It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Still a bit of a mystery in our house, Alena has started having parties.

One minute everything is business as usual, the next time you turn your head, the living room floor is covered with any combination of things and she announces she's "having a party." Why she throws these parties, who's invited or how long they'll last is never quite clear.

The first happened last Thursday. We didn't realize we were having a party until we couldn't walk through the living room. Attempting to photograph the event, dad elicited tears, then all out crying, as she didn't want the party documented.

Friday brought about another. Still unsure what brings on a "celebration," I figured we were kicking off the weekend.

This morning she threw the biggest one yet. Not only did she drag out toys and other kid items, but also a flower arrangement and framed picture she confiscated from one of the living room's end tables.

This evening, upon telling him she hosted another party today, her dad asked if she's going to be a party planner ... you know, I can see it as a possibility.

Life through her eyes

The entire world's alive in Alivia's eyes. The living extends beyond family members, pets and her new-found bug interest. The inanimate comes to life when she's around.

Ever seen an almost two-year-old have a lively exchange with a kitchen chair? Probably not, unless you've witnessed Alivia run head on into one of ours, and then place the blame on the wooden piece of furniture. After giving it a piece of her mind, a few squawks and an evil look or two, she'll stomp off.

"Stinkin' chair," she'll conclude. "Get out of my way."

If it's in her way, within her reach or of any interest to her whatsoever, it's alive.

Still using her little potty that sits just inches off the floor for the sake of convenience (two little girls and one downstairs toilet makes for constant warfare as everyone miraculously has to use it at the same time ... you catch my drift), she and I headed to the bathroom to empty the handled bowl she had filled.

I dumped its contents into the toilet, and told her to flush it down. Face buried in the opening of the toilet seat, with only the back of her head visible to me, she lets out a "Don't look at me poopy."

Apparently she didn't like how her excrement was looking up at her from the bowl ... go figure. I wasn't aware that it had eyes, let alone a "look" that she found offensive.

Even the most innocent book should watch out when she's around and looking for trouble. Picture this. She puts her selection on the couch, and proceeds to climb up and perch herself on its cushions. In the process, she knocks the book to the floor. Down she goes after it, picking it up and starting the process all over. Once again, the book slides off and she's annoyed.

"I've had it with you book," she'll reprove the unsuspecting copy of "This is the House that Jack Built."

Her personification of all things is a great source of amusement for her father and I. You never know just what might jump out and attack her next - the door frame, our dining room table, her baby doll stroller - or more importantly the approach she'll take in correcting said object. A glimpse of the world through her eyes makes everything seem more alive.

Red fur in July

Yes, it was 86 degrees here yesterday. And yes, I tried to convince her you don't wear shirts with fur on the cuffs during July. Still, our hot mama insisted on donning the attire she had picked out for herself. After taking it off last night at bath time, I was given strict instructions not to wash it ... she was going to wear it in the morning.

Do they know they're twins?

This question was recently posed to me, followed quickly by "I know that's a dumb question."

Believe me, I've heard my share of dumb questions, but after answering with, "I don't know if they know they're twins, but they are well aware of one another," the question came back to mind several times in the proceeding days.

I've worried from their very first weeks that some damage was done to their twinship by not bedding them in the same crib or feeding them together. I guess overall, we've treated Trace and Alysse like two singletons that we care for simultaneously rather than like twins.

Books written by experts suggest parents of twins allow them to sleep in the same crib, as they are more comfortable together; and encourage a single feeding schedule to simplify life. This advice didn't seem to best suit Trace and Alysse, and our family as a whole, so we adopted an eat-when-YOU-want-to-eat schedule and separated them not only in their own beds, but separate rooms, when they were only a couple weeks old.

During their first months of life they seemed to exist solo ... completely oblivious to one another. I remember silently agonizing over whether or not we had destroyed some special twin bond between them. Everyone believes there's a special relationship between multiples. Had we taken that from them in our attempts to care for them in the manner we felt best met their needs?

Slowly, as they became more aware of their surroundings, I began to see more interaction between them. Slowly, I began to feel a bit relieved that we hadn't taken from them a special bond they hadn't been given the chance to develop.

Do they know they're twins? Yes, I think they do.

In moments of fussiness when nothing else seems to calm one or the other, placing them together so that they can make eye contact seems to bring a sense of peacefulness and instant smiles. Once this connection has been made, they seem to coo and smile at one another as though they both know something no one else does.

Perhaps more telling is when laying them at opposite ends of a blanket, one way or another they find a way to meet up, and within minutes their hands are joined. Babies holding hands ... it still melts my heart every time I witness it. They seem to have a need between them to touch that I don't know two non-twin infants would share.

I do wonder, though, how this relationship will evolve as they grow. Several times I've been told that in a twin pair there's usually one child who is more dependent upon the other. This twin phenomenon I can't say I've yet seen in our pair. If each can be their own independent person while sharing a relationship not many of us know, I'll be happy knowing we've accomplished something most parents don't have the pleasure of attempting.

Blue elephant warrior

It always happens, without fail. Some times it might take a little longer than expected, but it always happens. Some times it happens without any warning, and others you see it coming and just have to wait.

It usually starts off innocently. A reach here, a push or grab there. Then it escalates. Typically the talking starts and then grows louder. Talking then becomes a sort of baby yell. The baby yell gives way to all out frustration and then hostility sets in.

It's the squishy blue Exersaucer^© elephant. Dangling on his flexible orange hook, he hangs there just taunting her. And one way or the other, he always wins. No amount of drool, yelling or gumming changes the outcome.

The face-off begins as soon as Alysse is placed in the Exersaucer^©, spinning the seat around until she's looking him square in the face. I've begun intentionally turning the seat a full 180 degrees away from the little blue troublemaker before placing her in it, hoping something else will catch her attention. Not a chance. She immediately begins to spin herself, seeking him out and not giving the other less confrontational toys a second glance.

Then it's on. She pulls, grabs and shoves him until she gets him right where she thinks she wants him. Into her mouth he goes. A couple chomps later and he's back out for repositioning. More yanking and some drool, and back in he goes. Still not right, as she lets him go again, bouncing around on his hook.

Now the talking starts. She usually starts out in a fairly polite manner. Giving him what I take to be instructions, she gives it another go. More chewing and gnawing around, then things heat up. The polite talk turns to baby yelling, and an attempt or two later the crying starts.

I'm not exactly sure what he does or doesn't do that sets her off. Perhaps the motor skills she currently possesses don't allow her to position him in her mouth exactly the way she wants. Or maybe the relief he provides her expectant gums doesn't quite cut it. Whatever the cause, her elephant encounter always proves futile.

I've tried removing him once her frustration takes hold. Out of sight, out of mind was my thinking. However, the fireworks his absence cause are more volatile than what would have erupted had I just let their ensuing struggle run its course. And more than once I've quickly replaced him to lessen her hostility and let the saga play out.

I've tried ridding the activity center of his presence altogether before placing her in it. Still, she spins. Looking for her prey. Coming up short on the hunt, she's then unhappy that she didn't get the chance to gain her first victory.

I'm guessing he's safe until that first tooth makes its way through her baby gum. After that, it just might be a more evenly matched bout of baby versus elephant, as she'll have the means to pop that little blue sucker in retaliation for all the defeats she's suffered.