Authnor's note: Hello there! A random little idea. I wanted to write something with the twins being young, but from their mother's perspective, and this is what happened haha. Enjoy!
The boys had only been six-years-old for a few months and they were already driving her mad. The faster they grew (and they grew like weeds) the more difficult they were to keep track of. It seemed that with their newfound age they were more rambunctious than ever.
Fortunately, Annabelle MacManus was used to dealing with her twin boys, no matter how hyper, filthy or mouthy they got.
The summer was easily their favorite season, and it was hers too; it meant she could let them run around in the field all day—keeping a watchful eye of course—as she got work done in the house. The only fault to this plan was the fact Connor and Murphy would run back to the house at her call as fast as they could, completely covered in dirt.
So it was that particular afternoon. She called them back in time to prevent the inevitable scuffle that broke out whenever they chose to play football together. Connor was the first to the stoop, and Murphy crashed into him, flashing Annabelle an apologetic smile after she arched an eyebrow at him. Both of the boys hugged her around the waist.
"What's for Lunch, Ma?" Connor asked.
"'Tis waitin' for you," Annabelle told him. They moved to run inside, but she snatched their collars. "You have to wash up first—I want all the dirt off your faces."
"Aye," the twins chorused.
To anyone else but Annabelle, they radiated innocence. Connor scurried off first, eyes eagerly wide. Murphy gave her another hug and she lightly swatted his behind to get him moving.
"Every speck of dirt, Murph."
Connor was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs and Annabelle sighed as she heard their little feet pounding up to the bathroom. She headed back to the kitchen to set up the pots and pans for dinner. The twins were back within ten minutes, the hardwood floors groaning with their arrival, and she was surprised by how well they'd cleaned themselves. She grabbed their hands and they each made a face as she checked for dirt under their nails.
"All right, eat up."
Annabelle kissed them both and they scurried away to sit at the kitchen table. She watched them eat their strawberries, kicking their legs where they sat, and realized how much she would miss them once they started school in the fall. She could have complained all she wanted about them running around at home, but she was going to miss the little hellions.
Even as Connor blatantly wiped his hands on his clean t-shirt.
Murphy looked back at her, cheeks bulging with food. Annabelle pursed her lips. He coughed, and for a moment she feared he was going to choke.
"Do we get a lesson today, Mama?" he asked.
She was relieved he'd swallowed his food. "Aye, of course. And for God's sake, don't put the whole damn berry in your mouth!"
Embarrassed, he sank down into his seat and continued picking at the fruit in his bowl. Strawberries were the only fruit Murphy would eat with the seeds still in them, though he would attempt to pick them out when he could. Connor grinned back at him and stuck his tongue out between his teeth. Annabelle sighed again, this time almost sadly; he looked just like his father with that grin. She shook her head, as if to clear it.
To teach the boys anything, they had to be busy (hence the food). Connor, especially, hated to sit still for longer than twenty minutes. The only way she got them to sit through church was with the promise of sweets when they got home, and even then she still had problems with them. She wondered how long it would take for the teachers to send them home packing.
Annabelle headed into the pantry, leaving the door open behind her so she could still see them. She pulled the string to turn on the bulb and reached for the sack of potatoes in the corner.
"Connor?"
"What, Mama?" His voice was garbled with juice and most likely too many pieces of fruit.
"How do you say "Strawberry" in French?"
She looked over her shoulder and saw him scowling at her. Murphy smiled as he chewed, kicking his legs.
"Ma, I don't like French," he whined, managing to swallow all the fruit in his mouth. He almost wiped on his shirt again but remembered the napkin at the last minute. "Why can't Murphy have French today?"
Annabelle came back into the kitchen dragging the sack with her, carrying an assortment of items balanced on her arm. "Murphy doesn't struggle with it and you do. How do you say "Strawberry," Connor?"
He made a face, wrinkling his nose. "Fraise."
"That's right." Annabelle smiled as she set all the items on the counter. "And in Spanish, Murph?"
The boy looked smugly back at his twin brother, blue eyes narrowed under his messy bangs. "Fresa."
"Very good. See how they're similar, Connor?"
"Aye…" he huffed, sliding down from his chair.
He passed her his yellow bowl and she put it in the sink, running water over the pot of potatoes. Connor wiped his hands on his napkin and threw it away. Annabelle laid a comforting hand on his head, stroking his untidy hair.
"French and Spanish are like you and Murphy, Love. They look very different at first glance, but they come from the same family."
Connor appeared to understand, though he was still annoyed. "But why is French so hard?"
Annabelle shook her head. "It's only hard if you make it so." She gently pushed Connor aside to stand on his stool by the sink. She passed him the peeler and handed him one of the potatoes. "Now what's that?'
"A potato." He realized his mistake and grinned sheepishly. "I mean pomme de terre."
Annabelle arched an eyebrow. "And what else does pomme mean?"
"Apple."
She grinned and lovingly tugged on his ear. "Very nice. Was that so hard?"
He shook his head, frowning in concentration as he peeled the potato. A tug came on Annabelle's blouse and Murphy was standing to her right, holding up his empty blue bowl. He grinned and she could see strings of fruit left in his teeth. She brushed the bangs from his eyes, knowing his hair was getting too long and shaggy for her liking. She'd have to find a way to negotiate a cut before school started.
"Potatoes are papas," he said, hopping on to his stool beside Connor's.
His brother shot him a look. Annabelle knew Connor understood Spanish much easier than French and could pronounce it better as well, but she wanted him to get the basics of French down first. He struggled to make most of the vowel sounds, but she wasn't worried about that. What mattered was he understood.
Murphy took well to French and Spanish; he was a faster learner but made more mistakes. Connor was the one who took his time, trying to get it right first off. He'd inherited that side of her personality and it amused her more than it troubled her.
Annabelle had them recite numbers up to twenty, first in French and then in Spanish as they peeled potatoes. She helped them with the colors, especially the French ones, though she was happy they were starting to recognize the similarities between the words. They knew simple phrases as well, though the problem with getting them to speak was setting their minds to it.
"Murphy, tell me…how do you say "Ma cooks potatoes for dinner?""
He was unenthused. "All of that?"
Annabelle nodded. Murphy looked thoughtful, biting his lower lip. In front of him, Connor plopped a skinned potato into the pot of water and heaved his attention-getting sigh. Murphy frowned.
"Ma…cocinas cena…?"
"Don't forget "the,"" she reminded him.
"It's la cena!" Connor blurted.
Annabelle thumped him lightly on the head and he squeaked. "I was only tryin' to help!"
"Let him get it on his own." She turned back to Murphy, cupping his little chin in her hand. "You've got it all in your head, now. Just put it all together."
He sighed. "Ma…cocinas papas…para la cena."
Annabelle clapped her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "There we go! You just have to wring it out of that sponge of a brain of yours!"
Murphy laughed. Connor rolled his eyes, bouncing impatiently on his stool as the potatoes boiled. Annabelle stirred them and raised her eyebrows, knowing what Connor wanted, given the chance. Sure enough, he asked,
"Can't we mash 'em, Ma? Please?"
She looked into his blue eyes, hopeful and eager. "En français?"
He heaved a sigh. "S'il vous plait?"
"Yeah!" Murphy spoke up, bouncing as his brother had. "Por favor?"
Annabelle smiled to herself. She gently pushed them away from the sink as she poured out the hot water, leaving the soft potatoes inside. Connor and Murphy waited. Their mother calmly reached into the nearest drawer and held out the potato masher.
"Be careful, you little monsters."
Connor was the first to snatch the masher from her hand. Murphy jumped up on the stool beside him and together they mercilessly mashed the potatoes. Their giggles filled the kitchen and Annabelle smiled, shaking her head. She separated them after awhile; any longer and they would have mashed potatoes all over the kitchen.
The boys stepped back and licked their fingers clean, watching as she added the rest of the ingredients and stirred everything together. She left it to simmer and turned back to the twins, grabbing a towel from the nearby drawer. She ran it briefly under the sink and snatched Murphy to wipe his face and hands clean. She scrubbed Connor's hair as he spoke.
"Ma?"
"Hmm?" She wiped more mashed potatoes from his cheeks, and he made a face. "Why do we have to learn Spanish and French?"
Annabelle took a moment, still scrubbing. Murphy leaned against her as she cleaned Connor's face, surprised at how much he'd gotten on him.
"Hopefully you'll know it well enough to start on other languages," she told them, "But that won't be for awhile."
"But why do we have to?" Murphy wanted to know.
Annabelle sighed. She looked between him and Murphy, faltering under those bright blue eyes of theirs.
"Well…you need to know that there are other places outside of home, outside of Ireland, even."
Connor frowned slightly. "But we know that, Ma. You've read to us and shown us pictures. And we've seen it on TV at Uncle Sibeal's."
"Aye," Annabelle said with a nod. "And when you go to those places, I want you to be able to understand that people are different. But that doesn't mean you can't make friends, even if you don't speak the same language."
She gently squeezed their cheeks and fixed them with a smile. Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance before looking back at her.
"It's a powerful thing, language, almost as powerful as your family name, or love, or God's will."
The boys looked thoroughly surprised. "Really?"
Annabelle nodded. "Of course. And that's why you should learn as many languages as your little brains can take. Though Spanish and French should be enough for now." She hugged them and kissed their cheeks. "On to dinner, boys."
"Ma?"
It was Murphy this time. She pulled away from them and tousled his hair.
"What is it, Love?"
He grinned. "I'm better at it than Connor, aren't I?"
"You are not!" Connor hollered.
He slugged him and Murphy slugged him back. Before she knew it, full-fledged fight broke out in her kitchen and Annabelle couldn't help laughing as she pried her twin boys apart. Connor howled about something being unfair and Murphy fell into laugher at his high-pitched whining. Annabelle picked him up under one arm and Connor under the other, heading from the kitchen to the living room.
Nothing was ever so simple for her boys.