You'd think having ten year old twin boys would be double the trouble, but it's actually just double the fun.
They play pogs.
They catch chickens.
They make chocolate chip cookies to sell so they can buy fireworks.
Today one of them ran down the stairs hollaring "I'm in PUBERTY! I'm in PUBERTY! YAY!"
Luckily it was a false alarm. He had allegedly found 2 long hairs under his arm, but we searched and searched under a microscope and found nothing.
Whew! A near miss. Until a very beautiful ten year old Hawaiian tropic model came to the door with a message for him.
"Tell him I really really really really really really LOVE him!" she said.
My twins run with a brat pack--a group of like-minded rug rats with whom they can play pogs, catch chickens and buy fireworks.
But there is always that one kid in the pack that stands out. That one kid that is predictably unpredictable. Strange and unusual things happen under that one kid's watch--like you never know when one of your twins will come home with a cast or stitches when he's around.
That's alls I'm sayin'.
Other strange and unusual things happen too when that one kid is around--things may or may not disappear or appear. You may or may not find a whole box of pizza missing from your kitchen table, or a fridge may or may not appear on your front porch.
A few days ago I found two refrigerator boxes in my driveway with doors and windows cut out in the shape of diamonds.
"What the what?" I asked.
"It's my shave-ice shack," he grinned.
I didn't ask. I just went ahead and bought all five icees he was selling and told him to make like a tree.
He's almost like a magician, except when things disappear he can't seem to make them reappear and when things appear he can't seem to make them disappear.
If I say "HEY, can you PALEEZE get your refrigerator offa my front porch pronto," he'll look at me with big puppy-dog eyes and say, "but where am I gonna put it?"
That's his secret conspiracy code for "The next time you look out your dining room window this fridge will be staring you down."
He is that one kid who shows up every day at our door with a back pack. Not casually slung over his shoulder, but in ready position ON his back.
He is that one kid who invites himself along on family outings and if you say NO WAY, JOSE, he stands next to the car with his back pack as you load up and doesn't budge until you slam the door and put your pedal to the medal.
If you say YES, he yells, "I call shotgun!"
So last week I finally got the nerve to ask him, "What's in your freakin' back pack?"
He thought for a while before smiling sweetly. "A calendar" he said.
I didn't ask.
I probably couldn't handle the truth anyway.