I think Carmen has figured something out. I think it goes like this, “If I don’t ask them, they can’t tell me no.” So, if it’s 8pm and you’re back home from a trip to the farmer’s market and you’re supposed to be going to bed, just get your hand on up to that counter that you can finally reach, and help yourself to an ear of corn. Walk around and mind your own business, peeling the shuck like Mommy taught you, tossing the silk and leaves into the trash can. Move quick and hide in the corner every now and then, so nobody notices much of anything. Keep the stalk, since it’s a handy handle, and enjoy. When she realizes what you’ve been up to, the one we call Mommy will be so amused and impressed that she’ll let you eat that corn, and even take your picture. And then she’ll laugh when you just go ahead and get yourself another ear, and even encourage David to go ahead and eat one, too.

David thought he might get to skip the shucking and get right to eating,

but it didn’t work so well. I told David not to worry; Gerald Ford made the some mistake. David giggled and moved on to peeling and eating.

David’s been working on his persuasive powers for a while. Most mornings he makes sure I wear underwear, shirt, pants, shorts, and shoes (does he think I’m so loopy that he has to make sure I’m dressed before I go out into the world?). I rescue fire trucks from near-drowning in baby potties while trying to pull my shorts up as a certain little girl pulls them down to dig for coins in my pockets. David’s voice rises over the gentle chaos. “Mommy bra! Put on braaaa! Where’s Mommy pants? Mommy pants? Pants? Mommy needs pants! Mommy pants, put on paaaaaaaants,” he pleads. If I don’t get dressed fast enough, he gradually sinks to the floor in agony or pushes his face onto my thigh, his fists clenched. When he is sure we are all properly dressed (lifting Carmen’s shorts or skirt to make sure she’s wearing a diaper is sometimes in order) he relaxes, his job done, the world right, and we go on our way.I noticed recently, though, his approach is changing. Instead of pleading, or Carmen’s new direct questioning (“Time to go Jerilyn house?”), he’s more and more seeking to create mutual agreement. “Oh-tay?” he asks, then nods his head without bothering to wait for a response.  “Oh-tay,” he says, as if he was agreeing with me over a point which, we have to now assume, is a point that agrees with him.  “Oh-tay.”

It’s hard to say no, so it must be effective.

Matt is in charge of getting C&D to sleep. I don’t think it’s going very well. I don’t hear much, but Carmen is yelling, “Honk, honk! Beep, beep, beep!”

Now David’s starting to make honking noises, too. I think I’m going to turn off the lights and pretend I’m sleeping.

So it seems that in a rush, C&D have discovered the power of their imaginations. We pretend injuries that doctor puppets and play stethoscopes fix, we imagine scoops on our play cars and find trash to dump into the garbage can. Downstairs we pretend to read books that are upstairs (not so hard if their favorite books are memorized), and we decide that our toys need potties, baths, and naps. I am cook, chauffer, clean-up crew, boo-boo kisser, and now, actress.

Almost overnight, they have discovered the joyous possibilities of accusing the other twin of mischief (hopefully not to success) and finding reasons to try to persuade me that they shouldn’t nap (“not sleepy! David stay a-WAKE”) or sleep at night (you konw Carmen mastered this many months ago already).

They plan trouble, like when yesterday Carmen learned toward David and proudly let him smear oatmeal in her hair, or like when today they pushed their chairs toward the kitchen counter so they could each steal a D’Anjou pear.

They work, too. I find my clothes spread on the floor, lain flat as if someone was about to sort them. I suddenly have helpers at the co-op, each gravely pushing a laundry basket full of veggies while nectarine juice dribbles down my helpers’ chins. The checkbook is smartly referred to as “for the co-op.” And with great purpose, C&D slowly push the grocery cart up and down the Randall’s aisles, then quickly unload the cart at the register. When we walk to the car, David never loses his focus, his walk steady and careful, a firm grip on the cart’s wire rim. Today Carmen extracts a small bag from the cart and, as if the bag is weighted with rocks, drags a plastic bag full of nothing but a bottle Dimetapp and a bottle of eye drops along the pavement. Then I open the front passenger door, and with a great swing tosses the bag onto the seat. I pretend to be moderately impressed with her feat.

They’re growing taller, and stronger, and more confident. They can swing like monkeys from the bars at the park, their knees high. They climb the play structure’s chain ladders and haul heavy buckets full of pebbles around the playground. But the most growth has been all in their head, and when I’m not laughing or scrambling for a towel to wipe up the latest disaster, I can do nothing but laugh.

To David, after he threw his lunch and water on the floor:

“David, did you make a mess?”

His response, deadpan:

“Carmen threw it.”

On Monday I was mopping the tile kitchen floor. Some soap had been spilt and the floor was sticky on my bare feet. As I scrubbed, rinsed, scrubbed, rinsed, Carmen and David swished their rag mops in tilted o’s and long, narrow ellipses. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Carmen nearly slip, and then smile. Slip, slide, slip, slide, she crossed the floor. Then she looked at me with a broad smile of accomplishment. “I kate, I kate!” Who needs ice?

And if anybody every asks, this is why mothers shouldn’t mop more than absolutely necessary. It’s clearly dangerous!

It’s harder to call them babies when they start asking things like, “Carmen go Jerilyn house, play outside?” It’s harder to call them babies when they start ordering you around. “Daddy sweep more [because I don't want to go to bed yet]!” It’s harder to call them babies when they suggest today’s agenda, “Dah-men, go potty. Then brush teeth. Then we go gro-cer-ry shopping. We buy chicken! Come on!” But those feelings are fleeting. Pretty soon, they’re acting like my babies all over again . . .

My Babies Go Shopping for Vegetables (then eat, and eat, and eat)

Asking to go to the co-op. David thought the kitty needed to go, too.

One day, after shopping at the co-op, Carmen and David decided the Gundermann peaches couldn’t wait until we got home. So we ate two at the co-op while we paid for our share, two in the car, and five more at home. David was full, but Carmen was not, so she found and ate apple.

While Carmen was eating her apple, David decided to use his tractor to deliver some fresh vegetables
and brought her an onion.
She began right away to eat it, although she liked it more after I removed the dry skin.
While she was eating, David swept up after the three of us
with pretty good aim toward the dustpan.

Another co-op day, loading up on broccoli:
Enjoying fresh corn from Joan Gundermann’s farm at Houston Farmer’s Market at Rice.

My Babies Clean Up (after colossal messes)
My babies like to clean, especially after a mess. For instance, a few weeks ago we received from packages via UPS (which C&D loves even more than USPS with the patriotic truck). As I sorted through the contents, C&D did some sorting of their own, dumping hundreds of styrofoam peanuts all over the foyer floor and then trying to sweep the mess up. (They’re not wearing pants because they took a potty break and then were too busy to get dressed. I figured I could always use these pictures as bribe material in the next decade.)
Not long later, C&D decided they needed to clean their side of the upstairs

threw all the toys over the gate to the “quiet” side of the upstairs while Matt and I watched with a mix of agony and amusement. I needed to reorganize their toys, anyway.

My Babies Look Out the Window (and spy)

When I am busy downstairs, I open the front door and let C&D look our the storm door. If they’re lucky they see some of a variety of trash trucks, delivery trucks, people on bicycles, dogs out for a walk, and if they’re really, really lucky, the guy with a pink mohawk and sherbet-green Vespa.
The rest of the time C&D play upstairs, with a view of the neighborhood from a fixed window that we left unfrosted.

My Babies Run (around and around)

The lawn between the Water Wall and the Williams Tower (can I still call it the Transco Tower?) is a perfect place to run, but sometimes you need a breather,

or a chance to admire your shirt.

The Water Wall to the south, of course:

My Babies Go to the Playground (and play, of course!)

My Babies Discover New Ways of Getting Wet (and tattle on who’s wet)

Discovering a puddle after a nice walk through an Urban Harvest nearby, and then
pointing out who is wet, and where.

My Babies Discover the Buffalo Bayou (and make their parents feel silly)
Carmen is wearing a cape from the Blue Moon Festival, hosted by the BBP. I’m sure she doesn’t know what a cape is, but she liked wearing it. She also decided that, as we walked to our car, every time a jogger passed us on the trail she would yell “Run run run run run run RUN!” We hope they were amused; they certainly heard her. David, to ensure Matt and I felt suitably goofy, walked alongside me calling the squirrels. “Skwirls, time to eat DINNER! Come on! Time to eaaaaaaaaat!”

My Babies Like Trains (but cry when we ride one)
The horn was too loud, and we found the train at the Galveston Railroad Museum too big!
The model trains were just right, so we cried again . . . because we didn’t want to go home.

While I’m showing pictures . . .
So you have it, this is the house with the new paint color over the Western red cedar (the bottom half). Removing the vinyl and replacing the teardrop siding beneath it is next. Then we’ll work on the landscaping, in time for fall planting. Shortly after we painted, this sign across the street went up. There goes the neighborhood!