The Twins

Keats & Aidan.

I think for all who have been blessed enough to have experienced our twins, those two names will be forever linked. People will not be able to hear the name Aidan being called at a playground without immediately thinking: Keats. And as Aidan was one of the most popular boys names for 2005, you do indeed hear it often. I think you would be equally hard pressed to read "Ode to a Grecian Urn" by John Keats (whom Keats is named for) or pick up the wonderful book "Snowy Day" by Ezra Keats (whom Keats is not named for, but still delights in reading the books as his name is written quite large on the cover) and not think: Aidan.

They are, as Forrest Gump would say, "Peas and Carrots." By the way -- what exactly does that mean?

When I accidentally call Aidan: "Keats," Aidan simply looks at me, softly smiles, and asks, "Do you mean Aidan?" That's it. No frustration. No guilt trips. No long-suffering sigh of disgust at being saddled with a mother who cannot even tell her boys apart.

I read with amusement the antics of Fred and George Weasley in the Harry Potter books. I especially loved how they teased their mother, Molly Weasley, into thinking she didn't know which twin was which. Now I know they weren't being playful. They were stabbing the mother-guilt sword through Molly like a hot-iron poker every chance they could in order to get away with their other shenanigans.

Keats is picking up on the fact that I can't tell them apart quickly. That I frequently call him Aidan, not because I'm in a hurry (such as calling Shelby by Dawson's name - they really do look very different) but rather because I genuinely don't know it is Keats. His look is not the gentle look I receive from his brother, but rather a calculating one. A look which seems to say, "Seriously? You don't know who I am? I'm officially offended yet secretly delighted because, eventually, this deficiency of yours will work to my personal advantage quite well." You can see it in his eyes. And then, he sighs and offers to get a tattoo so that I might better tell them apart.

But I know it's all just a cover. I know my day is coming. Keats will bring Aidan on board with his evil plotting and then the torments on poor Molly will look like "Love Notes to Mother" compared with what my boys will come up with.

And my tombstone shall read:

"Keats and Aidan. The real reason I'm lying here."