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.

A different kind of mom

I used to be a good mom.
My kids, my older kids, never had more than two hours a day of combined screen time (TV and computer) as per the recommendations of the American Academy of Pediatrics. Even then, I allowed only commercial-free TV and educational computer games.
I scoffed at moms who regularly visited McDonald's or Burger King. Once a month was too much in my opinion. I shopped for fruit and vegetables at a local produce store and dessert was a rarity.
Doughnuts?
Forget it.
The house was clean.
The kids were in bed by 8 p.m.
My children were well-disciplined, knowing that time-outs would come swiftly--anytime, anywhere--if they misbehaved.
I was in tune with them, responding to their every whimper.
Now they have to scream.
The twins had their first McDonald's French fries before they turned a year old (They don't like the nuggets). The television is on whenever they are awake. Sometimes, I just pray that they'll actually watch it so I can have a break.
At least once a day, I pretend not to see an infraction because I don't have the energy for a time-out. I know it will come back to haunt me in the long run, but I don't think as far in advance as I used to. I just hope that I'll get through each day.
I lose my temper with the older kids quickly if they argue. On the weekends, they get far more computer time than they should. They went to bed at 9:30 last night, a school night, because my husband was sick and I had too much to do before I could get around to their bedtime routine.
I was feeling horrible about my new parenting methods as I prepared, at midnight, to finally drag myself up to bed. Then I picked up the snack dishes the older kids had left behind and I smiled.
Riley, who just celebrated his 9th birthday, had asked for spinach as part of his snack. Not a leaf was left behind. His 7-year-old sister, Kiersten, had asked for a cheese stick. Granted, they'd had two small cookies, but it never occurred to them to ask for more.
I'd had good conversations with each as I read to them and tucked them in.
They had cleaned their rooms when I asked, showered when I asked and turned the TV off when I told them to. Earlier in the evening, they had come into the nursery to give their twin brothers goodnight kisses. Jonathan and Matthew had grinned in delight at the sight of their older siblings, who share a bond not much unlike their own.
As I turned off lights, removed books from beds and shut bedroom doors, I couldn't help thinking that Riley and Kiersten have not been "ruined" by a few too many hours of television or computer time. Nor have they been destroyed by an occasional doughnut on a Wednesday morning.
And I think I know why.
The one thing that has not changed is that we all listen. We listen to each other with respect and caring and love even when we're angry or frustrated or overwhelmed or when we need to take a few minutes to ourselves first.
Maybe the rest is overrated.
Maybe there is hope for the twins.

Reaching out: bonds beyond their own

At 8.5 years old, my oldest son gets not a moment's peace. Riley came down the stairs this morning, bleary-eyed, hungry and sad from the loss of a favorite stuffed animal on a recent trip and he wanted to tell me about it.
He didn't get a chance.
His voice was drown in the cries and pleas of two younger brothers who stretched out their arms toward him as he lie on the sofa and threw their heads down on its cushions when he failed to pull them up with him.
Eventually, Riley gave in.
When I came back in the room with his Ovaltine, he was covered with toddler hands and feet. They climbed over his lap, poked at his face and giggled in his ears. His own tears had dried and so had theirs.
Though the bond between identical twins is, indeed, close, these two little guys have found places in their world for their big brother and their older sister.
Huge, special places.
Riley is their rough-houser and cuddler. He chases them round and round the furniture; he roars in their faces; he sneaks them out of their cribs when they are crying and holds them. During the school year, he cannot leave the house until he has had his "fix," he says.
Kiersten took a while to warm up. She has anxiety issues that include obsessive-compulsive disorder and mild sensory-integration disorder. So drool, wet diapers and (ew!) poopy diapers were a big turn off to her at first. She wanted so badly to hold them when they were babies and she tried, but she just couldn't handle it.
As they have grown, so has she.
She will be seven at the end of the summer and she has followed the example of her older brother. Though she can still smell a dirty diaper from a mile away, she enjoys teaching them how to play songs on their toy piano, how to build a tower with blocks and how to pronounce the few words they know.
She reads to them, begs to hold them on her lap and even helps put on a fresh diaper now and then. If they get injured, she often cries more than they do. They sometimes call her "mama."
They adore her.
They adore them both.
I used to worry that the older kids would be jealous of the bond between the boys and that the boys would create their own world, sealing out their older siblings. But there was no need for concern.
They have invited them in and Riley and Kiersten have accepted.