Will you have another baby with that?

"Are you going to have more kids?"

I get this question a lot. I don't know why people want to know if we plan on reproducing more offspring. I suspect that it's either out of polite "golly I don't know what else to talk about but since you're a woman in her reproductive years this could be a topic" conversation, or just an odd fascination and curiosity with the whole thing. I'm not sure.

The question comes to me politely enough. Most women (and the occasional man, which is weird in a way) will say, "So. You have twins. How nice! Are you going to have any more?" There is, however rare, the other faction who will phrase it less as a question and more as a statement; nonchalantly and as if it's expected. "You'll be having more children.(?)" This makes me think of the polite hostess leaning over your empty cup, teapot in hand, spout tipped and ready to pour into your cup. "You'll be having more tea?" It isn't really a question, is it? She's there with the pot. Your cup is empty. You'll be having more. They'll see to it.

The response always ready at the tip of tongue is "No". (For those polite "hostesses", I feel inclined to say "No, thank you. I'm good.")

It's not that we don't love being parents; we do. Nor is it that I don't cherish being a mother; I most certainly do. It's just that "Dickinson,Family of Four" has an enchanted ring to it at this stage in our lives. Right now.

I will say that I loved being pregnant. I loved the entire process that carried me from that first pee-stick-positive-test all the way to sleepless nights spent with squalling twinfants. (Even though that pregnancy was fraught with a squajillion complications). I loved that. A lot.

But I'm content right now. Family of Four.

And when people ask me if (or WHEN) more are coming down the pike, I can smile and say "We're happy. This is us right now. It's good."

And it's true.

All good.

Learning new words....

At least we know they're really learning at school:

The four of us were gathered around the table, eating dinner. (It was soup night Chez Dickinson, in case you wondering). "Dinner Conversation" takes on a new meaning with kids. When they're babies, you can say whatever you want and not worry about the uncomprehending faces staring at you; they're more interested in making messes at that stage. But when they get older you develop a code of sorts to skirt around the things that those little pitchers just shouldn't hear. You might spell words, or talk out of the side of your mouth, or perhaps lean in for a whisper. Whatever works for you to get the point across.

Dan was retelling his annoyance at the spell check on his Blackberry. He'd been trying to send out an email to a recipient who was burdened with an exceptionally long name which, somehow, condensed down to the nickname of "Pern".

Dan composed his email and, being that it was a professional email to a fellow businessman, wanted it to be professional. So he spell checked it. That spell check did not like the name "Pern" and it kept insisting that he change it.

Dan looked at me and said, "You can imagine what they wanted me to change it to." "Oh, yeah...sure. Pervert? Perineum?" All annoying titles to a man, I would think. Dan looked at me incredulously. "No. Seriously. You KNOW." There was a push here, I know, but I couldn't get it. "No, Dan. Sorry. I guess not. What was it suggesting you to change it to?" "Manda," he stared at me, "what other words are like p-e-r-n?" My mind simply wasn't working. I drew a blank. "Nope. Sorry. Could you just tell me?"

"P-O-R-N, Amanda. That's what it wanted me to type."

I shrugged. Okay. Porn. Ha-ha. We went on eating dinner.

 Until.

"PORN!!" Caedance had been working on that spelled out word very carefully. And she finally got it. And she liked it. A lot. "PORN PORN PORN PORN!!" (Apparently Porn is a funny word to say at the dinner table in front of your parents and twin). She began laughing hysterically and Ashlyn joined in. Both of them were laughing and yelling out their newly learned word with enthusiasm.

Oh dear.

How to get them to stop this without drawing attention to the fact that it's not really okay to go around shouting out Porn? As soon as they know it's a "bad word" it will be on their go-to list, of course. Think. Think. Think.

Problem was, it was funny to us too, I'm ashamed to say. Quite. Dan and I had our heads buried in our arms, trying to control the laughter as we admonished our children that Porn was a grown up word for grown ups to use only. Needless to say, our laughter did not help, so it took some time to get everyone back on track.

But we did.

The conversation was left with Ashlyn saying this, "Okay mommy. Porn is a grown up word only for grown ups to say. When we're grown up, we can use porn too." (gulp).

Oh dear.

We'll be revisiting this subject again at a later date.

(And, just so you know, when I spell checked this very blog, "Pern" was not ignored. The suggested changes were: Peen, Pren, Pen Peron, and Perm. No porn here. So Dan's blackberry just has a dirty mind, I guess. 

Baby it's cold out there.

It's freezing in the house today. It seems that the frigid air of the outside has seeped into every crevice (no matter how well sealed) and refuses to get out. A most unwelcome house-guest. Salacious in its unwelcome and unappreciated attentions.
Sitting on the couch, I have the thermostat yanked up to a freakishly high number, warm air blasting out of the wall registers. Humming with comfort. While curled up under a puffy blanket, I also have the gas fireplace on and cranked up to high. Its light hissing sound is in direct competition with the constant yawn of the furnace.
And still I am cold.
Bone cold.
So I sit here on the couch. Cold. I'm reading several books, picking one up and skimming several chapters before putting it down and picking up the other. Then switching again. My mind, affected by cold, cannot seem to focus.
During one of the book switching moments, I noticed some smallish grease spots on the leg of my jeans.
How did those get there? Could have been any number of things, I guess. It bothers me. Not the not knowing, but just that they are there.
Irrationally. I'm bothered. So I draw the blanket more over my legs. I could change jeans, obviously. But that would require a trip out of this cocoon of heat and a pilgrimage upstairs, where I think I may have opened a window for some fresh air. Too cold up there.
So here I sit. Surrounded by heat, but almost untouched by it. Shivering. With grease stains on my jeans.
Indeed.

I never knew...

I didn't know how much I longed to be a mom until I became one. Nothing in your whole life can ever prepare you for the daily joys and sorrows that this 3 letter title can give you. Mom.
And I never knew. I had no idea.
But I wanted it, as it turned out. Badly.

I have the joy of being home with my girls, and that is a privilege for which I am thankful every single day. We've had 6 years of togetherness, they and I. 6 years to create a daily pattern that has its ebbs and flows, like anything else. Our good moments are golden and our bad ones can be frightful. In the end, it all works out.

Today I found myself squished on the couch between them: each of us with a book in hand, quietly reading away a few minutes of the afternoon. And it caught me off guard, this moment of peaceful bliss. It was a portrait of who we are as Mother & Daughter: Comfortable. We can be together. Just like that. Be. I love it. I love this.

Like every moment, it passed too quickly. The timer went off on the oven sending me into the kitchen, and I came back into the family room to find my spot on the couch taken over by a large pile of Care Bears who were being lectured by two little girls waving their books around with a flourish. "Honestly, Cheer Bear! I don't know what to do with you," exclaims Ashlyn. (Cheer Bear, for her part, looks dejected). "OH! Share Bear. THAT was certainly a very bad choice, don't you think? I think you're going to bed right now," declares Caedance, "Bad choice." (I don't know what Share Bear had done in my absence, but I can say that she did not look apologetic about it. Whatever it was.

And so we go on about our day. We've had 6 years to perfect this. 6 years to go along and get it right, get it wrong. But to be together.

Mr. Crow Goes To School.

An odd sight today, taking the girls to school.

The walkway leading to the school was empty of all the usual suspects: kids running to the building, parents frantically dropping off science projects (which probably represent more of their efforts than those of their student), and the occasional teacher running "just a few minutes late" and hurrying to get to the classroom before their charges arrived.

Empty. Clear. Quiet.

Save for one crow. A large specimen, even for his species. Shiny and so black that he was almost blue in color. Practically iridescent. And this crow was walking away from my view and towards the doors of the school.

He was walking to school.

Perhaps it was the extra jolt of coffee I'd had that morning, but I found this sight to be extraordinary in nearly every way. My mind's eye flipped through multiple What Ifs of this scenario in rapid succession, and I found myself completely transfixed by it. What if this lovely fellow went to school? What would he do in there? Did he know he was heading to school or was he being dared by some bigger crow bullies who were off in the field watching him. Was this a crow initiation of sorts, perhaps? Or did it mean, (as is most likely the case, I know) absolutely nothing at all.

And still I wondered. And thought. And watched.

In case you're wondering, and I have to assume you must be just a bit curious since you're still reading these words, he made it all the way to the door. And then stopped and turned around, and headed off to the field. Perhaps he 'Chickened' out? (Can you use other members of the aviary community to describe the actions of a crow?) Maybe at the very end he decided, like any kid might do, that he just didn't feel like going to school today after all. Maybe he went back to home sleep. Maybe the bully crows in the field pecked at him for failing the initiation. Or maybe he was just being a crow, doing what crows do, and his curiosity ran out and he flew off.

I don't know. Never will.

But if I had to put a writer's spin on it, I like to think that he was tired of doing 'the same old thing' and was ready for a new adventure.Just for today.(Ever felt that way?) But when he got there, he hesitated, as we all are known to do. There is comfort in the familiar. He left that path, and headed back to his routine. His adventure put on hold for another day. Later. Next time. Someday. Maybe.

Perhaps I'll see him another day. (I find myself silently cheering him on).

Parenting 101: Don't Push Your Kid Into The Mud

Last week, while walking my darlings to the car after picking them up from school, I accidentally (remember that word...accidentally) bumped Ashlyn.

 This happens. It's bound to. On one hand I have a leader (that would be Caedance), yanking away with an impatient, "C'mon Mom! Let's GO"; ready to put as much distance as possible between her and "That Place". On the other hand, walks The Thinker (Ms. Ashlyn), dawdling about with lingering thoughts of the pleasures and sorrows that can occur in 2 1/2 hours. Mind wandering. Thoughts meandering.

Bump. (That would be my hip).

And her foot slipped into the mud puddle that has been conveniently growing on the side of the sidewalk. Hello, Mr. Mud. How you doing? Meet Ashlyn's foot.

A big deal? Nope. Not at all. No falling. No mud bath. Just a muddy shoe.

But such drama. Oh. Such. Drama.

"MAMA! You pushed me into the mud! Oh! Why? WHY?! Into the mud, where it's dirty. It's so dirty, Mama! This is not a good day at all. Ruined. Oh, Mama."

I stand corrected. It was a big deal.

I apologized. (Remember that magic word, "Accidentally"? It didn't mean much to her.)

She was cleaned up. (Rather, the shoe was cleaned up). The day went on. And the next. And the next. So on and so forth.

This week, the saga continues. As we walked the path away from Franklin Elementary, Caedance fleeing the scene of apparent crimes unknown, and Ashlyn tra-la-la-ing away, we passed The Mud Puddle. "Mama? Do you remember when you pushed me into the mud? Right there? THAT mud puddle? You pushed me. You sure did. I remember it."

Hmmmmmm. I see you do. With some embellishments added, I see.

So. There it is.

Star Child

Caedance is my "firstborn". She enjoyed 6 minutes of being an "Only Child" before her twin was delivered. And in some ways I think those 6 precious minutes count for more than the 360 seconds they represent.

She is my "Never Give Up" child who will throw a fit out of the sheer frustrations of her efforts sometimes. She sees her sister achieve by grace and with ease; nothing seems to come with difficulty for Ashlyn. For Caedance, there can be struggles. But it's a joy to watch her sort through whatever it is she's working towards. Until she gets it the way she wants to. Until there is success. Her success; on her terms. You can't "hand" anything to her. And oh the smile that fills her face when she's accomplished her goal. It's beyond joy. It's pure and utter illumination.

This week brought on a challenge for my "oldest". Ashlyn lost her first tooth back in November, and Caedance was content to lag behind. Until this week. Ashlyn was walking around the house when she declared that yet another tooth was loose and, well look at that!, she pulled it right out. Tooth number 2. I found Caedance in the bathroom, yanking diligently on the not-quite-loose-enough tooth that she had in her own mouth. Just tugging away with a sense of desperation that this time...this time...it could not just be Ashlyn. No way. Not this time.

I convinced her to wait on her tooth, letting it get a bit more loose before trying to get it out. She went to bed that night, watching her sister get the Tooth Pillow ready for the Tooth Fairy, listening to her excitement over having lost another tooth, and still finding the resolve to be patient. (Life cannot be easy when you come in groups of comparable twos).

She woke up the next day with a new sense of purpose about her not-so-wobbly-tooth, and that purpose seemed to be, "Get It Out". She spent the entire day patiently wiggling it with her tongue. It was slightly more loose in the morning. A little more so in the afternoon. By evening, it had gotten looser still. Working away at it, bit by bit. Wiggle. Wiggle. Push. Push. Push. Like chipping away at a barrier. Get It Out.

Then at dinner, the moment came. She stopped eating and worked in earnest on her tooth. Push. Push. Push. Until all at once, a smile spread over her face. She leaned over and spit out a tiny white gem. That precious first tooth. Out. Finally. Success.

I'm not quite sure who was happier about this event; her or me. We may have been tied. It brought so much joy to me to be able to slip that pillow under her head, seeing her smile with wonder at the coming of the Tooth Fairy. For her! Our star for the evening.

And there is something very precious about seeing our two little girls with gaps in their smiles. Together. Toothless.

(And armed with this success, she's already begun to wiggle and prod at the next not-so-wobbly-tooth. Slow and steady wins the race, after all).