Cast away your idols of silver and gold!

God asks us to give and to give joyfully.  To sacrifice for others and serve.  God calls on us to be good stewards of the blessings and gifts He bestows on us.  As our growing church embarks on a land and building project, its members are called to give and to give sacrificially.  This all sounds good, right?  A chance to show God how much we love Him and His people.  As my husband and I sat down to discuss just what we could sacrifice, we came up with entirely different numbers.  His based on a figure that “just looked good” to him and mine based on what I like to think is “real life.”  There’s no better way of exposing your idols then the practice of taking them away.  I found myself literally struggling with God as He grasped mine.  There was no joy in my heart.  There was aching, pain, longing, envy, desire, jealousy and all those ugly feelings that come from the heart of us sinners.  I struggled relentlessly and fell to bed utterly exhausted.

This morning I woke to the rush of feelings generated by the previous night’s battle.  I picked up my idol and continued the tug of war with God.  What would it take for me to realize this was a battle that would not be won by human hands?  My mother, a recently saved Christian, was the one to open my eyes.  Her response to my misgivings was simple and whole.  Money can buy us a house, furniture to fill it and gas to warm it, but God has bought us a home, with a family to fill it and love to warm it.  Now God calls on us to give of our money so He can buy us some land, build us a church and, ultimately, make us a home in Christ.  I want to be a part of that.  And, yes, that does fill my heart with joy.

Then you will destroy all your silver idols and your precious gold images. You will throw them out like filthy rags, saying to them, "Good riddance!"  Isaiah 30:22

The Humanity in Running...

What are you running for if it isn’t for yourself?  Is it for some deep seeded desire to accomplish something big;  a drive to set out to train for a day that will ruthlessly unveil what you are really made of both physically and emotionally?  Are you ready for that?  Is that all there is to it?

In the weeks prior to race day, I skipped some runs.  I didn’t want the rigorous marathon training program to interfere with vacation.  So I fell off the wagon, so to speak.  This became the tipping point for an emotional roller-coaster that would have me questioning my physical preparedness and then my emotional preparedness for race day.  The depression took hold and my runs seemed exhausting and slow.  Each run left me questioning myself yet again.  I didn’t realize the mental nosedive I had taken until I found myself crying at the drop of a hat in the few days prior to the race.  Troy missed a run and I cried.  I missed a run and I cried.  My son looked at me the wrong way and I cried.  The weather took a major turn for the worse and I cried some more.  I had become an emotional basket case.  Running had always been emotional for me, but not in this way.  I wasn’t prepared for this.

Where is the advice on mental training for race day?  There should be a note following “3 mile easy run” that says something like “Take a deep breath, find your inner happy place and imagine yourself kicking some butt on race day.”  I decided that I needed to get on that.  If I was going to have any chance at finishing this marathon, I needed to begin preparing mentally.  I felt like a college student on exam day.  Every free moment I spent praying for race day and visualizing myself at mile 1, 15, 20 and finishing.  What I seemed to be missing was the true heart of running.  And for me, it’s the pulse of humanity.  And humanity is always in the running.  30,000 heartbeats out there to achieve the same thing.  Their innermost desires for themselves worn on their bibs.  #22016 – marathon finisher! 

The humanity on race weekend is everywhere.  It’s in the line to purchase race gear when you find yourself talking with a 44 year-old runner from Tennessee who made a pact with her girlfriends to finish a marathon before the age of 45.  It’s in the hotel elevator as you wish complete strangers good luck.  It’s in the face of friends, both new and old, as you break bread and chat about families, the weather, the race, and of course, running.  It’s in those little shared experiences that I find my love for running. 

I feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to share this race weekend with this wonderful crew.  The strong, the God-fearing, the elite!  One of them told me “you learn a lot from people when you start training with them.”  I think that’s true.  As we milled about waiting to line up at the start, we chatted, we laughed and we prayed.  Humanity and the spirit are never stronger when you circle up, hold hands and begin praying in the middle of thousands of people.  Our races were yet to be determined, but God knew the outcome, and He would be there through it all.

We casually made our way to the start and decided to line up in the corral for a 4:10 estimated finish.  Our goal was 4:30, but we wanted to make sure we didn’t get stuck in the traffic jam that is sure to happen as over 30,000 runners begin their race.  So we lined up with the slightly faster crew hoping that we would actually begin close to our desired race pace.  Our goal was to set a personal record, but we also wanted to have some fun and enjoy ourselves.  Our first marathon was merely survival; we were determined to make this one different.  We wanted to “stop and smell the roses.”  The gun went off and a man behind us commented “and there they are…off like a pack of turtles.”  That just about sums up the build-up to a marathon start.  You don’t just take off running.  You kind of shuffle forward for a few minutes, then speed up to a fast walk and eventually you begin running.  You spend the next 3-5 miles dodging people and trying to find your pace amongst these thousands and thousands of runners.

At mile 5, I recall the beautiful trees lining the road and the leaves fluttering to the ground all around us.  I took a mental picture and commented to Troy “isn’t this just beautiful?”  We recalled how mile 5 of Big Sur found us starting into the major headwinds that would last a good 17 miles.  We couldn’t even lift our heads much less comment on the sights.  This was a good start.  We were enjoying ourselves.  My sappy self decided to  tap Troy on the shoulder and say “I love you!”  “What for?” Troy replied.  Because running makes me sappy and I really, really love you.

At mile 7, the 4:10 pacer group started to pass us.  There were marines in the group leading a running cadence.  The strength and depth of their voices pushed us forward, lifted our spirits and quickened our pace.  “Oorah!”

At mile 14, I decided it had been a little too long since the last time I said “I love you” to my husband.  As I said just that, a runner next to me aptly replied “Awww, I love you, too!  You guys are the best!”  See what I mean.  Humanity is everywhere.

It was about this time that Troy and I realized we were still feeling pretty good and that 4:30 finishing time was well within reach.  We agreed to hold our current pace until mile 20 and then give it all we’ve got.  As mile 15, 16 and 17 clicked by, we continued to check in with each other.  Yep!  We were still feeling good and we would still pull out the big guns at mile 20. 

At mile 18, the 4:30 pacer passed us.  It was a little early to pick up the pace, but we didn’t want to be passed by this group.  We increased our running cadence and began catching up with the 4:30s.  Our joints were sore and our muscles were nagging, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t deal with.  We just pushed it to the back and concentrated on the finish.  At mile 20, we picked up the pace even more.  The miles continued to click by.  We passed runner after runner, feeling exhilarated and on top of the world.  This was how I always dreamed my marathon running experience would be.  At mile 23, we began to feel the exhaustion even more.  But with only a 5k distance left, we buckled down and kept on trucking.

By mile 26, we were running as fast as our tired legs could move.  This would end up being our fastest mile yet.  We crossed the finish line hand-in-hand, feeling the elation that comes with being able to walk again after 26.2 miles of running.  We checked our watches and discovered to our amazement that we had actually broken the 4:30 mark.  We finished at 4:29:18!  And enjoyed it! 

Our runs won’t always be perfect!  Some runs will be amazing in that jump up and down kind of way and some runs will be terrible in that feeling utterly torn down kind of way. Regardless, God has a way of revealing ourselves to ourselves through our running.  

The Marathon! Take 2.

In the days leading up to my second marathon, I have become an avid believer in the ability of cold medications.  Where once I thought they were unnecessary, I was now relying on them heavily.  Monday found me in bed, head throbbing, nose congested and barely able to get out of bed for the day.  Several Zicams later, some Dayquil and lots of water and the cold began to recede.  And my confidence began to mount.  Until I checked the weather and heard of the unwelcome visitor we would be running with on Sunday:  Hurricane Sandy.  Well, I guess it ain’t a real marathon if you aren’t running into 30 mph headwinds and beating rain.  I continued to check the weather over the next 24 hours hoping and praying for a mistake.  This was supposed to be easier than Big Sur, when in reality it was shaping up to be just like Big Sur.  When I began to accept that the weather man may actually be right for a change I decided to have a good cry.  Hey…if crying and temper tantrums worked for Steve Jobs they should work for me, right?  After a quick check of the weather this morning, I realized I better suck it up.  I have decided it's time to begin building my mental endurance.  Race day is half mental and this day won’t be any different.  So I better be on my A game.  Let’s go!

Take a moment...

What happens when you take a moment….You steal something to memory…you give your children that extra five minutes on the swings…you let your child sit in his PJ’s for just a little longer in the morning…or you drive by the Oscar Meyer weinermobile, not one time, not two times, but three times in a row.

This last weekend was a time for taking moments.  Indulging our boys in just a little more time with whatever it is they’re doing.  It felt good to fight the urge to rein them in.  When Taylor cried for the park as we pulled into the driveway for lunch…I thought, “what the heck” and backed down the driveway to head to the park.  When the boys cried for the Oscar Meyer mobile, we stopped and got our picture taken.  When the boys were still reluctant to leave, I waited with them as Benjamin tried to sneak in to photo after photo of other kids and families getting their turn with the weinermobile. 

I have discovered that the boys need that extra moment.  That little piece of time they need to swing, slide, play and discover is enough to put their anxious little hearts at ease - if only for a moment.  And that moment is pure peace.

There is no Parenting 101

Do you think that just because you had the drive to finish high school, go to college, get your master’s degree and gain successful employment; that makes you a good parent? Do you think pulling all-nighters studying for a final could prepare you for those nights when you’re up with your child?  You think parenting couldn’t be any harder than all that?  When a problem arises with your child, you think you can just sit down with a textbook, highlight the key points then apply it to your life?  Think again!  When you have one child bleeding profusely on your shoulder and the other one screaming and tugging on your shirt, you think you have time to go get advice from anyone, much less a textbook?  Sometimes I think the greatest remedy is a shot of whiskey.

I’m realizing that parenting is not so easy.  And while I pray (probably in vain) for these children to ease up, I know that it will only get harder.  With each passing phase comes new challenges.  I remember hearing from my pastor that children sanctify you.  That is they mold you into a person that is more like Jesus.  Maybe “mold” is too tame of a word.  I might prefer to use the word “breaking.”  Because that’s how I feel sometimes; broken.  But at the tip of that brokenness is a new person waiting to breakthrough. 

After a crazy, insane day at home with the kids last week I realized two things.  #1  I don’t know how you stay-at-home moms do it.  You have my undying respect (that goes for our nanny, too) #2  My kids are wild, untamed and just pure punks to the nth degree.  You should never get more exercise running through the grocery store than when you’re out for a jog.  Our shopping trip was a circus.  Benjamin thinks it’s a game.  He takes off running waiting for mommy to catch him, meanwhile Taylor is throwing every last bit of groceries right out of the cart.  As I pick up each item to return to the basket, Benjamin is off and running again.  And, of course, Taylor is back to throwing the groceries on the floor.  It was all I could do to make my purchases and strap these kids back into their car seats.

Halfway home I realized Taylor is not anywhere near adequately strapped in to his car seat.  And I can’t remember if I ever did buckle him in.  And that is probably one of the biggest symptoms of mommies everywhere:  forgetfulness. I pull over, buckle him up, hand him every toy I can possibly find in the back seat and sink back into the car for what I hope to be a small rest break in what will prove to be a very long day. 

Our time at home was no less strenuous.  The kids continued their tirade.  Taylor has finally decided to stop the bullying that has been often inflicted upon him by his brother, Benjamin.  However, his solution was to be a bully himself.  I literally have to tear these kids apart as they proceed to wrestle each other to the ground and try out a multitude of new wrestling moves.  At one point, Taylor had Benjamin face-down on the ground and was pulling his leg up to the ceiling.  I’m sure if I looked it up; there would be a famous wrestling term for this one.  I’m sure it’s akin to the WWF.

I think I blocked out the rest of the day.  It was too traumatic.  I believe it was your typical Hollywood ending.  Daddy rushes to the rescue, sweeps up the trouble makers into his strong arms and puts them quietly to sleep.  Probably not, but however it happened, I do remember taking a deep breath and thinking…”you know, my pastor was right.  I believe today was sanctifying.  I could have broken down yelling at my children in the store, but I didn’t.  I could have begun to cry and fall apart at the checkout counter.  But, again, I didn’t.  I think these kids have built in me a lot more patience then I’ve ever been able to master on my own.  I know it’s God-given, because it takes a God-like strength to be a parent.”

These moments are priceless

With one month away from the boys turning two, I’m finally beginning to feel like my head is rising above the fog and the clouds that are the first two years of life with twins.  Sometimes I am amazed that we have made it this far, but most of the time, I can’t picture our lives any other way.  This was how our life was supposed to play out.  Its God ordained. 

As I look back on the last two years, I remember so many moments where I didn’t feel like I was enough for these kids.  I never had enough energy, enough patience, enough time and I definitely didn’t have enough hands to take care of two baby boys.  There were moments of joy and moments of feeling that overwhelming love that takes over when your child looks into your eyes and you really connect.  However, our children’s moods change so quickly, that it’s easy to lose touch with those moments.  Sure, we’ve been told that parenting only gets harder as your children grow up and their problems become more complicated.   I think those parents never had the experience of parenting twins.  Much less, parenting our twins.  Now that the fog is clearing and I look into the eyes of our children (no longer babies) I’m truly excited about the summer to come.

And as summer approaches, I have been doing some thinking about what I want our summer to look like.  In this world full of distractions, it’s easy to get tied up with a phone in one hand, a mop in the other, and no energy, face time or extra hands to give to our children.  I’ve decided to put down the mop, turn off the phone and be present for my kids.  Instead of holding a phone, I want to hold my kids hands as they slide, climb and swim.  I want to enjoy their laughter and laugh with them.  These are the moments that can’t be planned.  And once they’re missed, they’re missed forever.

Moments like Benjamin’s excited giggles as he watches the water splash up from the side of the boat.  He turns to me to make sure I saw it, too.  With my reassuring smile I nod to our shared experience.

Moments like Taylor sliding for the first time all by himself.  I’ve never seen him smile so big.  

Moments like picnics on the boat, sharing a turkey sandwich and trying to keep our kids from throwing their sippies into the water.

Moments like the discovery of a mud puddle and the fun Taylor had chasing Mommy with his muddy hands.

Moments like these are priceless.  And I pray to God that there are many more of these to come.

The Marathon!

The marathon.  Something that only 0.1% of the U.S. Population will set out to run and finish in their lifetime.  Two days before the marathon, we were still in taper mode and carb loading to our heart’s content.  It is said that a runner in taper mode can be a very boring travel companion.  Of course, it is true that while we aren’t going to hike any local trails or peruse the stores for hours at a time, if you’re down with napping, lounging and eating (Italian food that is) then you’ll love it.  We found an amazing Italian restaurant and overate on pasta, garlic bread and a fantastic lemon-iced cake.    It was the first of a series of meals spent shoveling food into our mouths and chasing after the little ones.  It seems as though sitting through meals, riding in strollers and sleeping in confined spaces isn’t what they would call a good time.

The next morning we found a great coffee shop for breakfast.  The boys chased seagulls and we drank our coffee and watched as the runners walked to and from the expo.  There was an energy to this place as the crowds picked up and runners filled the sidewalks carrying their sweat bags and talking excitedly about the race to come.  There were many words of “Good Luck” exchanged and we began to get excited about making the trip to retrieve our race bibs.  We headed back to the hotel and changed into our running gear for a very light 2-mile jog to the water.  My husband, who can be a bit challenged when it comes to doing math and running at the same time, calculated out a route that left us with a full mile walk back to the hotel.  Well, there goes our taper. 

After the expo, we figured it might be a good idea to see what we’re up against.  We proceeded to drive the route that, in less than 24 hours, we would be running.  The drive was beautiful.  As we kept driving and driving and driving, it began to dawn on me…26.2 miles is REALLY far.  We jumped out of the car for a quick picture.  It was chilly and the wind was blowing in from the ocean at such a high speed that I could barely stand up straight.  I recall feeling a slight tremor of fear at that moment, but decided to brush it off.  The wind was not forecasted to be strong so maybe we would luck out. 

The parents watched the kids while we headed back to the Italian restaurant to split a pasta dinner (it’s not a good idea to overeat the night before) and talk about our race strategy for the next day.  Then to bed we went at the early hour of 7 p.m.  Yes, that is early.  But, so is waking up at 3 a.m. to don your race gear and head to the shuttles that would take us to the starting line.

We loaded the coach and the excited chatter began.  The buzz of voices lasted for a good 10 minutes and began to quiet down as we drew closer and closer to the start. The runner’s village was packed.  This race would only boast 4,500 runners, however, the space was small.  As the shuttles unloaded their passengers, the runner’s village filled up and we would find ourselves fighting a crowd to drop off our sweat bags with the rental truck that would deliver these bags to the finish line.  It was a chilly morning so we waited until the last possible moment before tearing off our sweats and tossing our bags to the volunteers manning the station.

We asked our fellow runners what their goal was for the day and we received an overwhelming number of “no time goal…we just want to enjoy ourselves” responses.  This should have tipped us off.  But we lined up at the starting line blissfully unaware of what awaited us.  The announcer asked how many of us were first-time marathoners.  Troy and I and about twenty or thirty other naïve racers raised their hands.  Rather than a congratulatory response, the announcer should have said “You’re crazy!  No one should run their first at Big Sur.”

They announced the race would start about ten minutes late.  Troy and I turned to each other and began to pray.  We prayed for our race, our spirits and our family.  We prayed especially for those in whose memory we would race.  Their names fluttered on ribbons pinned to the back of our shirts.  This race wasn’t just for us.  It was for them.

The gun sounded and we were off.  We continued to remind ourselves that we needed to start off slow.  “Remember…the real race doesn’t start until mile 20.”  As runner after runner passed us, we took solace in these words.  We were doing the right thing pacing ourselves.  And it’s not like we were running all that slow.  A 10:45 pace was our average for the first 5 miles.  These first miles wind through the beautiful red woods that Big Sur is known for.  The air was calm and crisp.  Runners were already hopping off the road to pee in the woods and we were enjoying a light conversation as we easily covered these first miles.  We knew mile 6 would turn toward the coast and we would begin to hear the sound of crashing waves. What we didn’t know is that a strong head wind awaited us. 

Mile 6 began and we found ourselves charging into a headwind that was later reported to be constant with gusts of wind up to 40 mph.  Troy and I ran side by side for the first mile or two then I began drafting him just to get a quick break.  Just as the wind seemed to let up, we began climbing the 2-mile stretch of hurricane point.  At the end of 2 miles, we climbed a total of 500 feet.  This was the biggest climb of the race and we passed many walkers during our trek to the summit. 

During our ascent the wind would let up briefly, and then we would turn a corner and find ourselves pushing into the wind yet again.  It seemed like a constant battle…and we were not winning.  Our pace was getting slower and slower and we hadn’t even reached the halfway point.  This is where I began thinking to myself “Why am I doing this?  What crazy person would think this is fun?” 

At the top of Hurricane point, the gusts were so strong that I literally couldn’t run any more.  This would be the first of my many brief periods of walking.  Troy turned to me and said “I think we’re walking as fast as we were running.”  He was right.  With my hat tightened up and my head down into the wind, the beauty of “the ragged edge of the western world” was missed by me.  I slowly started up to a jog and began the one mile descent to the tune of classical music played by a pianist on a beautiful grand piano.  This marked the halfway point.

The remainder of the race would be remembered for its numerous hills.  Some hills are steep.  Some hills are long.  And some hills are steep and long.  The steepest and the longest we had left back in miles 5 through 12.  Starting at mile 22 we entered a period of rolling hills.  Short and steep.  Combine that with a canted road and two very exhausted and wind-blown runners and this becomes the most challenging part of the race.  The sweet reward?  Fresh strawberries at mile 24.  The strawberries were the most delicious things I had ever tasted.  Or maybe my taste buds were a little tired of the 6 packs of GU that I had already consumed.  I noticed a strawberry that had been dropped on the road.  I actually considered picking it up to eat it thinking “what fool would waste that?”  This might have been the point of delusional exhaustion for me.  And I still had 2.6 miles to go. 

We were determined to finish the last two miles in a full-out run.  We passed a Jamaican band which would awake my spirit for the rest of the run.  I let out a loud whoop with hands in the air and a big smile on my face.  And Troy replied “now there she is!”  We would finish this race strong and earn those medals.  We saw the hill at mile 25 in the distance and hunkered down for our last hard push.  The spectators became more numerous.  We became more energized.  Our American Cancer Society coach met us with 0.2 miles to go.  He shouted words of encouragement and paced us to the finish.  “You have 0.2 miles left.  You know what to do now, right?” he would yell.  We replied aptly with “hell yeah!” and forced our legs to move just a little faster.  The finish line was there.  Troy reached for my hand and we crossed the line.  We finished.  Just as we started together, we finished together.  Hand-in-hand.  It is synonymous for our desires for our marriage.  Every trial, every pain, every joy.  We do it together.  Hand-in-hand.

Hebrews 12:1


Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

Running with endurance. (Part II)

18 weeks of training!  400 miles of running.  26.2 miles of racing.  How did we get here?  Sometimes it feels like a dream, but reality tells me it isn’t.  I know I felt the excitement of my first training run.  I know I felt the pain of the onset of runner’s knee.  I know I felt the depression as I thought on many occasions that I might not make it to race day much less finish the race.  I know I felt that nervous energy course through my veins with just one week to go.  I felt it all.  Yet it feels like a dream.  Can a person really run 26.2 miles without stopping? 

I’ve become a professional at diagnosing injuries via the Internet.  I’ve self-prescribed glucosamine based on a Runner’s World blog.  I downloaded an app for injury prevention stretches.  I’ve researched insoles to remedy foot pain.  And I’ve searched the Internet for stores that would carry the coveted KT Tape in hopes that I could make this old knee of mine hold out until race day.  Now before you worry too much about my capabilities of self-diagnosing…I have also seen my doctor on more occasions than I would like to admit.  I believe I visited him 3 or 4 times in a two week period just to make sure I wasn’t missing something bigger.  Like a torn meniscus.  I even obtained a prescription for an MRI which confirmed that what I had was simply Runner’s Knee.  The infamous Runner’s Knee.

When I tell people I’m running a marathon, the most common question is “Doesn’t that hurt your joints?”  Well…yeah!  Of course my joints hurt.  You’d have to be Ironman to run 20 miles and not complain of aching joints.  To a certain extent, my body complains with minor aches and twitches during every run whether it’s a 3 mile run or a 15 mile run.  It’s much like an old car that sputters and whines in objection but can still get you to work and back.

The second most common question is “Don’t you get bored?”  Running is the one point in the day when I can let thoughts enter and leave my head at will.  I have the freedom to let my mind think about anything.  Sometimes I think about the day ahead of me.  Sometimes I think about my kids, my husband and my family at large.  Sometimes I pray.  And sometimes I wonder at how that old man can manage to walk his fourteen little dogs without their leashes getting all tangled.  Then I’m back to thinking about my run.  How fast am I going now?  How much longer do I have?  There’s that weird guy with the dogs again.  Hmmm.  What a beautiful crisp morning it is!  It can be quite liberating – this freedom of thought.

Now with only 9 days until race day, my thoughts are turning to the beautiful vistas of Big Sur.  I just hope that I’ll be able to truly enjoy them while I’m huffing and puffing up the 2 mile incline that is Hurricane Point. 

The multiple personalities of multiples.

We used to think Taylor would be tough and gruff and Benjamin would be the studious and contemplative one. Before you begin labeling your kids, just wait a few weeks. They’re bound to change. It seems their big calling in life is to keep us guessing. Over the last few months we’ve created new labels for these little guys. The angry perfectionist and the totally chill T Dawg. The trick is not necessarily to guess which one represents which kid, but really which one represents which parent. That’s when it really gets interesting.

Benjamin is our angry perfectionist. If he can’t get it right, he begins to scream, pound and swing his arms wildly in the air. And, if you try to help him out, it only fuels the fire. We could add to his label: the independent, angry perfectionist. If the block is not stacked justright…if the lid isn’t propped up just so…if he flips two pages instead of just one…beware of the angry perfectionist. If the screaming and arm swinging doesn’t communicate as he would like, you’ll notice his very proper technique with regard to the downward dog. However, in yoga I don’t believe it is proper to yell and clench your fists while performing this move. Somehow this has largely eluded our little Benjamin.

So, you might now ask what characteristics encompass our totally chill T Dawg. It’s really very simple. While Benjamin is embarrassing himself through temper tantrums, Taylor is standing by, staring at lil’ B with a look on his face that says “Now what is your problem?” The acts that make Troy and I go crazy; seem to not faze our little Taylor in the least. He continues to suck on his fingers, pet his ear and look on as if he’s in his own comfortable little world.

There is never a dull moment when it comes to multiples. And I can honestly say, we love their multiple personalities.

(The only trick left is to guess which parent is which.)

Follow the leader

My kids operate on the mentality of “anything you can do I can do better.” They follow each other around the house proving this all day long. Taylor climbs the couch and Benjamin follows with such gusto that he almost launches himself over the back of the chair. Benjamin begins spinning around in circles and Taylor joins in with such speed and velocity that he almost face plants into the nearby wall. And let’s not even start with bath time. Troy and I often depart the bathroom soaked from head to toe after the boys made a show of how well they can splash. We’ve actually considered commencing the bed time routine in our swimsuits.

This game of follow the leader becomes even more of an issue when it comes to time-out. The boys seem to enjoy the act of disobedience. “No” means “Yes” and “Yes” means “Yes.” Needless to say, the boys are put on a lot of time-outs. Frankly, I’ve abandoned this method of discipline because it’s nearly impossible for me to keep them on time-out. It’s almost as if the word “No” means that one of the kids is doing something more fun than the other. It is the official calling of twin boys. It means, “this is really cool, you gotta come try it.” Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep Taylor on time-out as Benjamin is full speed ahead to commit the very act that just got his brother in trouble. And around and around it goes. Where it stops…

Another game the kids seem to enjoy…Marco Polo. Now Taylor can’t say “Marco” and Benjamin definitely can’t pronounce “Polo” but “Da?” and “Da.” Seem to work just fine for their purposes. It’s their twin brother locating device. Taylor calls out from the mudroom and a couple seconds later you’ll hear Benjamin’s response from the living room.

“What are you doing over there, bro? Anything I should check out.”

“No…Mom’s just changing my diaper. Again.”

With all this game playing the kids sure do work up a thirst, but be careful that you’re not enjoying a cold beer (or soda for your PG version) because within seconds the boys will be at your feet panting, mouth wide open, for their own taster. Yes…they literally pant like dogs begging for a treat. It’s somewhat endearing until you can’t finish a single beverage without a child breathing heavily into your face.

I still worry sometimes that I’m not a good enough parent, then I witness Taylor patting Benjamin’s head in an attempt to ease his crying and my heart melts for these boys. They care dearly for each other, even if Benjamin does like to put Taylor in a choke hold and giggle like the evil twin he is.