Jungletwins

My robot vacuum has really stepped up its game. Its one of those “Roomba,” disk-shaped vacuums that makes cute little sounds and bee-bops around the room on its own accord. I haven’t used it in recent weeks because we ended up caving and buying a regular, clunky old vacuum when the Roomba couldn’t keep up with the amazing amount of jungle debris and kitty hair getting tracked through my house. Also, it kept getting stuck between chair legs and beeping frantically before finally giving up when didn’t respond because I was too busy twin-wrangling. Anyway, I brought it out of retirement today for the hell of it, and it pulled some pretty gnarly stuff. It was like a new robot! It slid through chair legs with the greatest of ease, climbed over the metal stand of the swing chair, the bouncy chairs, did figure eights around toys. It was awesome. Where was this new, gnarly robot a few months ago? My best guess is that a few month ago it was exhausted and totally worn out like me. Even robots need a rest.

Speaking of- the twins are actually both sleeping right now, and this is unpreciden- wait, no-wait… Mumu is awake. I take it back. Since their birth, I have been told of these mythical, magical “naps” that the girls are suppose to take during the day. It never happens. They sometimes doze off, sure- but never at the same time, and never for very long. I try and try to get them on a nap schedule and fail and fail. And fail. Mumu is the worst offender. She’s better than a robot- she can go all day without rest. She’s figured out that if she stays awake while Lulu is asleep, she gets all the attention. I know I am being manipulated, but dang, she is so cute. I totally give in. We’ve been playing ‘Tour de France’ all afternoon and laughing hysterically. Every mom has a version of “Tour de France.” It involves laying your baby on a soft surface and pumping her legs like she is riding a bicycle. It helps to tell her that she is riding a bicycle, through France. Varying the pace and direction is key. Mumu likes to speed extra fast through the countryside, braking only for foie gras and pate. She pedals through cities, pausing only to boogie in the discotheques. She energetically zig-zags up the alps, and finishes with a real showboat victory lap around the Arc de Triomphe. Then she gives her victory speech in French. No, not really. Unless the French have recently added “agoo!” and a series of squeals to their language.

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