Matching Clothes

The other day somebody asked if my twins wear matching clothes? Damn right they do, size 1 Pampers. And when they cost a quarter each, you had better notice Elmo's fat little head on them. If there is a cool draft, the boys each have a dog to snuggle and on occasion a blanket.

Okay, that isn't entirely true, the boys have matching Cubs shirts that we bring out when nobody is around. The Cubs actually have a record of 11-4 when the boys wear their shirts, so we will have to put those in a drawer until September. Kristin made the boys wear matching safari clothes to a family party last month, and sure enough Aunt Jessie was clever enough to chime in about how the boys will have an identity crisis. Glad to know there is a shrink in the family Jess. The reality is that you get a ton of gifts when expecting twins, and some of those gifts are matching outfits. They usually do not match, but sometimes they do, and I hope this irritates people because it makes for great entertainment. If the boys wear matching clothes in high school then I would say we have a problem and they need an ass kicking from uncle Dan.

Eliot and Finn are healthy and happy at 3 months old, and both have been enjoying their new skill of head butting. My brother Chris whined about taking a few shots to the nose and chin with his kids, and I just sort of laughed. Now that I get to play, I would have to agree that its like WWF. My personal favorite is when Finn gets a little momentum going with his giant melon. The thing is like a giant pendulum swinging out of control, that eventually crash lands on his brother's face. Maybe that is why Finn smiles so much more then Eliot.

Kristin and I went to a Mothers of Multiples (MOMS) picnic yesterday, and things went better then expected. I knew right away that the Fathers weren't in charge after I heard the announcement for us to line up for a potato sack race. I'm not even kidding, just the dads raced. Unfortunately I had a bum knee and had to get in the chow line with the ladies. We were both very impressed with how well behaved all the twins were. I guess they too decided on the von Trapp approach with the whistle and all. Sometimes you just see parents with their kids in a store and wonder how and why. I like to think that having double trouble forces parents to keep their kids under control, and I suppose time will tell.

Most nights, Kristin likes to read to the boys claiming that studies show higher IQ scores when you read to your babies. Okay that is fine and good, but somebody needs to explain to her that Brown Bear Brown Bear What Do You See, is hardly what these kids will be tested on in the future. Fortunately I saw this problem and read the Sunday paper to them yesterday. They learned all about the Apollo 11 mission and I even used that baby voice that makes them smile!

Out and About

One thing I will say about having twins, you instantly achieve the status of rock star. I realized this during our recent tour through the midwest, but the swagger faded fast. The first few days I felt like Axl Rose, and by the weeks end I fully understood that I was simply driving the bus. I didn't have it quite as bad as my poor wife, Kristin, who felt like the glorified milk lady. You would have thought the two little punks in the backseat saved the planet or something. And this show-and-tell game hasn't subsided now that we have settled into a routine back in Colorado.

Nothing ever happens fast, and I'm sure this new way of life is going to stick around awhile. Forget about loading and unloading, visiting any public place is always an ordeal and I don't mean that in a negative way. For instance, I was at the bank the other day and had all three tellers (female) rush from around the counter to stare and ask questions. Sure I'll play, but I'm not so sure the guy behind me cares as much about the fellas. The women could poke at the twins all day long, while a guy might check out the stuctural integrity of the stroller.

The gender issues can be pretty funny. Three times now ladies have said to me, "oh it sure is nice to see a dad who isn't afraid to take the kids out of the house." What the heck does that even mean? First off, just because I run daddy daycare doesn't mean I've joined the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants Club, or whatever the secret society is called. I mean, shouldn't you say that to the lady over yonder? I'm standing right here.

Is this true? Are we men a bunch of Homers that stay in our caves, plop the babies down in front of Sportscenter, scratching ourselves while wondering what happened to all the Pabst Blue Ribbon? Or maybe we do like to leave our caves for hunting and other important reasons. Could it be, that ladies pack a diaper bag and bottle of wine before calling a few close friends, every time they run out of yarn? Hmmmm. I think we had better leave this one alone. Lets move on to gender issues behind the wheel!

Learning Curve

I read somewhere that the Spanish used to call their little ones criatura, or creature. After a week spent as a stay-at-home dad, I think the term creature is more fitting for both of my boys then say, darling, cutie pie, or even infant. A golden retriever is cute and cuddly, there is a bit more to the story of twin boys driving dad crazy.

Don't get me wrong, there is nothing better then holding one of these boys while exchanging smiles, so I will admit they are precious. But this doesn't change the fact that these boys have conspired to have me committed. I'm pretty sure that Finn uses ESP to tell his brother Eliot to cover the high pitched frequencies with his scream, while Finn covers the lower ones. Yes, all this screaming in unison is done to make sure that I slam my head into the wall enough times to entertain these fellas.

I haven't conceded defeat just yet, however. In fact, I would say overall things are going pretty good and I am learning more tricks each day. Not only have the boys learned to enjoy Johnny Cash, but they also have become picky with the days song selection. They will usually be happy if I include any song with the harmonica, particularly "Orange Blossom Special." And if the three of us miss being depressed, we simply turn on the Chicago Cubs game in the bottom of the 7th. You have to feel bad for two boys born Cubs fans without a choice. They also have taken a liking to being out in the garden with the pups and I. No tomato tasting for them just yet, but they have no problem with a little dirt and a few bees. Just enough for the border collie to lick off their toes.

Visitors have been welcome, but can be quite annoying. I didn't know it was okay for every random friend and stranger to make a comment about Finn's double chin. Granted he has a large extra roll under his face, but I thought baby fat was allowed. My favorite was one of my friends, fairly jolly himself, provided a slow bellowing commentary to Finn's facial expressions. Each deep laugh was followed by eating noises like he was chowing a pie, all coming from a guy who belongs on a fried chicken commercial. Needless to say, my friend Chuckles has joked his way out of some home-grown tomatoes and maybe even sweet corn.

Well, time to change some diapers.