Ugh! Time for scowling lessons?

I got a rare glimpse yesterday into the minds of Matthew and Jonathan and how they experience the world as identical twins.
We were sitting in the minivan after a school field trip, waiting for their older brother and sister to emerge from the building.
A friend passed by with her twin boys, who are two years younger than our guys.
I opened the sliding van door so Matthew and Jonathan could see the other twins and say, "Hello."
My friend's twins both have the same hue of bright blond hair, the same fair skin and are about the same height.
But one of her boys has curls and an outgoing, social personality.
The other has straighter hair and is more clingy, more cautious in his approach.
Though they are obviously brothers, I've never had trouble telling them apart.
They are clearly fraternal.
After the other twins left, a conversation ensued in the back seat.
Jonathan: "I can't tell them apart. That's why I don't use their names."
Matthew: "Yes, they look the same to me."
Jonathan: "At least they weren't dressed the same. That helps."
Matthew: "I think one has a fuller face. I still can't tell them apart though."
I was stunned.
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
How many times had they heard this?
How many people have examined Jonathan and Matthew and spoken of them -- right in front of them -- as if they were simply objects, highly insensitive with their games of " What makes these pictures different?" This back-seat conversation was clearly not about the twin friends we'd just seen.
Matthew and Jonathan were emulating adult conversations, conversations they'd overheard.
This happened frequently when they were babies and toddlers.
I didn't worry then because I figured Matthew and Jonathan couldn't comprehend it anyway. They were immersed in their own, egocentric worlds. But as they got older, I started to hush people when the comparisons began.
Then, when they got a lot older, I started to scowl.
Soon it seemed that people had gotten smarter.
They still compared the boys. That's only natural.
Heck, I do it too.
But they compared them out of earshot.
I guess the reactions to my scowls misled me.
I'd thought things had gotten better recently, that the overt and callus comparisons had become less frequent, especially since Matthew and Jonathan rarely even wear the same shirts, have tried to achieve different haircuts, have developed such different personalities, and have different amounts of fullness in their faces making their expressions unique.
I guess I was wrong.
Jonathan and Matthew are out of my hands more often nowadays.
They are in preschool four days a week, where they interact not only with teachers, but with parents of other children. Teachers tend to be sensitive, but that doesn't ensure that other adults they encounter will be.
Sigh.
I've taught Jonathan and Matthew to be upfront when people are unsure who is who and tell them their names. Right now, they aren't bothered by that. I've tried to help them understand that it's not an insult. People just need help sometimes because they look so much alike on the outside.
I guess we need another lesson though.
I guess I need to teach them how to scowl.

The time-out swap

I used to be able to count on Matthew.
Or, at least, on his time-outs.
He'd begin testing me immediately after we dropped the older kids off at school. By the second trip to the time-out chair, I knew, without looking at the clock, that it was time to get lunch ready.
The third trip generally came just before we left to pick up the older kids from school, and fourth time-out was our call to dinner. Sometimes, there was a fifth time-out. That meant we were late getting them to bed.
But I couldn't count on Jonathan.
Just the mention of discipline made him quiver.
And whenever his brother was buckled in the time-out chair, he would cry and cry, demanding that I set him free.
I could honestly say that Matthew was our difficult twin.
Not anymore.
Just as they have done with so many other personality traits, Matthew and Jonathan have swapped. It's almost like they are toying with us. They push us and push us to label them and then, just when we're confident that we know these guys, that we know who they are and that we can openly say so, they pull a fast one.
One takes on the trait of the other.
But that doesn't mean they mimic each other.
Somehow, they still manage to do it in their own, individual ways.
Yes, Matthew's behavior has improved.
But he doesn't have the empathy that Jonathan had.
He couldn't care less whether his brother gets a time-out.
And I can't count on Jonathan like I could count on Matthew.
Jonathan's time-outs come in one endless stream all day long and they are proceeded by screeches of "I don't like," I don't," and "I will not" along with lots of hitting and pushing.
Matthew simply defied us, quietly and boldly.
I'm not thrilled with this phase, but I am thrilled to find even more evidence that identical genes do not mean that Matthew and Jonathan will respond to situations with identical emotions and attitudes.
Even in their rebellion, they are individuals.

Identical twins, identical gifts?

I am a coward.
I know I should be buying Matthew and Jonathan each drastically different Christmas gifts to help them differentiate from each other, to see themselves as individuals.
But it's not going to happen.
Oh, they'll get a find a few things under the tree that are non-identical. I hit the jackpot with Thomas the Tank Engine characters on EBay and got a whole bunch cheap. So Matthew with get Emily, Dennis, and Bill and Ben. Jonathan will get Rosie, Toby, and Annie and Clarabel.
But they inherited a slew of engines from their older brother last year and they already have doubles of their favorite engines (Thomas, Gordon and Percy). So chances are good that they will simply add these new ones to the bin and happily share them.
Not so with the train T-shirts.
(Jonathan chased his brother all over the house yesterday trying to tear off his Power Rangers T-shirt, the only one we have.)
Or the doctor kits.
(One stethoscope? Are you kidding? Doctors don't have to share. Why should they?)
Or the Cars helmets.
(Different helmets could create a hazardous situation in this household.)
So they will each get a Mader car and a Thomas flashlight and a set of Take-Along tracks. They will both get Thomas place mats and a set of four little cars and the same goodies in their stockings.
They will get gifts to share from their siblings and gifts that are just slightly different from an aunt and uncle. We bought them puzzles that are the same size and same difficulty level with closely related themes.
But Matthew and Jonathan are two years old (almost three) and, at this point in their lives, their interests are just about the same. It is not simply because they are identical twins (though I believe that does have something to do with it).
It is because they are little and their experiences in life are slim. They love the things that most toddler/preschoolers love. They have always been attracted to similar colors and textures, and it's just not worth the battles right now.
It wasn't worth it with our older kids--who are 17 months apart--either.
Over the next year, Jonathan and Matthew will start to develop more as individuals. They will experience things differently more often. they will start to cultivate their own interests. We will help them do that by exposing them to as much as we can and encouraging them each to explore those concepts and activities that attract them most.
But right now, I just want them to be happy.
And, to be honest, I want to have a peaceful Christmas.
So, a coward I am.

They sing!

They sing!
Matthew and Jonathan sing!
And they sing everything: lullabies; theme songs, Twinkle, Twinkle; I've Been Working on the Railroad, The Wheels on the Bus.
They lie on their beds and sing to Laurie Berkner.
They dance in their room and sing with Laurie Berkner.
They twist and twirl and flap their hands, and sing with the Wiggles.
Their voices are beautiful.
Imperfect and beautiful.
They are confident.
They are proud.
They are having a blast.
This, despite the fact that I rarely expose them to raw music.
They get too much TV, too many DVDs.
I did the opposite with my older kids. I was strict with television and I kept the music playing--in the car, in the living room, in their bedrooms. We listened to Laurie Berkner, Raffie, World Playground.
I had more energy.
Yet my older children rarely belted out tunes at this age.
Now, my son sings only in bathrooms.
And my daughter thinks she's the next Hannah Montana.
But, when I pop in a CD for the twins, they are captivated.
Absolutely.
The best part? Matthew and Jonathan used to say, "No sing!" whenever I tried to sing them a lullaby. I can't really blame them. I have this problem with singing on key. But I craved that connection with them, that warm, sweet cuddle time.
That has changed.
A few months ago, Jonathan crawled into my arms and said, "Rock-a-bye?"
I held him and rocked and sang to him as tears welled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. A few days later, Matthew did the same. Now I sometimes rock and sing to both in the recliner or sneak them in another room one-by-one.
And each time, they cry.
Tears of relief, I think, or of release.
And while they let it all go, I take it all in.
All of their sweetness.

Sometimes it would be nice if they acted like twins

I had to laugh the other day when I thought about all those parents who fret about separating their identical twins in school, or who dress their twins in assigned colors only, or who enroll them in different activities regardless of their interests--all with the goal of promoting individuality.
I had to laugh because individuality is the reason I need a mother's helper one day a week this summer. Individuality is the reason I had to order two more yellow shirts from Children's Place last week. Individuality is the reason we have huge battles at bath time these days.
And I can't recall doing anything specific to promote it.
For instance, I can't take Matthew and Jonathan to any public place that is not fenced in by myself because as soon as I set them down, they run off in opposite directions.
They might nod at each other occasionally, but rarely do they interact at all. They are content in the knowledge that the other is there and for some reason, that contentment seems to give them confidence. And energy.
So, if I want to take the older kids to the zoo, the Museums Center or the splash park, I need another pair of hands.
My mother's helper is 14 years old. She is our neighbor's daughter. She was so excited when she accepted the job. She was so exhausted after our trip to the zoo on Wednesday.
I hope she has the strength to last another eight weeks.
I had to buy those yellow shirts (on sale, thank goodness) because that's all Matthew will wear lately. Jonathan will wear only orange, though both are willing to make an exception for red or green shirts once in a while as long as we are willing to endure an amazingly long and loud tantrum first.
Jonathan will wear only shorts no matter how cool it is outside.
Matthew will wear only pants no matter how hot it is outside.
And bath time.
Bath time has turned into a disaster.
Jonathan wants bubbles and toys.
Matthew wants clear water and no toys.
I'm finding I can ease the resulting aggression by grabbing a few cars from their toy bin and throwing those in the water. Matthew doesn't view the cars as "bath toys." Jonathan does. So, until the novelty wears off, I'm saved once again.
Here are photos of the boys.
Can you guess who is who?

I just knew

It happened for the first time yesterday and I'm having trouble containing my excitement.
I was uploading images from our digital camera onto the computer when I saw a photo of one of the boys. My first thought--my very first and very confident thought--was, that's Jonny!
Moments later, it happened again, this time in a photo of the boys together. I immediately recognized Matty on the right.
Now, I know I sound like a horrible mother, so I should say that I have always been able to figure out who is who in photos eventually. I look at their clothes, at the toys in their hands, at the food on their faces. Sometimes, I have to squint a little and study the blue veins on the bridges of their noses (thick, Jonathan; thin, Matthew).
With time, I can identify them.
But this was different.
This time I just knew.
Right away.
Immediately.
I've never been so instantly sure.
And I know why.
Matthew and Jonathan are growing up and as they grow, their personalities are beginning to break through in a physical way--even in photos.
In the photo of Jonathan (below), he has this look on his face that belongs only to him.
Matthew has become a ham with cameras. He scrunches his face into a funny little smile and tilts his head up, like he did in yesterday's photo.
This last photo, I posted just for fun!
Jon is on the right. Is it love or is he trying to get a cookie out of his brother's mouth?

The shirt wars

Lately, they give me no choice.
I prefer to dress Matthew and Jonathan differently, but not because I worry about some identity crisis. I do it for my own selfish reasons: I find it easier to tell them apart. I'd rather look at their shirts as they run squealing away than wait until I catch up with them, turn them around and look hard into their faces.
But they are rebelling.
Within minutes of dressing the boys each the morning, one twin begins pawing at the other's shirt.
He wants it.
That's the only shirt he wants and he is obsessed. He won't leave his poor twin alone until he get it. And his twin can only run for so long.
The solution is simple if the shirt has an identical twin as well, but we don't have a lot of identical shirts. So, I do the next best thing. I open the shirt drawer and let him choose another favorite.
But as soon as that twin changes his shirt, the other twin begins pawing him. Then he starts stamping his feet and screaming and crying and trying to take his own shirt off and pointing at the shirt drawer saying, "Shirt! Shirt! Shirt!"
What can I do?
I open it and he grabs another.
Peace lasts for about 30 seconds.
Soon the victimized twin begins coveting his brother's shirt.
And so it goes.
The cycle repeats and repeats and repeats itself until finally, they end up in matching shirts.
And they are happy.
For a while.
Until one twin spills half his lunch on his shirt and has to change ...

He said his name

I was frustrated.
So frustrated.
I had bought a full-length mirror and mounted it in the nursery, hoping the image of himself would finally inspire Jonathan to say his name.
Instead, Jonathan stood before his reflection and said "Maaaatttt."
"No, no, no," I said, pointing to his brother. "That's Matt. You are Jon."
After a few rounds, Jonathan changed his response. Instead of calling himself "Matt," he actually pointed to his brother and then said Matthew's name. Further pressure only made Jonathan clam up.
Well, that was progress.
I sighed.
Jonathan knew who he was. He'd always responded to his name, but he just couldn't bring himself to verbalize it. Maybe the letter J was just too hard. But I knew in my heart that wasn't the issue. Jonathan wanted Matt's name, just like he wanted Matt's yellow bear, Matt's crib and Matt's shoes.
He had never said his name and he wasn't going to.
So I gave up.
I started to walk away.
Then I stopped.
I stopped because as I glanced back at Jonathan, I saw a familiar grin. It was that mischievous grin, the grin that tells me something big is about to happen.
"Maaaattt," he said, signaling toward his brother.
I approached him with caution.
"Yes. That's Matt, but who is this?" I asked, pointing at Jonathan's image. "Who is in the mirror?"
That grin grew. It grew bigger than I'd ever seen it before. Then suddenly it burst into a bright, startled face full of excitement, a look of comprehension and recognition that used every muscle in Jonathan's face.
"Jaaaah," he said. "Jaaaah."
Close enough.
I grabbed him and hugged him tight.
"Yes, yes," I said. "You are Jon."

Two ways to play

Again and again I have read that identical twins eventually become shaped by their environments--differently shaped by their indivual experiences and interactions. We have seen evidence of that in Matthew and Jonathan in the past few weeks.
Jonathan has always been a little more mellow than his brother, but his broken leg has emphasized that part of him. It is most obvious in the way he plays with the Little People's doll house,a toy they inheritted from their siblings.
In those first few days, when he had not yet learned to walk on the cast, Jonathan discovered new things about that house. He discovered that he could do more than just open it up, lay it on its back and attempt to sit inside it.
He began walking people through the door (cars too!), sitting people in chairs and laying them in the beds.
Meanwhile, his brother learned how to open all the drawers in the kitchen. Matthew also learned to slip his fingers through the cracks on locked cabinets and pull small things through. He learned to use stools, backpacks and diaper boxes to reach all kinds of things on countertops and dressers.
Then Jonathan became mobile on his cast, and even started to run. I thought Matthew would be distracted, his energy sources drained by brotherly wildness. Jonathan isn't all that fast, but he's pretty darned good. And he can jump and climb too.
But it wasn't enough.
Matthew still craves action.
He walks or runs aimlessly. He "fake" cries in hopes that I will pick him up and flip him upside down. He tumbles on top of Jonathan when Jonathan is sitting quietly, playing with a car, some blocks or a baby doll.
He goes nonstop.
Jonathan gets frustrated.
Jonathan enjoys the rough-housing, but he kind of likes playing quietly sometimes now.
He still has his moments--I just caught him trying to dump a loaf of bread onto the kitchen floor--but he has learned the value of imaginative play.
Matthew has taught him how to reach things he never thought possible (coffee cups set way back on counter tops are a favorite). Now we can only hope that Jonathan will teach Matthew a thing or two (and I'll be able to relax and drink that coffee!).

Bonding With Two

When our oldest was a baby, I nursed him back to sleep each time he awoke. Later, when he switched to formula, I gave him a bottle and rocked him. Finally, our pediatrician said that he would sleep through the night if we'd just kick the bottle habit. We did and he slept and I learned that for occasional wakings, all he needed was soft caresses on his back.
Our daughter didn't like to be cuddled. She still doesn't unless it's on her own terms. But we figured her out too. She needed to be changed and to know that we were there. With the simple comfort of our presence, she could dream again.
But those memories were at least five years old when the twins were born and I was filled with fear. What if they didn't sleep well? What if I was up all night every night, first with one and then with the other? I harbored no sentimentality about getting these little guys to sleep. I was militant. I'd feed them once during the night and only after 3 a.m. After that, they were on their own.
And it worked.
Until they started teething.
On a typical night, the boys will fall asleep between 7 and 8 p.m. and then wake around 5:30 a.m. I'll feed them each a bottle and leave them in their cribs to play. Sometimes, they will go back to sleep until 7. Other times, they'll get up with my husband about 6 a.m. But they've always been good natured about it.
Teething has changed everything.
They had been so good about going back to sleep on their own, that I had never bother to figure them out. So when Jonathan woke at 10 p.m. the other night and cried and cried and cried despite a bottle and a diaper change and medicine and attempts at rocking, my husband and I were at a loss. We were up with him for two hours before he could stand it no longer and he crashed.
It happened again a few nights later.
I panicked.
What if this became a habit? Our oldest son has trouble falling asleep, so he keeps us up later than we'd like. He'll lie there for an hour or two pondering important things like whether a spider who lost a leg would grow it back exactly as it was and how strong that leg would be when he first started walking on it. He is very good about staying in bed, but I just can't fall asleep when he's awake. So I wait.
Our daughter has her own issues. She is very intelligent and a perfectionist. With that comes high anxiety and vivid nightmares most every night. So she usually wakes up once, cuddles with us until she feels better, and then we bring her back to bed. Her pediatrician believes she will get better with age and she is improving, but it's going to be a long road.
That is hard enough.
I couldn't bear the thought of being up with the twins as well. On those two nights when Jonathan woke up, I barely got three hours of sleep and what I did get was interrupted. So last night when Matthew woke up shoving his fist in his mouth, I tried a different approach. I didn't even change him. He was wearing a night diaper and had only been in bed for an hour.
Instead, I gave him a little Tylenol and started rubbing his back. About ten minutes later, he was asleep.
Jonathan woke an hour after that and I tried the same method.
It worked again.
It was then that I realized how much I'd been missing out on with the twins. I sing to them while they sit in front of me on the living room floor, but I don't sing to them while I rock them in my arms like I did with the other two. I can't. When I try, the other twin crawls up to the chair and tries to pull his way into my lap. Then he cries.
I don't carry them around the house on my hip while I do chores, talking them through each step to help improve their vocabulary. Instead, I let them wander more and explore every nook of the house. I show them flashcards with animals on them and make funny noises. I let them crawl all over me while I lie on the floor.
I don't cuddle them on my lap while I read them book after book after book. I can't do that either. They are too wild. They grab the books out of my hands even if I give them other books as distractions. So I read to them after meals while they sit in their highchairs.
It got me thinking.
It got me thinking that I am not as in tune with them as individuals and worrying that the lack of intimacy will somehow hurt their emotional development. Maybe I should try harder. Maybe I'm being too selfish.
Then I caught myself doing it. I razzed Jonathan's belly and kissed him all over his head and neck after I changed him on the changing table. I do that almost every time I change him because he loves it.
I scooped up Matthew and saw that look on his face that said he was about to plant a kiss on my cheek, so I held him close and whispered, "Kisses, kisses, kisses" while he soaked my cheek with his love. Then I swung him around. He loves to be flipped, swung and bounced.
And sometimes, I mix the boys up for just a second. Then one of them does something. He moves a certain way. He makes a particular sound. He lunges for one toy instead of another. And I know instantly who it is.
The thing is, I am not bonding with one baby. This is different. I am bonding with two individuals and with the twins as a unit. At the same time, they are bonding with each other. I am not missing out. They are not missing out. It's just a whole new adventure for all of us.

The same, but different

Physically, Matthew and Jonathan are almost indistinguishable. They are the same height, they have the same head circumference and their weights are always within a few ounces of each other. The only way we can tell them apart in photos is by a vein across their noses: Matthew's is narrow and Jonathan's is thick. Their personalities, however, couldn't be more different. It started ten days after birth, when they finally caught on to the whole concept of nursing. Matthew would latch instantly, suck furiously for five minutes and then quit. Jonathan could take up to ten minutes to latch. But I'd have to pull him off 40 minutes later. The differences only grew from there. Now, at nine months, Matthew easily pulls himself up on the coffee table, bridges the gap to the sofa, edges quickly along and grabs a stuffed animal he'd been eying. Then he drops his butt to the floor with the animal in his hands (and in his mouth). Jonathan sits in the center of the living room watching. In the stroller, as we go for walks or hurry through the grocery store, Matthew leans forward, yanking on the bar in front of him and trying to lift his body out. Jonathan leans back and rests his feet on the bar. He looks around with a quiet grin on his face. But don't underestimate Jonathan. He watched for months as Matthew struggled to roll to his side, then to his tummy and then back again. He was still not rolling at nearly seven months old and we were concerned. He was barely lifting his head off the floor. So we called the pediatrician. That day, he started rolling everywhere. He applied the same technique to crawling. He watched Matthew perfect the combat crawl, then the hands-and-knees crawl and then work his way from crawling to sitting. Once Matthew got it all figured out, Jonathan dove in. It took him about two days to accomplish what had taken Matthew several weeks. So, as I watch Matthew pull up once more with his eyes on a cup that his older sister had left on the table, I am not concerned. I know Jonathan is watching with me and that, one day soon, he will surprise his brother by beating to the object of his quest.