The One-Stop Internet Spot for Parents of Twins and Multiples

Photo from Amazon.com

Review by Sandra Horning

Both my 4 and 8 year old sons were taken with Patience Wright, America’s First Sculptor and Revolutionary Spy. What child doesn’t love a good spy story? And what a story it is!

Born to a Quaker family in 1725, Patience grew up in the American colonies and showed a talent for sculpting clay at a young age. In mid life she began to sculpt wax and her reputation for creating life-like sculptures grew. As a result her work was desired by many prominent Americans. Her success led her to open a studio in London. As a well-known artist, she had many political figures among her customers, including the king and queen.

When the American colonies started revolting against England, Patience was suddenly in an important position, as she was friendly with both English and colonial leaders. As Patience worked with some of her English customers, she led them to reveal secret information. Then Patience wrote this information down and hid it in the hollow busts of her sculptures that were going to America. Thus, she became a spy.

The realistic gauche-and-pastel illustrations of wax figures and early America bring the text to life. My younger son kept asking which illustration is the sculpture and which is Patience. This is a fun read for young historians, with additional information about Patience and the revolutionary war included at the end. But historian or not, if you haven’t heard of Patience Wright, this is a must read about an extraordinary woman. Questions about wax sculpting and spying are sure to go on for several days.

Ages 4-9

With no warning, I got some bad news a couple of weeks ago. It certainly wasn’t earth-shattering or tragic news, mostly just yukky news that affects your ego. And maybe your stomach. For awhile. That kind of bad news.

I was upset, naturally. I had planned to meet up with a friend in downtown Los Angeles that night for a quick dinner before going to an event for online journalists at the LA Times building. It still sounded like fun even though I was feeling punky, so I went.

Amazingly, I didn’t hit any traffic at all and was driving through Chinatown when I realized that I was pretty early. I’ve always wanted to stroll through Chinatown and have literally never done it in the years that my husband and I have lived in the Los Angeles area.

Magically, a parking spot appeared and I knew the moment was meant to be. I took a couple of photos with my snappy new mobile phone camera and then went shopping.

The first store I went into had an array of the usual stuff you find in American Chinatowns, but I was so thrilled to be there that I perused everything carefully. Suddenly, along one wall, I saw an assortment of carved stone stamps.

When I walked over and looked closer, I saw that they were Chinese characters for people’s names and for special words. I started looking for my name but gave up because there were so many and they were arranged in no particular order (that I could determine).

Then I saw it. The stamp that made me feel better and more hopeful, all at once.

Here it is:

PASSION

Or, at least that’s what the label on the stamp says (if anyone sees that I have actually bought a stamp that says I LOVE FUDGE or KITTENS ARE MY LIFE or whatever, do, please, let me know.).

I bought the gooey red ink to go with my stamp and happily went on my way to pick up the rest of my life, post-bad news.

Oh, my gosh, this is a really sweet article, and I just had to share it.

Alice, Doris and Gladys are British identical triplets who just celebrated their 80th birthday with a big barbecue.

The article is a chatty tribute to the women, with a few terrific photos of the triplets as they grow up.

My favorite quote from the article is about Doris’ reflection on the 80th birthday party:

Doris said: “As much as we wanted to join in, the bouncy castle was for the young ones.

Every parent of twins or multiples knows that when you’re out with your kids you get extra attention from (mostly) well-intentioned folks.

Sometimes people say nice things, sometimes it’s annoying, sometimes people even touch your kids. Most of the time, though, it’s no big deal.

But in our town we have a woman who we do try to avoid when we go out walking to the park or to the library.

She’s a twin within a twin.

She’s an elderly woman, pretty harmless-looking, and I can’t remember precisely what she looks like, which is why she has successfully snagged me more than once.

She’ll hulk after us in velcro sneakers when she sees us to ask if our daughters are twins. Then she’ll say that she has a relative with twins, a sister or something. I can’t remember, honestly.

And then, once she has our attention, she’ll lean in a little to say, “And, I’m a twin within a twin.”

There’s a beat before my palms begin to sweat, and I’ll think “Doh! She caught me again!”

“Oh,” I say, nodding and trying to think of a way to escape because now I remember what’s coming.

But it’s too late. She goes on to explain that she has an extra uterus and the doctors think that she originally had a twin sister, but that she absorbed her sister’s body while she was inside her own mother’s womb.

It’s actually very sad. I always come away from the conversation freaked out and thinking that she’s some sort of Klingon or something (from my Star Trek Next Generation days I remember that Klingons have some sort of double organ situation. You guessed it. I’m a geek.)

My husband said he successfully escaped the twin within a twin on his last walk around town with the girls, so I guess we’re starting to be able to pick her out among the local freak pedestrians.

This is the kind of thing that happens in my crazy little town, and the kind of thing one attracts by just walking around with twins.

Another day I just might tell you about the blonde knife lady. But not tonight. I’m creeped out enough as it is just thinking about the twin within a twin.

I wrote a little poem today about how, before I had kids, I used to turn up my nose at the thought of ever letting my future children ride the merry-go-round at the mall. I love carousels and favor vintage ones, like the carousel in Griffith Park in Los Angeles, and the mall one just doesn’t fit the bill.

Of course that was before the twins arrived.

You can read my ode to the mall carousel at my Family.com blog Mommy! Mommy!.