To say our family resembles a walking circus might be a bit of an understatement.
You see, we have four children, ages 3 years and younger. No, we are not a blended family and, no, I’m not forgetting a child or two.
It just so happens, I am a twin breeding machine — I only spit them out by two’s. So let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of what my life is like with this herd of mine.
To start, they all share a birthday. Yes, both sets of twins. Four birthdays in one day — our minds were blown too.
Thanks to my fiancé, I’m fortunate enough to be a stay at home mom and, needless to say, we don’t see the light of day all that often. On the days I have no choice but to load up my littles and leave our house, God grant me grace.
Getting two toddlers and two infants into our van is just about as graceful as an octopus gliding through town on roller-blades.
It takes strategy, fruit snacks, propped bottles and a lot of freaking coffee. And for the love of all that is holy, why can I never find my flipping car keys?
I learned the hard way that my older twins should never (under any circumstances) be granted the freedom to roam our van while I, not-so-gracefully, buckle in the babies. If I do, I’m liable to be locked out, resulting in a very humbling “Parent of the Year” 911 call.
So it goes without saying, the older twins have no van-roaming privileges and I have a laughable story to tell at their graduation.
When we’ve reached our destination (more times than not, our small-town Walmart), I want to be quick about it. Usually, because, I’m dressed like I didn’t know I was getting out of my vehicle.
But let’s be honest, there is nothing “quick” about four kids, except maybe the art of conceiving them. And it takes just as much maneuvering, bribery and manipulation getting them out of the car as it does putting them into the car.
My son stays by my side, helping me push the babies in our double stroller (mommy’s boy), and my oldest daughter likes to dilly-dally in la-la-land about five feet behind us, protesting my need to rush.
By the end of our trip, the kids are restless, my anxiety has reached it’s peak and the babies’ wails are ricocheting off every orifice of the store. But it never ceases to amaze me how fascinated people are with twins. And when they notice there are TWO sets of twins, hold my diaper bag because I nearly have to pry them off my children with my bare hands!
I can be in the checkout line, trying to tame my wild child toddlers, soothe my babies, and look for a coupon, and a total stranger still thinks I have time for obvious questions.
“Are they both twins?!”
“Nope. Actually, they are both triplets. But, we left one at home.”
Or how about my most favorite question, “Are your boy/girl twins identical?”
“Why yes, they’re identical! Right down to his penis and her vagina.”
And may I just say, I couldn’t care less about your husband’s-uncle’s-cousin’s-wife who has twins. I have enough twins of my own to worry about.
Once we’ve answered a plethora of questions, dodged the neighbors we know but don’t have the energy to converse with and received glow sticks for “good behavior,” it’s time to load them all up again, drive home and unload once more.
We return to our humble abode, which resembles the aftermath of a toy store after a category 4 tornado. I can hardly walk two feet without tripping over something or someone.
And despite my incredibly thorough searches, there are no classes for “How to Keep Calm and a Clean Home While Raising Two Sets of Twins.”
People are always telling me, “I don’t know how you do it.”
And if I’m honest with myself, some days, I’m not sure how I do it either. But, I just do.
I’m always on my feet, with (at least) one baby on my hip and two toddlers trailing behind.
My to-do list is never completed, and I won’t even get into my laundry and dishes situation.
My cooking is never up to par with Chef Ramsay’s standards, but I can microwave a mean corn dog and can grab a handful of cheese balls (one-handed, I’ll add) like nobody’s business.
Bath time should be considered an Olympic sport around here and when bed time rolls around, the snuggle is real. My children can willingly soothe themselves to sleep, but they are only little once and the mere thought of that, pulls me to stay.
If you could see me laying with four children sprawled amongst every inch of my body, you’d probably think my hands are full.
And they are, but that’s nothing in comparison to the love that overfills my heart. Because, I get two sets of kisses, two sets of hugs, two sets of cuddles and four babies to love.
This article was originally published on