Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Domestic Enemies of the MULTIPLES Mom

Holy crap. Every time we think about twins, Lydia and I are all, "I don't think my uterus is zoned for this..." But that's just the beginning. Then there's the birthing part, and the actually having to parent them. THEM. One of Kate's awesome friends has identical twins and when one of them misses the other one, she just puts the lonely twin in front of the mirror. It's sorta the same thing, right? Because Maude knows, Kate can spend all afternoon in front of a mirror and she's not even missing anyone. 

May we present Sara, whose uterus - apparently - was zoned for this. Here's what you should know about her:

"I am a mom to 4 kids (ages 8, 6, 6, 5), which obviously includes the wondertwins that inspired this rant. I am a SAHM in the Midwest (St. Louis to be exact), I drive a MASSIVELY dented mini-van that carries the lingering smell of chocolate cheese (the product of a spilled McDonald’s drink that has aged in my floor mats), I am addicted to reality shows on MTV which target a substantially younger audience, I am a life-long lover (as in obsessed, not an actual sexual partner) of Bon Jovi, I grew up in Hawaii…and I am every woman you describe in your posts, which is why I am your biggest, hugest, most scary-spice kind of fan."

And you can read more from her at: www.thedenckhoffs.blogspot.com


Here are some of the domestic enemies of moms with mulitples...

People who failed health class: About 6 years ago, I gave birth to a very blond German boy and a dark haired, VERY Asian girl.  They happen to be twins, whose DNA traveled many moons and continents to find my very uterus, and produce two extremely different infants.   And while they looked like the baby version of the bad guys in World War II [Editor's Note: Best. Line. Ever. - Kate] they were also, very obviously MALE and FEMALE.  And yet, we heard the same question over and over. And over. And OVER.

“Are they identical?”

The only appropriate response is an impromptu lesson on the differences between a PENIS and a VAGINA.  With drawings.  Seriously, people NEED to know this stuff and I am on a mission from God to teach it. 

Stuff: Stuff is a problem for any family with kids, but households with twins must have two of EVERYTHING.  All the mur.thur.furking. time or someone (me) will explode, I think.  Cribs and bouncy seats and high chairs and swings and those damn exer-saucers that require entirely new storage *wings* be added to the house.    It’s okay, though.  The babies don’t need a college education so much as they require those horrific, matching shoes with an obnoxious cartoon character on them.   In a shocking twist of fate, I am ABSOLUTELY positive that I am going to die in an avalanche of the very Elmo-themed items that have ruined my house and my sanity.   All that’s left for him to take is my actual living, breathing soul.  

Grocery Stores: So.  Grocery stores kind of suck in general for anyone with kids, but they present a *slightly* larger dilemma for those of us raising twins.  I have YET to find a way to put two babies in a shopping cart that does not rely upon toilet paper as a padded wedge upon which your infant’s safety depends.  And I ABSOLUTELY REFUSED to wait until my husband was home to make my way to the grocery store, because if I was given that kind of freedom, it was going to involve a t-box, an episode of The Real World and a tub of ice cream. 

Instead, I opted to:  stack twin #1 in the grocery cart, with twin #2 strapped on in the Baby Bjorn…all while verbally screaming my then 2-year-old through the aisles of the store where Dora-the-marketing-slut peddles everything from fruit snacks to shampoo.   All done with my head down to avoid eye contact with anyone who wanted to know if my babies were twins, identical (enter soft porn drawings) or wanting to touch their hands/cheeks/tongues with every germ in the known universe.  

This plan worked less-than-moderately-well, until, SURPRISE!, Baby #4 was born when the twins were 16-months old and NOT walking.  Grocery store revision:  twins in double stroller, #4 in the Bjorn, verbally scream my now 3-year-old through every aisle of Dora’s voo-doo magic while shoving canned goods and meat products in every. square. inch.  of that stroller. All the while wielding a butcher knife to cut the bitch who even dared to give me the “Better you than me” comment.  What part of you thinks I am better equipped to go without a shower for days and wipe an ass every 43 seconds, jack-hole?

School: I suck at teaching one child the ridiculously complicated, phonetic language.  So that makes me a Super-sized value meal of suckage when it comes to the homework involved with TWO kindergartners.   Also, there is math, which apparently, they teach in 136 different formats these days.  WHUCK was wrong with simply learning to carry the “1” in addition?  Must we use a system of tally marks and coin counting that is SO sophisticated, even the military can’t decipher it????

And it doesn’t end with double the homework.  There is the volunteering at school, which, by some AMAZING law of quantum physics and the space time continuum, actually requires more time than if I just home schooled them on my own, particularly if they are in different classes.  There’s the play dates and social management that is overwhelming (just kidding, we don’t really do play dates as I like to remind my twins that I *made* them their very own, genetically compatible friend).  And then there’s Valentine’s Day—also known as the day in which mom addresses 25 valentines. Twice.

Pools: Never is the art of having to manage 2 babies at the EXACT SAME TIME so perilous, as when a large, chlorinated body of water is involved.  For the better part of 4 years, our time at the pool was also counter-balanced with a jail sentence in a wet, fungal locker room—as one of the twins (or their younger brother) was constantly soiling their swim diaper and requiring the skill of a Jedi to change said diaper, while making sure none of the 4 children mopped the floors with their stomachs or tongues.  I was rarely successful, but as a bonus, our kids have been vaccinated with a live strain of Ebola.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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