You haven't truly parented until you go out to eat and your twin toddlers start yelling: "F$#k! F$#k!"
And then you gotta stand half-way up, and be all: "Oh, ha, ha. FORK! They mean FORK! You know, they want a FORK…TO EAT WITH!"
Warning: it may or may not work. I don't think it worked for us because our waitress didn't bring us any extra forks. I had to swipe some off a nearby table.
And then there was today. The twins were messing around in the backyard and decided to flip over their empty baby-pool. One twin crawled under and another twin crawled on top.
I'm sitting in the living room watching this thinking: yeah, this can't be safe.
Suddenly, the twin on top starts jumping. The twin underneath starts bellowing.
I jump up and run for the door but James is in my way and I shout: JAMES! GO, GO, GO!
James darts for the open-sliding glass door but doesn't realize the screen door is closed. He crashes full-bore into the screen and the whole thing goes flying off its rollers and hurtles across the porch.
So now James is reeling in confusion, one twin is hollering, one twin is jumping and then Matt comes charging out through the screen-less door and he's like: DUDE, WHAT'S GOING ON?
And my brain was all: what? huh? where am I? who are all these children? why is everyone yelling?
Also, has anyone seen Balloon Boy? Because I think his crazy little family just landed in my backyard.
Matt sorted everyone out, saved the day, etc. I just stood there like a stunned dodo bird.
Matt looked and me and he's like: Dude. Elizabeth. You need to chill. Go lie on the couch.
So, I did. And then he rented a movie–about some Greek chick who does bus tours in Greece. And I don't remember much about the movie except this line:
"Woman, your butt is too small."
Which, if you ask my twin-addled brain, is pretty much the best pickup line. Ever.