Taylor Cleaning Inc.

Toddlers would make great sled dogs.

I figured that out this morning when Bemma and I were at the high school track testing out my Vibram Five Fingers, and exploring my project of transitioning to a barefoot running stride.

After my calves and feet persuaded me that it was time to give up my efforts for the day, I unhooked Ben and Emma from their stroller harnesses and set them free to roam the empty soccer/football field that was decorated with giant white numbers and lines from almost all colors of the rainbow. I figured they'd toddle from one giant number to the next, shuttering with excitement - like a palm tree in a hurricane - each time they spotted a familiar digit; I thought for sure Ben would follow the yellow line as if it were Dorothy's famed road, and he could even play the mayor of the Lollipop Guild; I had no doubt that Emma would be running shuttle sprints between the rainbow lines like a rookie in training camp.

I had not doubt...but once again, I was wrong. All Bemma wanted to do is push the stroller.

The stroller seemed to call to them, like a Ferrari on a race track, and in almost perfect unison they began mushing that stroller around the field with determination "Rudy" would envy. Heads down and legs churning, their frenetic energy was enough to turn a Prius into the previously mentioned Ferrari, and with subtle adjustments from Dad (they were after all blind, their sight completely impaired by the stroller) they covered the field in lines reminiscent of Picasso.

I jogged beside them, amazed that they greeted such a mundane task with enthusiasm, and it got me thinking. I should let Bemma do all my chores, errands, and menial tasks. All I'd have to do is convince them it's their privilege. I honestly can't believe I haven't realized this before.

Bemma already beg and plead to cook, unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry, sweep, mop, and shop for groceries, and I think I should start letting them. I could provide a little adjustment here and there to keep them on course, and before you know it our house would be a like a 1905 industrial factory.

Who knows? Before long I could have them churning through other people's laundry and dishes. I could start a mobile cleaning service and turn their energy for a profit, and before you get too caught up in things like morality and legality, don't worry. I'll make sure they are stocked in juice boxes, choo choos and Barney DVDs. After all, they are my children and I would never, ever, take advantage of them.

The sad irony of my little plan is that I'd still have to change their diapers, since they've yet to show any enthusiasm for the mundane task of evacuating their bowels and bladders into a toilet. But for now I'll have to settle for Taylor Cleaning Inc. Just don't tell the people who started those silly child labor laws. They obviously never experienced the raw power of a toddler in action.

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I inserted the marathon picture for a reference point of the stroller. The other pictures are just darn cute one of them is even a little dated...in case you couldn't tell.

Home Sweet Home

I can't wait to get home, which is a bit ironic because I've usually got one foot out the door as soon as Bemma rise from nap or night time. The quicker we escape our house the less time I spend held prisoner by their boredom as its screams, whines, and cries careen throughout the house. And their toys offer little comfort, scattered throughout the house like leper colonies, not to be touched and certainly not to be played with!

So I scoop them up and make my escape from the boredom, the screaming, the fighting and crying. I escape to a park, a coffee shop, a trail, anywhere the kiddos can be occupied and hopefully burn some energy.

The bottom line is I don't usually look forward to returning home with Ben and Emma (unless it's bed time), but after a couple of days in a non-baby proofed environment I'm almost giddy to return to our outlet plugs, locked cabinets, Houdini drawers and elevated electronics. Two days away has reminded me just how safe and simple home is.

We've been at Mop Mop's (My mom) all weekend and from the moment we arrived they found danger like a drug-sniffing dog at a Pablo Escobar fiesta, while tearing through the house like a class 5 twister even Jodie Foster would be proud of. Not only did they find the most dangerous paraphernalia in the house, but they left a trail of carnage, not unlike the famous bull in a china shop.

In any place other than home, nap times are never long enough, bed time is always a little late and the morning is -- you guessed it -- a little to early. I theorize that it's in large part because toddler humans are not like adult humans. Adult humans welcome a break from routine, but such a break seems to rock a toddler's world and transforms them into the drug-hound tornado-bull mentioned earlier.

I always think the excitement of Mop Mop's house and the presence of new faces will be enough to satisfy even Bemma's nanosecond attention span, but I'm always wrong...oh so wrong.

Home, sweet home, where my children return to their slightly predictable behaviors.

But I have to say that at the end of it the trips are worth it, not only because we all get precious time with Mop Mop, but because it allows our hearts to miss home, making our daily life a little sweeter once we return. At the very least, home is able to moderately contain their inner drug-hound tornado-bull...moderately being the key word.

Am I Naked?

I swear I must be naked.

I draw this conclusion based on the looks moms fire at me when I'm out with Bemma. And it's not the, "Ooh, I like what I see," stares that Brad Pitt might evoke, but rather the, "You're naked and it's awkward...oh so awkward," stares that Danny Devito inspired in that one 'Friends' episode.

It's like Moms don't know what to do with me and my duo. Take Sip 'n' Play, for example, a little shop that serves coffee and a nice enclosed area for the kids to play. In the evening or on a weekend there is a smattering of both moms and dads, but in the middle of a weekday--forget about it--the mamas rule the roost.

We went there this morning and I was the lone adult XY in a sea of XXs, which I have no inherent problem with. I accept the XXs with their play dates, Amazon Kindles, knitting, early development jargon and monstrous frappacinos. I respect that their precious little children wear starched matching attire, with hairs all in place and faces free of this morning's breakfast. But do you think that river of respect runs both ways? Not based on the Danny Devito looks.

Of course they're very polite and subtle about it all. They don't actually say out loud, "Why is that man here with that poor set of twins, and did he really do that pretty little girl's hair like that?"

Oh no, they give me the cordial smiles, whose chill could frost a beverage quite nicely, and leave me a perimeter wide enough to enclose an elephant. They practically press themselves against the wall while they scurry by, as if they were fleeing for their life along a cliff's edge. They seem desperate to honor my territory, afraid I might scalp their children if they bump Emma's sippy cup.

Okay, to be fair, I am sprinkling in a bit of hyperbole, but not the scoops and scoops you might think. Being a dad in a world full of moms is tricky. It's similar to being a snail shell on a river beach of smooth skipping stones. Both are beautiful and serve a wonderful purpose, but when you place them side by side the differences leap out at you, like the crazy Asian guy in 'The Hangover'.

Such is my lot in life. I suppose Barney would tell me, "You're not different, You're special? But what does he know. He's actually naked.


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By the way, the pictures are from my mom when they were at her house recently. Although it would be fun to release them at Sip 'n' Play garbed in such a manner...

Birth of a Memory?

Bemma made cookie bars today. Let me rephrase that. Ben and Emma poured apple sauce, oil, flower, baking powder, chocolate chips, peanut butter and brown sugar, into a bowl, stirred it and watched as Daddy spread it on a baking sheet. I dutifully baked the cookie bars and served them for snack, but oddly enough most of the cookie bars found their way into the garbage can.

I think Ben and Emma enjoyed our foray into the culinary arts, but I find myself contemplating more than just the cute pictures of the event or the dirty dishes that were spawned. I find myself wondering if they'll remember the first time they made cookie bars.

I'm pretty sure my earliest memories were from around the age of two, frozen frames preserved in the recesses of my mind like a woolly mammoth. I can't tell you the context of the memory, only flashes of sensations. An overwhelming smell, a stark contrast of light and dark, the feel of a toothbrush in my mouth, or the sensation of joy while watching 'Snow White'. Such is the confined world where my earliest memories dwell.

So, I wonder, what about Ben and Emma? What will be their snapshots, their frozen moments in time. I hope and pray it will be the feeling of apple sauce and brown sugar as they ooze through their fingers, or the look on Daddy's face as he chases and then embraces them while flooding them with kisses. May mercy prevail and moments such as those line the walls of their subconscious. My fear, of course, is that the sharp tone of my frustrated voice, or the furrow of my angry brow will be those earliest memories, but who really can know? All I can really do is take it moment by moment, doing my best to lay down the bricks of positive memories so that when the house of their memories is complete there may be spots of blemish, but they will be swallowed up by a lifetime of positive, uplifting and encouraging moments with Mom and Dad.

There is little more that I could think to wish for.

It's amazing what a difference a year makes in the life of a toddler. Last summer we took Bemma to the beach and they plodded along, shoving sand into every orifice they could find, disappearing into the dunes like the sun behind a mountain; the vast breadth of the coastline swallowed them up. Yesterday they returned to the beach with a vendetta, and while the sand still filled their orifices, they explored with the zest of a Conquistador in search of gold.

They shoveled sand, chased seagulls, ran away from the waves (Ben ran away, but I'm pretty sure Emma would be half way to Japan right now if we'd left her to her own devices), threw sand, and destroyed my sand castle towers faster than I could build them. Two hours into it they could hardly walk or stand. They staggered around the beach like Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa at the end of an epic 15 rounder.

Once back in the car they sucked down their juice, engulfed a cookie and fell into the post-beach coma you see in the pictures. Ben was so tired he even reverted to his favorite newborn sleeping position.

Ben and Emma's enthusiasm and raw wonder at the world is a thrill and inspiration. It's like opening the blinds in a dark room and seeing all the treasures you knew were there but you haven't taken the time to look at lately. That's quite a priceless gift my little ones give me, worth the price of cleaning sand from orifices.

Falling in Love

I'm falling in love with my kids. I've loved them from the moment I heard they're heartbeats, but now I'm falling head over heels in love with them. If these are my confessions, then I must come clean and admit that being a parent of twins wasn't very glamorous for the first two years, and even less so for the first few months I was at home with them.

I loved them, cared for them, taught them, bathed them, changed them, held them, hugged them, kissed them and had moments when I was overcome with the joy of being a parent, but the Good Lord knows, there were many days I didn't necessarily like them. It would gnaw at me sometimes, because I'd look at Nora and she'd be all gooey, affection radiating from her eyes like heat waves on a desert road. Not only was she meeting their needs, but she was wrapped up in them, entangled in a way I could only observe, connected in a way I could only envy. But now, I'm starting to feel the vines of Ben and Emma wrap around my heart...and I like it. It's like I'm finally in on the secret.

I feel like Bruce Willis in the Sixth Sense, only I see real little people taking shape in my kids bodies. He just saw dead people. They're blossoming, developing faster than the next iphone (but without the defects), and it's cold water in the face clear to me now that every interaction I have with them molds that development.

There have been times when Nora was excited for them to wake up from nap. For so long I equated that with being excited about releasing a badger from a cage after working all morning to contain it. But now I find myself a little antsy as nap time draws to a close; I get their juice ready, set out their shoes, prepare the diaper bag, make a plan for an outing...you know, all the stuff you do when you're falling in love.

Expressions of Gratitude

Toddlers have a funny way of showing gratitude. The last 18 minutes before nap were filled with pleading cries accentuated by rolling tears and contorted bodies. An outside observer would've thought I'd put them through a round of Jack Bauer style interrogation and was threatening another. In truth, we'd had a fun and sun filled extravaganza; as a thank you they almost barfed on their new 'Cars' table because they were crying so hard. I didn't take it personally, though. I just scooped them up, changed their diapers, gave them one last sip of water and carted them up to bed. Oddly enough, they passed right out. I guess "I'm exhausted," and "Thank you," sound the same in toddlerese.

We started the day at a great park in downtown Vancouver, jumping all over the playground followed by playing in the fountains. I can't verify if the early bird gets the worm, but the early parent certainly gets the playground and fountains to himself. We were there from 8-10am--with a brief pit stop for a cookie--and saw a handful of kids. As of right now (1:00pm) I guarantee that place looks like an army of ants on a Popsicle.

After the park we headed to Toys 'R' Us, which I'm pretty sure is what B & E would come up with if they were asked to describe heaven. After searching for a water table, which apparently is harder to find than Kate Gosselin's dignity, we wandered the store and found a smoking deal on a 'Cars' table and chairs and a little collapsible pool.

After eating lunch on the previously mentioned 'Cars' table I still had about 20 minutes to kill before nap time, so I decided to let them push their cars up and down the driveway, which, in hindsight, wasn't the best idea when considering their fatigue. After five minutes and a couple of spills and near catastrophes I closed the driveway hi-way and all heck broke loose. I had to pry the car out of Ben's hands and I'm pretty sure Emma threw herself under our car and began dismantling the brakes in protest. Eventually, I got them upstairs and they completed their 18 minute expression of thanks.

I wonder how they'd thank me if I ever managed to find them a water table?

Summer Fun and Target

Ben and Emma are tucked in with their teddies and puppies, granting me a moment of silence, an opportunity for contemplation which I can't wait to drink in. Hold on...I think I hear...yep, Ben has just dumped my moment all over the floor; his chant of "Da Ball, Da Ball," is careening down the stairs. I better check it out.

I'm back, and thankfully it was a quick trip with a simple resolution. Emma had two little soft balls in her crib and Ben had none, to which any parent of twins can attest, is a catastrophe. After giving one of the balls to Ben and threatening removal of all paraphernalia from the crib upon any further disturbance, the duo seemed content to settle in and take their chances with nightmares of choo choos and cats.

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I wrote the previous paragraphs last night. It's now nap time of the following afternoon, which is the 2nd most glorious time of the day (Right behind B and E's bedtime, of course).

It's been a busy day and Bemma (thanks to Larry Fisher for the abbreviated version of Benjemma) crashed pretty hard today. They started with a 40 minute ride in the jogging stroller, during which Emma lost her sunglasses, stole Ben's peanut butter bar, and discarded her flip flop onto the road; meanwhile Ben just asked to see more cows. Relative peace was maintained with the promise of playing at the 'Blue Park' upon completion of the run.

There are several parks in our world, and as Bemma's vocabulary increases, these parks are receiving names. So far we have the 'Yellow Park',which has big yellow slides,the 'Baseball Park', next to a baseball field, the 'Trail Park', you guessed it, next to a trail, and the previously mentioned 'Blue Park', which is predominantly blue. No real creativity, just cold hard observation.

The jaunt at the 'Blue Park' was short lived, however, as the morning was hotter and brighter than I'd anticipated. I'd yet to give them their sunscreen treatment, so we plodded on to Target.

Ah, Target. I do love me some Target, and that is not sarcasm. Target is the cheapest indoor play land known to man, at least this man. We frequent another indoor play land, which I love by the way, but they charge $4 per kid. That's $8 for Bemma, plus the cost of whatever coffee Mommy and Daddy are sipping. But at Target I march my little dumplings to the back of the store, and guide them up and down each toy aisle. Ben pushes every button his little digits can reach, and Emma pushes every one of Ben's buttons she can reach. We've been know to spend over an hour wandering the toy aisles. Do I get judgmental looks from other moms and Target workers? Probably, but I'm not even paying attention because not only are my kids being entertained for free while expending energy (the driving force of most activities I plan for them), but they are learning that we can go to the store, look at the toys, and then go home without having to buy something. Seriously, gotta love Target.

After target we played with water out front, took a bath, watched some Barney, ate some veggie nugs (our term for nuggets), sweet potato fries and melon, marched around the kitchen and then took the sweet climb to nap time.

It's been a good day. I mean, how could I not enjoy hanging out with these cuties on a nice summer day?