I looked up from the kitchen island to check on the Dynamic Duo. My son sat enthralled on the floor, accenting his finger-pointing at the television screen with “Oohs” and “Aahs,” while my daughter reclined on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and cradling her stuffed Piglet.
Lately they’ve become completely obsessed with ocean life: ocean puzzles, ocean books, cheap-ass toy fishing poles with magnetic fish to “catch,” and anything involving Finding Nemo or The Little Mermaid. On this particular morning they’d begged me to put on one of their new favorite DVDs–the “Shallow Seas” episode of the Planet Earth series, which is now known in our house simply as “The Fishies.”
While they were caught up in the sheer awesomeness that is “The Fishies,” I had seized the opportunity to crack open my laptop and attend to PhD shenanigans.
Two brand new sets of lunch bags and Thermoses (Thermi?) on the far counter caught my eye as I penned a particularly riveting email. We recently registered the Twins to start “school” in July and my wife–ever the planner–has ALREADY secured rad new Hello Kitty and Spider-Man lunchtime gear in anticipation. No, this isn’t the parent-child class I’ve previously mentioned. Our children will soon be attending a new “big-kid” all-day school program a few days a week–one they’ll be attending without Daddy waiting in the wings (which works out well because Daddy’s about to start on his dissertation).
We’re also mere days from launching PottyTrainingFest 2013, an event we know the Twins are ready for, as my daughter now literally approaches me with a clean diaper in hand, saying, “Daddy, I pee-peed.” (Why couldn’t THAT have caught on sooner?) Although their new school helps with potty training and even does diapers, the idea is for us to do the bulk of the work at the Pseudonymous World Headquarters and send them out into the field with a License to Potty.
Anyway, as I stood there pondering all of these changes on the horizon, I was pulled right out of my academic zone and into a moment of panic. It was a fleeting moment, but one I’m sure many parents experience when they think way too hard about how quickly their little people are growing up–that sinking sensation that comes with knowing we’re constantly plowing forward in time and can’t go back unless we make friends with Marty McFly when he shows up in Hill Valley, California two years from now (By the way, I’m still waiting on that hover-conversion for my car, Science).
But then, as I was looking in momentary desperation at my ever-growing loinfruits, willing them to stay this age forever, this happened:
Noticing my daughter, my son walked over to her and stood in front of the couch, leaning his torso on the cushions. “Hi, Sister. Whatcha doin’?”
In anticipation of his arrival, my daughter had closed her eyes, snuggled up in her blanket, and begun to faux-snore. “I sleeping,” she replied.
He glanced over his shoulder at the dolphins gracing the tv screen and gently nudged her. “Get up, Sister.”
“No, I sleeping.”
“No, Sister, look,” he persisted, pointing at the tv. “Look at da dolphins on dare!”
“Okay,” she conceded, throwing the blanket off herself. “I wake up.”
My son smiled, and climbing onto the couch next her, told her just about the most adorable thing ever:
“You make me happy.”
Giggling in response, she suddenly changed gears on the conversation and proclaimed, “Carrots.” (Inflected as if to say, “You know what we need right now? We need some carrots.”)
“Carrots?” he replied.
She nodded. “Carrots.”
Then, together, in perfect unison, they said it again. “Carrots.”
Giving each other a half-nod, they hopped down from the couch and meandered my way, eyes lit up.
“Daddy, carrots?!” my daughter smiled.
“Oh,”I chuckled. “Did you guys want carrots?”
“Well, what do you say, then?”
“Pleeeeeeeeeese,” chimed two tiny voices in stereo.
“Okay, kids. Let’s get you some carrots.”
. . .
Two years ago, when the earth was just about in this position, I suddenly and deliberately attacked my word processor under the explicit instructions of The Ghost of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and began this blog. For about a week I’ve been trying to decide just how to commemorate this truly momentous occasion that only I care about and had come up with absolutely nothing.
However, as I stood there in the kitchen, reluctantly watching my kids show me just how much they’re growing up (and that they’re totally ready for both school and the potty), there it was.
And so, to all who come here and read this labor of love that is Twinfamy, in the words of my little man, “You make me happy.”
Thanks for reading, thanks for for commenting, thanks for sharing, and thanks for being you.
I thought about offering all of you a round of carrots on me, but that would be a lot of frickin’ carrots.
So…yeah. Never mind.
But, you know, it’s the thought that counts.
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If not, I’m still not giving you any carrots.