The book store

I have noticed that identical twins often have identical temperaments.
Or at least they are usuually pretty darned close.
And that can be a good thing.
Take my friend Misty who has identical triplets. I first met her about four years ago at the YMCA. Her girls were three years old. They lined up to go potty when asked and then they lined up to dress in their swim suits.
They walked, not ran, out the door and headed for the pool.
I have never seen those girls misbehave.
It's just not in their triplet nature.
Matthew and Jonathan are a whole different story.
They are highly active, highly curious and stubborn.
I have become so accustomed to planning outings in fence-in areas, running errands at night when my husband is home, and instinctively dreaming up new distractions before the current ones wear off, that I forget just how powerful this combined temperamental force is, and just how often I bow to it.
Until it hits me head-on.
Like yesterday.
Over the past few days, I have been trying to plan an afternoon play date with a mom of 3-year-old boy. My first suggestion was a fenced-in playground. I never considered anyplace else. The children's gym that I often rely on closes at 2 p.m.
Fortunately, the other mom liked the idea.
But then it rained.
I was baffled.
These guys refuse to ride in strollers or their wagon. When forced into either one, they take their anger out on each other, kicking and hitting like little mad men.
They will hold my hand for short durations, but when it's over, it's over. I've gotten very good at carrying them in a double football hold.
In frustration, I once resorted to those harnesses, the cute little puppy ones that look like backpacks. Matthew and Jonathan sat on the concrete as soon as they realized that their freedom was limited and refused to budge.
Anybody need a couple of barely used harnesses?
So, on rainy days in the late afternoon when we've already been to the YMCA and the children's gym is closed, we go nowhere. That's home time. Dangerous time. It's the kind of time when toy dolphins swim in toilet water, glass coffee tables become human launching pads and the entire main floor becomes a highly dangerous race track.
But I really wanted to meet up with this mom, a fellow writer, so I decided that for once, I would just have to be brave.
She had suggested Joseph-Beth Booksellers, a large book store about 25 minutes from home. She assured me that the bookstore had a separate children's area with a train table and a play kitchen, two of the twins' favorite things.
So we went.
And, to my amazement, we survived.
With their newness, the kitchen and the trains were the main attraction. By the time they'd lost interest, her son was ready to leave to. We walked out of Joseph-Beth holding hands, carrying the price of admission: two stuffed snakes.
It will be quite a while before we can return. After my new friend left, Jonathan found the door and tried to leave. Meanwhile, Matthew had gone back to the snakes and was pulling them off the display one by one.
They were getting to comfortable.
The newness had worn off.
Still, it was nice.
It was different.
It gave me hope.
Maybe someday I'll even be able to browse the books.

They sing!

They sing!
Matthew and Jonathan sing!
And they sing everything: lullabies; theme songs, Twinkle, Twinkle; I've Been Working on the Railroad, The Wheels on the Bus.
They lie on their beds and sing to Laurie Berkner.
They dance in their room and sing with Laurie Berkner.
They twist and twirl and flap their hands, and sing with the Wiggles.
Their voices are beautiful.
Imperfect and beautiful.
They are confident.
They are proud.
They are having a blast.
This, despite the fact that I rarely expose them to raw music.
They get too much TV, too many DVDs.
I did the opposite with my older kids. I was strict with television and I kept the music playing--in the car, in the living room, in their bedrooms. We listened to Laurie Berkner, Raffie, World Playground.
I had more energy.
Yet my older children rarely belted out tunes at this age.
Now, my son sings only in bathrooms.
And my daughter thinks she's the next Hannah Montana.
But, when I pop in a CD for the twins, they are captivated.
Absolutely.
The best part? Matthew and Jonathan used to say, "No sing!" whenever I tried to sing them a lullaby. I can't really blame them. I have this problem with singing on key. But I craved that connection with them, that warm, sweet cuddle time.
That has changed.
A few months ago, Jonathan crawled into my arms and said, "Rock-a-bye?"
I held him and rocked and sang to him as tears welled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. A few days later, Matthew did the same. Now I sometimes rock and sing to both in the recliner or sneak them in another room one-by-one.
And each time, they cry.
Tears of relief, I think, or of release.
And while they let it all go, I take it all in.
All of their sweetness.

Beware the wail of the twin sirens

It started as a whimper and it was irresistible.
I can't remember the date, but I do remember that a few weeks ago Jonathan held his arms up to me and whimpered ever so slightly. When I picked him up, he wrapped his toddler fingers around my neck and buried his head in my chest.
And I held him there for the longest time.
Enjoying his warmth.
Loving that he needed me.
But that whimper became a full-blown wail today.
And it's not so cute anymore.
Jonathan has become my clingy one. His once-adorable whimper now makes my blood pressure rise. His outstretched arms are dangerous: he grabs my legs and trips me; he grabs my arms and spills whatever I am carrying; he grabs my shirt and pulls me backwards, throwing me off balance.
Until today, Matthew has simply looked on.
He has patiently waited for something else to attract Jonathan's attention, knowing that I would give him his share of hugs and cuddles the second my arms were free.
Sure.
Every now and then, the two of them would start to battle over that space on my lap, but, in the end, Matthew would relent.
And he never whimpered.
Until today.
Today was third day of preschool.
The twins are attending two mornings a week.
They had a blast the first day. Jonathan cried a little when he realized I was leaving, but he couldn't resist the lure of the new toys, the new kids and the novelty of it all.
They were tired when I picked them up, but tired in a happy, worn-out kind of way. The second day was much the same.
But this morning, Jonathan began to whimper just outside the room.
And I could see Matthew perk up.
Matthew was about to go through the classroom doorway when he turned back to me, bright-eyed and determined. He stretched out his arms and began to whimper.
Jonathan was stunned for just a second, but then he whimpered louder.
And Matthew whimpered louder.
And Jonathan cried.
And Matthew cried.
And Jonathan began to wail.
I couldn't pick them both up while carrying backpacks, so I tried to lead them in by the hands. They threw themselves down on the floor and refused to budge. The teacher came out and grabbed one. The director grabbed the other.
I kissed them good-bye and lingered outside the door.
Finally, I asked a passing dad to peek in and give me a report.
Each boy was snuggled in a set of arms, he said. They seemed happy, but they were whimpering just a little.
"It was so cute," he said.
And, despite the stress of the morning--despite my throbbing veins, my aching head and my queasy stomach--I was suddenly overwhelmed with a new feeling. One I didn't like because it hurt too much.
I was jealous.
I was jealous of the teacher and the director who held Matthew and Jonathan in their arms, feeling those toddler fingers wrap around their necks and those heads buried in their chests.
Feeling their warmth.
Feeling loved.
Feeling needed.

Potty training: where one goes, the other will follow

Jonathan has always let Matthew take the lead in all things physical.
When Matthew was learning to crawl, Jonathan sat aloof, unmoving, in the center of the living room floor and watched. He watched for weeks as Matthew learned to fall from sitting position onto his belly, lift himself up onto his hands and knees, rock back and forth and then, finally, propel his body in different directions.
Two days later, Jonathan was at least as fast as his brother.
It was the same scenario for rolling over, sitting up and walking.
So I supposed I shouldn't be surprised that Jonathan shows no interest in potty training while Matthew is obsessed.
It started at the sitter's three days ago and Matthew's obsession has grown each day since.
This morning, he refused all potty seats and the toilet insert. Instead, he propped himself up on the big toilet and, for almost two hours, he sat and peed and sat and peed, watching Once Upon a Potty over and over.
He missed a few times and he didn't quite get there for number 2 (though he knew it was coming and he tried), but he had three or four successes (He drinks a lot.). Meanwhile, his brother sat on the sofa, aloof and unmoving, drinking milk.
For a moment, I thought Jonathan might join in. He stood up, pulled off his shorts and peeled off his diaper with an eager look on his face. I pointed him toward a potty seat and he moved forward, right past it to the Cars pull-up that lie on the floor next to it.
He handed me the pull-up and his shorts and said, "Cars? On?"
So I helped Jonathan into his pull-up, gave him more milk and turned back to Matthew, who was alternating toilet-flushing with toilet-sitting and hand-washing. Matthew was, once again, taking on the physical burden for his identical twin.
But he didn't seem to mind and, although Jonathan's eyes appeared glued to the little cartoon Joshua who was sitting on a little cartoon potty, I'm sure I saw his eyes shift to the bathroom every now and then.
So, for now, I'll focus on teaching Matthew.
And I'll let the brothers work out the rest.

A closer look

It's strange and, maybe, it's just a phase, but I find that I rarely think of Matthew and Jonathan as identical twins these days.
All I can figure is that I am so focused on the intimate, complex achievements that come with this age, that I am unable to step back and see them from any kind of distance anymore. Their recent developments have given me the opportunity to see the minutia and, in the minutia, I see two little people who are so very different from each other.
For instance, language has given them the tools to verbally express their individuality, like Jonathan and his obsession with Swiper the Fox, an obsession that Matthew does not share:
"Swiper?"
"Fox?"
"Sneaky?"
"Naughty?"
"Oh man!"
(Repeat ten times and insist that mom repeat each word as affirmation that she is listening.)
Or Matthew with his bathing preferences, preferences that Jonathan clearly does not share:
"No toys!" Matthew shrieks as a small zebra, a cup and a teething ring come flying out of the bathtub. Jonathan stands, reaches in vain for the discarded playthings and then throws his hands up and cries.
"Toys done," Matthew says triumphantly. "No toys!"
Improved mobility and agility has given them the skills to individually test their physical limits while also applying the techniques of observation and manipulation.
For instance, Matthew has learned to appear fully absorbed in play in their fenced-in area out back, leaving me with a sense of security as I try to sneak inside for a moment to unload the dishwasher. As soon as my back is turned, he is over the fence and around the front of the house. Jonathan remains fenced in, too awed to throw a leg over and follow.
Jonathan, meanwhile, is focused on his jumping skills. He arranges bean bag chairs a few feet away from the sofa and then, calculating the distance just perfectly, he leaps from the sofa into the bean bag chairs face-first.
Greater reasoning ability, empathy and perspective has given them both the skills to manipulate their environment and the people in it to their liking.
A few examples:
Matthew will turn my head in his direction with his tiny hands, cock his own head in the cutest little way, scrunch his eyes just right and say, "Cars? Watch Cars?" He knows he makes my heart melt. He knows I can't resist. In goes the Cars DVD.
Jonathan keeps one eye on his brother and waits for that moment when Matthew wants to cuddle with me. Then he runs over, pushes his twin brother aside, climbs into my arms and declares, "Mine! Mine!" As soon as Matthew loses interest in the battle for attention, Jonathan slips off my lap and resumes play.
Matthew climbs onto the sofa, lays his head on a pillow and covers himself with a blanket, just like his older brother does each morning when he first wakes up. And then, in his desire to complete the charade, he says, "Ovaltine? Ovaltine?" requesting his idol's favorite drink and hoping it gets his attention.
Sometimes, when I am crouched down, picking raisins off the floor, scrubbing milk out of the carpet or scooping up bits of crushed crackers, I'll feel two perfect hands tickle my neck and Jonathan will be standing right in front of me. He'll say "love!" and then kiss me right on the lips. Just as he predicts, I stop what I'm doing and cradle this amazing human being.
It was a lot easier when the twins were more like a unit, when I could step back and say this is who "they" are, this is what "they" do, how "they" behave. Still, I wouldn't ever want to be positioned so far away again.
This new phase is exhausting, but it's also exhilarating.
I am finally getting the chance to know them, to know them as individuals.
As Matthew and Jonathan, brothers who just happen to both be two.

The good, the bad and the ugly

The good: Jonathan and Matthew are now interested enough in playing with each other that they tend to stay together when they are outside. This means that I can sometimes let them play beyond their fenced-in area.

The bad: At 18 months, they are now tall enough and strong enough to climb up on everything-- the sofa; the recliner; the dining room and kitchen chairs. They can easily reach items that are in the middle of the tables. They especially like pens, scissors and newspapers.

The ugly: When Jonathan wants something from Matthew, he says nothing. He simply comes up behind him, grabs him by the face and rips the item out of his hand while Matthew tries to scream. When Matthew actually sees Jonathan approaching and has nowhere to run, he offers Jonathan the toy and then cries. Time to enroll Matthew in karate, perhaps?