So here we are in Texas, doing most of the same things we’d be doing at home. Running errands, buying packing materials at Office Depot, making block prints, getting to the post office in the last possible seconds before they close. But it’s a change of scenery and we like hanging out with my parents.

Oh and. Yesterday something awful happened. My parents got me an iPhone.

You don’t know how awful this is. I resisted it. I hate iphones. I don’t like people who have iPhones. It’s exactly the kind of douchey technological gadget that symbolizes everything that’s wrong with our materialistic western plastic society and OH MY GOD HOW MUCH DO I LOVE THIS FUCKING PHONE?

My friend Alana called me a swear word when I told her, which is both understandable and fine. Call me anything you want. Throw actual poop at me if you want to. I will download an app that makes my phone into a giant rubberized shit shield.

We’re heading back tomorrow. My butt hurts thinking about the 14 hour drive ahead… my xB’s only real flaw (other than being hideous, obviously) is seats that are zero percent squishy. Is there an app that will let the iPhone work as an inflatable cushion?

It’s four in the morning; I worked on putting broken glass into test tubes all night. It’s relaxing work if you can get it, except for the worry that maybe you are a bad parent for getting tiny pieces of glass everywhere.

I find Nicolaus so fascinating. Sure, in that ancient and perfect way that every parent marvels at their kids, but also because he has ways of thinking about things that are startling and new and old and complex and beautiful, and simple and fivish all at the same time. Basically he’s a cool person. I like when he tells me things, and when he wonders things, and when he talks to himself, recounting these wonderful narratives. He has a talent for words that borders on superpower.

I tell him so sometimes, that most people don’t think about things that way. I tell him in a good way, I don’t point and yell “freeeeak!” because I read in a book that it’s better to tell your kids good things about them than to point and call them a freak. He’ll tell me how he figured something out, or about the way he groups things in his mind, or what it feels like to almost be asleep but not quite – and I tell him, “That is really cool. Not many people think about it that way.”

But tonight while I worked on the test tubes I was thinking, maybe it’s too much pressure. Maybe he doesn’t need to hear that he is special and interesting and creative. He talks about wanting to be famous, wanting everyone in the world to know about his inventions. Tonight as I sat at the table alone and worked on something for the total fun of making something pretty, making an old idea from my college sketchbooks into something real, I thought about Nicolaus and how kids don’t need to want to be famous. He doesn’t need to save the world. He just needs to eat mostly healthy food and drink water every day. He needs to take baths sometimes, and get muddy afterwards. He needs to practice reading and coloring and kicking a ball.

When you look at the core of who he is, he is an intensely curious, animated, creative, passionate, self aware person. We didn’t make him that way, he came that way and has never changed course. As his parents we try to find a balance between letting him be who he is, and countering it with things to help him chill the hell out sometimes. But maybe he also needs us to let him know that we don’t expect him to more than an ordinary human, that we just expect him to eat his broccoli and to talk to us in a nice voice and to try not to spill things if possible, but we’re flexible on that.

I don’t know what I’m posting this for. My parents always told my brothers and I how special and talented and artistic and creative and etc we all were. And we all grew up to be artists. So – did they do that? Or did they just notice what was there, and comment on it and buy us art supplies because we wanted them? Was it too much pressure somehow, and that’s why my brother is at Burning Man right now, experiencing the same level of responsibility and societal burdens that he experiences every day at home? Or did being considered special help us each embrace our uniqueness and fight for a creative life in a society that makes that difficult?

Don’t know. But I really like how my test tubes turned out. This weekend: petri dishes!

This morning we drove my mom to the airport so she could go and meet them and give unto them a very important letter that was dictated to me by their eldest cousin. In the letter, Nicolaus welcomed them to the world, introduced himself, and then gave them instructions on the real way to whistle. That’s their first installment. He also has a whole tape of information that is almost ready to send to the babies which includes the history of the world, the cautionary story of twin brothers Romulus and Remus, and general advice and information about life on planet earth. It would make a great basis for a religion, actually, so if you know anyone who needs a manifesto for theirs send me an email. The two main commandments are:
1. Never try to kill each other and
2. Never try to take over the world. Because “that’s not really considered a good thing to do.”

Which are good ones.

My brain has been too full this week. Big projects, big lists of things to do, suburbanite money worries, selling our house in Texas and all of the fun that goes with inspections and everything, running down endless computer-upgrade rabbit holes, and this sort of general background sense that at 40 weeks maybe it is now time that my sister in law should quit being such a selfish whore and HAVE THOSE DANG BABIES ALREADY.

My mom was in town for much of the week, which would normally be a wonderful distraction but she was busy deciding whether her energy was better spent shopping for exactly the right kind of baby socks that babies can’t easily kick off because even in summer heat babies must have socks OR reading wikipedia articles about how to perform a c-section in case she ended up needing to personally fly up to New York, kill the OB, sedate my brother and his wife and deliver the babies herself since no one else seemed to understand the urgency here.

So she did a bit of both, and sometimes cried because if she had only gone to medical school instead of chasing George Harrison around none of this would even be an issue. I, meanwhile, focused on being stressed about everything else.

My children, sensing the tension, did their best to add excitement by acting like labrador puppies. Which a lot of people find cute but you will notice that I don’t have any labrador puppies. This is a deliberate choice on my part. If someone knocked on my door right now and offered to give me an armful of labrador puppies I would say no, and maybe even call the police. Partly because it’s 1 in the morning and my god! But also because — well, no offense if you love labrador puppies.

Anyway. That wrestling, wallowing/ rolling/ squealing thing that the boys do always makes me nervous because hey guys! Is that playing or is it fighting? Oh, okay it’s just playing. I should chill out, it’s just playing. Oh hell, now it’s fighting. And now they’re yelling at each other and one is crying and oh my god. Oh wait. Now they’re laughing. This game sucks.

So: stressfull week in which my mom and I spent too much money, ate too much junk, burned too much gas, and — no wonder my kids were totally nuts by Wednesday — just drove around running mission-critical errands and going places to help distract my mom from seriously ending up on the news over OMFG why are there still no babies?? We had a very close call when that Jolie lady had the nerve to have her twins way before hers were even due. Holy shit. Thank God for $3 margarita hour is all I can say.

But none of that matters now because you know why? Well 1. The week is almost over and 2. My art supplies arrived in the mail today and most of all 3. Babies!!!!!!!

I told you you were jealous.

We got all the way through checkout before I realized my wallet wasn’t with me. More disturbing than the hassle of running home to get it was that it should have been in my purse. Where else would it be unless — well, unless I’d been driving all over town all day without it. Obviously crazy and impossible. Both of my kids know that the only reason they can’t drive is because you can’t drive without a license, and if there are exceptions and loopholes to that well, suddenly there are a few things we need to discuss some more.

So we rushed home and I started looking. It wasn’t on the table, it wasn’t on the couch, it wasn’t on the kitchen counter. Not on the bathroom counter, not on my bed or nightstand. Not in the pockets of the skirt I’d worn this morning until we splashed our feet in the pool and the skirt ended up soaked. Not on the table. Wait. Crap, I’ve looked on the table like four times already. But still, maybe! No.

I started to freak out. Oh my God. This is exactly why Kevin is going to one day invent a time machine and go back and warn his past self to stay the hell away from me. Or this! This is why he watches Sliders. He’s hoping there are universes out there where I am not a ditz. Just remember, Kevin: no matter how annoying it is to be with me, it is even more annoying to actually be me.

While I looked, Nicolaus drew pictures of flowers and the ocean for me. Then he made me a sign that said “WAR IS MI WALOT” on one side. On the other side is a picture of me, smiling and happy. It works like those “dishes are clean/ dishes are dirty” magnets. You flip it to the happy side whenever my wallet isn’t missing, and you flip it to the other side whenever I suck.

Then he got out the scissors and made me a spare driver’s license for in case this ever happens again. Which, honestly, I think I immediately misplaced.

We went and looked in the car again. Nope. Finally I sat down in the front passenger seat and tried to decide what to do. Should I call Kevin at work and confess that I’m a total idiot? Since we still haven’t found my keys from that other time, I decided it would be better to maybe wait. There isn’t much he could do about it anyway except freak out that someone maybe has my wallet. What good would that do?

My mom always taught us that you don’t find things by looking. You find things by thinking. It was incredibly annoying when I was a kid, but now – dang it. She’s right. So I sat there and thought for a minute. And then oh! Right! Back pocket of my pants from yesterday.

Nicolaus couldn’t wait to tell his daddy all about the funny thing with me being an idiot.

The next day, Graham had a similar experience. We were about to leave Michael’s when he yelped, “Wait! Where’s? My? Book?”

Crap. Michael’s is a butt-big store. Could be anywhere… crap crap crap. We tromped up and down every aisle. No book. Nicolaus marched up to every employee-looking adult and told them, “Hi. My little brother lost a small blue book. It’s really important. If you see it, please call my mama’s cell phone.”

But after – I don’t even know how long – the store announced that they were closing and we told Graham we’d have to leave and call about it tomorrow. He stopped walking. “No! No. We can’t leave without my book.” Then – well, he’s two. He burst into tears.

I bent down and hugged him. “Well let’s think about this. Where’s the last place you saw it? Did you put it down somewhere?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t.”

“Like — did you put it down near the toys?”

“No! I didn’t.”

“Sweetie, we’ll tell them to call us if they find it, okay?”

Resigned, he took my hand and we headed towards the door. Then he stopped. “I DID put it down.”

“You did? Where?”

“With the noses.”

“What?”

“I put it down by the noses.”

Nicolaus jumped up and down. Oh!! Oh oh oh! We were pretending those big foam cones were our noses and it was hilarious and Graham picked up the biggest one and put it on his nose and you told us no, put those down and –

Sure enough. Floral foam aisle, stuck in the shelf with the giant green foam noses.

How bad does it suck to be 34 and still have to admit that your mother’s annoying advice was right?

They nodded. Okay? Okay.

“Mama, am I a grown up?”

“That’s right.”

“In a few minutes, I am going to drive your car.”

2. I see where you’re going, and I like the way you think.
“What’s your name?”

“Graham.”

“No!” He howls back at me, “I am Graham.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I AM sure. Your name is Tiffany.”

“Oh. I thought it was Graham.”

“It’s NOT.”

“Gotcha.”

“How old are you, Mama?”

“I’m two.”

“No! You are not two. I am two. You are thirty four.”

“Ah. I thought I was two.”

“You are not. I am two. And on my next birthday, I am going to be FIVE.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And on Nicolissis birthday, HE will be two.”

3. A different kind of man.
“Mama? What kind of man are you going to be when you grow up?”

“I’m not going to be a man. I’m already grown up, and I’m a lady.”

“But what KIND of MAN will you be?”

“What?”

“I’m going to be a police kind of man.”

4. Problem solved.
“Hey! I have a IDEA. We can drive to the moon!”

“No we can’t.” Nicolaus is so serious, “First of all the moon is way too far away. Second of all, Mama’s car can’t fly.”

Graham had his answer ready: “Ding-dong! I turned Mama’s car into a spaceship.”

Problem solved, II
Nicolaus had prepared for the swordfight days in advance. He knew my mom was coming to visit, and he remembered that she is one hell of a swordsman. Lady. Whatever.

He wore his best armor and gave her the crappiest sword, but still it was a heck of a fight. My mom kicks all the butt when it comes to such things. They were locked in a dramatic sword battle when Graham came running into the room, “Wait! Nicoliss!” He ran up to my mom with a toy dagger and pretended to slice her wrists. “Cut. Cut.”

He stood back, “It’s okay now. I cut her hands off.”