Can I See Your Sock Marks?

Cal and Clark are changing, but still refreshingly weird. They both have their interests and little obsessions. Their personalities are becoming more and more their own. Clark is the rule-follower; Cal is the mischievous one. Clark listens to instructions, but while instructions are being given, Calvin is climbing a fence or skating slowly in a circle or talking to a girl. Occasionally something will get through to him and he'll obey. But they both have endless imagination.

Dressing up is something they still love-- especially Clark. He went to the playground as The Incredible Hulk the other day and yesterday did his reading lesson through the eye holes on his Spiderman costume. Not too long ago he dressed up as a breakfast sandwich before he would eat his breakfast sandwich for breakfast. This morning he floor-squirmed out of his room dressed as a mermaid: a mermaid who plays baseball. He was flapping his one cleat around on his pajama-leg fin and tossing his golden hair (yellow shirt) over his shoulder. He wouldn't cooperate for me take a picture though, because he couldn't find anything acceptable for his clam shell bikini and I think he was a little embarrassed. The mermaid fascination is thanks to a Peter Pan beginning reading book we found at the library. Seriously. Those boys love the mermaid page. Which is weird yet predictable and inspires questions that are uncomfortable for me to answer.

Calvin seems to be developing his own special sophistication. Last night he told Gammy he preferred his juice with Pellegrino water. A few nights ago he asked if I cared to join him for a drink on the balcony. He said he'd drink out of his Superman canteen and I could have "wine or something," and that he'd get me a chair. What a guy. I don't use Pinterest often, but I've been using it while planning their birthday party. Now if he sees a picture on the internet that he likes, he says, "Pin it, Mom," with a very serious, all-business face. He was telling me about Twitter today. He still turns many things into space shuttles, rockets, lunar modules, etc. The other day, much to my surprise, he put toy astronauts into my water canteen for their return to Earth-- and it was a safe return.

But the weirdest thing of all lately, is Cal's marks obsession.

Over the past few months he has become obsessed with anything that leaves a mark on something else. Let me explain: if you move a piece of furniture that has left an indentation on the carpet, he wants to feel it and talk about it. He likes to move the hair rubber band that I keep around my wrist and feel and look at the mark that it has made on my skin. He likes to push things into his skin and see what happens. This began with his own fingernails and has broadened to include pencils and lids, among other things. He pushes hard too, and sometimes the marks on his own arm do not go away quickly. This troubles me a little.

His main marks obsession though is sock marks. After hockey and tee-ball all he wants to do is look at the marks the socks have made on his legs, and on Clark's legs. Each sock leaves a different mark and the way that the sock is worn also makes a difference. He mumbles about their differences and why they look different or the same and if one leg's marks is different that the other leg's marks. He delightedly proclaimed he had found Teddy's first sock marks! a few weeks ago. It seems that sock marks are often at the forefront of his mind. It's what he wants to check on when he has a spare moment. He wants to see if Brian or I have them, if Clark has them, etc. When he asks Clark to see his sock marks these days, Clark yells that he won't show him and that he hates showing Cal his sock marks and he runs away. Understandable. Honestly though, I don't mind letting him look at my sock marks because it astounds me how interested he is in them. Also it means I can sit down for a minute.

Hopefully the marks obsession will get toned down a bit before long, but I hope the imaginations never slow down or grow old.

The only picture I could get of my little mermaid

Cal checking Brian's sock marks...

and Clark's sock marks... 

Waiting to Explode

As I've been waiting to explode for the past week, I've been in various places and usually the thought crosses my head, "What if I had the baby here?"

I've had contractions on three different days but they haven't lasted for very long, so nothing has become of them. So still, I wait.

These started out as places I've actually visited recently and then kind of spiraled...

Worst places to give birth:

1. All bathrooms in general, but of specific horror would be:

           a. bathroom at the pool- aided only by scantily-clad tweens and their iPhones
           b. port-a-potty at the playground- the accident possibilties are terrifying
           c. bathroom at the softball fields- stainless steel toilets and damp cement floors
           d. airplane bathroom- (would it even work?) emergency landing

2. In the middle of a quiet church service- front row

3. In the plush leather passenger seat of my mother-in-law's car as she's giving me a ride

4. In the brilliant blue-green kiddie pool surrounded by children, including my own

5. While getting a massage in a dimly-lit room with a gurgling zen fountain, naked with a stranger- only about a quarter of the way into it

6. At the hair salon with its bright-white walls, plentiful mirrors, and beautifully-clipped and manicured hair dressers in perfect clothes

7. In the slowest checkout line at the grocery store- probably when I finally found my favorite pickles and chocolate to buy

8. Old Navy fitting room while daringly trying on skinny jeans for no real reason

9. Vacation Bible School puppet show

10. Anytime when I'm out alone anywhere and forgot my cell phone (as if I ever misplace my phone)

11. On the bus with my kids, miles from home, next to a creepy man/woman/creature

12. In the stands at a baseball game- a really exciting one, maybe in extra innings (on second thought, this might be cool...eventually)

13. On my tan microfiber couch with guests visiting

14. On a carnival ride- think Ferris wheel or roller coaster

Ready or not, here we go!

Chasing the Maternal Glow

This probably sounds bad, but I’m so done with being pregnant. I feel like I’m supposed to love this time—that I should be bathing everyone I’m around in my maternal glow— laughing in slow motion while my fingertips caress the gentle slope of my belly and my luxurious copper locks of hair fly gently on the perfectly-calibrated wind. I feel like I’m supposed to be this walking symbol of life and motherhood and all that is virtuous and right and fertile in the world. Like everything around me should be smooth and soft and set in sepia tones. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be that way. But if you think you see my maternal glow, I assure you that it is in fact the three rosy patches of acne that I’ve had since week four. If you think my hair is glossier, you might be right— the boys have been sick, so it’s not unlikely that their boogers have added to my sheen. And there’s nothing gentle or sloping about my belly—this thing is large and in charge. 

I know this time in my life will be over soon enough and I won’t give these limitations another thought, but I’m so ready to run and play with the boys without hurting, and to throw a ball as hard as I can without it twisting my ab muscles in knots. To walk without my back hurting. To lift the boys up. To be able to walk up three flights of stairs at a normal pace instead of at the pace of a small, distracted, crippled snail. To not have to pee every couple minutes or feel like I’ll pass out if I don’t eat every hour. All of those things will fade to grey. But for now they are bolded and in all CAPS and right in my face. A lot like the current state of my maternal bossoms.

I feel like such a fussy baby when I read what I’ve written, but it also feels good to say it. I know that when I see little Peapod’s face and hold his tiny body it will all be worth it, but right now it just feels like it’s taking forever and I miss my other body. Also, did I mention that I think I’m just about as heavy at 22 weeks as I was with the boys at this time? My body seriously needs to chill out. It’s not a competition, and there is only one human in there this time. Get over yourself. Everyone knows you can carry twins. You don’t have to try to do it again. I do not want to give birth to a 13 pounder—which is about what the boys weighed combined.

Okay, I’m done whining. Besides, I have to go pee.

This is me and my maternal glow holding up the toaster.
This is, however, from when I was 30 weeks pregnant with the boys.
I noticed that I don't have pictures of myself from this time...

We're Celebrating the Museum!

Today we visited the National Air and Space Museum- the Udvar-Hazy location. It was the first time we'd gone during their storytime, and I was pleased with it. They do storytimes more often at the downtown location, but it looks like most Fridays this month they have storytimes at the Udvar-Hazy museum.

Before we left to go the museum with my friend Susan and her kids, the boys put on their flight suits and begged to wear them. "Mom, we need to wear them because we're celebrating the museum!" they explained to me. All I could think of at first was that flight suits would mean another layer, but I let them wear the suits, hoping there wouldn't be an issue with needing to shed four layers including a one-piece flight suit in a second's time in the museum bathroom.

The story we heard was a cute one about a Mousetronaut and they did little art projects with popsicle sticks and space shapes. Afterward they got to hold astronaut food, touch an astronaut suit, try on a glove, and see an astronaut's diaper. The kids all enjoyed it.

They've always liked the museum, but today they were the most excited they've ever been about being there. They ran around showing their friend Philip the candy cane airplane and Space Shuttle Discovery. Clark pointed out that it looks like Discovery has ears when you see it from a distance.The glass elevator was a space shuttle blasting off. Oftentimes they were Jack and Jim, Apollo 13 astronauts, getting ready for space.  They talked the ear off a volunteer who showed them pictures from when a Buzz Lightyear toy went into space. One of the tour guides pointed out to his group as we walked by that today we were fortunate to have two real astronauts here. The tourists were delighted, and snapped pictures of the boys as they walked by, oblivious to the fact that what they were wearing was a little unusual (and about a size too small).

I love so much that embarrassment is something they haven't experienced yet. I wish it could be that way forever.

A flight suit just like ours!

I'm not really sure what's happening here...

Story!

Astronaut glove!

Clark and Philip check out the astronaut gear.

Push the buttons...

We love airplanes!

The Apollo 13 astronauts are blasting off on their mission!

Here is my review of the museum from last year.    

Potty Mouths

Happy Thursday! I hope you've all eaten before you read what I wrote about my twin potty mouths for DC Metro Mom this morning. Here's the link.

Angry Birds vs. Angry Clark

Clark is acting like a teenage girl lately. For one thing, he’s obsessing over his hair. If it ever gets any hint of static or he imagines that there is static, he starts wailing about wanting water on it. If his pants are pulled up too high, he freaks out. He doesn’t like his food to touch on his plate. Everything surrounding him is of dramatic importance.

To best illustrate the drama surrounding Clark’s difficult and stressful life, I’ll use an incident from the other day:

1.       Clark hurts his finger and cries.

2.       I tell him that Daddy bought Angry Birds (a new obsession) band-aids for them!

3.       I put on said band-aid.

4.       Clark is happy.

5.       Two seconds later, Clark starts crying because the yellow bird is covered up and he couldn’t see it and that is his favorite bird.

6.       I calm him down by showing him how cool the other birds are.

7.       We leave the house and start down the stairs.

8.       Clark begins screaming hysterically because holding the rail on the normal side he walks down feels weird because of his band-aid on his finger.

9.       I show him he can use the other rail with the other hand and it doesn’t feel weird.

10.   Clark sits down on the top steps, yelling, “no! no!” with tears pouring down his face.

11.   I go to pick him up and carry him down and he shrieks even more, slapping at me.

12.   I go down the stairs with Cal and leave him to his tears.

13.   He eventually comes down and is happy.

14.   We go for our walk.

15.   We stop at a restaurant for lunch.

16.   As soon as he gets his food he starts wailing about how he can’t eat with his band-aid on. “Get it off! Get it off!”

17.   People stare.

18.   I take the band-aid off and put it on his coat, which is on the back of his chair.

19.   He smiles at it and starts eating.

20.   He notices that from where he is sitting and eating, he cannot see his band-aid-turned-sticker.

21.   He again starts wailing about it.

22.   I tell him he’s being ridiculous and I throw it away.

23.   More screams and more stares but he eventually calms down.

24.   He finishes his chocolate milk and starts crying that it’s gone.

25.   We leave.

I guess he’s just going through a phase, but it’s one that makes me want to routinely bang my head against a wall. He also threatens us. He threatens to spank us or yell at us or bang something really hard! on the floor or table or something. I guess he's revisiting this phase from last year. Fortunately Cal has been milder in general these days. He prefers to engage in silent mind games by refusing to apologize or admit what he did was wrong even though it means staying in his bed.

So I’m sure this makes you want to go out and have kids, right? Specifically twins? The amazing thing to me is how quickly they can go from having an epic meltdown to being charming again. I guess that’s how they survive in our house. Cuteness and sweetness outweigh screaming fits of unbridled and irrational rage. 

I’m so glad they won’t one day be teenage girls. Then the drama would be over things like boys and shoes and purses and tampons and things. I'm way better with band-aids and chocolate milk.

Can't imagine him angry? Come visit in a few minutes. 

The Short Life of My Nose Finger

I'm not street smart by any means, but I know that some drug users grow out a fingernail or two so they can snort their drugs easier and more conveniently. A drug finger, I guess you would say. Well, I had a nose finger. That's right. When I was cutting my fingernails, which I keep very short, about a week ago, I accidentally missed the nail on my left index finger. I meant to go back to the clippers and finish it off, but of course I kept getting interrupted and forgetting. 

It just so happened that the boys were in the middle of giant booger-dom. They've had these lingering colds that don't seem to make them feel bad, they just produce a disturbing amount of boogers that crust all over their noses and make me feel like an incompetent mother. I remember being grossed out by kids' boogers before I was a mom and wondering, judgmentally, how the parents could just be out in public with a kid whose boogers were visibly crustified and nasty. Now I know.

It is ridiculously difficult to reach and wrangle up the crusty boogers from inside a squirming child's nostrils. You can try being civilized and using a tissue or a wipe, but when it comes down to it, that won't get the crusty parts that trap the slimy danglers up in the nostrils that hang there to be seen and grimaced at.  Sorry, I had to say it. Slimy danglers.

Well, I accidentally found the answer. Serendipity! My nose finger! With my index finger longer than my other fingers, I found myself using it to extract the boogers that first day. At the end of the day when I finally pulled out the clippers, I made eye contact with myself in the bathroom mirror and smirked. I put the clippers back in the drawer.

So for about a week I've depended on my nose finger to reach those hard-to-reach places in the boys' noses, much to their dismay. I'm sure it's unpleasant to experience my surprise-attacks as I swiftly slide my right hand on their necks and my nose finger up their noses, but I don't care because it makes them much more presentable and grosses me out less. I mean, I find it hard to be by them when they have those crusted danglers because I zero in on them and don't pay attention to what the boys are saying to me. "Mommy! Clark stepped in the toilet!" “Cal fell off the bunk bed!” Smile and nod, and shamelessly attack with my nose finger. Victory!

Anyway, this morning I clipped my nose finger off. I realized that, regardless of how practical it was, it was getting to be over-the-top disgusting and besides that it made typing difficult. Farewell, nose finger. Stand guard, though. I may call on you again, however. Maybe next cold season. 

Outside boogers are hard to reach when it's cold. The answer? Nose finger!

White Person!

The boys have created some moments of racial awkwardness of late. Since I can’t drive, we do a lot of walking, which naturally involves a lot of crosswalk action on the part of us and our stroller. Of course I taught the boys to look for the walk sign, which is, as you know, a white stick figure. When they see the orange hand change to the walk sign they yell, “White person! White person!” in recklessly loud and repetitive shrieks, alerting me to the fact that I need to kick the stroller into gear. In some cases, however, it alerts me to the fact that I have two very white boys pointing and yelling, “white person!” when there are people who are not white people walking toward us or behind us or with us. This is when I say loudly, “YEP. GOOD JOB! THAT’S THE WHITE LIGHT. THE WHITE PERSON LIGHT THAT MEANS WALK," as I avoid eye contact with our fellow pedestrians.

on Capitol Hill in search of white person lights

 A good example is from our trip into DC the other day. We were on Capitol Hill and making our way to the metro stop. We were nearing an intersection, but it was actually still not very close to us, and they starting yelling about the light. "White person!" I saw that we were almost to pass a couple black girls eating on a bench. What was I supposed to do? I just grimaced inside and kept trucking, trying to flash a wry smile that says, “Please, please look at what they’re talking about so you don’t think these boys are trying to put a spell on you.” Fortunately they didn’t even really look at us as we passed.

Cal and Ava

Then there are the less-embarrassing moments when the subjects don't know they’re being racially profiled by the boys, but they actually are. Cal has a girlfriend, yes that’s right he does. Her name is Ava and she is a twin with Ethan. They live close and come over often. They are half Vietnamese and half Filipino and here is a picture of them kissing. Anytime they see a girl with a dark complexion they point and start chanting, “Ava! Ava!”at the same time. Also, it doesn’t have to be little girl. The other day on the train they were calling an Indian 20-somethings girl Ava. My first mommy friend I met when I started staying home with the boys is Korean. Anytime we see a woman or girl who looks Asian they start yelling, “Angela!”

Anyway, you get the idea.

The boys are also ageists. Anyone, male or female, who looks older than me is “Mamama!” their great grandmother. When that person overhears what the boys are calling him or her, I just pretend that “Mamama” is the boys’ grandmother rather than their very, very old great grandmother.

In a similar but much, much more delightful manner, the boys are making creative comparisons that are warming my poetic heart. I will always remember Cal’s first metaphor. It was on an airplane on the way back from Idaho this spring. He looked out at the clouds below us and said, “Clouds are pillows!” I melted. The other day, while eating chicken nuggets and French fries (Operation Beef Up Cal, fast food edition), Clark said that his French fry was a “horsey!” Cal, not to be outdone in the creative food interpretations department, held his nugget up to the light and said, “like a bear!”

This is all part of the way the boys are learning about their world, and even though it’s awkward and sometimes makes me blush, it’s interesting and entertaining. I’m guessing the uncomfortable “white person” habit won’t end anytime soon, and I’m sure for a long time they will also group people of different ages and races into categories and call them names of people they know. Maybe it won’t be too long before they stop yelling it aloud and start only thinking it. I definitely hope that seeing the world in figurative ways never ends!