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  • Two of a kind. Or not.

    We make such a conscious, concerted effort to treat Elsa and Clio as individuals. We don't dress them alike, we never refer to them as "the twins," and when talking about their personalities, we try not to do it in a comparative way (as in "Elsa is the more outgoing one"). One of the biggest pleasures of watching the girls grow up is seeing their very unique personalities develop and define themselves, frequently obliterating our expectations and assumptions along the way.

     

    At the same time, ironically, our biggest logistical goal has always been to keep them on the same schedule, for the sake of our own sanity. Right from the get-go, we did it as much as possible: if Elsa needed to be nursed, Clio would get nursed at the same time or right after, whether or not she was particularly hungry. When we put Clio down for a nap, we put Elsa down, too. To this day, the girls get fed, bathed and put to bed at the same time, and the large majority of the time, it works out just fine. Which is kind of amazing, when you consider how different they are as individuals.

     

    Note distinct hairstyles, eye color, clothing, body language and expressions of toddler angst

     

     

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  • And we're back.

    Home again, after a week at family camp in New Hampshire, followed by a few days in Vermont, where Alastair played in a folk festival. I am pleased to report that we had a really lovely time. In fact, this is the first time we've gone away with the girls that I wasn't dying to come home by the end of it. The secret: expectation management. As I mentioned in my last post, I went into this vacation with my eyes wide open, knowing it was going to be tiring and chaotic and nothing like pre-child trips of yore. But I very consciously decided not to be grumpy about this, and try, instead, to savor what is so fabulous and rewarding about having Clio and Elsa along for the ride.

     

    Like introducing them to the wonderful game of bocce. The balls were a little too heavy for the girls to pick up, so we played a little-known, ancient variation on the game where you run up and down the bocce court waving your hands over your head and squealing, and occasionally kicking one of the balls. (It's still played this way in a certain village in Sardinia, I'm told.)

     

     

    (More pictures after the jump)

     

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  • Off we go, again

    We are about to leave for another week's vacation, this time up to Sandy Island, on Lake Winnepesaukee. Long-time readers (does a year count as long?) will remember that we took the same trip this time last year. And we'll most likely continue to go to Sandy for the last week of summer -- or Week 9 as it's called up there -- for many years to come. Alastair's been going with his parents since he was four, and I've been going on and off (mostly on) since way back when A. and I were college sweethearts. (Can I get an "awww"?)

     

    I'm feeling more relaxed going into this than I have other recent family trips, maybe because I've finally adjusted to the fact that vacationing with two babies/toddlers isn't vacationing as I've always known it, and that's OK. I am prepared. I am at peace. I have no illusions, and am determined to try enjoy it in all its chaos: dining hall meltdowns, sand-and-sunblock-sticky limbs, nights stuck in our cabin, etc. It also is going to be a lot of fun, I think, now that the girls are more person-like and observant, able to interact and explore and enjoy. And, oh yes, I will be accepting any babysitting help that is offered and begging for it if it isn't. (Julia, I know you're reading this!)

     

    I won't have internet access on the island, so I probably won't be able to post for about a week. But please don't go away! Come and read again! Here...I'll create a cliffhanger: the First-Ever Elsa and Clio Current Events Trivia Challenge. But no answers until I'm back. Oh, the suspense!

     

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  • Poison Control Call #2

    Me: Um, hi, I think my daughter may have swallowed a crayon. Or part of one.

     

    (We were drawing -- Elsa and Clio and me. Well, sort of. They've just gotten to the point where they vaguely understand the concept of scribbling. They mostly prefer putting the crayons in their boxes and taking them out again. Anyway, Elsa was standing on the paper -- a cut-open shopping bag, actually -- and I thought it would be fun to trace her foot. But not long after I did, she became mildly distraught. I thought it was because I got some crayon on her toenails. Not that this is the sort of thing that would normally bother her, but who knows? Maybe the girl just didn't dig blue toenails, right? It's a little out there, a little weird. So I wiped off the crayon as best I could, but she kept whimpering, and it gradually escalated to crying. Then she was putting her fingers in her mouth and making "yuck" faces, much like she did after she ate dishwasher detergent.)

     

    PC: She'll be fine. Crayons are non-toxic.

     

    (Phew!  Yes, that's right! In fact, I've known this for as long as I could read. I remember looking at Crayola crayon boxes and seeing those words, front and center: "Non-toxic." (And then something about different brilliant colors...) And I remember asking my mother what it meant. In fact, I've probably known that crayons are non-toxic longer than I've known that bees die when they sting you and no two snowflakes are alike. Not that this stopped me from calling poison control...)

     

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  • The 18-month Lull

    As of this weekend -- Saturday, to be precise -- Elsa and Clio are 18 months old. Or one-and-a-half, as Alastair prefers to say. He thinks they're old enough to be referred to in years now, but I want to hang onto their babydom just a little while longer, so I shall keep referring to them in months. But only until they're thirteen.

     

    The last few months have been, admittedly, rather challenging at times. I think it peaked at sixteen months, around the time I wrote this post, whining about the physical exhaustion of running around after two very active, very needy toddlers. But I feel like in the past couple of weeks, things have turned a corner. Maybe it's because the girls have gotten a bit more physically confident and independent -- they don't fall flat on their faces quite as often, or get as upset when they do. Or maybe it's because their language skills are suddenly blossoming, so it's a little easier to understand what they want -- not to mention a helluva lot of fun teaching them new words. Or maybe it's just because we've adjusted. Just as the line of babyproofing in our house grows higher and higher (They can almost reach the kitchen counter now! Damn!) our patience and endurance climb to keep pace with their level of energy and interactivity.

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About the Blogger

Jane Roper

Jane Roper in Boston

One baby? Piece of cake. Try two. This working mother gives you the inside scoop on the ultimate in extreme parenting: twins.

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