Little Fakers!

I had a professor who once said that children don't learn how to tell a lie until they're like 3 or 4 years old. She said that they simply do not understand enough about language to be intentionally deceitful before then.

I beg to differ.

First, let me remind you that Emma and Ethan love each other so much. They learned to show affection very early. It's probably the sweetest thing you'll ever see. They fully embrace each other and give so many sweet heart kisses. But, here's the thing: the kissee doesn't always want to be kissed. The kisser has to chase the other down and that rejection can be so frustrating for them.  Ethan finally catches Emma and then he knocks her down just to give her his lovins. I'm not exactly sure how to handle this one.

Then the biting started. They lean in, just like a kiss, and then--OUCH!
"Emma! No biting! That hurts! Be nice," I say.
"Mmmmaaa!" She kisses him as an apology and then she looks at me to see if I am pleased.
"Ohhhh, that's nice. Thank you," I say. She smiles. They learn quickly.

Now and then, I look over and catch one of them with a wide open mouth, teeth exposed and ready to clamp: "Ethan!"
He quickly changes his mind and gives her a kiss: "Mmmmmaaa! Oooohhhh," he says as he waits for my approval.
"Ohhh, yes, that's much better," I say. I figure I need to reinforce this behavior even though it is not exactly genuine. Ok, let's face it. This is downright deceitful. Right before he hits her in the head with a toy, he pulls it back when he hears my voice and, "See, Mom? I was just kidding. Mmmmmaa!"
"Oooohh, that's so nice, baby."

It has become second nature to such a degree that a kiss could just as likely stand for a bite. When conflict arises over positioning or possession of a toy, someone may receive a subtly aggressive "kiss," one that seems to really mean, "Move over, and back off!" How could a kiss mean back off? It makes sense if you are a twin. It's twin code communication.

If Emma wants a bite of my ice cream, she may also coincidentally remember that she loves me so much. She gives me a very sweet kiss and then peers over into my bowl. If you ask me, this is very advanced manipulation, much more complicated than telling a simple white lie.

And they say preemies have developmental delays.

Duck, Duck, Goose

 Since the kids are so into imitating animal sounds, we thought they'd love to visit the ducks at the park. Rodney thought we should bring some bread so the kids could get the full park effect. I was a little worried that food and aggressive ducks could be a bad combination, but I kept quiet.

When we got there, Ethan made it pretty clear that I was not to touch him, that he would be wandering free--thank you very much. He and Emma made a bee-line as fast as they could straight for the pond. I almost had a heart attack. Swimming lessons are now high-priority. They must've thought they could just walk on water and simply go get those ducks.  The park was packed and the ducks weren't hungry at all. I guess they'd probably been eating bread crumbs all day. Probably just as well. Emma and Ethan make the funniest duck sounds from the back of their throats: "kah-kah," which is pretty much their same sound for pigs.

So park geese aren't very friendly. Surprise, surprise. I don't know much about goose temperament, but for these geese, I think it's probably from all the years of torture from the children of Muskogee. A couple of little boys were harassing one goose and her egg. She was very angry, rightly so. The boys were so proud of themselves for finding the egg and chasing the goose. I'm sure the egg will never hatch now that it's been violated by little Lewis and Clark here. It made me sad inside to see that. Poor momma goose. Emma and Ethan of course were oblivious to her loss and kept happily trying to march right up to her. I guess they expected her to act just like our dog, Daisy, when approached. Her wings were pulled back in full display and she looked like she would charge. We kept diverting them and holding them back. Emma and Ethan were absolutely livid.

This park day was not turning out like we had imagined. We would've taken them to the playground, but there were so many other kids there, so we just wandered around in the picnic area and, after they got over the whole pond restriction thing, it seemed to be fine with them. Emma was very interested in the strange tree roots we have at Honor Heights, the ones that come straight up from the ground like weird emerging mutants. They remind me of those cave formations I've seen on The Discovery Channel. Ethan loved the tiny flowers and clovers that grow in the grass: "Fla-fla."
"Yep, flowers! Good job, baby." So smart.

Rodney played peek-a-boo with them around the big tree trunks and they loved it. They screamed with big smiles on their faces and ran around in circles. Emma's signature move ever since she could walk is leaning slightly forward with her arms out behind her like a diving bird. It's pretty cute. She smiles with her chin out, eyes closed. Sweet little Em-Lynny-Lou.

After we thought they had run most of their energy out, we carried them on our shoulders back to the car. They were asleep before we were out of the park.

Feeding Disorder

I'm really proud of the way the babies eat, and the Baby Bullet really gave me direction in the food department. I feel like it's a road all its own.  In fact, it's a road so its own that...I think I'm lost.

I have followed the Baby Bullet Nutrition Guide very closely. Introduce a new food every 4 days to screen for allergies. Gradually increase the texture of purees. Fingerfoods. Ok, got it. Now I just make the recipes.

Since I'm not home to feed Ethan and Emma during the day, the person who is (mostly my mother) should not have to worry with preparing meals. I do that. I prepare the food, put some fresh in the fridge and freeze the rest. I use small Tupperware containers to store portions of things that won't fit in my ice cube trays, like turkey pot pie, shepherd's pie, veggie lasagna, scones, etc. Other things like mac and cheese, spaghetti, soup, diced veggies, rice, beans, whatever--go into the ice trays. I then put the food cubes in labeled freezer bags. This helps Mom and me unfreeze only the amount that we need. And it allows us to mix and match different things. I still make some vegetable purees so I can add them to certain foods they love, like spaghetti or mac-and-cheese. It's a good thing.

The babies eat at a certain time every day pretty much: 7:30 or 8:00am breakfast, lunch after their nap, 12:30 or 1:00. Snack at 3:00 or 4:00. Dinner at 6:00.

So what's the problem?

Rodney and I don't eat at 6:00, for one. He doesn't get home till later. So that means we will be eating after the babies eat (a second meal plan), which also means that we will be shoveling food in our faces while trying our best to tune out the relentless mantra: "Bi'e, bi'e, bi'e, bi'e, bi'e, bi'e..."
If you give them a "bi'e," you'll be lucky to get a bite of your own. They hover. They cry. They're like those seagulls on Finding Nemo. Sometimes I just want to scream, to be honest. CAN I EAT IN PEACE?   We usually eat at the coffee table. So they're also crawling all over me. I realize this behavior is my fault. So I try not to get too frustrated with them.

I am also noticing that most people I know are just letting their toddlers take care of their own business at feeding time. They eat their own granola bar--right out of the package. They don't need it broken into manageable pieces. They can spoon-feed themselves. They can eat a hamburger maybe even. WOW! Hahaha! Our babies still get gagged or choked when they are left to their own devices. So I have to cut their meal into bite sized pieces. I present bowls or plates for most everything I serve them, and plastic ware. They may dip the spoon in the cheesy rice and put it in their mouths, but then they set it down and use their hands. It's a mess.  I have to spoon feed their soup. They're 18 months old (adjusted age from original due date) so I know they're ok. They'll catch on. So will their mother. Surely.

I'm thinking the only way I will be able to get them on our eating schedule, a family meal plan, is to either start eating Baby Bullet recipes...or stop making them.

I can't stop making Baby Bullet recipes! I need an 800 number, a support group, something.

I have a feeding disorder.

Forces of Nature

We live in Oklahoma, so we're not strangers to the tornado sirens or the storm warnings that take over our favorite tv shows. I've never been that afraid of storms. Well...a few times a particularly violent storm has sent me to the bathtub with my pillow. I don't underestimate the power of storms, but I do think I suffer from that "it won't happen to me" mentality. Most of the time, I just have faith that my house and my God will protect me from the storms. How many times have I survived the tornados that come sweeping through the plains? How many times have I escaped harm or even a scratch? Why should this time be any different? I had become desensitized to the threat of storm danger.

Then I had twins. This affected my illusion of safety for two reasons: One, because the odds are against having twins. Anytime you're pregnant, people like to joke about how you might be having twins, but you don't worry because you know you won't. What are the odds? Hellin's Law states that before the advent of fertility methods, the natural occurrence of having twins is 1 in 90 live births. Not gonna happen, right?
     But then it did.  Beating the odds awakened a new fear of other, less wonderful unlikelihoods, like tornado devastation.

Two, it affects my fear because I now have two children who matter more than I do. Not that I didn't value my own life before, but I just didn't imagine having to face death or what that would mean. It's not something I thought about. As a mother, my job is to protect the babies, make sure that they keep living. I've never had a job this important before. I have to make sure that I keep living too so that I can fulfill my promise to God.

Last year on May 22, a tornado hit Joplin, MO and destroyed 20% of the city, killing 160 people. I can't imagine having my home, my city blown away. What must that feel like? I bet those people have a deeper understanding for the important things in life. I hope the ones who lost their families can find some kind of peace somehow. I hope the survivors love a little deeper now and squeeze their families a little tighter before they go to work in the mornings.

In the days that followed the Joplin horror, there were threats of another similar, "even worse" tornado coming to Muskogee. All day long, the news anchors were warning us, giving us survival tips, and putting the fear of God deep into our souls with images of what was left of Joplin and clips of the desperate cries and vacant eyes of its residents.

Our air conditioning went out that day. Rodney was at work. I was a little jittery. The babies were not yet walking, and I wondered how I was going to make sure they weren't blown away from me if we were hit. I had those snuggie harnesses that strap the baby to your body. Now, which baby will I strap? How horrible. I can't choose. I started packing a first aid and survival kit based on the tips from the news. I put formula and nursery water in the bathroom. Diapers, blankets, pillows. What will all of this matter if our house is blown apart? No preparation can save us. Still, I kept my shoes on. I dressed the babies well for protection. We were so hot. We were sweating and sweating. The babies were scoot-crawling all over the floor like wounded soldiers. My wild imagination is no friend of mine in times like these. But no storm came.

Last month, our neighbors had a storm shelter built onto their house. It's reinforced by steel and cement and holds nine people. When I saw that shelter, I felt hopeful that they would let us squeeze our babies in with them in time of need: "Here, take our babies!" Who would refuse two innocent and sweet children? Even if they were the 10th and 11th people, stack them on your heads, people, please! Maybe they might even let the rest of the Garlands in too....

Just the other day, the neighbor came over and gave us a key to the shelter in case we ever needed it. Thank God. I feel like I need to make some grand gesture of some kind to show them how grateful I am to have that peace of mind.

God bless our sweet neighbors.

Biting The Bullet

While I was pregnant, one of my friends asked me, "Are you planning to make your own baby food?"
 I thought that was a little odd, to be honest. I can't remember what I said, but I was thinking, "Ok, you must be one of those extreme health-nut environmentalists or something..." and I put it out of my mind.

Once the babies were here and after ten and a half months of pumping, I thought I was about to get a break. "This is exhausting! Won't it be nice when they switch to baby food?" Yeah, no. I didn't get a break.  But I did have my body back, and by that I mean full ownership, no longer leased out by the babies for the first time in almost 2 years which was nice. I missed being able to have a drink if I wanted one, or eat spicy food. Now, when they are done eating, I'm done feeding them. When they were milk-only babies, I'd feed them a bottle that I had stored, and then I had to pump more after just to keep my body in rhythm. It's nice to just feed them and be done with it. More expensive, but nice.

Transitions are hard for new moms. At least they are for me. I'm never sure of what to do. I get lost in my commitment to the routine. I feel change coming and I don't know how to handle it at first.

 When we saw the commercial for the Baby Bullet on tv, we wanted it. I felt inspired and energized by it. It looked so healthy and so easy. And it claimed to save a lot of money in processed, jarred baby food. So we ordered it. When it was delivered and I saw the box, anxiety started rushing in. There it is. Look how big that box is. I turned my back on it for several hours. Finally, I decided to confront the monster. OMG, look how many parts there are!  I read the instructions and then made a trip to the produce section of the grocery store.

"I'm pretty intimidated right now," I said as I started to make the first batch. It was avocado.

 I learned a few things about order of operations and storage the hard way, but it was a success. I made avocado puree. I fed it to Ethan and Emma that night and they made the funniest expressions. But they wanted more. It made me feel so good to see them bravely conquering a vegetable that many people do not acquire a taste for until adulthood. Hey, wait a minute. I think I've just made a psychological break-though. I think I am tasting vicariously through my babies. Yep. I am dreaming of a better palate. The babies tried almost every vegetable I have ever heard of and some that I hadn't. Fruits, grains, legumes, everything. It made me so proud.


The Baby Bullet didn't last very long. It couldn't handle all of the work I was demanding of it. I burned up the motor in about 5 or 6 months. Then I switched to my regular blender. It burned up as well after about a year. Now I am on another super-blender called Ninja. We'll see how long it lasts. At any rate, The Baby Bullet was the best thing that had happened to the babies since breast milk.

Rocking Horse Whiner

Ethan loves pushing things around, and one of his favorite things to push is the Radio Flyer rocking horse. It's light weight and slides easily around on the carpet. He makes laps around the furniture on his knees in the living room. He looks so proud and satisfied to be smooth-cruising with his prize horse. Unfortunately, it's not always easy. It's barely narrow enough to fit between all the furniture and some of the turns are pretty sharp. He concentrates very hard on steering. It's a very serious mission. If he gets stuck on something, he loses it. He cannot accept set-backs. He screeches and whines, cries and moans until he's free. Reverse doesn't seem to occur to him. I decided to stop helping him with it, so he could learn on his own and because it only seemed to lessen his patience the next time around. The horse wouldn't budge. Ethan was in complete despair. Finally, he got fed up, stomped around and angrily yanked at the front of the horse. He looked just like a man whose car broke down for the third time and he's late for supper. He'll fix this piece of junk! Just as soon as he gets going and the crying dies down, he gets hung up again down the way and the wailing continues. It is quite a sight, entertaining but disturbing.  It becomes more than I can bear. It doesn't seem healthy for such a small boy to have that much continuous frustration. I have to intervene, and he is mortified. He pulls away with all his might, yelling and struggling to get free and back to his fixation. How dare I interfere with a man and his work? How emasculating. This is the mother of all offenses and the storm is long and furious.

The horse has been confiscated until further notice.