The Twins Are Two
The Board of Directors celebrated its birthday this week. Okay, they're two, so "celebrate" might be a bit of a stretch, because they didn't really know what exactly was happening other than it involved cake and ice cream and some new toys.
This is not my first parenting rodeo; I have two older children and a trio of grandchildren who are, in my completely unbiased opinion, geniuses. But this is my first go-round with twins. The boys are identical twins, carrying exactly the same genetic code in every cell. The boys have come as close to identical life experience as anyone could. It is absolutely fascinating to me
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| Resting up in preparation for birthday shenanigans |
They are physically distinct; Baby A is a little leaner, and you can definitely tell the difference when you heft them. It's not super-hard to tell them apart, especially if you can see both of them. Baby B is more tender-hearted; when he cries big and ugly, it's about disappointment and sadness. Baby A is more prone to an ugly cry out of ragey frustration. Baby A is more likely to fling himself off a cliff or up a wall; Baby B is more likely to want to stop and think about whether or not to go down the slide.
In other words, despite everything being stacked in favor of these two children being two versions of the same person, they are two distinct and separate individuals. To motivate them, to soothe them, to encourage them, to clothe them, to guide them past a physical obstruction-- all these activities require two distinct approaches, two different sorts of sensitivities.
I think of this every time I see someone touting a teaching approach that supposedly works every time for every child. "This is evidence-based science," they declare. "Therefor you just use this CONTINUE READING: CURMUDGUCATION: The Twins Are Two
