365 Days of Twins: The day the music cried.

This picture is dedicated to my friend Mike, who steadfastly believed I wouldn't have the time tonight to watch the girls, make my own pizza dough, then cook and eat it.

Lots of people eat at 10:45pm.

Music seems to have taken on a new, utlilitarian life for me in the post-twin world. Rare is the day that I don't sing some sort of jibberish, made-up tune to the girls. Jen does it, too, and always to hilarious effect when I can hear her ad lib lyrics over a baby monitor. We normally take an established pop song - the cornier the better; I prefer Foreigner's timeless and excruciating "I Want to Know What Love Is" - and fabricate our own baby-themed lyrics. Hence, that song might morph into, say, "I Want to Know Whose Poop This Is". Are you reeling with laughter? No? That is, sadly, my best example. Jen's are better.

This does seem to placate them, though. Kind of. Usually. For example: Jen didn't get home tonight until after I did, but I didn't want to waste any time on making the pizza dough, since it takes at least an hour to rise. With Abby I took the easy way out and let her watch PBS and their mercifully timed airing of something animated (I have no idea what). Here she is, my little neglectarino, munching on a cracker:

And here she lounged until 5:30, when the Nightly News Report dourly began and she started whimpering, upset about the state of the economy no doubt (she just got her first toy piggy-bank, so she likely understands the fundamentals of macro-economics better than I).

Lily is not so easy. I'm not sure where TV wronged her, but Lily wouldn't watch it if Elmo leapt through the screen and danced a jig on top of the set. Apparently there are, in her mind, far too many electrical cords in our house that need a good yanking instead.

So I sang to her, quite loudly, while she stood at the kitchen gate (my wee prisoner) and I made vain attempts to heat a cup of water right to 110 degrees - the magic, yeast-party temp. Tellingly, I can't even recall what I sang...a toss-away song with stupid made up lyrics. She didn't cry once, though. Works like a charm.

Kids are quite strange - fickle, even - with their musical palate. I have found that in 9 times out of 10 they prefer "Wheels on the Bus" to anything by Radiohead (and they've admitted that the one other time they were just going through a "British phase"). I did, once, make the mistake of trying to sooth them during a car trip with Iron and Wine - arguably one of the most pleasing and potentially kid-soothing bands ever. They howled. Moments later and after one verse of "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt", they were zombies. It doesn't make sense.

We decided a few months ago to play 80's music during their dinner to try and get them up to speed on relevant cultural material. YouTube was key to this venture. They could have cared less about the music, although seeing us dancing to Bananarama got some laughs.

I don't relish the eye-rolling I'll surely receive when, during their teen years, I play them "Mom and Dad's favorite music". Until then I'll keep singing "Karma Police" as "Diaper Police" and hope it eventually seeps in.

Day two.