'Tis the Season

2009's been a great year for us and all, but there sure have been a lot of times this year that fall under the heading of "experiences that will probably be a lot more fun for us when our daughters are a bit older". We had their birthdays, then we had Halloween, and now we've got Christmas 2009.

Christmas kinda snuck up on us this year, and last weekend Kathy and I were feeling a little bummed that it didn't feel very Christmas-y this year. Since we're going to be down in LA for the holidays, Kathy and I haven't decorated our house with lights or a tree (or a menorah or a Hanukkah bush). And then there's the fact that with a couple of one-year-olds around, we're not going to get to do a lot of the Christmas-y things that we usually do as a couple, like ice skating in downtown San Francisco or skiing and drinking hot cocoa in Tahoe.

So, last weekend, in a fit of deluded holiday spirit (and desperation for a rainy-day activity), we decided to take the girls to the mall to see all the holiday decorations and maybe even hang out with Santa Claus. But things didn't turn out quite like we hoped. Upon arriving at the packed-to-the-gills Stonestown Mall, we walked over to the majestic Christmas tree in all its lit-up splendor and Santa Claus sitting in front of it on a big golden throne, and we waited to see Leah and Riley's reactions.

Riley's reaction: Stricken by terror and sensory overload, Riley started screaming as if the Christmas tree had just poured acid on her or something. After a few chaotic minutes where we periodically had to bring Riley outside to stare at the shrubberies in the mall parking lot, we eventually succeeded in temporarily calming her down, but it was a very shaky and tenuous peace that was easily shattered by events as innocent as a friendly old lady passing by or a chocolate shop worker trying to smile at her. (Note to friendly old lady and the chocolate shop worker: we hope you were not offended by the fact that your smiling faces made our daughter cry. Please accept our sincere apologies, and, hey, don't take it personally.)

Leah's reaction: Leah did not give a rat's ass about the tree, or the Santa, or the lights, or the decorations, or the elves, or the friendly old lady. I'm not actually sure that Leah ever even looked at the tree. I do know, however, that Leah looked at the floor. The shiny marble floor. Leah fell madly, head over heels in love with that shiny marble floor. She saw this floor and a huge smile spread across her face and her eyes got all big and googley, like a little girl seeing Disneyland for the first time. She would gaze down at the floor, see her reflection, then she would giggle for a few seconds, then look up at Kathy or me with a look that said "did ya see this floor?!", then she would get down on her hands and knees to get a real close look at the floor, giggle again, then look up again at us as if to say, "no really -- did ya SEE this floor?!" This floor may have been the highlight of Leah's Christmas, if not her entire 2009 life experience.

Due to Riley's hysterics, we were quickly forced to abort Mission Christmas, flee the mall, and drive home. And then we got home and it turned out Riley had a 102 degree fever, which at least explained why Riley got so freaked out by her Stonestown Christmas. Santa Claus must've seemed like some kinda weird psychadelic fever dream to poor Riley. Must've felt like when I was once home sick with the flu and decided to watch Pink Floyd's "The Wall". Yikes.

On thaaaaat note, Leah and Riley would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Social Handicap

I'm really bad at focusing on two things at once. Really, really bad. We're talking astronomically bad. I was never one of those people who could do their homework and watch TV at the same time. My brain could focus on doing my homework, or it could focus on watching TV, but if I tried to do both, I would either finish my homework and have no idea what the hell was on TV for the past two hours, or I would watch TV for two hours and then realize I only got halfway through problem #1. It's a blessing and a curse, this whole overly-focused-brain thing. My lovely wife would probably say it's mostly a big ol' curse, especially when her spouse starts writing in a certain blog and suddenly becomes incapable of responding to her voice.

By definition, though, having twins kinda means that you sometimes have to focus on two things at once, with those two "things" being, um, your daughters. If you're reading to one daughter and the other daughter suddenly starts doing something like grabbing a pair of scissors and running with them, you're kinda supposed to notice that sort of thing. It's generally considered bad form if you're so absorbed in entertaining one daughter that you don't notice that your other daughter is about to poke her eye out.

So by nature, my brain ain't very well suited for being a twin parent. But when the potential end result of being Mr. Overly Focused is a daughter with an eye patch, your brain learns to adjust pretty fast, just out of pure necessity. So I've now gotten reasonably good at splitting my focus between Leah and Riley, although I've gotta say, it sure is exhausting if I have to do it for too long at any one time.

When I really get in trouble though is when I have to try to carry on an adult conversation at the same time as I'm watching my daughters, like when I'm at the park or some social event watching over my daughters and somebody tries to engage me in a conversation. When I'm watching my daughters, even the most basic conversational question can become quite the stumper to me.

For example, let's say that I'm playing with my daughters at the local playground sandbox and some mom there asks me a question like "how old are your daughters?"

• There's a 21% chance that I will answer like somebody with half a brain and say "they're about 14 months".
• There's a 34% chance that I will not hear the question because I'm absorbed in trying to make sure that Leah doesn't do something like sit on Riley's head. The mom of course will think I'm ignoring her and that I'm some kind of rude jerk.
  
• There's a 41% chance that I will start to answer "Oh, they're about..." and then I will get distracted by Leah trying to sit on Riley's head, and then I will forget that the question was asked in the first place. This will make the mom think I'm a total moron.
  
• There's a 4% chance that my brain will short-circuit and I will accidentally fall into my baby-talk voice. Something like "how old are my liddle sweety-pies? Oh they're becoming big girls -- yessh they are!"
  

So, in any one conversation with multiple questions, I have a very good chance of coming off as either a jerk, a moron, or in that last case, a condescending ass. Luckily, the highest probability is that I just come out looking like a moron, which I can live with. Spending hour after with a pair of 1-year olds has definitely taken down my IQ by at least a few points I'm sure, so at least it's the most accurate of the possible impressions.

No offense, girls.