Twix



Twix tend to be a sore subject in my family’s house. It all started when Ali, Dan and I moved in with my parents. It wasn’t our first choice to move into their laundry room with our toddler but that period of rent-free living was just the financial boost we needed to move on and up. It was especially great for help with Ali. I was able to announce: “Hey I’m going to take a shower” and whoever was closest to Ali at the time was deemed responsible for her for the following 30 minutes. It was great.


One day Dan and I decided to treat ourselves to a king-size Twix. (I know, we can get pretty wild) I ate mine and Dan had one then hopped in the shower. When he came back to claim his last Twix, there was nothing there, just an empty wrapper sitting on the counter. Dan yelled: “Hey Kel did you seriously eat my Twix?”  “OF course not” I replied. After much interrogation we found that my younger bother Richard ate the Twix. He just saw an open candy bar on the counter, didn’t ask anyone who’s it was or if they were going to eat it, then scarfed it then left the wrapper – didn’t even throw it out.

Dan’s family is a bit more subdued than ours so the transition moving into my parent’s chaotic household was taking its toll. Also, he wasn’t used to this type of food hoarding that goes on in a house full of boys.  This Twix episode hit Dan pretty hard and he laid into Rich. Now, Richie thinks twice before he eats a Twix.

Fast forward to last month. My mother was begging me to come stay with her so she can help me with the twins. I’ve been hesitant since I have an arsenal of baby products here, but eventually I caved. I told her I would spend the night before an early doctors appointment. Worst. Mistake. Ever. Kendall cried from midnight to about 4am. My mother tried her best to soothe the baby so I could “sleep” but the only thing that kept Kendall mildly calm was my boob. So the 20 minutes I did sleep were sitting up on the couch holding a baby. It was a nightmare.

Of course when we “woke up” my mother was a complete zombie unable to help even dress Ali let alone accompany me to the doctors. My sanity was hanging by a thread. I was running on fumes and the fleeting hope of an afternoon nap when we packed all the girls in the car. We were about to disembark when no one could find my keys. My dad used the car the night before so naturally we all were asking him where they were. He had no idea. The girls were all screaming and Ali was shouting: “Go! You have to go! The babies are crying” I just sat in the front seat of the car trying to ignore the deafening screams from the backseat.

After 20 minutes there were still no keys. I decided it was best to call and reschedule my appointment because clearly I wasn’t getting there anytime soon. My dad continued to rip apart the house in a panic. He called each of my brothers asking them if they took them. No one fessed up. With my little sleep everyone was just waiting for me to fly off the handle. Instead I just sat there and stewed.  I knew my silence disturbed everyone more than any amount of yelling would. If I screamed at my dad at least he could scream back and release his stress. Instead he was running around the house like a mad man looking for these keys.

After 3 hours of this I called my husband to break the news that he was probably going to have to take the train to my parent’s house to give me the spare key. Sure my husband wasn’t too excited about it, but he heard the angry desperate tone in my voice. That was enough for him to keep his mouth shut.

At around 3pm I got a call from Rich … he had the keys … with him at work … in Brooklyn. Then he dropped the bigger bomb that he had no idea what time he would be getting out of work. Therefore, my husband still had to come get me either way. Thankfully Rich got out of work at a normal time and was able to get in touch with Dan moments before he boarded the train to Matawan. Did I mention that Richard doesn’t have a car? Yet somehow in the morning he thought to grab a set that was sitting on the counter. Not his finest moment.

Well a few weeks later Richard tried to apologize for the incident with a bag of fun sized Twix. It was a touching gesture except Rich tried to hide the bag in his room. Of course my dad found it, opened it, and took a handful. My dad then placed the bag so that the hole wasn’t visible. Only when Rich tried to give it to me did he see that someone broke into our stash.

So Rich apologized with an open, half-eaten bag of Twix. Gotta love his style.