9:15am. That's how late the girls slept in today. Jen rocketed out of bed around 8:30 - "Dave! It's 8:30!!! The girls are STILL SLEEPING!@!!!" - and damn near gave me a heart attack with this proclamation. It was exciting, though. When they sleep in like that, it takes on the perception of a conscious gift that they're giving us, like they conferred between crib slats and decided in their 16 months of wisdom that we've earned a break.
"Mom and Dad deserve a rest, don't you think?"
"I fancy they do, sis. Let's have ourselves a little more sleep, then, eh?"
In my mental recreation of this they have British accents, which they in fact have every time I imagine them speaking covertly. British with a steep Cockney, Michael Caine flavor. Actually, I pretty much just imagine they speak exactly like Michael Caine.
Since their cribbly time went extra innings, we had time to do some french toast for breakfast. Dipping slices of bread in whipped egg is an extravagance that we rarely have the time for, even on a weekend. There's the cracking of eggs, and the measuring of milk, then stirring, not to mention cinammon...dear god, who has time for this crap with twins? We do, but only when they sleep until after 9.
After breakfast, it was off to the girlses' very first trip to the coiffery. I ended up with Abby by virtue of the fact that she was who I was holding when we walked in, and as we were ushered to those tiny little chairs I was bracing myself for having who I felt would be The Cranky One. This turned out to be joyfully (for me!) wrong (for Jen). Abby watched herself in the mirror and didn't make a peep. Across the way, Lily wanted nothing to do with anything going on, including Mommy, the stylist, the cartoons, or even the floating "handler" person whose job it is to stroll around shooting bubbles indescriminately at uncooperative clients.
These professionals (stylists, not the bubble people) (bubble people sounds like a sweet band name, no?) are swift and efficient, so the whole thing was over in a flash. Not too many frills with the kid haircut. No backrub. I look forward to explaining to the girls how Daddy would get his hair cut by sweaty old guys, who may or may not have worked for the mafia, and how they would wrap up every cut with a 30 second back rub that was nice but always left Daddy wondering if he was part of the "family". Daddy learned a great zabaglione recipe, just in case.
The haircuts looked great, I thought. Very bob, very cute, short but not too short, nicely cleaned up. It's very exciting to see them styled a bit.
When we got back, their nap was a bust. Putting a positive spin on it, I went up and hung out in their heavily, sweetly air conditioned room for a good 45 minutes. It was quality time, very lazy play, lots of laughs, very little in the way of sweating. Jen used the time to work on a paper, which is lame but unfortunately necessary.
Later, a fun ride in the burley while I cased the neighborhood for a powderhorn365 photo. I found that one of my neighbors has one of those Peanuts character statues in their yard, so that was it. Nice ride, a little humid, and A and L both fell asleep.
For the evening, we headed over to the Gelsianos for Maya's birthday festivities. It was a nice night, lovely weather, fun people, and we found that the girls are Grade A fans of fried plantains. This is bad news, because Jen and I manage to f-up plantains every time we try to make them. And I can guarantee you, the kids are going to be front and center tomorrow morning with "Feed us plantains now, dammit!" bibs on. They never forget.
Day one hundred and thirty two.
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