I've always believed that shared DNA would have little or no influence on whether Matthew and Jonathan slept through the night. Overall, yes, it would make sense that biology would dictate how much sleep they need and about when they might tire.
But disruptions in sleep patterns are most often caused by dreams, right?
Experience influences dreams and, shared DNA does not always equal shared experiences.
Matthew and Jonathan are often together, but the slightest distractions -- from physical positioning to hunger to whether they might have to pee at the time -- can shape experiences differently for each child. They take in different things depending on how closely they are paying attention, which senses they are using and the perspective from which they see things.
Jonathan and Matthew have had three and a half years worth of differentiation.
That seems like a lot.
But something happened last night that made me question my theory, and it's not the first time.
Matthew woke up at about 3 a.m. He wasn't upset or worried. He was just awake. He used the bathroom and I took him back to bed, where we curled up together for about 45 minutes. Finally, I tip-toed out of his room, believing he was asleep.
About an hour later, I spied a young figure at the foot of our bed, I pulled him into bed with me, believing it was Matthew again. He'd awoken the same way: no crying, no worries, just awake. I was tired and he just wasn't crashing, so after a few minutes, my husband took him back to his room, where he realized Matthew's bed was occupied.
This was Jonathan.
About 45 minutes after he awoke, Jonathan was again asleep.
Just like Matthew.
Matthew and Jonathan are good sleepers. They always have been. They go down hard and they wake up early, but they sleep like rocks through the night. The few times they have awoken, however, (aside from those moments when they've wet their beds), their awakenings have been so similar in nature that I've found it almost eery.
If one awakens with a particular cry, the other will awaken with that exact same cry an hour so later -- close enough to his twin that we can compare the awakenings, but far enough apart that we can be sure one did not awaken the other.
If one awakens with no cry, the other will soon awaken the same way. And it seems that it takes about the same time and effort to get him back to sleep. Looking back, I don't recall that they have ever awakened differently unless one was sick or had the wet his bed.
I've tried to attribute these common awakenings to coincidence.
Maybe one twin tossed and turned in his sleep, triggering frightening dreams in the other.
Maybe one twin's awakening caused the others.
But their awakenings are too far apart to persuade me.
And it's happened far too many times.
I don't believe this is evidence of some kind of twin telepathy, but I have come to believe that brain chemistry strongly influences sleep patterns, especially in children . When our older kids woke up at odd hours, I initially attributed it to stress, bad dreams or other external influences.
But in retrospect, it seems that there was almost always a biological cause. Our oldest son suffered night terrors as a toddler, which are caused by mini seizures. I don't recall him waking up during the night much after those passed.
Our daughter had horrible, morbid dreams several times a night until she was diagnosed with OCD, which is caused by an anxiety-triggered chemical imbalance. Once she was treated with medication that stabilized those chemicals, she slept beautifully and still does.
As adults, we often have trouble sleeping because of external stresses. We're thinking about work, relationships, money, all kinds of things as we struggle to sleep and we often have trouble shutting those thoughts out. All that stress prevents us from producing the hormones and chemicals that override our worries and help us crash for the night.
At three years old, Jonathan and Matthew don't have many of those external worries.
And even if they did, what are the chances that their stresses are similar enough to cause them to awaken the same way on the same nights? No, I have to believe that it's their shared DNA that is behind their awakenings. Some sort of chemical change in brain pattern is occurring almost simultaneously.
And that makes me wonder about the way we approach childhood sleep disruptions as a society.
Perhaps too often biology is overlooked.
So often, I hear parents say that their children need to "get over it" when they frequently awaken during the night. They take the toughlove approach, simply sending them back to bed in hopes that they will get through this phase if no one pays them heed.
Matthew and Jonathan do not have sleep issues.
They rarely awaken.
But, the pattern I have observed when they do wake up during the night is strong evidence that some kids, perhaps many kids, can't help themselves.
Maybe some children need more than toughlove.
Maybe, more often than not, the awakenings that parents attribute to bad dreams, clinginess or a need for attention are really biology at work.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
When dressing identical twins alike is a bad idea
As babies, they peed and pooped through so many clothes that we'd have needed at least four sets of all outfits to keep them in matching clothes for more than an hour or two. Identical outfits were not practical anyway, especially in the winter when socks covered Jonathan's painted toenails.
It was hard enough to tell them apart.
Why would we want to make it harder?
By the time the boys were 16 months old, they had distinct color preferences and they had learned to exert those preferences loudly and strongly. Matthew wore yellow. Jonathan wore orange. Matthew wore pants. Jonathan wore shorts.
Efforts to dress them in matching clothes were met with fury.
Now, at 3.5 years old, the boys share few clothes. For the most part, they have each claimed certain shirts, pants, shorts, socks and jackets. On occasion, they will wear the same jackets or the same color shirt, but that's where it ends.
For the most part, it matters not to me whether others dress their identical twins alike. It's fairly harmless when are young and most kids will protest if they don't like it as they age. By the teen years, many identical twins choose to dress alike anyway.
But there are times, I have learned, when dressing identical twins in identical clothing is simply a bad idea.
Playgrounds, pools, and public spaces:
I once bought matching swim trunks for Matthew and Jonathan and took them to the toddler pool at the YMCA. What a nightmare. Though the pool is small and a lifeguard is always on duty, it would have been easy for active children like my own to walk out the gate with another family.
From even a short distance, it was impossible to tell the boys apart with their naked chests and matching trunks. I was always on edge, making sure I could see both at the same time. It must have been at least as difficult for the lifeguard.
I had the same experience at a playground once when they wore matching tops. Though their shorts were different, they were close in color. Someone could easily have snatched one up, or one twin could have run off to the parking lot, and it would have taken me too much precious time to notice.
At pools, on playgrounds and in public spaces, it can dangerous to dress twins alike.
When you don't want attention:
This is the one that irks the most. All infant twins will be ogled. That's a fact that parents must accept. They are just far too adorable to resist when they are together in their strollers with their soft skin, tiny cries and pink cheeks. It's best to accept it and build ogle time into our schedules.
Once twins ditch the strollers though, ogling-related disruptions should be greatly reduced. Jonathan and Matthew are always taking off in different directions. Unless they are standing together, it can be difficult to tell whether they are even brothers, so much for twins.
Yet I see it, hear it and read it all the time: moms of toddlers and older twins complaining that they were "stopped once again" by curious strangers in malls, grocery stores and restaurant. They curse the strangers and expound upon the "rudeness" of some people.
Just about every time, however, further questioning reveals that the twins were dressed alike. The only reason to dress identical twins alike is for the attention. If parents do not want the attention, they should not dress their twins alike.
It's that simple.
When the twins say "No."
This should be a no-brainer.
Our boys surprise me at every turn.
So it's possible that despite their firm convictions about clothing, they will someday beg me for matching jeans, t-shirts and sneakers as we are shopping. If they do, I will relent because it really should be up to them from now on, except in those situations where it might be dangerous.
I might even think it's cute.
I do not judge those who dress their twins alike.
It can be fun.
But, I admit, I do judge those who do not use common sense.
So please, when you dress your identical twins, just use common sense.
And then, when you are out and about and I see them pass by in matching outfits, I will be among those who grin and comment on how adorable they are. I might even stop you. Because twins do that to people. And making people smile, making them happy, is a good thing.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Bring on the books, finally!
We started reading to our older children regularly while they were still young enough to slobber all over the board-book pages. We were determined to instill in them a love of reading.
And it worked.
Both older kids are avid readers and reading helps keep us close to each of them. At ages 10 and almost 9, they still insist that we each snuggle with them in their beds at night and read aloud. When we leave their rooms, they read on their own, often falling asleep with books clenched in their hands or draped over their faces or chests.
It didn't work out that way with Matthew and Jonathan.
And, until recently, I felt we had failed them in that regard.
From birth, Jonathan and Matthew were both highly active and addicted to motion. Books were for throwing and chewing. Lap time was for bouncing and rocking. They were not attracted to pages decorated with bright images or fuzzy rabbit fur or flaps that flipped to reveal surprises.
Add to their physical intensity the stress of raising two older children, one with issues that required a great deal of our emotional and physical attention, and I found that my efforts to intrigue them with books were slipping. It became easier and easier to say, "I'll read to them tomorrow."
And too often, I made the same promise to myself the next day.
Over time, we learned that they would pay attention to books that they could act out with us dramatically and loudly. If we could howl, stomp, clap, yelp, jump or twist and shout, they were happy. So that's what we did. It was fun. Lots of fun. But exhausting.
We still read only every other day or so and rarely before bed. Nighttime reading got them too excited and left us drained.
But then I discovered Thomas board books.
That was our breakthrough.
Jonathan and Matthew are devout fans of Thomas the Tank Engine, so when I found a few books at the grocery store about a year ago, they couldn't get enough of them. Over and over, we read about Thomas and the judge who lost her hat, about the crack in the track, about the race with Bertie the Bus.
Little by little, we added non-train books to their reading list until they were finally taking in many of the same classics that our older children had loved.
It was wonderful except for a couple of things: Matthew and Jonathan had to be in precisely the right mood, we had to read to them separately to avoid physically dangerous book wars, and they had no desire to read at bedtime.
Good enough, I figured.
Some kids just aren't that into it and that was something I would have to accept.
But then something happened just a few short weeks ago.
I was unpacking boxes from our recent move and looking for something different to read when I stumbled across Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. It was too long for them, I figured, and the pictures were not likely to capture their attention, but it was worth a shot.
I was stunned.
We read it nine times that day without a single argument.
So I reached into the bin and pulled out a few more books that I had categorized as above their interest level and, to my surprise, they listened. They listened eagerly, intently and without argument. They begged me to read those same books over and over again. And they sifted through the books themselves, finding even more that captured their interest.
They evolved into different children.
On the same day, at the same time, with the same book as their trigger.
The same boys who once simultaneously shredded two copies of Mr. Brown Can Moo now follow us around with books begging for reading time. They grab books and lie on the floor with them pretending to read as they flip through the pages. They fall asleep with books in their hands, books that they have strained to "read" by their night light.
And the best part?
They no longer argue when they sit together on my lap for a story.
They seem to have declared a truce.
A truce because they are finally in love with reading.
And it worked.
Both older kids are avid readers and reading helps keep us close to each of them. At ages 10 and almost 9, they still insist that we each snuggle with them in their beds at night and read aloud. When we leave their rooms, they read on their own, often falling asleep with books clenched in their hands or draped over their faces or chests.
It didn't work out that way with Matthew and Jonathan.
And, until recently, I felt we had failed them in that regard.
From birth, Jonathan and Matthew were both highly active and addicted to motion. Books were for throwing and chewing. Lap time was for bouncing and rocking. They were not attracted to pages decorated with bright images or fuzzy rabbit fur or flaps that flipped to reveal surprises.
Add to their physical intensity the stress of raising two older children, one with issues that required a great deal of our emotional and physical attention, and I found that my efforts to intrigue them with books were slipping. It became easier and easier to say, "I'll read to them tomorrow."
And too often, I made the same promise to myself the next day.
Over time, we learned that they would pay attention to books that they could act out with us dramatically and loudly. If we could howl, stomp, clap, yelp, jump or twist and shout, they were happy. So that's what we did. It was fun. Lots of fun. But exhausting.
We still read only every other day or so and rarely before bed. Nighttime reading got them too excited and left us drained.
But then I discovered Thomas board books.
That was our breakthrough.
Jonathan and Matthew are devout fans of Thomas the Tank Engine, so when I found a few books at the grocery store about a year ago, they couldn't get enough of them. Over and over, we read about Thomas and the judge who lost her hat, about the crack in the track, about the race with Bertie the Bus.
Little by little, we added non-train books to their reading list until they were finally taking in many of the same classics that our older children had loved.
It was wonderful except for a couple of things: Matthew and Jonathan had to be in precisely the right mood, we had to read to them separately to avoid physically dangerous book wars, and they had no desire to read at bedtime.
Good enough, I figured.
Some kids just aren't that into it and that was something I would have to accept.
But then something happened just a few short weeks ago.
I was unpacking boxes from our recent move and looking for something different to read when I stumbled across Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. It was too long for them, I figured, and the pictures were not likely to capture their attention, but it was worth a shot.
I was stunned.
We read it nine times that day without a single argument.
So I reached into the bin and pulled out a few more books that I had categorized as above their interest level and, to my surprise, they listened. They listened eagerly, intently and without argument. They begged me to read those same books over and over again. And they sifted through the books themselves, finding even more that captured their interest.
They evolved into different children.
On the same day, at the same time, with the same book as their trigger.
The same boys who once simultaneously shredded two copies of Mr. Brown Can Moo now follow us around with books begging for reading time. They grab books and lie on the floor with them pretending to read as they flip through the pages. They fall asleep with books in their hands, books that they have strained to "read" by their night light.
And the best part?
They no longer argue when they sit together on my lap for a story.
They seem to have declared a truce.
A truce because they are finally in love with reading.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Identical twins, identical classroom: why our boys will study together
It's starting already.
Family members, friends, even strangers in malls and grocery stores.
They mean well.
I really think they do.
But they are ill-informed.
Through no fault of their own.
The lead-in could easily be mistaken for the question.
"Are you planning to send the twins to preschool?" they ask.
Then comes the question, which isn't really a question at all.
"You will separate them, right?"
Followed by the silence when I answer, with confidence.
"No."
But, like I said, the attitude isn't really their fault.
For the past few decades, the prevalent theory among educators has been that all twins fare better when separated in school. It helps them develop individual identities, they say, particularly with identical twins. It gives them more confidence, they argue. It helps them make friends of their own.
But here's the trouble: no evidence exists to support those recommendations, policies or decisions.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
The few studies done on the effects of separating twins in elementary school show that most twins suffer emotionally and socially and that for identical twins, separation can be highly traumatic and might impact academic performance as well.
Consider this finding from a 2004 study conducted by the Institute of Psychiatry at Kings College in London:
"When compared to those not separated, those separated early had significantly more teacher-rated internalizing problems and those separated later showed more internalizing problems and lower reading scores. Monozygotic (MZ) twins showed more problems as a result of separation than dizygotic (DZ) twins."
Or this finding from a 2010 University of Amsterdam study of 839 monozygotic and 1164 dizygotic twin pairs: (This study focused primarily on the effects on academic performance.)
"There is no difference in educational achievement between twins who share a classroom and twins who do not share a classroom during their primary school time. The choice of separation should be made by teachers, parents and their twin children, based on individual characteristics of a twin pair."
The same folks who believe Matthew and Jonathan should each strike out on their own by age 3 wouldn't hesitate to put their own children in classrooms with their best friends. After all, that kind of kinship puts children at ease, makes them less clingy and allows them to be more socially confident.
So why would we separate Matthew or Jonathan from his best friend during this time of stress, excitement and change?
I was relieved today to chat with one of their future preschool teachers, a mother of 17-year-old identical twin boys. She kept her boys together throughout the younger years and, as they got older, took them aside separately to ask whether they wanted to stay together the following year, she said.
Each year, the answer was the same: yes.
As we spoke about our children, children filtered into the classroom where Matthew and Jonathan were playing. Jonathan immediately befriended two boys his age who took an interest in the same tractor that had attracted him. Matthew squatted near a child-sized sofa conversing with a slightly older girl who had sat down with a book.
A barrier of shelves separated Matthew and Jonathan.
Neither panicked at the absence of the other.
Neither looked for the other.
Both put up a good battle when it was time to leave.
And I couldn't help smiling when both boys demanded to know when they could come back.
Family members, friends, even strangers in malls and grocery stores.
They mean well.
I really think they do.
But they are ill-informed.
Through no fault of their own.
The lead-in could easily be mistaken for the question.
"Are you planning to send the twins to preschool?" they ask.
Then comes the question, which isn't really a question at all.
"You will separate them, right?"
Followed by the silence when I answer, with confidence.
"No."
But, like I said, the attitude isn't really their fault.
For the past few decades, the prevalent theory among educators has been that all twins fare better when separated in school. It helps them develop individual identities, they say, particularly with identical twins. It gives them more confidence, they argue. It helps them make friends of their own.
But here's the trouble: no evidence exists to support those recommendations, policies or decisions.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
The few studies done on the effects of separating twins in elementary school show that most twins suffer emotionally and socially and that for identical twins, separation can be highly traumatic and might impact academic performance as well.
Consider this finding from a 2004 study conducted by the Institute of Psychiatry at Kings College in London:
"When compared to those not separated, those separated early had significantly more teacher-rated internalizing problems and those separated later showed more internalizing problems and lower reading scores. Monozygotic (MZ) twins showed more problems as a result of separation than dizygotic (DZ) twins."
Or this finding from a 2010 University of Amsterdam study of 839 monozygotic and 1164 dizygotic twin pairs: (This study focused primarily on the effects on academic performance.)
"There is no difference in educational achievement between twins who share a classroom and twins who do not share a classroom during their primary school time. The choice of separation should be made by teachers, parents and their twin children, based on individual characteristics of a twin pair."
The same folks who believe Matthew and Jonathan should each strike out on their own by age 3 wouldn't hesitate to put their own children in classrooms with their best friends. After all, that kind of kinship puts children at ease, makes them less clingy and allows them to be more socially confident.
So why would we separate Matthew or Jonathan from his best friend during this time of stress, excitement and change?
I was relieved today to chat with one of their future preschool teachers, a mother of 17-year-old identical twin boys. She kept her boys together throughout the younger years and, as they got older, took them aside separately to ask whether they wanted to stay together the following year, she said.
Each year, the answer was the same: yes.
As we spoke about our children, children filtered into the classroom where Matthew and Jonathan were playing. Jonathan immediately befriended two boys his age who took an interest in the same tractor that had attracted him. Matthew squatted near a child-sized sofa conversing with a slightly older girl who had sat down with a book.
A barrier of shelves separated Matthew and Jonathan.
Neither panicked at the absence of the other.
Neither looked for the other.
Both put up a good battle when it was time to leave.
And I couldn't help smiling when both boys demanded to know when they could come back.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Ode to Miss Mary
In a few moments, I will get Jonathan and Matthew from their sitter's for the last time.
We leave Cincinnati on Sunday for a new life in rural Pennsylvania, where they will be constantly immersed in the love and support of family.
We have no family here.
But we do have Mary.
And leaving her will be hard.
Very hard.
I had given up on finding a part-time sitter for the twins nearly two years ago when she came along. My criteria was simple: no guns, no pools, no smokers. I made that clear before I interviewed caregivers. Yet, six interviews later, I found that only one had been truthful with me, but her house was not suitable for highly active identical twins.
I was depressed.
I wanted to write.
Matthew and Jonathan needed socialization.
I mentioned my dilemma to a neighbor.
And she mentioned Mary.
Mary works as a nanny for this neighbor. She is a former preschool director with an obvious adoration for children. She was thrilled to take Matthew and Jonathan into my neighbor's home for three mornings, two or three days a week. Our neighbor was also happy to have playmates for her two children.
Matthew and Jonathan never cried when I dropped them off.
Only when I picked them up.
Mary read to them, she painted with them, she sang with them, she cuddled them, she rocked them, she laughed with them. And she never needed name tags. Matthew and Jonathan do not understand that they won't see Mary again, but I do.
And this walk down the street today will be hard.
I tried to find a card that expressed our feelings for her.
But I couldn't.
Nothing out there sufficed.
So I wrote and this is what came out:
(Disclaimer: I am no poet!)
We leave Cincinnati on Sunday for a new life in rural Pennsylvania, where they will be constantly immersed in the love and support of family.
We have no family here.
But we do have Mary.
And leaving her will be hard.
Very hard.
I had given up on finding a part-time sitter for the twins nearly two years ago when she came along. My criteria was simple: no guns, no pools, no smokers. I made that clear before I interviewed caregivers. Yet, six interviews later, I found that only one had been truthful with me, but her house was not suitable for highly active identical twins.
I was depressed.
I wanted to write.
Matthew and Jonathan needed socialization.
I mentioned my dilemma to a neighbor.
And she mentioned Mary.
Mary works as a nanny for this neighbor. She is a former preschool director with an obvious adoration for children. She was thrilled to take Matthew and Jonathan into my neighbor's home for three mornings, two or three days a week. Our neighbor was also happy to have playmates for her two children.
Matthew and Jonathan never cried when I dropped them off.
Only when I picked them up.
Mary read to them, she painted with them, she sang with them, she cuddled them, she rocked them, she laughed with them. And she never needed name tags. Matthew and Jonathan do not understand that they won't see Mary again, but I do.
And this walk down the street today will be hard.
I tried to find a card that expressed our feelings for her.
But I couldn't.
Nothing out there sufficed.
So I wrote and this is what came out:
(Disclaimer: I am no poet!)
Miss Mary
From the moment we met
you saw us as two,
not one.
We knew that.
We felt that.
Yet,
you always nurtured our oneness.
You let it grow.
You let us be,
and helped us to become.
You cautioned us with gentle hands,
guided us with patient voice,
smiled for us
with a warmth that could only be
love.
Real love.
Love for Matt.
Love for Jon.
Love for Matt and Jon.
There will never be another Miss Mary.
There never could be.
We will miss you
Miss Mary.
We will miss you
very
very
much.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The potty that divides them
Jonathan has thrown me for a loop.
It's been two months since Matthew became a "big boy" and started wearing underwear and Jonathan still wants nothing to do with the potty.
Nothing.
I persuaded him to pee on the potty once, but only through trickery and he's not about to fall for that again. Jonathan is breaking the pattern he and Matthew have followed since birth: he has always allowed Matthew to perfect the major physical milestones and then, just as we admit the need for professional intervention, he achieves the milestone and surpasses his twin within days.
Not this time.
If we even suggest that he pee in his little Bjorn potty, or on the toilet, or while sitting on the ring on the toilet, or while standing in the bathroom next to the toilet, or in any darned way he pleases, he clenches his fists with his arms at his sides, adopts a deep voice and growls, "no."
I am perplexed.
We have tried pushing him, bribing him, letting him be.
Nothing works.
Jonathan has sought out every other way in which to express his maturity.
While Matthew is comfortable in his 3-year-old skin, Jonathan is 8 years old most days. Some days he's 9. Today he was 10, like his big brother Riley, he said. He was 18 last week because he wanted to be old enough to drive a bus.
He screams, hollers and take the spatula out of my hands when I cook because he wants to do it too. He take the grapes from the refrigerator, carries them to the table and plucks off his own.
He puts them back.
He was furious the other day because he wanted to start the car and I wouldn't let him.
He puts on his own shoes now. He opens all doors by himself. He pushes a chair up to the counter when the phone rings and tries to answer it before I can. He wipes tables with sponges. He cleans melted Popsicle from the floor with paper towel. He brushes his own teeth morning and night and fights me bitterly when I insist on a turn.
But he will not pee on the potty.
I am defeated, deflated, discouraged.
I think.
There is one possibility, one hope that I cling to. It occurred to me this afternoon as I tossed Matthew's moist underwear and shorts down the laundry shoot.
Matthew still has accidents.
He's getting better and some days he has none. But on most days, especially near bedtime, we can count on either a trickle or a puddle. Matthew grows too tired or too distracted to get to the bathroom on time and, at that hour, Jonathan is rarely far away.
He sees it.
Matthew is potty trained in our eyes, but maybe not in Jonathan's. Maybe Jonathan is still waiting for perfection. Maybe Jonathan will not put his pee where it belongs until Matthew has made it through a few days in a row accident free.
Jonathan is a demanding little guy.
And he can be awfully hard on his identical twin.
Perhaps the pattern isn't really broken.
Maybe we're just looking at it from the wrong perspective.
I hope.
It's been two months since Matthew became a "big boy" and started wearing underwear and Jonathan still wants nothing to do with the potty.
Nothing.
I persuaded him to pee on the potty once, but only through trickery and he's not about to fall for that again. Jonathan is breaking the pattern he and Matthew have followed since birth: he has always allowed Matthew to perfect the major physical milestones and then, just as we admit the need for professional intervention, he achieves the milestone and surpasses his twin within days.
Not this time.
If we even suggest that he pee in his little Bjorn potty, or on the toilet, or while sitting on the ring on the toilet, or while standing in the bathroom next to the toilet, or in any darned way he pleases, he clenches his fists with his arms at his sides, adopts a deep voice and growls, "no."
I am perplexed.
We have tried pushing him, bribing him, letting him be.
Nothing works.
Jonathan has sought out every other way in which to express his maturity.
While Matthew is comfortable in his 3-year-old skin, Jonathan is 8 years old most days. Some days he's 9. Today he was 10, like his big brother Riley, he said. He was 18 last week because he wanted to be old enough to drive a bus.
He screams, hollers and take the spatula out of my hands when I cook because he wants to do it too. He take the grapes from the refrigerator, carries them to the table and plucks off his own.
He puts them back.
He was furious the other day because he wanted to start the car and I wouldn't let him.
He puts on his own shoes now. He opens all doors by himself. He pushes a chair up to the counter when the phone rings and tries to answer it before I can. He wipes tables with sponges. He cleans melted Popsicle from the floor with paper towel. He brushes his own teeth morning and night and fights me bitterly when I insist on a turn.
But he will not pee on the potty.
I am defeated, deflated, discouraged.
I think.
There is one possibility, one hope that I cling to. It occurred to me this afternoon as I tossed Matthew's moist underwear and shorts down the laundry shoot.
Matthew still has accidents.
He's getting better and some days he has none. But on most days, especially near bedtime, we can count on either a trickle or a puddle. Matthew grows too tired or too distracted to get to the bathroom on time and, at that hour, Jonathan is rarely far away.
He sees it.
Matthew is potty trained in our eyes, but maybe not in Jonathan's. Maybe Jonathan is still waiting for perfection. Maybe Jonathan will not put his pee where it belongs until Matthew has made it through a few days in a row accident free.
Jonathan is a demanding little guy.
And he can be awfully hard on his identical twin.
Perhaps the pattern isn't really broken.
Maybe we're just looking at it from the wrong perspective.
I hope.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A case of mistaken identity
I often tell people that, these days, I find it hard to believe Matthew and Jonathan are identical. I know we have the DNA tests to prove it, but I look at them and I see so very many differences that I wonder how anyone could mix them up at all.
Then comes a day like today.
The boys were playing with trains and cars. Matthew had been racing with Lightning McQueen in a toy garage for at least half an hour while Jonathan had been more interested in the trains. The boys decided they needed tracks of both kinds, so we dumped a few bins and started to build.
One twin focused on creating a large and winding train track while the other worked on city streets.
Then they picked up vehicles and started to play.
In less than a minute, a full-fledged brawl had broken out.
Jonathan kept trying to take Lightning from Matthew, who had been building the city. I tried offering him one of the five other Lightning McQueens they own (Yes, they are obsessed!), but he refused, insisting that particular car was his and fighting to get it back.
So I disciplined Jonathan with a time out.
Or so I thought.
Jonathan's wail as he sat in that chair was one of absolute despair.
That was odd.
Jonathan usually rages with anger in the time-out chair.
I looked more closely and saw the tiny red spider vein by the right eye.
It was Matthew.
No wonder he had expressed such despair: it really was his car.
The other twin should have been in the time-out chair.
I pulled Matthew up into my arms, held him tight and apologized over and over and over again.
I carried him to where Jonathan was playing and offered him another Lightning car in exchange. Jonathan readily agreed and the two brothers played together on the city streets that Jonathan, not Matthew, had built.
It seems Matthew has forgiven me.
I hope he has more of that forgiveness within him and that Jonathan has a wealth of it too because I am beginning to realize that I will need it. I will need lots of it and so will the many other people in their lives. And I promise that I will never doubt their zygosity again.
They are, indeed, identical twins.
Then comes a day like today.
The boys were playing with trains and cars. Matthew had been racing with Lightning McQueen in a toy garage for at least half an hour while Jonathan had been more interested in the trains. The boys decided they needed tracks of both kinds, so we dumped a few bins and started to build.
One twin focused on creating a large and winding train track while the other worked on city streets.
Then they picked up vehicles and started to play.
In less than a minute, a full-fledged brawl had broken out.
Jonathan kept trying to take Lightning from Matthew, who had been building the city. I tried offering him one of the five other Lightning McQueens they own (Yes, they are obsessed!), but he refused, insisting that particular car was his and fighting to get it back.
So I disciplined Jonathan with a time out.
Or so I thought.
Jonathan's wail as he sat in that chair was one of absolute despair.
That was odd.
Jonathan usually rages with anger in the time-out chair.
I looked more closely and saw the tiny red spider vein by the right eye.
It was Matthew.
No wonder he had expressed such despair: it really was his car.
The other twin should have been in the time-out chair.
I pulled Matthew up into my arms, held him tight and apologized over and over and over again.
I carried him to where Jonathan was playing and offered him another Lightning car in exchange. Jonathan readily agreed and the two brothers played together on the city streets that Jonathan, not Matthew, had built.
It seems Matthew has forgiven me.
I hope he has more of that forgiveness within him and that Jonathan has a wealth of it too because I am beginning to realize that I will need it. I will need lots of it and so will the many other people in their lives. And I promise that I will never doubt their zygosity again.
They are, indeed, identical twins.
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