(Update: See this post for more uninformed exposition about twins.)
1) Are they twins? I concede that you might not know for sure with fraternal twins who are very dissimilar, especially boy/girl twins. But, seriously, you're looking at my girls who are practically mirror images of each other, and you're asking me whether they're twins? Do you need to have your vision checked?
2) Are they identical or fraternal? We don't know.3) What do you mean, you don't know? How can you not know? There's a gray area, people. And we're not willing to draw blood from them just to find out whether they're identical or not. We don't really care that much. (But we think they're identical.)
4) Do twins run in your family? No. Not that it matters, especially if the girls are identical. Identical twins aren't hereditary. And all the fraternal twins I know were born to moms who don't have twins in the family, so I guess it doesn't matter for them, either.
A twist on that question: "Are twins on your side or your husband's side?" Well, neither, but if they were on his side, it would have no bearing whatsoever on whether I'd have twins. For twins to be "in your family," so to speak, you have to be a woman with a blood relation to a woman who has given birth to fraternal twins. Men have nothing to do with it. (Sorry, guys.)
[Full disclosure: Okay, so my great-grandmother had twins who died shortly after birth. We don't know whether they were fraternal or not, but I guess that could mean that maybe I do have twins in my family. I always forget about that. And, yes, my cousin and his wife have adorable twin boys. That doesn't count, because I'm not related to my cousin's wife, and their boys are almost certainly identical, like my girls.]
5) Did you use fertility treatments? [Usually this is more of an assumption than a question: Look at that, another set of fertility-treatment twins.] Not that it's any of your business, but no. I think people assumed that, since we'd been married for seven years before we got pregnant, surely there must have been fertility issues. Nope. We just weren't ready for kids those first seven years. When we finally did decide to get pregnant, we made up for lost time with our two-for-one deal.6) [And I'm not kidding here -- you'd be shocked by how many people ask this.] Which one is the bad one? Ask me when they're 13, and I'm sure I'll say they both are.
(All you twin moms, feel free to chime in with the obnoxious questions people ask you over and over and over again.)
I'm beginning to suspect a conspiracy.We vacuumed the living room floor again this morning for the third day in a row (as part of the infestation-eradication plan, not because I'm obsessed with the Animal -- which isn't to say I'm not obsessed with the Animal). And yet again, that dust cup was disgustingly full of dust and dirt and debris. Really? Still? After three days, the carpet is still that gross? It's time to take apart that vacuum and find what I know must be hiding in there somewhere: a cartridge full of simulated dirt that is injected into the dust cup as you vacuum to make you think the Animal is doing a good job. What other explanation could there be?
I can't believe we just spent that much money on a vacuum cleaner. (Or, rather, I can't believe we have to pay off that much on the credit card for a vacuum cleaner.) But this is supposed to be the Rolls Royce of vacuum cleaners, and I think you'll agree that the need was great.Here is our new Dyson Animal DC15 (accompanied by the twins). 
I'd heard many stories about the amazing Dyson vacuums, how they pull incredible and disgusting amounts of dirt out of theoretically clean carpets. I was desperate to get my hands on one after learning of Pepper's infestation. (Honestly, I've been wanting one for a long time. This was a perfect excuse to throw economy to the wind and just buy one.)
We began with the living room rug, which had already been vacuumed twice in the previous 24 hours (once with our Hoover bagless vac and once with the Roomba). So it should have been clean, right?
Here's the Animal, triumphant after its maiden run. 
You probably can't get a good look at just how disgustingly full that dust cup is. So trust me when I tell you it's totally full, probably more full that it's supposed to get before you empty it out. So gross.
We went from there to the dining room and master bedroom, neither of which had been vacuumed since [time period removed to protect the innocent]. It's just too revolting to show before-and-after pics of the Animal's exploits in those rooms, so I'm not going to. Just trust me when I tell you that it was astonishing. And in each room, neither of which is large, both of which have area rugs rather than wall-to-wall carpeting, I had to empty the dust cup three times before finishing. Seriously, it makes my skin crawl. (Or maybe that's just the fleas.)One small complaint: The Animal's wand tool is rather hard to use. After vacuuming the couch, my arms were aching from trying to control the wand. But it did a great job cleaning the couch, so how much can I really complain?
Overall, I'm quite pleased with the Animal. Is it worth the ridiculous sum of money you have to lay out to get one? It's hard to say. I guess it depends on what incredibly clean carpet is worth to you. Those of you who reside in the Chicagoland area are welcome to borrow mine and give it a spin. I think it'll win you over.
And here, in total disgrace, is the poor, sad Roomba. 
If only iRobot and Dyson could get together and make the ultimate vacuum-cleaner robot! I'd pay for that.
Pepper has fleas. There, I said it. And, oh my god, I cannot tell you how much that fact freaks me out. The poor girl has been licking her paws and scratching her belly for weeks, but we thought it was just anxiety (see below), or maybe allergies. That means fleas have been living here, in our home, with our children, for weeks. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep for days; I'll be up round the clock scrubbing every surface and doing load after load of laundry, washing everything a flea might have thought about touching. I have a feeling we'll be going shopping for a Dyson Animal this evening. (I've been dying for an excuse to buy one. The Roomba is nice and all, for a robot, but it just isn't very effective on dog hair.) I will bet large sums of money that she got the fleas from those [expletive deleted] pigeons. Yet another reason to hate the neighbors. We found out about the fleas because Pepper had an appointment with the vet today to discuss the anxiety problems she's been having ever since we lost Puck. I thought I was going to be blogging about that today: how Pepper's separation anxiety isn't getting any better, how she's now on anti-anxiety medications, and how (let's be honest) none of us are dealing with Puck's loss very well, even with a few months to get used to the idea. But we're going to have to put those thoughts on the back burner for a while as we deal with the infestation. I think it might be easier if we just move out and burn the whole condo down. That's reasonable, isn't it?
I am now my condo association's secretary. I have no idea what that entails, so I think the association is in a heap of trouble. Or I am. One or the other. My hope is that the secretary doesn't do anything other than take notes and look pretty, and I know I can do one of those.
My lunch:
Peanut butter and bacon on whole-wheat toast. The sandwich can reach no greater heights.
It's only September, and I'm dying to turn on the heater. How will I ever survive winter??
Here's why I hate pigeons:
Because I cannot walk out my back door
or down my back stairs
without stepping in pigeon poo.
(Mind you, we just had our back deck and stairs powerwashed a few months ago to clear away even larger piles of pigeon droppings. Those pigeons don't waste any time.)
The problem is our next-door neighbors. They love animals. Their house (let's call it "ramshackle" -- I think that's the kindest way to put it) is home to at least four dogs, an unknown number of cats, and assorted rodent life that might or might not be invited by the owners. And every day (often twice a day), they go out into the yard and scatter loaves of Wonder bread for the pigeons -- the poor, helpless pigeons who can't possibly fend for themselves. They take in sickly, injured, and deformed pigeons and nurse them back to health -- mostly by scattering bread for them. And then the huge flock of pigeons that feasts on bread in their yard takes shelter from the elements on our back stairwell. When winter sets in, it's just going to get worse.
I can understand loving animals. I, too, love animals. I was a vegetarian for several years (and wish I still could be) because of my love for animals. I'm much more likely to cry at a movie that features animals in danger or distress than humans in the same situations. I cannot watch those animal cop shows on The Animal Planet because they're far too distressing. I want every animal to be happy and loved and cared for.
But even I have some limits.
For example, pigeons. I think those rats with wings, those spreaders of disease and vermin and guano, can take care of themselves just fine. And if they can't, that's what we call Survival of the Fittest. Not only is an unnaturally high pigeon population bad for the ecology of our little neighborhood -- it's bad for the people! Pigeons are not clean! They spread more than sixty known illness-causing bacteria in their droppings!
As upset and horrified and grossed out as we are about this situation, we just don't know what to do about it. We've tried everything we can think of. We've confronted the neighbors on several occasions, to no avail. We've called the city many times -- they used to help us out and threaten the neighbors with expensive fines for feeding pigeons, but now the Bureau of Rodent Control doesn't even return our calls anymore, and those threats didn't do a bit of good.
What can we do?? Can anyone suggest pigeon-control methods? Or ways to deal with those crazy neighbors? I'm at my wits' end.
Am I a bad mother for letting the girls hang out in their cribs for extended periods of time when they're clearly no longer napping (as if they ever were napping) just so I can surf the web or play World of Warcraft in peace? I mean, they're not sad in there. They're not crying. They're playing with their crib toys and chattering at each other across the room. They like it in there! I'll get them out the minute they start crying!Is that so bad?
(All you twin moms, feel free to chime in with the obnoxious questions people ask you over and over and over again.)
