Twin Mama Rama

Cheers for Twins!

One of the best parts of sharing a little bit of love with the world is what comes back to you. Thank you so much for all the kind words from people enjoying the boys’ conversation!

I received a message this morning from Pairic Duffy, himself the father of twins, who shared a lovely poem he wrote for his own twin boys at 9 months. I thought I would share this lovely ode to twins with you all:

In Praise of Twins
For Brendan and Mark

Two cots, two pots,
Perhaps a double pram.
And even double portions,
Of bread and jam.
Crawling about,
Learning to walk.
Mama, dada, abababa.
Starting to talk.
Four sore knees 
To be kissed,
All those birthdays,
Not to be missed.
Double trouble?
Lots of joy!!!
Two smiling faces,
Sharing their toys.
All those kisses,
All those cuddles.
They’re soaking wet,
‘Been in the puddles.
Up to the bath,
Now don’t delay.
No don’t do that,
You’re not here to play.
“It’s time for bed”,
And they just grin,
Such are the joys,
Of having twins…..
                                                                          

                           © Páiric Dufffy   10 December 1986

Art Smart

Ah the call of crayons and tempra paint! The crisp white paper waiting to capture the genius within our children!

I have recently been gifted a luxury by my husband, who has agreed to watch the boys each Saturday morning while I walk to the local YMCA and take a pilates class. Each time I saunter out of my class, I pass by the adjacent art room at the Y. I stop and watch as a few children sit quietly at low art tables and experiment with markers, crayons, and (I imagine) their own artistic voices. They look so adorable that I convince my saintly husband to agree to bring the boys over after my class the following Saturday so we can partake in this charming scene ourselves.

Fast forward to Thursday, when I realize that the art class is also offered that morning. On a whim I decide to test the waters myself, before our big art family outing. What can go wrong, I think? We color all the time at home! Hmm, there may be markers so I’ll simply outfit the boys in our grubbies and off we go!

We arrive and, unlike the small gathering of children I expected, we are met by scores of people lining up for tickets! Tickets? We line up (not an easy feat with two 17 mo olds!) and proceed to not get any tickets, but instead sign our names to a waiting list. Half an hour later we get the green light to head into our first artistic experience! We enter the art room and my idyllic, Sunday-in-the-park-with-George art moment is shattered.

We are met with the smell of paint, shrieking 4 year olds running around the room with rainbow colored hands, and a floor that resembles Pollock’s finest work. We seem to be the youngest kids by far in the room, but I breathe and remember we are in our grubbies so what can go wrong? The boys entertain themselves by climbing into and out of the kiddie chairs, while I attempt to locate a few pieces of paper. I am given a paper plate full of paint and have to fully explain why I need 2 sheets of paper before being handed a “double paper portion” by the suspicious supply lady. I am told, when I inquire, that the absence of paintbrushes is part of the creativity for the day. Okay, I think, the boys totally would have preferred hands to paintbrushes anyway, what can go wrong? 

I bring our supplies back to the table only to find the boys have already scoped out the paint supplies of the kid next to them and have sampled the goods. By which I mean they ate the kid’s paint. By the disgusted looks on their faces I convince myself this is a one time occurrance and dig in my bag to find: snacks, sippies, toys of all shapes and sizes, but not a single wet wipe. Okay, I think, we have our own paper now, so the boys will definitely prefer to put the paint on paper from here on out-

The paper remains relatively empty, but not their mouths. Within seconds S looks like he’s bleeding from the mouth with red paint, and R is taste-testing orange and green. I show the boys how they can use their hands to bring the paint to the paper instead of their teeth, but to no avail. I am forced to abandon the paint chow-down in a desperate search for something to wipe them down with. The supply lady motions me to the end of the table towards three sad brown paper towel strips and a pitcher with 1/2 an inch of water. I throw caution to the wind (and gain the shock of the supply patrol) by grabbing all three strips, dunking them in the pitcher, and rushing back in hopes of getting some paint off my artists’ tongues.

While wiping up the red mess that has become S’s face. R continues the smorgasbord on a quest for the one color that will prove delicious. The flimsy towels are no challenge for the mess we’ve made, so I eventually grab each boy under an arm and begin the 100 yard dash back to our stroller. 

My husband chuckles that night when I tell him of our escapade, and yet still seems game for trying again on Saturday. Fine, I think, he’ll see how it is! I dress the boys in the same grubbies from a few days before.  I pack extra wipes before heading out to my class.

I am met in the art room afterwards, by my 3 men and crayons!, markers! and multi-colored paper! The only sign of the former chaos is the paint murals lining the walls of the room. I am relieved and a little disappointed all at once. 

The boys attack their paper with gusto. Not a crayon touches their lips. Their dad looks at me as if to say: Really? This is so hard? I see him living the Sunday-in-the-Park-with-George art fantasy moment. He is the taking in the brilliance his boys are laying down on the paper. I sigh, but at least I have my hands free to snap a pic for posterity.

Be nice!

Does anyone else remember being in high school and hearing the Baz Luhrmann song “Wear Suncreen”, which was full of advice for our future? I recently tried calling it up on google because one of the bits of advice had stuck with me and was replaying through my mind. It had to do with siblings and reminding us to be nice to them because they are essentially the only person in our own generation who we will know our entire lives. I discovered that the song originated as a 1997 Chicago Tribune article by columnist Mary Schmich (Oh Baz, here I thought you-the director of Moulin Rouge, and Strictly Ballroom (we’ll pretend Australia was a fluke), was dispensing your own genius for all these years). 

Anyway, Mary’s actual words regarding siblings are: Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

It’s completely true that no one else has seen my past (triumphs and warts together) in the same way as my twin sister. When we’re all old and in rocking chairs, it’s occurred to me that my sister will have had more years in a relationship with me that anyone else in the world. 

Now as a mom of twins, I have a dream that my boys will magically form a two man team and take on the world together. Never a gray thought towards the other, never a brawl, or harsh word; essentially an eternal three-legged race. Ridiculous? Yes. And even more so when the dreamer is a twin herself. You’ll be happy to know it’s already been clearly abandoned, as the following daily scenario attests:

R steals S’s toy. S gets mad and attempts to bite R. Mama intervenes. And repeat.

That cute box video I just posted? I had to trim out the part where they were both in the box, shouting and shoving to get the other brother out. Sometimes they both want a hug, and as I wrap them up in my arms they each curl their outer arm around me and use their inner arm to push their brother aside.

On the other hand R has been known to see himself in the mirror and call out: Brabra (translation: Brother)? They already seem to have a few inside jokes, and moments of utter delight in one another. These are the gems I collect and catalog as we get ever closer to the terrible 2s.

But as they get older I think they might hear Mary’s advice echoing in our home long before high school rolls around. I want them to picture themselves as old men in rockers, and remember that the only person in the world who’s known them as long as they’ve known themselves is their brabra, I mean brother.

For Mary Schmich’s amazing full article of advice, which I highly recommend you all read, go to:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/columnists/chi-schmich-sunscreen-column,0,4054576.column

OR

http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/mary-schmich.html

Tree Hugging Toddlers

Yesterday was one of those 75 degree days that pops up in March and has you unpacking your shorts and hunting for a pair of sunglasses. We took on this boon by spending pretty much all day outside in the park and the boys used it to explore in ways I haven’t seen before. Talk about communing with nature, these kids could have led a tree-hugging seminar! Twin S sat in small ditch and examined leaves: Ripping them into tiny pieces, throwing them up to watch them rain down on his head, stirring them with a stick. He then took to finding more sticks and waving each treasure in the air with glee. A big one, a little one, a reddish brown one, a wood chip one. I have a dream of one day having our own real fireplace and sending him out for kindling. Twin R found the ‘Brooklyn’ in his nature to be the fascinating part. He dug a beer cap out of the dirt and took on a tool when I showed him how a stick could help pry it up. A good half dozen caps were soon his. I found myself not brooding about where they’d all come from, but rather seeing the beauty of these “gems” through his lens. Apparently they also looked like candy and soon had to be confiscated, but the glory of the hunt was his to cherish. Next on R’s list was the bikes two nice locals had propped up against a nearby tree.

With their permission the boys were soon transformed into mechanics: rotating the pedals, checking tire pressure with their teeth, peeking through the spokes. R got down on his tummy to shimmy under the pedals and began digging around- yes there was a shiny green Heineken cap just barely within reach. Ah nature! We ended the afternoon literally hugging trees-

encouraged by one of our favorite bedtime stories about a bear who loves doling out hugs in the forest and to trees most of all. So Cheers! To spring and to keeping this love of nature just as fresh!

Blues Clues makes us Blue?!

Apparently my two guys missed the memo on being obsessed with Elmo. I tried Sesame for months and the boys were seemingly unimpressed. The first time we watched Blues Clues, it was a different tale. They became little wide-eyed ducklings, following Steve and his dog Blue, from beginning to end. “Blues Clues?” Twin R asks hopefully each time the TV us turned on. Twin S runs to press his nose up to the screen in anticipation. The routine of the show is reassuring and the learning technique is patient and sweet. Besides, my own twin sister read in Malcolm Gladwell’s ‘The Tipping Point’ about how the Blues Clues show is a beacon for learning in young children, so it’s gold in our house.

Now, speaking of my sister, she and I also missed the boat on Elmo. Being before his time, our Sesame Street loyalties were with his predecessor, Big Bird. I also have a clear memory of one of my first film experiences starring this feathered friend. “Follow that Bird”, the Sesame Street Movie, came out when we were 3 or 4, and we were first in line to see it. Little did we know, we were unwittingly walking into a horror show.

All I remember, even to this day, is that the plot centered on ruffians kidnapping Big Bird (cue our small stunned jaws dropping), locking him up (here come the trembling lips), and painting the helpless hero BLUE (our Dad recalls chasing our screaming forms up the aisle as we literally ran for the exits). Our Dad did what I (for years) thought was cruel and unusual. After a pep talk outside, we were marched back in to sit through until the conclusion. He knew we would only be reassured by seeing our friend safe again in the end. 

Today, after a rough nap, I hoped to ease the boys into the afternoon with a Blues Clues Special Movie about the gang preparing musical. ‘This will cheer them up’ I thought! Ohh, how wrong I was.

Halfway through this special, Steve, our faithful guide in Blue’s world, suddenly became frustrated that we (the viewer) are always finding clues before he does (cue a frown from twin S). ‘Why is this a problem now’ I thought to myself, ‘when it never is during your regularly scheduled show?’

On screen Steve sat glumly down to sing a sad song (SAD?!-I have seen dozens of regular episodes and this guy is NEVER sad!) about how he just wants to be able to find the clue first for once in his life. Throughout the song Twin S’s frown became a tremble, then his whole face crumpled, and he let out a wail for his friend Steve. Twin R seemed confused by what was going on, but he took S’s sobs as a sign that it was clearly upsetting and definitely time to bawl too!

So much for cheering them up. I rushed to S and R, held them, soothed them and even though they tried to bury their little faces in my arms, attempted to get them to watch as I was sure Steve would come through in the end. Right?! ASA(Humanly)P Steve! Please! 

It took Steve less than two minutes, after finishing his dirge, to locate a clue all on his own. It was the longest two minutes of a television special I have ever sat through. But during it, I wasn’t thinking about the hero at hand. Instead, I was thinking about my own Dad and how he ever got us through the rest of that two-hour Big Bird debacle. 

Now, I am sure these TV shows think carefully about how to up the dramatic ante on their characters for the big screen. So listen up TV execs: 

Adventure? Sure! Just don’t ever paint a bird blue! And even if you have a show about a character named Blue, that doesn’t mean we are ready for our favorite character to be, well, blue.