Sad Wesley at the park

 

One each from a day at the park with kites

 
 
 

Oliver in the grass

 

Wesley loves the dirt

 

The Darndest Things

Oliver, to Max while Max was yelling: "Max! No Yellowing!"

Oliver, in the car: "Mommy, I ate my sock because my foot hurts." (He was eating his sock, but I don't really understand why.)

Oliver, after a haircut: "Mommy, there's a haircut on my pants."

Wesley, looking wistfully into the sky: "Birds don't like petting."

And, at the end of what I thought was a relaxing, lovely day to ourselves (James is away for two days), all three boys were falling asleep at the dinner table. I said, "Does mommy make you tired?"
Oliver and Wesley, in unison, said, "Yes, mommy."
I followed up, "Does daddy make you tired?"
Again in unison, "No, mommy."
There might be some differences in our parenting styles! We always read books before bedtime, but tonight Oliver put himself to bed at 6:45, and Max handed me his pajamas and asked to put them on. Fine, I can take a hint. Sleep well, boys, because we have all day tomorrow to ourselves, too!

They love goggles and screwdrivers

 

Oliver

 

Max's purple cupcake

 

Why the house is never clean

This would be considered a "successful activity" because nothing has been broken or disassembled or thrown, and no one is crying or hurt. Activities that result in entire rooms being messy...that's just a given.

 

If you were three, you'd agree that this is hilarious

 

Max making valentines

 

Valentine's Day crafts

Typical craft activity - Wesley is asking permission with his eyes to write with black marker on the kitchen window, Oliver is planning to cut a hole in his shirt, and Max is about to stick that marker in his ear.

 

I'm a Turtle!

Wesley spends up to 16 hours a day inside this pillow. He sleeps in it all night, watches TV in it, tries to maneuver around the house in it, plays with trains in it. He says he's like a turtle, with his house on his back.

 

Max's first finger paint

 

Oliver and Wesley looking more fraternal (and less identical) by the day

 

Blitztorte, Blitzlove

At the YMCA this morning, Wesley saw a Martha Stewart magazine on an endtable and started licking the cover: seventeen tiny cupcakes arranged in a heart for Valentine's Day. "Mommy, let's go home and make purple cupcakes," he said with a smile so satisfied it was as if we had already done it. He carried around the magazine for 35 minutes, showing it to other kids, gazing at it, and of course, more licking.

He's napping now, and I just made 12 lemon-scented white cupcakes. He'll find them when he wakes up, with a bowl of purple frosting ready for his handiwork.

It's the kind of thing my mom would do. If you ask for, say waffles, pancakes _and_ french toast for breakfast, she'll probably make them. If you need ice cream, but the kind with heart-shaped chocolates in it instead of the football-shaped chocolate candy ice cream that's already in the freezer, she'll go find the one you need. She doesn't indulge every single request; just enough to make you feel loved.

Turning into your mother isn't always a bad thing -- I even made German Blitztorte cake -- appreciable in my family of origin for both its ethnicity and its speed.

Time to go find the food coloring...

Why We Get So Many Communicable Diseases...

1. This is Wesley's response to being told, "Don't drink the syrup." He's sticking his tongue in for a taste. "Not drinking, mommy. Wesley's not drinking," is his defense. Max, of course, is trying to get in line for a turn, tongue ready.

 

Why We Get So Many Communicable Diseases...

2. Because one twin copies the other.

 

Why We Get So Many Communicable Diseases...

3. because certain people eat breakfast while squatting on the table naked.

 

Certainty

Dear Wesley,

I realize that life is full of change and uncertainty. You just never know whether, underneath its wrapper, the lollipop will be red. Maybe the stovetop will be hot today, or maybe it won't be. Maybe daddy will go to work today, or maybe mommy will. Maybe you'll get to the potty in time, or maybe you won't. There's just no predicting these things.

But there's one thing that will never, ever change. Every single time you partially shave your head with a beard trimmer, I will shave the rest of it off. Count on it.

I love you, bald boy.

Love,
Mommy