Nothing compared to the elections but...

I acknowledge my life is pretty tedious and boring compared to the controversy and intrigue of the US elections right now but I'm going to blog about my morning adventure to the Tate Modern.

I decided this morning at about 8.30am to haul my ass to the museum. No big deal except I had the boys in tow. And it was something I just decided to do. On my own. Without previous planning. And without researching the whole excursion two weeks in advance.

It'll be easy. There's a direct train. I'll just rock up... well,  I did that and was mega early for the train and the boys started freaking out almost as soon as I got on the train. They hate being strapped down at the moment (I say, hoping it's a phase.) and then my train back was cancelled so it took me 90 minutes to get home instead of the 40 it was supposed to.

Nonetheless, it was a revelation. Nothing can slow Baby B down. He has the attention span of a goldfish and always bolts for the door wherever we go.

But not in the Turbine Hall.

He just stopped. And looked. And looked and looked.

And spun his head round this way and that, following the noises. It was totally awesome watching him. What was even more awesome was when Baby B got scared because he never gets scared. It sounds awful of me but I found it thrilling to see how art affected him, how it stopped my little daredevil in his tracks. It was amazing to watch.

I did my job as a mother this morning. I tested my little boys and showed them something new. Mother done good.

Holiday Snob

I've always been a massive holiday snob. It has to be exotic. It has to have amazing food. It has to have seriously breathtaking scenery.

But now I'm a mum and things change. I need:
1) stuff to keep the boys entertained. If they are totally knackered that is a huge. No, a HUGE bonus.
2) a place that doesn't require me to change the boys' schedule, e.g. Easily accessible food!
3) little need to do chores
4) 2 chances to nap a day
5) sparkling wine
6) red and white (wine)
7) cheese
8) cured meats
9) a massage
10) a bathtub
11) marshmallows on a fork (toasted on a log fire, a must)

That is all. If you have idyllic suggestions, I'm all ears.

Following on from Going Out with the Boys

'Why didn't you ask them to move?' The Boy kept asking. I didn't have an answer. I never do unless I talk it out. It's really irritating. Unless I talk through something out loud, I sometimes don't understand why I feel the way I feel.

The comments to my post about being annoyed by the people on the bus made me want to blog. I didn't know why. When I blog, I just write, stream of consciousness style until the end, at which point I find out what I'm driving at. This time, I didn't feel like I'd gotten to the end.

Then the Boy's interrogation started. 'Why?' He kept asking. 'Why didn't you just ask someone to move?'

I am strong, confident, happy.

But children wear you down. That sounds negative without being intentional. Being a parent, particularly to identical twin boys, makes you conspicuous. And it is hard. People


watch. They want to see what will happen. Will the boys flip out? How will the mother deal with it? At least that's how it feels to me.

And when you're sub five foot with 27lbs identical twins in a stroller and in a carrier, you draw attention enough. So you just want to get from A to B. Because you've already run for the bus with a kid on your back. And because they're knackered and you'll have to feed them their lunch in the stroller and with one still strapped to your back.

That's why I didn't ask one of the able bodied women to move. I have enough on my plate without dealing without confrontation.

Getting Out with Non-Walking Twins

every day, the boys wake from their first nap, we go out locally for about ninety minutes, come home, they play for another hour or so, after which they go down for a nap, and then we rinse and repeat for the afternoon slot until bedtime. If I'm feeling adventurous, I might feed them out so then we get about three hours in the big wide world. The monotony is a killer.

So when the boys are going through a good patch, I'll say to myself, 'I'm going to risk it and go meet a friend somewhere' or 'I've wanted to take the boys to X for ages' and I'll give it again. Invariably the outcome is that I'm grateful to have survived, impressed that I achieved it, and amazed we're all alive.

Today I went to hither green and took the boys to a Cantonese sing along session. Not too far but difficult enough on the bus. It's probably taken me fifty minutes in both directions.

With two there are two personalities to juggle. For example, one refused to nap and kept the other up so we had two tired monkeys. And then there are problems specific to having twins, particularly two big lads who still don't walk.

Today I:
- ran to catch the first bus with a kid on my back. Why don't I push a double? Because the bus has refused to let me on before with a double.
- fed both kids on the bus (classy family); aforementioned kid was still on my back at the time.
- had a guy take pity on me in the sing along and he picked up Baby A during one of the songs where we were supposed to dance with the sprogs.
- arrived at the library to be faced with steps. I've never hated steps as much as I do these days. So I picked up my single stroller and carried it up (with aforementioned baby still strapped to my back).
- stood on the bus with aforementioned baby strapped to me whilst four people sat in the priority seats ignoring / staring at me for the 20-minute bus ride.

All three of us are exhausted.

Cruising with dem Boyz

we drove to Twickenham to see my sister's new pad on Saturday. Google, the Oracle, reckoned 45 minuets door-to-door. It did not count on Clapham, Wandsworth and the twats of Sheen. (That is its official name.)

Baby B was being a total arse and decided to kick off twenty minutes before lunchtime. We gave in and dove into a Waitrose car park, where we assembled our ikea high chairs and proceeded to feed the boys in the car park. Autumn was very much on its way and poor Baby A's lips were blue from cold. baby B - smug - refused to eat any of the tripe I tried to feed him. Apart from the blueberries, of course.

Today, I worked out that I probably spend £65 a month on blueberries alone. What have I become? That is why my boots have no heels and I look like a slob.

Virus Ridden and Missing NY

we are a virus ridden household. The Boy is off work sick and all Baby A wants to do is sleep. Baby B, the culprit for bringing the dreaded virus into the house, is happy as Larry. I am either trying to fight it off or it's just starting. Either way, the washing up bowls either side of our bed is not s cool look.

I'm trying to rest and recuperate whilst the boys nap. Instead, I keep thinking about New York. I'm homesick for a place that was my home for just three years. Faces keep popping into my head. People I spent much time with. I feel like I'm a bad friend and need to write to them all. Tell them i miss them and tell them there's a hole in my life without them.

I'm missing the sounds, the people I'd say hi to - the Mexican at the bodega who called me baby - the library, cruising around Babies R Us. And once the boys were asleep (for those few precious hours before they'd wake again), running out the door for maybe half an hour but doing something different; so easily. SE4 is trapping me. I don't feel like I have the separation between me and me plus babies.

I took the boys to a playgroup the other day and then the following day I went alone to an Insanity exercise group, which was held in the same church hall. I held a plank, got up and brushed the glitter off my body. The boys are with me all the time(OK, not literally.)

I know I'm remembering New York fondly because of all the fun we had as a couple, mainly. But whilst living in a one-bed apartment was hard with the kids, and the costs of childcare is prohibitive, and there are very few cheap classes and things to take the boys to, it is a place that is easier to be a parent and an adult. Grown up world is just downstairs once the babies are asleep.

I miss you, NY.

Was it all a dream

i was lathering up and glanced over at the Boy's all in one shower and hair gel. It was a brand we had in the house a lot before going to the States. It's just slipped back into our lives, just like that, no fuss, no bother. It's a stupid example, really. Americans don't really use shower gel and prefer soap. So the Boy dutifully used soap and a separate shampoo for the last three years.

We went to visit fam in Hampshire at the weekend. My sister-in-law wondered when I would drop the American baby terms I use and start saying nappy bag (is that what it's called?!). It's only a matter of time, I guess.

My point to this rambling is that in spite of the initial resistance and difficulties, and dealing with the inevitable reverse culture shock, a month of being at home, we are slowly slipping back into our old lives, our English ways. It's like New York never happened or it was a dream.

That is until I have a flashback of walking along second ave with the sun on my face, and then I feel a wee ache for home. My New York apartment was the longest I had lived anywhere since living in my parents' house over 17 years ago. So I may have been foreign, but it's where the Boy and I would return every night and where we spent our first few years of married life. So it'll always be home to me.

Losing Control (and then finding it again)

We always knew that coming home would be hard. However, I hadn't anticipated the shit stack of things to do, so much so that I was left feeling super overwhelmed for a couple of weeks. I'm a doer so I just get my head down and tick the things off the list. Until now. For the first time since the boys were tiny, The sea of tasks coming at me just felt too much. In the early days of the boys, it was exhaustion and endless crying. With this move, it was more the multitude of things that needed to be done yesterday.

We were ridiculously unlucky too. Firstly, we got bollocked at border control for essentially bringing in two illegal immigrants. Surely my British boys don't need to prove they're British! Apparently coming in on American parents with two British sounding parents isn't enough. 'If they were adults, we'd be sending them back now,' we were told. Oops. So off we trotted to the passport agency the very next day to get them their new British passports.

And then our boiler broke. So the boys were perpetually cold and are only just getting over their colds. And so I wasted a couple of days trying to get them a doctor's appointment - after having to register them, of course, and filling in reams of paperwork.

And then I got sick. As in, so sick I would normally have been in bed for a few days sick. It was like my body finally gave up. This last year has been too much and it said, 'enough! Time to recuperate!' It's amazing that I've only really been sick for one morning up until now, in spite of carrying twins, having them spend over two weeks in intensive care, the sleep deprivation, the GI issues they had as tiny babies, and then an international move. My body just broke down amongst the chaos of our lives right now.

The last few days, things have normalised. I watched tv for the first time since moving home. I have food in the freezer, which I can defrost if need be. I can run upstairs to get more if I need loo roll. Things are normal again.

But I still feel like I'm on holiday. Like I'll be going home soon. But as the Boy pointed out, it's good that I feel like I'm on holiday, because it must mean I'm starting to enjoy it. And he's right.

Being Green

I've had reverse culture shock bad. I could talk about a host of things, like, how unfriendly London mums are (I'm going to be lynched for saying that) and how I can't believe it takes three days for clothes to dry (praise be to John Lewis' electric clothes airer - very middle-aged of me) but I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to be talking green. 

As the years passed, the Boy and I became more americanised. I guess that was to be expected but I hadn't realised how quickly it would vanish again. Well, in terms of being green, anyway. I've always been pretty green but by year three of living in New York, I thought convenience was King. Since moving home I've realised New York was like Disney for me. Remember those spinny top things you get at Disney land? Everyone has one. It doesn't matter if you're 23 and uber cool (or not), you NEED one. And then, tou step off the train, look down into your hand and then wonder, 'what the bloody hell was I thinking?' That's what it's been like since moving back. 

Why do I need to use paper towels so much? Why am I using these freezer bags? In the same vein, I've made some dubious choices, e.g. Buying milk in a fancy soft pack recycled 'jug' that leaks everywhere. Whilst it prompted two people to go 'whooo, fancy', it was just a crap pint of milk. 

Anyway, my ramblings are leading to the fact that everyone has a pack mentality. It's hard to ignore these sentiments. Sure, I had twins last year but I think it'd been hard to shake those oh-nobody-else-is-bothering-so-why-should-I sentiments even if it were just the two of us. Moral of the story? Don't be weak like Chan. Stay strong to your convictions. 

Various things

I'm bloody annoyed because our Nanny who comes every Saturday afternoon has called in sick. I feel guilty because she might well be poorly but she gave us two hours' notice and after I texted her about something else. That's what happens when you're reliant on other people.

On Thursday I went out with eleven other twin mums. So crazy to think that we had over 24 children between us. I was dreading going because I only knew one of the other women and because it would have been so much easier to stay home in my sweatpants and leave my hair uncombed. Unsurprisingly I had a good time and was glad I went.

We've also booked our first holiday with the board and are Florida bound - aboard a plane - at the end of the month. It's pretty petrifying.

Lastly, the boys finally acknowledged and smiled at each other. Totally cute.

Governors island

The ferry to governor's island tubs hourly during the week and only in the summer.this week was our last chance, it was now or just likely never again, as we're homeward bound next year.

In my head we would aim for the eleven am ferry, spend a few hours there and be home for four, entirely feasible given that our day starts at seven am. These things seem so easy in theory.

The reality was that it took us ages to get out the door. You know, the usual, massive poo right as we're about to leave accompanied by two open air wees, after which you spend ten minutes debating whether the damp patch on their clothing is in fact wee or another fluid. (At the last minute you always decide it's wee as you spend so much time in denial.)

We had plotted our route, identifying the stations where we could take elevators.they were doing work on the elevator of our departure stain, so we had to wait patiently to be taken down by the workmen.then we couldn't get into the actual platform so we took another route which invoked is carrying all our gear up stairs.fortunately there was an escalator, so I will always remember carrying a backpack, baby A, a double stroller and a car seat up those.

We missed the ferry by three minutes.

No bother we thought. We'll just feed the boys, have some lunch and catch the two o'clock. Oh, but then the Boy had forgotten the nipples and collars for the bottles, so we essentially couldn't feed our boys. We were going back home after all that.

We broke out the emergency ready made formula and started feeding baby B. Unfortunately, we only had enough for a half feed per boy. The Boy redeemed himself by suggesting we use the disposable nipples on our regular bottles. Thank goodness it worked and we got a wonderful three hours on peaceful governors island.

We sat on Adirondack chairs and watched the boats sail past against the blue skies. We lay our blanket on the grass and stared at the Manhattan skyline. It was all worth it.

Coming home we decided to take the bus, as the subway had been a nightmare and we were fed up of apologising to Uber drivers for holding them up.

We were told we had to fold up our stroller frame, which meant poor baby B was balanced on a bus seat in his car seat whilst I wore baby A. I hardly felt like the world's best mother when I thought about how safe they both were.

Nonetheless, a full day of transport firsts for the boys and we got off the island do overall a successful day.

Having a normal life

One of the hardest things about twin life is trying to have a normal life. Popping to the shops and manoeuvring two infants is no easy feat. There is no grabbing your wallet, keys and shoes to pick up a point of milk. There is trying to work out who is more likely to kick off and and at what time.

Today the Boy took the day off and we headed over to governors island, about which I'll post separately. It's a wee, pedestrian only island that you access by getting on a ferry for ten minutes. It was a logistical nightmare.

I feel we live each day a lot more fully now with twins. Everything - and I mean everything is hard - is hard. But there are more extremes. The successful activities or events were great but when it all good wrong, it's a nightmare.

Today, for instance, I cried twice and today as considered a good day. Finally enough neither time was whilst we were out but rather when we were home.

I also had a beer tonight. I definitely never used to have a drink on a school night, but everything is all change.

Aren't they small

The boys are massive fatties for preemies though obviously small for their age. I never realised how small they are until I started taking them out more.

This week I've bring trying to get out of the house with the boss every day.yesterday I went to a mommy and baby fitness class, which the boys hated so I left halfway through.what I noticed was that whilst the boys have grown and fattened up, they're still tiny compared to normal babies. Being twins isn't enough of a novelty factor but being tiny adds to it.

I'm looking forward to when they catch up with everyone else, but dreading saying goodbye to their tiny little newborn selves. It was the same with my baby sister. As ace as she is now, I miss her as a kid.she was so cool and funny and adorable. And as she'll never be like that again, it's like that little being is gone from my life forever. I know that's what it's going to be like with the boys, too.

Mum Guilt

I never knew this could be a thing but I have terrible mum guilt. All the time. I never realised that being a parent means that you never ever make the right decision because the other choice always turns out to be the right one.

The boys have terrible reflux at the moment. I have experienced the classic crying at two wailing babies unsure of how I can stop their crying. Something has to give.

So I decided that I am going to stop pumping and giving the boys breast milk, as pumping every three hours is killing me. Originally, the plan was to pump until the first of September, then it was when the boys reached twelve weeks, which should be this Sunday, and then when they were three months.

Over the last week I've gone backwards and forwards on this. 'The boys much prefer it to formula so I'll carry on' is punctuated with thoughts such 'I resent pumping when I could be going to bed'. 
Plus, I've been breastfeeding a bit, such is always smacking for five minutes and then gets support tedious and boring.

As it stands I'm pumping when I have time and watching my supply decrease. It makes me sad that imminently I will no longer be nourishing my children directly, something I have done for the last year, including when they were in utero.

As I said, mum guilt is super strong.

Breaking point

I finally broke yesterday and had my meltdown, though to be honest, it had started the day before when I cried in and off over two and a half hours. The Boy found me crying,  slumped over baby A, inconsolable to his words. I was in whimpering territory, moving swiftly info howling.

Feeling sorry for me, he took an emergency day off and we had a day out. Deciding on where to go alone was hard enough. We chose the new Whitney museum as it would be air conditioned, not too far and somewhere we'd not been in a while.

Whilst we essentially paid $45 to feed or children beside the cloakroom and a quick whip round one of the eight floors, I felt energized for having left the house. No mean feat considering I've essentially been tied to the apartment since the beginning of April.

I would be in floods of tears after waking up at three to feed the boys and finally putting them to bed at seven thirty am usually (multiple milk refills, two poos, two open air wees, one of which was in the bath, and a spewing session), but I'd had fresh air, a change of scenery and used my legs. I feel good tired for the moment.

Basic Yoga

I am nine weeks post partum and the doctor gave me the green light to resume normal activities, including exercise. I am a high intensity hurl usually but since pregnancy I've had to take it easy, so have embraced yoga.

My usual Monday night exercise slot used to be reserved for a jump rope class, which used to totally knacker me out. The Boy thought that it would be a bad idea to dive straight into that so I went to basic yoga instead.

I had a few epiphanies during the class, though I'm not sure they're really epiphanies if you kind of knew them already. Firstly, I've totally missed exercise. I'm completely addicted to it and miss the release it gives me. Also how strong and fit it makes me feel. I currently look like a limp, flaccid thing.

The whole of my right side was completely tense. That's from being hunched over babies and holding the stress in those muscles.

Thirdly, it felt good to be somewhere where people knew me before pregnancy and who didn't want to talk about them - well, too much, anyway.

The instructor said 'welcome back to the real world. You'll be easy to please in this class.' She's right, of course. If I'd have just slept for an hour I'd have felt a kiln times better.

I returned home to two crying babies and a fraught husband. We ate dinner at 10 pm and I missed a pumping session because of the babies. We're also likely going to have to miss our snooze before the next feeding session.

And yet, I still feel surprisingly chilled. Thank goodness for yoga on the rooftop tonight.