Leah vs. Riley

According to all the books, one of the things you're supposed to avoid when raising twins is comparing them to each other. Comparing twins to each other creates competition between the twins, and competition is baaaaad. Because competition breeds resentment, and anger, and animosity, and anguish, and all those other "a" words that you're not supposed to subject your children to.

So, sure -- don't compare your twins to each other. Makes total sense. Except for the fact that one day the twins are actually born and you realize that pretty much all you do is compare the twins to each other. All day, every day. You can't help yourself. They're sitting there, right next to each other - how can you not compare them? That's just human nature, right? You put two things next to each other in front of us, dammit, we're gonna compare them - it's what we do. Even back in preschool, we were comparing -- comparing squares to circles, comparing Goofus to Galant, comparing Ernie to Bert, comparing, um, Jan to Marcia.

Come to think of it, about 95 percent of this blog is me comparing the twins to each other. Oops - Twin parenting FAIL.

As a parent, I just can't help noticing that Leah's a better eater, and Riley's better at moving around, and Leah sleeps better, and Riley cries less, and Leah smiles more, and Riley poops more easily, and on and on and on. If I didn't notice, that would just mean I'm not paying any attention. I guess Kathy and I could try to avoid comparing Leah and Riley, but I'm pretty sure we'd have to stop talking altogether. Or talk only about Michael Jackson and Jon and Kate Gosselin and American Idol, I guess.

Since it seems impossible to avoid comparing them and inciting unhealthy sibling rivalry, I've decided I might as well embrace the competition. I say compete, compete, compete, children! First one walking gets daddy's love!

Okay, maybe not. But is fun to devise little mini-competitions and see who comes out ahead. Both girls started "cruising" this past week (or, for the non-parents out there, "walking while holding on to the couch"), and they're both starting to build up some confidence with it, so this weekend I thought it would be cool to start Leah on one end of the couch and Riley on the other end of the couch, then put one of their favorite toys in the middle of the couch (otherwise known as "the TV remote"), and watch them each scramble to be the first to grab the toy.

As we began the first official Leah/Riley Race, both girls took off pretty quickly toward the center of the couch. Leah, in particular, took off like a shot. It was at this point that I realized that I hadn't thought through this race thing very well and that the girls were probably gonna just crash head-on into each other and that Leah was going to trample poor Riley and anything else that stood in the way of her precious remote control. Fortunately for us, Riley's an easily distracted girl. On the way to the remote control, she noticed a burp cloth lying on the floor and turned to stare at it for awhile. Then she kinda forgot what she was doing, so she started just bouncing in place and shouting "Eh! Eh! Eh!" Then she started staring out the window at a parked car. Meanwhile, Leah stood there triumphantly with her spiffy new remote control.

I guess we'll let Riley live in her non-competitive dream world for just a little bit longer. But next weekend, it's Leah vs. Riley, Round 2: This Time It's Personal.

They Pity the Fool

One weird thing that I’ve noticed since we had the twins is that people around the neighborhood suddenly know who we are. We are “the couple with the twins”. Or since our neighborhood seems to be sprouting twins everywhere like weeds, we are now “the interracial couple with the twins”, or maybe “the interracial couple with the twins where one of them has disproportionately large cheeks”. The twins are sorta like an unusual tattoo or birthmark or a mohawk or something, an easily distinguishable characteristic of ours that makes us easy to remember later.

Yes. Apparently I’m comparing my daughters, the loves of my life, to a hairstyle worn by 1980’s icon, Mr. T. Sorry, girls. Go with me on this.

Anyway, I sometimes find it a little unnerving that people know who I am when I have no clue who the heck they are. We take the girls to the park and I get all these looks of recognition from people, and I think – Uh oh, should I know these people? Have I met them and forgotten their names? Or are they just staring because they're watching the most breathtakingly beautiful babies in the world? (Does that make up for the Mr. T comparison, girls?)

I’m pretty bad with names and faces on adults, so I’m pretty much hopeless matching baby faces and names. When I see a baby in the park that I’ve met before, I usually don’t remember their name, but sometimes I'll remember some factoid about them, like – there’s that genius baby who learned to walk when he was like 8 months old, or there’s that baby that Riley has a baby-crush on, or there’s that baby who got body-slammed by that other baby in the park. These labels are helpful because later I can ask Kathy “who is that baby that got body-slammed again?" and she can tell me “it’s Mr. Peepers”, and I can go, oh yeah, of course, I knew that.

So as a public service for people who know Leah and Riley but have trouble connecting the name to the baby, here are some helpful labels:

Leah:
"The baby whose cheeks are way too big for her face."
"The baby who claps all the time."
"The baby who grunts really loud for five minutes when she poops."

Riley:
"The baby who splashes around like a maniac when she is exposed to water."
"The baby who bounces. Constantly."
"The baby who looks calm and benign but will bite or knock over other babies if they dare threaten her toys."

Mr. Peepers:
"The fictional name I made for a certain baby I know because I'm not sure if his parents read this blog and/or would be okay with me using their son as an example."

Mr. T:
"The coolest guy ever."

Um, I could go on here, but I'd better put this blog post out of its misery.

Twin Language

One of the things that always sounded cool to me about being a twin was the whole “twin language” thing. I think I first heard about it when I was a little kid on some science-y show like “3-2-1 Contact” or “Mr. Wizard” or something. It just seemed so freaking cool, the idea that some twin babies invent their own language that nobody but they can understand. I would imagine ways that my non-existent twin sibling and I could use our twin language to conspire against our parents or our teachers or our enemies. It all seemed pretty high on the stuff-that-would-be-cool scale, right up there with “being able to read people’s minds” or “being invisible” or "having the car from Knight Rider".

When I learned we were having twins, the idea of our girls speaking some secret twin language suddenly didn't seem quite so cool. Because if my girls are going be talking, I want to know what the heck they're saying. I want to hear them say "Hi Daddy!", not "Blork Bleep Blorp!" And I definitely don't want Leah and Riley conspiring against Bleep Blorp behind his back. That would suck.

Well, as of right now, if Leah and Riley have a secret twin language, it certainly is an odd one. Here's one fairly typical exchange that they had this morning.

Leah [sticking her tongue out at Riley and spitting]: Pbththththth!
Riley: Hee hee! [spitting back at Leah] Pbthththththth!
Leah: Hee hee! Pbthththththth!
Riley: Hee hee! Pbthth!

Yep, whatever this "pbthth" is, it seems to be the main topic of most of Leah and Riley's conversations. When Leah and Riley are talking to themselves, they're very expressive, using different intonations, making expressive hand gestures, making up these long multi-syllable words like "bazeebaguy" -- but when they're talking to each other, it seems to be all about the "pbthth".

So maybe twin language is some urban myth perpetuated by "3-2-1 Contact". Or maybe it's too early and twin language doesn't really develop until later in life. Or maybe Leah and Riley just happen to be one of those sets of twin sisters who won't need to have their own language. Either way, I guess it'll be okay with Bleep Blorp.

Fight the Power

I’m going to admit to something here that’s probably a big parenting “no-no”, but boy, it sure is fun watching Leah and Riley fight. Aren’t parents supposed to hate it when their children fight? I’m pretty sure that my parents didn’t burst out laughing whenever I used to fight with my brother. And I’m almost positive they didn’t cheer or yell out things like “OH! SNAP! You go, Riley! Leah, you got SERVED!"

(Okay, so we don’t actually say “SNAP”. Was that even proper usage of “SNAP”? Where’s my urban dictionary?)

The twins’ fighting is a pretty recent phenomenon. Up until a month or two ago, Leah would just snatch toys out of Riley’s hands over and over and over, and Riley would generally act kinda bummed about it, but would never fight back or try to snatch her toy back. I have to say, this had us a little worried. I envisioned a long and painful adolescence for Riley, with bullies constantly taking her milk money or hanging her inside her locker or whatever it is that real bullies that aren’t in ‘80s teen movies actually do. I also envisioned Leah turning into this Biff-in-Back-to-the-Future-like bully, feeling like she could just get everything she wanted in life by just being a brute and grabbing it.

But just like Marty McFly eventually worked up the courage to punch Biff at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance, one day, Riley decided that she had endured this bullying for long enough. Here's the play-by-play on how it went down:

• Leah grabs a toy from Riley.
• Riley grabs the toy back.
• Leah grabs the toy back.
• Riley grabs the toy back.
• Leah tries to grab the toy from Riley but after ten seconds of pulling is unable to free it from Riley's vice-like clutches.
• Leah starts crying.
• Riley grins.

As Leah sat there crying, Kathy and I cheered. I know this probably makes us sound like horrible parents, but trust me, after months of watching Leah bully Riley around, you would've cheered too.

Since that day, Riley has become more and more assertive, to the point where Riley's almost becoming the bully and Leah is becoming the bullied. Now, Leah and Riley seem to fight at least once a day, and, while Leah's still trying to show Riley her proper place, Riley always seems to hold her own. And then last week at the playground, our nanny tells us that some 2-year old boy grabbed one of Riley's toys and Riley responded by knocking this 2-year-old down to ground and grabbing her toy back. And then, while the boy lay on the ground crying, Riley grinned.

Oh snap.

...And the Fusilli's Not Bad Either

For a long time, Kathy and I were totally afraid to go out to a restaurant with the girls. Our early attempts to eat out with them didn't work out so hot. But in a valiant attempt to keep from being confined to our house for the next five years, we started forcing ourselves to go out to a restaurant at least once a week, just to get the girls used to being somewhere other than our house and the playground.

It's actually been surprisingly painless. I've learned that the secret to enjoying eating out with your twin infants is to come to terms with a few basic things:

1. Mommy and daddy do not get to savor their food. Mommy and daddy's dinner experience will consist of shoveling food into their mouths as fast as their throat and esophagus will allow.


2. The babies are going to make a total and complete mess. At the end of the meal, there will be bits of food in places around the restaurant that you would think would be physically impossible for the babies to reach. But, oh yes, they will reach them.


3. Approximately 238 times during the meal, mommy or daddy will have to stop whatever they're doing and pick up the toy that their daughter just threw to the ground.

Still, once you've adjusted your expectations a little, a meal out with the girls can actually be quite enjoyable.

On the way back from our "bacation" a couple weeks ago, we randomly stopped for lunch at this chain pasta restaurant in Pleasanton called Fuzio. As we stepped into the air-conditioned confines of Fuzio, the girls, who had been tired and hot and bored from being in the car for two hours suddenly came alive and lit up with joy and excitement. They looked around in awe at all the activity and food and waitresses and they were just enraptured by the whole thing. Our daughters fell in love with our waitress and would watch with big excited smiles on their faces as she walked around the restaurant, brought drinks to people, took orders, and typed in orders on that computer terminal thing. Our waitress, in turn, completely fell in love with the girls, making googly eyes at them and stopping by our table at every possible opportunity. (Would I like a fifth refill on my Diet Coke? Why, yes! Don't mind if I do! Thank you so much!)

The whole thing went so swimmingly that when we were coming back from our second bacation this past weekend (Yosemite), we made it a special point to once again stop at good ol Fuzio, even though it would've been far more convenient to have lunch somewhere earlier on the trip. Once again, it was like Disneyland to the girls. These girls who had been so cranky just a couple hours before once again turned into these smiling bundles bursting with joy. And when I say bursting with joy, I mean that they literally could not contain themselves. Their little bodies vibrated with excitement, their arms pinwheeled and flapped about exuberantly, their skin actually appeared to light up with the warm glow of happiness. We were seated at the same exact table, and were waited on by the same waitress. Again she came by about every ninety seconds to remind the girls of how adorable they were, and again the girls were totally enraptured, and again I got enough refills on my Diet Coke to make my bladder regret it in the car about 45 minutes later.

When the waitress brought our check, she complimented Kathy and me by telling us what a "great team" we were. Which was just the icing on the already delicious cake. A note to any waitresses reading this blog -- if you ever want to secure yourself a humungous tip, complimenting the dad's fathering skills in front of the mom is not a bad way to go.

A couple pictures from our little Yosemite hike, which Leah enjoyed a little more than Riley:

Baby Sudoku

Leah and Riley turned 10 months old this week, and I think they’re already reaching the point in their lives where they think their parents are complete idiots. Back in the old days (with the “old days” meaning, like, six months ago), it used to be so easy to figure out what the girls wanted. When they cried, we knew that they either wanted: (a) milk, (b) a diaper change, (c) a nap, or (d) to release some gaseous emissions. Oh, and there was possibility that (e) they wanted you to stop playing with your freaking Ipod Touch and pay attention to them. If we were watching the signs, it was usually pretty easy to figure out which remedy was going to work. For example, crying plus eye-rubbing equals (c): nap time. Crying plus stinky smell in the air means (b): time to change that diaper. And so on.

The problem is that now we’re at a stage where if Leah and Riley want something, there are so many things that they MIGHT be asking for, and not enough ways for them to signal for exactly what they want. Right now, the thing that Riley’s doing all the time is looking urgently into my eyes, grabbing my forearm, and saying “meh!” I have not yet figured out what the heck this is supposed to mean. The first time Riley did this, I thought she wanted to use my arm to pull herself to a standing position. So of course, I held my arm rigid so she could stand up, but this is not what she wanted at all. Riley just looked at me impatiently again, gripped my arm again and said “MEH!” Then I guessed that she wanted to be picked up, so I picked her up. Riley then made a deeply frustrated groan as if she just got off the phone with a clueless customer service agent, then squeezed my forearm and shook it around and said “MEEEEEEEHHHHH!” If there was a cartoon thought bubble over her head, it would've said "You, sir, are an idiot. Can I speak to your supervisor?" (And we all know who daddy's supervisor is.)

We've had similar issues with Leah, except I'm starting to realize that Leah pretty much just wants to "walk" 24 hours a day. So squeezing daddy's arm and saying "meh!" means "I want to walk". Waving her arms up and down like she's trying to fly means "I want to walk". Heck, you can safely assume that even the stinky gaseous emissions means "I want to walk". Girl likes to walk. But once in awhile, Leah doesn't want to walk and she gives us some weird coded signal and waits impatiently as mommy and daddy try to figure out what the heck it means.

Mommy and daddy are college-educated people with Masters degrees but we have yet to break the baby code. It's like a fricking Sudoku, I tell ya. And not that "Easy" level kind where most of the numbers are already filled in -- I'm talking the hard kind. You know, the kind that frustrates you until you give up and say "meh."