Today you can find me at Shell’s blog, Things I Can’t Say. Please go give my piece a read and hang out and explore a while. Shell’s got a wonderful collection of some of the most authentic writing around, and you’ll love her voice.
The mystery of twinship
My twins have always been close, and it’s not just because they moved from the same womb to the same room, sharing a Moses basket and a crib in between. There’s something special about these two. How it happened is beyond me. Literally beyond me. It has to be God, because for the first two years of their lives, I existed in a daze, living in the spaces between feedings and changings and naps. By popular parenting standards, I was not a fabulous mom. I barely breastfed, had postpartum depression, never bought organic anything, and was thrilled when they watched TV.
Through their first two years, I wrote, emailing volumes of twin stories to family and friends. My mother recently sent them all back, and I as I read, I realized that most of my memories from that time are gone, save for a general feeling of hopelessness, exhaustion, and panic.
Yet the words seem strangely familiar, a reflection in a store window. Through their lens I can appreciate that what seemed like an utterly black time did contain moments of beauty and grace, and that I was a good mother. Now my twins are six, and I am so thankful to my mother for preserving those words so I can put it all together and marvel at the panoramic puzzle that is twinship, starting from the beginning.
The Morse code tapped out in my distended belly was communication, but not necessarily with me. In my lower abdomen, my son slumbered, and under my ribcage, my daughter, feisty and awake, kicked restlessly. Wake up, she telegraphed.
A blow to my kidney made me gasp and my son answered. No. I’m sleeping. Stop kicking me.
She responded with a series of jabs. I want to be born already. This is boring.
Well, just stop moving. I’m trying to sleep. There’s not enough room in here to even think about being born.
Naturally, my daughter got her way.
Swaddled and in the same crib, they found peace only when they found each other. Their foreheads pressed together as they slept, breathing together, dreaming together, already forming a trinity of him and her and them.
Babble turned to first words in their language instead of mine. Deep philosophical conversations, from the sound of it, conducted entirely in twin-speak, and comprehensible only to the speakers.
They are each other’s security blankets, covering all manner of hurts and needs. A mother’s hug might soothe, but only the other half can make things whole.
My twins are two people, distinct in every way. One boy, one girl. One light, one dark. Photo negatives of each other in thought and in action. Where one has shadow, the other rushes to fill the space with light.
Now, I watch as the threads that connect them multiply, weaving a pattern on an invisible loom, using an ancient craft that can’t be taught. The rest of us are blessed enough to watch it happen, and as outsiders, we only catch glimpses of this gossamer mesh that binds, moments that leave us struck dumb with disbelief at the beauty of this communion. In those moments, I see God through my children, around my children, binding them together with the sticky silk of love.
This mesh forms a beautiful interweaving of lives and space and thoughts and touch that I will never fully understand, even as their mother. The threads that bind aren’t restraints; they’re a web of love and language and unspoken thoughts. If one needs the other, they snap back; a rubber band released. I watch, and I marvel, but I see through a haze, knowing the details will never be clear for anyone but the two of them.
Name that kindergartner and win! (Updated with winners and answer key!)
UPDATE: The contest is now over, and we have our winners!
1st place and winner of a $300 Amazon gift card – Amy Pike
Tied for second and both winners of an $80 Amazon gift card – Renee Schuls-Jacobson and Julie DeVisser
Congratulations to all!
Now, I know you’re dying to see the answer key, so, without further ado, here it is!
Did you guess me?
Here’s me, then and now. How much have I changed?
Let me know if you guessed me, or if I was one of the ones you had trouble figuring out.
And go visit the other blogs below, and see their then and now pictures side by side!
I don’t remember my kindergarten teacher’s name, or what we did most of our days in class. It’s the strange details that stand in my memory. The floor in the hall was a marbled black and white; and in the classroom, a multicolored carpet. We wrote with chubby pencils, and the teacher and her assistant would walk around telling each of us how much our pencils were screaming because we were gripping them too tightly.
What I learned most in kindergarten had nothing to do with reading or writing. It was about talking – or, to be more accurate, how sometimes, you should not.
I was filled with curiosity, and everything sparked a “Why?” So I asked “Why?” Pretty much all day, every day.
And I talked.
And talked.
And talked.
The day that is seared into my brain is the one day I was disciplined. I was talking too much (shocker), and the teacher wrote my name on the chalkboard. That was standard practice: you get in trouble, your name went on the board.
Never in my short life had I been so mortified.
I’m still a talker. Big time. My husband has been known to say I have no filter. He may be right. But the first place I learned that my mouth can get me into trouble, and that sometimes, I might want to consider keeping it shut?
Kindergarten.
It’s not surprising that as an adult, I’ve become a blogger and a writer. Professions that remind me of that all-important lesson from kindergarten every single day. Seriously. I think about my name on that board every day. And then I usually open my mouth anyway, but at least it gives me pause, right?
So, to commemorate all the wonderful things we learned in kindergarten, as well as our amazing collection of haircuts, I’m joining some of the most fabulous bloggers around (there are 23 of us total) to do something super fun for you, dear readers. We present:
It’s very simple – just match the picture (with the assigned alphabet) to the blogger whose blog is listed below. What’s in it for you? Other than some fun (and it’s fun, promise), you can win an awesome $300 Amazon gift card. You can also get to know some of the bloggers listed here, if you don’t already. You can have a laugh at our expenses. Don’t worry, we did. Now, go forth and play!
Enter your answers on this form (https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1qwSRhga4-tpR4_dmP7F8kKZrCLzRn0AnyVgtrnfssMs/viewform).
Participating bloggers, in alphabetical order:
Angela of Angela Amman
Angie of Angie Kinghorn
Deborah of Ask Doctor G
Robin of Farewell Stranger
Poppy of Funny or Snot
Leigh Ann of Genie in a Blog
Greta of Gfunkified
Jennifer of Jennifer P. Williams
Tonya of Letters for Lucas
Kiran of Masala Chica
Laura of Mommy Miracles
Natalie of Mommy of a Monster (and Twins)
Brittany of Mommy Words
Jessica of My Time as Mom
Kimberly of Reflections of Now
Tracy of Sellabit Mum
Elaine of The Miss Elaine-ous Life
Sarah of The Sunday Spill
Galit of These Little Waves
Kristin of Two Cannoli
Arnebya of What Now and Why
Kristin of What She Said
Alison of Writing, Wishing
Terms and conditions apply:
- You must be 18 years or older to enter.
- This contest is only open to residents of USA and Canada.
- This contest is open from March 11 – 15, 2013 (closes at 9pm Eastern).
- Visit the link above, where you will be able to enter your guess for each blogger pictured. (All information will be kept private.)
- The person to correctly match all the faces with their blog will win a $300 Amazon gift card. The two other closest guesses will each win one $80 Amazon gift card.
- If more than one person correctly matches all the faces with their blogs, we will randomly pick a winner via random.org.
- If no one guesses all the faces correctly, the winner will be the person who made the most correct guesses.
- This is not a sponsored post. Prizes are paid for out of the participating bloggers’ own pockets.
- You CAN enter more than once!
- Winners will be announced week of March 18.
“Name That Kindergartner” was inspired by the “Name That DIY Blogger” contest, over at My Blessed Life.
Braving the stage
Tomorrow I have an audition.
Which is weird, because I’m a writer, not an actor, but I promise it all makes sense. You see, there’s this fabulous show called Listen To Your Mother. It’s produced by Ann Imig in multiple locations across the nation on or around Mother’s Day, and features women reading their essays about motherhood to a live audience.
I first heard about LTYM a couple of years ago, and made a promise to myself that if it ever came to North Carolina, I would submit something.
This year, LTYM is being produced in Raleigh by KeAnne Hoeg and Marty Long. Several talented and brave women will take the stage at Kenan Auditorium on May 8 to read their pieces on motherhood for an audience of 275 people.
I wrote a piece that I love, and submitted it. I’m so excited to have gotten an audition, but y’all? Writers don’t prepare for auditions well.
Obviously I started by printing my piece so I could practice reading it. Our printer helped by refusing to print. Upon fiddling with it (read: pressing a bunch of buttons), I told Mark it appeared to be dead. Which was really strange given that I’d turned it on just five minutes before and it was fine.
I won’t tell you how long it took me to figure out that the damn thing had come unplugged.
Also? Nobody would admit to unplugging it. My guess is that it had something to do with the twin six year olds running around the house.
After printing the piece and practicing, I decided I needed new lipstick and headed to the mall. Which was fine until I also decided I needed new jeans.
Warning: do not, ever, under any circumstances, do anything which requires you to be in front of a three way mirror trying on jeans the day before your LTYM audition.
If you are stupid enough to do so, do not wear a sorority t-shirt with a 1998 date stamped proudly on the front. Because then you must be prepared to resist the urge to clobber the 22 year old sales associates who say, “Wow, we were just talking about whether we could still wear our sorority t-shirts!” and “Wow, you don’t look that old!”
Also, if you happen to be married to a litigator and are practicing your readings on him, think twice about asking him to give you a brief Q&A practice session afterwards. Mark cross-examined the hell out of me.
On the bright side, I feel prepared for pretty much any question that might come my way. Whether remotely relevant or not.
And I now own a pair of jeans that are long enough, not faded or ripped, and make me want to chant “I’m sexy and I know it” as I walk.
Worth the trauma.
Wish me luck.
Or a broken leg.
Or both.
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