Silence is not always golden

One of the scariest sounds imaginable is the deafening silence from a child in another room. 

Even scarier is the sound of one twin saying to the other, "Oh no. Don't tell Mum. Hide." 

Cheeky little shi... I mean, cheeky monkeys.

The Wondertwins have been taking advantage of my preoccupation with Baby Scarlett and, quite frankly, are doing my head in. As soon as they hear the squeak of the microwave door open so I can warm up the bottle of water for Scarlett's milk, their feral little brains begin tick ticking away with concoctions of extreme naughtiness. Lately, the girls have a water fetish, and at any given opportunity you will find them soaked through. Earlier this year, it was a miracle if I could get them to wash their hands (Oh my God, the things they have had on their hands) and now they want to wash their hands and brush their teeth constantly. What's the problem, you ask? I'd love it if they just washed their hands and brushed their teeth. Without the plug in. Without all the toys in. Without the water overflowing. And as I'm not the brightest bauble on the Christmas tree, I have only just realised I should have simply removed the plug from the bathroom (thanks Dumb Smart Kid for that idea) but I didn't realise that and have now spent more time than I could be arsed mopping up soapy water from the bathroom floor.

Grace & Lily 'playing' with Llewyn

The great thing about twins is that when they reach about a year and a half they start to play and interact with each other. You can hear their little baby babbles as they play side by side. You hear their cries when one wants what the other one has. As they get older, you learn that you can leave them playing in another room as they role play Toddlers and Tiaras with their teddies and build train tracks. But that silence - that eerie, unsettling quietness from the other room - creates goosebumps. I would look at my watch. No, not nap time, so they couldn't have fallen asleep mid-play. 

Whispers & quiet giggles in the distance. 

"Lily?" I listen.

"Grace?"

Silence.

"I didn't do it," Lily calls out.

"I not do it too," Grace calls.

"No you not come down here, Mummy. Can I have a sponge and a towel?"

A moment of "Don't tell Mum
I'm climbing the clothes horse,
again."

I have caught them in their secrecy nail polishing white shelves, using the toilet as a Barbie pool, drawing on walls, beds, floors, baby dolls, each other, finger painting with their own faeces, and ripping pages from books. They encourage each other, usually with Lily telling Gracie to do something first - to test the water - and then the mini mob mentality takes over and they can't stop.

It went silent once when Ella was 3 years old and Campbell took to her hair with scissors while hiding behind the TV cabinet. Once. 

Some days, I wonder if that egg cracked - not split - when it was implanted four years ago. 

Lord help me, they're only three.


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