The twins like to talk, correction, LOVE to talk… when they want to. This is often not when I want them to or about what I would like to discuss. In fact, we have reached the growl, whine, and stomp phase. They favorite words are “MOOO!” (move), “eenaa” (banana), “abba” (apple), and “peet-zaa” (you can figure that one out). The also like the phrase “Mine, aaaa mine!” What they also can say, but often don’t, are things like “please,” “more,” and “I love you.” (They like to wrestle, smack, and occasionally try to use their teeth as weapons of minor destruction.)
I find it strange, however, that when you put a phone in their hands, they can talk for ever, often in a language I don’t speak, but heaven help you if you try to take the phone from them.
Ahh… they are truly girls… and just think, I have three of them!
Please send chocolate.
(Abby at top and Makayla at bottom)
The babies were at it again tonight, but that’s to be expected when they’ve been battling it out since their days en utero. This time the fight was over the pink pacifier… it would seem that the green one was not as desirable as the watermelon hue that Makayla was chomping on, so Abby jumped her. There was great wailing and gnashing of teeth as I pulled them apart. Man, twenty-two month old identicals are strong! That was a sign that an early bed time was imminent, and off they went.
Some days are like this.
Others are more humorous. Several days ago there was the incident with the vacuum. As an overly tired and less than motivated mom, I had managed to get the floors clean, but the vacuum had yet to be stowed in a less noticeable corner of my overly cramped abode. As it sat, docile and unthreatening, beside the twins’ plastic play kitchen, I went about with my cleaning routine—there are way too many clothes for me to ever get them folded, but I’m still trying.
In my peripheral, I saw one of the girls (they look too alike for me to remember which one) sidle cautiously to the purple beast’s side. I swear she looked at her sister and grinned. Before I could stop what I knew was about to happen, she hit the power switch and ran like the devil was behind her. Across the living room, into the kitchen, and under the table she dove as her sister collapsed to the ground, still beside the growling machine of doom. The piteous cries would have been heartbreaking had I, in the middle of a bad mommy moment, not been laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Disinterested in the plight of her sister, Madison looked away from the previously riveting episode of Doc McStuffins to ask me if I could turn off the vacuum.
Remembering that I was the mom and thus was expected to save the day, I regained my composure and went to apprehend and slay the villain. Like a knight in shining armor, I swept the now soggy babe into my arms, hugged her tightly, and rescued her from peril.
There is never a dull moment, but at least I get a good laugh from time to time.
(PS- I’m still waiting for my cape to come in the mail.)
The twins are napping (FINALLY) and so I must prepare for battle. In my home, there is one constant: laundry. Somehow adding two more children managed to quadruple the number of loads that the washer and I must tackle each week. As I type, the washer and dryer are both at full capacity, and the love seat has been burdened with no less than five loads at any given moment since school began in August. I’m pretty sure the babysitter must think I never wash clothes, but I swear that I do!
Saturday dawns each week with the renewed determination to clear the furniture of all of the clothes that have accumulated from the week’s washing. I fold and fold and fold some more, and then finally manage to put away millions of tiny socks, thousands of princess dresses that have somehow not managed to clog the washer with their disengaged sequins, and stacks of boring but well used towels. What I never manage to account for, however, it that as I am folding and diligently returning them to their rightful places in various rooms, more clothes are being worn and washed. Spills continue to happen, and the clothes fairy has still not made an appearance.
I will fight the good fight, but baby sitter will still have to bear witness to items of clothing she would probably rather not see on the love seat. (I’m so sorry, Rachel!) Someday I will win, but that may also coincide with the day my three beloved children leave the nest for their dorm rooms.
Wish me luck.
I will be the first to admit that my mind is a scary place to be. Often there are too many thoughts and things get lost. I wake in the middle of the night to almost remember what I am sure I forgot. The best thinking time comes during my three and a half minute long shower each morning, and my students often marvel at the random, specific facts that appear out of nowhere. Tonight, however, I had an interesting though process, and it went something like this…
While pondering the time it takes authors to release their next book (It would seem I have an addictive personality!), I decided that I should be the one writing. I may not be an expert on humor or suspense, and I certainly have never had long, candlelit discussions with vampires, wolves, or other mysterious creatures, but I’m a normal, hard working mom who loves her kids and cares for others. My life is full of FHMs (thanks to Kim for that term), and some of the things I do on a daily basis are just too crazy to be made up.
Then the doubt kicked in. I’m just a mom, not a super hero. Who wants to read that? My books will certainly never make it to Maggie’s book towers or grace the shelves of cozy book shops. So, maybe a blog? They are certainly cheaper that therapy and a better alternative than going completely nuts! I could express the chaos of my life, where I struggle to balance my family with my career, my passion for people (Thanks Danielle for making me feel better!) with my tendency to be a bit overzealous in my approach. If nothing else, perhaps it would give me a forum to record the things I want to preserve for my daughters but have never taken the time to put on paper. If nothing else, it would allow me to tap into the adult part of my head that is becoming a little too mushy and princessed out. But who would read?
And then I realized it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s time to do it for me…