Looky, Daddy!

At Least I Got a Copy of the Home Game

Before the twins, I had never won anything in my life.

I'd never had my name drawn at random; never been the seventh caller; never shouted out BINGO! and walked away with a brand-new TV/VCR combo.

I did win second place in a raffle once. The prize was a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax, which I learned, when I went to claim my prize, was exactly zero cans. When I complained, the guy in charge asked me honestly how much Turtle Wax I was planning to use in my lifetime, and I was forced to admit that zero sounded pretty much right on the money.

When the twins were born, my luck changed. The twins were born, you see, on New Year's Day. In fact, they were the first babies born in our town on that day, and, while there was no ticker-tape parade through the town, we did get our picture on the front page of the local paper and a grand announcement that we were the winners of the First Baby (in our case, babies) of the New Year contest. Accompanying our article was a moderately long list of all of the prizes that would soon be showered upon us.

Not that we cared, mind you. We were hurting. I would not be lying if I told you, Gentle Reader, that those first few months home with the twins (and Kathryn, who was four at the time) were some of the darkest times I have ever experienced. Three months earlier we had uprooted our family from our home in Austin and moved into a small duplex in New Jersey, not knowing a single soul in, and I am NOT exaggerating here, the entire tri-state area.

Our nearest family was 1500 miles away.

We were in a bad place.

We would have been equally happy if, instead of showering us with gifts, the newspaper photographer had watched the girls for a few minutes so that we could shower ourselves with water.

But the photographer did not bring the gifts. Nor did she give us a moment to freshen up before snapping the pictures. No, The Mom and I will be forever memorialized on the front page of that newspaper looking like a pair of lab animals who were just one more experiment away from being discarded as useless. The babies, bless them, screamed themselves hoarse through the whole shebang and Kathryn looked like she was seriously considering hiding herself in the photographer's camera bag and making a break for it.

Winning prizes for having babies seems a dubious honor at best. In the past I've always been skeptical about parents who had the first baby of the year, like maybe they had circled March 26th on their calendar with the words "Screw Now for Free Stuff!" or the mother had performed some sort of Herculean feat by either fending off labor until New Year's Day or just pushing really hard once the day arrived. In my mind, I always had the feeling that it was the father who was actually behind the whole thing, coaxing his wife into having the baby at just the right moment. That just seems like such a dad thing to do.

In reality, though, babies are born on New Year's Day just like they are on any other day: there's broken water, contractions, breathing, and 'fuck you's to smart alec husbands who think of really good jokes to tell at really inopportune times.

A month or two went by before either The Mom or I wondered about the prizes. Another month went by before The Mom called about them. The reporter who had written our story (with, I might add, an almost inspired lack of factual information) gave us a phone number for the gatekeeper of the free goodies. He was out when we called and so The Mom left a voice mail.

He never called us back.

And that's where we left it. We were too tired to pursue it further.

Now the babies are about to turn two. On New Year's Day. It won't mean that much to them this year, but soon they will think it is really cool that people around the world go nuts and get all sloppy and smoochy on the exact minute that marks the beginning of their special day.

And so what if we never got any prizes? We didn't really earn them anyway. Still, I wonder sometimes if somewhere there's a little man, sitting at his little desk, with his little red voice-mail light blinking on his little phone, in a little office piled high with dusty two-year-old free baby swag, thinking, "You know, I really need to call that lady back."

If I ever have a free moment, maybe I'll track down his number and call him.

Right after I Turtle Wax my car.

Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I know that you are a busy man.

I know that you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders.

You've got lists to check and presents to deliver.

You've got elves to organize and chimneys to squeeze through.

And I won't even mention the weather.

 

But if you ever come to my house again...

with two presents that are not exactly alike...

I will personally come up to the North Pole and kick your ass.

Happy holidays,

The Dad

Twins, pt. 4

Even more things that should come in twos: Halves of oreo cookies and cheese enchiladas should come in twos. There should be two spoons in a banana split. There should be two jokers and two one-eyed jacks in a deck of cards. Alien movies should come in twos, but not threes or fours and never with Winona Ryder. Winona Ryder should come in twos, but not in Alien movies. Elk antlers should come in twos, but not on the walls of dining establishments. Cups of coffee should come in twos. There should be two wings on every airplane and two ends to every shoelace.

Babies should still not come in twos.

Single White Female

I'm in fear for Lila's life. It was funny at first. In fact, everybody laughed. The twins laughed. I laughed. Other people who heard it laughed.

But only Victoria's laughing now.

Let me backtrack. It is well known that toddlers think that adults are idiots. I ask my little girls what sound a cow makes at least 20 times a day. They always happily answer, but you can kind of see in their eyes a look that says, "You, sir, are a moron." At least that's the look they give me with 99% of the animal sounds I ask them to make. It is only when I ask for a dog sound that the look changes. Then I get total silence and a dammit-the-big-man-is-trickier-than-we-thought look of vacancy and embarrassment. My girls are incapable of making a dog sound.

It's probably my fault. I could never decide if dogs say woof-woof, arf-arf, bow-wow, ruff-ruff, or, my favorite, the Japanese wan-wan. So as a result of being given too many choices, the twins are paralyzed like apoplectic deer in headlights when asked this most common of questions.

But none of this is why I think Lila is in danger. I'm getting to that. Be patient.

Animal sounds are not the only idiotic questions we parents pepper our children with. Far from it. And the latest question in the LookyDaddy household is, "What is your name?"

I place my hand on Lila's head. "What's your name?"

"Lila!"

I place my hand on Victoria's head. "And what's your name?"

"Lila!"

Both twins scamper off, giggling.

It used to be funny. Now only Victoria laughs. "I Lila! Tee hee hee!" And Lila and I look at each other nervously. Lila's not old enough to understand the intracacies of persona mimicry or identity theft, but she does know that there's only one Lila, and she's worried that soon it might not be her.

I live in constant fear that one day, after nap, I'll go in to the twins' room and there will be just one baby.

"Where's Lila?"

"Lila? I Lila! Tee hee hee."

But for now, Victoria is showing no signs of appropriating anything other than the name. Still, I'm keeping my eyes on her. And maybe I'll install a nanny-cam in the nursery. Just in case.

Flying the Friendly Skies

I’m blogging in real time here. We are 30,000 feet above the earth, facing a strong headwind, traveling to Dallas/Fort Worth at eight-tenths of the speed of sound. My whole family is here. The Mom is in the row in front of me squeezed between Kathryn and Victoria while I’m in the middle seat behind her, between Lila and a woman I don’t know.

There is an art to flying with twins; an art you must learn quickly. Our first flight, a little under a year ago at Christmas, was horrific. The second flight, just a week later returning home, was much better. Now, on this flight, we are seasoned pros.

I have learned that it is necessary to dress your little ones in their cutest clothes, and then let them run around in front of the check-in desk before your flight. Tell them to wave at the check-in attendants and even blow kisses if possible. Make them so adorable and irresistible that even the most harassed check-in clerks' hearts will melt, because nothing makes your day go better than when the people in charge like your babies.

I did not know this a year ago. Back then, the babies were crawling, not walking, and The Mom and I set up them up in a defensible and enclosed location far removed from the gate where they could crawl around and get their wiggles out beforehand. The gatekeepers never saw the kids and thus their icy hearts never melted. And when the time came to board, they were ugly. Oh so ugly.

But that is a topic for another post. I think I’ll call it “I Made 145 People Miss Their Connecting Flights and Other Stories of Traveling with Twins”. Come to think of it, that would be an awesome title for a book, wouldn’t it? Okay, nobody steal it—it’s mine.

I have also learned that car seats can only go in an airplane’s window seat. They cannot be placed side-by-side because the FAA says that a car seat in a middle chair will block the window seat passenger’s emergency escape route. It does not matter to the FAA that the window seat passenger is also an 11-month-old whose ability to escape is already blocked by simply being an infant and a car seat or two is not going to change anything.

I have learned that it is better for twins to be one behind the other, not across the isle from each other. That way, when they kick the seat in front of them (and they will kick the seat in front of them), only one of them is kicking a stranger.

I have learned that having a flight attendant who also happens to have twins can be the difference between a bad flight and a flight that is nicer and more relaxing than many spa trips. “More wine, The Dad? You look like you could use it. Courtesy of American Airlines.”

I have learned that pre-boarding a toddler is just plain dumb. In fact, airlines should board everyone else first, make sure that everything is ready to go, get clearance for take-off, and then bring on the babies.

I have learned that nothing can keep a toddler more entertained than a game of "airsickness-bag surprise." This is when you take random toy and place it inside a folded, secured, and above all unused airsickness bag and then let the toddler wrestle with it for a good 20 minutes just to see what's inside. And if toys aren't an exciting enough reward, place a little 'Nilla wafer in there. They'll go nuts.

I have learned that pilots will wait until just after your baby has gone to sleep to announce that you are now flying over Lake Whogivesacrap.

I have learned that babies love turbulence. "More shakey! More shakey!"

And most importantly, I have learned that a little half-teaspoon a half-hour before take-off of Benadryl never hurt anyone.

Twins, pt.3

More things that should come in twos: Bookends and contact lenses should come in twos. Airline tickets to the Bahamas should come in twos. Despite what I believed between the ages of 18 and 23, earrings should come in twos. Monopoly dice, chopsticks, and Noah's ark collectible figurines should come in twos. Olives in a martini should come in twos--and often at that. Extra-strength Advil should most definitely come in twos. And there should always be two straws in a milkshake.

Babies should still not come in twos.

The Wonder of Nature

A baby zebra can pick out its parents from a herd of zebras by sight. At a distance of 200 meters, proud penguin parents can detect their own baby's call from a chorus of seemingly identical baby penguin squawks. Parents of identical twins, babies that share the same DNA and are in every outward sense an exact image of each other, can at a glance tell their children apart. How can these impossible feats happen? It is through the Wonder of Nature.

In our case, the Wonder of Nature is best explained as follows: Babies are incredibly clumsy. From the beginning of life, when a single swipe of a fingernail can leave a tiny mark on a cheek, through toddlerhood, where spills and falls are as plentiful as stale Goldfish crackers on the floor of my minivan, babies are constantly engaged in some sort of self-inflicted body modification. And, while this might elicit sighs and sympathy from most parents, for the parents of identical twins, it is a godsend.

So all this goes to say that, unless Lila also decides to run head-first into the china cabinet, Victoria is going to be easily recognizable for a least a week or so.

Thus is the Wonder of Nature.

Two-year Molar Season Opens Today

Fun Fact #1

Identical twins cut the same teeth on the same day.

Fun Fact #2

A single baby's cry measures 110 decibels.

Fun Fact #3

At 110 decibels, the maximum exposure time is one minute and 29 seconds before hearing loss begins.

Start Saving Now!

While I'm waiting to hear back about the whole "evil twin" proposal, I should be prepared in case it doesn't work out. Sure, raising twins is a daunting prospect, but I feel confident that, with proper medication, I can hold out at least until they get into Pre-K. After that, it's smooth sailing. From age 4 on up, if anything goes wrong, I can blame their teachers.

But what happens after their 12 years of public schooling is over? What about, I shudder to write it, college? While the Lucky Baby Sunshine Happiness Pre-School Co-op down the street has a sibling discount, I have yet to find any major insitution of higher learning that advertises a "Twins Get Half Off Tuition!" special. Considering that this morning alone I spent triple digits just on fleecey, footed pajamas, how on earth am I going to come up with two college tuitions at the same time?

So I have devised a plan. We send both girls to the same university under the same name. The name they choose is up to them, but I think a combination of their two names might work best, like Vila or Lictoria. Okay, maybe not Lictoria, but you get the idea. Anyway, once there, they need to enroll as a double major. One major will be for Lila, one for Victoria. Then they can each attend the classes for their respective major and, presto, 4 years later, they both have a workable college degree. And all for the price of one. Genius.

Now this plan, briliant though it is, is not without its flaws, or 'challenges', as I like to call them. Most important is that, during their college years, the girls can never allow themselves to be seen in the same place at the same time. Happily, this is not my problem, and if the girls don't like it, they can pay for their own blasted education. Also, after graduation, each twin needs to come up with a plausible reason for why, despite her double major, she has a working knowledge of only one field. I can see the job interview now:

"Victoria, thank you for coming in to interview for the proofreader position for the New York Times' travel section. I see on your resume you have a double major in journalism and, um, bio-engineering. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir, but the bio-engineering is just a hobby."

The Evil Twin

I have made a decision. I'm giving one of the twins away. Now before you get all up in arms about this, hear me out.

TV shows, movies, and popular fiction are lousy with stories of an "evil twin": a set of identical twins separated at birth, one raised by the parents in a loving household, the other raised in a somewhat more morally corrupt setting. Wikipedia, the frequently entertaining and sometimes even accurate online encyclopedia, lists over 100 instances of evil twins in popular media. All of this begs the question of how so many evil twins can exist if not for the sacrifices by the parents of identical twins?

So I'm ready to do my part. I'll step up to the plate and send one of my twins away. I've been following the lives of a nasty pack of hyenas on the Animal Channel and feel they'd be great for raising a particularly evil twin. I expect all it will take is a few phone calls to well-placed TV executives and off to the savannahs of Africa a wee one will go.

So for a while, I would expect everything to be fairly quiet around here. I'll keep blogging, you keep reading. And in a few years when this site jumps the shark, we'll bring the little one back and watch the hilarity and hijinks ensue. Till then, keep watching those hyenas on Animal Planet. This kind of thing should send their ratings through the roof.