Today is my favorite day of the year. There is no particular reason, I just always loved the way June 26th sounded. And 26 is my favorite number. When Josh and I got engaged I wanted to get married June 26th, but it fell on a weekday for, like, the next four years. So we decided to get married in August, on the day he proposed, one year later. Josh told me that he knew I was bummed about June 26th not working out and teased that maybe I could have one of our kids on that day.
Well, in 2007 that is exactly what happened.
Sort of.
I became pregnant quite quickly (the first month we tried!) and when I sat down a calculated my due date, I could NOT believe it.
June 26, 2008.
Of course, it being a high risk twin pregnancy, we didn't make it to June 26th, but this day will always hold special meaning for me regardless.
The boys and I celebrated by heading out to the park, just the three of us, leaving Daddy at home to catch up on some much needed sleep. We ran in the grass, slid down the slide, jumped on the bouncy bridge and swung until mommy's arms hurt from pushing. It was a perfect overcast summer morning, just warm enough for shorts & sandals, but not so hot that we needed sunhats or sunglasses.
I am constantly amazed by the fact that I have twins. When I sit back and watch them play with each other, I see just how magical it is. To hear them talk gibberish to one another, or play along to a game that has rules neither of them set, but both of them understand... It's so fascinating.
The other night I heard Jack talking. When he wakes up he typically waits for me at his door, knocking and saying, "Mommy, where are you?" So I went in quickly in the hopes that Logan would not wake up as well. When I got in there, Jack was still in bed, under his blankets, holding his bubba, and talking in his sleep. I stood there a minute, just listening. He was saying, "Run!?! Run!?!" Then, after a second, Logan, who was also still in bed, asleep, replied, "No, Jack. No."
It was the craziest thing I have heard/seen from them in a while. Sleep talking to each other. Watching them, witnessing their interactions with each other never gets old for me.
Today Jack was over at the bench drinking from my water bottle (something he knows is a no-no, but he does anyway) and when Logan went running over, I thought there'd be trouble brewing. So I sat back, just to see what happened.
As soon as Logan got there, Jack handed it to him and said, "Logan's turn." Then Logan took a drink, and handed it back, and said, "Jack's turn." They are only two years and a few days old, yet they have this amazing ability to share with each other. I feel like they already understand that while waiting for their turn is not fun, their brother wants a turn, so it's worth it. I feel like they understand, really deep down, how the other feels.
I know I've said before that they look in the mirror and think it's their brother, not themselves. Lately I have been experimenting with pictures. When I give Jack a picture of Logan he will say, "Logan" is in the picture. But if I give him a picture of himself, he will say, "JackandLogan" all one word. I jokingly tell him that, genetically speaking, he is right. That is jackandlogan. ha! Logan does the same thing.
Do any other moms out there reminisce about life before children? Lately Josh and I have been talking about our marriage before children (BC) and how we can't remember what we did with all our free time. We dream about the days when we could just go out for ice cream at 9pm, or run to Albertson's for lettuce without juggling two toddlers, a diaper bag and a stroller. Now we just skip the lettuce. It's not worth it.
I journal. Most of you probably know that. I currently have 84 complete journals. I started when I was 12 years old, and most years (when I was younger) I wrote every.single.day. It was often my New Year's Resolution to journal every day. Mostly I journal because I am obsessed with forgetting. I don't want anything to be forgotten, left behind. When I was young and we moved from the only house I had ever known, I spent the weeks before we moved walking slowly through the house, shuffling my feet, trying to be sure I touched every single square inch of the houses' flooring before we left. I looked at our photo albums in the living room, crying, knowing that would be the last time I sat on those shiny hardwood floors remembering all the things that had happened there. My younger siblings were both born there. My three best friends were made there. All my memories, they were there.
I think that kick started the journaling. I found it necessary for a book to hold my memories since I found the location could be moved. I should have been excited to move. We were getting more square footage, I was going to (finally!) have my own room. But instead, at night, as I lay in my new bedroom in the daylight basement, with the awful red carpet and mildewy smell that basements often have, I would go through the first house, step by step in my mind, closet by closet, trying to remember where we kept things. Which drawer was the extra toothpaste in? Where were the sheets kept? And the towels? I would lay there and think of the chest of drawers in the hallway... the one that my mom set her clown collection on top of. I hated that collection. There was this one, a music box of sorts, that, when you pulled the drawer open, would play this creepy music and make the clown inside dance. I didn't like to think about it, but I also couldn't stand to forget it.
The bathroom, with the sliding doors on the shower. My parents black and dusty rose bedroom decor. The kitchen, with it's green floor and happy watermelons. The family room, with the stove and wood storage bench. I felt it was all a part of me, and I could hardly stand that we had left.
Ever since, I have been journaling. And ever since I have been nostalgic. More so than anyone else I know. Anniversaries are important to me (May 26, 2000: the first day Josh said "I love you" to me); numbers, like how many days my children have been on the planet (750: as of today); and locations, like where I was when I told my mom & sister I was pregnant (in the basement at the house on G street: where my sister's Victoria's Secret underwear were all hang drying, and as they jumped up and down screaming, how the adorable rainbow panties seemed to sway & dance, celebrating with us).
And now that I have children, somehow, it has gotten even worse. I cannot stand the thought they would do something adorable, or say something remarkable and it not be captured. Video taped, photographed, written down; something... anything! So I never leave home without the camera; I write on their daily calendar nearly everyday; I blog; and I journal. I feel even more the need to make permanent how they are now, because tomorrow it will change. Not only will our location someday change (because God willing we will get out of the ghetto) but also they will change. They will grow. They will learn. They will become who they are meant to be. And in the meantime, I am rushing against time to capture who they are today.
Today as a grandma & her three grandkids came to the park, Jack stood, frozen where he was and requested, "Mommy? Hug?" He has been really shy lately, and it's so funny to see, because usually he is so excited it borders on obnoxious!
Then, as the one year old grandson took Jack's ball from him, Jack let it go, saying, "Thank you" and trotting off to play on the equipment like he's such a big kid he can share, no big deal, and to play something else for a while.
Whereas Logan has no fear of strangers, and in fact, finds it necessary to show off for anyone who will look his way. Today we had a little trouble with boundaries. He kept trying to walk away; towards the car, towards the walking path, towards the schools' outbuildings. When I would say "No!" from across the park, he would stop, look at me, smile, and keep going. So I would stand my ground and tell him if he didn't get his adorably naughty little tushy back over to where his brother and I were, he was going to find himself serving a timeout on the bench. Which he did, three times. But I think he got it. After the third time. Stubborn little cutie.
But that's just all part of parenting. Holding their hands when they're scared. Letting them go when they're ready. That, and taking pictures of their chubby, pink toes jammed into their Saltwater Sandals, pudgy foot fat pillowing out the top. They just scream summer, don't they? Four days of summer vacation, and already when I take their sandals off I can see the beginnings of a sandal-tan. Love it!
I still can't believe that I get to be home all summer. And that it's only been four days. Four days!?! That rocks. I can't wait for the rest of our adventure. Swim lessons, camping, beach trips...
It's going to be so good. I promise to record all of it. Here, on the blog; and in my journal; and on their calendars; and I will try, all the while, to be living it as well. Therein lies the challenge!
But it's one I am up for. Because even though we can't go get ice cream at 9pm or run to Albertson's like we used to, life is good, we are happy and we wouldn't trade those boys for anything, least of all a two-scoop waffle cone with rainbow sherbet from Baskin Robbins.
