Two of a kind

The room is slightly darkened, just enough light seeping through the blinds for us to see our books.

Brandon slips out of his bed, stopping for a moment when I tell him to go back.  He walks a few more steps, watching me the whole way, before climbing into his brother's bed.  The normal chatter of reading before nap time becomes furtive whispers, their books pulled close the their faces, casting the occassional glance in my direction to find out how long I'll let this go on.

I struggle to hold back the smile, trying to watch them sternly, but they know.

Peyton takes his book and walks across the room.  "Your bed, Gugga," he tells his brother.  In a flurry of blankets, books, and cups, they move to Brandon's bed where they "read" to each other and pretend to snore, jabbering and giggling in a language that is only half intelligible to anyone but them.

*******

When I was pregnant, I read an article about how bonding with twins is different than bonding with a single child.  Twins are aware of each other from the moment they can become aware.  They are never alone.  Their first relationships are not with their parents--their first relationship is with each other.  As a result, there is an element of the bond that normally exists between parent and child that is transferred to the twin.  They are, forever, the first constant in each other's life.

It is easy to forget that Peyton and Brandon are twins.  They have always looked different.  They rarely want the same thing.  People no longer ask if they are twins.  Peyton is significantly larger than Brandon, so now people question how far apart they are.  Brandon favors my husband; Peyton, me.  They are far more different than they have ever been alike.

Then there are moments when there is no question of the bond they formed long before they knew any of us.  We are all secondary witnesses to their world; welcome guests, but guests who will never understand the inside jokes or secret glances.

It is hard to accept that there is a part of your child's life you will never understand.  But not understanding is made easier by the knowledge that they will always have someone who does.  Someone who was there for them nine months before you were.

*******

They are asleep upstairs now.  Each in his own bed--Brandon snuggled on his tummy with his head on his pillow, Peyton splayed on his back with his head at the foot of the bed.  There they sleep, as different as can be.  So much a part of each other.

Deployment

When my brother-in-law graduated from high school six years ago he wanted two things:  first, to be a firefighter like his grandfather, and second, to get out of our hometown.

He considered the fire academy at our local junior college after being heavily recruited to play football, but he wasn't happy.  He chose to leave, and my husband and I were incredibly proud that he took the path he wanted in spite of the pressure that was coming from all sides to do something else.

He wanted to enlist in the Air Force.  They told him he needed to get under 200 pounds.  The men in my husband's family are behemoths--tall, broad, and imposing.  Telling one of them to get under 200 pounds is like asking Joan Rivers not to tell tactless jokes.  So he worked to be under the minimum body fat percentage.  He sailed past it to 8% body fat.  They took him and taught him to be a fire fighter.

He is still every bit as fit as the day he enlisted.  He represents his squadron in national fire fighting competitions.  He can physically dominate my husband for the first time in his life.

He is one of my favorite people in the world.  He is 10 years younger than my husband, so in many ways my husband is both brother and father to him.  Yet they have the kind of mutual respect and adoration I can only hope my boys have as they grow up.  He is amazing with my children.  He is silly and warm-hearted and kind.  He can eat sushi like no one I've ever seen.  He is one of the best people I know.

A year and a half ago he was in Afghanistan.  He spent six months there--missing Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, his birthday and so many other occasions with his family.  He was assured he would never go back.

Last week he granted leave this fall to go to two weddings--one for a childhood friend, one for his cousin.

Last night he was told that he won't be going.  He'll be in Afghanistan instead.

And he'll be there because some other guy couldn't pass the fitness test.

I don't know why they chose my brother-in-law to go--maybe they know how capable he is, maybe he's the same rank as the guy who failed.  For whatever reason, they chose someone from my family to miss two weddings, another Thanksgiving, another Christmas, another New Year's, another birthday.

I don't know the other man's circumstances.  But it strikes me that failing a fitness test is a great way to get out of a deployment.  Perhaps I'm being cynical.  It seems to me, though, that the Air Force should have that guy's ass on a treadmill until September 15 and if he's not fit enough to go he needs some kind of discipline.  Because dammit, when he signed up, it became his job to be fit enough to go overseas.

I recognize the hypocrisy in that statement--as though it's not my brother-in-law's job. But this time, it isn't. It was someone else's job and because that person failed, my brother-in-law has to pick up the slack. I also recognize my complete and utter lack of objectivity on this issue.

I am frustrated because I don't like randomness in the universe.  It scares me that out of any number of people who could have gone, it was him.  I know how fortunate our family is that he has only had to deploy once before.  But I grew up believing that everything happens for a reason.  And while I'm not sure I do now, there is a lingering fear of the answer to "Why him?"

If I called him now, he would be matter-of-fact about it all.  This is what he signed up for.  It's what he is there to do, like it or not.  It's the way the men in my husband's family are.  It's part of why I love them.

On September 15, one of the best people I know will leave for Afghanistan.  I just wish I had the words to keep him safe.

Someone has the brain power of a turnip and he decided how insurance companies should run

A few years ago I called our insurance company about a claim for Aaron.  I don't remember the details, I just remember at some point the representative said, "Well, when you called on previous date we told you..."

The problem was that I hadn't called on previous date.  The day I called was the first time I'd called about that claim.

"Are you sure you didn't speak with my husband?"  I asked.  No, their records showed that they spoke with me.

It didn't take much time to figure out that another woman, a woman who has access to my personal information and insurance information, called pretending to be me.  The only person who would call pretending to be me to get information about a medical claim on my stepson.

But we couldn't do anything because it was her word against mine and the insurance company was given the information they needed to "verify" my identity.  My address.  My phone number.  My insurance member number.  High security stuff here, people.

So I requested that a question she couldn't answer be included as one of the security questions on both my husband's and my policy.  No problem, consider it done, security measures taken to protect ourselves and then one (now three) other children.

Fast forward to today.

I called my insurance company in March and noticed that they didn't ask me anything.  But since I was stressed out over the astronomical bill for a claim the insurance administrator approved but that my insurance doesn't actually cover, it wasn't the first thing on my mind.

I called again today.  No question.  So I said something.

"Federal law prohibits us from asking for that information."

First, not an acceptable answer.  Second, you've done it before. 

"I'm pretty sure the law also prohibits you from giving my personal information to someone who isn't me."

Still, no security question.

So I explained the situation, how we handled it, blah blah blah.

"That's why we ask for your phone number, address, and policy number."

After pointing out that a monkey could get that information, I asked to speak with a supervisor.

And was told I could send something in writing.  I asked again.  Submit something in writing.

WHAT?!

I may have lost my shit at that point.  It got me to a supervisor.

Now here's the best part...stupid plan-administration-company-that-approves-claims-that-aren't-covered-by-my-insurance can't do anything, but I can call my group provider or my actual insurance company to request security measures.

So I get the complaint line for my group.  And I ask for the number for my insurance company.

"We're the number you call for your insurance company."

"But you just told me that you're a third party administration company that can't do anything and I should call my insurance company."

"We're the number you call for your insurance company."

I'd had it at this point.  No security question.  No way to protect information about my kids.  No way to keep her from accessing medical information about me or my husband.  Not even an offer to try to figure it out.

Just no.

"This is why we need health care reform," I told him.

And hung up.  Because I'm a grown up like that.

Hooray America

Hamburgers or hotdogs.  Fireworks or swimming pools.  Beer or iced tea.

However you choose to celebrate, have a safe and spectacular Fourth of July.

I'm thinking of hiring Dick Clark to host my life because the hits just keep on coming

It was seven months ago today that my husband was served.  I remember because it was the first Tuesday in December.  I remember it was a Tuesday because we were eating tacos for dinner.  Taco Tuesday. 

My mom had taken me for a pedicure and was dropping me off when I was met by a stranger in the driveway asking for my husband.  I thought he was the contractor. 

If I would have known who he really was, I would have probably ruined my pedicure.  And then gone to jail.  Because I don't think you're supposed to greet process servers that way, even if they aren't there for you.

After two days in court for negotiations we were supposed to go to hearing in June.  But she couldn't produce the evidence she claimed to have against me.  Our attorney asked for a continuance on the hearing because we were close to a settlement.  My husband just needed clarification on a few points and wanted a holiday that was supposed to be his given back to him.  We were hopeful.

And then we suddenly weren't so close to a settlement.  Instead, we were threatened with around $15,000 in back child support because she cancelled support in 2007.

And then I had a minor breakdown.

After my husband dried my tears and slobber from his shirt, he emailed his attorney with a counter proposal.

We heard back today.  Seven months later to the day.  It might be over.  I say might cautiously.  I've said that before.  My husband is getting screwed.  We are leaving ourselves in a vulnerable position.  But it's better than waiting to see what she comes after next.  It's better than trying to seek reason in a court system that is built to foster lies and manipulation.

Seven months.  I would like to wake up one day soon and know this isn't hanging over us anymore.  At least not this particular mess.  I would like to be able to start the "Next time she drags him to court" savings account.  I would like to go to the mailbox and not hold my breath that there might be a letter in there from an attorney.  A letter that we paid $75 for her assistant to put a stamp on and hand to the mail carrier.

I'd like to not pay $75 for mail I don't want.

Is that so much to ask after seven months?

No two are the same

There are times when the differences betweeen the twins can be frustrating.

Peyton will eat, or at least try, just about anything you put in front of him.  The only foods Brandon will eat consistently are yogurt and cookies--and if you feed him something today you can be assured when you try again next week the bowl will become a projectile.

Peyton's feet grew a size and a half between December and March.  Brandon's have almost grown a size since last summer.  Brandon can still wear 12 month clothes on occasion.  Peyton is almost in a 3T.  Their closet is impossible to keep organized with all the different clothes and sizes.

Brandon is a champion sleeper.  C-H-A-M-P-I-O-N.  He often lies awake in his bed in the morning, and if we ask if he wants to get up, he rolls over and pulls his blanket over his head.  I will not admit which parent he gets that from.  Peyton, however, rarely sleeps past 6:00 AM.  Even when mom doesn't have to be up that early.  And if he were old enough to bribe, I would give him large sums of money to take a nap longer than an hour.

Some of the differences are definitely frustrating.

But then there are those moments when the differences are more than just about size or food.  There are fascinating moments when we get a peek into their personalities, the parts of themselves that I hope age, peer pressure, and the drone of life never take away from them.  And in those moments I get to see the sparkle in my children that makes them more than just each other's twin, but that make them themselves.

Making memories

The day after the boys got out of school, we left on a two-week road trip to Olympic National Park.  I spend most of the week before doing laundry and making lists so nothing would be forgotten.

The night before we left, the kitchen island was piled with electronics--Blackberries, iPods, DSes, a vast assortment of chargers for those, the video camera, my camera (both lenses) and the battery charger for it, too.  It looked a little bit like the Circuit City going-out-of-business sale.

We ended up packing up in a hurry, but since I had so efficiently made lists, I was certain nothing would be forgotten.

We got about 45 minutes down the road before I asked my husband if he remembered to put the camera in.

He thought I had.  I thought he had.

Two weeks.  Breath-taking scenery.  No camera.

My amazing mother left her visiting sister, brother-in-law, and two nephews right before dinner to drive the 45 minutes to give us our camera while we stopped for dinner.

I maintain she owed us a favor.  She maintains that this favor was slightly bigger than what she owed.

Either way.

Hooray...camera!  Vacation saved.

Until the night before we went to Seattle.  When we decided to charge the camera battery.  And left in another hurry.  Without, I discovered halfway across the Puget Sound, the camera battery.  Which was an hour drive and a ferry ride away from Seattle.

Normally, I wouldn't have cared about one day without a camera.  But one of Aaron's "Six things to do before I'm 20" list items is to go to the top of the Space Needle.  The others include things like "Go to space" and "Ride a train that is faster than the speed of light." I wanted to make sure this one was documented.

So my patient husband and children trekked up and down (literally) the streets of downtown Seattle looking for camera stores I'd looked up on my phone that no longer existed.  We finally found a Radio Shack, which then sent us to Cameras West.  The amazing Mike not only had a battery in stock, but offered to make sure it was charged for me while we ate lunch.  I nearly cried.

After lunch, we went back to the camera store to a charged battery.  That didn't work in my camera.  Apparently it is a brand name snob that cannot work under these generic battery conditions!  I think I did cry this time.

But wonderful, fantastic, saintly Mike called Glazer's Camera where they were willing to hold a brand name  Canon battery for me without the promise that it would be charged.  We almost decided to blow it off.  But we had come this far already, and it wasn't that far from where we were going anyway.  We dragged our weary children another mile through the streets of Seattle, where I finally got my battery.

So you can thank my mom and Mike for this moment.  And my husband for promising that if he walked to just one more store, he could ride on Daddy's shoulders to the Space Needle.