That one

The realization hit me just before Christmas.
It was early in the evening and all four kids were playing together. My daughter stopped to describe a funny incident involving one of her twin brothers. I asked her which one. She pointed to Matthew and said, "That one."
"Who?" I asked.
"That one," she said.
"No," I said. "Tell me his name."
She shrugged and said she didn't know.
Then I asked her older brother.
He didn't know either.
Neither was bothered.
Matthew and Jonathan were indistinguishable to even their own siblings.
How could we have missed that?
We missed it because we were too busy.
When all four children are together, the household is a chaotic mess. They twins like to get wild and the older kids like to get wild with them. It's all I can do to keep my sanity and to ensure that no one gets hurt.
Who has time for individuality and identities?
I didn't let it go that evening. I pressed my older children to figure out who was who and, in the end, they got it right. When we sat down to breakfast the next morning, we had a chat. Riley (9) and Kiersten (8) told me that they can figure out who is who if they really try, but that they usually didn't bother.
They didn't bother, they said, because I was always quick to identify their brothers for them.
We reached an agreement.
I explained why it was important that they know their brothers as individuals.
They agreed to try.
For a day or two, it was a game.
It quickly became a habit.
There are still times when they refer to the twins as "this one," or "that one," but most of the time it's "Matt," or "Jon."
And something beautiful has come of it.
Their strategy of play has changed.
Riley and Kiersten are learning that Matthew and Jonathan have different play styles and that simply getting wild isn't the only option. Riley and Jonathan have a cuddling game. Kiersten enjoys engaging Matthew in conversation.
The house is quieter (sometimes).
The kids are more content (sometimes).
I am much less stressed.

No more preschool. This is why ...

I thought I was doing the best thing for all of us when I pulled the twins from the sitter's and sent them to a formal preschool two mornings a week.
They loved their sitter and she still took them one morning a week, but I needed more consistency and I felt they needed more social interaction.
Their sitter is a neighbor's nanny.
Whenever the neighbor's children were sick, she had to cancel. Whenever, she was sick, she had to cancel. Whenever our kids were sick, we had to cancel.
Then there were vacations to deal with: hers, ours and the parents of the other children.
I don't need a lot of time to focus on my writing, run some errands and get a little cleaning done. Nine hours a week is plenty right now, but I really need that nine hours. Even six will do. Heck, when I'm desperate, three is better than nothing.
At the preschool, they would stay home only when they were sick and they had seven other children in their class along with an assistant. The school promised help with potty training, drinking from cups and following directions.
It sounded great, it was highly recommended and the twins enjoyed the tour.
They were reluctant that first week, but by the second week, they were happy.
Sort of.
Compliant was more like it.
So I pushed that nagging feeling further back in my mind and labeled it "mommy guilt:" guilt over the fact that I had placed my twins in a formal school setting at only 2.5 years old, something I never would have considered with my older kids.
But an incident today finally opened my eyes.
Matthew had dropped his sippy cup in the parking lot. It slid under a car. He wasn't supposed to bring it into preschool anyway, but, like any toddler, he was devastated by the thought of leaving it there even for a few minutes.
While I tried to retrieve it, Jonathan ran into the parking lot.
Not good.
So I coaxed them inside with Matthew crying.
I explained the situation to the teacher and tried to tell Matthew I would get it and come right back to show him. He wasn't buying it. The tears flowed harder and that triggered a waterfall from Jonathan.
Ten minutes passed and the teacher did nothing to help me.
In the end, I had no choice, but to leave with the twins in tow. The teacher smiled and offered words of sympathy, but that was it.
As I buckled Matthew and Jonathan into their car seats with tears flowing down my own cheeks by now, something occurred to me. That teacher did not know these boys as Matthew and Jonathan.
She knew them as the Identical Twins.
Just last week, she told me that she couldn't see any differences between them. I took a few minutes to point out physical differences and then behavioral differences. She shrugged. She just didn't see it.
Now, I don't expect people to be able to apply the differences to the appropriate children, especially if they see them only in a classroom setting twice a week. But I would expect that after a month or so, this woman would at least see that there were differences.
She could have if she had tried.
But she didn't care to try.
So when I got home, I picked up the phone and I called their sitter.
I apologized for pulling them in the first place and begged her to take them more often.
"They slam the door in my face and say 'Bye, mom,' when I leave them with you," I said. "You don't need name tags and you never have. They adore you and I feel like you care for them," I told her.
She didn't even hesitate.
Matthew and Jonathan start their new schedule tomorrow.

Seeing each other without seeing double

Matthew and Jonathan have plenty of toys that are duplicates of each other.

They have two Thomas the Trains, two Percys, two Gordons, two Lightening McQueens, two school buses, two dump trucks, two ride-on inch worms, two of most any vehicle that they might fight over.

But their white cars are an exception.

Both are white, both are sports cars and they are about the same size, but the two cars are different models. Yet, it was these cars that Matthew pointed to the other day when looked up at me, his eyes bright, and said, "twins!"

Jonathan looked on with interest as Matthew repeated his revelation over and over again.

Then, less than half an hour later, Jonathan pulled out two Diego vehicles. One was a pick-up truck and one was a jeep-like vehicle, but both were yellow and both held figures of Diego and Baby Jaguar snuggled close to one another.

"Twins!" Jonathan said proudly.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe at 2.5 years old, they don't know what the heck they are talking about.

Maybe I overreacted.

But it was one of those identical twins moments that hit me hard, right in the chest, right in the stomach, right in my heart. These two boys who look so much alike, who were born of the same egg and share the same DNA, did not relate their status to that of the replicated vehicles, differentiated only by wear and tear.

Instead, they chose vehicles that look similar at first glance, but that are, in reality, unique from each other.

Just like them.

A difference of weight

For the first time ever, Matthew's and Jonathan's weights are significantly different.
I first noticed it two weeks ago when they were recovering from colds. Both boys had preferred milk to solids while they were sick, but Matthew tended more toward the liquid diet than Jonathan.
So when they stepped on the scale after a bath, I attributed the difference to their illnesses.
Matthew weighed in at 33.5 pounds.
Jonathan was 35 pounds.
But two weeks later, the difference remains.
Part of me wondered whether I was feeding one twin too much or another too little, but then a babysitter put things into perspective: Matthew is much hyper than Jonathan, she noted as she watched them play.
And she was right.
Very right.
Matthew is spontaneous.
Always.
He moves without thinking and he moves constantly.
He rarely stops to eat, though he can't resist a sippy cup full of milk, especially when he is offered his yellow bear and a corner of the sofa with it.
Jonathan, on the other hand, contemplates things more often. He watches his twin brother and he learns from his mistakes. Then he decides whether to act. He does not waste energy; He lets his brother waste it for him.
And, boy, does he ever love peanut butter and jelly.
So, it is possible that this illness was just the beginning. That Matthew will never make up that caloric difference because he can't be bothered: he is too busy. And that future illnesses will create even greater differences until the two boys are double-digit pounds apart.
But then you never know.
Identical twins like to keep parents on their toes.
In utero, Matthew staked out his place as first-born from the beginning (or rather, from the 20-week ultrasound when we first learned two little guys were hiding out in there). He was head-down right near the cervix when we first saw him and there he stayed.
He never gave Jonathan a chance.
Jonathan was all over the place, kicking my ribs, my bladder, my pelvis.
Even after his brother was born, he wouldn't stop moving long enough to come out. He yanked his second foot away every time the doctor tried to breech extract him and took off swimming. When he finally decided to join the world 20 minutes later, he took a spontaneous pike dive, engaging fully head and foot first, and had to be removed via emergency c-section.
The boys were seven ounces apart and Jonathan was the lightweight.
I'm learning that just when I think I understand Matthew and Jonathan, that I know who they are and why they behave like they do, they pull a switch on me.
So I'm not going to worry.
Instead, I'm going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

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.

I just knew

It happened for the first time yesterday and I'm having trouble containing my excitement.
I was uploading images from our digital camera onto the computer when I saw a photo of one of the boys. My first thought--my very first and very confident thought--was, that's Jonny!
Moments later, it happened again, this time in a photo of the boys together. I immediately recognized Matty on the right.
Now, I know I sound like a horrible mother, so I should say that I have always been able to figure out who is who in photos eventually. I look at their clothes, at the toys in their hands, at the food on their faces. Sometimes, I have to squint a little and study the blue veins on the bridges of their noses (thick, Jonathan; thin, Matthew).
With time, I can identify them.
But this was different.
This time I just knew.
Right away.
Immediately.
I've never been so instantly sure.
And I know why.
Matthew and Jonathan are growing up and as they grow, their personalities are beginning to break through in a physical way--even in photos.
In the photo of Jonathan (below), he has this look on his face that belongs only to him.
Matthew has become a ham with cameras. He scrunches his face into a funny little smile and tilts his head up, like he did in yesterday's photo.
This last photo, I posted just for fun!
Jon is on the right. Is it love or is he trying to get a cookie out of his brother's mouth?

The "fat" one

It happened again two days ago.
I was taking the boys on a two-mile walk through the neighborhood. The day was a little too warm and the sky was cloudless. A slight breeze took the edge off the heat. Matthew and Jonathan had tummies full of milk, were fresh from a nap and were happy to take in the houses, the trees, the birds and the smell of fresh-cut grass.
They felt good. I felt good.
Then, about ten minutes into our excursion, a minivan pulled over. The driver’s side window came down and a woman I’d met only twice before stuck her head out. She wanted a glimpse of the twins.
I obliged.
Within less than a minute, I regretted it.
“So let’s see,” she said. “He’s the fat one.”
She pointed at Matthew, who had just dropped a pound below his brother due to the loss of appetite that came with a bout of the roseola virus. I was dumbstruck. I found myself stumbling over my words, trying to explain that, generally, the boys are only a few ounces apart. If anything, Jonathan’s cheeks are a bit fuller than Matthew’s.
I should have been prepared. This happens all the time and it happened again half a mile down the road. A woman was trying to help her granddaughter differentiate between the boys and, this time, she identified Jonathan as “the fat one.”
For some people, my boys are like that puzzle I often see in Children’s magazines, the one where two pictures look identical and the challenge is to find the differences between them. Certain people seem obsessed with finding differences between my boys and they present their observations as if they might be new to me.
The “fat” observation is their favorite and the one that concerns me the most. Right now, the boys are too young to be bothered. But their comprehension will not always be so limited. I can only hope that people practice more consideration as the boys grow older.
I needed to vent and I needed a good comeback. So I posted a plea for help on the multiples thread on Cincymoms. Those women are awesome.
I’m not sure that I would ever have the nerve to put their suggestions to use, but their replies diluted my frustration and left me with a chuckle. Please feel free to chuckle with me:

_ We had only budgeted for one child

_ Give confused look..."Identical?! They're not even brothers! This is the neighbor's kid."

_ They're on a paid study for the drug Alli for Tots

_ Which one were you as a child?

_ It is okay if I say you are the fat one?

_ Is that how they distinguish you from your siblings?

_ Yes. One is on Jenny Craig so we can tell them apart.

Spoon wars

There are some things identical twins do that we parents take for granted.
Today, for the first time, I really thought about the spoons.
It's automatic now. Each time I feed the boys yogurt or cereal or mashed sweet potatoes, I bring three spoons to the table. I can usually get through a few mouthfuls before it happens: one of the boys clenches the rubbed-tipped utensil in his teeth, using every muscle in his little jaws to protect his claim.
As he proudly displays the metal handle that juts from his mouth, he gets a sideways glance from his brother who returns the look with what I swear is a nod.
I reach for a new spoon and lift the food to the mouth of the other twin. Sure enough, his brother clenches in the same manner, claiming a spoon for his own.
Victory is theirs.
Defeated, I pick up spoon number three.

Freedom at last

The weather was beautiful this past weekend, so we took the boys outside for their first opportunity to wander on foot. They are not fully walking yet, so we gave them their push toys and set them free in the cul sac.
We thought they would at least stay together. After all, they are identical twins, who, because life gets in the way and (honestly) it's easier for me, rarely get to go anywhere without each other.
No way.
Neither could care less where the other brother was. They bolted in opposite directions, exploring the pavement, the grass, the sidewalks and our neighbors' garages. Their push toys were their vehicles. They put them in fifth gear and went at full speed.
Yet, both Matthew and Jonathan gripped the handle in that same fiercely-determined way. They both focused on their targets straight ahead, ignoring the teens playing basketball, the two sets of parents out with their preschoolers and their brother and sister, who were running and scootering to keep up with them.
They both preferred lawns to pavement. They both were attracted to the neighbor's seven dogs when they let them out to play (Yes, they have seven. They also have 11 cats). They both turned bright red from the heat of the day and their exertion after about 40 minutes, stumbling, crying and struggling to go on when their little legs could take no more.
They both fought to remain outside and guzzled just about equal amounts of water when we finally carried them, kicking and wailing, into the house. They both ate a ton for dinner that evening.
It makes me wonder.
When we put them to bed that night and they stood in their cribs facing each other, playing their little game where they grab each other's hands, peel them off the crib rails and laugh when the other falls, were they comparing notes from their outing or did they even have to?
Did they already know?

Ear aches and fevers

I was wrong when I guessed that Matthew had a weaker immune system than his twin brother. This time Jonathan is the more sickly one.
Both boys have ear infections (in the same ear), but Jonathan has more congestion than Matthew along with a fever of 102 degrees. Matthew has no fever.
Matthew has regained his weight from his earlier illnesses. At the doctor's Monday, he weighed just two ounces less than Jonathan at 26 pounds, 14 ounces.

Trouble Times Two

Earlier this morning, I decided to give the boys a bath. I got everything ready and carried Matthew upstairs to the pack-n-play, leaving Jonathan penned in the childproofed living room. At least I thought it was childproofed. In the 45 seconds or so that it took me to go up the stairs and back down again, Jonathan had used the VCR guard to pull the machine down from the shelf. I found him sitting on the floor in front of the TV with the VCR in his lap, playing with the cords that snaked out of the back.
I was surprised.
That was something Matthew would do.
In the past few weeks, their curiosity has equalized. Matthew had always been the lone troublemaker. He flips on the changing table, desperate to see what might be behind him. He races to the bathroom every time we open the door, hoping to get his hands on the toilet paper. He lunges for the opening when we step through the kitchen gate, determined to slip through before we notice.
Through all that, Jonathan would sit and watch.
No more.
Now, it's a competition.
Jonathan can flip with every bit as much muscle as Matthew on that changing table. They have learned that they can both squeeze through the bathroom door together. Whomever makes it through the kitchen gate first usually turns quickly around and slams the gate shut on the other.
We're in trouble.