Baby Squared : twin language acquisition

The frog in my throat, and other calamities

Roper — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 01:18:00 GMT

I've had a cold this week, no doubt partly as a result of the exhaustion and sleeplessness of our potty training intensive last weekend. The other day, my voice sounding particularly scratchy and ridiculous, I told the girls that I had a frog in my throat. Of course, I quickly realized that this would sound absurd to them, and explained that I didn't actually have a frog in my throat; it was just an expression. (Like that would really clear things up.) "Sort of like a joke," I clarified. They chewed on this for a little while (not literally), and somehow it became, "You have a frog in your mouth so that's why you make a funny joke!"

I rather like this interpretation -- that there's some kind of comedian amphibian in my mouth, and every time I open my mouth to speak, he comes out with a joke -- "What is the deal with toads? I mean, they look like frogs, but the fuckers can't swim!" -- in his hoarse (not horse) froggy voice.

There have been some other prime examples of two-year-old literalism lately. We've had some difficulty with getting Elsa to go #2 in the potty -- a very common toilet training issue, it seems -- and at one point we had the following exchange when she'd been holding it in so long that she appeared to be in some pain:

Me: You know, I think your tummy would feel a lot better if you got the poop out.

Elsa: Is there a poop in my tummy with my food?

Me: Well, sort of. The food you eat goes in your tummy, and some of it turns into poop, and then you need to get it out.

Elsa: (Delighted) There's a poop in my tummy with my food!

Me: (Abandoning any attempt at scientific accuracy) Yeah, and it's saying "Let me out! Let me out!"

Elsa: (Very serious) No, poop doesn't have a mouth.

It's true. As far as I know, poop doesn't have a mouth -- at least not one that's visible to the human eye. Poop, therefore, cannot have a frog in its mouth. This is rather comforting if you think about it. Then again, it makes going to the bathroom much less entertaining. Sorry. I'll stop talking about poop now. And frogs.

Of course, all is not completely literal in the Baby Squared household. There are times when the girls reach amazing heights of imagination bordering on surrealism. The other day, Clio was holding her phone (a non-working cell phone) up to her ear, "talking" to her grandma Jaycee. She asked me to hand her other toy phone, which I did, held it up to her other ear, and announced, "Now I look like a strawberry!" After I stopped laughing, I affirmed that, yes, that was exactly what she looked like. A very, very cute strawberry. (With a very cute sister)

Photo by Mara Brod

Parlez-Vous Toddler?

Roper — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 15:50:00 GMT

With Elsa and Clio talking so much, and able to communicate increasingly complex thoughts -- why, just yesterday Clio was commenting that while the media frenzy over the Henry Gates/Cambridge police issue was lamentable, it has spurred important conversations about race in America -- it's easy for me to get into the mindset that everyone should understand what they're saying as well as Alastair and I. But the fact is, a lot of what they say is still unintelligible to the majority of people.

Which I guess shouldn't come as a surprise. While it's immediately clear to me that "We goto go on da feeeeg go inda kye!" means "We're going to go on the swings and go up in the sky!" ( I also know that "up in the sky" means way up high, though the exact moment at which "sky" highness is attained remains a bit of a mystery) I can't expect someone who doesn't spend huge amounts of time with the girls to know that.

I've been reminded of this over the past week; we've seen a number of relatives and friends that haven't seen the girls since they were babies, and have had to do a lot of translating. We even have to translate a word or two for their grandparents sometimes, in spite of the fact that they see the girls on a regular basis. So, picture me, standing there there beaming with idiotic pride while Elsa walks up to a distant cousin and says, "We go wi Mommy to da TOHwah!" not quite realizing that the cousin is probably thinking something along the lines of "They go with Mommy to the Torah?...hm..are they raising them Jewish? I know Alastair's mother is...but I didn't know whether or not...and aren't they a little young to...and isn't the Torah a book? Can you physically go up to the Torah? I guess you can. I went to my friend's kid's Bar Mitzvah, and I think he...but...Am I going to sound like an ignorant Christian here if I say that back? So should I just nod? Or maybe Jane can...."

Then, finally, I realize that the cousin is looking at me quizically -- perhaps desperately -- and jump in to explain that Elsa is saying that they went to the store with me today. At which point, cousin can nod at Elsa and say "Ohhhh!" and ask some follow up question like, "Did you have fun?" to which she can reply with something equally unintelligible to him, like "An we ga gape fuh me!" (And we got grapes for me.)

Of course, I am often clueless when it comes to what other people's toddlers are saying. You'd like to think that as a mother of toddlers, you'd be able to pick it up -- at least some of it. As if it was all just dialects of one universal Toddler language. But each toddler really does have his or her own little patois and either you know it or you don't. There are times when I don't understand what my own kids are saying. Sometimes Alastair and I can translate for each other. (Most often Alastair for me, which always bums me out, because it reminds me that he spends so much more time with them.) And sometimes the other twin will translate for us. (Really!)

Then there are times when we're all just at a loss. There was a time when Clio kept asking, in the kitchen, for what sounded like a "Peet." We asked back: A plate? (No.) A peach? (No.) A beet?? Which you've never had in your life? (No...A Peeeeeet.) So, I asked her, "Clio, what is a peet?" And she explained "A peet is a keet." I'm pretty sure she was just messing with me.

"We make da cone!"

***

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Have we reached Peak Cuteness?

Roper — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 21:56:00 GMT

Every time I can't think the girls can't get any more adorable, they do. Starting when they were around seven or eight months old, I think I started saying, "this is it. This is the best age ever. They can't possibly get any cuter than this." And then, by golly, they did. They did even funnier more engaging things. They said even cuter stuff. There was, admittedly, a brief period between eighteen and twenty-four months, when I was just as likely to say "It can't possibly get any harder than this..." But the past few months, things have definitely been on the upswing again.

And seriously, two-and-a-half -- today, exactly! -- has got to be the cutest possible age. It's gotta all be downhill after here, right? The girls still have a bit of that baby pudge and innocence. They still have the un-self-consciously gleeful giggles of toddlers, and take pleasure in simple things -- running around in circles and falling down on the grass, putting stickers on themselves, digging in the dirt. They like to cuddle. But they're also curious and aware of what's going on around them (I'm constantly surprised by how much they remember and pick up on.) They "read" books by themselves. And they talk -- Lord, how they talk. They crack us up on an almost daily basis with the stuff that comes out of their mouths. (Me: Clio, what is your stuffed doggie named? Clio: Cpthtoth. Me: What? Cpthoth? Clio: Yeah, Gaby Gaby Cpthoth.)

A lot of what they say is based, of course, on the words and phrasing we use. (Cpthoth and other apparently Elfin/Celtic words aside.) For Elsa, lately, the key word is "maybe." As in the other morning when she and Clio were in our bedroom while I was getting dressed and were trying on various pairs of my shoes. Elsa, while shuffling around in a pair of my flats, tilted her head to the side in her best toddler-coquette fashion and said, "So, maybe I could wear your shoes, Mommy?" (If it turns out she's the same size shoe as me when she's a teenager, I am in serious trouble.)

Another phrase they're both fond of is "how about." This is deployed chiefly as a negotiating tactic, usually for food. This morning, for example, after eating two entire homemade Belgian waffles, Clio asked if she could have a cracker (?) and I said, no, we weren't having crackers for breakfast, but she could have a peach or a banana if she wanted. Her reply "How about some pretzels?"

Live blog moment -- as I am writing this, Alastair is giving the girls a bath, and singing (to the tune of "row your boat") "row, row, row your poo poo, gently down the stinky..." And the girls are cracking up. And Clio is singing: "Row row row ro, down the down the stinky!" You can see what a sophisticated family we are.

Yes, yes. Peak cuteness. And here are some pictures to prove it, from a backyard BBQ at Aunt Heidi's house. (Photo credits to her as well.)

Me: Here, just choke up on this thing. Or something. Score a touchdown. Or whatever.

Me: Elsa, that's not for you. That's beer, for grown-ups to drink.

Elsa: When I'm a little bit older, I can drink this!

Clio: (Thinks to herself) How about some wine?

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My stinky winky daughters

Roper — Sun, 31 May 2009 20:53:00 GMT

I thought that the whole phase of finding it funny to say things like "stinky poo poo" and "Pee-yew, stinky winky" and so on, came later. Like, at three or four or later. When the sense of taboo around these kinds of things was a little more developed. But apparently, two-and-a-half is not too young for kids to have a sense of the silly stinkies.

As usual, of course, we are partly to blame, for asking such stupid things as "who made a stinky poo poo?" And their regualr babysitter is apparently a big "Pee-yew"er, because sometimes when I change the girls' diapers or take their socks off they'll say "Pee-yew!" followed by a giggly "Adriana say that!" I suspect she is the one who put "stinky winky" into their vocabularies as well, because I don't recall either Alastair or I ever saying it. But this morning, the girls were drawing all manner of stinky-winky animals: a stinky winky penguin, a stinky winky whale, a stinky winky sheep. Our friend the stinky stinky bat was back, too.

But really, the stinky winky poo poo stuff is only one part of a recent language explosion that seems to have taken place. In the last week or two the girls' verbal skills have taken another quantum leap, and all of a sudden -- wow. They're yakking up a storm. Talking in full sentences and conjugating verbs like little madwomen. Starting to really get the concepts of past and future tense, even if they don't quite yet have a solid concept of time. Building their vocabularies daily. The things that come out of their mouths are constantly surprising me. (A recent favorite: after the girls got up from a nap, I was commenting on the girls' hair being a mess. Elsa held her hair out to the sides and said "My hair is WILD!!")

I'm feeling quite jealous right now of parents I know who are bringing their kids up bi- or tri-lingually, because it's so clear that this is the optimal time for kids to soak up a foreign language. We obviously can't do the full language immersion thing with our girls -- well, I suppose I could start speaking only my intermediate-level Spanish or French to them, but it would severely limit what I could actually say. I have no idea, for example, how to say "stinky stinky bat" in Spanish. In French, I think I could manage "Chauve-souris tres, tres malodorant," but it just doesn't have the same, peurile ring to it, now does it?

But I'm thinking of getting some Spanish language music CDs and maybe some DVDs. (Any good recommendations? Besides the Muzzy program, which is, like, a million dollars?) And when they girls are a little older, there are some Spanish language playgroups and music classes around here that they could do. I'm also going to keep on encouraging their sitter to do some Spanish with them -- giving her some Spanish books and games to work with would probably be helpful. And yes, yes, French would be nice too, of course, as would countless other languages, but I'm sticking with what's most practical for now. So, pipe down, all you Francophiles out there. (That includes you, Grandma, rolling in your grave because you think French is the "international language," and because, let's face it, you were kind of a bigot.)

In the meantime, we will continue to work on expanding our lexicon of English words for bodily functions, odors and excretions. Poop-o-rific!

The stinky winky sisters! (featuring my recent hatchet job of Clio's bangs and Elsa's WILD hair)

Entering the Cute Quip Zone

Roper — Mon, 04 May 2009 14:52:00 GMT

Yes! We're here! I've been so looking forward to this stage of the girls' development. Not that I haven't enjoyed the other stages, mind you, but this is really a lot of fun: the Stage Wherein the Kids Say the Darnedest Things.

I think this lasts for a while, and probably will reach its cuteness peak when the girls are around four. But it's pretty damned cute now, hearing the funny and surprising things that are coming out of their mouths now that their verbal abilities expanding at warp-speed. I will try to refrain from posting every adorable thing they say here, because obviously the adorable things that kids say are much more adorable to their own parents than to the world at large. But I hope you'll indulge me on occasion. (This occasion being one of those.)

Elsa: (upon seeing an earthworm in the back yard): It's a eeetle worm!

Me: Yeah! Look at that. A little worm. Where do you think he's going?

Elsa: In the dirt! (In a high squeaky voice) A eetle worm, mommy!! Hi, eetle worm! (Followed by high pitched squealing noise. Perhaps Worm-ese).

Me: (laughing) Yep, that's a worm. Actually, it's a pretty big one, as worms go. (I have a flashback to seventh grade, when we dissected earthworms. The smell of formaldehyde. I wonder: at what age do you discuss dissection with kids, if it comes up? Why would it come up? Why the hell am I thinking about this?)

Elsa: (More squealing) I love him!!

Later the same day, Alastair's parents, who were up for the weekend, came by to deliver a very cool present to the girls. Jaycee had just gotten back from a business trip in New Orleans, where she'd bought some feather boas and carnival-type masks, so we could have a New Orleans-style dance party in the living room. Alastair put on some zydeco music, and the girls promptly started dancing. But when the feather boas and masks came out, they seemed slightly bewildered. They might have been a little freaked out by the masks (let's face it; masks are scary), but we made sure to play lots of "peek-a-boo" with them, so they knew it was just us behind them. This got a few smiles from Elsa. But neither of them wanted to wear masks themselves. We got Clio to wear a boa, but she then proceeded to stand still, in place, for a full five minutes, scrunching up her lips. She would not speak or move. (I may have mentioned before, this habit of Clio's to "freeze" when she feels uncomfortable in a situation.) Who knows why the boa caused her to react in this manner? Or why she didn't simply remove it?

Anyway. She "unfroze" eventually, and in the evening, when we were reviewing the day's events, as we often do, and I brought up the dance party / masks / boas, she confessed: "I didn't like that jacket."

Just two more, I promise. Yesterday afternoon, we were drawing with crayons, and the girls asked me to draw various things for them, as they often do. Clio requested a "red moon," so I drew her one, complete with craters.

Me: Here you go, Cli. Your red moon.

Clio: No, that's a pig.

Me: It's not a pig. It's the moon. Those circles aren't a pig snout, they're craters. They're big holes on the surface of the moon, and sometimes you can see them when you look up at the moon in the sky.

Clio: (after a pause). No, that's a pig, mommy.

Elsa also asked me to draw a moon. I decided to take a little artistic liberty and draw a bat flying near it. She liked this, and soon Clio was asking for a bat, too. I drew one, right over the pig, where bats are often wont to fly. A few minutes later, Elsa was doing some very enthusiastic drawing on a new piece of paper, and showed it to me:

Elsa: Mommy, I drawing a cybot!

Me: A cybot?? (Thinking, wow, that sounds very sophisticated! Has she been watching the SciFi channel on the sly?)

Elsa: No, a BOT!

Me: Oh! A bat?

Elsa: Yeah, a bat! A stinky, stinky bat!

(Don't ask me about the stinky part. I have no idea.)

I should probably get some kind of journal to write down all these crazy quips; otherwise, I'll be very tempted to abuse this medium... But feel free to do it right back at me. I actually enjoy hearing the crazy things kids say, even if they're not my own. (And since I feel like I know some of you from your comments, I almost feel like I know your kids, too.)

Becoming "Mom"

Roper — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 01:10:00 GMT

Clio has been calling me "Mom" on occasion these days. I'm not sure exactly how she picked it up -- maybe from hearing A. and I address our mothers as "mom" on various occasions -- but she does it in an almost mischievous manner, like she's checking it out to see if it works / she can get away with it. I can't say I like it. She sounds way too grown up when she says it, and I feel way too un-grown-up to be called it.

There's a difference between being a "mommy" and a "mom." A "Mommy" is someone young and vibrant, possibly even hip. She plays and laughs with her adoring young children, kisses their boo-boos when they fall down, tucks them into bed at night. But a "Mom"? Entirely different. A mom is a frumpy someone you argue with and roll your eyes at. She wears bad jeans and has an outdated haircut and drives a mini-van with a "My child was student of the month..." bumper sticker on the back. She's worrywort. She's a nag. You wish she'd just leave you alone.

This is, of course, ridiculous. Of course moms are not all those things. And even if they are, who cares? If you like tapered, high-waisted jeans, hey, why not go with what works? I should add that I don't necessarily think of my mom in this way either (although, Mom, I'm glad you finally took my advice and started buying boot cut...). So, why the aversion to being called mom? Maybe it has to do with my mixed feelings about inching toward middle age. And surely it has something to do with not wanting my girls to grow up. It's nice to be needed in that primal, mommy way.

At the same time, I have to admit -- I am starting to feel less like a Mommy and more like a Mom. And the truth is, I like it. The baby phase was wonderful in many ways. But as Elsa and Clio become more talkative, more capable, more able to do and enjoy a variety of activities -- in short, as they become less like babies and more like people -- I feel infinitely closer to them. I enjoy their company more and more. Sure, it takes a little more energy -- verbal, emotional and otherwise -- but it's infinitely more interesting.

The other day, I was in the kitchen getting the girls' dinner ready while they played at the little table with their Curious George dolls. (Dolls? Stuffed animals? Plush characters? Whatever.) They were telling me what they wanted to eat, and what their Curious Georges were doing ("Curious George sitting!") and various other important toddler tidbits. I, in turn, was responding, asking questions, explaining what I was doing, recounting what we'd done that afternoon.

At a certain moment, for some reason, I heard myself -- really heard myself -- and thought: Wow! I am talking with my children! This is what I sound like as a mother talking with her childrenI And my next thought was: I like this. I like being able to have an actual two-way relationship with my children; to know that what I'm saying is understood; to be able to communicate not just a physical level, but a verbal one. All this time, I've been looking forward to this stage of motherhood, eager for it to begin. I was hesitant to admit it, even to myself, because, well, babies are the best thing since sliced bread and you're supposed to treasure every minute and they grow up so fast.... etc. etc. And yes, I have enjoyed the baby phase. And I'd still rather be called Mommy for the time being. But I think I'm really going to love being a Mom.

PS -- I'm excited to announce that my novel, Eden Lake, advanced to the semi-final round (top 100) in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award competition. Thanks so much to all of you who read the excerpt, wrote reviews and helped spread the word. The 3 finalists will be announced on May 15, and then there's a vote, a la American Idol. The chances of my getting to that round are slim to say the least, but my fingers are nevertheless crossed. Stay tuned!

Overheard

Roper — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 00:09:00 GMT

A definite check in the "positives" column for having twin toddlers: getting to hear them talk to each other. Yesterday morning, while I was getting ready for work, the girls woke up and I overheard the following conversation:

Elsa: (excited) I making a big poopie, Kee-o!

Clio: (No response)

Elsa: (Even more excited) I make a BIG poopie, Kee-o!

Clio: (Conciliatory) That's OK, Elsa.

What's funniest to me is hearing them using phrases Alastair and I use, with the same intonation. (No, "I make a big poopie" is not one of these. Though I guess we've been known to say "wow -- you made a big poopie." To the girls, that is.) A popular one right now is "Be right back!" -- often with hands held up, palms out. Sometimes it means they're going to the other side of the room, but sometimes it means they're going to attempt to go upstairs or outside or somewhere else I'd rather they didn't go without my supervision. No matter where they're headed, it's quite clear that I'm supposed to stay put while they run their "errand." (Just as I expect them to stay put when I say "be right back" and run downstairs to change the laundry or upstairs to get something, etc. etc.)

Clio will often gently chide Elsa if she's doing something Clio doesn't approve of: "No, ELsa," she'll say -- sounding very much a bossy big sister (though she's 9 minutes younger). Meanwhile, Elsa doesn't scold Clio much, but does like to check in with her and make sure she's taken care of. Last night at dinner, for example, she asked for a piece of bread. As I went to get it for her, I heard her say, "You want bread, Kee-o?"

People often ask me if they have any sort of "twin talk" between them, and I can't say that I've ever noticed anything along these lines. They seem to speak to each other in the same toddler-English they use with us, though they do seem to be a little more tuned into each other's pronunciation. There have been times when I can't figure out what one of them is trying to say or ask for, and the other offers a translation of sorts. There are also times when the two of them just crack each other up, and -- as with any good inside joke -- I can't quite figure out what's so funny. But they obviously think it's hilarious. I love that they can make each other laugh. (Anyone out there have experiences with actual "twin talk"? I'm so curious to know what it's like and if it really happens...)

The only drawback to all this sisterly gabbing: once they start, it can be hard for them to stop. A couple of times recently we haven't been able to get them to settle down and take their nap because they're having such a grand old time babbling back and forth to each other, throwing stuffed animals and books into each other's cribs, talking about their bowel movements, etc.

On the flip side, some mornings when they wake up they're content just to chat amongst themselves for awhile, so A. and I can stay in bed a little longer. And sleepily, smilingly eavesdrop on those precious conversations.

Absurdity Spoken Here

Roper — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 16:22:00 GMT

Since the day Elsa and Clio were born, I looked forward to when they'd be able to talk. I couldn't wait to be able to communicate with them verbally, and find out what was going through their little minds. It is, indeed, a lot of fun to see them adding new words and phrases to their vocabulary daily, and stringing little sentences together with increasing alacrity. I love that they can express their needs and wants more easily now. The only very small problem: what they need and want is frequently INSANE AND ILLOGICAL AND RIDICULOUS.

At the moment, it's Clio in particular whose "needs" are often exasperating. If, for example, I bring out two completely identical bowls of applesauce -- same color, same size, same amount, etc. -- and put one down in front of Clio and one in front of Elsa, Clio will point to the bowl I give her and say (scream), "No, dat's Elsa's!" So I will switch the bowls (thank God Elsa is a little more chill about this kind of thing), thinking it's a quick and easy fix to the problem. Ha ha ha. No. Because althought it was Elsa's bowl (clearly) it had Clio's spoon in it. So now Clio is screaming "No, dat's Clio 'poon! Dat Clio pooooooon!!" so I switch the spoons. Fine. Whatever. BUT -- silly me, I didn't wipe the spoon off before transferring it, so it still contains some of Elsa's applesauce (are you following all this?) which is completely unacceptable to Clio. She holds the spoon out toward her sister, now screaming quite frantically "No! Dat Elsa's appasauce! Dat Elsa's! Elsa have Clio applesauce! Dat Clio's!"

And on and on it goes.

Honestly, at times I feel like I'm through the looking glass -- a hapless Alice who simply doesn't understand the logic of the world she's in. There are times when I just ignore it and put my foot down: No, this is YOUR bowl, and YOUR spoon, and you'll eat it, end of story. But this is far, far easier said than done. A todder's yelling and crying is not easy to withstand -- and Clio is a stubborn little lady. Not to mention loud. When she's screaming, all you want is for it to STOP. And of course, there's the Other Twin factor: while one sibling is pitching a fit, it's entirely possible that the other one will start clamoring for your attention, too. Or take the opportunity to sneak out of the room to attempt some kind of dangerous chair-climbing expedition. Or make a massive poop, requiring a full clothing change.

It's slightly less frustating when the girls have absurd arguments among themselves. This weekend in the car on the way home from swimming lessons, Clio started saying that she wanted to eat fishies. (As in the Pepperidge Farm kind.) We said yes, fine, OK, when we get home you can have some fishies with lunch. Elsa chimed in and said that she wanted fishies, too. Again, we said yes, fine, great. Fishies it is. They both kept repeating their desire for goldfish crackers, and at some point it devolved into an all-out verbal toddler brawl:

No, Elsa, CLIO eat fishies!

Elsa eat fishies too!

No, Elsa. Dat not nice! Clio eat the fishies.

Nooooo!! (crying now) Elsa want fishies!!!

And of course, I'm twisted around in the front passenger seat, trying to remain calm, attempting to explain that they can BOTH have goldfish crackers. But I might as well have been talking to a couple of rocks. No -- wait. Bad analogy. Rocks are quiet. I might as well have been talking to a couple of fucking CHAINSAWS. Eventually, somehow, they managed to calm down, and when we got home, and I let Clio choose which plate she felt was "hers" at that moment, and we ate fishies, and everyone was (temporarily) happy.

I am wondering if maybe it's time to start designating certain clothes, toys, utensils, etc. as belonging to either Clio or Elsa, since Clio, anyway, seems to have some real issues around what is hers and what is Elsa's. The only problem: How do we choose what belongs to whom? It seems to change on a minute-by-minute -- nay, second by second -- basis.

Sigh.

On a happier note: I'm pleased to report that I visited another preschool for the girls for next year, and it's adorable and I think they'll love it, and I registered them on the spot, and they're in! So, starting in September, the girls will go to "school" two mornings a week (to start). It's a ways off, and I'm glad, but one less thing to worry about. Oh, and our battery charger finally came, so I'll post some new pictures soon. To tide you over in the meantime, here are some shots from a few months ago -- when the world was green, and we played outside, and life was sweet, and my posts didn't have a lot of ALL CAPS and the girls never had tantrums about absurd and ridiculous things ever.

Word Girls

Roper — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 15:58:00 GMT

Over the past few weeks, it seems like the girls' language development has shifted into warp speed. I am amazed by how quickly they learn and retain new words, and they're getting better and better at stringing little phrases and sentences together. You can even sort of have a conversation with them. Granted, it may be a slightly absurd and ridiculous conversation, but a conversation nevertheless. Yesterday morning, when I went into the girls' room to get them up and dressed, Clio and I had the following exchange (she is decidedly the more advanced of the two of them when it comes to language, and loves repeating whatever we say):

Me: Good morning, girls.

Clio: Mommy here!

Me: Yep, mommy's here.

Clio: Mommy go to work?

Me: No, Mommy's not going to work today. It's Sunday. So Mommy's staying home and we're going to play.

Clio: Staying home going to play! (pause) Mommy take a shower?

Me: Yeah, Mommy will take a shower later, but right now we're going to get you girls dressed and go downstairs and have breakfast.

Clio: Go downstairs have breakfast! (pause) Have waffles?

Me: Sure, we can have waffles.

Clio: And milk?

Me: And milk.

Clio: And yogurt?

Me: Sure, why not.

Clio: Why not! (Pause) Daddy sleeping?

Me: Yep, Daddy's sleeping.

Clio: Daddy sleeping. (Pause) Wake up, daddy! Take a shower!

Because they understand and repeat so much more now, I'm realizing that I need to be careful about what I say. Of course, for some time now, I've known better than to throw the word "cookie" around lightly, or make promises I can't follow through with (note to self: always check to make sure we actually have waffles before saying we can have them for breakfast). But I'm realizing that I also have to be careful when it comes to offhanded / sarcastic / ironic remarks. Babies are oblivious, but toddlers and preschoolers take everything you say quite literally.

Example: on Saturday, knowing that there was snow forecast for later in the day, we were determined to get out of the house in the morning and do something. We didn't have enough time for a big excursion, like a museum, so we decided to take the girls to a pet store. (I think someone might have suggested this in the comments once as a good, free outing for toddlers? Excellent idea.) We told the girls we were going to go see some animals, so of course, the whole way there, they chattered, "See animals! See animals!" And see animals we did: ferrets and hamsters and mice and fish and lizards and birds. But it was only fifteen minutes or so until the visit had pretty much played itself out, so we decided we should go and have lunch somewhere. Since we were just a few minutes' drive from Chinatown, I suggested dim sum (thank you, to a MOT friend of mine, for the idea).

When we got everyone back into the car, the girls were still saying "See animals!" (They haven't quite gotten the past tense down yet, but I could tell from their inflection that that's what they meant). Then I, being the wiseass jerk that I am, said -- mostly for Alastair's amusement -- "Yeah, we saw some animals. Now we're going to go eat some animals!" Well, Elsa jumped right on that bandwagon and started saying "eat animals! eat animals!" like a little barbarian, obviously not really knowing what she was saying. I felt terrible. (Takes me back to those early days when I was afraid to feed the girls meat.) Clio, meanwhile, seemed confused and slightly put off -- like she knew I was just fucking with her. "No eat animals," she said.

I tried to make it clear that this was all a joke (even though it wasn't, really -- I mean, we would end up ordering pork dumplings and shrimp in steamed rice noodles....) by saying "Should we eat Clio?" This used to be one of Clio's little jokes; we'd ask her if she wanted to eat all kinds of silly things, like, "Do you want to eat a horse? Do you want to eat a shoe?" and she'd say "nooooo," each time. Then, when we said, "Do you want to eat Clio?" she'd pretend to bite down on her own arm. Funny stuff. But that day in the car, she must have sensed that I'd been semi-serious about the eating animals thing, because when I asked if we should eat her, she was very quick to say "no." She looked and sounded pissed. Meanwhile Elsa was still saying, "eat animals! eat animals!" innocent and smiley as can be, clearly looking for approval and affirmation, and I wanted to cry.

Lesson learned: once they're verbal, you really shouldn't mess with your kids for your own amusement. At least, not until they're teenagers.

Little Sponges

Roper — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 22:49:00 GMT

OK, this language learning thing is getting out of control. I am flabbergasted by how quickly the girls are picking up words and making connections between things now. Almost every day, something comes out of their mouths that surprises and astounds me. The other day we were reading a book together -- many of you probably know it: it's that Sandra Boynton one where all the animals have on different colored clothes, and the turkey always screws up, putting the socks on his wings or the pants on his head or whatever: "Oops!" At the end (SPOILER ALERT!) the turkey finally gets it right and puts all his clothes on the right way, and then proceeds to jump into a pool. ("Oops!")

Now, I have read this book to the girls a number of times before, but I wouldn't say it's been in heavy rotation. When I read it to them the other day, it was the first time in a while. But wouldn't you know it, when we got to the last page, Elsa pointed and said "pool!" How did she know that? She's never been in a pool, has only seen one a few times, from afar, and as far as I know her main exposure to the word would have been through occasional reading of this book. And yet, there it was, clear as chlorinated water before a clothed turkey has jumped into it: "pool!" This word -- like so many others -- was apparently just sitting there in the recesses of her little brain, waiting for an occasion to be used.

And Clio -- well, don't even get me started on Clio. That girl is becoming a multisyllabic demon, eager to repeat long words and two-word phrases. She has recently added "soccer ball" "basketball" "applesauce" and "Goodnight Moon" to her vocabulary. The other night, just after I'd kissed the girls goodnight and turned out the light, there came the sound of an engine roaring past outside, and Clio piped up "Motorcycle!"

What's even more fun are the associations they are starting to make on their own between objects, words, and ideas. Last week at playgroup, Elsa took a fireplace out of the dollhouse there and handed it to me saying "Hush! Hush!" It looked almost exactly like the fireplace in "Goodnight Moon."

And my final, favorite bit of recent linguistic cuteness: the other day, Clio was peering into a case of wine that Alastair had just bought and set down in the kitchen floor. She pointed at the bottles and said "Mommy Daddy juice." Yes, indeed.

Apologies for the paucity and pbbbtness of posts lately, by the way. The old demon that starts with a D has reared its boring, stupid, ugly head again and I've been having a tough couple of weeks. More on that, plus, some darn cute pictures of the girls dressed up like ballerinas, to come soon....

Sessa and Kee-o

Roper — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 01:07:00 GMT

One of the loveliest parts about having twins is watching the relationship between them develop. When I was pregnant, lots of parents of twins mentioned this by way of encouragement / consolation: yes, it's really hard, but it's so amazing when they start really interacting. And it's a great, great thing when they can start keeping each other entertained, so you don't have to all the time.

True, true, true. But it takes a while. For the first several months of their lives, Elsa and Clio were pretty much oblivious to each other. This is understandable, I guess; If I'd spent nine months crammed in with another person in a space the size of a small watermelon, I'd want a little space, too.

Once they could sit up and crawl, they started to do things like take toys, bottles and pacifiers away from each other -- generally without incident. (Hm. I had a block, now I don't. Whaddya know about that?) When they became bipedal, they began having the occasional playful wrestling match, which would start with giggling and inevitably end with tears. (Usually from Clio, who Elsa has a habit of "loving" a bit roughly at times.) Hitting, pushing and hair pulling, both innocent and with intent to harm, followed. As I wrote in a recent post, refereeing between the two of them has become an increasingly large part of my role as a parent.

At the same time, I've had the pleasure of watching a real affection and sense of awareness develop between the girls. It seems like the change has accelerated over the past few months, ever since they learned to say each other's names. Now, they are always aware of where the other is -- or isn't -- at any given time. If, for example, Clio is awake and Elsa is still napping and I take Clio out of the nursery, she'll ask "Sessa?" expecting that, as usual, where she goes, Elsa will go, too. I'll tell her that Elsa is still sleeping, and Clio will confirm, with a nod, "Sessa nigh nigh." She'll usually remind me -- and herself? -- of this fact again in a few minutes. And when it's time to go wake Elsa up, Clio will happily climb up the stairs calling "Sessa! Sessa!"

And for all the bickering they do, they are actually quite thoughtful when it comes to making sure the other one is taken care of. I can now, for example, hand two graham crackers to Elsa and tell her to go give one to Clio, and she'll do it. Of course, she may very well steal it back from her five minutes later, but hey, baby steps, right? There are also spontaneous hugs, which Clio, in particular, is way into lately. (Elsa still tends to express her affection for Clio with sometimes violent exuberance -- a little like Lennie in Of Mice and Men. We're working on it.)

What's especially fun, though, is seeing how much they enjoy each other's company. Elsa finds Clio absolutely hilarious. Clio is often the instigator of things silly and absurd, and Elsa loves to play along. (Sometimes they will look at each other and just start cracking up for no reason I can comprehend, and these are the times that feel closest to some kind of "twin talk" thing between them.) Elsa, meanwhile, is usually the trailblazer when it comes to more "serious" activities -- physical things like climbing and exploring, and tactile things like building with blocks or playing with a particular toy. In those cases, Clio follows her lead.

Of course, there are still plenty of times when they just "parallel play" or blithely ignore each other and do their own thing, as kids their age are wont to do. Sometime one feels like interacting and the other would rather be left alone. But when they do really play together -- and are clearly having fun doing it -- damn, it's precious:

(And, inevitably, ends with someone asking for food.)

Not nice.

Roper — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 00:36:00 GMT

Over the past week, Clio has suddenly started using two-word phrases left and right. Things like "More milk," "Clio's shoes," and "You betcha." (Just kiddin' about that last one, folks! *wink*).

One of the more interesting phrases is "not nice." It first surfaced (to my knowledge) last Thursday night when my friend Megan and her 17-month-old daughter, Marlie, were over for a pre-VP debate play-date. Marlie made an attempt to sit in Clio's little easy chair, and Clio waved her hand at her and said, quite sternly, what sounded like, "Nah Nye!" It was Megan who figured out what it meant.

It blew me away, and yet it made perfect sense -- we use the phrase all the time, when the girls steal each other's toys, food, etc. or misbehave on their own. "That's not nice to take your sister's graham cracker." "It's not nice to throw your broccoli on the floor and laugh maniacally." etc. I was so impressed with Clio that it didn't occur to me to tell her that it was also "not nice" for her not to let Marlie sit in her chair. (Not that it would have done any good.)

Anyway, Clio has said "not nice," a number of times since, when Elsa has gotten in her way or taken something from her. I have to say, it's really quite a clever tactic. (Or is it a strategy?) Instead of a more predictable and id-like "mine," or "No" she appeals to the perpetrator's sense of morality. It's not nice to take my graham cracker. It's not nice to sit down on the ladder to the slide so I can't get past you. It's not nice to try to grab the truck back from me after I take it from you.

Is this some sort of social developmental milestone? The fact that she's saying something about other people's behavior and how it affects her, rather than just doing or saying what she wants? Maybe it's not as nuanced as that. Maybe in her little round brain, "Not nice" is just another, longer way to say "no" or "me." Still, it's quite cute, and I can't help being amused.

On the other hand, it is just the latest development in a new sense of territorialness (is that a word?) that seems to be growing in both of the girls. Suddenly, it seems like a much larger part of my job as a parent is playing referee. I'm constantly trying to get two toddlers who are too young to fully understand the concept of sharing to do just that. And it can be a drag.

Not that the girls never play well together; they often do. Sometimes they even listen when I tell one of them to give something back to the other, or move over and make room -- mama's lap is big enough for two. But more often than not, when one of them is in a sharing mood, the other one isn't. On particularly cranky and contentious days, I find myself envying my friends with just one toddler this age -- friends who don't have to be constantly negotiating and mediating and problem solving; who can, say, give their kid an empty toilet paper roll to play with while they do the dishes without then having to run out to the porch and dig frantically through the recycling bin to find another one before a total meltdown occurs. And then the meltdown happens anyway because one kid hogs both toilet paper rolls. Or one of them decides that in spite of the fact that the rolls are EXACTLY the same, the one their sister has is clearly superior, and they must have it instead.

I get tired of having to satisfy two often conflicting sets of absurd toddler needs at once. I get tired of hearing myself tell them to share / be nice / give it back / give her a turn / etc. (I sound like such a mother, for God's sake). I get annoyed at myself for not being more fair and firm and consistent in how I deal with their little tussles. And I feel guilty for the times when I am not able to maintain my patience and perspective and find myself thinking, "Jeez, [Elsa / Clio] is really being an asshole." When, of course, all she's doing is being a toddler.

The 20-month bump

Roper — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 11:57:00 GMT

I'm sure I've said this before, but every few months or so, it feels like the girls make a great leap forward developmentally. They can be cruising along at more or less the same social / verbal / physical level for weeks and weeks, then all of a sudden, they surge forward on the winding path from babyhood to childhood.

The latest leap seemed to coincide with our recent vacation, (which I think is part of what made it an especially rewarding trip) and was all kinds of fun to experience. The novelty will no doubt wear off soon enough, but there have been some particularly heartwarming and adorable developments.

Language-wise, things really seem to be picking up, with both girls more frequently imitating words that they hear. We had our first "Oh-sh**t-we-have-to-start-watching-our-language" moment recently: while we were up in New Hampshire, Alastair discovered that he'd sat on some surface with pine sap on it, and complained loudly about having this gross stuff all over his ass. At which point Clio declared: "Ass!" We've also started to do that classic parent maneuver of spelling out words that we don't want the girls to hear us discussing, lest they obsess. Some ("m-i-l-k") are decidedly easier than others ("S-e-s-a-m-e-S-t-r-e-e-t"). But the best recent language event was the time I sneezed and Elsa said -- clear as day -- "Bless you."

Interesting things are also happening in the way the girls play. They finally seem to have figured out --- and manage to remember about 80% of the time -- that crayons are not for eating. And they've gotten to be pretty good scribblers. The other day, Elsa even drew something resembling a large, purple potato. This is exciting, seeing as most of their work consists of back-and-forth lines in the same direction. Can broccoli-shaped trees with the requisite squirrel hole be far behind? I'm also wondering if pretty soon I can try giving them Play-Doh, but I suspect that may still be too tempting for them to put in their mouths. (Hell, I'm 34 and I still want to eat the stuff.)

They also suddenly seem to have strong feelings about stuffed animals and dolls -- Elsa in particular. When we arrived at our cabin at family camp in New Hampshire, there were a couple of stuffed animals left behind by another family, and Elsa got quite focused on them, hugging and kissing them and arranging them on one of the beds to go "night night." Then, when we were staying with friends in Vermont, she formed a fast, passionate attachment to an Elmo finger puppet and a hard plastic horse ("horsey!") both of which she insisted on having in her crib with her at night. (I forgot to pluck horsey out of the crib before I went to bed, and was therefore woken up at 3am by Elsa, crying and whining in her sleep because she'd rolled onto the thing and couldn't get comfortable. Stupid horsey.) Anyway, there's something surprisingly sweet about watching kids personify (and animalify?) toys.

But one of my favorite new developments is an increased -- or at least more clearly expressed and initiated -- desire for physical contact: cuddling, hand holding, lap sitting, wanting to be picked up. I guess that last one can get a little tiring -- especially because when I pick one kid up, the other wants to be picked up, too, which is almost impossible. But it sure does feel nice to hold your daughter in your arms, knowing that it's because she wants to be held. Fringe benefit: my arms are more toned now than they've been since I was 20.

Naturally, there have been some not-so-great things also associated with this latest developmental surge. The girls are more willful and stubborn about what they want, and more inclined to throw little hissy fits if they don't get it. They tussle with each other over toys more, and have learned the words "mine" and "me." It's two steps forward, one step back, just like the Paula Abdul song. (Or was that two steps forward and two steps back?) In any case, while I'm not sure I'd say things are getting easier, exactly, I can say without reservation that they get steadily more fun.

(Bad posture, mommy!)

The 18-month Lull

Roper — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 01:33:00 GMT

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 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.

My arm strength, I think, has kept pace, too. Babies are the ideal form of weight training: a gradual increase over time, so you don't even notice that they're getting heavier and that your arms are, in turn, getting more buff. On the flip side, I'm definitely noticing that my back is more frequently sore. Though I try to bend my knees when I'm picking the girls up, it's not always possible. Like when I'm lifting them out of their highchairs or cribs, or out of swings at the playground. The ole lumbar region has definitely seen better days.

Still, I'll take 18 months over 16. As I'm writing this, it occurs to me that maybe one of the big reasons things feel a bit easier is that the girls have started calling me Mommy / Mama now. Does that make me a completely vain and narcissistic person? (Asks the mommy blogger...) Just because my girls call me Mom -- which turns me to Jell-o pretty much every single time -- I find it easier and more rewarding to be with them? Add in the fact that they crawl into my lap when they want me to read to them, and occasionally even offer up a spontaneous kiss, and what can I do? I am at their mercy. The sore back, the endless cleaning of thrown food, the temper tantrums (theirs) and futile reasoning (mine -- as in, "Clio, you already had a turn with that puzzle; it's Elsa's turn now...") ...are all much more tolerable when they're balanced by cuddling and giggling and earnestly anunciated attempts at words. (Wa-foo!)

Which isn't to say that I'd call things "easy." This morning, for example, Clio pitched a total fit at the doctor's office. (Their 18-month checkup.) She was happy as a small, pudgy clam in the waiting room, but the second we got into the exam room she got decidedly tense, and when we took her clothes off and tried to weigh her -- forget about it. She was one angry little baby. Not that I blame her. It's humiliating to strip down and get poked and prodded at, no matter how old you are. And it adds insult to injury when the doctor keeps getting your name wrong. (I'm not Chloe, I'm CLIO, dammit! And I don't care if you have cute frog stickers on your stethoscope, I do NOT like being objectified in this way! Give me my clothes!)

But still, somehow, this sort of incident doesn't rattle me or stress me out like it might have a month ago. This is the way of parenthood, it seems: you go through times when you feel like you're at your wits' end and wonder when you'll ever get a break when, suddenly, it gets a little easier. And then something changes and it gets harder again, but soon enough, the rewards recalibrate with the challenges, and you reach a sort of happy medium; an equilibrium. For a little while...

Waffles and Bubbles and Flowers, Oh my!

Roper — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 20:13:00 GMT

The whole language acquisition thing seems to be picking up 'round here. The girls keep surprising me with new words. Last week, I was getting the their breakfast ready -- Kashi waffles topped with applesauce, always a big hit -- and when I brought it to them, Elsa exclaimed "wa-foo!"

Oblivious as always, I first just smiled and repeated, in my dopey mom voice, "Yeah, wa-foo!" and then it hit me: by George, the girl is saying waffle! How long has she known this? Has she been holding out on me? Practicing in her crib at night? What else can she say? Pancakes? Eggs Benedict? So, of course, I started hooting "Yes! Waffles! That's right! Good girl! Waffles!" and trying to find ways to use "waffle" logically in sentences for the rest of the day. ("Remember at breakfast when you ate a waffle?" "You look very waffle today, Elsa!" "Dinnertime! We're not having waffles!")

Soon after that -- maybe even the same day -- the three of us were hanging out in the back yard, and Clio started pointing toward the porch and saying "buh buh! Buh buh!" I caught on a little quicker this time: she was pointing at a container of bubble stuff on the rail. She wanted me to blow bubbles! And so I did, until I was dizzy and had to sit down. Elsa has also started saying bubbles, but pronounces it slightly differently, more like "bah-boo."

Isn't it odd that two babies raised in exactly the same household, who hear each other talk alll the time, have different dialects? This is the case for a lot of the words that they both know. One of the most interesting examples is the fact that Clio says "Mama" and "Dada" while Elsa says "Mommy" and "Daddy." Fascinating! (And can I just say how totally wonderful it is that they're starting to call us this? Granted, they still ocasionally call random strangers, mailboxes and ducks "mommy," too, but most of the time they get it right.)

It's also interesting to me that they don't both have the same words. Elsa has flower ("flou") and stairs ("dee"), but Clio has baby ("bay-bees") and eyes ("ise"). I'm sure someone could have fun coming up with a complex and ridiculous theory on the psychological significance of this, or what it suggests about the girls' future lots in life. (Elsa is going to be a landscape architect and Clio is going to be a doctor?)

Anyway, now that I know the girls are getting better at this talking thing, I'm trying to work more intensively with them on certain words, including "please," "thank you," and "yes." (Because Lord knows they've got "no" down pat.) I'm more conscious of not dropping sh- or f-bombs in their presence. And I'm also thinking I should try to sprinkle some Spanish words in here and there...our new sitter, who's Ecuadorian, will be able to help with that when she starts, which I'm excited about. Como se dice "waffle" en Espanol?

Clio sez, (translated) "Cracker baby bubbles beans cheese shoes bath banana no, Mom!"

Elsa thinks, "Wow, I must look really cute in this bathing suit. She keeps taking pictures."

The Word of the Month Club

Roper — Thu, 22 May 2008 15:10:00 GMT

In the beginning -- well, back when the girls were around 11 months old -- there was "Dah!" meaning dog, (or pretty much anything with four legs) and it was good. About a month later came "nana" (banana, then any food), and soon after that it was "cah" (car) and "shizz" (shoes) and so on. But it seemed like each time a new word was acquired, the old one suddenly fell out of fashion and they'd rarely if ever say it. (Dah? What's a dah? Come on, Mommy, let's talk about shizz!)

There are definitely still word "fads" around here -- "babies" is the big one this week -- but in the last month or so it seems like finally the girls are hanging onto multiple words, and employing them with increasing accuracy. Clio is the more verbal of the two; she tends to use more words (and signs) than Elsa, and is eager to learn new ones. Elsa, meanwhile, is more interested in honing her gross motor skills (i.e. climbing, pillaging, plundering, ransacking). Of course, we suspected all along that this might be the case. Elsa was always ahead physically, but Clio started cooing and babbling well before she did. Ah, yes, I remember it well.....(Flashback! Wavy screen....)

Ha -- at the time, this seemed incredibly impressive and interactive to us. It's all relative, ain't it?

Anyway, we're having fun seeing both girls add more words to their vocabularies. I'd say between them they have maybe 10 or so in all, and they obviously understand much more than that. But the real language "explosion" that I hear people talk about hasn't come yet. In fact, I think in general E & C are a little behind the curve in their language acquisition skills. I'm not worried, though. It's supposedly normal for twins to talk later than singleton kids. It can be due in part to premature birth (not the case here, as ours were born at a healthy 37 weeks, at 5 pounds each), but can also be a result of the way caregivers communicate and interact with twins. It's a little sad, actually: twins don't get as much one-on-one time with parents or caregivers, so they don't get as many opportunities to learn and practice verbal communication. And because wrangling twins can be stressful and tiring, caregivers tend to talk to their kids a little less and use more quick directives ("drink your milk," "don't take your sister's book," "come here," etc.). Apparently this is why second children sometimes talk later, too.

Then there's the "Twin talk" theory; that twins communicate with each other in their own "language," so they're slower to learn the language of us big people. I haven't really seen much evidence of this between Elsa and Clio, unless you count stealing toys or food away from each other causing the other to scream and cry as some special form of "communication." Or, maybe their twin talk is so secret and sophisticated that I don't even notice it. Maybe they send telepathic messages to each other: "Hey, mom's trying to get us ready to go out somewhere in the cah. Let's both poop!"

I'm curious to hear from readers -- especially moms of twins -- when did the language thing really "take off" for your kids?