Usually we are at the MOA. Today it was the MIA. Big difference in one letter.

Wide open floors make the Minneaplis Institute of Arts a swell place for kids. I could do without all the other patrons getting in our way, though.

I have to cop out on this post; there's way too much on the proverbial plate tonight, so I'll just post a few pictures and make a quiet exit. Today we had Erik and Aubrey cancel on a visit this afternoon (bummer!) but we salvaged it by heading to the MIA with Chris, Emily, and Ella (hoo-ray!). Fun, but Abby was not on her A game, so there was a bit of fussiness. These first 4 photos are courtesy of the mad skills of Mr. Chris Moore, a man who knows his way around the aperture ring, so to speak. Honestly, this next one might be my favorite in a while.

Day twenty.

Lily and I stroll pass the Tom Arndt exhibition.

Abby made it only halfway through that exhibition, then decided enough was enough.

Ella watches her Mom, me, and Lily from a cautious distance.

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The woodblock prints by Kawase Hasui were a good collection as well. We all decided we had no idea how multi-color woodblock prints are made.

Here are a few more photos from the day. These are not enlargable, due to Blogger's glaring shortcomings.

Emily and Ella thinking about art.

Lily and I under the watchful eye of Frank.

Jenner peers down on a big ceramic dog two stories below (not shown).

Ella Moore, enjoying the museum's parquet floor.

Jen and Lily play with the pink blanket.

We locked the keys in the kitchen.

What's one giraffe between sisters?

A rare and beautiful moment of playing together.

Not more than a couple moments after the above photo was taken, a hitherto unprecedented event unfolded before our very eyes. Let me interject here, as it might add dramatic impact if I were to preface this story with the fact that our kids, who co-rented a uterus for just shy of nine months, do not share anything. Abby hates pacifiers and sees little use for them, but if Lily crawls past with that tempting ring dangling from her mouth, Abby will snatch it out in a flash, like something out of a Jacques Cousteau film. Lily is thrilled to reciprocate, though, and will at times sit on Abby in the process. If that pacifier scenario were to play out with two pacifiers instead of one, they would simply steal the other person's simultaneously, then steal them again, and again and again, creating this unending loop of un-sharing. I've seen this happen; it's hilarious.

We've made some attempts at instilling the concept of sharing, but it's not gotten a toehold in their psyche quite yet. Lily has shown some flashes of generosity, most frequently when she tries to feed us during dinner. This is at once adorable and horrifyingly disgusting, because her hand is usually cold, slimy with whatever psuedo-food we're giving them, and immediately thrust into my throat. She loves it, of course, and she's sharing, so we clap like mad - or Jen does, while I excuse myself to dry heave into the dog's food bowl.

As we were watching the kids play tonight, just prior to bedtime, Lily took a toy giraffe and very deliberately gave it to Abby. Abby accepted it (dubiously, of course; recall that she is sat upon frequently by her sibling), and Lily leaned back to surmise that it was a good deed, then went on to play with something else. Have you ever witnessed an event so shocking that you are paralyzed by it? That's a good way to describe it. Utter disbelief. Our little girl shared something! So we clapped like mad, and I didn't even have to run to the dog bowl.

Day nineteen.

This table previously held items of either decor or utility. Now it's neither, because Lily will destroy whatever lays upon it.

Those that know me (Dad especially) knows my disdain for flash. I think I might be coming around, but only because I've got a speedlight from work that I'm using to bounce off the wall, and it makes our family room as bright as the sun.

I must say that I never could have gotten this photo, which I love, without flash. I hate recanting.

Abs, looking sly as ever. Munchkin.

Any good day should end with Bill Paxton

We took a drizzly, shoe-wetting walk around the neighborhood this afternoon. It was a messy affair.

When I dropped the kids off at day care today, they took Lily and put her in a fenced area across the room. I call it The Pen. There are toys everywhere, and the kids seem happy in general; sometimes, though, they have that glazed, slightly panicked look that cattle seem to have. This is exacerbated by the fact that they're in The Pen, and some kids have been known to moo on occasion. These are my kids' peers.

While Lily acclimated herself to being back amongst the herd, I did the daily paperwork for a couple minutes and chewed the fat with the day carers. As I was readying myself to go, I heard a crystal clear and unmistakable-in-its-origin, "daah daah. Daaaah daaaaaah!" Looked up, and there she was, leaning on the fence, smiling away at me from across the room. Beautiful. The day was downhill from there, and it was still a pretty good day; tough when you start on top.

Later...

For more nights than I can remember, Jen's been sequestered in the dining room, typing something. It never seems to end, the papers and studying and businessy business school stuff. Tonight I have noted that, not only has she not done any work, but is resolutely sitting on the couch watching "Twister" on TBS and eating Oreos with milk. This is what happens when MBA students snap.

Day eighteen.

Elly got really excited when we pulled out the camera.

Let me interject here to say that the backpack is fantastic in every way. If you're reading this and you are contemplating/readying for children, I suggest putting this on the short-list of things to get.

I felt a little like Yoda was on my back, a la Empire. I'm a nerd.

A sweet shot from Jen. This is Abby's insomnia-esque, go to bed a little late mood as it happens! Exciting moment.

Pasta Pickups make my spleen hurt.

Abby, mid-thought.

The kids and I barely crossed paths today. I swooped into day care for their daily pickup - a consistently fun event - drove them home, played with them for a bit, then went to hang out at the Hustad's, where their son Byron showed me his trucks. They feature doors that open. Awesome. He also showed us his spider-man costume, which includes arms, legs, and a middle section, "...where the penis goes." I enjoy every moment as it comes, but things like that make me so excited for the girls to be 3 years old.

Since I spent barely an hour with the morons, it's hard to come up with any good copy tonight. No new pictures, these are all from earlier this week. We did experience some excitement this afternoon when Lily got knocked over by Jen's parents' dog Elly (feel free to notethat most of the people/animals in our house are Abby, Lily, Olly, Jenny, Elly, and Dave. I wish I ended in Y. Don't even mention Davey, I don't recognize it and will argue against its existence.) It was more my fault, though, because I was grappling playfully with Elly in an effort to try and get her to growl and bark at me. You see, we found out yesterday that when the dogs spar with each other, and hence begin barking, it puts Abby into fits of laughter. It's absurdly cute, and I need to try and get it on video. Tonight I was just trying to recreate that magic, and was having a bit of success; both the girls were laughing at Elly as the growling intensified. Then Elly took a quick and random juke (that dog is an unbelievable amount of Britany-Spaniel-esque potential energy) and sent Lily kinda flying; it was pretty impressive, she went a couple feet across the floor.

No injuries, but it did frighten her drastically, so there was some crying. She was back chasing Elly around in no time, which is a headache itself. When do kids know the boundaries of pet-grabbing and the negative repurcussions therein? I have no idea. Not soon enough. The pets would agree...our kids are masters of grabbing the dog or cat and yanking with all their tiny might.

Day seventeen.

Lily's last bottle, as placed in her last can of formula. I'm a huge fan of the Target brand formula, actually; we switched a while ago and loved it. Plus, we have the sweet satisfaction of buying local.

Jen watches while Lily does something smile-inducing.

Okay, a little bit about these little pillows of evilness. They are called "pasta pickups" raviolis. They are easy to make, the kids love them, they seem to be nutritious, and they smell like rhinocerous. I'm not sure if they're made from rhinocerous, but it's possible. They are so foul. But the girls think they're the cat's meow...which may be not far off, there could be some actual feline in this.

I tasted a bit of one once; it was like tasting hell. It was horrible. To watch Abs and Lils devour them, it's like watching zombies eat brains...terrible and watchable.

Adios, Enfamil. Partly.

Just another day at the trough. The mystery of this is: what is that hand is about to do.

Even slow days - like today - usually hide a tiny little microscopically interesting anecdote. Today was a fine day, and its anecdote of note is this: we made what will in all likelihood be Lily's last bottle of formula tonight. We'll be making the switch to vitamin D milk for her and Abby once their powdery stash is exhausted, and that was today for Lils. Abby has a while still, as we just bought a new case for her.

It's moronically obvious to say that kids don't grow up in an instant. The older they get, the more layers of babyhood peel away off. Every milestone like this that breezes by is just a little bittersweet. I can't help but think back to the very first weeks of our twinliness; I like to think about how I would smuggle a few ounces of formula into her mouth every night, one tiny dropper-full at a time, while she sucked my other finger until it was pruny. I can't help but type this with a smile, and I'm right back on that rocking chair with the little burrito on my lap. Good god, she's almost walking already, and holding her own bottle, and yelling at us, and pulling extension cords and biting other kids and whatever else she may do when my back is turned.

It's been a very fast year.

Day sixteen

Sisterly feets.

They hate being wiped off after eating; that Jen made her laugh here is no small feat.

She doesn't really look a lot like herself in this, but it's cute as hell anyway.

Damn you, Matt Groening.

With the obvious prisoner clothing reference, I couldn't resist. Mommy was just over the fence, so to speak, making dinner.

It's hard to miss when your kid has a major milestone while you're looking towards her; yet miss it we did when Abby sat up last night for the first time unaided. It wasn't our fault, honestly.

Every so often we find ourselves in the vicinity of bedtime and Abby has no interest in slumber. It's this punch-drunk kind of mood she gets in, and it would be a nuisance if she wasn't a total sweetheart when it happens. A real joy. So if we find ourselves up with her at 8 o' clock, long after her sister's given up the good fight, we will play with her a bit then deposit her amongst some toys, where she babbles at them happily. This was the scene last night, she on her tummy playing with a moose puppet (Jacques, the French Canadian moose, who sounds suspiciously like Triumph the insult comic dog) and us eating dinner and watching the Simpsons.

To make sure this is clear, she is essentially right between us and the television (which I feel compelled to mention is rarely ever on with the kids, but we let it go when Abby stays up late with us). She is clearly in our peripheral vision. Imagine my surprise when I shift my gaze during a commercial to find her in a perfectly seated position.

I realize this may not be newsworthy for most 12 month old kids, but for Abby it's the Nobel prize in toddling. Sure her sister can run laps around her; this was a cool moment for her, and for us. That stuff makes your night.

Day fifteen.

On the move.

Like most shots, I don't realize what I got until I take a look at them later. This one made me laugh. A lot. I want to believe that it isn't a fluke and she really is staring at me with dubious contempt. I feel like I'm being interviewed by that "To Catch a Predator" news guy. But there's just the tiniest hint of a smile in there too, like she's just about to crack up.

This is one of those photos that makes a good case for marching upstairs right now to wake her up give her a big hug.

The dangers of waking children.

This is not the norm, I should state emphatically and with relief. Our kids are a riot to roust, honestly; it is easily one of the more enjoyable parts of any day. This scene unfolded only because I stole her pacimafier (our word for it, a bastardized take on a Simpsons reference...I also hate the word "nook" and steadfastly refuse to acknowledge other people when they use it), which is not itself a dealbreaker. But then I ducked into the hallway for a moment, which was quickly ascertained by Lily as life-long abandoment. Hence, The Cry.

The real danger lurking inside the waking of children is treacherous in its simplicity: it is transporting the kids from upstairs bedroom to downstairs rumpus area. This morning Jen was sleeping in (you may note in this and later posts my deliberate omission of any reference to myself doing anything remotely self-indulgent, while simultaneously highlighting anytime Jen partakes in leisure activities), so I got to get up with the girls. Around 7:10 they made their plight vocal, so I went in and was met with a wall of The Smell. One of my kids was smuggling a stinky gift.

It took no time at all to assess that it was Abby. So, I took Lily downstairs, closed the gates, put the dogs out, and went back upstairs for Abs. This was a dastardly poop (a 4 on the Wipe Scale if you're hip to that nomenclature). I was halfway through the changing when I heard The Sound. There's nothing quite like The Sound of what is unmistakably your kid falling down a couple stairs. I didn't even need to wait; The Cry came instantly.

I kinda froze for a few seconds, and this is the crux of the issue with twins. The obvious answer - and the one I utilized after a moment's consideration - was to call to Jen for help. And help she did. Abby's tiny little .01%-on-the-weight-chart butt was literally hovering in front of me, covered in poop. She was on the changing table. My hands had crap on them. I couldn't just run downstairs in an instant.

Of course it was all a non-event, like mostly everything with kids. Lily had fallen down the last couple steps on our stairs (reference the picture of her from last Monday for a visual) and she was fine. I am (though Jen is less of) a believer that a little fall is a good thing now and again. Or maybe I'm more a believer of how hard it would be to gate off the bottom two steps on our stairs.

It all just serves to make me wonder what I'd have done if I was alone and something really bad happened. I love to worry.

Day fourteen.

Lily migrates to this corner every night, and we love to posit that it's because Abby's crib is to the left a couple feet. We've caught them talking to each other.

Abs during the afternoon nap.

Another of Lily, post wake-up.