Twins and More

If the Shoe Fits^R6

Christina Baglivi Tinglof

It was pouring rain when my six-year-old fraternal twin son, Michael, got out of bed early in the morning. Although it was a dreary and cold Saturday, and any normal, red-blooded kid would have looked out the window, shrugged his shoulders and headed to the television remote still clad in his pajamas, Michael quickly got dressed. "I'll be ready to go in a few minutes," he called to me.

You see, it was the weekend and his turn to have me all to himself. Last week, his co-twin, Joseph, had his "mommy-and-me time," which included a trip to the video game store where I patiently waited as he sampled all the gaming kiosks. Our afternoon of errands ended with his favorite lunch—big, juicy hamburgers and strawberry milkshakes.

I had started the practice when the boys were old enough to realize that they had never had any time alone with either parent. Unlike first-born, singleton children who get a year or two of uninterrupted time with Mom or Dad before the next kid comes along or even second-born singleton children who get alone time once their older siblings head off to school, multiples never get to experience the pleasure of a simple two-way conversation or even a solo trip to the store as someone—their co-twin—is always around. Like most twins, my boys learned early that they must take turns in just about every aspect of family life, especially when it comes to having Mom or Dad all to themselves. So even though it was cold, rainy and downright miserable, Michael certainly wasn't going to let a little bad weather cheat him out of his fair share. It was his turn. Case closed.

An hour later, we were sloshing through puddles as we headed to the downtown bookstore to peruse the aisles for the latest dinosaur books. We huddled together under a store awning while we watched a street performer strum his guitar. We stopped for hot chocolate and muffins, and Michael was gleeful, brimming with energy as he explained what a shame it was that dinosaurs didn't walk the earth any longer.

He was a trooper, too. He never complained as we ran headfirst into the deluge just so I could check out the sale rack in the clothing boutique next door. He did, however, finally inform me that his feet were getting soaking wet from the rain as we slogged from store to store. I looked down and, sure enough, his sneakers were oozing water, squeaking with every step he took. We laughed at the sight but pressed on as there were places to go and things to do. (Out of guilt, I did treat him to a frozen yogurt just an hour before heading home for lunch.)

By Monday morning, the rain still hadn't let up. "Hurry up, boys!" I called. "You're going to be late for school."

Michael opened the front door to retrieve his saturated soles from the front porch where—without my knowledge—he had placed them that Saturday afternoon to dry out. But dry they did not!

"Oh, no!" I cried. "They're still soaking wet!" I quickly scrambled to his closet in search of another pair of shoes. But then it hit me. He had no others. What kind of mother was I? But there was no time to critique my lack of fashion sense (or common sense, for that matter). "Get some paper towels," I called. "And the blow dryer, too."

As Michael blasted the hot air at his shoes and I used the paper towels to soak up the abundant moisture, we didn't even notice Joseph slowly emerging from his bedroom.

"Oh, my head," he moaned. "It hurts." He dragged his backpack to the front door and then slowly sat on the rug to lace up his sneakers for school. I looked up from my futile task to notice his face red with fever. One hand to his hot forehead confirmed what I already knew.

"Yup. You're sick all right," I said. "Looks like you're staying home today." Joseph just sat there, too weak to show any sign of enthusiasm for what lay ahead—six hours of uninterrupted mommy time (not to mention TV and lots of strawberry Jello).

I turned back to Michael. "These will have to do," I said, pointing to his sneakers. "They're still wet, but not as much."

"Uh, Mom?" Michael whispered. "Can I wear Joseph's shoes?" Brilliant idea! Why didn't I think of that? And without saying a word, Joseph slipped off his sneakers and handed them to his brother. "Thanks, Joe," Michael said with a satisfied smile. He quickly put them on and headed for the door. "I'm ready."

"Lucky thing I'm sick today," Joseph called out as he curled up on the couch.

"That is lucky!" Michael said.

I laughed. Funny how they always have each other's back.

(853 words)