I've never claimed to fully understand my children.  I knew, with them being twins, that they would likely have a special bond, oftentimes absorbed in their own special world, speaking their own special language.  And, as expected, that is the case.  They've had a special connection even since they were babies.  The day they both could crawl, they took off down the hall on their own little adventure, giggles abounding.  As they've gotten older, their special bubble has grown to encompass imaginary play involving cats in the attic, cooking food in their "Old McDonald's", using bobby pins to unlock their doors at "work", and running through the house pretending they are being chased by a monster, at times one of them playing the role of said monster.  One part of their play that stands out more than the others, though, is them calling one another "Lydia".  It started months ago, I can't even remember the exact moment.  But for quite some time now, I'll hear them playing or watch them racing through the house saying, "Come here, Lydia!  Hurry or the monster is going to get you!"  Or, "I said come here, Lydia.  You need to mind or your mommy is going to give you a spankin'!"  And, "Where are you, Lydia?  We need to get ready to go to the store."  I know they aren't referring to an imaginary friend because they are always referring to one another.  As far as the name is concerned, I have two explanations.  1.) Their Grana –my stepmom—is named Lydia.  We've always tried to refer to grandparents as their assigned name, especially when the girls were younger and they were still learning.  As the girls got older, if we slipped and I called Daddy, Jeff, Cadie would give me a stern look and say, "Don't say Jeff, say Da-ddy."  There must have been a few instances the girls heard Grana referred to as Lydia, because they quickly learned that was her "real" name.  2.)  The girls have a cousin named Lydia.  I'm more inclined to go with the former rather than the latter because they have only spent time with their cousin on two or three occasions and it's been almost two years.  I think they must have latched onto Lydia's name because they rarely hear anyone refer to their Grandma –Jeff's mom—or Nana –my mom- by their first names.  So, it all comes down to this.  I blame Poppy –my dad—because he's terrible with names.  He oftentimes refers to Lydia by her first name and even went through a stint of calling her "Granny" (which she loved...).  Madeline even took to calling her Granny, with a glint of mischief in her eye.  Regardless, though, of what name they call one another, I always smile and chuckle because I cherish the bond they have with one another; it's a special one.

Cadie has always been a good sleeper.  When she was a baby, hers was not the crib I was planted next to, constantly reassuring that I was there and that sleep was, in fact, imminent.  That was Madeline.  As she's grown, Cadie has always been a good napper, somehow managing to fall asleep despite her sister lying in the next bed, talking to her hands, singing songs, and doing everything imaginable to keep from falling asleep.  She never even gave us trouble at bedtime.  A few months back, though, that all changed.

It began innocently enough during our bedtime ritual when Cadie requested that we leave the closet door cracked, allowing the light to spill into their room.  Then, the door to their bedroom had to be left open a certain amount or hysterical cries would ensue.  The fear seemed to escalate every night.  Jeff and I did everything in our power to soothe her.  I knew, though, that we weren't dealing with silly childhood fears when one night I could see the inconsolable fear in her eyes.  She was genuinely scared and nothing I tried could soothe her.

That night,  Cadie confessed she was worried about someone coming in to her room.  I assured her over and over that she was safe in her room, no one was trying to come in, and that Mommy and Daddy would never let anyone hurt her.  It consoled her for a few seconds, but soon the tears and cries of fear erupted once again.  The severity varied, but it all culminated one night when she simply could not be consoled.  I sat with her; Jeff sat with her; I turned her closet light on; we brought her into our bed; we put her back in bed; we brought her back to our bed; and it went on and on.  I tried to be patient, but after 3+ hours of being up with her in the middle of the night, my patience and sympathy were wearing thin.  What eventually consoled her?  Strangely enough, she asked to sleep with her jacket.  That's right.  Her jacket.  As weary and sleep-deprived as I was, I didn't ask.  She curled up with that jacket, and after slightly opening her eyes a couple of times to reassure herself that no one was coming to get her, she finally dozed off to sleep. 

For the next few months, similar problems crept up here and there, but none quite as dramatic as that first time.  She developed a fear of bugs invading her room.  It's a fear I haven't been able to quite figure out as Cadie is an animal lover, insects included.  During the comfort of day, Cadie's never met a bug she didn't like (except spiders...Mommy's taught her to get those nasty spiders).  But something about her bedroom at night releases a newfound phobia of bugs.  I've assured her over and over that there are no bugs in her room.  She claims to see them, though I see no phantom bugs anywhere.  Usually, as long as I assure her over and over that there are, in fact, no bugs in her room, she eventually nods off to sleep and is restful the rest of the night.

Last night, as part of our bedtime routine, we flipped to August 16th in their "Devotions for Preschoolers" book to read the day's devotion and Bible verse.  It read:

"Look at the animals sleeping.  What do you suppose they are thinking about?  What do you think about at night when it's dark?  Do you try to remember that God is right there with you?  At night, when the lights go out, you can think about God.  You can imagine him in heaven looking down at you while you are sleeping your bed.  Thinking about God will help you feel peaceful and safe.  Then you can have happy dreams!"

I never know what the day's devotion will bring, but I saw this as the perfect opportunity to address Cadie's fears, especially when I noticed her beginning to tear up as I read through the paragraph.  I did my best to explain to her that when she is scared at night, she can think about God up in heaven and ask Him to make her feel safe and protected.  She looked at me a tad puzzled and asked why God was in heaven.  I explained to her that God is up in heaven so He can watch over us.  She looked up to the ceiling, then asked where heaven was.  I described heaven as a place up in the sky, far above the clouds, above where birds and planes fly, where Jesus sits at God's right hand side, watching over us.  She accepted that then asked when she would get to go to heaven.  I paused, trying to think of a delicate way to explain.  Before I could even begin my explanation, though, she answered herself.  She said, "Do you go to heaven when you fall asleep and decide not to wake up again?"  I froze in shock, then glanced over at Jeff, a questioned look on my face, I'm sure.  We've never broached the subject of death with the girls.  It hasn't been necessary so far, and I was worried that it would only give Cadie more nightmares.  I'm not sure where she got her explanation, but I was impressed with it's reasonable maturity for her age.  Part of me was relieved that she seems to have a fair understanding of death, and one that doesn't appear to include fear.  It's difficult trying to explain non-tangibles like death and heaven, but Cadie seems to have an appropriate grasp, at least for her age.  I still haven't figured out exactly how I feel about the moment, but I know it was a special one.  I don't know that I'll ever forget looking at her tear-stained face, fresh tears of my own silently gliding down my cheeks, and holding her close to me, doing my best to explain the merciful love of God.

In so many ways, Cadie is mature beyond her years.  She's the first to give up her toy to avoid the fight she knows will soon follow.  She's the sensitive little girl who cries at the end of Bolt, worried that the rescuers won't save Penny and Bolt in time.  She's happy to share her food/toy/love with anyone who's willing to accept.  She's the one who has always taken prayers so seriously because she knows she's talking to God. My mom always described me as an old soul as a child, and I can't help but see a lot of that in Cadie.