Picture Perfect ... Well Except for the Whole No-Pants Thing

When the girls were about five months old, I was able to sit them next to each other, be silly enough to get both of them to smile and snap their picture.

Then we hit a stretch starting at about one year until recently that they absolutely 100 percent refused to be in the same picture at the same time. And if you, by chance, were lucky enough to convince them to sit next to each other, you were most certainly not getting both of them to smile. 

Now, when I tell them I'm going to get the camera, I return to them doing some version of this:

P.S. You may wonder why they are pantless. Then again, if are lucky enough to have a two-year-old in your life, you may not. Some days it's just not worth the fight.

A Love Like No Other

I used to steal my sister's clothes. Well, not really steal. Just borrow. She went to school earlier than I did, so I'd wait until she left the house, rummage through her closet and pick out my shirt for the day. Then, when I got home, I'd zip my jacket up to my chin and quickly make my way to the bathroom where I would switch shirts and quietly put hers back in her closet. 

Fool proof plan, I tell ya. Until the day I forgot my jacket. But that's a story for another day. 

My point is that sisterly love is a love unlike any other. A few summers back before my sister and I were married, we watched this movie. Not your typical A-list movie, but still it was charming and heartwarming -- about two sisters who grew old together. We always joked that if things didn't work out with our beaus, we could totally be the lavender ladies. 

And don't even get me started on our little sister. I could go on for days about how much I love her. When she was a baby, I'd sit and hold her for what seemed like hours. I'd tell her my troubles (10-year-olds have a lot of troubles, ya know), sing to her, kiss her beautiful little head, all the while looking forward to the day I could really talk to her. 

Now she's a grown woman and I cherish her all the same. She's a bright spot in my life and I love her to the moon and back. 

Now, I don't want to leave out my brothers -- I love them just as much, but that's a post for another time as well. Brotherly love is full of jokes, sarcasm and what we like to call "stretching." That's where your little brother annoys you so much, that you and your sister each grab an end and try to stretch him. Too bad for him, it didn't work out. He's a touch on the short side. 

ANYWAY. Stop distracting me. 

Back to what I was saying about sisterly love. I try to foster it as much as I can in between the kicks and hits and spits, but some days it feels like an uphill battle. 

Other days, it's almost as if I can see the bonds forming. 

And So It Begins

It happened two days ago. 

And it about knocked the breath out of me. 

Not to be over dramatic. But I'm just not ready. 

Plain and simple. 

At nap time, Claire climbed out of her crib, opened the door to her bedroom and came and found me. On the one hand, I should feel lucky for making it this long. My  16-month-old niece has already made the move to a big girl bed, and I'm sitting here at 2.5 years with kiddos who only recently discovered the freedom that lives about three feet below them. 

But how can it be time already?

In my heart, they are still just itty bitty babies. 

Why is watching your babies grow up so intensely painful sometimes? 

KA-AH!

I don't know what it means, but I know it's bad. 

When someone suggests to Grace that she do something she's not interested in doing, she'll scream "KA-AH!" And she usually follow it with your name. 

"Grace, you need to pick up those oranges you just threw on the floor."

"KA-AH, Mama!"

The tone makes me think she is saying something similar to shut up/screw you/knock it off. Or some combination of all three. 

For a long time we joked that if we knew what she was saying when she put her hand on her hip and yelled something incomprehensible, we'd be washing her mouth out with soap. 

But after hearing her yell KA-AH! to her dad multiple times in one day, I've made a new decision. I may not know what you're saying, little one, but I know that it's unacceptable. The tone, the hip, the lip -- it's all gotta go. 

No one talks to your father like that. 

And I mean, no one. 

Except me, of course.  

Want Me Spit at You?

A few weeks ago, while we were playing at the Sonic play place, we had a run-in with a three-year-old. I won't come out and say she was a bully, but she was totally a bully. 

I was standing off to the side of the slide, watching as Grace and Claire waited for their turn. Normally, I just let them do their own thing, but I wanted to see how they would interact with this very bold three-year-old. They have a tendency to be shy when they first meet people, and usually warm up after awhile, but I could tell from a distance, they weren't used to this kind of kiddo. As they were waiting for the three-year-old to go down, she turned to them:

3-year-old girl: Hi.

Claire & Grace: Silence. 

3-year-old: I saaaaid hi.

Claire: Silence 

Grace: Turns around and high-tails it outta there. 

3-year-old: MOOOOOOM, this girl ain't being nice. 

Claire: Backs down a few stairs, still silent and obviously weighing how much she really wants to slide.

3-year-old: You being rude. Want me spit at you?

I jumped in at that point and assured the little girl that she did not, in fact, want to be spit at, but that she was just shy. After she went on a rant about how "those girls" weren't being nice, she finally took her turn and Claire followed. 

The girl's father came over shortly after. I looped him on the situation, laughing about how funny these things can be and again explained that my kiddos were just shy. He then made some snarky comment "Your kids are two? What, they can't talk or something?"

Every muscle in my body tensed as I felt a mama bear moment coming on. 

The words that came out of my mouth sounded something like "Oh yes, they can talk. It just takes them awhile to warm up." 

The words in my head, however, sounded something like "Want me spit at you?"

A Strong Dose of Mom Guilt

Just look at that attitude. 

Last night, at about 20 minutes before it was time to ship the girls off to bed, I remembered I hadn't given them a bath. If it were any other day, I'd just skip it and chalk it up to a long day. But yesterday they played outside, got sweaty and then sat in a sandbox for a couple of hours. They had sand in places that should never have sand in them. 

They needed a bath. 

So, I summoned every ounce of motivation I could and marched them upstairs. 

It should be noted that at this time of day -- 20 minutes before bedtime -- I'm usually nearing my breaking point. By that point, I have been up for about 18 hours, the girls are getting cranky and fighting with each other and I'm ready to plop on the couch and relax. 

Let it also be noted that by the end of bath time, I'm usually sweating and panting because there are few better workouts than trying to wrangle my two toddlers into getting clean. They are constantly switching spots and splashing and kicking and throwing toys and fighting with every muscle they have to avoid washing their hair. 

So, with that being said, last night, when I was already tired and cranky and they were being less than compliant -- I may have raised my voice to Claire who had for the THIRD time filled up a cup with water and flung it at me while I was rinsing shampoo out of Grace's hair. My shirt was completely drenched. Water was running down my face. Grace was screaming because she was getting splash damage, while also being being tortured by me washing her hair. And I had told Claire not to do it already twice before. 

So, on the third time (when I may have raised my voice), I said: "CLAIRE PARKER! THAT IS ENOUGH! I HAVE ASKED YOU THREE TIMES TO STOP THROWING WATER. STOP DOING IT RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL YANK YOU OUT OF THIS BATHTUB AND MAKE YOU SIT AND WAIT UNTIL GRACE IS DONE!"

She froze.  

And then looked me straight in the eye, cool as a cucumber, and said "Mom, don't yell at me." 

Game. Set. Match. 

A Rare Moment

Yesterday I caught my breath. I had one of those rare moments where I had nothing to do. Work was wrapped, the girls were napping. Scott was busy. I stood in the kitchen looking around for a good 20 seconds thinking what am I going to do? 

So, I did what any rational person would do. I fixed myself a bowl of ice cream and went outside and enjoyed it in quiet, breezy solitude. It was the most delicious bowl of ice cream I've had in a long, long time. 

I sat there, watching the leaves blow and the birds hop from branch to branch, and took a moment to reflect on how great my life is. I get bogged down, as I'm sure everyone does, in the stress of work, piles of laundry, stacks of dishes and screaming, fit-throwing toddlers who "NEED! POP! NOW!"

But in that moment yesterday, I remembered how lucky I am. I have two of the funniest, most beautiful (inside and out) little girls who brighten my day EVERY! SINGLE! DAY! I have a smart, funny husband who stands by my side day in and day out (I mean, we do work together -- where else is he going to stand?) Coworkers who make me laugh, a job that challenges my brain and let's me see my twinkies all day long. Friends and family who are my heart and soul -- who would drop anything to help me, who love me for me and don't care that I haven't showered in … awhile. 

Lucky doesn't even begin to describe it. 

Life in Twinville, May 2012:

Nothing brings sisters together like brushing their teeth. 

Aloha!

Introducing .. Queen Gracie!

 Love. That. Smile.

No nap + too much fun = passed out in Pizza Hut.  

She's Gone Country.

What? You don't scream while brushing your teeth?