I know, I know. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and everyone is showing how grateful they are. There are news reports about it, magazine articles telling you how to be thankful and lots of blog posts about saying thanks too. Some people are writing posts about how grateful they are for 30 days in a row. Not to be a grinch, but can't they be grateful in private? Does everyone have to know about their spouse who is their best friend (ever!) and their wonderful kids whose team just won another championship? Maybe I should be grateful that their posts are positive and that they aren't complaining about the pool cleaner not coming on time. 

With a four-year-old and two-year-old at home, I'm still in the trenches of daily cleaning and carting children all over the city. While I'm grateful for the wonderful people in my life--not to mention my perfect children--let me tell you about the items that have helped me survive the first four years of parenthood. 

Baby's First Year: 
Wipe warmers: I know it's pretentious to have a wipe warmer, but my kids were both born in cold-weather months and those wipe warmers kept their newborn bums from freezing. Once the kids were a few months old, they had enough padding to protect themselves and I went to regular non-heated wipes. 

Diaper trashcans: These trashcans kept diapers and their odor locked within their little walls so my house didn't stink. Considering the huge number of diapers my newborns went through and how little energy I had for emptying the trash six times a day, my nose is eternally grateful. 

Second Year: 
The Potette: I potty-trained Munchkin six weeks ago and the Potette has been a life-saver. I didn't need it for Monkey because I trained him in the summer and he didn't get dragged around to toilet-free-places like Munchkin does as a second child. I've used the Potette indoors and out and I hate to imagine the amount of laundry I'd be doing without it. 

Foaming hand soap: Nothing makes a kid want to wash their hands like foaming hand soap. Considering Munchkin's newfound potty-training skills and her propensity for covering her hands in marker, foaming hand soap is very much appreciated in this house. 

Third year:
Scooter: Thanks goodness for the Mini-Kick Scooter because as Monkey outgrew the stroller phase, but not yet reached the walking-long-distance phase, his scooter got us where we need to go at a fast pace. Now that Munchkin has mastered the scooter--well, she can't exactly brake yet--I see a stroller-less stroll in my future!

Stain Remover: When Monkey turned three, Munchkin was in the throes of, um, filling diapers. Between her blow-outs and affection for jumping in puddles, I had a lot of laundry to do. I'm pretty sure they would have ended up walking around naked if I hadn't used stain remover on their clothes. Monkey likes to apply the remover to his clothes, which is good because I dream of the day I can delegate all the laundry to him. 

Surviving Two Kids:
Double strollers: I can't imagine the days when strollers were heavy, unwieldy and only designed to hold one child. I used a Phil & Teds double stroller (not to be confused with Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure) for about a year and I'm thankful someone had the smarts to design an in-line, lightweight stroller I could use for a jog or for running the kids to school. It worked from Munchkin's newborn days until Monkey mastered the scooter and I loved it. Also ideal for hauling lots of groceries. 

Fitted stroller storm covers: In the early days of motherhood, I had stroller rain covers that were loosey-goosey and slid all over the stroller. Then I got spoiled when I received a fitted storm cover for my double stroller. Living by the water means that in addition to rain, there is a lot of wind that can turn a stroller with an over-sized rain cover into a soggy ship headed straight into traffic. I was able to snap and tie each end of the covers down and keep the kids dry and toasty warm. Now if only someone could invent a rain cover that would keep me dry and toasty warm, I'd be psyched. 

At Home:
Dishwasher: If there was one appliance that saved my sanity on a daily basis, it'd have to be the dishwasher. Since my SAHM income of zero does not afford me a maid, I am grateful that my husband and I are able to throw dishes into a contraption, add soap, hit a button and have the dishes come out clean. If not, we'd be fighting about whose turn it was to do the dishes. (His. It's always his turn.) Some dishwasher company should use the tag line of "Dishwashers:  Saving marriages daily."

Lightweight vacuums: I remember tugging vacuums around the house by the hose trying to clean the floor. Who can forget those vacuum bag replacements we had to buy on a regular basis? Now I can haul out a vacuum every day--nay, three times a day--to pick up the cheerios scattered beneath the table. (I'm starting to think my floor grows cheerios.)

In addition to all this gear and these appliances, I am grateful for the fact that grocery stores, pharmacies and banks are open much more frequently than they were when I was a kid. I still recall queuing up at bank with my parents to get money out on Fridays and making desperate grocery runs before the store closed. Such conveniences certainly make parenting less stressful and for that, I'm grateful. Happy Thanksgiving!

I know that I typically call my daughter "Munchkin" and that last week I called her "SuperGuirrel" but these days I think of her as a Toddler Cookie Monster. Sure Cookie Monster eats mostly cookies and Munchkin's can't survive on a cookie-only diet, but their enthusiasm for gobbling food is very similar. 

Just now, Munchkin woke up early (waaaaaay too early) after her nap, opened her bedroom door, saw that I was eating yogurt and pointed to it, asking for a bite. She ramps up from sleeping to eating in less than two seconds and this is how she is every day. She always wants to eat--it doesn't matter if it's her food, her brother's food or my food, but she wants it. She could have just eaten a five-course-meal, but if she spots a goldfish cracker from across the playground, she wants it. She'll ask kids for their food, moms for their snacks and complete strangers for a bite, even if she doesn't know what they're eating. 

Yes, I'm psyched that Munchkin likes to eat and that she has a healthy appetite, but keeping her hands out of other people's food is somewhat exhausting. Well-meaning parents always offer her a snack when she toddles up to them, but they don't realize that lunch is in 30 minutes and if she chows down on the latest "healthy" imitation cheese puff, she's not going to eat her lunch. Those same parents also don't realize that if they offer Munchkin a snack cup of grapes, she is going to eat all of them and their child won't get any unless I distract her. As I drag a wailing Munchkin away from another parent and their snacks, I sometimes want to yell, "I feed her! I really do!"

Even at home, Munchkin will raid the fridge and climb up to the counter to find a snack. Every time she runs into the kitchen while I'm prepping food, I rue the day we got rid of our kitchen gate. Of course I'm worried she's going to hurt herself--she fears nothing, after all--but I also fear her grabbing the eggs from the fridge or the juice from the shelf. 

Part of my annoyance also boils down to the fact that she and I are together all day, every day of the week. I don't mind that she eats a variety of foods, I mind that she eats my food. I sometimes just want to sit down next to her at lunch and eat my food peacefully without it being hijacked by Ms.Cookie Monster. Even my salads aren't safe from her hands anymore. I admit that I sometimes tell her the food is too spicy for her or that my smoothie is coffee, just so she'll leave my food alone. I can't do that every day or at every meal, so most days she chows down and, like Cookie Monster, says, "nam, nam, nam, nam."

Last year, about once a week, I'd pick Monkey up from school and take him to a diner down the street for a milkshake. He and I only had a few hours together a week without his then-baby-sister and this was his favorite way to enjoy it. This past week, he and I started the tradition again, but this time with two-year-old-Munchkin in tow. 

I ordered a hot drink for me and a milkshake for them to share. The generous waiter brought the milkshake in two cups, each topped with whipped cream and a strawberry. Monkey and Munchkin eagerly peeled their straws and started sipping their smoothies with joy. As we sat, Monkey--known for asking lots of questions, but not for revealing much about school--told me about soccer, what he did at school and said a few kids were teasing him on the bus. We talked about what he could do on the bus and I said I was glad he told me about being teased. He looked at me and, a bit surprised, asked, "You mean I should tell you these things?" "Yes, of course! I can help you figure out what to do and step in if I have to." Monkey smiled and looked both happy and relieved to know that he had done the right thing. 

As I sat in the booth, I thought that this is why we go to the diner. Sure, the kids may have ruined their appetites and dinner was going to start late, but I wasn't running around chopping onions or doing laundry, I was just sitting across from kids and listening. At home, I like to eat most meals with the kids, but lately, I've been slipping. Sometimes I'll wash the dishes or pick up toys while they eat. I'll check my phone or I'll dash to my room to get something  and linger for a few minutes, enjoying the solitude. I like dancing with the kids and taking them to the playground. I love snuggling with them in the morning and tackling them in living room, but sometimes I don't focus on them like I should. I hear them talking, but don't fully listen. 

And now, at this diner, I was listening very closely. It's funny how Monkey was surprised that he should tell me such things. He asks me a million questions, but doesn't ask me for advice, which is probably normal for a four-year-old. Here he was, in need of a little guidance, and thanks to a diner serving milkshakes, I was in a position to give it. 

As I got ready to leave, I remembered that my father used to take my twin sister and me to a mall in Maine where we lived. One time when we were four years old, Papi took us to a booth, not unlike this one and bought us ice cream. "Don't tell Mami!" he said as we giggled at the table. My father has been gone almost 21 years, but 35 years later I still remember that ice cream, that booth and the way my dad secretly spoiled us. I hope that Monkey too, will remember our outings and, more importantly, know that he can tell me anything and I won't just hear him, I'll listen. 

Last night, after seeing Munchkin drop a few too many coins into the heating vent, I decided to pull off the heater's cover and investigate. Once I tugged it off I realized Munchkin was more stealthy than I had anticipated. There were piles of coins and when I counted them up--all $11.76 of them--I confirmed my suspicions that Munchkin was part girl, part squirrel. A guirrel, if you will.

Just like a squirrel hides her nuts, Munchkin picks up objects and stashes them away. At our house, shoes mysteriously disappear; toothbrushes appear on the couch; baby doll strollers materialize in the bathroom and books get scattered all over the house. Shiny objects are especially appealing to my SuperGuirrel. My bracelets are tugged onto Munchkin's wrists and my necklaces appear magically around her neck seconds after I put them down.

An early walker, Munchkin was around 13 or 14 months when she started climbing onto step-ladders, chairs and tables. Now that she's two, she's become very adept at dragging chairs to whichever counter has food on it. I have a feeling that Munchkin could give a squirrel a run for her money when it comes to climbing for snacks. Munchkin also climbs our trash cans to get to the fruit bowl, stands on toys to reach the (child-locked) window sill and constantly clambers onto our sturdy TV stand to reach toys put out of her reach.

The most persistent snack-grabbing attempts happen when we go grocery shopping and I'm forced to openly curse the designer who put shelves of toys and chocolates at children's eye level. When we went shopping this morning, Munchkin darted out of the stroller and headed to a wall of sugar (as I call it) where she picked up a bag of hard candy to take home. "No, Munchkin, we're not taking that home." As I put it back, she pulled out a bag of gummy worms. "Noooo we're not taking that home." Then she grabbed bags of sweetheart candies, jaw breakers and on an on until we moved to the produce aisle and she picked up a bag of dehydrated apples, which she was allowed to keep.

The upside to have a half-girl, half squirrel at home is that I never have to worry whether she's eaten enough. She's got big cheeks for hiding nuts, er, food and is very energetic and entertaining. This Guirrel may be squirrelly, but she's just tame enough to keep. 



What kind of creatures do you have at home? Clambering monkeys or slow-moving turtles perhaps?

When I was growing up, my parents were classical music fanatics. They knew every composer and every piece. They had seen dozens of operas and when a good solo was coming up on the radio, they'd stop everything and say to me and my twin sister, "Listen." My parents took us to concerts, operas, got us piano lessons and all five of us kids learned to play instruments and sing. My mother was a talented pianist and my father could never keep his feet from tapping when music was playing. 

Often, after an evening drive, we'd pull in the driveway and if there was a impressive aria coming up, my dad would park the car and no one would move. Our backyard separated the house from the driveway and if we were to get out of the car, it'd take us so long to cross the yard, unlock the door and turn on the stereo that my parents would miss their favorite part. So the four of us would sit in the dark, quietly, with my parent's ears cocked towards the speakers until the piece was over. 

Despite my years (eight of them!) playing clarinet in concert bands and, yes, marching bands, I never quite developed the same degree of adoration for classical music. I did, however, develop a love of music that encompasses dancing, singing, playing, and writing. I'm the person who sings along (quietly) in dance class, I often look up song lyrics and I've sung in choirs in Spain, Bolivia and every city I've lived in in the U.S. 

Many of my fond memories throughout the years are tied in with music. Harmonizing on Indigo Girls songs with my roommates, making up dance routines with my twin, dancing to Latin Pop in Bolivia and singing along to "Piano Man" with my friends in Seville.

Ever since my kids were born, I've sung them the same lullabies my mother sang to me. I've also thrown in a few tunes by my favorite singers that Monkey now sings with me. I've realized having a love of music is helpful for raising kids. When I'm tired and grumpy during dinner time and get up once again to clean up spilled milk, I put on some music and dance for my kids. I make silly faces as I get the paper towels and swing my arms while I get fruit out for dessert. They laugh their heads off and the tension dissolves. The best part is when they start imitating me from their seats at the table. Swinging their arms, shaking their heads and swaying from side to side. When a song I like comes on the radio, Monkey will say, "Mami! It's your favorite song!

Monkey often says that he doesn't dance, but last week, he performed for me using our carpet as a stage. It was great to see how comfortable he was with his body and to see him peel back a layer of shyness. Munchkin, I can see, already has the dancing gene. When there's music, she starts jumping and swinging. I hope that when they get older, we can talk about song lyrics and harmonize on car trips like my sister and I did. I have a feeling that when we are home and hear a favorite song, I too will stop everything and say, "Let's dance" and they will. 

When I found out that Monkey's school was--for the first time--going to allow children to wear their costumes to school, I didn't think Monkey would want to wear his one-piece Spider-Man costume all day. Boy was I wrong. Monkey was thrilled to pull it on as soon as he woke up. When we arrived to his bus stop, we spotted his friend from down the block, clearly dressed as a firefighter. As soon as we neared, he shouted, "Monkey!! I'M A FIREMAN!" and Monkey, with his hard-to-miss Spider-Man jacket over his costume did a Spider-man leap and said, "I'M SPIDER-MAN!" They joyfully jumped around in excitement with their dressed-up classmates and rushed to board the bus. 

After school, as I paraded Monkey and Munchkin (Spider-Man and Batgirl) around downtown, I greeted other kids in costume, "Hello Pirate!" "Hi bumblebee!" "Hello Princess Belle!" As I maneuvered my kids around strollers and dodged candy-giving pile-ups, I asked myself why on earth I was addressing all these children that I didn't even know. Was I some crazy old lady? Well, maybe, but the reality is that most kids' faces lit up when I called them by their character name. Why? Because kids like to be acknowledged for who they are. Not just when they're in costume with zombie blood on their faces or ladybug wings pinned on their backs. Every day children wish to be acknowledged for the people they are. 

Judging by the common frustrations parents have about their kids, most children know that they are messy, loud and picky. Do they know they are also generous, thoughtful and sweet? I sometimes wish my son were a little less sensitive, but I should tell him more often that it's okay that he's reluctant in big crowds. I wish my daughter was more willing to hold my hand, but I should tell her I admire her bravery on the playground. This isn't just about the dreams I'm projecting onto my children's futures, it's about right now. Who are they right now? They are funny, active, smart little creatures who happen to be dangerously fearless and emotionally sensitive and it's not just okay, it's great. The 6-year-old spider I saw last night is very intense and sweet and the pirate in his stroller is a slightly aggressive playmate. There are a bunch of mini-superheroes who drive me crazy with their rambunctiousness, but I don't know if I have seen them for who they are. I mean, I haven't kneeled to their level, looked them in they eye and seen them for the hopes, needs and personality they have hidden underneath their costume of loud voices and emotional meltdowns. 

Despite the trick-or-treating madness, Halloween ended up being a lot of fun for the kids and me. Sure they ate way too much candy, but I learned a universal truth that I need to remember, for adults and children alike, all year round: See people for who they are and their faces will light up.