The Appeal of Neverland

I don’t know where my babies have gone.

They can count to 15, say their ABC’s, hit a baseball, and catch a fish. They know their colors, digits, shapes, some letters, and the difference between a cobia and a grouper. I’ll hear them singing songs and they know all the words. They fake phone calls to their grandparents (“Hello, Grandpa, Nice to meet ya!”) and pretend play “Boathouse” with their forklifts and boats (oh, Wiggins Lift Company, can’t you please make a marina play set???). 

They say the funniest things. “Are you kidding me?” Gray asks when I tell him he can’t have a cookie. Ren answers “No worries,” when I thank him for closing the door. Last month he brought me a toy and said it needed batteries. “What kind of batteries does it need?” I asked. He looked at me like I was stupid, threw his hands in the air, and said, “NEW batteries.”

This is a bittersweet time. Life is getting easier: we can stay out past 7:30, be late for a nap, find time for ourselves, stop hovering, and no longer worry that every place we go be baby-proofed. And the rewards are endless. At least once a day, my boys ask for a hug and tell me they love me. But at the same time, I long for their babyhood to come back, just for a second, a minute, a day. Their chubby cheeks, the smell of their wispy baby hair, the smacks of their fat hands as they crawl across the floor, the coos and giggles of their incoherent chatter. This is when younger, fertile women start to think about another baby, and I mourn my inability to join them.

Potty training is our newest adventure, although I’m in no hurry. As excited as I am to stop buying diapers, it seems like their padded bums are the last bit left of their infancy. I’ll be sad when diaper butt is done. 

Bad, Bad, Blogger

I am a bad, bad blogger. I cannot believe it's been 9 months since I have updated. Maybe this 9-month summary will show you why I'm so behind:

Our summer was busy!
 

The future Captains Watts.

 The boys welcomed a new cousin:

Willa Spencer Rawl

We exercised A LOT:

Brotherly love

The twins turned TWO!

Birthday cake went over much better this year.

 We lost someone very special to us: 

Captain Bill

 Batman and Robin stole Wonder Woman's not-so-invisible jet:

Halloween 2012

Jud got sick:

Add caption

 

I got married!

November 10, 2012

I went on my first vacation in 6 years!

Honeymoon!

Thanksgiving rolled around:

Thank you, Rae!

 
 
I lost my best friend many years too early:

Wood's Jud Wiser -- April 10, 2004 - December 12, 2012

Santa Claus came to town:

They didn't cry!

We welcomed a new family member in January:
 
 

Watts' Happening, Fletcher?

We spent the entire month of February in quarantine:

 

Sick Grayden

We got a new neighbor:

Hank the Hawk

We welcomed another new cousin:

Riley Drennan Watts

And we celebrated some birthdays:

Happy 40th, Douglas Joe!

I hope that catches everyone up to speed. I'll be back soon.

In Memoriam

We lost Remy much more quickly than we had expected. She survived her surgery, but the tumors had spread extensively. Within two weeks, they caught up with her again, and we had to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

That day we planted a tree for Remy in the front yard. It's a purple crepe myrtle, sure to do well in our Southern heat and pretty enough to help us remember our pretty girl. I put it on the corner of our lot, so that Larry can see it and imagine her resounding "Daddy Bark" every time he comes home. 

 

Ren watering Remy's tree.

I also ordered an engraved brick to mark the tree. We are getting her ashes back later today, and we'll place some of them under the brick so that she is always guarding her pack. 

SOUTH CAROLINA—Remy, formerly of James Island, passed away at Animal Care Clinic on Wednesday, June 27, 2012. She was 12.

Born on March 12, 2000, Remy worked for six years as an expert duck hunter and retriever before retiring to our island. In her retirement, she enjoyed swimming in the creeks, gigging for flounder, and playing ball in the front yard. In 2011 she began a new career as a vacuum cleaner, monitoring the carpet around the highchairs for spills, tipped plates, and free handouts. She had more puppy in her at twelve than most dogs do at six months.

She is survived by her father, Larry, whom she served as a loyal companion and friend her entire life. He witnessed her first breath and her last, welcoming her to this world and guiding her out of it. Remy is also survived by her adopted mother, Vicki, brothers Ren and Gray, and animal siblings Jud, Izzy, and Bootsie. She will be forever missed.

Cremation has taken place. In lieu of flowers, please throw a tennis ball to your pup today.

We love you, Remy.

Remy swimming in the creek, 2010. Happiness is a dog and a boat.

Dog Tired

My step-daughter is a 12 year old Labrador retriever named Remy. She came with Larry, just as I came with Jud. It's a common occurrence in these after-30 relationships; when we don't find our spouses in our 20s, we get a dog to keep us company on lonely nights. When we do finally meet the one, we end up in a house full of dogs, which is okay when it's just "us." But once we add a baby (or two) to the mix, the dogs can become unwelcome burdens rather than cherished step-children. And I must admit, there have been days I've dreamt of a Remy-less (and Jud-less, Izzy-less, and Bootsie-less) home.

Remy protecting a 2-month old Gray.

When the boys were newborns, we'd lay them on the floor. Remy would see a passing neighbor or the UPS man and carelessly bound to the window to to attack, never stopping to think about the infants in her path. The panic I felt as I saw a 70 pound beast bounding toward my 5 pound baby was indescribable, and surprisingly (and infuriatingly) not shared by Larry. He trusted her. I did not. But after one near miss, I started locking Remy up during their floor playtime.

Then there was the hair. Virginia describes the endless supply of lab hair as "little pieces of love"; I'd call it as "little pieces of filth." It's on their clothes, their sippy cups, their dinner plates, everywhere. I could probably crochet a sweater for both boys with all the dog hair they have swallowed. So gross.

But not as gross as this last story, one that I have a hard time admitting, but one I must put on paper (or in this case computer screen) in order to finally deal with it. Two weeks ago, Remy was in the playroom with the boys while I cleaned up their dinner mess. When I turned around, Ren threw a brown ball at me. "What toy is that?" I wondered. "We don't have a brown ball." Then I looked more closely. Oh yes. Yes, it was. My son was throwing a Remy turd. And there was more on the floor that Gray was running for. I choked down my own dinner that threatened to come back up, grabbed both boys, and ran outside. I scrubbed them for five minutes, trying to erase the image from my mind in the process. I wanted to kill Remy. I probably would have if I had gotten my hands on her. But it turns out, cancer was already in the process of taking care of that for me.

A tumor had been growing in her belly for the last month, causing bad breath and loss of bowel control. It wasn't her fault. When we finally got around to getting her into the vet, it was almost too late to do anything. But two days and $3000 later, the tumor was removed. The diagnosis, however, is grim. It has metastasized to the liver, indicating that it is cancerous, and that we are on borrowed time with our girl Remy.

Suddenly the thought of my boys growing up without Remy saddens me. They won't know that they fed her from their high chairs. They won't remember her exuberance or her little pieces of love or the way that she laid next to my bed every night when I was pregnant. They won't know that Remy immediately accepted them into her pack and protected them from guests, neighbors, and even the menacing mailman. They will never see their daddy at his tenderest, when he sits with his dog and loves his little "piglet." Suddenly I know how much this family is going to miss its girl.

Our first kids.

Two is for Twins

The teacher that I am, I've made little "bulletin boards" in the boys playroom. We have shapes, colors, and numbers on the walls, and both boys love to spend time pointing at each item and saying its name. For some reason, they are fascinated by numbers, especially the number 5. When we walk through the neighborhood, they actively search out mailboxes with the number 5 and often insist that other numbers are actually the number 5.

"Fie!" Ren will yell, pointing at a 9.

"No, baby, that's a nine."

"No, no, no nine. Fie!" Grayden will agree.

They know other numbers and can identify them when asked, but they just really like the number 5. Ren is so obsessed that he studies my Michigan State t-shirts, insisting that the "S" is a 5. The varsity font looks a little like a 5 so I just agree and say, "Yes, son, it is a 5!" Larry and I have started to wonder if he's figured out that he is Lawrence V. 

Anyway, I have counted to three every time I turn on their nursery light since they were born. It gives them a sort of warning to close their eyes in order to adjust to the light from a dark to bright room.So I was excited yesterday on our bike ride when I heard Ren start counting behind me in the bike trailer. "One, two, three!" he said triumphantly.

Then it was followed repeatedly  by "One, two, three, five!"

Three beach babes.

Calling All Inventors

For the last 19 months, I've been pestering my father to invent a device to make grocery shopping easier for twin moms and Irish twin moms. Whether it was a fold-up cart or universal basket system that attached to strollers, there had to be a better way than pushing a stroller and pulling a cart.

Thankfully, the Christners were listening. Parents of twins themselves, they faced the same dilemma, but rather than waiting for someone else to invent a product, they actually did it. The Buggy Bench is an attachable seat that sits right in the holding area of the cart. Check out my boys on their first Buggy Bench ride:

It's not perfect; Ren found that he could stand up, and he often did, but he was strapped into the seat so that kept him from moving around while he stood. And there is still limited storage space under Ren, but it's more than I had with a stroller alone and more convenient than creating the stroller-cart train. Overall, I am very satisfied with my Buggy Bench and would highly recommend it to moms with younger twins.

Twinstances

As a new twin mom, I envisioned the day when Ren and Grayden would suddenly notice each other. There were some special twin moments from their infancy---such as when they grabbed hands for their first shots in the hospital---but it's likely these moments were random, unplanned acts, and not the "twinstances" I wanted them to be. Even when the boys started sitting up, they barely seemed to notice their womb-mate sitting on the blanket with them. I've read countless online message posts from moms of 6-month old twins asking "When will they finally interact?"

The answer to that, if their babies are anything like mine, is any minute now. By seven months, it was clear that Ren and Gray knew the other existed. And once Ren could crawl, he was drawn to his immobile brother. It was so exciting to witness their awareness of each other, to realize that we truly did give them a permanent playmate. As they grow, we celebrate each child's individual accomplishments, but we also mark their moments of twin-ness. When Grayden pats Ren on the head when meeting strangers or when Ren asks for "more, more, more" crackers, holding out both his and Grayden's cracker bowls. There is something so special about these moments. I've captured a few to share over the last year.

7 Months: Smiling

 

10 Months: Wrestling

16 Months: Head Butting

18 Months: Feeding

19 Months: Head Massaging

Missing from these files is a video of their hysterical laughter. It only happens when they're alone, so I have no idea what they are laughing at. When I try to sneak in with the video camera, they stop. But I will catch it one of these days and add it to the post.