Trouble--Times Two!

I found out this week why I don't have twins.

Actually, there are lots of reasons, the summation being I can hardly handle ONE child at a time, let alone two, but this week reinforced in my mind the exact reason why giving birth to twins has never been one of my life's aspirations--they turn into two-year-olds!

Not that I don't love two-year-olds. The truth is it's one of my favorite ages, and I think of all the stages I'll miss as my children grow older, it's this one I'll miss most. The pudgy hands, the loves and kisses, the curiosity, the developing speech (especially if he has a lisp, like my two-year-old does), the energy--I love all of these wonderful traits--just not times two!

Let me explain.

My sister came for a visit this past week, bringing her three little girls and newborn baby boy. I truly love their visits and couldn't wait to get my hands and lips on that sweet little boy. However, there were a few mishaps while she was here, and I don't want to sound like a tattle-tale, but at the bottom of each disaster there were two little innocent faces and hands: my two-year-old and her two-year-old.

We finally (I know what you're thinking--we should have caught onto this idea a little sooner) decided we needed to watch them like hawks, never letting them out of our sights. Still they managed to find trouble. Two-year-olds have an uncanny nack for that. Needless to say, by the end of the week we were both exhausted. The only thought that consoled us was that she only had to go home with one of them, and I only had to keep one of them.Yes, as darling as they are, one at a time is more than enough for me! Here's a short recap of our week:

Day One: my master bathroom was "wall papered" with a whole role of Charmin toilet paper and a bowl of toilet water. There was 1/2 inch of toilet water all over my bathroom floor and small shreds of toilet paper all over the walls and their clothes. It looked like paper mache--sort of. I only wish my husband would have taken pictures before he cleaned up. I took a quick shot of Boston's clothes (after they had been washed out) before I threw them in the washer. On top of that, Boston pooped his pants. A trip to the tub.

Day Two: My master bedroom was repainted using twelve different colors of craft paint I had stowed away in one of my dresser drawers. We scrubbed paint out of my bedspread, the carpet and my dresser. The drawer had to be removed and ran under tap water to get the paint out of it, there was so much. My best towel was covered with paint, as was their clothing, which had to be thrown away. A trip to the tub. Oh yes, and this was the day it took my sister nearly two hours to get her darling little lovebug to go to bed for the night. That was a LONG day!

Day Three (the day we decided to keep a more careful eye on them): My Demdaco figurine was broken (I'm so thankful for super glue--most everything in my home has been superglued back together at least twice). Mireya (the other infamous two-year-old) pooped while swimming in our kiddie pool. Not wanting to pull herself away from the fun, instead of informing us of her accident, she kept swimming for who knows how long. We're just waiting to see who gets ecoli first. A trip to the tub.

Day Four (still keeping a watchful eye): They started digging the sand out of my flagstone and getting into the mulch in my flower beds. Thankfully, they were caught before a major felony occurred.

It was then my sister went home.

I think by the end of those four days, we averaged giving baths two times a day, taking deep breaths to control our frustration four times a day, and shaking our heads in disbelief six times a day.

So, for those of you out there raising twins or triplets or so on, you have my deepest respect. And if those children happen to be two years old right now . . .

You're in my prayers!