By Rosalind Zane as told to D. B. Zane
There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins.
~Josh Billings
"So, did you get any work done today?" my husband asked, home from a long hard day of work and spying my not-so-clean clothes.
Shaking my head, I suppressed a laugh. "Not exactly. You wouldn't believe the day I had." In the six months since giving birth to twins, we'd stumbled our way through endless sleepless nights, feedings, and diaper changes. Asking about work had become our little joke. How naïve I'd been to think I could keep working on my furniture refinishing in a tiny apartment overflowing with twins.
Now that we'd finally managed to get into a routine that included sleeping at night, the days were more exhausting than ever: The boys were crawling.
"Help me move the books," I asked my husband one evening. "Your sons managed to pull out those heavy textbooks."
Before they could tear them to shreds, we reorganized, doubling rows of books on the upper shelves and bolting the case into the wall so it wouldn't topple over.
Then it was the knickknacks on the coffee table. In a matter of days, our crawling babies had managed to find every unsafe object two feet from the ground. Surveying the place every morning, I was certain it was finally safe.
And so, on this particular morning, the boys were sitting, contentedly playing with blocks. How silly it seemed to disrupt them and stick them in their cribs, while I dashed into the bathroom.
It couldn't have been more than a minute later when I charged out to find them sitting happily where I'd left them on the rug in the living room.
They smiled at me, blue eyes and pink lips popping out against their golden skin.
"Golden?" I did a double take. "Oh, no. Boys, what have you done?"
What they'd done was find the one cabinet we had missed. It held a container of gold dust that I used for gold-leafing furniture. At least they hadn't eaten it... yet. I was panicked; this stuff was toxic. It was time for damage control.
Quickly, I picked up one baby and put him in a crib. Then I put his brother in the same crib; why mess up two? They giggled like two Cupids come to life.
By this time, the front of my shirt was gilded. Like Midas, everything I touched became marred with fine gold powder. I put the jar that had caused all this trouble in the top cabinet. The rug was hopelessly sparkling with ground-in gold dust.
It was more important to get that stuff off my precious babies. One at a time, I declothed a baby and cleaned him in the sink. That stuff did not want to come off. And this was not the time for my sons to discover the joy of splashing. Finally, I put one clean baby in the clean crib. It was time for baby number two. My gilded sink and counter were regilded. Thank goodness I hadn't had triplets!
Carefully holding him away from me so I wouldn't get more gold on him, I put him next to his brother. They smiled sleepily, like cherubic pink angels.
By the time I'd attempted to clean the rug and the bathroom again, bundled all the sheets from the crib and all of my clothes for washing, and bathed myself, the boys were up and ready for another round.
I hallucinated gold dust everywhere while I carefully spoon-fed them. As my hair dried, I could see gold sparkling amongst the red. Close inspection of my face showed still more. Would this ever end?
When my husband came home, it was no wonder he thought I'd been working on furniture.
"Well," he said after inspecting and hugging the boys, "they don't look any worse for wear."
Before I could stop him, he held me tight and kissed me. And when I looked down, I saw that the Midas Touch still lingered, and I'd soon have a gold-dusted husband.
There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins.
~Josh Billings
"So, did you get any work done today?" my husband asked, home from a long hard day of work and spying my not-so-clean clothes.
Shaking my head, I suppressed a laugh. "Not exactly. You wouldn't believe the day I had." In the six months since giving birth to twins, we'd stumbled our way through endless sleepless nights, feedings, and diaper changes. Asking about work had become our little joke. How naïve I'd been to think I could keep working on my furniture refinishing in a tiny apartment overflowing with twins.
Now that we'd finally managed to get into a routine that included sleeping at night, the days were more exhausting than ever: The boys were crawling.
"Help me move the books," I asked my husband one evening. "Your sons managed to pull out those heavy textbooks."
Before they could tear them to shreds, we reorganized, doubling rows of books on the upper shelves and bolting the case into the wall so it wouldn't topple over.
Then it was the knickknacks on the coffee table. In a matter of days, our crawling babies had managed to find every unsafe object two feet from the ground. Surveying the place every morning, I was certain it was finally safe.
And so, on this particular morning, the boys were sitting, contentedly playing with blocks. How silly it seemed to disrupt them and stick them in their cribs, while I dashed into the bathroom.
It couldn't have been more than a minute later when I charged out to find them sitting happily where I'd left them on the rug in the living room.
They smiled at me, blue eyes and pink lips popping out against their golden skin.
"Golden?" I did a double take. "Oh, no. Boys, what have you done?"
What they'd done was find the one cabinet we had missed. It held a container of gold dust that I used for gold-leafing furniture. At least they hadn't eaten it... yet. I was panicked; this stuff was toxic. It was time for damage control.
Quickly, I picked up one baby and put him in a crib. Then I put his brother in the same crib; why mess up two? They giggled like two Cupids come to life.
By this time, the front of my shirt was gilded. Like Midas, everything I touched became marred with fine gold powder. I put the jar that had caused all this trouble in the top cabinet. The rug was hopelessly sparkling with ground-in gold dust.
It was more important to get that stuff off my precious babies. One at a time, I declothed a baby and cleaned him in the sink. That stuff did not want to come off. And this was not the time for my sons to discover the joy of splashing. Finally, I put one clean baby in the clean crib. It was time for baby number two. My gilded sink and counter were regilded. Thank goodness I hadn't had triplets!
Carefully holding him away from me so I wouldn't get more gold on him, I put him next to his brother. They smiled sleepily, like cherubic pink angels.
By the time I'd attempted to clean the rug and the bathroom again, bundled all the sheets from the crib and all of my clothes for washing, and bathed myself, the boys were up and ready for another round.
I hallucinated gold dust everywhere while I carefully spoon-fed them. As my hair dried, I could see gold sparkling amongst the red. Close inspection of my face showed still more. Would this ever end?
When my husband came home, it was no wonder he thought I'd been working on furniture.
"Well," he said after inspecting and hugging the boys, "they don't look any worse for wear."
Before I could stop him, he held me tight and kissed me. And when I looked down, I saw that the Midas Touch still lingered, and I'd soon have a gold-dusted husband.
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