Day 480 - What Can Brown Do For You?

Happy Mothers' Day!

We all celebrated Wifey/Supermom today--her first Mothers' Day in which the babes knew who she is. Wifey made waffles at my request--before I remembered what day it was. Bah! Blew that one! I endeavored to make it up to her by making the rest of the day all about her. Breakfast was followed by nap time for all four of us!

A word about napping--before getting to the titular subject. And oh, it's a story alright.

I had heard it said, and seen it written, that the transition from two to one nap can be...rough. Oh, babies. Again an example of a time to heed the warnings. (Though what I would have done differently eludes me at the moment.) It happened one day. And I mean one day. The night before, bedtime was nightmarish. I forget how late we were up, but I think I may have heard birds outside. Then again, they could have been flying in small circles around my head. Those babes....were....mad. And it became almost instantly clear that nap #2 had slipped off the endangered list into extinction--with no chance of Jurassic-style DNA retrieval.

This new wrinkle took about four days to iron out. The worst part for me, now that I am reasonably confident that the babes will endure and adapt, is that my daytime schedule has been literally turned inside-out. I felt like I was just getting into the swing of playdates, lunches, and errands. (With the occasional and extremely welcome social peer-outing.) Now if I want to leave the house, it's in the morning, getting back for lunch and then putting them down for naps. And not many of the babes' friends are yet on this schedule. Feeling a little lonely again. :'(

And now for the story I promised.

For Mothers' Day dinner, Wifey was honored/imperiled with my offer to cook--which I did. It went pretty well; I have a rather limited repertoire, but this is something that all involved parties recognize and accept. Dessert, however, was her doing--and it was a fantastic chocolate fondue!

Babes in highchairs, bibs snugly in place, garden hose at the ready--melted chocolate was served. This was tasty stuff--complete with banana, pineapple, and strawberries. The babes dug it. Did you ever see the movie, or its remake, The Blob? There's a scene in which a farmer pokes the just-impacted meteorite containing the baby Blob. It crawls up his stick and begins to envelop his arm--and ultimately his entire body. That's sorta' what happened this evening within the two highchairs in our kitchen.

I can not believe how much this chocolate multiplied. It was surely breeding. By the end, Boy had it up and down his legs, up both arms, and covering roughly 65% of his face. Girlie fared better--as she's a neater eater--but was still bordering on envelopment. A friend, who had seen photos of the aftermath, asked if they had murdered Willy Wonka.

We had to video chat. We called some cousins, one of whom encouraged Boy to slap himself in the head--or hair, more specifically. It was bathtime.

Boy was extricated from the chair and Wifey rather adeptly disrobed him and headed upstairs to draw a bath. Girlie was mine to wrangle. I got her out and immediately noticed the familiar aroma of #2. PANIC set in. It was true. She was my dutiful daughter. Why was this worse than any of the thousands of dirties I'd handled? I couldn't set her down without getting chocolate--or worse--on whichever surface she landed. And you can't just throw a child, in that state, in a bathtub!

• Fortunately, our nearby changing table was between laundry stages and did not yet have a cloth covering. Vinyl sounded like a good choice of surfaces! 
• Unfortunately, we were out of wipes!
• Fortunately, there were wipes upstairs in the nursery!
• Unfortunately, I had to carry a poopy, chocolaty, naked baby upstairs by her ankles. 
• Fortunately, I didn't collide her into any doorknobs or corners.
• Unfortunately, there weren't any wipes in the nursery.
• Fortunately, Wifey came to the rescue after setting Boy down in the empty tub!
• Unfortunately, without getting too graphic, it was that clay-like sticky business that needed....aggressive wiping.

And into the bath! By this time, the tile above the tub had several brown hand prints. Would have been funnier had I not just returned from Pootopia.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

Babies are gross.

Day 438 - The Twins of Change

Yesterday was one of the most change-filled days since birthday #0. Wifey came home and we tagged off, giving me some much needed Mespace. Several minutes in, the three of them barged into the mancave to demonstrate the change of which I speak. But first, a brief refresher for both of you who religiously read my unreligiousy updated blog:

Boy has been walking since month 11.5. And he's become progressively uncontainable. Girlie has been standing for a couple of months and taking 1-5 steps between grownups after significant encouragement.

But that all changed when I was informed that Girlie decided to start officially walking. Wifey says, "What happened to my kids today?"
"What do you mean?" Says I.
Girlie, she explained, is now walking like a pro. And Boy suddenly knows [most of] the motions to Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes!
"I didn't do it." I admitted.

They are becoming so engaged in one another! It's often quite sweet. Yes, there are early hints of squabbling--and no I'm not surprised. Girlie wants to bite Boy and he wants to push her and/or pull her hair. Ah, yes. This is where the fun starts, right? The sweetness I mentioned occurs, for example, when Girlie pushes a little walking toy around the house chasing Boy. This is usually accompanied by hysterical, screaming laughter from her and silly giggles from him. I waited so long to see these types of interactions--ones that I thought would occur sooner than they did. For many months they seemed little more than vaguely aware of each-other. Twins of Change indeed.

This evening, whilst shopping for a toilet, I had chosen to bring Girlie along leaving Boy home with Wifey. The toilet part is non important, by the way. So I was driving home from an unsuccessful mission and really began pondering and reflecting upon the differences between singles and multiples. (I hate the term singleton by the way. It sounds clinical--and lonely.) While I have no real frame of reference regarding only children, I thought about how our parenting time is divided amongst the twins. We have such hopes that the kids will get along as they grow. I have no illusions that it will be all grits & giggles. But I SO want them to be each other's advocates and supporters! So what did it mean to be to be out and about with just one? Well, we didn't really interact much. She wasn't babbling at all--just content. Content means a lot. That's for sure. But it was also just nice to be in her presence without distraction. Don't get me wrong, I would feel and have felt the same way with him. I'm just talking about a special moment that doesn't often present itself. Very sweet. I love them.

Are we losing anything from not having a single just as we gain so much from having two? I suppose it's irrelevant, but I wonder if they're missing out on something special. Everyone's experiences growing up are strikingly different, aren't they? Why am I humming I Got You, Babe?

Day 386 - Nothing Ever Changes!

If you believe that title, I have some land for you.

Ok, so it's been several months since my last visit. What can I say? Life happens. And happens BIG. I guess I'll just list a few of the notable changes since last post...

• Boy is not only walking, but has perfected it and now rarely chooses to crawl. 
• Girlie has taken a couple of steps here and there, but as with crawling, is taking her sweet time.
• Boy has all but mastered "Dad" placing a huge emphasis in the second D. Dad-duh. Somehow fitting.
• Boy has also taken on "dog". It currently comes out as a nearly unstoppable string of "Duh, a-DUH, a-DUH, a DUH, a-DUH...." etc. and repeat. 
• Girlie has the occasional "mama" and "dada" but by far her most adorable is, "tsah?" Meaning, "What's that?" Everything new, and many things not, are met with her request for a label. It's heartwarming.
• Solid foods are no longer a big deal for them. Two days ago, in fact, Girlie learned to dip a spoon into yogurt and feed herself. Thank you, Grandma C!

The list could go on and on but who wants to read lists? It's my dry and brilliant twin-life observations that keep my droves of readers returning. Is 17 considered a drove?

Let's talk about teamwork. I'm beginning to see some in them. And it frightens me! They're already forming the early semblances of Twinese. Soon they'll be conspiring against us, no doubt. Before long they will be hitting Wifey and me from all angles. My weapon will be anecdotal online research. It may not be much, but I know there's a good amount of data on the subject. Accurate and effective data? Who knows?

Personalities are emerging. Well, they're refining. And I've read a bit about the so-called hard wiring of the genders. Let me categorically confirm its validity! We have exposed them both to the same toys--never once pushing a traditionally boy or girl toy on either of them. That's not that because we're fighting gender-themed toys or identities, we just don't have many of that type. And yet...Boy gravitates towards cars and things that vroom and roll. Girle, without question, prefers plush, cushy animals, pillows and such. The great experiment continues.

1st births-day came and went. We had 9 babies and their parents at the house. THAT was chaos. But it went without incident. Babies had their first cake and it mostly stayed out of their hair!

Another milestone was the passing of the one-year-mark for Twin Pop's @Home Adventures! I've survived. Happy and surprising!

Backtracking a bit, we've already had two E.R. visits--both of them for Boy. One morning we found blood in his ear. He had cried out in the middle of the night but it didn't last long enough for us to drag our old carcasses to the nursery. Anyhow, we brought him in, fearing a ruptured ear drum. Turned out he'd scratched his ear with his fingernail. Ouch!

E.R. trip #2 was more significant. He had fallen onto the corner of a wooden shelf and opened up a little gash over his eyebrow. I suspect that many of us have old scars right around there! So he had two stitches--somewhat traumatic--but he did very well and was laughing within 5 minutes of the procedure. Stay calm, Daddy! That's my lesson here. Oh, and not getting offended by the third degree from hospital staff. I'm glad they do it--it's just sad that they have to.

And that's it! Nothing to see here. Please disperse.