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.

He said his name

I was frustrated.
So frustrated.
I had bought a full-length mirror and mounted it in the nursery, hoping the image of himself would finally inspire Jonathan to say his name.
Instead, Jonathan stood before his reflection and said "Maaaatttt."
"No, no, no," I said, pointing to his brother. "That's Matt. You are Jon."
After a few rounds, Jonathan changed his response. Instead of calling himself "Matt," he actually pointed to his brother and then said Matthew's name. Further pressure only made Jonathan clam up.
Well, that was progress.
I sighed.
Jonathan knew who he was. He'd always responded to his name, but he just couldn't bring himself to verbalize it. Maybe the letter J was just too hard. But I knew in my heart that wasn't the issue. Jonathan wanted Matt's name, just like he wanted Matt's yellow bear, Matt's crib and Matt's shoes.
He had never said his name and he wasn't going to.
So I gave up.
I started to walk away.
Then I stopped.
I stopped because as I glanced back at Jonathan, I saw a familiar grin. It was that mischievous grin, the grin that tells me something big is about to happen.
"Maaaattt," he said, signaling toward his brother.
I approached him with caution.
"Yes. That's Matt, but who is this?" I asked, pointing at Jonathan's image. "Who is in the mirror?"
That grin grew. It grew bigger than I'd ever seen it before. Then suddenly it burst into a bright, startled face full of excitement, a look of comprehension and recognition that used every muscle in Jonathan's face.
"Jaaaah," he said. "Jaaaah."
Close enough.
I grabbed him and hugged him tight.
"Yes, yes," I said. "You are Jon."