Hair today, gone tomorrow

Yesterday I did something awful. The twins and I were having such a good day: We went grocery shopping, watched a movie, went for a walk around the lake, rode their tricycles in the backyard . . . And that's when the tide changed. We were outside playing when I noticed how long their hair had gotten. It was so long, in fact, that Dylan's hair was covering his ears like little muffs, and Kyle's was draped down over his eyes. It seemed like the perfect time to give them haircuts. They were getting pretty dirty and would need a bath soon anyway. I ran inside to grab a comb and some scissors. I thought, 'I'll just give them a little trim.'

I have a vision now of Kyle in therapy sessions.

Dylan wouldn't let me touch him. Kyle, on the other hand, is a good little boy who does basically everything his mommy tells him. He sat very still and let me completely destroy his hair. Too much on this side, too much on that side, and too many attempts to even it all out . . . Oy vey!

Future Kyle: "I always wanted to please my mother. Once, when I was two, she butchered my hair, and I just sat there and let her do it. I just wanted to please her. I wanted her to be happy."

I swear I will never ever cut my children's hair. Ever.

Speaking of hair, when I got home from a glorious day of chit-chat and vegging with Sadie, Michael greeted me at the door with a shaved head. "I'm bald," he announced.

About once every two months, Michael re-realizes that he is going bald. He keeps trying to justify his abnormal hair growth (or lack thereof): "These hairs grow this way, and those hairs grow that way, and I have this empty spot here," he tells me. Yeah, it's called a BALD spot.

What cracks me up is that I have known Michael was balding since our very first date. I also knew he was a bit on the short side (something he "confessed" to me on our second or third date) and that his tummy was, well, being sucked in. None of these things bothered me at all - not even for a second.

The only thing about Michael's appearance that worried me was that he was wearing white socks with his brown sandals on our first date. Occassionally, I have to remind him of this, and, more importantly, that I chose to go out with him again after that!

Waiting for Godiva

Last week Michael and I were watching The Office, and it was Valentine's Day at Dunder Mifflin. Poor Pam had to keep receiving gifts for Phyllis, and nothing ever came for her. I thought, 'Oh boy, this is going to be me on Valentine's Day.' Michael and I even talked about it, and by the end of the conversation, I was expecting my man to pull through. I even enlisted the help of Joe to guide my husband; although, I'm doubtful Joe came through for me because today Michael called me at work and said, "Did you know you can't order flowers on Valentine's Day? It's too late!" Yeah hun, I knew that . . . (Joe, you owe me something pink, red, fuzzy or chocolatey)

My afternoon was filled with phone call after phone call from Michael:
M - "Did you get my thing?"
J - "No, what thing?"
M - "Hmm . . . OK . . . bye"

M - "Did you get it?"
J - "No"
M - "WHAT?!"
J - "I gotta go . . . bye!"

M - "Did you get my card yet?"
J - "Card?"
M - "Check your e-mail"
J - "It's not here"
M - "Check your Cox account"
J - "It's not there"
M - "WHAT?! Bye."

You can see how in the beginning I thought I was going to actually get something. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that I realized I was waiting all day long for an e-card. I left work at 5:15 PM, e-cardless.

Later that evening when Michael was changing the twins, I went to the computer to check one last time. Sitting in my inbox were three messages, all the same:

My husband is a dufus, but I love him. Four years ago today I was sick as a dog, and he made me his "famous" spaghetti dinner (which involves undercooked pasta and Ragu spaghetti sauce). Two days later he proposed to me in front of my entire family while we were visiting them in California.

You just can't get better than that. It's not fancy, but it's real, and it's sincere.

P.S. No one else in my office received any deliveries today either . . . But Sarah got gorgeous saphirre and diamond earrings from her long distance beau . . . And Stephanie was going to dinner with her fiance . . . And Amy's husband is a pilot and was out of town . . . And Sara and Joe were out of the office (This duo could have dramatically changed the atmosphere today - Sara's husband Ira is the flower-giving type and Joe's in a brand new, lovey-dovey relationship).

Mine! Mine!

According to an article on Parentbytes.com, "Territorial and possessiveness are common behaviours for two year olds."

This is something I was aware of before I had babies, it was something everyone told me would happen when I actually did have babies, and it's something I am experiencing now.

I felt better when I read this: "If your child is reasonably good at sharing by the time they are five, then you are doing well."

Oh good, only 3 more years of this.

You see, Kyle and Dylan will pick 1 item during a paricular period of time, and all I hear is "MINE! MINE! MINE!" It's like watching parts of Finding Nemo in surround sound.

Two nights ago, this two-year-old behavior far surpassed any of my expectations. I was fast asleep, and all of a sudden I heard Kyle screaming. This is not entirely a strange occurance. He often has little night tremors that don't even wake him up. He'll scream, roll over, and go back to sleep. However, on this particular evening, his dream was so vivid that he kept screaming and screaming until I went to his side and rubbed his back and smoothed his hair. He never woke up, just relaxed and quieted. Here's what he was screaming: "MINE! My ball! No! No! No! MINE! My ball!"

My kids are fighting in their sleep.

This wasn't just a one-time occurance that evening. He actually got up 3 hours later at 2:45 AM and 3 hours after that at 5:45 AM (that did it--he was up for the day after that).

The culprit? My mother's giant exercise ball. Dylan found it in her closet earlier that evening, and both he and Kyle were entranced. They had never seen a ball that big before. I mean, they call their little soccer ball "big ball!" Apparently, Kyle was so entranced by the ball that he dreamt about it. Well, not about "it," but about Dylan taking it away from him.

I also just want to add that during these evening festivities, Michael did not stir. Not once. I wonder if there's a webpage for that . . .

Weird things the twins really enjoy

Dylan and Kyle have such goofy senses of humor. I'm not sure if this stuff is normal for two-year-olds, but it just cracks me up. Maybe I can work as a comedian for toddlers. I'd travel from day care to day care, spreading joy and laughter. Here are some of my best bits:

I say "ring! ring!" and then put one of their feet to my ear and say "hello?" They think this is hysterical.

They love the whole "this little piggy" bit. Really. I mean, I did it to Dylan's left foot today, and when I was done he shoved his right foot in my face and said "other foot!" Then Kyle put his feet in my face and said "more! Kai-Kai feet! more!"

When I take off their socks, I always smell their feet and say, "EEW! Stinky feet!" and make a grossed-out face. Sometimes their feet really do smell (especially Dylan, WHEW!). They laugh and laugh . . . I'm now having visions of farting contests between Michael, Dylan and Kyle.

(Noticing a trend? They seem to have a thing about feet . . . )

I wander around the kitchen, looking in cupboards and drawers and pretend to be looking for one of them. "Kyle? Kyle? Where are you?" "Dylan?" Are you in here?" They giggle hysterically in the middle of the room with their hands covering their eyes. They think they're fooling me. It's great.

Occasionally, I ask Kyle, "Does Daddy need his diaper changed?" He'll look at me kind of funny, then waddle (yeah, it's definitely a waddle) over to Michael, then look at me again, then try to tug at Michael's waistband, then look at me and grin as if to say, "Aw, Mom! You got me again!"