As the mother of twins, I am constantly asked seemingly stupid questions about them: Which one is the serious one? Which one is the outgoing one? Which one is the leader? Blah, blah, blah. And I always say, "They both are - it just depends on the day/moment/whatever." It's boring to be asked so many dumb questions all the time. This is, of course, in addition to the Big Two Comments: Whoa! Double Trouble! and You've sure got your hands full! Yawn. Please don't say either of these things to parents of twins. Just don't.

But there's one question that always makes ME feel a little stupid: Are they identical or fraternal? I always say fraternal, but I'm not 100% confident in that answer.

I had my first ultrasound at 8 weeks pregnant, which was when we found out that we were having two little hooligans, and I had a ton of additional ones after that. So I don't remember exactly when it was, but at one of those early ultrasounds, we were told that there were two placentas and that meant they were fraternal. It was never mentioned again and we never questioned it. Until they were born, that is, and there was only one placenta. I asked the delivery nurse about it and she said, "They must've fused together." Okaaaayyyyyyy.....

Twins are often different heights and weights when they are born - even identicals - and fraternal twins are no more alike than other siblings (except they are exactly the same age). Therefore, they should be even MORE different. But our girls were born at the same height and weight. They just had a check-up this week (16 months old) and they are STILL the same height and weight. As in, the same to the inch and ounce. The big indicator should be if they look alike, right? Well, most people think they are identical and ask me how I tell them apart. I can definitely tell them apart, but at least every few days they look exactly the same to me. Yesterday morning, they were sitting on the floor reading books. They were both in profile and I only knew who was who because of what they were wearing. I am their mother. Of all people, I should not think this about my fraternal daughters.

Then again, they look VERY different to me sometimes. But I don't know if that's because they actually look different or if their different personalities alter my perception of them. Ugh. The only way to know for sure is to do a DNA test. I asked the doctor about it at their check-up (their new pediatrician, by the way, assumed they were identical) and she said they can do it, but insurance will only pay for it if it is medically necessary. Since it isn't, I guess we're not doing it. I suppose I need to research it a little more, though, and see if I can find an affordable test online or something.

Now before you think I'm none too bright, look at these pictures (from teeny tiny to recent) and try to tell me they don't look identical.

I'm in the middle of losing a game of Scrabble on Facebook to my friend, Jillet. Seriously. Her score is exactly twice mine. It's not that I don't have an expansive vocabulary - it's that I have all Gs and Us and a pretty closed board. So I went to the official Scrabble website to look at the dictionary and see if they had any magical ideas. My oh my! What a word of the day!



If only I had those letters...

Dude and I took the girls out on a neighborhood exploration mission yesterday. We're meeting with a realtor Tuesday evening to start the house hunting in earnest and we wanted to be sure that we've seen all of the neighborhoods that we need to before that commences. I am psyched! I love house hunting! I love walking through a place and picturing our stuff in it. The problem is that I tend to really love houses that are about $50k above what Dude wants to spend. It doesn't really matter what the price range is - just add $50k and I will fall madly in love with the houses in that bracket, making the ones we can afford seem a little crappy.

Dude and I first hunted for houses together in 1999 or 2000 when we lived in Los Angeles. Housing prices at that point were definitely moving upward and we were looking in "fringe" neighborhoods because those were the only ones in which we stood a chance of finding something. Well, there was this sweet, sweet little house on a corner lot on Redondo Boulevard. I remember it in vivid technicolor. It was a two-bedroom, one-bath Spanish-style bungalow built in 1929 with birds-of-paradise growing by the front door. The floors were all a deep walnut-colored hardwood and there was a huge fireplace in the living room. Beautiful glass French doors led to the formal dining room and the kitchen had a lot of charming original tilework. The fenced-in yard was ENORMOUS with an orange tree and a turtle pond at one end (I even had a turtle - Ernesto - who lived in a stinky little aquarium). A small greenhouse jutted off the back of the garage. It was PERFECT for the two of us. PERFECT. PERFECT. PERFECT. I loved it so much I wanted to cry. It was the house of my married-single (no kids) fantasies. After drooling over every inch of the place for about an hour (including me exclaiming, "Ooooh! Look at this!" repeatedly), we sat in the realtor's car to crunch the numbers. Dude and this guy talked percentage points and down payments while I started decorating plans in my head.

I was trying to decide if the floor lamp we currently had in the living room would work or if we needed something new when Dude turned around and basically slapped me. "I just don't see how we can afford it right now." It was like the words didn't make sense because I had already decided this was our house.

Me: "What?"
Dude: "I don't think we can afford it. The monthly payments seem just out of our range."
Me: "What?"
The Realtor: "Let me go back to the office and come up with some different scenarios and bring them to you later. I'd love to get you in this house."
Dude: "Okay - but I really don't see how this works. It's just too expensive. If it was $50k less, it'd be another story."
Me: "What?"

My throat tightened. I had to fight back tears. I felt like throwing myself on the ground kicking, sobbing and screaming. Seems dumb over a house, right? Yeah, well - you didn't see this house. I made Dude promise that we'd never drive past it and he'd never so much as mention "the house on Redondo" again. I secretly drove past it a couple times over the next few weeks but had to stop because I felt so sad every time. We never did buy a place in LA because prices went so high so quickly that we couldn't keep up. A couple years after the fact, Dude commented that the house on Redondo now seemed affordable. I mentally punched him as hard as I could in the gut.

But Portland is filled with really sweet bungalows with built-ins and fireplaces and claw-foot tubs and backyards with trees. Certainly we'll be able to find one in any of our several neighborhoods-of-choice that is reasonably-priced enough for Dude and polished enough for me. Right?

Okay, fine. I am a little addicted to my new iPhone. But you would be, too, if you had that crappy crapster 3-year-old LG flip phone like I had that looked like it had been through a washing machine and then dragged behind a car for a day or two and which randomly turned itself off a few times a day. This feels very similar to when I sold my Geo Prism and got a Saab 9-3 convertable. Suddenly luxury is a way of life. MY life.

For reals, though - I love my iPhone. I google-map (that is so a verb) my way to destinations that I already know. I play sudoku with renewed zeal. I check Facebook constantly (of course). I suppose I could've been blogging, too, but I didn't. I'm still downloading all of the must-have apps (Lose It!, Shazam, Virtual Zippo, Public Radio Tuner) and playing with them.

Some happenings while I've been spending my time searching for the closest sushi restaurant (iSushi) and listening to the phrase-stylings of Mr. T (iPity):

• Dude declared that the incredibly delectable Monkfish Liver Pate & Sturgeon Caviar that we had at the sushi restaurant the other night tasted "like catfood" and then proceeded to eat the whole thing and use his finger to get every last bit of sauce off the plate and into his mouth.

• The Bug spent the better part of last Friday saying "HOOO-wah! HOOO-wah! HOOO-wah!" She sounded very much like Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, but I finally figured out that she was just making kissy sounds.

• Belly has been doing much better while practicing walking. So I suppose I can stop obsessing and worrying that someday she'll be the only 3-year-old we know who still crawls everywhere.

• Both girls can correctly point to the various parts of the face when asked, and BELLY could do it first!

• Someone (um, me!) went out on Friday night and sang and danced to an 80s cover band, losing my voice along the way. SO much fun!

I will be a better blogger. I promise. I just need to become more adept at using the touch-screen keypad...

That doctor should have to pay child support:

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5ilIx-PXnXPpwF1a_nlRYF00fzBIQD9669PMG0

Everyone seems to be writing blogs about Facebook these days - and I guess that's because we're all on it. And when I say all, I mean EVERYONE. My "friends" include a vast array of people from high school, my husband, my many siblings, my dad and friends from Milwaukee, Los Angeles, DC, Portland and everywhere in between. I was late in joining FB because I already had a MySpace account and it took so much work...I was reluctant to commit to yet another social networking site. But then my oldest (and often wisest) friend, Jillet, commanded me to join and I think I've been back on MySpace three times since. I thought - how simple and fun! And the crazy number of high school people adding me as a friend at all times of the day and night was astounding. It was like a virtual high school reunion except surprisingly enjoyable (even while sober).

But something has changed. I've realized that my "friends" list now includes my parents' friends, the minister who married us (although he is tres cool), friends of friends with whom I am only the merest of acquaintances, my Mormon aunt who says in her "25 random things" note that swearing "jars her soul," etc. You know - people that I don't necessarily need to have reading my latest status about my mini-crush on Eric Ripert (he's so hot in a perfectly polished and amazing chef kind of way) or seeing the middle school-era pictures of me posted by others or following my conversations about good break-up-and-make-up songs. It's really just TMI.

The way I see it, I have two choices: 1) I can censor myself more or 2) I can deny their friend requests. Either way, I don't like it. I'm very congnizant of the fact that FB is a public forum so it's not like I'm putting all my biznass up there for people to see, but I'd like to be able to say "effing" or "boobs" without worrying that somehow I'm offending people. And isn't it just flat-out rude to deny the friend request of someone I know (or kinda know)?

My panties are all in a bunch about this because some woman who was friends with my mom when I was a little kid (and is still close with one of my dad's friends) just sent me a friend request. I am 34 years old and I have not seen or spoken to this woman since I was probably 7 or 8. Am I the only one who thinks this is weird? I don't want to accept her as my friend on FB, but my older sister E says I have to out of politeness. Dude says I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. What to do?

For now I'm ignoring her friend request. I mean, I could accept her and it would probably be no big deal, but it really feels like a line has been crossed. I want to frolic online without the pressure of censure! I want FB to be fuuuuunnnn! Sigh. I'm sure this is no big deal and I'm wasting a ton of energy by fixating on it.

I have taken Belly and The Bug to the "indoor park" at our local community center several times now and they are simply ga-ga for it. Last time, they lit up as we were walking in the main door and were giggling before I even had their coats off. The Bug has really loosened up and jumps right into the fun from the get-go now. No wasting time hanging on Mama's apron strings for her! Belly has chilled out a little from her initial enthusiasm, but I think it's a combination of 1) she's cutting three or four teeth at the moment and 2) she has realized that if she acts like she just wants to be held, I'll push her on a bike all over the gym...or hold her.

Yesterday we went to a different community center about 10 minutes away to check out their kiddie action and I realized that, of all the kids there, Belly was the only one still crawling. There were even little 10-month-olds toddling around. I then spent a good half hour fretting that there's something wrong with her while holding her hands and pretty much making her walk around the gym. She's just a late walker, right? The same way she was a late crawler, right? I've already driven myself crazy reading a bunch of articles on the internet about it. Anyway, Belly humored me with the walking for awhile until she flat-out refused to put her feet down anymore. So I got her cruising behind a bike instead and that's when The Boy approached The Bug.

The Boy was probably six months to a year older than my girls and smiled sweetly at The Bug. As they stood there looking at each other, Belly crashed her bike and I had to help her get resituated. When I turned back around, The Boy and The Bug were in a deep embrace. He had her dipped backward and THEY WERE KISSING! I stared in shock, finding it both hilarious and terribly, terribly disturbing. Then The Boy dropped The Bug and fell on top of her. They scrambled to stand back up and started hugging again. The Boy was all kissy on The Bug's forehead; she just started talking and talking as she had her arms wrapped around him. A ball came bouncing past them, catching The Bug's eye. She released The Boy to chase after it and that was that. And remember Belly with Car Boy a few weeks ago? I am so in for it in when they are teenagers. Ugh.

This past weekend, Dude and I took the girls to my mom's house about 3 hours from Portland. Mom lives in a tiny town (pop. 435 or something) and she owns a B&B. Sounds quaint, right? Well, it is. Sorta. The house is SERIOUSLY huge and interesting and terrifying. I should probably take a moment to put two facts out there: 1) I've never lived in Oregon before now (my family moved here from Wisconsin after I left for college); and 2) I am very, very, very afraid of ghosts. Yup - ghosts. I totally believe in them and I'm a total weeny. I don't care what anyone says.

Mom's house has been known to have some other-worldly activity over the years and, while I love to visit my mom, I'm scared to death of her house. I even make Dude go to the bathroom with me if I have to go in the middle of the night. The house has three floors and the 3rd floor (currently used as attic storage) was once where the town held dances. And the downstairs ceilings were lowered at some point, so there is about a 6-foot "space" between the downstairs ceiling and the 2nd floor's floor. This space still has the old crown moulding and wall paper, etc. in it. It seems to me to be the perfect void in which ghosts could, you know, hang out between hauntings.

Since this is the low season (I almost wrote "dead season" just now), it was just us and Mom - no guests. I talked to Mom the day before we left and told her that I wouldn't mind her burning some sage or something before we got there, but she insisted that her house was "clean." Whatev. I wasn't going to fall for that. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better. After all, SHE'S the one who has told me story upon story of the weirdness that happens there. C-R-E-E-P-Y stuff, I tell you! Did the ghosts just magically go away? Riiiiiight. Well...I think they kinda did. I feel like the house will always be somewhat creepy just because it is so effing big, but it wasn't nearly as scary as in the years and years prior that I've visited. I had readied for that feeling of terror that grips me when I have to use the bathroom by the stairs to the third floor, but it wasn't there. I had prepared myself for the fact that I'd probably have to run up to the second floor by myself at night at some point during the weekend and I'd be muttering the whole time that I really, really didn't want to see "anyone," but it didn't feel like anyone was there. How did this happen?! And why didn't it happen years ago?! Mom's only explanation is that she's in a "better space" mentally now so she's probably not attracting the weirdness. Um, okay...I'll buy whatever she's selling.

Beyond the whole creepy (or not) house, going out to that little town is always something of an adventure. Everyone knows everyone and their business. There is a store downtown that is still the Mercantile from the days of old. Now it's just called "The Merc" and is the hub of activity and gossip. When Belly and The Bug were born, everyone knew that Mom had come to Washington DC to spend a month with us. And as Mom emailed pictures of the babies to her friends back home, they were promptly printed and posted in the Merc window for all to see. So going there this weekend with the girls for the first time was sort of like being the returning heroes. People we didn't know knew us by name. They asked how we were enjoying Portland so far. They commented that the girls have grown so much in the past year. They referred to themselves as Grandma So-and-So to the girls.

The best part for Belly and The Bug (besides seeing Grandma and exploring her house) were all the animals. This little town has deer wandering through it all times of the day and night. Seriously. These deer are not afraid of people and walk around the town like they own it. I guess they kinda do because it's illegal to shoot a firearm within the town limits. Someone joked that the deer population in town goes way up during deer season. Anyway, besides the deer, just about everyone has a dog in their yard and one yard (if you can call it that - it was more like a junkyard) had two sheep. Sheep! In the middle of town! The girls were enthralled. Heck - Dude and I were enthralled, too. We were acting like what they commonly refer to in those parts as "city slickers."

So what follows are a few pictures from our trip: Mom's house, the sign on the side of the Merc, the sheep, Belly's left foot that just HAD to be bare even though it was 40 degrees, deer by the back porch...