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.