Rules of engagement

I've never seen Jonathan quite so stunned.
We were at my daughter's tumbling class Monday evening and the twins were playing with a few other toddlers and preschoolers in the observation area. Jonathan wanted a train that the other boy was playing with.
So he did what he always does.
He made an offering.
And the boy declined again and again and again.
Jonathan didn't know what else to do.
So he just sat there.
He sat there and he stared.
Eventually, he found his toy school bus and rejoined Matthew, racing the buses up and down the floor.
You see, Jonathan and Matthew have an understanding. If Jonathan wants Matthew's toy, he keeps offering Matthew something else until Matthew trades. Matthew negotiates in the same way with his twin.
It's quite diplomatic ... most of the time.
But this boy wasn't buying it.
He had the favored train and he wasn't about to let go.
This twinese thing isn't just about language.
As Jonathan and Matthew grow older, they are developing their own ways of accommodating and playing with each other.
They understand each other's intentions with simple nods and gestures.
They play games with each other's plates at the dinner table and only they know the rules.
They make faces at each other and start laughing, clearly referring back to some event or memory that they share.
With one word, one twin engages the other in a preconceived game.
I watch them and I envy them.
I can't imagine what it must be like to know someone so well.
But, at the same time, I fear for them.
This bond, the bond that makes them unique, will also hurt them sometimes.
At some point, they will have to learn the hard way how to let others in. They won't always be able to ignore the boy with the train and turn to their built-in playmate for social comfort. Sometimes, they will have to learn to pick up another toy and figure out how to play with him.
They will not always have each other and it's not healthy for them to know only each other deeply.
So, as they grow, we will have to guide them as best we can without compromising their bond. Their bond has allowed them to skip the stage of parallel play, where toddlers play near each other, observe each other in play, imitate each other and, in doing so, learn social codes of engagement that lead to friendship.
We will have to walk them through it.
Now, if only I knew the way.

Their voices emerge

They are speaking.
Really, really speaking and, wow, is it cool.
It all started just after their second birthday, the day I picked up the phone to make the appointment with a speech therapist. I got distracted and planned to call again later. Suddenly, I heard "Bye, bye, truck."
And it just poured out from there.
Three months ago, Matthew and Jonathan would not string two words together. The single words they used were mostly one-syllable words and they often would leave off the ending sounds.
I tried not to worry.
Many online friends with identical boys of similar ages were experiencing the same delays.
The county folks who had evaluated Matthew and Jonathan said they communicated in all other ways, and that they had simply fallen into the habits of twinese or twin language.
They entertained each other and had no desire to please adults with their speaking abilities. The county team suggested sign language, but assured me that Matthew and Jonathan would eventually come around.
Our pediatrician recommended a few therapy sessions anyway just to encourage them to speak and to help ease the frustrations that bring about so many tantrums when children grow intellectually, but are still not able to communicate their needs and desires.
This was the appointment I was trying to make that day in January.
Now my concerns seem silly.
I was in the kitchen this morning when I heard, "Ready, set, go!" from foyer. Then around the corner came Matthew in the lead with the smaller toy shopping cart. Jonathan was at his heels, with the larger one, laughing like crazy.
When I told them they needed to get dressed, Jonathan said, "Shirt? Pants?" and went right for the dresser. He picked up a blue shirt with a ball and net on front and said, "basketball? Shirt on?" clear as day.
The boys can count to ten.
They know their colors.
They know the alphabet and most of the letter sounds.
They say, "One, two, three. Green!" when we stop at a red light.
This morning, as we headed out the door for a three-hour visit to the sitter, Matthew said, "Cole's house?" And that was exactly where we were headed. To the home of our three-year-old neighbor Cole and his nanny, who cares for Matthew and Jonathan two mornings a week.
I answered him and the three of us -- Matthew, Jonathan and I -- had a little conversation about Cole and his little sister and their toy dinosaurs.
We actually had a conversation.
It was so cool.

Two-year stats

Not all identical twins develop identically in their physical growth.
Just last week, I met identical twin girls at the local mall with their mom. The girls were 3 years old and one was more than an inch taller than the other. The difference, the mom said, was likely caused by twin-to-twin transfusion, which forced doctors to deliver them at 27 weeks or lose the smaller twin.
Our guys were lucky.
Each had his own sac and his own placenta. Their placentas were on polar opposite sides of the uterus. It can't get better or safer than that. Their placement in utero was so rare that it took DNA tests to persuade my OB that they are, indeed, identical.

So I wasn't surprised by the findings at their 2-year physical:

Height: Both boys are 37.5 inches tall, landing them off the charts compared to other boys their age. Our two older children are off the charts for height as well. It's in their genes. Their dad looms 10 inches above me at 6 feet, 5 inches tall.

Head: Their measurements were precisely the same even though most folks insist that Jonathan's head is bigger. Jonathan has slightly more fat in his cheeks than his brother. I sometimes wonder if that is because Jonathan was born via c-section while Matthew experienced a vaginal birth. It's not likely, but it's something to think about.

Weight: Matthew was the lighter of the two at 31 pounds, 4 ounces. Jonathan weighed in at exactly 32 pounds. It might be the cheek fat. It might have been a wet diaper. It might have been because Matthew takes so much more pleasure in throwing his food than in eating it. Who knows?

Overall, the doctor proclaimed Jonathan and Matthew healthy, but she referred them to specialists for speech and hearing. Though the county program denied them services, she felt their reluctance to use more than one syllable per word and their refusal to put to words together is probably the source of unnecessary frustration.
She figures twinese is the cause, but that a little therapy might make life better for all of us.
I have to agree.
So off we go to Children's Hospital.
We'll be checking back with the pediatrician in six months.
Hopefully, by then, we'll be asking for advice on how to tune out their constant chatter.

The results are in

It's official.
The boys can hear and understand spoken language just fine. They use plenty of inflection. They know at least 20 animal sounds and say them clearly. They even know many of their letter sounds.
Matthew and Jonathan can verbally communicate with others.
When they want to.
The trouble is that like many twins, particularly identical boys, they really don't want to most of the time. They use the smallest parcel of language possible to get their messages across and, at 23 months old, they still refuse to put two words together.
Really refuse.
They shake their heads "no."
"Twin language," the therapist wrote on the form in the evaluation room of the early invention program. They understand each other and have no urgent desire to please us grown-ups with their linguistic skills.
That's why they just stare at folks who try to get them to wave "hello" or "good-bye," yet they holler "bye-bye" and shut the door behind me when I take them to the sitter's (They love going there!). That's why they say only the first sound of so many words. That's why I am frequently puzzled when they open the fridge and ask for milk by some term they came up with entirely on their own.
No therapy necessary, she said. They will figure it out. But we really should teach them sign language if we want to lessen the frequency of tantrums as they struggle with the realization that this isn't going to work forever, she said.
The other therapists had a few things to say too. Mostly, they wondered how we do it. The room was like a preschool, filled with countless cool toys and contraptions that drew Jonathan and Matthew like magnets.
But the force wasn't strong enough.
Within 20 minutes, they were grabbing clipboards, standing on chairs, stealing shoes and flipping through notebooks of the three blissfully ignorant therapists. Their antics earned Jonathan and Matthew a ranking of 36 months for gross motor skills and 31 months for fine motor skills.
They made it only to 21 months for adaptive motor skills because I have, thus far, refused to introduce the potty. "I'm not potty training them until they can at least say the word 'potty,'" I told the therapist.
"Okay," she said. "Here's the sign."

Language explosion

It started about two weeks ago with the light switches.
Jonathan suddenly discovered that lights can be turned on and off. He wanted me to flick the switch. I refused. Not until he said, "on."
His response was "Ah. Ah."
Good enough.
I flicked the switch to the dining room chandelier, not realizing that I was flicking a switch inside his head at the same time. Over the next few days, Jonathan was obsessed with light switches. He took great joy in saying, "Ah. Ah" and in seeing the result.
Soon Matthew joined in and every light in the house had to be on constantly, even during the brightest part of the day. Eventually, we pulled out a couple of stools, placed them under light switches and gave them the power to do it themselves.
With that urge satisfied, they began to testing me to see whether words could get them other things.
Matthew pointed to the box of Mini Nilla Wafers on the counter and said "cookie." After Jonathan got a time-out for standing on a chair to reach the apples, he stood below the basket, pointed and said, "ahhh-pp."
Both boys grinned widely when they realized that saying "no" was even more fun than simply shaking their heads. They run to the gate blocking the stairs to the second floor at least once a day and say "bath" with exciting clarity.
Just a month ago, we were talking to the pediatrician about speech therapy if the boys didn't start saying a few clear words soon. Now I have trouble reading books to them because they interrupt constantly, making animal sounds or pointing to objects and attempting to verbalize their names.
The best part?
I finally get to hear their voices.
Their real voices.
The voices of my identical twins boys.

18 months tall

They are tall.
Boy, are they tall.
Three feet tall.
That puts Matthew and Jonathan far above the 95th percentile compared to their male peers, just like our two older kids.
We grow them big.
Matthew is the more svelte of the two at 28 pounds, seven ounces, according to the doctor's scale. Jonathan weighed in at 29 pounds, three ounces, during their appointment Monday. Both ranked at the 75th percentile for weight, which makes them long and lean despite their chubby cheeks.
Their heads remain in the 90th percentile.
Lots of brains, maybe?
The doctor expressed some concern about the development of twinese (or idioglossia or cryptophasia). She said to contact her in three months if they still say no words clearly. The next day, of course, Matthew and Jonathan alternately walked up to our van, patted the side door and said "car" perfectly. Later in the day, they became obsessed with doors, again pronouncing the word clearly.
Earlier this afternoon, they spent 15 minutes walking from door to door, patting each one and saying "door?". They refused to move on until I said "Yes, door," with a nod of approval. I had to follow them from room to room or they stomped their feet and cried.
I had planned to drink my coffee.
It got cold.
I didn't mind.

Speak! Please?

I'll admit it.
I've been getting a bit paranoid about the twins and their language skills as their 18-month appointment approaches (It is scheduled for Monday, about three weeks late.). They seem to understand most everything: they run to their highchairs when I ask whether they want to eat; they bring us their shoes or go to the door when we suggest going outside; they can make a wide variety of animal noises on command.
But they just don't really speak.
They have a few clear words. (Well, I can't really think of any that are clear right now, but they do talk a lot.) They practice inflection frequently, usually imitating the true inflection of conversation. They rely heavily on nonverbal expressions, like when they shove books at us, put shoes on our feet or tug on our shirts if we dare try to read the paper, eat some breakfast or even just rest our heads on the table.
Yet when I listen to other toddlers communicate, it just isn't the same.
Despite our best efforts, Jonathan and Matthew are sinking quickly into the language of twinese with such sounds as "nah" for "done" (Where the heck did that come from?) or "seh" for "sit" or "da" for almost anything they want the other twin to see.
So, of course, I turned to Google.
And this is what I found.
According to this recent study, the boys might be behind in language speaking ability, but they are probably right on track as far as overall language development. As twins, they simply tend to use nonverbal skills more often than words.
In fact, they might have an advantage over singletons and twins who do not create their own languages. According to the authors, twin language (or twinese or idioglossia or cryptophasia) enhances language development in a way that is similar to the language enhancement experienced by bilingual children.
Now this study might be flawed.
It is based on a small sampling: the children of 26 mothers of twins and singletons.
But, who cares.
Before I Googled this study, I was worried that my boys might be behind in their communications skills. These folks say Jonathan and Matthew might, instead, be above average.
Their study is good enough for me.

The reality of twinese

Mmmmwa. Mmmmwa.
Mmmmwa a familiar sound in our house.
We hear it whenever Matthew runs out of Baby Goldfish, raisins, tortellini, bananas or whatever his favorite food of the day might be. He looks up at us with all the confidence in the world and says, "Mmmmwa," his word for "more." And it works. Matthew relishes its results as his request is fulfilled.
Until recently, Jonathan remain quiet.
As we praised Matthew and piled more food onto his tray, Jonathan would simply sit and say nothing. Again and again, I would ask him, "More, Jonny? Do you want more?" And he would just stare at me, eventually crying in frustration until I gave in.
But everything changed just the other day.
It was lunch time. Jonathan's tray was empty of green beans, a favorite food of both twins, when I heard that familiar sound coming from his direction.
"Mmmmwa."
I saw Jonathan's mouth move, but I found myself staring at Matthew. Jonathan said it in exactly the same way and in, of course, the same voice. I was stunned. I didn't know what to make of his precise imitation of Matthew's grossly mispronounced word.
A few Internet searches later and I had my answer.
This is the beginning of what some people call twinese.
I had always believed that twinese was a secret language, a code developed among twins that was independent of our language and that only they could understand.
I was wrong.
Twinese, scientifically known as idioglossia or cryptophasia, is exactly what I had just witnessed. It occurs when one twin imitates the other in his mispronunciation of words.
When they say the words wrong, they understand each other even if no one else does. If the mispronunciations are not corrected, twins eventually fall into the habit of using the wrong sounds regularly and, what might have seemed cute in the beginning, becomes a problem. They grow older; they start school; and no one else can understand them.
Fortunately, it sounds like we have little to be concerned about.
Though twinese is fairly common in the toddler years, studies show that serious cases generally develop when twins are frequently left on their own by parents who are detached from their language development. In most cases, twinese disappears on its own by the preschool years.
It won't become serious for us for a simple reason: because I am an annoying mom.
Restating the misspoken word correctly is a habit of mine that grew from teaching my first two children to enunciate. Each time the boys ask for more, I drive them crazy. "More? You want more? Okay, you can have more. Here's more."
More. More. More. More. More.
Nope.
Twinese wouldn't be much fun for my guys.