him laugh, until her attention wanders to other things.  She has a joyful, silly, spirited streak, and enjoys play-doh, coloring, and painting.  She loves to sing songs (it's amazing how many she has memorized) and to read books.  And with their recent gymnastics classes, she is a near-professional somersaulter.  

Together, these two are absolutely, positively BFFs.  If one wakes up before the other, the second one wanders around their bedroom once they get up, wondering "where's Brooklyn?" or "where's Caden?".  They play pretend and sing their favorite Frozen songs together all the live-long day.  "I'm Elsa - chase me!"  "Come back Elsa!" *epic run around the house ensues* "Now I'm Elsa!" *repeats all day long* They adore their baby brother and quite literally tackle him with hugs, and suffocate him with kisses.  They love to cheer him on whenever he does something new: "he's standing!  He's walking!  He said 'book'!"...even though some of these things he's been doing for awhile now.  And they share and take turns and help each other - often preferring each other's help instead Tyson's or mine - all day long.

Happy Birthday, you two big three-year olds!  It's about time...