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Yesterday was my husband's birthday. We celebrated a little bit the Saturday prior, by taking the twins out shopping and for a late lunch. Our wonderful neighbors watched Lincoln for us so that we could actually have some adult conversation and maybe hold hands. We each strapped a baby to our chest, and walked around without even a stroller. Sexy! I liked the mobility until we sat down to eat, at which point it would have been nice to set the babies elsewhere while we shoveled food into our mouths. We just had to laugh at ourselves while we carefully lifted our sandwiches up and over the bobbing baldies, trying not to drop bbq sauce on their sweet little heads. They ended up wearing napkin hats.

His actual birthday was Monday, so he had a normal school schedule. The day began like every other: Lincoln's rapid footsteps in the hallway followed by our bedroom door slamming open. He announced something cute and funny like, "I'm Thomas. Hi Percy! Hi babies!" Then his daily request, "You want to get up and go downstairs and get me vitamins and tea, Daddy?" At 5:45 a.m. it's hard to say how much Daddy wants to get up and go downstairs and get vitamins and tea... but of course he does it just the same. He never complains about lack of sleep, event though I usually wake him up in the middle of the night to help me burp the babies and change diapers.  In fact, Tyler doesn't complain about anything. I actually have to pry it out of him if I think there's something wrong. He has always come home from a long day of work (now school) with nothing on the agenda but family time. You know how sometimes when you walk in the door, you just need a minute? A small pause to transition into home-mode? Tyler doesn't-- he just jumps right into it. Sometimes he doesn't even get to change out of his slacks and tie before he's rushed off to the playground or pulled to the floor to vroom around with some hot wheels.

While I was on bed rest, Tyler was Mr. Mom through-and-through. Lincoln is an energetic kid, and he quickly lost interest in me once I couldn't get up to play. So Tyler handled the majority of the parenting ontop of the overwhelming business of arranging our move. He bought a trailer, moved our things into it, transferred money every-which-where, and handled my incessant requests with patience. (Usually.) If I've been stepping up my game lately in the house-wifely department, it's because I have a partner who inspires me. I'm proud of my husband for managing to move our family here to Massachusetts. I'm confident that he'll do well in school and make the most of opportunities to network. And I'm excited for our future together.

Happy Birthday, handsome!

Hey supermoms... I'm on to you!

My children and I are obnoxiously conspicuous everwhere we go. People stop and stare, then tell me I have my hands full ("no kidding," I say) Thanks for cluing me in! Admittedly, we are a sight: a toddler in the "car" at the front of the shopping cart, a baby-filled car seat inside the shopping cart, and an equally baby-filled car seat perched ontop of the shopping cart. "Where do you fit the groceries?" one old man asked. I nook and cranny it.  A few times women have come up to me, cooing, asking to see the baby (singular). I oblige, then after a few seconds of, "Oh! How darling!" I point and say, "there's another one in there." The shock is priceless.

Three kids is not such a big deal. When the twins are older I don't think we'll make such a scene. It's just something about two babies and a toddler that looks crazy. And it is. It's a big deal to go from one to two. It's a big deal to add any number onto your first: your cherished, beloved, doted on first. A neighbor of mine who has a 4 year old, and is currently pregnant with her second boy, asks me often how I'm doing. She looks skeptical every time I say we're doing great. The babies (knock on wood) sleep surprisingly well, and Lincoln handles their presence with the most love, curiosity and tolerance that you could expect from a toddler. I feel like she wants me to say it's hard, terrible... nigh unto impossible. She says she's nervous about taking care of a newborn and a demanding preschooler. I admit that I was nervous too, but it's amazing what you can adjust to once it hits. "Well... it will get harder once they are crawling around. It's not like you really have three yet," she said to me once. Ouch...

It's true that life will be even more of a juggling act once all my baby Metcalfs are mobile, but let me tackle one thing at a time. Raising young children requires you to be in the moment. Whereas some phases in life evoke questions such as, "What will I be when I grow up? What's my plan for the next 10 years? What purpose do I serve? Have I made a difference?" I find myself focusing more on, "Should I let him have that snack so close to dinner?  Can we fit in a trip to the library before the next feeding?  Do I have time to wash and dry the sheets before bedtime?" The fact is, the difference between success and disaster right now are the tiny choices I make in any given moment, everyday. It's a sensitive balance that I'm striving for-- making sure everyone eats, sleeps, plays, gets washed, read to, exposed to the sun and cheerful voices, at the right times and in the right doses.  Always the goal, rarely a reality.  Sometimes I load everyone up with clean diapers and clothes, snacks and toys, only to return home 20 minutes later because: a tantrum, a blowout, tag-team crying, an over-turned stroller (don't ask)... the list goes on.

But you know something?  My job seems almost easier now.  I keep the house cleaner than I did before.  When you only have 20 minutes of free time in each 3 hour segment, you have to prioritize.  I fold laundry, do the dishes, sweep the floors and cook meals like a mad woman.  I like catering to everyone, doling out love like I'm made of it.  I'm holding onto each child in the fragility of now, fearing my empty nester days will come all too soon.

My 60-year-old self envies this: