LJ Idol Week 8 - Yes, and
May. 5th, 2014 09:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jexiaFrom the moment an early ultrasound revealed two little black blobs, my life got more complicated than expected. As a mother of twins, I've sometimes had people comment that "My kids were 12 [or 14 or 16] months apart, it was just like having twins!"
No. No, it's not. I'm not denying that having kids close together has its own challenges, but there are some problems that come with having children at exactly the same developmental stage.
Like toilet training.
Some kids learn to wear undies and use the toilet with no big drama. This was not the case in our house. At times I suspected that my children had shares in cleaning product companies. That, or they'd entered into a devilish pact with the housework, some sort of loyalty scheme where they earned bonus points for every ridiculous bit of cleaning they made me do.
These are 100% true cases of places my children have peed.
1) In the fridge
My boy twin's pelvic floor failed him while lifting a three-litre bottle of milk from the fridge door. I'll admit my fridge was overdue for a clean, but getting peed in is a heck of a way to jump the priority queue.
2) The toilet floor
The toilet floor puddle was funny because my girl twin was actually, finally, sitting on the toilet at the time. She was so intrigued by what was going on that she leaned down to watch, thus significantly changing the flight path of six hours' worth of pee.
She nearly peed in her eye. Impressive, for a girl.
3) The chest of drawers
Laundry is my nemesis; having an empty hamper is a rare achievement. One day I'd managed to wash and dry five loads, and even conquer Mount Foldmore. I put all the clothes away into the appropriate drawers, and with a deep sign of accomplishment, went to make a cup of tea. My boy twin climbed into the bottom drawer, which was full of washed-dried-folded-put-away clothes, and had a wee accident. Damn you, Mount Washmore!
Other places that could have made the list: in the cupboard under the sink, in the middle of the laundromat, and on me. That's pee. I can laugh about the pee... now. I still can't laugh about the two years of washing poopy undies. I just can't. Mind you, the biggest lesson I learnt this time around was to never startle a naked, pooping child. Especially if they're in the lounge at the time.
One particularly memorable weekend, hubby was away, so it was all up to me. I sent the twins out to play in the backyard while I cooked dinner. Once our meal was ready, I served it and called to the twins, "Dinner's ready! Come and wash your hands!"
My girl twin arrived at the back doorstep. I was about to thank her for being so prompt, when she announced "I pooped in mine undies!" Groaning and mentally resigning myself to a lukewarm dinner, I took her to the bathroom to clean up.
Meanwhile, my (naked, for some reason) boy twin shrieked the neighbourhood down, because he was stuck in the apple tree. He wasn't allowed to climb it because he always got stuck, and too many immature apples had been picked already. I yelled reassuringly out the window, while trying not to gag.
It was a messy job. "You've been poopy for a while."
"Yeah, we were playing 'Ring a Rosie all fall down'," she said. That explained a lot.
After scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing my hands, I rescued my naked bellowing boy from the tree and got them both dressed. They washed their hands and sat at the table. I contemplated my congealing, unappealing plate, and decided to start dinner with ginner. I poured myself a long, cool gin, lime and lemonade, sat at the table and took a deep breath. We were going to have a civilised meal, damnit.
My boy twin took a bite and started up his idea of polite dinner-time conversation. "She pooped in her undies," he said.
"She did."
"Yes, and I pooped on the lawn!"
No. No no no. "Show me."
They led me outside and pointed to a carefully arranged pile of immature apples and oranges. It was black and swarming with flies.
Dying inside a little, I took them back inside. They sat down happily to their meal while I gathered plastic bags to do the necessary clean-up.
Yuck. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed my hands, then sat down to eat. I looked at my dinner. There was no way I could stomach it. I reached for my gin, and promptly tipped it over.
No way.
The twins chattered their way through dinner. Finally it was bathtime, another step closer to bedtime and quiet. And, just maybe, another glass of gin.
I started the bath running, and went to get a towel. When I came back to the bathroom, my girl twin was standing on the step-stool and somehow peeing a perfect parabola into the bathtub.
I grabbed her and put her on the toilet. She freaked out.
Meanwhile, my boy twin yelled "I'm peeing in the bath!"
I took my girl twin off the toilet and put my boy twin on. While I was trying to calm her down, he dropped an entire roll of toilet paper into the loo.
While I fished the sodden roll out, they both climbed into the bath and started drinking the pee-water.
No way.
Shower, PJs, teeth, stories. Time for bed. I spent the next two hours putting them back into their room, as my "It's BEDtime, time for SLEEP!" mantra became more and more strained. Silence didn't arrive until 10pm.
On the premise that silence is suspicious, I snuck up the hallway and quietly opened the door. They're asleep! They're asleep! I crept in to savour a few moments of "they're so cute when they're asleep".
Then I detected a certain distinctive odour in the air.
No way.
I tried to change the offending nappy without waking the culprit.
I failed.
No way.
No. No, it's not. I'm not denying that having kids close together has its own challenges, but there are some problems that come with having children at exactly the same developmental stage.
Like toilet training.
Some kids learn to wear undies and use the toilet with no big drama. This was not the case in our house. At times I suspected that my children had shares in cleaning product companies. That, or they'd entered into a devilish pact with the housework, some sort of loyalty scheme where they earned bonus points for every ridiculous bit of cleaning they made me do.
These are 100% true cases of places my children have peed.
1) In the fridge
My boy twin's pelvic floor failed him while lifting a three-litre bottle of milk from the fridge door. I'll admit my fridge was overdue for a clean, but getting peed in is a heck of a way to jump the priority queue.
2) The toilet floor
The toilet floor puddle was funny because my girl twin was actually, finally, sitting on the toilet at the time. She was so intrigued by what was going on that she leaned down to watch, thus significantly changing the flight path of six hours' worth of pee.
She nearly peed in her eye. Impressive, for a girl.
3) The chest of drawers
Laundry is my nemesis; having an empty hamper is a rare achievement. One day I'd managed to wash and dry five loads, and even conquer Mount Foldmore. I put all the clothes away into the appropriate drawers, and with a deep sign of accomplishment, went to make a cup of tea. My boy twin climbed into the bottom drawer, which was full of washed-dried-folded-put-away clothes, and had a wee accident. Damn you, Mount Washmore!
Other places that could have made the list: in the cupboard under the sink, in the middle of the laundromat, and on me. That's pee. I can laugh about the pee... now. I still can't laugh about the two years of washing poopy undies. I just can't. Mind you, the biggest lesson I learnt this time around was to never startle a naked, pooping child. Especially if they're in the lounge at the time.
One particularly memorable weekend, hubby was away, so it was all up to me. I sent the twins out to play in the backyard while I cooked dinner. Once our meal was ready, I served it and called to the twins, "Dinner's ready! Come and wash your hands!"
My girl twin arrived at the back doorstep. I was about to thank her for being so prompt, when she announced "I pooped in mine undies!" Groaning and mentally resigning myself to a lukewarm dinner, I took her to the bathroom to clean up.
Meanwhile, my (naked, for some reason) boy twin shrieked the neighbourhood down, because he was stuck in the apple tree. He wasn't allowed to climb it because he always got stuck, and too many immature apples had been picked already. I yelled reassuringly out the window, while trying not to gag.
It was a messy job. "You've been poopy for a while."
"Yeah, we were playing 'Ring a Rosie all fall down'," she said. That explained a lot.
After scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing my hands, I rescued my naked bellowing boy from the tree and got them both dressed. They washed their hands and sat at the table. I contemplated my congealing, unappealing plate, and decided to start dinner with ginner. I poured myself a long, cool gin, lime and lemonade, sat at the table and took a deep breath. We were going to have a civilised meal, damnit.
My boy twin took a bite and started up his idea of polite dinner-time conversation. "She pooped in her undies," he said.
"She did."
"Yes, and I pooped on the lawn!"
No. No no no. "Show me."
They led me outside and pointed to a carefully arranged pile of immature apples and oranges. It was black and swarming with flies.
Dying inside a little, I took them back inside. They sat down happily to their meal while I gathered plastic bags to do the necessary clean-up.
Yuck. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed my hands, then sat down to eat. I looked at my dinner. There was no way I could stomach it. I reached for my gin, and promptly tipped it over.
No way.
The twins chattered their way through dinner. Finally it was bathtime, another step closer to bedtime and quiet. And, just maybe, another glass of gin.
I started the bath running, and went to get a towel. When I came back to the bathroom, my girl twin was standing on the step-stool and somehow peeing a perfect parabola into the bathtub.
I grabbed her and put her on the toilet. She freaked out.
Meanwhile, my boy twin yelled "I'm peeing in the bath!"
I took my girl twin off the toilet and put my boy twin on. While I was trying to calm her down, he dropped an entire roll of toilet paper into the loo.
While I fished the sodden roll out, they both climbed into the bath and started drinking the pee-water.
No way.
Shower, PJs, teeth, stories. Time for bed. I spent the next two hours putting them back into their room, as my "It's BEDtime, time for SLEEP!" mantra became more and more strained. Silence didn't arrive until 10pm.
On the premise that silence is suspicious, I snuck up the hallway and quietly opened the door. They're asleep! They're asleep! I crept in to savour a few moments of "they're so cute when they're asleep".
Then I detected a certain distinctive odour in the air.
No way.
I tried to change the offending nappy without waking the culprit.
I failed.
No way.