The Twins

When Spencer and Allison were born, we’d call them “the twins” because it was short. For the first couple months of their lives, Bruce and I survived on four to five hours of interrupted sleep, and monosyllabic conversations.

“How was work?”

“Good. Home?”

“Fine. The twins slept. Clay ate well at lunch.”

“Good.”

“Clay needs a change. Your turn.”

“Okay.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

If we had the energy, Bruce and I would go one syllable further and call Spencer and Allison “the babies”. Conversations improved drastically around that time.

I think “the twins” were probably a year old before I thought, “You know, we need to start calling them by their individual names.” But by then we had passed the habit on to their older brother.

Me, to firstborn: Clay, how did these toys get in the sink?

Firstborn: The twins did it.

Me: Clay, why is there water on the floor?

Firstborn: The twins did it.

And so it’s been for the last few years. But today, I was given a view into the mind of Spencer.

Once every couple weeks, the kids get help in cleaning their rooms. It’s not a pleasant process for any of us, but a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do. They are all perfectly capable of getting their floors picked up enough for me to vacuum. But when I help, I get to find and toss broken toys, bits of paper that never should have been saved, and the occasional candy wrapper that clues me in on the fact that someone has left the boundary of the kitchen with something edible.

Today was the day. I was on a mission, too. Clay has misplaced a school library book, and I needed to hunt high and low for it, because his search wasn’t rendering any positive results. Most often this means that within five minutes of my looking, the object is found and I become frustrated because the kids (and Bruce!) obviously didn’t really put much effort into the task themselves. Today, the book was never located. Alas, on Monday I’ll be paying the school librarian $4.95 to replace it. I told Clay that the first time was on me, but if he loses another one, he’s paying.

Anyway, I was in Spencer’s room, knee deep in foam disks for their shooter guns, marbles, and pieces of Tinkertoys, K’nex and Legos. Spencer had wandered out of the room, like he often does when the need to clean arises. I called him to come back and do his part in cleaning his room. He was to gather his Matchbox cars and put them in their carrying case and to put his plastic dinosaurs and small stuffed animals in their respective baskets. He was resistant to the idea, because playing in Allison’s room was far more fun.

I called to him again.

“Spencer, who made this mess in your room?”

And, seriously, he said to me a phrase he’s often heard repeated.

“Mom, the twins did it!”

I had to remind him that he is part of that whole twin thing. But, I must not be very convincing, because he then said, “No, Mom. The twins. Clay and Allison.”

Frightening place, inside that little red head!