Sunshine.

Dear Internet,

Would you believe it if I said that it was I, Little Miss Sunshine, here blogging today?

Oh, and I guess Lily might be with me too.

Don’t smirk at your computer so, Internet.

I may have the Gemma Grunt and Scowl of disapproval, but a toddler with hair as fair of mine looks JUST like a daisy or a sun with a face on it when the light is right. I am indisputidly the Sunshine Head in THIS house.

I walk the walk, even if I Talk the Cranky most of the time.

Lily can be as sunny as she wants, but I bet that deep down she is jealous of My Hairs (plural)

Love,

Gemma

Fashion.

Dear Internet,

It’s been a while since we ’splained ourselves, so we thought we’d say how-de-do all PROPERLY today.

In case you aren’t familiar with our good selves or our webpage, we’re Lily and Gemma and we’re babies and we blog.

Oh, yes we do!

Really.

Also, we’re something called ‘twins’.

Could you tell us what that is? People in the street always call us ‘No Ways!’ instead when Mama says we are twins.

Are we Twins, or are we No Ways, Internet?

If it helps you any, Lily may be seven centimetres taller and 1 kilogram/2.2 pounds heavier, but Mama says that we were born exactly one minute apart.

She says she’s quite sure on that part because she was there at the time.

Why does she smirk when she says that Internet?

Also, if we are indeed twins and not merely two No Ways instead, just why does Lily have lots of straight hair while Gemgems is a curly moppett who is only ever non-curly for about five minutes post hair brush in the morning and more like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards for the rest of the day?

Is the Breadcrust Gene (that Mama says incomprehensibly enough to US has something called ‘variable penetrance’) unevenly shared then?

Regardless, we guess we must be twins because we can only remember there always being Another Baby around.  Who ALWAYS wants the same toy.

On the plus side, being part of a two babies for the price of one deal (and PINK babies to boot) means that we get lots and lots of clothes and shoes to play dress-ups with.

Mama says that we should tell you that since she is working 60 hours on nightshift for the next week, she made very sure to take us shopping TODAY and buy us some New Shoes.

Okay, three pairs of new shoes. We do hope that Dada isn’t reading this bit.

Mama swears up-and down that it’s not just Guilt taking, but that if she is going to earn a wage, that EVEN IF Payroll can’t get their numbers right, all the numbers she does get are for US.

Apparently Mama thinks we’re pretty special.

Love,

L+G

Because?

Dear Internet,

Mama says that she loves us VERY much indeed but we may not blogs tonight on accounts of Because.

I think she means Because it is late and the Internet is all buggered a bit crippled and Dada was on it all day doing Work so it is only just free now. At 10pm. 10pm is a time that Mama likes to inspect from the insides of her eyelids from the comfort of her beddey byes. She told us so!

As for the un-cooperative Internet, well, perhaps it needs a rest? It is always rather busy around these parts.

Maybe it’s sick. We hear from Mama in her employed capacity that both something called ‘gastro’ and something else called ‘the common cold’ are rather popular at the moment.

Either way, get well soon, Dodgy Internet. We NEED you to work in order to share Our Pictures.

Love always,

Your favourite Doubletroubles!

(and our Most Important Phones)

Shoes! Car? Keys?

Dear Internet,

It is the Divine Miss Pilly here, and I am showing you my favouritest proto-sentence to date in the title.

I do hope that you understand what I mean when I chant the special word ShoesCarKeys like that. Because CLEARLY I wants to go Outside.

Shoes(CarKeys!) is a little known synonym for Outside, you know. Outside is where you can Do Stuff and run Ah Mok with your DoubleTrouble while supervising the construction of Aunty Kim’s new house.

Outside is positively ‘ahAHahAHHAHAHHAAAAAAh!!!’ with Extra Flappy Hand Waving Fun. You can’t keep Fun like that all Insides of you, Internet. Trust me.

We simply can’t wait for Aunty Kim to move in nearby.

Just THINK of all the extra things I will have available for my climbing pleasure in Aunty Kim’s new house!

I guess Miss Titch can continue to make her Pronouncements and walk under things instead of over them if she really wants to at Aunty Kim’s new house.

Even a quite nice eight year old at daycare reckons that Miss Titch does quite a lot of Pronouncing. She told Dada so when he picked us up the other day.

Mama says that at least this is better than being asked by a medical student at work if we were on purpose.

We are very much On Purpose, thank you very much, world.

Also, we are 100% natural toddlers with no artificial colours or flavourings and the next person that asks Mama THAT question can change our nappies for a day. Our poopies are VERY real.

Trust me.

Love,

Pillymonster.

Garden

Dear Internet,

It is Miss Pilly and Gemmaguts here, did you miss us?

We do so hope that you are nodding.

Because we missed YOU most horridly, even if we do look very happy indeed to be eating scrambled eggs in the photos above.

It is much more satisfying to be all sad with a full belly than with an empty one, you know. We were merely being pragmatic.

Anyway, we’re most glad we’ve found a chance to show you our pictures again, because we have plenty of them up our damp sleeves to share with you all.

How else are you going to find out that Gemgems likes to comb her hair with a eggy-coated spoon?

You can thank us for the hairstyling tip later if you like. We have plenty more of THOSE, too. Yes, also up our damp sleeves.

In the meantime, while you ponder on the curl-styling power of egg and toast for the proverbial little girl with the little curl RIGHT in the middle of her forehead (who may or may not be a little on the disagreeable side from time to time), you can also look at Lily discovering Under Things.

Under is just like Over, but you don’t get to climb ups it. Did you know that?

ALSO, you don’t get Crossy Face from the grownups because you may have accidentally turned a cup of coffee on the dining table into your own personal waterfall if you go Under things instead of Over them.

Perhaps Lily should retire her Mountaineering title and settle for ’sploring in the garden?

Mama says we can talk to the pretty flutterby all we likes, although we are not allowed to pull all of the leaves off of the trees just for kicks.

She’s a bit of a kill-joy, but I guess she has her reasons, namely apparently the trees do this sad thing called DIE when we go and pinch all their leaves off of them.

We are most deeply sorry, Small Tree in the corner. We didn’t mean to hurt you so!

Also, there’s always Woofy, as long as we don’t decapitate him. That is also a no-no.

Inside, we also have Our Birdie to talk to when we haves a splish-splash bath. You can see him up close on the left and on the right where he lives above our bath.

We are developing quite the menagerie, and NONE of them do poopy, so Dada is happy.

We also have some pictures of Our Garden in black and White because everything looks more artistic like that.

Mama said so, and she would never fib to us, right?

Love,

L+G (the naptime bandits, if we napped rather better and Mama wasn’t doing this horrid thing called ‘Work’ today you would get to see some New Camera pictures rather sooner than the likely current projected date of ‘tomorrow’ raised to the power of ‘not sure’)

Dawwh-gee!

Dear most lovely Internet,

It’s is I, myself, Miss Titch, Gemmaguts, Gempa-with-the-temper Wingnut Keane.

I have TITLES, in case you had forgotten, and they are not a trifling matter at ALL. Do not snicker for I shall see you and yell about it.

Anyway.

I want to show you my Dawwh-gee!

Please don’t look so blank, will you? I’m speaking PERFECTLY clearly here, Internet. Despite Dada’s protests about the Poop Count in our household reaching double digits on a daily basis ALREADY, we have got ourselves a pet.

A DAWWH-GEE! I have it on good authority that he doesn’t poop. EVER. Isn’t that clever?

Sigh.

You still don’t understand what I’m bashing on about here, do you?

One of THESE:

He’s awfully lots of fun to pat, you know.

But Mama says you have to do it all GENTLY and stuff because otherwise his head goes and falls off and it looks a bit macabre to have a dog that stops at the neck sitting forlornly in your garden.

It somehow manages to look all forlorn without a face on because it’s wondering when it’s head shall be restored to it’s proper and correct location, I suppose.

I think it is for similar reasons that I am not allowed to pull his head off and run around the backyard just patting THAT, too.

Also, possibly my doggie gets a bit of a headache when I do that.

Or a sprained neck.

Anyway, I loves my dawwh-gee and I shall say his name (woof!) all day long if that is what it takes for Mama to let me outside to pat him.

So there.

Also, a certain baby will almost certainly tag along and pat Woof too, but Daddy (I can say DADDY like a Big Girl now) says I should consider imitation the sincerest form of flattery.

I’m still working on that part.

Love,

Gemma.

P. Rude.

Dear Photobucket (and ONLY photobucket today),

It’s Lily and Gemma here and we are most cross with you on accounts of someone very bored and very nosey has been going through our albums again and turning all our innocent bathtime pictures into THIS:

 

 

Again.

 

Don’t you all have something better to do, people of Photobucket?

Honestly, it’s bang out of order because Mama makes quite sure that no rudey bits are ever on focus. See?

We are far too young to understand the meaning of the word ‘po.rn’, but we’re pretty sure this is not it:

BOTTOMS to you all, Photobucket,

Love

L+G

PS. We can both say one of our names now, you can guess which one if you like. Our clue is that it is the name of the baby who thinks that daycare is an utter all day long party, even if we both do cling to Mama’s legs and howl when she leaves. THEN we gets TOASTY you know. That helps.

Plus the pick up cuddles are simply divine. We LOVE those.

THIS is how you do it.

Dear Internet,

It’s is I, me!, the one-and-only Climbing Lily herself and I am feeling all magnanimous today on accounts of I have been to Aunty Robyn’s house and had such a truly FABULOUS time. Did you know that Aunty Robyn ALSO has a door that you can rattle and say ‘car!’ and that there will be a real car inside it? Who knew other people had cars in their garages TOO?

It’s simply AMAZING.

Robyn even has these cool flies that Mama can eats for extra protein on arrival,  although she ungraciously doesn’t find them all that tasty and it means whoever opens the door gets an eyeful of Fly Bits being unceremoniously dribbled into the garden. Mama says sorry for the unintended plant watering, Aunty Robyn.

Also, I had simply the most delicious naps in the CAR on the way there and back, with my SHOES(ssss) on, AND pointing out some TREES! Nobody would give me the KEYS though, even if my vocabulary is really coming along to three-word proto-sentences (shoessss, keys, CAR?)

So I’m going to let you in on a small secret.

THIS is how you gets on top of the dining table and possibly accidentally turn Mama’s coffee into a brief small decorative lake (with pretty fountain edges onto the nice white rug) if she is forgetful and leaves it there.

The only downer is if Mama has pushed the chair nice and tight into the table because THEN all that happens is I get jammed in there and have to cry until I get an assisted extraction,

Love,

Lily.

Oof!

Dear Internet,

It’s Gemmaguts here and I would like to make a small announcement. Mostly because Mama says I have to, or else.

I am Very Sorry I was so mean and cranky to all you nice people the other day and I will not refuse to call you ‘dear’ ever again. That is inexcusably Rude and I now see the error of my ways.

Dada says that it is funny how a little sleep and paracetamol can change a baby’s view on the world so remarkably.

Also, Mama has explained that if I really wants to get compliments about my big blue eyes, it helps not to have offended you first.

So, go on. Do tell me about my eyes. Please?

I’m listening. I’m also eating my sandwich, if that’s okay with you.

Mama says that practically the ONLY way to get me to sit still long enough to get a good picture these days is to imprison me in my chair and feed me stuff.

It’s the same for a certain baby who wants to grab the camera. I would NEVER do anything like that.

Any point for guessing what I was pointing out to Mama in the photo below?

Love,

Gemma

PS. Mama says it is something called ‘delurking week’. She says she’s pretty sure we only have about three readers, herself included, but she’d love to pass on your ‘hello’s’ to Lily and I.

Cranky

Dear Internet,

It’s Gemmaguts here today, but I’m not going to go calling ANYBODY ‘dear’ anything unless somebody makes with the mysterious goods I need in order to quit with the Shriek Sequence (with bonus eardrum-bleeding Supermarket Edition) .

What do you mean that you’re not mind readers?

Get on with it, please!

Mama says that SHE is not a mind reader, either, and therefore after trying everything she could think of to appease me for more than five minutes (other than being glued to her left hip) she’s plumped for ‘naptime’. Her arm was going to fall off under the prolonged strain, even though I am not a heavy baby.

I am now in my cot in some nice, quiet dark and have only my bears to complain to at about my lot in life. They don’t have eardrums.

Mama is hoping that I shall sleep, and either way that Lily will, even if a certain banshee (me! ME! ME) wails until The Sleepy wins.

So, since I’m all cross with everything right now, I’m not even going to come up with a story to make the pictures match the text.

Nyah!

You’ll simply have to do that one yourselves, okay? I am busy.

Love,

Gemma

Busy Babies

Dear Internet,

It is Pilly and Gemmaguts here, but you will just have to take our words on the matter if you do not instantly recognise us from examining our bottoms. We are MUCH too busy to turn around and prove it.

Also, for those of you who have heard from other channels about Mama’s New Toy that she WON’T share at ALL, the one that takes much better pictures than the huffy-puffy camera, we need to explain something.

Probably because you’re wondering why half of the pictures are still not in focus.

It’s because we have something called a ‘bit of a backlog’ of a ‘bajillion’ old camera pictures in stock. Dada says that ‘bajilion’ is a REAL number, whatever the spellcheck button might feel abot the matter, and it represents only a little bit more than the number of combined fingers and toes we possess.

So there.

Also, Mama goes back to something called ‘full-time work’ soon, and she is very sad about it, so while we may not update and talk to you as often as we would like, at least she can use her free moments at work to look at all our blurry pictures on here and sniff to herself a bit.

She says that she’s going to miss US much more than her New Toy.

Okay, we’ve got to go now and eat some lunch,

Love,

Wingnut and Flathead.

Fringe benefits

Dear Internet,

It is the one and only positively DIVINE Miss Pilly blogging today.

Please don’t listen to a man that goes by the name of ‘Dada’ right now, because he’s probably busy pointing out that babies that claim the ‘divine’ status really should actually share something with their sisters once in a while and I DON’T (No! NO! NO!) do that at ALL well.

He’s got it quite wrong, you understand.

I share colds perfectly well.

I also share haircuts tips, but a certain somebody who goes by the name of Captain Wisp these days does not seem to require them as yet.

Still.

That’s hardly MY fault now, is it?

Not every baby can have hairs as lush, fast growing and non individually-countable as my fortunate self.

Love,

Pilly.

Happy New Year.

Dear Internet,

It’s Pilly and Gemmaguts here, and we’re all different now because we’re blogging from something called twenty-ten.

How that’s different from blogging from our front spare room, we have no earthly idea.

We guess that twenty-ten must just be another grown-up term for our middle-street house.

Unfortunately, that explanation does not really answer the conundrum of just why so many people felt like honking their horns and letting off fireworks at midnight, but we guess that a LOT of people must have been very excited to hear about our house and the new name the front room has.

Right?

Or possibly they were just very scared of the giant lightning storm we had overnight and were protesting not being let in out of the rain?

If that’s the case, well, then Mama and Dada were most mean indeed not to let all the scared people party in their loungeroom at midnight.

We could have joined them, you know.

Our jammies are pretty snazzy and we’ve been the life of the party more than once in them somewhere public.

Anyway, the good thing about blogging from twenty-ten is that you can say ‘happynewyear!’ a lot.

Or, in our cases, ‘knock-knock, no, shoes!, car, tree, roof, knee, nose, ear, boo ta (and a few other words Mama might have forgotten that we can say)’.

Happynewyear!!!!

Love,

Pilly and Gemgems.

Shoes!

Dear Internet,

It is Pillymonster here, I just had to quickly tell you something before I go to bed.

I haves a new word, and it is ALMOST perfectly intelligible to people who don’t live with me, promise.

Can you guess what it is?

Mama says that Aunty Kim will be VERY proud.

Love,

Lily.

PS. It’s a very good word to have in one’s arsenal, too. Why, only half an hour ago I said ’shoes!’ and banged on the door to go to the shops with Dada. He didn’t QUITE get the hint, so I had to GET my shoes and thrust them at him, poke a foot in the air and say ‘Shoes!’ some more, but THEN I gots to go to the shops.

Okay, after I put some clothes on. Apparently going out dressed only in a nappy and shoes is not quite the done thing.

Height-ho

Dear Internet,

If you clicked on over to Planet Keanetwin (you know, the cool planet where it is totally Okay to eat rice puffs in your pyjamas at 6pm on accounts of Mama needed to vacuum the floors before they got up and walked off under their own steam and that was the only way it was ever going to happen without screeching) and you thought the quality of the writing was unusually good AND you also idly wondered who was performing the blogging duties today, I have a clue for you. 

It’s not an ‘and’, either, although I quite like that particular word.

Internet, if you have been Good and HAVEN’T cheated by looking at the photos directly below, well, how abouts I tell you that the blogging duties are today being performed solely by the baby that gravity troubles rather less?

It is I, Gemmaguts, the TitchyMonster herself.

No, you may not ask what I do with all the voluminous amounts of food I regularly inhale, if I do not squander the calories contained on vertical growth.

Mostly because to explain thoroughly would involve a set of rather impolite photos. All of the food is accounted for, Internet. Don’t worry.

On, I guess Lily might be roundabouts today, too. She has this habit of becoming the centre of attention, so can we keep the focus just on me ME ME for a while?

After all, unlike a certain infant who sooky lala’s for about thirty seconds (until she’s sure they aren’t coming back, that is) every time somebody nice leaves the house, I can say ‘doggie’. Oh, and ‘daddy’, AND ‘Na-na (banana)’.

So what if my nana’s sound like nee-naws? Mama and Dada know what I’m getting at.

Now could you tell them that floppy bunny ears are bad for my dignity, please? Ignore the shameless baby in front of me, she has no dignity at ALL.

As far as wordage goes, I swear the best trick Pilly can manage is ‘Car!’.

Okay, that might not be QUITE true, but anyroads I am a whole syllable up on that, you understand.

Anyway, apparently it is my bedtime on accounts of I am a bit whiny, so Mama is killing my buzz and insisting I say goodnight right NOW.

Shame, really, because I was going to tell you ALL ABOUT how wrinkly Mama is these days and I can’t possibly see what problem she might have with a little honest journalism.

Goodnight, and bears to cuddle for all,

Love,

The Tiny Dictator herself.

Hairy Video Mistmas

Dear Internet,

May we leap up and down a bit and say ‘Hairy Mistmas’ to you all?

At least can we leap all over Mama until she starts to wheeze a bit? That’s rather entertaining, you know.

more about “gym“, posted with vodpod

 

Anyway, the grown-ups that surround us have been making Mistmas references all day long, so by now we are assuming that saying ‘Hairy Mistmas’ a lot is the done thing.

Even if climbing on one’s parents and using them as your very own special bouncy castle turns out NOT to be.

Also, we think Hairy Mistmas is a special holiday where you can eat so much yummy food wihtout a vegetable in SIGHT that you fear that your belly really SHALL explode (or food leak untidily back out the top end) if you don’t stop. Oh, and you can drink wine, but nobody would let us do that bit. Uncharitable, that.

We’re still not sure where the Hairy part comes into things, though.

Anyway.

Mama actually cooked two roasts All By Herself, you know AND, Internet, they were pretty tasty.

It must be a Christmas miracle, right? Like Gemma’s newfound love of her screech muscles…..

more about “bath“, posted with vodpod

 

Love,

L+G

Baby, you CAN drive my car.

Dear Internet,

It’s Miss Pilly and Gemmaguts here, and we would like to correct a small misperception about our car driving exploits.

A: We only get to do it when the car is in something called ‘park’ (which, mysteriously, is not at all like The Park. It is much less green for a start).

B: We only get to do it when the keys are firmly NOT in the ignition, and

C: We are NOT babies anymore, so Mama can stop singing that silly song when we goes ‘Beep, Beep!’ with the horn button.

Is that okay?

Also, we are clearly not sailors, either, (even if we do have most nice sundresses and hats that might lead the unwary to assume we have some idea on how to tell ‘port’ from ’starboard’, or even what a ’stern’ is for that matter. We don’t, in case you wondered for a minute) so all that silly winking and ‘In the navy…’ sing-songing can stop forthwith, too.

At ONCE.

Please?

It is simply not good for our dignity muscles. Not at ALL.

Love,

Squidgeybum Doubletrouble and Nosepicker Doubletrouble.

Humbug.

Dear lovely Internet,

It is both Pilly and Gemgems SHARING (nicely in case you were wondering) blogging duties today.

Mama says it is very late and she is kind of knackered on accounts of we are most active little boogers these days AND she has just wrapped upwards of a dozen presents for Christmas all after 9pm and in the dark.

Do not be surprised overmuch if this is all the blogging that you are going to get today. Try not to pout and you might just get something wrapped in plaid for your troubles. Also, try not to cry or shout, because a mythical fat gentleman in a red suit doesn’t like that either. Allegedly.

Anyway.

Poor Mama still has some sticky tape still stuck to one foot and had run out of decorative ribbon at an inopportune moment so go easy on her, okay?

Mama says, and we quote ‘Humbug (with mostly-neatly wrapped presents)’,

Love

L+G

Titch.

Dear Internet,

It’s is Pilly and Gemgems here, and we are very cleverly indeed blogging in our naptime today.

No, we’re not telling you how we manage that trick, and yes, you may tell us how precocious we are for knowing where to find the spellcheck button ALL BY OURSELVES. In our sleep. So THERE.

You can stop sniggering now, Internet.

Anyway, we thought we’d give you a brief update on the anthropometry of the Keanetwin™ Doubletrouble situation. Just because we have some NEW information to hand now that Mama has been to the Post Office to queue up with all the other parcel-sending people recently and cheekily temporarily borrowed their notoriously accurate digital scales for the serious task of Toddler Weighing.

No, Mama swears that she isn’t planning to post us somewhere the next time we’re naughty (although she might think about it a bit because she now knows the cost), and yes, we know what ‘anthropometry’ means, too.

Really.

Without further ado, here are the current Keanetwin™ stats (weights slightly approximated as Mama kindly decided not to whip off our clothes and nappies in the middle of the post office, after all):

Pilly would like to announce that she is 80cm/31.5  inches tall and weighs 8.9 kg/19.6 lbs. She would also like to say that she alllmost has one thigh roll, down from a baby personal best of four and a half, which befits a child who masses only .0089 tonnes just nicely.

     

Gemmaguts is 72-ish–very-wiggly cm/28.3 inches short and 7.5 kg/ 16.5 lb. She thinks thigh rolls sound like a breakfast dish, but she doesn’t have any of them herself.

Before we go, Gemma would like to point out that her height IS on the charts thank-you-very-much, even if her weight is not and that the first centile is a real centile AND sounds kind of special. Also, if this does not impress you, think of things in microns. She’s 72000 of THEM.

Now THAT’s big.

L+G

Blanky.

Dear Internet,

Do excuse me a moment, will you?

It’s Miss BullyPillyMonster here, and I’ll be RIGHT with you. I’m just a little tied up getting this other baby who seems to think that she has a right to be in the blog too all nice and out of the way.

Then just you and I can talk freely about my new best friend, Blanky.

Blanky is all mine and I don’t want certain Doubletroubles getting any big ideas about My Blanky.

Getting rid of that other baby is proving more difficult that I initially anticipated, so do bear with me and lean in, Internet.

Go on, please. I don’t have all day, you know.

Closer than THAT.

Okay. Better.

I’m going to have to whisper to you about how I have all on my own and completely unilaterally developed a serious love affair with Blanky.

I only recently realised it, but lovely Blanky sleeps in my cot with me EVERY night, and Blanky doesn’t seem to mind at all if I chew on him a bit OR if I snore and dribble.

Blanky is so soft and all snuggly, Internet.

So yes, it is True Love, and no(no, NO! With Stomping) I shall not be putting Blanky down any time soon.

No, not even at lunchtime.

I don’t want certain individuals who do not share my Blanky toting enthusiasm getting ideas bigger than THEY happen to be about getting marmite all over My Precious.

That’s MY job,

Love,

Lily.

Dr Pilly.

Dear Internet,

It’s Pillymonster here today. Okay, so Gemma might technically be present, too, but it is I who plan to take credit for the blogging. Don’t argue.

I thought I would share one of my new titles, although I don’t quite understand why Mama and Dada laugh so very hysterically when they say it, and (more to the point) why they think I might want to change my mind when I’ve done my first week of night-shift in the Emergency Department of a less-than-salubrious area and been yelled at by everybody for my troubles.

No, they might be trying to put me off with their tales of call outs for inevitable 3am epidurals, fixing up naughty people who have either comprehensively lost fights or made a rather messy directional mistake with their car, being nice to not-very-convincing fibbers who apparently have a thing for something called peth-idine which you are not allowed to give them but they try most hard indeed to obtain anyway, drowning under mountains of paperwork, a pager that won’t stop bleeping at you and generally angry people who feel better by virtue of either A: yelling, or B: making it all YOUR problem by dint of writing your full name on lots of Big Official-Looking Forms.

They might be trying to put me off, but I am Dr Pilly.

Now don’t yell at me, please?

Please?

I’m still trying to figure out how this stef-o-scoper works.

In the meantime, you can yell at Mama, instead. She says she’s pretty used to it already from Gemma, and she needs the warm-up for returning to full time work next year.

Now if you will excuse me, I have rounds to make. Dollies do not get better on their own. Just ask Miss Polly.

Love,

Dr Pilly.

A Knee Versery.

Dear Internet,

This is a special cobbled-together with child-friendly glue and duct tape post today, mostly on accounts of it is a special day and Mama says she cannot type for long at all because there is Cakey with a ‘4′ on the top to be eaten ups now that we have gone to bed.

No, you may not ask how we are blogging in our sleep.

Mama says you should stop thinking about that immediately and instead look at lots of cute pictures of our Doubletrouble selves.

http://s376.photobucket.com/albums/oo203/jodikeane/babies2/one/?action=view¤t=4aef8298.pbw

She also says that WordPress is a cranky pants and won’t let her embed it, no matter how nicely she tries, on accounts of that would clearly be too easy and user friendly, so you’ll have to click on the link while you grumble about untrusting blogging platforms that don’t let end users mess about with half the html they want to because they are utter scardey-pants.

Coming back to the point, today is something called Mama and Dada’s A Knee Versery, and they need to celebrate all things knees.

There is no possible way we could have got that one wrong, so don’t go and tell us we’re in error, will you?

Love and tickles,

Lily and Gemma.

Boo.

Dear Internet,

It is Miss Lily here and I have an announcement to make.

Boo!

I see you. Yes, YOU!

Yes, even through the shower screen. Don’t look so shocked, will you?

It IS made of this clever thing called ‘glass’, after all. You can see through glass, did you know that?

Gemma would like to point out that you can’t walk through it, though.

She’s tried, failed, and cried, mostly because walking into a glass wall in front of a roomful of people is pretty rough on the dignity muscles. You never can make anybody believe that you might have actually MEANT to smoosh your nose flat at full tilt.

Oh, and ‘glass’ is kind of like ‘glass-ess’, which makes sense. They’re those things that both Mama and Dada have that give them two extra eyes up on the less optically challenged.

Lucky them, no matter what schoolyard bullies might like to call people with special extra eyes.

Also, they wouldn’t be much use if they were called ‘opaques’, I suppose.

Anyway, Mama says that glasses are COOL and stuff and if you’re going to be blind, you may as well get tortoiseshell green, fire-engine red and art deco rimless sets. Then all the people with only two eyes each can be accordingly jealous that their lenses do not fail to focus images on their foveas.

I have absolutely no idea what she’s rattling on about there, at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s simply trying to get away with making words up from scratch, kind of like I do with my own Baby Esperanto Gobbldegook. 

Mama lives with me, and she still doesn’t get half of it without some serious pointing action on my part.

Anyway.

Perhaps we shall get our very own glasses someday, and in the meantime there’s always stuff to climb. Wobbly stools hidden in cupboards are some of the very bestest climbing material of all. There is no Fun without Danger.

At least for ME,

love,

Lily.

Newsflash.

Dear Internet,

It is I, the Pillymonster. Do not be afraid if you don’t know me well enough to recognise me from behind like this. I shall not widdle on your foot.

Promise.

I was just indulging in a little light nude bath mountaineering before dinner.

It’s all the rage around these parts. Really.

Anyway, it’s late and I need to explain something very clever that I did today.

You can do it too, and perhaps you’ll also get your own very personal bathroom party, complete with Mama and Dada Mexican Wave.

Are you ready?

Here’s what you do, Internet.

Firstly you get an audience rounded up, and then you and your personal cheerleaders all troop over to the toilet. That’s where Mama  takes your nappy off and sits you on the seat.

THEN, and this is the clever part, you go wee-wees on the toilet like a big girl.

Apparently when you go tinkles on the loo, you get ‘Hip-hip-Hooray!!!’ three cheers and your very own piece of paper to play with afterwards as a reward. It’s pretty exciting.

Mama said something about me sending one to Werribee was one less that SHE had to deal with and that made her pretty happy, too. I think that’s called win-win, right?

Love,

Pilly.

‘Scuse me.

Dear Internet,

It’s Pillymonster here, and I have what I am beginning to suspect is a rather delicate matter to discuss with you.

You see, I’ve figured out how to get my own nappy off in all sorts of fun places.

I can take it off in the loungeroom, the neighbour’s driveway, Mama and Dada’s bedroom and MORE.

I’m all clever like that.

It sounds like just terriffic fun, and really, it is. But. That’s not the reason I’m going all nudist from the waist down at random moments.

Mama-lady sure is slow on the uptake.

You see, Internet, when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta GO, and I prefer to go without having to sit in it afterwards.

Yes, even if that means Mama has to clean up the neighbour’s driveway before they come home.

She says she’d feel a bit guilty blaming an errant doggie for my work.

Now, Gemma has no such issues with sitting in her own productions, but could you please tell Mama to make with the P.O.T.T.Y?

Soon?

Thank you.

In return, you can admire pictures of our most nice new Doubleglance Twinmobile™ and one of our recent trips to The! Park!

Mama says I should point out to you that I have not needed to go in The Park as yet, fortunately, and also that we cannot fight over custody of toys at Defcon 10 in the supermarket in the new Twinmobile.

Gemma would like to make sure that you all know that Mama keeps carelessly parking the Twinmobile all over the footpath, and that is annoying because it is all heavy and stuff when she moves it out of the way for her.

She says it probably breaches several Child Labor Laws and Mama really should be more careful.

I personally think Gemma is full of it because I happen to know that the new Twinmobile is lighter than the old Twinmobile. You can tell this real easy because Mama swears and grunts MUCH less getting it into the car.

Hardly at ALL, in fact!

Now, if you will excuse me, I think it’s time to get my nappy off, again.

Perhaps the laundry, this time. It’s usually nice and private in there.

Love,

Pilly.

Haircuts

Dear mostest lovely Internet people,

It is I, the one and ONLY PillyMonster here today, blogging for both DoubleTroubles.

I thought I’d give you a blast from the past today, Internet. If that’s Okay with you?

Below is my most Pilly-tastic self BEFORE my Big Chop.

You see that hair tie?

It took me a few months, but I finally worked out that Mama was hiding black band-y things in my most excellent hairs. So I decided to do something about it, OTHER than wiggle like a muddy piglet and whine when Mama tried to put it on my hairs.

Why, I likes to EATS that hairtie. No more problem!

Well, I would have if certain adults hadn’t gone all ‘NO, Pilly! Elastic is not a food group’ and killed my buzz.

So then THIS happened.

I gots a Haircuts to go with my Cheesygrin. It turns out that having Haircuts really aids the Cheesygrin in getting stuff you want like unscheduled snackies from people in the street.

I have decided that I therefore approve of my Haircuts.

Oh, in case you are wondering why Gemma is featured when she has no hair, I put in a picture of Gemma not having a Haircuts just for comparative purposes.

What do you mean ‘that’s mean, Pilly’? It’s true. She doesn’t need one.

Still.

Also, her ears stick out a bit.

Anyway, I do so hope that you have liked my Haircuts update and I promise to keep you fully informed of when Gemmaguts finally has one, too.

Love,

Pilly.

Hairs. Plural!

Dear Internet,

It’s Lily not-middle-name-Pilly AND Miss Gemma true-but-not-an-official-name-either Guts here.

We’re doing this thing called SHARING with the blogging duties today.

If you haven’t heard of it before, sharing is this thing you do with your sister when Mama or Dada happen to be around, on accounts of you score lots of yummy cuddles if you do.

You don’t have to do it when they stop watching, Internet. We’ve both worked that one out.

Anyway, we’d like to talk to you about the thing that we both have more of than Dada-man, again.

Mama wonders if the above sentence will help her figure out when Dada-man next read our blog on accounts of she might have just implied that his hairs are a bit thin.

Don’t worry, Dada!

Gemma has Thin Hairs, presumably to go with her Thin Toothpick legs, and it doesn’t bother her, not one bit.

It should, you know.

Mama says that Gemma is quite the Knobbly Savage in the knee department.

Regardless, I (Lily) would like to point out that these are some pre-haircuts pictures which I am only showing you today because apparently I need to have them on record for a big event called a Twentyfirstparty.

Apparently the twentyfirstpary is a long time away, but I will really appreciate that you all now know that I have learned the name for a new body part and will show anybody, even in the street and without any prompting whatsoever.

Aren’t I clever?

So what if we can both do ears, noses, bellies, feet and Gemmaguts can SAY ‘ear’ and ‘nohhhhss’, the showoff?

I am one body part up on her, and that is all that matters.

Oh, and she can say ‘no!’, ’dohr (door)’, and ‘ooff! (roof) now, as well as ‘ree! (tree)’. Ree’s are positively EVERGREEN, did you know that? 

Mama says that you’ve got to live with her to understand what she’s getting at, but progress is progress.

Personally, I prefer my own brand of gibberish. Clicks are an underutilised sound in the English language and thatshould be changed at once.

By me.

Now would you please admire Gemma’s hairs(plural), please, before you go?

She likes that sort of thing almost as much as unfettered access to her own reflection.

Love and sharing-because-Mama-is-watching,

L+G

 

PS. We’re working on new buttons. Well, Mama is. She says naptime sure is a fabulous invention.

The one below is for shy people who don’t like leaving public comments. If you clicky-press it then you get taken to a page where you can leave us a letter than lands via something called e-mail.

Just don’t as us how it works, but it does.

Stuff.

Dear Internet,

It’s Gemmaguts here and I think I have a new title to share with you all.

Would you believe me if I said  ‘It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Wait, it’s SUPERBABY?’

Oh, no. I see.

I didn’t think you would. Would you instead go with the less ambitious statement that I possess an impeccable sense of style if I pinky-promise to refrain from claiming ridiculous superpowers? Anyway, I blame Mama since I don’t pick the clothes around these parts.

I’m rakishly wearing my underpants on the outside of my tights again, after all.

Sadly, I can’t actually make certain siblings stop poking things up my nose without my consent by dint of wishing they would kind of accidentally stick them up their OWN noses instead.

Nevermind. I’ve just realised that Pilly does THAT, too. Maybe the wind will change and she’ll get STUCK that way someday.

On the plus side, perhaps underwear as outerwear shall be all the rage next year, and then you can all call me a trend-setter. That would be nice.

Especially if bunny ears and big dribble stains suddenly became funky and the Done Thing.

NOBODY dribbles better than I do.

Why, just look at the necks of all my old shirts if you don’t believe that I can soak myself quite damp ALL DAY LONG if I feel like it, armed solely with the power of leaky spittle and a generously open gob.

Dada used to say that I could dribble for the Harlem Globetrotters someday, but then it became clear that THAT would never happen on the grounds that I am a titch.

Okay, a titch with a very damp front right now.

Yes, and still not much in the hair department.

 Hair only slows you down. It’s all about wind resistance if you want to run away and hide with the toilet ducky bottle real fasts so that nobody notices you have your true love and kills your buzz by going ‘Yuk, Gemma! Put it down!’.

Also, I am MUCH better at Pilly at putting on my stethoscope and going on my rounds.

We have a lot of sick dollies to attend to, you know. It is a good thing they all live with the Keanetwins™, because not all babies get an old liberated-from-somewhere-that-shall-remain-nameless stethoscope to play with.

Not all babies get to blog on their Dadaman’s old computer while Mama does this dull thing called ‘having a shower’, either.

Most babies don’t even come in sets of TWO, did you know that?

I guess that makes it kind of a good thing that I have a Doubletrouble with which to plan toilet duckie raids, after all. Maybe I’ll keep her.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is sunny and I plan to yell at Mama until I get my wish to go to The! Park!.

Yes, again.

Gemma.

Bibs and Bobs.

Dear Internet,

It’s Miss Gemmaguts (the Tiny Dictator herself) here today, doing my bit for the combined Keanetwin™ blogging efforts.

Yes, in PERSON, you are indeed most fortunate.

I can even take the time to wait for you all to say ‘thank you Gemma for taking time out of your most busy schedule of Making Pronouncements about things with which you do not approve of, even one bit’.

Go on, please.

I didn’t say that I planned to wait for long.

Mostly because I feel a Pronouncement coming about how Pilly should not keep pinching all the most interesting toys right out of my hands like she does.

She’s a rotton tea-leaf, you know.

To add insult to injury, do you know what she does when she gets caught?

Well. She mugs with Cheesygrin and Haircuts most charmingly and then goes and hands MY TOY to the nearest adult just at the point where I have decided to expend effort on scrunching up my face, turning red, stomping my feet and screeching loudly.

Anyway.

I just thought I’d fill you all in on what I have to contend with around these parts.

Now, since you all most cleverly figured out Miss Pilly’s not-so tricky question recently, I have one for you.

Are you paying attention? Good.

Exhibit A (above) is a picture of a certain budding recidivist attempting to look completely unlike a baby on a mission to retrieve the peg basket and scatter the contents liberally throughout the house.

But that’s not the question.

I mean, if I asked ‘does Pilly look guilty about something?’, then clearly the answer in almost every picture here is ‘Yes!’. She’s pretty transparent, you know.

Only silly Pilly would tip the contents of her bottle on the floor, walk around in it and then wander off innocently leaving a great big trail of wet footprints on her way across the carpet.

You don’t need a compass and a map to figure out who’s responsible, where she’s got to and catch her after that sort of stunt.

Exhibit B is some pictures of my most well-behaved self in my Dotty Dress. Yes, you may stop to admire my dress, but no, you may not have it.

I am wearing the item the question is about in these pictures, although it is not spotty.

Exhibit C is Miss Pilly again. She’s either showing you how she keeps her head on straight if it gets a bit wobbly, or pretending not to hear you tell her she is a thief and should cease and desist immediately.

She isn’t wearing the item in question, either, mostly on accounts of she isn’t wearing anything at all.

 The cheeky minx.

So, what is it that we don’t wear anymore?

Love, Gemma.

Hair today…

Dear Internet,

It is The Divine Miss Pilly(monster) here.

Those are my self-declared titles and I am sticking with them, if only because they are MUCH nicer than being called ’squidgeybottom’, ‘greensleeves’ or ’snotface’.

I see nothing wrong with that. Trust me when I say that my public cuddle survey shows that nine out of ten random adults still think I am pretty divine, even when I am afflicted with the dreaded squidgeybottom.

Anyway, I do so hope that you are paying attention because I have a question for you, clever Internet!

It is a How Well Do You Know Pilly Quiz.

I do so hope the answer is very well, you know. I would hate to have to give you all homework. Homework is boring and I have better things to do with my time than mark homework.

Like go for rides in my Brand! New! Doubletake Doubleglance Twinmobile™. I could ride in my Twinmobile™ all day, Internet, if only because I get a front seat all to MYSELF (with occasional kicking from behind by a baby I shall not encourage by naming).

Could you all please pay close attention to my most pretty pictures please?

Closer.

….have you figured out what my question is yet?

Don’t look to hard at THIS baby, there shall be no questions about Miss Gemmaguts today.

How about I give you a clue?

In THESE pictures you can’t properly see the thing that my special secret question is about. On accounts of Hat.

Also, you kind of can’t here.

On accounts of I seem to be afflicted with a rather nasty case of bunny ears.

Drat.

Another photo or two of that other baby who lives with me and keeps nicking my toys seems to have slipped in.

Please ignore her show-off moves with the telephone and keep your focus on ME.

It is ALL about ME today.

Really, it IS, Miss Gemmaparte.

You can be a clever clogs and read books upside down for the camera all you like, but there are no questions about you today.

So, despite the distractions posed by a certain one-minute younger upstart I seem to be sharing my attention with today, have you figured it out yet?

Come on, do focus!

Huh?

Okay, so my question for you all is the following.

Are you still reading, Internet? No, that is not my question, I am just checking in case you are yawning or have cheekily gone and scrolled to the bottom on me.

So, Internet, what is wrong about Pilly in all of these photos?

Have you figured it out?

What about now?

Okay, maybe I will need to set you all some homework after all.

Love,

Pilly (and friends).