Morning Routine

I've always prided myself on being low-maintenance. To this day, I can be showered and ready - presentable even - in 15 minutes flat. My husband never complains that his wife takes too long to get ready. And it was always me waiting on my friends to finish their silly hair and makeup rituals before going out.

Just as with 99% of life's normalcies, having babies changed things. Take getting ready in the morning. When I started back to to work at 8 weeks postpartum, my morning routine went from 20 minutes to two and a half hours: Besides showering and dressing myself, I had two babies to tend to. Diaper and dress. Breastfeed the squeaky-wheel  infant while the other one waited patiently (ha ha) in her crib. Pump opposite side (yes, while nursing).

Rinse and repeat.

Pack their "lunch". Six carefully prepared bottles, measured to the exact milliliter.

Pack the diaper bag (see list) and re-supply portable breast pump for use in my office.

Strap both babies into car seats and lug them out to car, making sure not to forget my purse, their lunch, diaper bag, breast pump and keys.

After dropping the babies at daycare and an hour commute to work, I was exhausted before my day even started!

Now? I awake to their sisterly bickering outside my bedroom door. Sometimes, they will stand by my bedside and pester me by tickling my feet or touching my face. They take my warm place in the bed and I turn on Dora the Explorer and hop in the shower. As soon as I hear Dora signing that irritating "We did it" tune, I click the TV off and they scamper to their bedroom to get dressed and brush their teeth and hair.

Assuming no bumps in the road, we can be out the door in 30 minutes flat. The daycare feeds them breakfast and I grab a coffee at my local espresso stand before hitting the road and eat yogurt and fruit at my desk.

Of course, getting to this routine took blood, sweat and tears to perfect. Lots of tears. Encouraging two grumpy toddlers to get dressed while attempting to get myself presentable for work was not always easy, and I ended up practically in tears myself while arriving late at the office many more times that I can count.

I can laugh at this video now, but I can tell by the tone in my voice that this was one of those mornings...



Sorry for the sideways video! Obviously, I had more important things on my mind.

Rough-Housing

While filling out doctor forms for Jaeda & Tristyn's 5 year wellness check, I contemplated how to describe the exercise the girls get. Inside our house. Let's face it - we live in the soggy (and very often, cold) Pacific Northwest, and I'm not the most outdoorsy person (as my favorite comedian, Jim Gaffigan would say; I'm "indoorsy") so we find ways to expend some of that childhood energy inside the house. As it just so happens, the bottom floor of our house makes for a great running track.

The other night, while engrossed in a spirited game of monster, I chased them in circles around the house, stopping only when they begged to rest and drink water. I removed my socks for better traction and continued the pursuit.

After thoroughly tiring myself out, (which meant they still had loads of energy) I stole away up the stairs to the quiet sanctity of my craft table.

A few minutes later, Colin came upstairs to report that there was blood "all over the carpet" downstairs. HUH? We tried to figure out where it could have possibly come from until I looked down at my own feet and whaddya know? The chair mat (and partially the carpet) under my big toe was a pool of blood. And true to the report, there were smeared blood stains All. Over. The. Carpet.

Growing up, there were four of us teenagers in a small mobile home. We used to rough house so much that we'd put holes in the walls. Literally. We called it the cardboard house.

Our house has certainly suffered under the proverbial weight of children, but blood stains all over the carpet trumps spilled formula on the couch or vomit soaked into a mattress.

I'm constantly reminding myself to live in the moment with my children instead of stressing out about the condition of my house.

I want my girls to remember their mom letting loose and having fun with them, not worrying about messes. I can do that after they've gone to bed.

--

Does this count as exercise?

Riding the exercise bike - twin style! from Lena Bonasera on Vimeo.

Sign of The Times

Before I had kids, I expressed the fear that many of my childless friends shared - the worry that we would bring a child/children into this cruel, over populated world full of hatred, crime and evil. Especially after 9/11.

A world with homelessness, starvation, child abuse and cancer. Teenage pregnancy, Jersey Shore and  MTV reality shows that glorify despicable behavior.

But from their precarious first moments of life, they have benefited from the age we live in.

The advances in healthcare - from the sophisticated gadgets in the NICU to the nasal spray flu vaccine.

They can talk to their grandma face to face, despite the fact that she is 1,000 miles away.

They have the internet, where knowledge and images, no matter how esoteric, are just a click away.

Velcro on shoes. Elastic bands on sleeping bags instead of those maddening nylon ties. TV that can be paused for a potty break.

But, more than all that, they also live in a world where a woman's vote means just as much as a man's. And where women can aspire to be doctors, engineers or professors.

My girls have entered that delicious stage where they are piecing together the knowledge they have gathered into the jigsaw puzzle of life.

While watching The Smurfs Movie and I mentioned that the actor (Neil Patrick Harris) and his husband have twins too! Tristyn hesitantly corrected me by saying, "Husband? That's a man." To which I responded, "Yes, he has a husband. Remember that song about Two Daddies and *Two Mommies?" She stared at me for a second (I could almost see the wheels turning), nodded her head and filed it away in her little knowledge box.

The other night, snuggled up in their beds after reading books, we talked about what they did in pre-school that day. They learned about George Washington! I asked a few follow up questions and then asked them if they knew who the president was today. Jaeda thought for a second before proudly bursting out with the answer, "Barack Obama"!

It isn't relevant to them that he is the first African American president. And I love that.

Reaping the benefits of modern medical technology @ 2 days old. Their first time side by side (outside of the womb) 

This post was inspired by Kim of Baby Feet.

*From the album A Cow Says Moock, by Alastair Moock. It is awesome - buy it now.

Idle

I'm slow to adjust. I think that's one of my idiosyncrasies. Or maybe that's just a human condition? If I expect one thing and get another, I'm all out of whack until I can re-calibrate my expectations.

Take parenthood for example. (ha!)

Having been thrust, a bit unexpectedly, not to mention earlier than anticipated, into motherhood (yes, I'm dramatic - but I'm good at it so just go with it), it took many internal struggles to relinquish the life that was once mine and mine alone, in order to mother my young. As I'm sure many new mothers struggle, it was difficult to accept my new role and toss aside my own personal interests and desires.

But as they get older, they have become so much more independent. The incessant requests for my time and attention have diminished drastically. They can wash their own hair, put on their own bike helmets, brush their own teeth, even buckle their own seat belts! The million minuscule things that added up to a mountain of effort for me has whittled away to a mole hill, leaving me feeling... a bit lost.

What do I do now to fill the space evacuated by growing children? Having more children is neither a desire nor a possibility (hubby shudders at the thought and quite honestly, so do I).

Lately, I find myself wandering around the house actually *looking* for the next task or activity, whereas before, I would have given my right arm to clone myself so as to be in two places at once, which seemed like a necessity as the mother of two young children. (Honestly, I don't know how moms of numerous children do it).

Its not like I don't still have plenty to keep me busy. I work 32 hours a week. I maintain a household; pay bills, cook, clean, etc. I maintain this blog (barely) and my style blog. I sell on eBay. I read. I try to remain social with friends and family. I make jewelry when the inspiration hits me. I am (slowly) teaching myself how to sew.

Oh yeah, and that parenting gig.

There is an underlying desire to simply stay home and "nest", as they say, a notion that I fought every step of the way after getting married, and one that eluded me as my pregnancy progressed, despite the stories that that is how I would know I was getting close to delivering. (I laugh at that - not only did I deliver 6 weeks early, but I was too busy freaking out at the prospect of two infants. "Nesting" was not in my vocabulary).

Here is my latest distraction:

A good old fashioned puzzle 

And, thanks to Pinterest, I've also been cooking and baking more. But I still feel like I should be doing more, like these tidbits of down time are illegal.

Next on my list: I need to learn how to just BE.

Maybe I can take lessons from these two:

The Tao of Twins

When I bought my twin jogging stroller from a father of twins off craigslist, I was harried and scatter-brained, having packed up the girls (who were 10 months old at the time, I believe) and driven 45 minutes to an unknown destination. His twin boys were seven. He coerced them to break from their game to come out to the garage and utter a shy hello to me. I barely related to this man. As he loaded the stroller into my car, he looked at me and said, "It really does get easier", a sentiment that felt like a flimsy platitude that twin parents say to each other. But he said it so, I don't know, earnestly, that I believed him.

Of course, I forgot that sentiment immediately upon pulling out of his driveway, the girls again demanding my attention while I navigated back to our house.

Now? As the girls near 5, I know what he really wanted to say: "It gets easy." Not easier. Easy.

I'm a bit hesitant to write those words, lest I lose my grasp on the difficulty banner that floats over my head at the very whisper of the word 'twins'. High risk pregnancy, back to back births, preemie babies, double infant care, two toddlers, etc. etc.

Nevertheless, it's official. I've turned the corner from being the recipient of sympathetic stares at the imagined difficulty of mothering twinfants or twin toddlers to being the one giving the look to moms of different age children.

I have two well trained helpers that monitor each others' behavior and best of all --- play together. For hours on end. And! They wear the same clothes. They are learning the same things. They can help each other to do just about anything that might otherwise require adult assistance. They comfort each other. They cooperate. They share.

They even give each other the occasional massage.

So Holly, if you're reading this: It Does Get Easier.

National Geographic

Identical twins are on the cover of the December National Geographic and the subject of NPR's The Picture Show blog.

Looking at the photos is fascinating. I love to look at the subtle differences in their features. I try to decide if I would be able to tell them apart if I knew them in real life.

We spent Christmas with extended family, most of whom don't see the girls on a frequent enough basis to be able to tell them apart. I'm convinced that, as identical twins go, mine are on the easy-to-tell-apart end of the spectrum. Sometimes I wonder if all parents of identical twins feel that way. But then I hear stories of parents that require nail polish to distinguish their children apart.

I cannot imagine what that would be like. Telling them apart has always been easy. I recall the days in the NICU, Tristy under the bili lights, calming her with my palm over her wispy white-blonde hair. Jaeda lay in the neighboring isolette, with her signature dirty blonde mohawk atop her head.

Who's this guy?
2007 (8 months old)
Tristyn on the left, Jaeda on the right  (note the mohawk)

On Christmas eve, my husband's cousin (interesting fact: he is genetically his half brother because his mom is my husband's mom's identical twin) came for a visit. Its been a few years since he's seen my girls and they had just dried off from the bathtub and put on last years snowman pajamas (seen below in the 2010 Santa photo, which are now totally high-waters).

They obediently stood in front of Lenny as I took a sideways glance at them to introduce them each by name, as I try to do.

And wouldn't you know it, I introduced them wrong. Me. Their mother. *sigh* My only excuses are that they were wearing the same outfit, had wet hair and I was looking at them sideways instead of head-on. Ok, those are pretty good excuses, but I still felt horrible (and a little embarrassed).  Because I'm usually the one doing the correcting. "That's Jaeda" or "You mean Tristyn" when someone refers to them incorrectly.

Traumatized (I love that Santa is laughing)
2008 (Age 1 1/2)
Tristyn on the left, Jaeda on the right 

On the trip home, we had settled into the ridiculously cramped play room designated for kids on the ferry from Nanaimo (Vancouver Island) to Vancouver, which is a 2 hour journey. The woman sitting next to me (who was obviously miserable) had a rambunctious older boy (maybe 6) and a precocious (read: bratty) little girl about the same age as my girls.

Feeling a little shy
2009 (2 1/2)
Tristyn on the left, Jaeda on the right 

We had managed to ignore each other, as parents of young children tend to do whilst stuck on a ferry with strangers for 2 hours, until I heard her son ask if my girls were twins. My ears perked, of course, to hear her answer. She replied "I'm sure they are sisters, but I don't think they are twins". Stunned, I turned to her and asked if she was referring to my girls. "They're actually identical twins" I heard myself say, and I realized that I felt almost a little defensive. So, I want people to tell them apart, but I also want people to recognize them as identical twins? Hmm...

Over the moon! 
2010 (3 1/2)
Jaeda on the left, Tristyn on the right 

One relative, whom they don't see very often, admitted to me that he 'still can't tell them apart'. I told him the newest "trick", which has saved their pre-school teacher and their gymnastics instructors; Jaeda's bangs are wavy, like the letter "J". Tristyn's are stick straight, like a "T".

Do you see the bangs?
2011 (4 1/2)
Jaeda on the left, Tristyn on the right 

But to me, its quite silly to even need this mnemonic. Their faces are quite different, their hair, even their voices. I've written about it before of course.

You see what I mean, don't you??

I understand that these subtleties are lost on most people. Take any two children of the same gender and age and ask people to tell them apart.

My girls are lucky to have twin boy cousins that are just 5 months younger. They are fraternal, and are very easy to distinguish by hair color, eye color and height! While the four of them took turns playing Angry Birds on my cell phone, I overheard Tristyn ask her cousin Gabriel, "Which one are you?"

Weeds

The picture on our Christmas card shows my hubby and me crouched on the balcony of the Old Faithful Inn (Yellowstone) with these long-limbed blondies on our knees. Their big feet hang from their bony legs and they both happen to have a spoonful of ice cream poised at their mouths. So many friends and family members have remarked at how big they have become.

Its true, the once teeny preemies have sprouted into oversized pre-schoolers, matching height of kids 2 or more years older than them, and towering over kids their own age.

They are hungry all the time, often telling me they are hungry shortly after we have finished a meal. The other day, I realized they had finagled two breakfasts and two lunches. There are times when, at dinner, they eat more than I do. Like tonight, when I could barely finish two tacos but they each devoured two over-stuffed, daddy-made tacos, and then asked what was for dessert.

Socks and shoes have become a topic of much angst and debate in our house. They both refuse to wear socks, citing that they are "too small" or that their feet hurt when they put their shoes on. And we are down to one pair of shoes each - from probably 20 available pairs in the shoe basket by the front door - that they will actually wear. The other day, in a war of wills between Jaeda and myself, I would not let her leave the house until socks and shoes were on. I won, but at the cost of my calm and composure. She dramatically complained, feigning inability to walk due to the discomfort. In my frustration, later that day, I impetuously purchased four used pairs of size 13 shoes from ebay, hoping to avoid a repeat of the earlier scene.

When bedtime rolls around, and they have been instructed to put on their pajamas, they will sometimes re-appear downstairs in just their underwear and ask if they can be "super-baby" (I have no idea where that came from), which basically means no pajamas, just undies. I occasionally acquiesce, too tired to argue, as I watch the Manute Bol-esque cuties skamper up the stairs to brush their teeth.

This rapid growth, of course, makes them clumsy. I can't count how many times I've heard the disquieting thump of Tristyn falling off her chair at the dinner table, followed by a frustrated howl from the floor. And I'm constantly being kicked in the face or kneed in the kidneys when we rough-house, tumbling around the living room floor. We sometimes call Jaeda "Long Limbs La-Jaeda" (a spin on "Long Limbs Lenora", the New Year's Eve working girl from Forrest Gump) because if there is something to knock over with her legs, she will knock it over, despite our warnings to be careful.

It goes along with the theme running through my head these last few months, that they are growing up all too fast, as children tend to do. I thought I had until the teenage years before this awkward stage??