Man, I love my twins an insane amount. But they are so needy. I don’t want to talk trash about them but these two do nothing for themselves. Absolutely nothing.
They pretty much just eat, cry and sleep which Marinka pointed out would be an awesome sequel to “Eat, Pray, Love.” I’m already working on the Eat, Cry, Sleep screenplay. I’m thinking the Olsen sisters could play the twins. I realize they may be a little old for the part but I think you’ll agree that classically trained actresses like themselves can play any part convincingly.
I’m considering Coach Taylor from “Friday Night Lights” as my love interest in the movie but he’s so dark and moody this season. Tim Riggins is a possibility but I don’t like that he’s mixed up in the illegal chop shop business and I’ve really started to grapple with the fact that he has wet hair in every scene. Is it supposed to be sweaty? Dirty? Freshly washed? Due to these troubling questions, I’m now thinking more Bradley Cooper.
Anyway, because of our slacker twins, Rick and I have so much trouble finding time to do dumb things like open our mail, go grocery shopping, remember the diaper bag…
On Friday I took Harlowe to the cardiologist to check on her heart murmur. She has a little hole between her two heart chambers which should fix itself in the next few years. As I’m sitting in the waiting room, I realize I have no bottles with me. None. I start to sweat just trying to think of how to breast feed both of them in a public place if they start to get super hungry. I’m not ready for this kind of performance art.
Thankfully, I get home before they get too fussy.
And the next day, Rick and I took Dylan to the doctor. Apparently giving her some recalled Motrin and shuttling her off to camp did not heal her. Turns out, she has a virus and swimmer’s ear. So we took her to the doctor, and brought along the whole kid crew. And once again, forgot the diaper bag. You know, it’s very hectic on this baby-go-round.
On the way home, we stopped at a fancy French bakery where the women behind the counter are super unfriendly because they are clearly superior to common folk and just as I’m ordering a cookie and croissant for my girls, breast milk leaks out of my right boob.
I don’t usually have a BP leakage problem when it comes to my breasts so this is a special treat. I can only hope that now that milk has spurted from me in their patisserie, these women will finally give me the respect I deserve.
By the way, in case you’re confused by this entire post, here’s the recap: the twins cry a ton, Tim Riggins’ hair is super sweaty, Harlowe has a heart murmur, Dylan has a virus, Rick and I have no memory and my milk is coming out of my breast like a water fountain.
mama bird notes:
I have to thank Hokgardner for the most adorable knitted booties. She is quite a talent! The only problem is I can’t fit these booties on my feet so now I’m starting to think they are for the twins.