Kissy Face

I know all siblings love each other. I love my sister so much and she loves me. When we were kids, she loved to kiss my chubby cheeks. I thought she was the coolest kid ever to live. There is no love like a sibling's. They are your first true friend. But I still think there's something extra special about the relationship of twins. They live every moment and every milestone of their lives with each other, through each other, for each other, and despite each other. They know no solitude. It's almost like the space between them does not exist. They are bonded by invisible threads of energy and love. They must share everything they have from day one. Every single toy is dually owned from the start. Every birthday is shared; their room is shared; their bed is shared; their food is shared; their drinks are shared, and every cold is shared. Neither has had a single moment as an only child. They know no seniority or rivalry (yet). I hope being boy/girl will spare them some of the rivalry that many same-sex twins feel.

They are sad when the other is sad. Ethan has a tendency of impatience when it comes to food. I put the baby gate up so they won't be in the way or be hurt while I'm preparing meals. Ethan just stands there and cries or repeats over and over the name of the particular item he is craving. One time Emma came up to Ethan as he stood there leaning over the gate, crying like a starving child, and she put her hand on his back and patted him gently, saying, "I so sorry, Athan." She leaned her head toward his head and I could tell that she truly meant it. Ethan looked appreciative of her empathy and slowed down his crying for a full hug. If Emma is crying, Ethan has been known to repeat his mother's often used phrase, "Poor baby!" or "Don't cry, Emma." They even say these things to themselves. Emma sometimes tells herself through mopey tears, "It's okay. It's alright." Sometimes they can tune the crying sibling out, but many times, the look of despair on the other's face inspires despair in the other. "Emma's sad...." They wish they could join each other in "time-out." I shut the door, and say, "Brother is in time-out." She wails out in sympathy.

They are happy when the other is happy. If Daddy is playing with Ethan, and Ethan is laughing happily, Emma laughs happily too. She watches with a big smile on her face. Without rushing over to get in on the fun, she enjoys her brother's joy just as much as her own. Ethan tells Emma that she looks "so pretty" when she puts on her church clothes or when she wears a bow or a headband. When I am playing with Emma, Ethan thinks it is so funny. He wants to help make her laugh and say, "boop!" as he touches her on the nose just like Momma. And if he does it a little too hard, Emma still appreciates his effort. If Ethan is laying on his back and Emma wants to give him a kiss, she just leans down and gives him one, right on the lips. She might lean all of her weight right on his belly with her hands, but Ethan just grunts through the discomfort and puckers up. And they both say, "Ohhh, so sweet," just like Momma.

They kiss each other right on the lips, and some might think this should be corrected. I think it's sweet. They're only 2. It is most likely a learned behavior. Mommy and Daddy kiss on the lips, and Mommy kisses her babies on the lips. In my family, we did not kiss on the lips. We only kissed on the cheek. Rodney's too. I knew some friends who kissed their mothers on the lips, and I found it a little strange. I knew it wasn't inappropriate or sexual, but I thought kissing on the lips was reserved for mommies and daddies. But then my babies were born, and they had the prettiest lips. I just wanted to kiss their little mouths. So I did. And it was the sweetest little kissy in the world. I love kissing them all over their faces: their chins, their noses, their foreheads, their cheeks, their necks and their ears. I could cover them with kisses all day every day. I do try to restrain myself. Having such an affectionate mother could be the reason for their outward display of affection for one another. Or it could just be a very close bond and a natural, instinctive behavior between twins.  I don't like the idea of correcting their love for each other or telling them that they should not kiss on the mouth because it may make other people uncomfortable. I have noticed, however, that when another child comes around, Emma and Ethan think it's perfectly acceptable to kiss the other child on the mouth. The other child protests and pushes them away. So I do think some boundaries should be discussed and enforced. I don't want my kids to be socially awkward, or make other children and parents uncomfortable, or spread germs more than is usually normal.

But...if my children and I are to blame for too many kisses, if that is our most offensive fault, then...well,

kiss off! ;)

"Roses are Red; Violets are Blue..."

I painted my toenails for the first time in a while and the kids noticed it right away. Ethan said, "Awesome, dude," and Emma said, "Pretty! Pink! Red!" Emma kept pointing it out every day, kneeling down and touching my toes. I could see that the time had come for her to have her own nails painted. I wondered what I would do for Ethan. I haven't been around little boys much, so I wasn't sure. It seems like all of the decorative accessories are for girls. Girls have dresses, bows, headbands, ponytails, nail polish, make-up, jewelry, purses, glitter.... What is there for boys to make them feel special? I called out for suggestions on my Facebook page and the answer was made immediately clear: a stick-on tattoo! That's perfect! Other suggestions were made too, like colored hair gel, a hat, a tool belt, and even a bb gun! Ha ha! I guess there are some things for boys. The only one that really struck me as equal and appropriate for this situation was the tattoo. I was so happy because I could finally get excited about painting Emma's nails without feeling guilt over leaving Ethan out of the fun. I was excited for his first pretend tattoo!

Some people suggested that I go ahead and paint Ethan's nails too, but I just couldn't feel good about that plan. It's not that I thought it would affect him at all. I'm not afraid of the choices they will make later or how they will respond to society's gender roles. As long as my children are following their hearts and trying to do what's right, I will always support them.

I have spent some time thinking about the difference it would make if I'd had only a boy or only a girl. Would I have painted his nails? No. Would I have given her a stick-on tattoo? Probably not. I don't want the fact that they are boy/girl twins to change the way I interact with them separately. I've said before that I want to validate and respect their differences. I don't want to perpetuate sexist stereotypes, but I want to be fair to their genders. I don't want to try to strip them of gender in the name of modern political correctness, as if that were even possible. I want to show Emma that it's fun to be girly and feel pretty just like any other girl. I want to show Ethan that it's cool to be a boy and feel tough and handsome just like any other boy. I want to celebrate my girl in all of her girl-ness and celebrate my boy in all of his boy-ness!

Rodney had gone to his friend Jason's house to watch the OU game and I decided to invite my friend Necole over and have some fun showing the kids their first body art. Emma, the little lady, was first. I spread my painter's cloth down on the table and prepared for a messy experience. To my surprise, she held her hand very still and watched very closely as I painted her right hand. When that hand was done, I blew on her tiny nails and said, "Pretty! I love it! Don't touch it, Emma." And she didn't. She let me blow her nails dry and then sat still for the other hand. Ethan took over for me in saying, "Pretty! I love it! Don't touch it, Emma." Necole painted her nails, too, and Ethan said, "Don't touch it, Necole." He is such a sweet little man, trying to be a leader, giving instruction and complimenting the girls. We stuck tiny OU stickers on her ring finger nails to show support for her daddy's favorite football team. Emma loved her pretty nails and couldn't take her eyes off of them. "Pretty! Red!"

Then the time came for Ethan. Necole helped me step up the energy by telling Ethan, "You're gonna be a man tonight!" He kept repeating, "I'm a man!" It was so funny. The kids and I just love her because she knows how to make them feel special, speak to them on their level and be enthusiastic and fun. She helped me decide which of the tattoos he should have and where to put it. I loved her suggestion of the armband! I wet a wash cloth and she cut out the tattoo. Necole also has a little boy and has done this many times before, so I let her place it on his arm, and we wrapped it in the wet wash cloth. He was alarmed by the coldness and tried to pull away. We started counting together and he liked that. He calmed down and smiled as we counted until Necole thought it had been long enough. We pulled the cloth and the paper away and there was the most perfect OU armband tattoo. He was scared to see the bright red on his arm and cried out at first in panic. I kept reassuring him that it was "awesome, dude," and "just a sticker," like the ones he loves to stick on his hand. He quickly came around and agreed that it was in fact "awesome, dude" and "so cool, man!"

Hunkin Halloween!

I didn't decorate the house for Halloween this year. Again. October comes and goes so quickly! I love celebrating traditions and participating in holiday fun. I don't know why I don't do more around the house. I know the kids would love it. You'd think because I have an October birthday that I'd have tons of Halloween decor. Not one piece. Shame! The babies were supposed to have an October birthday, too, if I'd carried them full-term. Their original due date was on my birthday, October 14th. That would've been neat. For my birthday this year, my mom brought me a Halloween decoration to help me get into the spirit, a pumpkin with a stand. It is the cutest pumpkin stand ever. It looks like a spider. As soon as she came in with it, Ethan yelled out in excitement, "Hunkin! Awesome, dude!" And Emma pointed out, "Spi'er!" She's really into the song, "The Itsy Bitsy Spider." She loves when I sing it with the hand motions, and she does her best to follow along. The pumpkin-spider is our only Halloween decoration. I promise to do better next year.

On the day before Halloween, we went to a Fall Festival at Connors, where I work. The twins made their first appearance in their costumes: a blue Crayola and a pink Crayola. My mom thought of the costumes this year. We thought it was a cute idea. We ordered them online from Amazon. They were super cute and the kids loved wearing them! They had little pointed hats that I worried would be a bother to them, but they loved them! If they fell off, it concerned them and they wanted them back on. When they first saw the other in costume, they laughed, and they reached out to touch each other's hat. "Color! Hat!" They recognized them right away from their own crayon boxes that they love making pretty pictures with. They cried when I took the costumes off. After the festival, we went to a church carnival with two of our favorite friends, Necole and her son, Colton. They had a section of games especially for small children and it was perfect for them! They threw a squishy, sea urchin ball through a hole in a cardboard fishy drawing, dropped a penny in a jar of water onto a small platform and even shot some basketball hoops for prizes and candy.

"Candy!!"

The babies get to eat candy and chocolate this year! Last year, I was afraid to let them have too much sugar and "No chocolate until they are two," said The Baby Bullet recipe book. I only let them have a few dum-dums and I was so uptight about them getting messy (See Costume Control). This year, we are going real trick-or-treating, and bring on the candy! Mommy, chill out. They're big and messy 2 year olds now!

On Halloween, the weather was perfect! The babies...excuse me--kids--made the rounds to see family early and then came home for some corn dogs before the big event. When their dad came home, we headed out into the neighborhood to collect desert.

We held their hands as we walked down the street. They loved seeing all of the Halloween decor from the big inflatables to the jack-o-lanterns, and one house even had a bubble machine. Emma danced and danced in the bubbles and Ethan looked on in amazement.

There was one house that had a big, tall mummy on the porch with eyes that lit up and looked around. He had an evil laugh and said something scary that I couldn't make out. The kids just stared at it. I think they thought it was a real man. Ethan was scared and wanted his dad to hold him. Emma said, "Hi!"

They were too shy to say, "Trick-or-treat!" but they would say, "Thank you" once in a while. Mom and Dad had to say their speaking parts for them, but I'm sure they'll catch on for next year. They gladly accepted the candy and dropped it in their plastic buckets. After the mummy house, Ethan went on repeating, "Scary man, scary man," for the rest of the night. Emma happily greeted every one she saw. They were complimented over and over on their Crayola costumes. One group even remembered them from the night before at the carnival.

When we got home, we poured the candy into the floor and let the babies help us examine it. They ate chocolate candy bars, Sour Patch Kids gummies, and suckers galore! I was a little worried that they may have a reaction to that much sugar, but I restrained myself from the uptight worries of last year.

I could definitely tell the sugar was flowing through their veins. They were running around and laughing like crazy, and then the next minute they were having meltdowns.

"Time to brush your teeth!" I said, and they followed me into the bathroom like they do every night. We brushed for an extra minute or two that night. The trick-or-treat-first-timers went to bed with candy on the brain. And when their eyes popped open in the dim morning light, it was the first word on their lips:

"CANDY!"

Em-Skinny Bop!

Dear Emma,

You are still the sweetest little thing in the world. You are so petite and pretty. However, the "Skinny" in your nick name does not refer to your cute little physique. We still call you Em-Lynny sometimes, but that nick name inspired your new nick name, "Em-Skinny." Your dad and I are silly. You see, sweetie, Mom and Dad were children of the 1980's, and there were these wild and crazy music bands back then with men who had long hair. They called them all "Hair Bands." Anyway, one of these bands was called Poison and they wrote a song called "Unskinny Bop" which has nothing to do with you. Actually, as I read a little about the song, it has nothing to do with anything. It's nonsense. It just had a catchy tune that stuck with your dad for some reason and he sings it to you all the time like this: "Em-skinny bop, bop, bop!" and you sing it back to him, too. It's so cute.

You and your dad have a special bond. Between Daddy and Mimi, Mommy sometimes feels a little slighted, but I know you love me, too. You hug me tight and rub my back so sweetly. You love playing with my hair and calling out, "Hair," and then touching my ears: "Ears!" But, you are a daddy's girl for sure. You two love to play. In fact, sometimes when he means to get on to you or correct you, you don't take him seriously. You point your finger at him and smile your sweet smile, trying to inspire his playful nature. Or you say, "Hi, Dad," and play on his soft spot for you. But when you really know he means it, it almost breaks your heart.

One of the things you've been doing that disappoints us both is biting your brother. You have been waiting until bed time to make your move in the dark. I laid you both in bed and 10 minutes later, I heard Ethan scream out in pain and he cried. Ethan told on you when I came into the room. I comforted him, and I got on to you in a harsh voice. I told you to say you're sorry: "I sowwy, Athan." You looked very sincere. But, the next night, you did it again, and this time I could hear you laughing through the monitor! You were laughing at your brother's pain, Emma. And you made a big bruise on poor Ethan's chest. Your Daddy and I got on to you strongly and you cried. We reminded you several times throughout the next day that you hurt your brother, showed you the mark on his chest and told you, "No biting, Emma, or next time you're getting a spanking." That night, sure enough, I heard that familiar cry from Ethan. I went in and took you out of the crib and spanked your diapered and clothed bottom, five good whops that couldn't have hurt anything but your feelings. I gave you another scolding before I put you back in the crib and this time you were sobbing. It was heart breaking for me. I hated having to spank you.  Your daddy sat silently in the rocking chair in the dark and supervised you until you fell asleep. You cried for a while and your breath had an uneven hiccup from crying for quite a while longer. It was the saddest night. But you haven't done it again yet. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

One of your favorite things to do outside is sliding. We bought you your own slide for the back yard because when we go to the park, that's your favorite thing. You climb up the ladder and slide on down. You say, "Wee!" every single time. Then you run right around and climb up again and again.

You're learning to put clothes on by yourself, too. Lately, you've been working so hard to get your head through the right hole of my shirts from the laundry pile. You get a little frustrated sometimes but once you get it, you clap for yourself and say one of your most frequent sentences: "Good job, sister!" I'm proud of that sentence because it means that you get a lot of praise and you're developing confidence in yourself. Mommy loves you so much and you are so amazingly smart. You made Mommy and Daddy's year when you finally said, "I love you, too."

You can count all the way up to twelve! You recognize most of your numbers and letters by sight. You can even sing the whole alphabet song. I recorded you on video and I have been watching it every day because it's the cutest thing ever. I watch it at work because I miss you so much, and it helps me get through the day until I can see you and Brother again.

Dempsey Cola

Dear Ethan,

First of all, you are a talking machine. Everything I say, you say too. It's amazing how clearly you can repeat phrases and sentences now. Not only are you repeating, but you are using the sentences on your own from memory. One time, I gave you some fresh green beans that were crunchier than usual and you choked on one for a second and I was so scared. I started taking your tray off and preparing to do the heimlich maneuver on you. I told you, "Chew, Ethan! That scared Mommy! You almost choked!" and then you repeated that for at least twenty minutes. The next day, you hadn't forgotten. You reminded me, "Mommy was scared! Choked!" I loved hearing you share one of our memories together, even if it was a scary one.

Every morning you tell me, "Daddy is loud." And he really is. I always agree. He likes to holler at you and Emma from our bedroom when he hears you chatting in your crib: "Hey, Ethan, Emma!" He's also notorious for the loud yawn. His yawns project through the house. Yes, Ethan, Daddy is loud. We don't mind.

Your daddy started your nick name of this era, "Dempsey Cola" and in case you are wondering, it's a random spin-off of Pepsi Cola. He always thinks of nick names based on random associations or sound-alike expressions. We both have the tendency to mutate the names of our loved ones. You may have a whole string of nick names by the time you are a really big boy.

You say everything is "awesome, dude" or "cool, man." Cutest thing ever!

Another cute expression you use is one I learned from my mom: "gad zooks!" I say it when I'm changing your diaper sometimes, and now, you do too. It's so funny. I think you're ready to start pooping in the potty, but you say "uh-uh." I haven't taken any big steps or initiative on the matter. I think I might be as intimidated as you are. That's how I am when it comes to transitions, but I think you will surprise me in how easily you can do it soon. I think we'll try it out on my Christmas break.

You have a preoccupation with shoes these days. You want to put your shoes on in the house by yourself and wear them all day. You put on my shoes or your dad's or sister's, too. If I try to take them off of you, you get upset. You want to show me that you can take care of business by yourself.

You also think you are big enough to quit naps. I disagree. I rock you in your room for a long time and you will not allow me to lay you in your bed. You think Mommy should hold you for your whole nap. Maybe you don't realize that Mommy wants to have a little time to herself while you nap. Or maybe you do. I have no choice but to let you skip the nap some days. Mimi works very hard to get you down on the couch when she's here with you during the week, and it usually works. She told me her secret. The trick is to trick you into thinking that you're just sitting in the chair with Mimi, watching some t.v. while she rocks. When you nod off, she lays you down on the couch with your quilt and you're done. Now, I can do it, too. You never see it coming. That Mimi is so smart.

Babylocks

Ethan was born with hardly any hair at all, just the finest brown fuzz all over his little scalp. Emma had soft blondish-brown waves on the very top of her head. It was so appropriately distributed, so planned by their Creator; the girl had hair and the boy had none. We loved watching it get longer and longer. It represented how far they had come. Emma looked more and more feminine as her hair started to grow down the back of her neck. I love shampooing it in the tub and how much longer it seems when it's wet. Rodney thought the cutest thing ever was watching her brush the hair out of her eyes with a little flick of her wrist. Ethan's hair got curly. When he got sweaty outside playing, I would style and scrunch it with my fingers and the curls were very defined. That made me so happy for some reason. I could see the pride in his daddy's eyes at the beautiful curls that must have come from his side of the family.

After a while, Emma's hair was getting in her eyes more and more. A ponytail was necessary. It started to look a little messy, a little unkempt. Ethan's started to straighten a little on the top. It was flipping out behind his ears, and it had a longer section on the crown of his head. I told my hairstylist sister that the time was coming. I was preparing myself for the big snip-snip. Rodney had been dropping hints for the longest time. He wanted his son to have a boy haircut.

I can see now how people get attached to their kids' hair. The first hair cut means that what used to be permanently bonded to your child...is gone forever. Now, your child looks even less like the baby you held in your arms with the wispy, soft and curly baby locks. They now have a structured, straight edge, big kid look.

When the time came, I was nervous but ready. I stood by with the camera and snapped picture after picture of my big two-year-olds sitting in the barber chair and getting their hair cut by their Aunt Amy. I love that my sister could be the one to do it. I think they would've been afraid of a stranger, or maybe less cooperative and calm. I was so impressed with my big kids sitting there so still and patient, wearing the haircut cape in the booster seat.

After Amy made the first clip, she held the lock out toward me and asked if I wanted to keep it. When I said no and it fell to the floor, it seemed like the people in the shop stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me:

Had they heard me correctly? Was this mother really rejecting the first beautiful lock of hair from her son's head?

Gasp!

It struck me that this was not the first time that I was asked if I wanted to keep something that had been removed from my child. The nurses had asked me if I wanted to keep the umbilical cords. No. For some reason, I felt like I should apologize for my lack of sentimentality. I know they have some medical value, but I guess we'll take our chances. I don't want that lump of black flesh that they clearly do not need anymore. I definitely don't want to tape that dead skin into their baby book. Likewise, I did not want to keep Ethan's foreskin. I know people do this. Otherwise, they wouldn't be asking me. That's fine. I see why you may feel an attachment to anything that was a part of your baby or something that literally connected the two of you.

Go ahead and keep your child's foreskin, umbilical cord or hair. I'm sure he or she will appreciate that very much someday.

Forgive me, Ethan and Emma, but yours were thrown out.

I guess I would view it as pretty similar to keeping a child's scab from their first skinned knee: not necessary and, I'm sorry, but pretty gross.

I was not disgusted by the hair.... It does strike me a tad creepy, but I do understand. It's just that I have no use for it. I have countless pictures of the babies with their hair before it was cut.

And that's all I need.

Flint Rigid

Our whole family got together for a vacation this year at The Statehood House in Flint Ridge, a resort near Kansas, OK.  

The first day of the trip was Emma and Ethan’s 2^nd birthday. It was a coincidence in planning and a rare occasion that we should all be together for a whole weekend: the Nelsons, the Ashings and the Garlands. Even Hank and Daisy, the dogs, came along.

It started off great, very beautiful and peaceful. The Statehood House is right in the middle of the visiting area, right next to the Flint Ridge pool.  A recreation area is down a grassy slope in front of the house, with a basketball court, a mini-golf course, shuffle board, volleyball, a playground, and even a big, beautiful waterfall in the background. The house is two stories with a kitchen on both floors. There are enough bedrooms upstairs to accommodate The Waltons and even a room full of beds downstairs in case they still want to say all of their goodnights in the same room. There is also a 9-hole golf course and the river is just a short drive away.

Who wouldn’t have fun here?

Whoever doesn’t have fun at the amazing and beautiful Flint Ridge Resort must be a complete stick-in-the-mud, a tired and rigid soul.

Amy, Mom and I cooked spaghetti on the babies' birthday and Mom had even baked a cake. We sang "Happy Birthday" and Emma was horrified. I guess group singing is just too much for her as of yet. That night was a great night. I loved cooking with my mom and sister and enjoying a meal that we all love on my kids' birthday in this old house that is full of history and memories of who knows how many. I was looking forward to a much needed retreat with my family.

On the first night, there happened to be a retirement party being held down on the basketball court. There were 2 kegs of beer set up on a table and they hired a band. All the party guests lined the court with their camping chairs. It was a little unexpected to hear live music on our “camping” trip, but we are a music-loving family. We all sat on the porch in our camping chairs and enjoyed. The babies had to be held while out on the dark porch because there were no guard rails to prevent them from a nasty fall. In the house, the stairs presented a similar problem.

We noticed that the party guests were not partying like we thought they should. No one was dancing. Not even chair-dancing. There were a few feet tapping, but we thought that if they went all out with a band and 2 kegs, they should at least dance. 

And since we went all out to pack our two two year olds, their things, our things, even the dog, we should at least try to enjoy ourselves as much as possible too, right? Of course.

It was way past the twins' bedtime, and it had been a long day, so I was surprised that they hadn't just fallen asleep right where they stood. I guess there was just too much going on. All of their favorite people were here, and Kacie and Karli were still available to play. It was their birthday! By midnight, the band was still rocking on, and Mimi and I were still rocking babies. Actually, there were no rocking chairs, so we had to sway babies. I stood and swayed and Mimi rocked back and forth on the end of the bed. We sang "The Ants Go Marching" over and over.  At home, I rock them for one song and lay them in their crib at about 8:00. They talk for a while before they finally drift off to sleep by 8:30. This time, there was no rocker and no crib and no familiar nursery to soothe the babies as usual. Every time I tried to lay a baby down, he or she cried.


1:00 am... "The ants go marching 8 by 8, hurrah, hurrah..."


3:00 am... "The ants go marching 10 by 10, hurrah, hurrah..."

   "Pappy seepin'," Emma brightly pointed out.

5:00 am... "Hush little babies...don't say a word...Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird...."   

"Down," said Ethan as he reached his feet for the floor. I followed him into the living room, where I thought maybe he should see the complete and utter darkness, the silence of the night.

"It's in the middle of the night, Ethan. See? You need to go to sleep, please...."

5:30 am... We finally fell asleep.

7:00am--"Down!" demanded Ethan and he was ready to tackle the day. All day.

I guess I am spoiled because I have never had such a sleepless night in my life. Not even when they were tiny. Mimi and I both had a sleepless night, and she, I must add, did so much more gracefully than I. My calmness kept faltering, and I'd grumble out some whiny complaint. Mimi remained calm and kept helping me endure the night with our babies. I was somewhat comforted by her lullaby. She sang Rock-a-bye Baby and sounds in a way like Mary Poppins. I love how she pronounces each word very properly like you should.

The rest of the family had a lovely night's sleep I'm sure, and that just delighted me, just delighted me. That's wonderful. I'm so glad you all are well-rested. I knew I was going to have a hard hill to climb.

I guess I could have slept the day away, but that didn't sound appealing on our vacation, so I tried to buck up and press on. I took a walk alone with Daisy up the steep road toward the river. On my walk, I found the solitude somewhat surprisingly depressing, but I kept trying to break through the cloud that seemed to be hanging around me for the last few weeks. I had been under a lot of stress at work. And being a working mother of twin toddlers is not always easy.

This is our first family vacation, the first time we've spent more than one day away from home with the babies. I'm not sure what I expected. I knew the sleeping arrangements would have to be flexible, but I wasn't prepared to count sleeping out all together. I wasn't expecting to worry about the babies' every move on the porch and in the house. The house was surrounded by parking lot and streets with passing Flint Ridge visitors in their cars. I worried about the babies left, right, front and back. Everyone was great about helping me keep an eye on them, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't shake the tension from my body and mind.

The men and older children went golfing. Mom and Amy wanted to swim, but I didn't feel like it. I was tired. They took the babies for a swim and I put my feet in. The babies wear their life jackets in the water because they don't yet know how to swim. Amy seemed surprised by this and mentioned that when her babies were this age, she went to Mommy and Me swimming lessons. For some reason, given my current state of mind, this comment bothered me. I have to work and my situation is different. Part of me feels a little cheated out of Mommy and Me sometimes. I love having twins; I do. These kids have brought Rodney and me nothing but joy since they were born. I also love my job. I think my job brings me a sense of purpose and pride that helps me to be a better mother. Having two babies at once was nothing I could've planned or prepared for, but I would not change it for a million bucks. It's a miracle to me. It's not that I sit around thinking of all the things that would be easier if I'd had one baby at a time. I might have adjusted to motherhood a little more gradually and gracefully. But that's not how it happened. I have a modern family and I'm not sorry for that. I am truly blessed. On this day, however, through a selfish, sleep-deprived fog, I was bitter and resentful. I was terrible.

We went to the river to swim and fish and when the frigid water rushed over me, I could feel myself thawing somehow. I could talk a little more. I could smile a little more. I watched my kids playing in the river for their first time. I watched my husband catch the first fish of the day. Emma and Ethan saw their daddy's fish without much excitement. Ethan was very focused on all of the rocks to be thrown and Emma splashed in the water with Mimi and Aunt Amy. I still felt somewhat isolated from the family, and it was my fault because I had spent all day building a tense barrier between us.

That night the babies went to sleep by ten and I was able to release a little stress with a few glasses of wine. I visited with my family on the back porch and enjoyed myself as much as I could. It was the last night. Tomorrow it would be over, and I had wasted enough of it.

The Roxy

My best friend's kids are into local theater. I try to get tickets for every production they're involved in. I love watching a good musical, and when it's kids, it's even more fun to watch. I don't know if it's because I'm a mom now, or if everyone cries when a kid sings a solo. This summer, her kids participated in Drama Camp with Muskogee Little Theater. They dressed up for all the different theme days and they also put on several skits or short plays, one of which was just 20-30 minutes. I thought that would be the perfect time to try the twins on their very first live performance. I thought we'd get there early so we might get to sit with my friend and maybe visit for a few minutes. As I pulled the handle on the backseat car door, my heart sank. I locked my keys in the car last night. Awesome.  I'm always doing things like this. I feel scattered. I'm always forgetting things and...just getting in my own way. These days, my brain is touch and go. One minute I have it all together, and the next minute I'm picking up the pieces. Mommy brain?

I knew we'd miss the play now, and I was so disappointed, but I wasn't giving up yet. I called my AT&T road-side assistance representative and she said they'd be here shortly. It wasn't even five minutes later that a small car whizzed into the driveway and came to a sudden stop. An old man got out, and I pointed to my car in the garage. Without a word, he began sliding a metal hook into the driver's side door. I turned the shop fan on and pointed it toward him and then left him to do his work while I went in to see about the kids. By the time I came back to check on him, he was done. I offered him a cold drink from the garage fridge. He accepted and mumbled a thank you before buzzing away in his Bug. A man of few words, but polite--minimal, and straight to the point. I can appreciate that.

And there was still just enough time to get to The Roxy for the play! I rushed the kids into the car and away we went. We had to park a block down and across the street. It was packed.

It was the first time we've crossed a street at a traffic light with the babies on foot. Hand-in-hand, we waited and then walked on the cross walk. A lady was smiling from behind her windshield. I smiled back and encouraged them as we walked: "Come on, keep walking. Good job! We're almost there. Go, babies!" Emma tripped, but I wouldn't let her fall. When it was time to open the swinging doors, I had to hold two tiny hands in one. We made it inside and it was perfect timing. The play began as we sat down in the back row in the dark. After a brief, awkward tangle, I got one baby on each knee. I shared a chuckle at my own expense with a woman across the aisle. Emma and Ethan were at first distracted by some of the nearby audience members, but soon the stage captured their attention. It was Jazzy's solo and they couldn't take their eyes off of her. I was so glad we didn't miss her special spotlight moment. All of the kids had a speaking or singing part. Ethan and Emma were mesmerized. They danced in my lap and cheered, "Yay!" And when it was over they clapped with the audience just like seasoned little theater babies.

When the lights came on, we walked down to congratulate the stars, Jazzy and Brayd'n. How brave they are, how great. I could have never faced a crowd as they did when I was their age. I hope my kids can get the early exposure that may be necessary to overcome their mother's shy gene.

I noticed Ethan was very focused on a very beautiful blonde woman with sparkling blue eyes. She was a stranger to us, but my friend must've known her. He smiled his flirty smile and wouldn't stop staring at her. "Hi, hi," he said.
"Hi there," she answered.
"Sup."
I looked at my son. Did he just say, "Sup," as in "What's up?" Is my kid puttin' the moves on this lady?
"Sup," he repeated.
"Well, what's up to you!" she said while we all laughed. Then, she corrected herself: "I mean, nothing. How about you?" and she blushed a little.

I'm simultaneously proud and embarrassed.

Go, Ethan.

Saving Ethan

 The twins love it when I say we're goin' bye-bye. They start rounding up their shoes and saying, "C'mon, Ess-go!" It's so nice now that they are bigger because they can walk everywhere. I don't miss the carriers or the mandatory double stroller. They hold my hands very well and walk along like big kids. I love it. I have to slouch just a little bit and shorten my stride, but I feel ten feet tall walking hand in hand with my little miracles.

The heat has been so terrible that we've been staying inside most of the time, and I'm going a little crazy. I want to make the most of my time off of work, so I packed them up and we were headed to meet at a friend's house for a play date. The kids were so excited. We stepped out into the oven of a garage, and I opened the car door. No car seats. There they were, sitting on the floor of the garage. The kids really shouldn't be playing in the garage with all of the unsafe garage things and this 108 degree heat. 

But how hard can this be? I'll just strap these in really quick...for the first time...ever. I know. It's awful. Rodney babies me, I guess. He just handles things for me. What can I say? I've never had to move the car seats since we each have two. How stupid do I feel admitting that I don't know how to put the car seats in the car? Anyway, I started fumbling around with the straps, trying to figure out how it looked like it should go.... I've seen Rodney do this, but it was hard to get a good look at what he was doing. I started shoving one of those metal hooks into the crack of the seat, doing my best to get the hook around the anchor that I could feel in there. The heat was heavy and suffocating. I was sweating and my fingers were hurting from all that jamming around. I was getting nowhere, so I gave up and led the kids back inside.

Immediately, Ethan started in with the crying and whining, "Bye-bye, bye-bye, bye-bye?" I got on the phone to see if Rodney would just come trade me cars. He is usually able to get home for a few minutes if needed since he works just down the street. He said he would when he had a chance. I hung up and sat down, trying to cool off and calm down, despite the alarm-child tugging at my arm and screaming in my ear. I decided I'd had enough and led him to his bedroom and shut the door. I just needed a few minutes. I have never done that before, put him in his room and shut the door. I normally put him in his crib and shut the door. But I was so flustered and irritated.

I could hear him struggling with the knob and screaming louder than ever. He sounded like he was terrified, so I went to the door and--the door knob wouldn't turn. He must've locked the door. Oh no! The most scared little boy I've ever heard was screaming from behind that door, trying the knob over and over and calling to me, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, open, open, open..." in a tone that I have only heard one other time, when he was cornered by our dog Daisy and holding her favorite toy.

"It's okay, baby. Mommy's right here. Don't worry, okay? I'm going to get you out."

How am I going to get him out?

I found a bobby pin in the bathroom and tried to pick the lock. He was going hoarse from all of that screaming, and I knew that he knew he was trapped inside. I felt so sad for him, so desperate. I went to the garage to look for a screw driver. I could hear him echoing through the house on the monitors.

Think, think, think....

I grabbed a screw driver and took it to the door. I unscrewed the door knob, but it wouldn't come completely loose. Why won't it come loose? I could feel him still tugging at it. I felt like I was having an anxiety attack with him screaming while I struggled to get the knob off of the door. I was afraid he'd get hurt. I was nervous that I would break the knob and make things worse. I thought maybe I should screw it back in and try to pick the lock again. While I was doing that, I called Rodney and told him about the latest development. I hated to. I didn't want him to think I couldn't take care of it. I always need his help with everything. It's pathetic. God love him.

"It's okay, Ethan. Mommy's right here, and Emma's right here, and you're just fine, baby. You're fine and you'll be out in just a minute. Okay? Do you see Woody?" They got a new Toy Story poster for their room and they love it. My efforts to soothe him did not seem successful, but I was doing a pretty good job of appearing calm. Emma was being very good, too. She stood right by me the whole time with a very concerned look on her face.
"Crying?" she said.
"Yes, he's crying, but he's okay."

Rodney finally pulled in the driveway and unscrewed the door knob again. I knew it.
"He won't let go," he said and gave it a little push. It popped out and Ethan was finally free. His little face was red and swollen. His breath was choppy and heavy. Poor baby. Rodney scooped him up and gave him a hug. He wanted his daddy, who helped him, who keeps him safe. I felt so sorry for shutting him in there, sorry for failing to save him, and sorry for myself. I needed that hug just as much as he did.

Daddy leaped back to work in a single bound and we made it to our play date in perfect time.

Party Crasher

Emma,

You were only about 6 months old when you and your brother attended your very first party. It was my cousin's engagement party. Babies really weren't supposed to come, according to the hostess on the phone when I called to RSVP, but all of your potential babysitters would be at the party, too. So they made an exception. We really wanted to help celebrate with our family. I didn't want to miss another event. It was time to re-join society.

Your daddy and I hadn't taken you very many places yet because we were so concerned with protecting you and because we were so tired all the time. You both looked so cute in your colorful, zip-up fleece vests with jeans. Your jeans had heart-shaped back pockets.  When we first got there, we put you down in the floor in your car seats where you'd be out of the way. I was so nervous that you would cry, Emma. You still had "fussy hours" at home around this time of night.

You were both so wide-eyed, taking in the people...and the noise. Bless your little baby hearts. You had never been to a party before. You had never been around so many people at one time in your life. The house was packed with people standing all around, talking, laughing, drinking, eating. The dull roar was a little much, even for me since I had been cooped up for many months of pregnancy and early motherhood. You started fussing a little, so we got you and Ethan out of the car seats and held you, carried you around, passed you off to a few familiar people.

Then you started really crying. So, I took you into the bedroom where a lady had been putting all of the coats and purses, including our diaper bag. I felt eyes on us as I closed the door. Maybe it was just me. Were people annoyed by the crying? Or were they uncomfortable with me being alone in the room with the door closed? I was a stranger to many of them, and their personal belongings were in the room. You were really screaming loud, Emma. I wasn't sure how to handle it here, out of the comfort of our home. I was anxious. I felt like people were thinking, "And that is why you don't bring babies to parties." But you couldn't help it, sweetie.

A woman came into the room. I was changing your diaper on a chest at the foot of the bed, trying to keep my composure. You were still crying and she was hovering right over you. I wasn't sure if this was her house, if she had come to help me, or to supervise me with the guests' belongings. One thing was for sure. She wasn't helping. She was leaning down in your face, talking baby-talk to you, trying to soothe you. But you screamed even louder. I picked you up and carried you into the bathroom nearby. I sang to you like I do when we're at home, and you were even less impressed than usual. You were screaming, Emma. Your face was bright red. It was one of those long, hard screams with long pauses of silence between when you ran out of screaming air. You were trembling. I put your cheek up to my cheek and we looked at ourselves in the mirror. You looked desperate. It's ok, honey. What could be wrong with you? Are you hurting? Are you scared? I was getting a little scared myself.

Then, I heard Ethan start to cry, too. I popped my head out to look, and your dad's face said it all:

"We're leaving."

And we did.

And so it will be, honey, any time you need it.