No Sleep 'Till...

Back in the olden days, Kathy and I used to be quite smug about how easily our girls went to sleep. It used to be a simple two-step process:

1. Put daughters in crib.
2. Leave the room.
   

And they would sleep. Not immediately, but eventually, after maybe 15 to 30 minutes of giggling and/or singing. Most importantly, it would happen without any additional intervention by us parental people. In other words, Mommy and daddy did not have to re-enter the room. Which was freaking awesome.

And so it was for one oh-so-glorious year, until around the time they turned two. Somewhere around that time, Riley started getting a little displeased with the whole simplicity of this process. And so, the two-step process became a five-step process:

1. Put daughters in crib.
2. Leave the room.
3. After about 10 minutes of giggling and/or singing, Riley screams for mommy or daddy or both.
4. Go back into the room and adjust Riley’s blanket to her strict specifications.
5. Leave the room.
   

Then somewhere along the way -- I’m not quite sure when – we totally lost control, and the heretofore simple process started expanding at an exponential rate. One day we turned around and found that our little two-step process had morphed into a 25-step extravaganza:

1. Put daughters in crib.
2. Make sure that each daughter has exactly the correct number of stuffed monkeys of the correct colors next to them, plus one Winnie-the-Pooh, one brown bear, and a couple miscellaneous animals (duckie or froggy or piglet). Each stuffed animal must be aligned according to child’s personal preferences, which change daily.
3. Tuck both girls into their blankets.
4. Sing “Great Big Stars”
5. Sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”
6. Girls have been jumping up and down in their cribs during the songs, so tuck both girls into their blankets again.
7. Try to leave the room, unsuccessfully.
8. Fluff Riley’s pillow.
9. Try to leave the room, unsuccessfully.
10. Bring Riley and Leah a cup of water.
11. Leave the room.
12. Listen to girls sing and giggle for 10 minutes.
13. Riley screams for mommy, daddy, or both.
14. Go back into room and adjust blanket to Riley’s strict specifications.
15. Leave the room.
16. Listen to girls sing and giggle for 10 minutes.
17. Riley screams for mommy, daddy, or both.
18. Go back into room and adjust blanket to Riley’s strict specifications. Tell Riley “this is the last time we’re coming in.”
19. Leave the room.
20. Listen to girls sing and giggle for 10 minutes.
21. Hear Riley screaming bloody murder like she’s being stabbed or something.
22. Rush into the room. Crying immediately stops. Riley, says, in a sing-songy mocking voice, “this is the LAST TIME!” then giggles.
23. Adjust blanket to Riley’s strict specifications.
24. Leave the room.
25. Riley alternately screams for mommy and daddy for about 15 minutes.
26. Girls fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, about 45 to 60 minutes after we put them to bed.
    

This was pretty much the situation until this summer, when we converted Riley and Leah’s crib into “big girl beds”. I had been dreading this for months and putting it off because as bad as the whole sleep situation had become with Riley, at least she was contained and was not openly inciting riots throughout the house. But then the girls started noticing that all their friends had big boy/girl beds and they didn’t, and what’s up with that? And hey, looky here, this bar that’s confining me to the crib isn’t actually all that high.

So we gave in, converted the cribs into toddler beds, and held our breaths waiting for the fallout. The first couple nights were pretty successful, and Kathy and I briefly and foolishly started breathing a sigh of relief. But then I guess it clicked in Leah and Riley’s heads (well, probably Riley’s head first) that this whole “big girl bed” thing meant that they were free to roam around the room, including to the bed of a certain twin sister. And this has added a whole new dimension to the post-bedtime play hour. And by “play hour”, I mean PLAY HOUR, with all caps and a few exclamation points thrown in for good measure. And by “hour”, I mean about two hours. Sometimes three.

I wish I were exaggerating, but I’m not. Oh, indeed, as Kathy will testify, I am not.

To give you an idea, here was the scene the other day when I checked in on them about two hours after we put them “to bed”:

• Approximately 20 books off the shelves on the floor.
• Blankets from their beds laid on the floor, like a picnic.
• Clothes drawers open with various clothing items randomly strewn about the room.
• About 30 stuffed animals gathered on top of the picnic blanket.
• Riley gleefully jumping on Leah’s bed like it’s a trampoline.
• Leah preparing to take a flying leap off of her bed on to the picnic blanket.
  

I walk in. Riley and Leah freeze. Brief sheepish looks on Riley and Leah’s faces, which melt into ear-to-ear grins. Proud grins. A little defiant.

Then on cue, Riley looks up at me and asks “Can I have a popsicle?”

And so it goes.

Pure Domination

Ever since the girls were born, Kathy and I have enjoyed speculating which one was going to be the dominant one. The one that decides which games to play. The one that bosses the other one around and finishes the other one’s sentences and answers all the adult’s questions and beats the other one up when she gets weary of her antics.

Right now, the smart money’s on Leah. Here’s a scene I overheard this morning as the girls were laying in their cribs, just after waking up.

Riley: [laughs for no particular reason]
Leah: [in scolding voice] Riley, no laughing.
Riley: [pauses, then laughs again – a very fake exaggerated laugh]
Leah: [in “parental” sounding voice]: Riley, it’s not time for laughing. It’s time for talk.
Riley: [pauses and thinks]
Riley: Okay.

Not only is Leah bossy as all hell, but she loves showing off all her physical and mental superiorities. If you ask a question, Leah will makes sure that she answers before Riley does. If they’re putting together a puzzle, Leah will make sure that she puts in the final piece. If Riley does something bad, Leah will scold her, and scold her in exaggeratedly loud voice.

“Riley, don’t spill the cheerios!”
“Riley, don’t pee pee in the crib!”
“Riley, don’t put your feet there!”
“No, Riley, no. Don’t do it.”

Leah’s totally gonna be that annoying nerd in school that raises her hand and answers every question the teacher asks and narcs on all her classmates when they do something wrong, isn’t she? Oh no, she’s gonna be Rachel from Glee, isn’t she? Aw, crap.

Of course, Riley’s got to show off her superiorities when she gets the chance, too. Right now, her big advantage over Leah is that she’s a world class flirt, particularly with guys that she decides she likes. If she decides she likes you, she’ll smile coquettishly, bat her eyelashes, giggle, and basically make you her little slave. It’s a good little superpower to have in the toddler world.

But, I think the Leah’s superiority-thing is starting to get to Riley a little bit. We’ve been seeing signs of some competitiveness creeping in. Like when they go down the block on their little scoot-bikes, Riley will make this conscious effort to stay in front of Leah at all times. Leah speeds up, Riley speeds up. Leah slows down, Riley slows down. This would work fine except for the fact that Leah is, like, three times as fast as Riley. So Leah suddenly hits “turbo boost” mode, and Riley struggles for a few seconds to stay ahead, turning all red and looking all frantic. Out of pure desperation, she’ll start swerving back and forth across the sidewalk, trying to cut off Leah’s passing path. But then, inevitably, Leah will leave Riley in the dust and Riley will break into heartbroken tears. Leah then grins with the glow of a thousand suns, takes a little victory lap, and chants “USA! USA!”

It’s a sad sight to see, but whatcha gonna do. It’s a cold, cruel, competitive world out there. Even for a two-year old.

Just Play Along

One thing I totally was not aware of before I had kids is that the whole toddler “playdate” thing is a total sham. It seems that the toddler playdate is a big parental fabrication created by parents out of pure desperation to talk to other adults and temporarily distract themselves from the semi-mindnumbing daily toddler routine. You sit your kids in front of some toys or bring them to the playground, and then you watch the kids totally ignore each other for a couple hours except for occasionally stealing each other toys. Meanwhile, the parents communally gossip or lament the loss of their previous lives between interruptions every 10 minutes to feed/change/scold/comfort their child. Or, um, children.

And despite the fact that they don’t actually play with their playdate friend, Riley and Leah will spend the next 48 hours talking about their friend in obsessive detail.

“Sylvie was eating blueberries!”
“Sylvie’s wearing a purple shirt!”
“Sylvie likes hamburgers!”
“Sylvie’s got two mommies!”
“Sylvie eats bunny crackers!”
“Sylvie brought cupcakes!”

Our girls get a little food obsessed sometimes.

Their friends all refer to them as “LeahnRiley”. As in “LeahnRiley, do you want some bunny crackers?” Or “LeahnRiley, it’s my turn.” If forced to refer to one of them individually, about 93 percent of the time they will get it wrong, which makes me think that Riley must look more like a “Leah” and Leah must look more like a “Riley”. I guess we named them wrong. Dang it.

Once in a long while you’ll get an inter-toddler conversation, which as far as I’m concerned is pure gold. Here’s an example from this weekend:

Leah (out of nowhere): I got a blue shirt.
Sylvie: I got a white shirt.
Leah: I’m wearing shoes.
Sylvie: I’m wearing shoes too.
Leah: I like cupcakes.
Sylvie: Yeah.
(end of conversation)

Me too, Leah. Me too.

Eight Days

Riley and Leah are now undergoing potty-training boot camp, and boy oh boy, does this camp ever suck. Can I please fast forward my life ahead a couple weeks? Pretty please?

We went cold turkey on the diapers last Monday, so we’ve been doing this potty-training thing for eight loooong days. Here’s a recap:

Days 1-2:

• Leah becomes the Peeing Machine. We put her on the toilet. She pees immediately. Kathy and I rejoice and tell her how proud we are of her, and Leah is beaming with pride. Five minutes later, sitting on the couch, Leah pees again. So we sit her on the toilet again. She pees. Five minutes later, sitting on the carpet, she pees. So we sit her on the toilet. She pees. The girl has an endless reservoir of pee.
• Meanwhile, Riley becomes the Pee-Holding Machine. We put her on the toilet. No pee. We sit her there for a half hour, reading book after book after book to her. Still no pee. We give up and let her play for awhile, waiting for the inevitable bladder explosion, but it never comes. Two hours later, we’ve sat her on the potty six times and she’s drank two full cups of water, and still no pee. I begin to suspect that Riley’s pee is somehow magically teleporting itself into Leah’s bladder. Didn’t know that was part of the whole twin thing, but hey, there’s a lot I don’t know.
  

Days 3-6:

• Leah and Riley both resist sitting on the potty with white-hot intensity. They pull out every trick in their book. They cry. They flail their limbs around. They ask to sit on the “big” potty, but then you bring them to the big potty, and they say they want to sit on the “little” potty. Or you announce that it’s time to sit on the potty, and they first pretend they don’t hear you, then they say “in 5 minutes!”, then they act like they want to eat a snack first.
• Once you actually get them on the potty, Leah pees within milliseconds, and then jumps off triumphantly. Riley meanwhile whimpers on the toilet saying “all done” under her breath over and over until we have mercy on her and let her off the toilet. And then a couple minutes later, she pees herself.
  

Day 7:

• Leah’s got it down. She now acts like she’s been doing this peeing thing for years. Actually, she pees disturbingly quickly. It’s like some kinda weird excretory magic trick. She sits down, then stands up a half a second later and there’s, like, a gallon of pee in the potty, and I don’t know how it got there.
• Meanwhile, Riley’s going in the opposite direction. When we mention the potty, it’s like a declaration of war or something. Riley breaks out her entire arsenal of toddler tactics and just tries one after another, just hoping that she will wear us down eventually. It takes all of our parental energy just to get her to sit on the potty and keep her on the potty for five minutes. And it’s all for nothing, because She. Will. Not. Go. Riley’s excretory functions seem to have totally shut down. She holds her pee for hours – either that or she is somehow smuggling it out of her body when our backs are turned. Plus she somehow hasn’t pooped in the past six days, just out of shear willpower.
  

On the plus side, Riley seems genuinely proud of Leah’s accomplishments, and not the slightest bit jealous or resentful. After Leah goes to the potty, Riley beams and proudly proclaims “Leah went pee-pee in the potty!” then turns to Leah and brightly says “Good job, Leah!”

It’s cute, I guess, but trust me, it ain't cute enough to make up for the past eight days.

More Scenes From Twinhood

Scene 1: A few weeks ago. We are in a huge asphalt parking lot next to playground in the Castro. It is around noon.

• Riley finds a ball in the corner of the parking lot, one of those tiny super balls that bounce and bounce and bounce, forever and ever, until the end of time.
• Riley rotates the ball around in her hands a few times, and is completely enamored. She gets a huge grin on her face.
• Riley chucks the ball at Leah. It glances off Leah’s thigh and bounces away.
• Leah is confused at first, but then starts chasing the ball as it skitters across the parking lot. She is giggling and squealing with delight. Riley follows behind her with a huge grin.
• Leah is not hand-eye coordinated enough to catch a small, bouncing spherical object, so she takes like 15 wild unsuccessful swipes at the ball over the next 45 seconds before it finally slows down enough for Leah to pick it up off the ground.
• Leah chucks the ball at Riley.
• Riley chases the ball as it bounces across the parking lot. She is giggling like a madwoman. She clearly believes that this is the most fun game ever invented. After 20 wild swipes and about 60 seconds, Riley picks up the ball and chucks it at Leah.
• The world’s slowest and giggliest game of catch of all time continues for the next 15 minutes, spanning the full extent of the parking lot, until a car suddenly barrels into the parking lot, and I am suddenly reminded that letting 2-year-old kids run wildly around a big parking lot is probably somewhat of a parental no-no.

And scene.

Scene 2: Our living room. This past Sunday.

Leah and Riley are playing with their little plastic tea-set on the floor.

Leah suddenly stands up and walks into the corner. She gets all glassy-eyed and red-faced, and all signs point to imminent pooping. She lets out a slow 20-second long fart.

Me: (with concerned voice) Leah, do you need to go the potty?

Leah: (grunting) No(grunt)oooooo.

Riley: (mimicking my concerned tone): Leah, wanna go potty?

Leah: (grunting) No(grunt)ooooo.

Riley (using parental concerned voice): Too late?

Riley (using parental concerned voice): Wanna changey diaper?

Riley (using parental concerned voice): New diaper, Leah?

Riley (using parental concerned voice): Leah, time for fresh diapey?

Leah lets out another slow 20-second long fart.

And scene.

Scene 3: A couple weeks ago. It’s around the girls’ bedtime but we are walking home from a hugely successful playdate and dinner with their friend Sylvie. Riley and Leah are super-hyped-up and slap-happy, and Kathy and I are trying to get them home, very unsuccessfully.

Riley (stopping and pointing at Leah): Hey!

Leah (pointing at Riley): Hey!

Riley (pointing at Leah and giggling): Hey!

Leah (pointing at Riley and giggling): Hey!

Riley (now making up random words and giggling): Hey Mung!

Leah (giggling): Hey Mung!

Riley (giggling): Hey Boca Mung!

Leah (giggling): Hey Boca Mung!

Me (to girls, impatiently pointing in direction of home): Let’s go, girls! We gotta get home and get ready for bed.

Riley (ignoring daddy, spinning around in a circle): Hey Boca Boca Mung!

Leah (spinning around in a circle): Hey Boca Boca Mung!

Riley (falling down on the sidewalk, giggling uncontrollably): Hey Boca Boca Mung Mung!

Leah (falling down on the sidewalk, giggling uncontrollably): Hey Boca Boca Mung Mung!

Riley and Leah continue giggling, spinning, falling down, and making up nonsense words. Kathy and I give up and watch. A couple passes by, holding two matching car seats, obviously infant twins. They dodge our spinning little girls as they walk by.

Kathy (to couple): This is your life in two years.

Couple smiles politely. They look tired.

Fade to black.

Instant Karma

So in the little parental game of Survivor that has become our lives, the alliances have been pretty clear for a while now. For months, Leah has been a mommy’s girl and Riley has been a daddy’s girl. If we’re walking somewhere, Leah wants to hold mommy’s hand and Riley wants to hold my hand. If we’re going for a drive, Leah wants mommy to put her in the car seat, and Riley wants me to put her in the car seat. If they want a book read to them, Leah will hand the book to mommy, and Riley will hand the book to daddy.

Now for me personally, this used to be a pretty sweet deal. Riley has generally been the more laid-back, more independent, more happy-go-lucky girl, while Leah has been the stubborn one, the attention hog, and the one most likely to melt down if she didn’t get her way. I’d play Legos or something with Riley and she’d be happy for, like, an hour, and meanwhile Leah would be forcing Kathy to read the same book ten times in a row, and if Kathy tried to change the activity or, God forbid, try to play with Riley for a little while, Leah would let Kathy know in her own special, shrieky way that this was not acceptable parental behavior.

Yep, the daddy/Riley team rocked. I felt bad for Kathy, yes, but – well, ya know – better her than me, right?

Then at some point, I got cocky. I let stupid thoughts enter my mind – thoughts like “Riley is such a good kid because of MY amazing father-skillz”, and “Hey, this parenting thing ain’t so hard”.

So stupid. So very, very stupid.

Yes, somewhere around Christmas time, the karma gods decided that they’d had just about enough of a certain someone’s arrogant thoughts and that it was time for that certain someone's shoe to drop. And drop it did, with a resounding thud. On or about December 23, my little independent, happy-go-lucky daughter Riley suddenly decided that she didn’t want me out of her sight. On or about December 24, she decided that I had to be within a two-foot radius of her at all times. And on or about December 25, she decided that I pretty much had to be either carrying her, holding her hand, or acting as her personal seat cushion at all times, or else she would scream most unpleasantly until I was back in my appointed place.

And naturally, on December 26, we got on a plane for a 5-day vacation in Cancun with my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. This led to the following unhappy scenarios for daddy:

• Kathy pushing Leah and Riley in their double stroller through customs at the Mexico City airport, with me awkwardly shuffling next to the stroller so I could hold Riley’s hand.
• Me taking a constipated Riley back and forth to the bathroom four times to get her diaper changed during one meal because she wouldn’t allow mommy or anyone else to change her diaper.
• Riley crying and heart-wrenchingly screaming “daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy [inhale] daddydaddydaddy” for about 15 minutes every night when we put her to bed.
  

Meanwhile, Leah turned overnight into some kinda ultra-giggly-charm-o-saur 24/7. Okay, I get it, karma gods. I'm sorry! Sheesh.

Sounds bad, I know, but the trip actually turned out pretty great despite sporadic moments of exasperation and exhaustion. Leah pretty much had the time of her life, and I guess Riley did too, when she wasn’t screaming in desperation, that is. They loved swimming in the pool, hanging out on the beach and pouring sand from bucket to bucket, and just hanging out on the hotel balcony:



And then there was the resort’s awesome little “Kids Club”. Ah yes, the Kids Club, home of the gi-normous trampoline. Because if there’s anything my daughters like, it’s running, jumping, and falling down over and over again:

No Fear

Around when our girls turned one, I read this book that gave advice about raising twin toddlers. It scared the living crap out of me. The book was full of stories of the two toddlers conspiring to wreak total havoc around the house - anecdotes about the author taking her eye off the twins for 30 seconds and then turning around to find them climbing on top of refrigerators and kitchen counters and televisions and into the oven and dishwasher and laundry machines. Or sprinting after their kids as they toddled into the street, in two different directions. As I read these stories, I got this pit in my stomach. This was going to be my life, and it kinda sounded like a suck-y life.

So now the girls have been toddlers for a good year or so, and none of this stuff has ever happened. No girls climbing into dangerous locations and giving Dad a heart attack. No interest whatsoever in participating in any death-defying acts of any kind. Riley and Leah would rather pretend-feed their dolls for an hour and a half. On the ground.

Our girls are little scaredy-cats. Excellent. Score one for daddy.

Last week, we brought them to the local crazy Christmas house with the crazy Christmas lights and crazy 50-foot Christmas tree encircled by dolls and model trains and jack-in-the-boxes and shiny ornaments bigger than your head. And the girls were totally entranced and enamored with the lights and the spectacle of it all. Until a joyful Santa Claus came out to hand out candy canes and sit on his little Santa Claus throne. At which point a panicked Leah ran and buried her face in Kathy's thigh. And a wide-eyed Riley froze like a statue with the exception of her slightly-trembling lower lip until I picked her up. And this was with Santa sitting about 10 feet away. So much for the whole sitting-in-Santa's lap thing.

And of course, when it comes to things that they probably should be afraid of, like say drowning, the girls are totally fearless. We've been taking Riley and Leah to the pool for "swimming lessons" for months, and as a result, they are totally comfortable in the water. Which sounds like a good thing, but trust me, "comfortable in the water" is a heckuva long way from "swimming". To Riley and Leah, swimming means flinging yourself into the water, giggling, kicking your legs for about 0.7 seconds, and then sinking like a stone until mom or dad rescue you. Then giggling again. And Riley and Leah don't yet have the common courtesy to give mommy or daddy some kind of warning before they fling themselves to their death or even check to make sure that mommy or daddy is actually watching them.

And now, over Christmas break, we're headed to Cancun with the girls to stay at resort with, like, five different pools. Sounds great, but this means Kathy and I will basically be spending our whole vacation frantically trying to keep our girls from drowning themselves.

Clearly, we need to install a little more healthy fear into these girls. You think we can get the resort to paint a giant Santa Claus on the bottom of their pools? That might work.

Have a great Christmas everyone! Here's a cute picture and video to tide you over until 2011:

Scenes from Twinhood

I gotta say, it's been fun watching the dynamic between Leah and Riley over the past few months. After spending the first few 18 months of their lives viewing each other as "that person who always takes away my toys", they've started actually playing with each other and talking to each other, which has been cool to see. Although there's definitely a love/hate thing going on with those girls.

I present to you now, for your enjoyment, three scenes from this past weekend:

Scene 1: Friday Night
The Scene: Riley and Leah are in the bathtub. Leah stretches her legs across the tub, glancing Riley's arm.
Riley (wagging finger): No, Leah! No kicking!
Riley: [tries to shift away from Leah, glancingly bumps Leah leg in the process]
Leah (wagging finger): No, Riley! No hitting!
Riley (wagging finger): No pushing!
Leah (wagging finger): No kicking!
Riley: No, Leah, no!
Leah: No, Riley! No! No!
[Cut to parents, rubbing their temples. Fade out.]

Scene 2: Saturday Morning
The Scene: We are at a little mini-zoo-slash-museum in Burlingame. Riley and Leah have been ignoring the animals and have instead been giddily splashing in a gigantic puddle for the past 20 minutes.
Riley: Dada!
Riley: [starts walking toward Dada]
Riley: [trips, sprawls face-first into pavement]
Riley: [sits for two seconds in humiliated, hurt, stunned silence]
Riley (at top volume): WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Leah: [runs quickly over to Riley's side, looking concerned]
Leah (to Dada, who's now comforting Riley) Riley crying!
Leah (now grinning and gleefully shoving finger in Riley's wet-pavement-stained face): Riley cryyying!
Leah (now dancing a little jig): Riley cryyyyyyying!
[Freeze frame as Leah gets jiggy wid it.]

Scene 3: Sunday Night
The Scene: Riley and Leah's room. It is about 8:45 pm. Riley and Leah have been lying awake in bed since 7:30.
Riley: Gonk! (giggles)
Leah: Gonk! (giggles)
Riley: Gonk! (giggles)
Leah: Gonk! (giggles)
Riley: Gonk! (giggles)
Leah: Gonk! (giggles)
[both girls giggle some more]
Leah: Riley and Leah!
Riley: And Mama and Dada!
Leah: And Elsa?
Riley: And Maya?
Leah: And Jo-Jo?
Riley: And Poppy?
Leah: And Grandma?
Riley: And A-Pah?
Leah: And Aisha?
Riley: And Hailey?

[9:00 pm]
Leah: And Cammy?
Riley: And Aunti-Lissa?
Leah: And...

[9:15 pm]
Riley: [zzzzz]
Leah: And Pooh...and doggy...and Riley's baby... and Leah's baby... and Riley... and Leah... and...
[Fade to black. Roll credits.]

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Geisha Cannibals

I've never been much into Halloween, but you can trust me when I say that last year's Halloween totally sucked. Last year, Kathy and I were all excited to dress up our little one-year old girls on their first real Halloween. Kathy bought these lion and chicken costumes for them that were a-DOR-able. And then we put them in the costumes and Riley hated her costume with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns. Riley started screaming bloody murder, but we took them out for a tour of the neighborhood Halloween festivities figuring that, hey, she would eventually forget about her costume and turn back into her normal happy self. But no, Riley did not forget, not even after an hour of walking through the crazy Fair Oaks Street parade of Halloween revelry, and at the end of the night, Riley was one pissed-off, over-stimulated mess of humanity. Leah meanwhile spent the entire evening sucking her thumb, staring in wide-eyed confusion at the chaos surrounding her.

So I wasn't really looking forward to this Halloween all that much. Fortunately, this Halloween was a solid improvement over last year's. I still think that our girls spent most of the night confused about what the hell was going on and why the heck all these adults were dressed up so weird, but at least they weren't screaming bloody murder at the same time. Upgrade, I say.

Although when Leah passed by the dude dressed up as a lobster in front of Whole Foods, she totally buried her head into her mommy's shoulder and made whimpery panicky noises until lobster-dude was out of sight. Apparently, our daughter's fine with witches and skeletons and demons and ghosts roaming the streets of Noe Valley but becomes terrified when confronted with a yummy crustacean. Go figure.

Our girls haven't eaten candy yet in their lives, and we weren't about to start them on it now, so really, from their standpoint, what was the point of the whole thing? I mean, honestly, when I was a kid I wouldn't have been too psyched about the whole dressing up thing if the chock-full bag of candy didn't come as part of the deal. Fortunately, Riley and Leah had no idea what they were missing, so they were happy as clams even as all the kids around them were scarfing candy like there was no tomorrow. And then somebody in front of one of the shops gave Riley a purple pencil, and man she just thought that pencil kicked ass. She spent the next hour walking around, happily clutching that purple pencil in her tiny little fist, occasionally holding it a aloft like a magic wand. Good stuff.

And now, the obligatory Halloween aren't-they-cute-costume pictures! Yee-ha!

It's My Birthday Too, Yeah

So, the girls turn two years old this weekend. I think the thing I'm looking forward to most about the girls turning two is that now I can stop keeping track of how many freaking months old they are. I can stop keeping track now, right? I can just say they're two years old - I don't have to remember they're 25 or 28 or 31 months anymore, right? Score!

"Happy Birthday" is one of Riley and Leah's favorite songs, but I don't think they have the slightest idea what it means. It's just another song to them. They'll sing it over and over for no particular reason, just substituting different people, animals, or things, like:

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear blankie,
Happy birthday to you.

This past week's songs included "Happy birthday dear mommy" and "Happy birthday dear daddy", but also "Happy birthday dear sock" and its exciting sequel, 'Happy birthday dear other sock".

The two year old birthday party is also nice because it's probably the last birthday where the girls will have no idea that they're supposed to get gifts. Meaning that we can totally get away with not giving them anything! Yee-ha! Double-score!

Juuuust kidding. Although since our house is already overflowing with toys and books and stuff, we've told people coming to their birthday party not to bring to gifts. Again, that's probably not something we'll be able to get away with at future birthday parties: "Sorry, children! I know that we bring presents for your friends on their birthdays, but for your birthday we just told everybody that you're not interested in material possessions. That's okay, right?"

And of course, there are the perennial twin birthday dilemmas. Do we sing "Happy Birthday" twice, once for each girl, or do we just sing it once? On the one hand, the ol' Twin Handbook says that you're supposed to treat your twins like special, unique individuals rather than like some kinda two-head alien, which means one Happy Birthday song per child. But on the other hand, who the heck wants to sing that song twice? I mean, it's not that interesting a song - you kinda know where it's going after awhile. And also singing it twice means you have to choose which kid gets the first, enthusiastic rendition of the song and which kid gets the second, awkward, slightly hurried version.

And I know it's wrong to worry about this, but I've been to a couple 2-year-old birthdays now where the kids stare blankly at the cake at the end of the birthday song because they don't know that they're expected to actually blow out the candles. Is it wrong that I really, really want the girls to actually blow the candles out at their birthday party this weekend? It wouldn't be wrong for me to start training them this week to recognize the birthday candles, wait for the end of the birthday song, and then blow those candles out, would it? That wouldn't make me a crazy, overdriven parent, would it? Seriously, would it? Because I've got my practice candles ready.

Based on your silence, I take it that you approve. Girls, training starts tomorrow.

Splish Splash, Volume 2

Kathy and I and the girls took a little mini-"vacation" to New York last week to visit family and friends. Aside from the whole New York family and friends thing, I have to say that our days in New York aren't a whole lot different from our days in San Francisco. Wake up, play, eat breakfast, go to museum or zoo or something, get lunch, take nap, go to playground, get dinner, give girls a bath, put girls to sleep, clean up, collapse in front of TV, sleep, repeat. The only real differences between San Francisco and New York are (a) we get to wear shorts in New York, and (b) the playgrounds in New York kick the San Francisco playgrounds' little butts. Oh also, in New York we get 30 HBO channels instead of zero. Oh also, I always seem to eat tons of bacon when I'm in New York. Not sure why.

Anyway, the girls like warm weather and they like kick-ass playgrounds, so they were as happy as little toddler-sized clams pretty much the whole time. If we could just replace the whole 6-hour plane trip thing with some sort of teleportation ray, man, we'd really be in business.

With the warm weather, New York City in the summer really brings out my girls' favorite pastime, which is playing with water. In New York, this seems to be the norm - all the playgrounds have fountains or cool creek-like water features or these collections of stone animals spitting out water, all beckoning the toddlers of New York to frolic about in the water and ruin their nice dry clothes. And frolic Riley and Leah did. And ruin their clothes they did.

Back from New York this past Saturday, we went to a birthday party for a 2-year-old here in San Francisco. We got the girls dressed up in these nice dresses and went to the party, which was a nice, civilized affair held on our friends' beautiful outdoor deck overlooking the City. Riley and Leah asked for cups of water, which we gave to them without thinking much of it. Then they started scooping ice out of the ice chests holding all the beers and sodas and stuff. Then they started scooping water out of the ice chests. Then they started pouring water from one cup to another. Then they started pouring water into other people's cups. Then they started pouring water on themselves. Ten minutes later, every other 2-year old at the party was following Riley and Leah's lead and was scooping water to and fro, here and there and on to themselves and other kids, all much to the amusement and/or shagrin of the other folks at the party. And our girls with their beautiful little party dresses now were all soaked and muddy, like they had just been hit by some gigantic tidal wave at the beach or something.

At that point, we made a quick getaway, with Leah and Riley leaving a bunch of wet but happy toddlers in their wake. As we left, I cursed myself for forgetting to take a picture so that I could have a nice set of "before and after" pictures. Ah well. I guess you can use your imagination.

Instead, some completely unrelated photos from New York! Yee-hah!

Count On It

A few weeks ago, Kathy came home from one of her twin mom group events with a life-changing piece of advice. The big pain in the butt with twin toddlers is that they always both want the same toy at the same exact time and will fight to the death to get it. And since we have learned the hard way that 23-month olds just stare at you blankly with zero comprehension when you suggest "sharing", as a parent you are left with the choice of (a) trying in vain to distract one of the kids with food or something shiny, (b) trying some kind of enforced sharing where you physically pry the toy in question from the clutches of one hysterically-crying twin, or (c) sitting back and watching inevitable toy tug-of-war and placing bets on who's going to win.

My money's always on Leah, by the way. That girl does not let go.

So I guess the twin mommies were commiserating about this difficult little dilemma, and one of the mommies - let's call her "Godsend" - suggested making a little "taking turns" game, where each kid gets to play with the toy for like 10 or 20 or 30 seconds and then hands the toy off to the other kid.

Kathy was telling me about this and right on cue, the girls started fighting over their favorite toy at the time, which was the rocking horse. So we decided, what the heck, let's give it a shot.

Riley was on the horse, so Kathy and I slowly counted from one to ten while she rocked back and forth on the horse. Then we sang out in an jubilant voice "Leah's turn!" Like magic, Riley obediently jumped off the horse and Leah got on. We counted from one to ten again, then sang out "Riley's turn!" Leah giggled, echoed the words "Riley's turn", and then jumped off the horse.

For reasons I do not entirely understand, Leah and Riley frickin' loved this taking turns game. They each would have these huge grins on their face as they gleefully announced the end of their own turn and voluntarily surrendered their treasured toy to their sister. In fact, the girls looked happier when they were surrendering the toy than they did when they were actually playing with the toy. After about five minutes of the game, they started counting to ten on their own and Kathy and I were just sitting back and watching. Oh yeah, that was the other advantage of this game that I forgot to mention. It taught them to count to ten. Within five minutes.

This was a glorious thing. A glorious, glorious thing.

So nowadays, pretty much every time they start to fight over a toy, we tell them to start counting. Here's Exhibit A (apologies if I've already subjected you to this):



Unfortunately, it's now been a few weeks, so the novelty of the game is starting to wear off for the girls, but I'd say the game still works like a charm about 70% of the time. As for the other 30%:

• 10% of the time, Leah says "1" and Riley starts screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" and runs away, taking the toy with her.

• 5% of the time, Leah starts counting but Riley keeps her head down and pretends not hear her, then when Leah gets to ten and tries to grab her toy, Riley reacts with exaggerated shock and outrage like a World Cup soccer player.

• 15% of the time, Leah gets to about "5" and an disgusted Riley chucks the toy at Leah, as if to say, "fine, take your stupid toy, I don't like it anyway."
  

So, okay, it's not perfect. But a 70% reduction in fighting - hey, who wouldn't take that deal? Ms. Godsend, wherever you are - thank you.

Show-Offs

Riley and Leah go to bed at 7:30 pm. Or rather, 7:30 pm is when we place Riley and Leah in their cribs. At 7:30 pm, all signs appear to show that they're ready for some shuteye. Riley's rubbing her eyes. Leah's all mellow and sucking her thumb. We lay them down in their cribs, kiss them goodnight, tuck them in, all that good stuff. And then we leave the room and they're totally quiet for about two to three minutes. To the uninitiated, it seems like they've gone right to sleep.

And then at 7:33 pm, it begins. 7:33 pm is Showtime.

Leah will usually start it off, suddenly singing as loudly as her little lungs will allow:

HEL-LO!!! HEL-LO!!!
HEL-LO AND HOW ARE YOU!!!

And then at this point, Riley will join in, and they will sing in unison.

I'M FINE!!! I'M FINE!!!
AND I HOPE THAT YOU ARE TOO!!!

And then with their opening number complete, they break into enthusiastic applause, with occasional "yays" and "bra-vos" thrown in for good measure.

Their setlist varies from night to night, but typically they follow up their opening song with a song aimed at any potential Spanish speakers in the audience:

(To the approximate tune of Frere Jacques/Are You Sleeping/Where is Thumbkin, also sung at the top of their little toddler lungs)

BUE-NOS DIAS! BUE-NOS DIAS!
COMO ESTAS! COMO ESTAS!
MUY BIEN GRACIAS! MUY BIEN GRACIAS!
Y USTED! Y USTED!

(Enthusiastic yays and bravos)

Riley and Leah then proceed through their entire Greatest Hits Library, which currently includes such classics as "Itsy Bitsy Spider", "Happy Birthday to You", and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", plus occasionally they'll throw in an original song such as "Neeew Diaper!" (which basically consists of them repeating the words "new" and "diaper" over and over and over.

The show usually wraps up around 8:15, but if they're really feeling the vibe, they'll play a couple extra encores and extend their set to about 8:30.

Kathy and I read some of the local Twins Group postings, and apparently this whole routine is pretty common among twins. Bedtime becomes "extended playtime" when your best friend lies just a few feet away, and apparently some parents worry that it might make their kids develop some bad sleep habits. Some parents even go so far as to sit in the room and then lay down the law if they start talking or giggling or singing.

I dunno. I can't say I'm too concerned. Basically, as long as they're not crying or injuring themselves, it's a-okay with me. Maybe I'll take action if the neighbors start complaining or if they start tearing up the room like rock stars. In the meantime, I think I'll just enjoy the show. 'Cause I hear they're taking requests tonight.

Here They Go Again

Naturally, Kathy and I love our daughters to bits, but hanging out with them sure does get repetitive sometimes. I guess routine and repetition are supposed to be good for toddlers and their brain development and all, but after day after day after day of reading the same books and playing with the same toys and going to the same places, you start going a little bonkers. You start making up tiny variations in a feeble attempt to keep your brain cells firing. Like, maybe today, we'll go to the 24th Street playground instead of the 30th Street playground! Wahoo! I'm a rebel! And this time, as I read "Barnyard Dance", I'm going to read with a slightly different intonation than the way I read it a few seconds ago! Wheeeeee!

So when you get to break up the routine by taking a little mini-vacation, well, it's kinda like an oasis in the middle of the desert. Sure, it takes hours and hours of packing and preparation and requires a long drive with cranky carsick babies in the back seat, but heck, at some point, it doesn't matter. You just gotta do it, 'cause otherwise you'll find yourself wanting to gouge your eyes out using that copy of "Barnyard Dance".

Too graphic? I went too far there, huh? Sorry.

So this past weekend, we left our reliable little routines behind and headed out to the mountains with the girls, to a cabin up in Groveland, near Yosemite for three days in the sun. Leah barfed all over our car's backseat twice, I got this weird sunburny-rash on my chest, plus I totally exhausted myself at times trying to entertain our friends' six-year old daughter while keeping Riley and Leah from injuring or drowning themselves. But it was glorious, I tell ya.

Mini-vacation summary:

• Riley likes being in the water. A whole lot. Too much for her parents' comfort, actually, given that she can't swim but apparently doesn't know that yet.
  

• When walking around, if Leah and Riley have the choice of holding hands with mommy or daddy or our 6-year-old friend Hailey, mommy and daddy don't stand a chance.

• With all due respect to San Francisco, it sure feels more like summer, when, you know, you get to see the sun.
  

Riley and Leah liked splashing in the water and playing with their sand toys and picking questionable-looking things up off the ground on a hiking trail by Hetch Hetchy, but their favorite activity of the weekend was probably when they discovered this random little hill at the marina and then proceeded to walk up it, then run down it, over and over and over. And over. About 40 times I'd say, each time making the same "whoa-oa-oa-oa" sound as they ran down with their cheeks jiggling with each step and their eyes wide with excitement. And I know I just finished complaining about how repetitive it is watching the girls do the same things over and over again, but ya know what, sometimes repetition can be kinda cute.

Balancing the Scales

I know it's a big parenting no-no to say this, because you aren't supposed to compare your kids against each other, but, right now, Riley is way more "impressive" than Leah. Am I going to parent hell for saying that? I am, aren't I?

It's not just me saying that though. When friends come over or when we go over to a friend's house, Leah leaves a decent enough impression, but Riley is usually the one who really turns on the charm. She smiles coquettishly. She flirts. She sings songs. She counts to ten. She remembers people's names. She spins around, giggling, until she falls down. I know I'm biased because I'm her dad and I'm a sucker for all her tricks, but trust me, it's hard to resist.

Meanwhile, Leah sucks her thumb or whines at Kathy to pick her up and/or give her food and/or read her a story. Sure, she can do some of the things that Riley can do, but she sure ain't gonna do it on demand, and she sure as heck ain't gonna do it in front of these perfect strangers staring at her. Who do we think she is, some kinda trained monkey?

And Riley's way ahead right now on the talking. Actually, come to think of it, Leah's ahead on the "talking" but behind on the "talking so people can understand what she's saying". Leah right now talks as if a bee stung her tongue or something and it's too big for her mouth. Riley, on the other hand, can generally repeat things right back to you. For example:

Me: Mmmm! Guacamole!
Riley: Mmmm! Guacamoyee!
Leah: Mmmm! Ca-ca-me!

So anyway, the people visiting or being visited will at some point say something like "Wow, Riley's great!" or "Wow, Riley's advanced!" Then comes a pause, while the person scrambles to figure out a suitable compliment for Leah. AWK-ward!

It's a kinda Catch-22 we're running into with having twins, where whenever you praise one of them for some new accomplishment, you feel guilty about not praising the other one, or you worry about the other one feeling left out. You hug one of them and you have to glance over at the other one to make sure they're not getting jealous.

Well, Riley's been getting heaps of praise lately, and we mustn't let it go to her head, so the rest of this post is hereby dedicated to Leah. Leah, you rock! Here are three great things about Leah:

1. She has this infectious way of displaying excitement, where she squeals, grins ear to ear, and kinda vibrates with joyous energy.
2. She's incredibly sweet when Riley's sad or not feeling well. She gets this concerned furrow in her brow and suddenly starts offering her all her toys one by one.
   
3. Best. Smile. Ever.

Duck Season

The tough part about the girls right now is that they can be so dang possessive. I guess that's supposed to be normal for toddlers to define the entire world in terms of the two categories "mine" and "not mine". But having a twin sister changes things a bit -- with Riley and Leah, there is this extra category thrown into the mix called "hers". And lately, the girls have been getting more and more aware of Category #3.

Like -- first thing in the morning, we take the girls out of their cribs, and Leah will usually walk over to the chair where we've laid out the clothes for the day.

She'll grab a pair of socks. "Leah's socks!" she'll exclaim, holding the socks out for all to observe. Actually, Leah's got a bit of a Daffy Duck lisp these days, so it sounds more like "Leah'thth thockthth!"

Then she'll point to the other pair of socks sitting on the chair. "Riley'th thockth."

Then she'll pick up a shirt. "Leah'th Shut!" she'll exclaim, triumphantly holding the shirt over her head.

Then she'll point to the other shirt sitting on the chair. "Riley'th shut," she'll say parenthetically.

And so on, throughout the day. Leah'th book! (Riley'th book.) Leah'th ball! (Riley'th ball). Good thing we usually have at least two of all the toddler-coveted things in our house, or all hell would be breaking loose.

Luckily, Leah and Riley are learning to share. Kinda. Okay, it's not exactly sharing - more like "taking turns". Actually, it's more like "trading". "Trading" is still sharing, right?

Here's how it goes down.

1. Leah has a doll and Riley has a doll.
2. Leah decides she is dissatisfied with her doll and she wants Riley's (identical) doll.
3. Leah points to Riley's doll, and says "Leah'th!"
4. Riley stares at Leah, stone-faced.
5. Leah tries to grab Riley's doll, and says "Leah'th baby!"
6. Riley stares at Leah, stone-faced.
7. Leah starts pointing and chanting "Leah'th" with increasing urgency and with increasing protrusion of lower lip.
8. After about fifteen seconds of chanting, Riley gives up and hands Leah her doll, simultaneously grabbing the doll formerly known as Leah's doll.
   
9. Leah smiles and runs away excitedly. Riley gives me a look that basically says "Ya see what I gotta put up with?"
   
10. The end.

Now, picture this happening about twelve times a day but replace the word "doll" above with "book" or "ball" or "toy", or, a few minutes ago, (yuck) "toothbrush". That's basically what our life is right now.

Could be worse, I guess.

For Your Entertainment

So the girls just turned 21 months old. I know the karma gods are probably going to smite me for saying this, but dang, they sure are fun right now. I mean, no offense, Leah and Riley, but you used to be pretty frickin' boring. You'd make a funny face once in awhile when you were pooping or something, but otherwise your entertainment value was pretty low. I mean, that's okay, you were concentrating on important stuff like eating and growing and barfing and drooling, but man, watching you used to be a pretty mind-numbing experience.

But the girls have been talking up a storm lately, and as a result the girls are oh-so-much more fun to watch. I mean, it's like every day is an episode of "Full House", with our very own twins saying cute things instead of the Olsen Twins! Um, except, ya know, funny:

[Open Scene]

[Leah and Riley are playing in the kitchen.]

[Leah suddenly stops playing, freezing completely in her tracks.]

Leah (eyes bulging): [grunts]

[pause]

[Leah starts playing again.]

[Riley pauses. She sniffs the air tentatively.]

Riley (frowning and fleeing the room): Stinky!

[Freeze frame on Leah's sheepish grin. Cue audience laughter. Cue wacky sitcom music.]

[End Scene]

Oh c'mon, that's comedy gold right there! No? Hm. Maybe you had to be there.

And then there are the songs. Leah and Riley are big into singing right now, and hearing their songs is one of those things that melts a parent's heart into a mushy pulp. Although musically speaking, it's pretty awful stuff - their 21-month old voices are all out of tune and their songs speed up and slow down with no attention paid to normal musical conventions like time signature and rhythm! And their enunciation! Awful!

Here's my transcription of their recent rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star":

Tway-koh, Tway-koh, Luhd-uh-Stah!
How-why wunna wachoo ah!
Uppa Budda Wuh Ssss Hiyyyyyyy
Ike a Dime-Un In a Skyyyyyyyy
Tway-koh, Luh-Stah-Wunna-Whutchu-Ahhhhh!

It's got a Michael Stipe quality to it, actually. I've tried to capture this on film a few times, because it's pretty freaking awesome, but they never do it quite when I want them to do it. Here's the best we've captured so far, courtesy of Riley:



Needs some work, but hey, we'll let it slide for now.

Out of Time

At our last pediatrician appointment a couple months ago, the doctor mentioned that our girls are now apparently at the age where we're supposed to start introducing the "Time Out" when our girls misbehave. I guess they're finally old enough to understand things like "rules" and "boundaries" and "not biting your twin sister's face". It didn't seem like a particularly big deal to me at the time. I mean, the "Time Out" seems pretty simple in concept. Your kid does something bad, you put them in the corner and make them stare at the wall for a minute or two. What could be simpler than that?

Concept - simple. Implementation -- not so much. For starters, Kathy and I had a heckuva time identifying an appropriate Time Out "corner". Our house has no spare corners - all our corners are filled with various toddler-related paraphernalia. Seriously, these girls have completely taken over our whole frickin' house. Anyway, after Kathy and I designed a little makeshift "corner" in our hallway and tried to put Operation Time Out into effect, we ran into a bigger problem, which I'm thinking must be pretty unique to twins. Here's how it all goes down:

• Riley tries to bite Leah. Parents firmly say "No biting!" in unison and then sit Riley down on a stool in Time Out Corner.
• Riley screams and squirms and struggles to get out of Time Out Corner. Parents struggle to keep a violently-flailing Riley in her stool.
• Leah watches with curiosity for a few seconds. After about ten seconds, Leah decides that she misses Riley's company and that Time Out Corner looks like a fun little destination. She springs into action.
• Leah grabs a stool and carries it over to Time Out Corner. She sits down on the stool with a proud grin on her face. She is very pleased with herself. She giggles.
• With her parents being momentarily distracted, Riley escapes Time Out Corner but trips over a toy while making her escape and falls, face-planting into the ground in a quite-spectacular fashion. She cries hysterically. Parents puzzle over the question of what you're supposed to do when the child injures him/herself during a "Time Out". First instinct is to comfort the child, but doesn't that violate the whole concept behind the "Time Out"? Dang, need to consult our Time Out handbook - where'd we put that thing?
• Meanwhile, Leah sits in Time Out Corner, sucking her thumb, staring at the wall.
  

So, to summarize: Riley tries to bite Leah, and 90 seconds later, we are comforting Riley while Leah takes a Time Out. I'm not 100% sure, but I don't think that's the way it's generally supposed to work.

Our girls are usually pretty well-behaved, so we've only had to resort to the Time Out about three times in the past couple months. Which is good, 'cause Kathy and I sure do suck at this discipline thing.

Guppy Guppy

Once in a blue moon, Kathy and I have a day where everything just falls perfectly into place, and the whole parent-of-twins thing seems so easy, and we think to ourselves "hey, we're getting good at this!" Last Friday was one of those fall-perfectly-into-place days. We were in Monterey for a little long weekend getaway, and the girls were totally and completely enamored at the change in scenery. Everything was magical and wondrous to them:

Would you look at this remote control! Look how colorful the buttons are on this thing! And they light up when you press them! This remote is the best thing ever! And have you seen this doorknob! It's not round, it's a lever thingy! This makes the door oh so much easier to open! And now we're walking into the elevator, and jeepers, this elevator thing is all glittery and hey, it's got windows! An elevator with windows - what will they think of next! And now we're going to eat breakfast - holy bejeezus! There must be, like, fifty pancakes just sitting there waiting to be taken and eaten! This place is fantastic!

And then we went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. They stared at fishes and penguins, played on the rocking-sea-horses, splashed around in the little splashy-exhibits, and basically had the time of their lives. They stayed happy there for three entire hours, and we managed to leave right at the moment where they were just starting to get cranky. Then they napped for two and a half hours in their little hotel cribs while Kathy and I watched TNT in the hotel room. The girls woke up from their nap kinda grumpy, but Kathy and I expertly handled it by rushing us all off to the hotel's indoor swimming pool, where they had a great time splashing around and squealing at the top of their lungs. And then we went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant on Cannery Row, where the girls took turns feeding each other tortilla chips while Kathy and I gorged ourselves on enchiladas, complete with a bayside view of a sea lion sunning itself on a rock.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the beach, and the girls had a great time just sifting through the sand and picking up rocks and sticks and handing them to each other, while Kathy and I sat there watching the girls and conversing. With each other! Like adults! And then we came back to the hotel, gave the girls a bath, and watched them play in the hotel room. And they played nicely together, handing each other toys and books and taking turns saying the word "guppy" and giggling. Then we said good night and put them to bed. To top off the evening, Kathy and I watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean from our hotel room and then watched a crappy romantic comedy on Pay-Per-View.

Maybe this doesn't sound all that great or exciting to the non-parents reading this, but to us it pretty much seemed like the best day imaginable. Um, I guess, other than the fact that I wish we had seen a movie other than "Valentine's Day". But for that one day, every parental trick worked, every potential tantrum was averted -- we almost started to wonder if this day marked a new era where everything started becoming easy.

Ah, foolish parents. Foolish, foolish parents.

As you would probably expect, the rest of the weekend didn't quite live up to that one glorious day. The other days of the trip had nice moments but also some epic meltdowns. Sure, the other days were fun, but they were not by any means "easy". Or in other words, they were your typical days in the lives of the parents of toddlers. Alas.

Still, a pretty darn successful trip! For the record, here's some photographic and video evidence:

Shoes for All

So Leah and Riley have once again done their little "Survivor" trick and switched alliances on us. Yep, Leah, after being on "Team Mama" for the past ten months, woke up one day this week and decided she's on "Team Dada". And basically on the same day, Riley decided that Daddy is old news and jumped on the Mommy bandwagon. So now for the next ten months, I guess, it'll be Leah following me around the house like a loyal puppy dog and it'll be Riley screaming "nooooo- Mama!" when I try to pick her up. So long, Riley - it's been nice. Look forward to hanging out again with you in, um, March 2011.

I have to say though that Leah's going through a really nice phase right now. Up until recently, Leah was a collector. She would find a box or a bag or miscellaneous receptacle and then stuff toys or books or anything else she could find into it until it was full. We thought this was all very cute at first, but we soon discovered that (1) it wasn't very fun to fish toys and books out of the recycle bin and diaper trash can, and (2) Leah wasn't very nice about letting Riley have access to the toys from her "archives". Collecting is a good hobby when you're an adult, I guess, but when you have a twin sister who's supposed to share all your toys, collecting can lead to a lot of conflict. I mean, collecting is kinda the opposite of sharing, if you think about it.

But over the past couple weeks, Leah has made a miraculous transformation from "collector" to "distributor". She's a regular Robin Hood, I tell ya. Here's her morning ritual for the past week or so:

• First thing after having her diaper changed and getting dressed, Leah runs into the living room, picks up a cup of milk, runs to wherever Riley is, smiles sweetly, and then shoves the cup of milk in Riley's face, triumphantly shouts "Mok!" and then runs off again.
• After sipping from her own cup of milk for a minute or two, she runs into our bedroom.
• 30 seconds later, she comes running out of the bedroom carrying Kathy's shoes. She drops them at Kathy's feet and gleefully exclaims "Mama-shoo!" She then runs away, back into our bedroom.
• 30 seconds later, she comes running out of the bedroom holding my sneakers. She drops them at my feet and exclaims "Dada-shoo!" She then looks up at me expectantly, waiting.
• I say something to Leah like "Thank you for the shoes, Leah!"
• Leah points at the shoes again and look up again at me expectantly.
• I say something to Leah like "Dada doesn't want to put on the shoes right now, Leah."
• Leah points at the shoes again. "Dada-shoo!" she says, with a touch of sadness.
• I say something to Leah like "Dada needs to go to work soon, he doesn't want to put on his sneakers."
• Leah looks up at me again with crestfallen eyes. "Shoo?" she murmurs softly.
• It's too much. I put on the sneakers. Leah giggles. She is pleased.
• Leah walks over to Kathy and looks at her expectantly...
  

And so on.

I know I should probably be taking a harder line and just firmly tell Leah that I will not be putting on my shoes, but it seems wrong somehow to discourage this newfound generous spirit. Especially now that she's part of my alliance and all.