My twins will be two and a half on Saturday, the same day their half-brother, my oldest baby, goes to his tenth grade Homecoming Dance.  Sometimes the age difference is too much to process for my addled brain. On one side, I’ve got my son telling me about his political views which swing so far to the left and equally to the right, if he were to vote now, he’d have to seek out King Solomon to cut both candidates in half, then hire a mad scientist to do his thing, and vote for Frankenbomney.  While on the other side, I’ve got two little boys who still apparently like the feeling of large quantities of poop stuck in a diaper that drags to their knees.  But as my husband always says: “Who wouldn’t?”

I love talking to my oldest, but I admit (and if it makes me a bad mom, give me the badge) I like to correct him.  I mean, come on, there’s something about a fifteen year old who is talking to you with his chest puffed using a tone of voice implying that you’re a wee bit dumb that just makes you hope he says something incorrect. Like taking history from computer games and using it as fact: “Duh, mom, Genghis Khan totally fought Napoleon in the War of the Roses,” insert eye roll.  Teenagers are tricksy little boogers, they can say things so confidently and when one’s brain has been taken over by: “Buzz? Mama, mo’ Buzz? Mama? Buzz? Ham? Buzz? MAMA BUZZ BUZZ BUUUUUZZZZZ!” all day long, hypothetically, one might need to Google to make sure those “facts” are, in fact, wrong.

It’s a whole different thing when the twins say things wrong, because it’s ridiculously cute. If my fifteen year old started headbutting me in the nethers yelling: “Shrek, mama! Donkey? Mama, Elmo? MAMA SHREK!” it wouldn’t be nearly as cute as when the toddlers do it.  In fact it would be downright worrisome and would warrant a flashlight in the eyes, a call to the doctor, and wondering if he got hit in the head as hard as poor Josh Cribbs did during the Browns game the other night.

The kids are talking all the time, and it’s so funny.  It’s amazing what they pick up and it’s about “Swear Jar” time for the Who family.  I know it’s terrible, but it’s really funny to hear them say: “Oh chit” in context, and to hear their little mocking road rage: “Moo car, moo! Go go go now!” on the highway.  They are also becoming quite the actors.  I will forgive them for thinking I’m blind as they are wee little, but they like to fall down in a heap for no reason and then look at me and say: “Okay? You ok?” If we don’t immediately ask them if they are ok, they will keep saying “Okay? You ok?” over and over until you do, and you absolutely cannot say: “Yes, I’m ok, thank you” or “NO” because those are not the right answers.  They worry about us, too, though. If one of us sneezes, Twin A always asks: “Y-y-y-you ok?” and runs to get us a wet wipe and will watch while we blow into it.  I don’t know how you feel about it, but it’s freaking gross to blow your nose in a wet wipe.

They like to randomly yell out letters and point to them on our clothes, the piano, food, boxes, you name it.  They are particularly obsessed with W, M, O, A, K, and Q.   The other day they were filling the rain gauge with acorns, and I had no idea they even knew what they were, and Twin B said: “Mama, is a Acorn!” and Twin A yelled: “NO, is a B-corn!”  Twin B threw up his hands and sighed.  Poor guy, he has more of the brains, while A is almost ready for the Olympics.  This kid can do three somersaults in a row and can run up to any item of furniture and immediately go into a head stand/handstand then do a triple lindy right off the back.  I think he’s missing a pain and fear gene.  I’m thinking of seeing if you can make your own casts on Pinterest to save on medical bills in the future.

It’s fun to see old things become new again through the little ones. For example: Mr. Potato Head.  They love him.  I don’t remember him being this much fun to play with.  We have four now along with fifty extraneous pieces, so this means I can put ears or tongues or noses in every hole.  It’s fantastic and helps with my, ahem, their dexterity.

Things are definitely double the work with these two, and (gah, sorry for the cliche) double the fun: side-walk chalk, coloring, stickers, pillow fights, and hide and seek. Oh, and did you know that you can actually dance to The Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme)?  We have a ten second snippet as our doorbell sound, and while it’s not lambada-worthy, you can shake a hip or two. Not for too long, though, I’m nearing the age to break one soon.

As Age Gap Awareness Day continues, I must bid you farewell as I need to get Cocoa Puffs and diapers for the little ones and order a wrist corsage with “light blue, not dark blue!” ribbon for the bigger one.