As I mentioned below, Swee’Pea and TheMonk are destined for their own rooms. We ordered loft-style beds for each and Swee’Pea’s came last week. This past weekend I mustered all of my furniture-assembly skills and built Swee’Pea’s princess bed.

And while Swee’Pea was clearly excited, she was also apprehensive. She has a history of being scared to try new things and this was no different. She shed a few tears and asked for her old bed back. TheMonk, also feeling vulnerable and unsure, did the same. It was heartbreaking to see the looks on their faces as they faced the great unknown that stretches before them. It was like they understood the significance of this moment - that they would be going their separate paths - and weren’t quite ready.

So we gave hugs and kisses and reassurances and on the first night in her new bed, Swee’Pea chose to sleep with TheMonk. Notice the holding of hands, even as they sleep. May they always have each other when they need it most.

The voices ring through the silent night. Giggles and loud bursts of chatter followed by lower murmuring. The talking and the listening in on the baby monitor has been well documented on this blog. But this week, the conversations are bitter sweet.

In another week or so, new beds will arrive at our house. I will assemble them and, for the first time, put Swee’Pea’s bed in one room… and TheMonk’s bed in another. Even as I write this, the tears well up in my eyes at the prospect of the twins being separated at night. I knew this day would come but now I’m not so sure I want it.

I want to hold onto the love and comfort that these two give each other. i want to hold onto the innocence of youth and the love of siblings that has never been stronger. I want to hold onto the notion of Swee’Pea and TheMonk being an inseparable team, conspiring, sharing, protecting, supporting and, yes, even fighting. They’ve always had each other and now… it feels like they won’t.

Tonight, I turned up the baby monitor that has never left their room (but not always turned on) and listened to them talk about computer games and canopy beds and everything that’s important to six-year-olds. I reminisced about all the great conversations I’ve heard. Singing. Arguments. Constant talking and cute comments. Wonderful memories that I hope I never forget.

And as we head towards this bittersweet milestone, I pray that they will always remember the closeness that only they can share and that this bond can survive the distance of a wall and two doors.

In the meantime, forgive me if I shed some tears.

I am sitting at my desk at work plotting the next great initiative at work that will propel my staff to certain greatness when I receive a text message from my wife.  It reads: “TheMonk lost another tooth at school.  He swallowed it.”

My first reaction is, “Again?!”  Because, you see, TheMonk lost a tooth just last week that he accidentally swallowed while eating.  It was then we determined that the tooth fairy knows when he loses teeth and the fact that the tooth was nestled in his belly would not prevent him from reaping the precious bounty of Tooth Fairy goodness.

My second reaction is, “He had a loose tooth?”  I seriously had no idea.  I mean, the kid has lost so many teeth that the Tooth Fairy has begun making himself a snack after every visit.  TheMonk’s lost so many teeth that if he stands just right, he whistles in the wind.  I just didn’t think the kid had any more teeth left to lose.

Upon my arrival after work, I inspect TheMonk’s mouth.  I see the big gaping hole that used to be his two front teeth that have been missing since this time last year when he had them unceremoniously pulled after a run-in with a piece of playground equipment.  What I don’t see is evidence that a tooth has recently left his mouth.  I point this out to TheMonk and he insists that he lost a tooth and that his friend Amelia confirmed there was blood in his mouth.  I am unconvinced.

The gap doesn’t seem any bigger than it did before.  The teeth on either side look symmetrical.  In a court of law I feel I could win this case.  But in a court of 6-year-olds who have told their entire class that they have lost a tooth and have taken home the “tooth bag” (a perfectly mean extra homework project that any kid gets when he or she loses a tooth in TheMonk’s class) to much acclaim, it is impossible to say otherwise.  It is clear that the Tooth Fairy will be dishing out another Sacagawea $1 coin this evening.

Maybe he did lose a tooth.  I’m no dentist and the kid loses teeth faster than I lose readers.  But I don’t think he did.  And I have this sneaking suspicion that he’s perpetrating the biggest fraud known to child-kind: Putting one over on the Tooth Fairy to make a quick buck.

I’m not sure if I should be proud or ashamed.

(Okay, I’m totally proud.)

The past 10 years have been fairly good to me.  I’ve gone from newlywed to veteran husband.  I’ve moved to a new town, began a new career, bought a couple of cars, bought a house and… had three beautiful kids.

Of course, I’ve aged 10 years, lost a bit more hair (okay, a lot more hair) and the hair I have left has gone from jet-black to earl-gray.  No doubt about it, I’m getting older.

This past decade - my 30’s - was the decade I figured a lot out.  I figured out who I am and what’s important to me.  I’ve established a career that I enjoy and that I’ve performed fairly well in.  I’ve experienced unprecedented joy and incredible pain and I’ve come out stronger.  I found out I love being a father, learning about leadership and writing about my kids. And, of course, I found out that loving your wife is truly a gift.

In my 20’s, I didn’t know much but got by with enthusiasm and brains.  In my 30’s, I gained experience and perspective.  Now, on the first day of my 40’s, I’m actually excited for the coming decade.  This will be the decade that I make a difference.  Swee’Pea and TheMonk will be well into their teen years by the time I turn 50.  m&m will be entering the tween years.  I’ll be 20 years into my career and have another 10 years to convince my wife she really did make a good decision when marrying me.

So, bring it on, 40’s.  I’m ready.  My 30’s made sure of that.

For as long as I can remember we have been reading bedtime stories to Swee’Pea and TheMonk. That 15 to 20 minutes of reading might be my favorite part of the day. I genuinely miss it when I have to work late or we skip reading time because we’re late getting to bed.

In the past six months, something cool has begun to take shape. While I read, Swee’Pea and TheMonk have been following the words as I read them. A few months back they began to shout out words as they recognized them (which is kinda distracting when you’re trying to read, but I’ll let it go this time) and it has been more and more evident that they can read a lot of words.

Over the past few years, we have read quite a bit. We cheer on Madeline and Finklehopper Frog. We learn Fancy words from Nancy and worry about that hobo ant on the railroad track AND on the parking lot. We say goodnight to the moon and listen in on loving words between Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare.

But one of my favorites is good old Dr. Suess. We enjoy Cat in the Hat, The Thinks You Can Think and Wocket in My Pocket, but my absolute favorite is Green Eggs and Ham.  I can read that book over and over again.  In my mind it is one of the best books ever written.  And, it seems, TheMonk likes it a lot too.  He chose Green Eggs and Ham as the first book he ever read to Mommy and Daddy.

The tooth had been dangling for weeks. Swee’Pea would play with it with her tongue, pushing it out and as it barely hung on to the lower gum and we knew the day was coming when it would fall out. Any day now. For two weeks. But that stubborn little tooth hung in there day after day. I knew, in my heart, I was gonna have to pull it out but the thought gave me the heebie jeebies.

But tonight I manned up. I told Swee’Pea it was time for me to pull it out and that it wouldn’t hurt. I told her that I would stop if it began to hurt. She tentatively agreed and I firmly grasped the tiny tooth between my thumb and forefinger, twisted and pulled and… the tooth came out. I showed it to Swee’Pea and I could see in her eyes that it didn’t hurt but that she was not sure how to react.

She stared at the tooth. She looked at me. She stared at the tooth again. And then she broke into tears. As I held her close and her mother rushed in to comfort her, she looked at me with tears streaming down her beautiful face and pleaded, “PUT IT BACK, DADDY! PUT IT BACK! PLEASE, PUT IT BACK!”

And it was at that moment I felt like a total tool.

I consoled her and asked her if she was scared and she nodded her head as I held her close and kissed her tear-stained cheek. We assured her that a new tooth would grow in and that this was, indeed, a great moment. But she wasn’t convinced.

She wasn’t convinced, that is, until I pulled out the ultimate go-to comforter. I promised her an extra dessert night to celebrate her losing her tooth. Before we knew it she had negotiated ice cream with whipped cream, chocolate syrup sprinkled with tiny marshmallows.

Maybe the sugar-free gum from the tooth fairy will make up for the sugar.

Finally, as we talked about the Tooth Fairy’s impending visit, she made it clear that she did not want the Tooth Fairy to take her tooth. So, we suggested she write the Tooth Fairy a note. Which she promptly did. Of course, TheMonk couldn’t let her have all the fun so he wrote his own addendum to the note at the end.

Tomorrow morning Swee’Pea will be $5 and a pack of sugar-free gum richer. TheMonk will be $1 and a pack of sugar-free gum richer because the Tooth Fairy gives both kids gifts for the first lost tooth in our house.

And me? I’ll be one note richer. Tucked away for eternity to remember this very special day.

I sit in a corner of a cramped dentist evaluation room as TheMonk’s little body sits in the chair in the center of the room.  The dentist looks at the x-rays and examines TheMonk’s bloodied and bruised gums suffered from a nasty fall on the playground structure at school the previous day.  She gently wiggles each of TheMonk’s two front teeth and she looks at me and says the thing I fear the most: “We’ll need to pull the tooth.”

I nod knowingly and look to TheMonk to reassure him that all will be ok.  I see the fear in his eyes and I silently kick myself for telling him that the dentist was just going to make sure his teeth were okay.  I shouldn’t have made empty promises and now I am paying the price and feeling like a loser.

After the room clears to prep for the extraction, I kneel down beside TheMonk and I ask, “Are you scared, Buddy?”  He nods solemnly and I reach out to comfort him.  “It’s going to be okay, Monkey.  When I was a little boy I had a tooth pulled too.  I was uncomfortable but it was okay.  You’ll be okay too.”

These words seem to relax him a bit and I tell him it’s okay to be scared but that everything will be fine.  We are escorted to a room where he’s weighed and then given a liquid to drink.  We sit on an exam table, waiting for the relaxer to take effect and I can tell TheMonk is still nervous.  Every once in a while he turns to me and cries, “But Daddy, I don’t wanna get my tooth pulled! I want it to fall out on its own!”  I squeeze him tight and reassure him as best I can.

Before we know it we’re in the room where the tooth will be extracted and they get him settled in and he begins to breathe in the nitrous oxide gas while laying on the table watching an episode of Olivia on a TV in the ceiling.  It is then that I’m informed that they will be removing both front teeth.  I protest slightly but I’m told it has to happen as both teeth have shallow roots and won’t survive the trauma.  I consent and continue to watch TheMonk who, at this point, is beyond any trepidation as pharmaceuticals take over and he begins giggling randomly on the table.  I make a mental note to have the “Just say no to drugs” talk with TheMonk earlier rather than later.

Before we know it both teeth are gone and I carry a sleepy Monk to the car.  We get home, change the gauze, and he crashes on the couch while watching cartoons.  He is an angel and I sit close by and take a deep breath as I realize just how stressed I have been for the past couple of hours.

When TheMonk awakes after an hour and a half nap he begins to cry as I take the gauze out.  His mouth feels funny but Mommy soon arrives with ice cream to make it all better.  Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup makes lots of things better.

Soon after I run to school to pick up Swee’Pea at school and let her know of TheMonk’s teeth.  She takes the news well and is glad to see her brother upon our return to the house.  We soon commence with regular after-school stuff like homework and snacks and getting dinner ready.  As we near dinner Swee’Pea and TheMonk begin talking of the tooth fairy’s impending visit.  It is then that TheMonk and Swee’Pea realize that only he will be getting a visit from the Tooth Fairy.  There is a moment of sadness that lingers in the air until TheMonk suddenly speaks:

“Daddy, can I give one of my teeth to Swee’Pea so the tooth fairy can visit her too?”

And after all the stress of the day, it is this moment that has me fighting back tears.  Yes, Monkey.  You sure can, you sweet, sweet boy.  I’ve never been so proud as I am at this moment.

She sobbed quietly as she tightly grasped her mother’s hand in a cooler-than-usual late July morning. He grips my other hand with a soft, nonchalant grip as he eagerly walks, for the first time, to the bus stop.

The first day of Kindergarten was very typical for both Swee’Pea and TheMonk. Swee’Pea had good moments and rough moments, including some all-out tears. TheMonk had some trepidation at first but quickly decided he liked Kindergarten and fell in line with all the other kids quickly.

But that first day was just a couple of hours while Mommy and Daddy were in the teacher and a couple more hours without Mommy and Daddy. The second day would be the first full day and it would begin with their first ever ride on a school bus.

As the bus arrives, the nervous Swee’Pea begins to cry. We carry her on the bus and the bus driver, a nice older gentleman, tries to comfort her. We find a seat near the front and Swee’Pea and TheMonk sit down. I ask TheMonk to hold his sister’s hand and he does so dutifully. But it is clear that he is in awe of his surroundings and loves being on that bus. It is also clear that Swee’Pea feels just the opposite.

So Mommy and Daddy exit the bus while we watch Swee’Pea cry from afar. Soon, the bus is loaded up with 32 excited kids and one scared, crying kid and they are off.

Of course, I got in my car and followed the bus. You would too if this was the last think you saw when you exited the bus:

She sits with her feet inches from her face. The shoes that adorn her feet are sparkly and slightly larger than they should be. The laces are long and black and rest gently in her hand as she attempts to tie her shoes. I watch as she crosses the laces and begins to tie the first beginning knot. Already, I can tell she is not crossing it right and as she struggles to make the knot, I offer my assistance.

“Do you need help, Swee’Pea?” I ask.

“NO!” she says says loudly and firmly.

This is a tone that has played itself out many times dating back when she was 18 months old. I know better than to interrupt her intensity. I do, I know better. But I just can’t help it.

Swee’Pea tries again and, once again, she misses the first knot. She is now more than a little agitated.

“Swee,Pea,” I say. “Let me help you.”

“NO! I… Can… Do… it.” she says as she begins to force the laces together as if just pushing them together will result the perfect bow.

“But, Swee’Pea…” I begin.

“I… Don’t… Need… Your… Help… DAD…DY…” She stammers out.

“But…” I say, “It… kinda looks like… you do.”

And as I finish that sentence my words fade away into nothing as her eyes look up from the task at hand to meet mine. No words are exchanged but I can tell from her look that if I say one more thing, she’s going to shove that shoe lace straight up my nose. I decide to keep quiet.

After a few more tries and a few more *sighs* and *grunts*, however, she finally masters the bow and her shoe is nicely tied.

It’s at this point, after several minutes of fury and anger, she looks up at me and gives me the most angelic smile in history.

I pity her future husband.

He sits on the floor, one knee tucked under his chin, his gaze fixed intently on the camouflaged shoe on his left foot. The laces lie in his stubby little fingers as he carefully forms a loop with lace in his left hand. He’s talking to himself and I slowly inch closer to make out his words. As I get closer I hear him whispering to himself…

“Make a bunny ear. Go around the bunny ear. Push it through the hole. Pull both bunny ears tight…”

I watch as he struggles to pull it tight. This is the part that has troubled him since he started learning to tie his shoes five days earlier. But this time, rather than pull straight out, he pulls down and the bow tightens neatly in his grasp. At last, he has done it and he whips his head up with a grin brighter than the sun and exclaims, “DADDY! I DID IT! I TIED MY SHOE!!”

We make eye contact and my own smile matches his in his moment of accomplishment. And while we exchange high fives and I steal a kiss, I can’t help but wonder when the next milestone will be and how it will be another reminder that my baby boy is growing up. Too fast.