I now conveniently have about 38,000 McIntosh apples thanks to a little apple picking excursion this weekend.

Please don’t even suggest that I make a pie.

Or apple sauce.

Or jam.

Is apple jam even a thing people make? I’m not finding out.

I decided to take the four kids apple picking on an 82 degree day in early September because I figured it wouldn’t be crowded and a friend said there were lots of apples low to the ground for kids to pick.

PERFECT.

Except it’s strange to  walk around an orchard while you sweat. And we had a tiny little mishap.

Poor Miss Harlowe got bonked in the head with an apple.  The orchard even has a sign with all the rules when you walk in. “Don’t climb the trees.” “Watch out for poison ivy.” That sort of thing. But it said absolutely nothing about falling apples endangering babies. Maybe that’s just one of those parenting things you’re expected to know on your own.

Luckily, Harlowe only cried for about 3 seconds and appears to be completely unscathed by the incident. Of course, it’s hard to assess the emotional damage at her young age.

Meanwhile, after our extreme heat apple picking adventure, it was time for kindergarten.

Dylan would have rather had apples rain down on her than show up for the first day.

But she got out of the car, head to toe in some kind of circa 1994 polka dot dress that she begged me to buy at Target.

Then we spent 40 minutes outside her classroom, trying to coax her in…

At pick-up, she described her momentous first day as “good.”

Sometimes she can be so wordy.

Of course, I’m sort of bummed that Dylan insists on growing up.

But I’m so proud of that girl.

Even if she insists on wearing that dress.

This is what happens when smart people multitask too much on too little sleep:

On the first Sunday in September…

Rick folds the laundry which is totally awesome except he folds the dirty laundry.  Less awesome.

I leave the toaster oven on for an extended amount of time.

Rick gives Chase his twin sister’s thrush medicine by accident. (An important part of trying to get rid of thrush in twins is to not share medicine.)

I leave the door open to the house and a big fat orange cat swaggers on in and enjoys the place until she happens to bump into Dylan who starts screaming. Poor Dylan is so traumatized by the trespassing cat that she now needs some kind of feline therapy to recover. On the plus side, she’ll never become a cat hoarder.

Rick forgets to put Chase’s reflux medicine back in the fridge. (Label says it must be refrigerated at all times.)

Then we decide to take a nature walk with all four kids. So we strap on the Bjorns and head through these beautiful marshlands and everything is sunny and perfect and lovely…

until half way through the walk and quite far from the car, I say….

“We forgot the formula.”

“Oh no.”

“How could we forget food for our babies? Who does that?” I wonder and then I remember… Us!

Thankfully, the babies took pity on their poor frazzled parents and slept right through their feeding time. And we were able to feed them as soon as we got back to the car – preventing me from trying to nurse two infants on a lily pad in the middle of marshland.

Thank you babies.

mama bird notes:

A few weeks ago, Gap offered to style me at one of their local stores. Because I never turn down a chance to be styled (Rachel Zoe, I’m waiting for your call), I jumped at the opportunity even though I’m not a huge Gap person. I kind of thought the chain was still selling striped rugby shirts.

But the Gap had some seriously great stuff. I got a pair of black pants which are super fabulous and rightfully called magic pants.  I picked up some tops and even went all crazy and tried on jeggings.  Oh yes I did. They are a cross between leggings and jeans and I stuffed my postpartum body right in them. And they were cute! I know because my stylist said so.

So thank you Gap for the star moment. I loved it.

Someone recently pointed out to me that this blog is a bit Harlowe heavy and a little Chase light. (By the way, doesn’t a “Chase Light” sound like an icy cold, refreshing beverage?)

But I really don’t think I favor one twin over the other. It’s not like I’m out partying like a rock star with one of them.

Oh. Well, that is a cell phone snapshot of me and Harlowe out at a girls’ dinner. I’m sure Chase just had other plans. It’s not like that happens very often.

Oh snap. That’s me and my girl out to dinner again.

I actually bring along Harlowe because she has a very pleasant demeanor and it’s too cruel to leave Rick with both twins between the hours of 7 and 10 pm. That’s when they cry the most. So we divide and conquer.  Or rather, I divide and go out for dinner.

And that means I pick a lot of food off her head.

So no, I don’t have a favorite.

It’s just that Harlowe is like a sweet, calming angel.

And Chase is also an angel. Just one that grunts, groans, farts, spits-up, gets constipated, drools, farts again, has reflux, wakes up constantly between 4 and 6 am and overall is more of…..

a boy, I guess.

And he’s my sweet boy.

Not long ago my father-in-law took off this toupee.

And now 3 month-old Harlowe seems to be in the market for one…

As long as Dylan is willing to share some of her golden locks.

mama bird notes:

I am lucky enough to be included in the new anthology, “From the Heart: A Collection of Stories and Poems from the Front Lines of Parenting.” All proceeds from the sale of the book will be donated to children’s charities.  This money will help children get the medical care that they need and help find cures for devastating diseases.

I was recently a featured author. You can purchase the book by clicking over to the Write for Charity site.

On another note, thank you to By Word of Mouth for the blog award. I’m so honored!

I have this big plastic cup by my bed that I refill with water constantly because I get super thirsty when I nurse the twins every 15 minutes. Or every two hours depending on how you calculate the passage of time.

So Dylan and Summer were recently playing upstairs and shouted down to me, “Can we use the cup by your bed because Summer has the hiccups?”

I immediately envisioned her trying to drink backwards out of the cup and spilling the water everywhere. Since I was holding a twin and trying to eat a bowl of cereal at the time, I decided I could handle any potential water damage.

“Yes, you can use it. But please don’t spill water all over the place,” I yelled back up to them.

I never thought about Summer’s hiccups again.

Or the cup.

Until that evening when I was putting them to bed.

“We filled your cup with water from the toilet,” proclaimed Dylan.

“What?” I said. “You put water from the toilet bowl in my cup!!!?! That’s disgusting. You NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER take water from the toilet bowl. You could get very sick. Oh my gosh -  I drank from that cup all day.”

“Well, I washed it,” Dylan explained.

Somehow I didn’t feel better.

“I appreciate that but it just doesn’t matter. You can’t do that. I’m so grossed out. And wait – does this mean Summer drank from the toilet to get rid of her hiccups?”

“Yes. But it was Dylan’s idea,” Summer explained. I think Summer would be an excellent candidate for “Project Runway” with her ability to sacrifice team unity Gretchen-style in an effort to save herself.

“Oh Summer. Please don’t ever do that again. You could get so sick. Girls – I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m nauseous just thinking about this.”

Lesson learned way too late: Important to clarify to children that toilet bowl water is not suitable for drinking. I’m telling my 3 month-old twins right now so there is no confusion.