Mob Rule

My home was a scene of chaos earlier, more so than usual. Chaos that can only come from the introduction of more children into one setting. My brother and his family stopped through town on their way to Salem to spend the day with our grandparents. Grandpa Bill is a state senator and with the Oregon Legislature in a special section, Bill and my Grandma Janice are in Salem as opposed to their home in Springfield. You might recognize my grandpa from a quick appearance in Bowling for Columbine. Shockingly, Michael Moore used a quote of Bill’s out of context. It comes from a Today show interview Bill did when he was mayor of Springfield. Fifteen year-old Kipland P. Kinkel went into his high school and shot up a cafeteria full of people, killing four people. This was the morning after he killed his parents and tried to booby trap their house. The Thurston High shootings were pretty huge at the time and were pretty much the worst that had happened in terms of school shootings. A couple months later, two kids went to school with guns and since then, people don’t really remember Thurston High School or Kip Kinkel. (Oh God, it’s so easy to digress with the power to link to anything at anytime. Like this!)
Jack, my nephew was born in August of 2001. My brother Christian is the oldest son and so it made sense that he and his wife Alissa would have the first grandchild in the family. Midway through the pregnancy though, I as the youngest child asserted my right and obligation to steal the spotlight. I went ahead and impregnated my girlfriend with twins shortly before entering my senior year of college. That pretty much insured I got the attention the so rightly deserved. Lucky for Jack though, instead of being doomed to a life with no cousins, he got two in one shot only seven months after he was born. And about a year after the boys were born, Alissa gave birth to Lilly, breaking the curse of male domination in my family. My poor mother.
Jack, Lilly, Eban and Amedeo all get along really well. Maybe too well. The energy level of the room explodes. They immediately begin running around like maniacs, jumping off the couch, screaming, slapping, laughing, and crying. One of the common misconceptions about raising twins is that it’s somehow easier, because they “entertain each other.” This idea is total bullshit for a number of reasons which I’m sure I’ll address numerous times. I love the idea though of one of my sons dressed like Don Rickles running through a routine, you know, just to “entertain” his brother. First off, they never did wipe each other’s asses. Nor did they feed each other, dress each other, bathe each other, or calm each other. Following the logic that twins are easier, quadruplets should require no caregivers at all. These
kids should be doing community service in addition to raising each other. Secondly though, what people don’t consider with saying “entertain each other” thing, is that two children together are not simply double the bodies and double the needs. The energy level between them is multiplied. All behavior is affected by the energy and reaction of this other kid. It’s like fucking with chemistry: adding one chemical to another in a beaker isn’t just going to increase the volume (obviously, I am not a scientist).
After a couple hours and multiple talkings-to by myself to my children, all the kids calmed a bit. Madee and Lilly read quietly together on the couch, while Eban and Jack wrestled between the curtains. Jack and Lilly were rounded up and ushered out the door with no tears at all. We said our goodbyes and the Earth’s shadow moved away from the moon. And Kobe beat Shaq.