AN: I wrote this story over a year ago and it was published at Illusive. Recently I've heard about a very similar story being posted here and I thought I should post mine too.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Argh"
I groan inside my warm cocoon of blankets and turn off the alarm clock. Then I wonder 'what am I doing awake at eight in the morning on a Saturday'. Two seconds two bodies jump into my bed and for sure I know the reason.
As I remove the comforter from over my head I hear their giggles. Once they can see me I lift my index finger to my lips as a signal for them to stay quiet until I adjust to being awake. Of course they ignore my suggestion as soon as they see my eyes open they launch the artillery.
"Mom, get up!"
I sit up and stare at the little blonde girl who just spoke and is now looking at me expectantly.
"Maybe she's not up yet, maybe she's a somnabelist like those people we saw on TV?" The little brunette girl whispers.
At that point I can't resist anymore so I grab each one of them with one arm and start tickling them.
Welcome to my life. I'm Rory Gilmore, journalist and mother of two. The two five year olds in my bed are Isabelle, Izzy and Sophia, Sophie, Huntzberger. Yes, that Huntzberger. People often don't believe they are twins. Even though their faces are pretty similar, Sophie's got brown eyes and wavy blond hair, gifts from Logan, and Izzy's got my eyes and hair. Their personalities are different as well it would appear that with hair and eyes mine and Logan's personalities were inherited as well. Therefore while Sophie is more like Logan, Izzy is more like me. Logan calls them Sugar & Spice. He says Izzy is so sweet she's got to be Sugar and Sophie is Spice because, well, he says she likes to spice things up in her own particular way. I wonder whom she got that from. I personally like to call them Heaven & Hell. Who's who? Well, that depends on the day.
I get up from the bed, with the girls following me close and go into the spacious kitchen. There we debate on our choice of pop tarts for the day and I put them in the toaster. I make some coffee for my self and two cups of chocolate milk for the girls. Amazingly neither of them likes coffee; I'm silently praying for this to be a weird face. We sit on the kitchen table and have breakfast while I'm forced to watch, well not really, Saturday morning cartoons. When we are finished I put the used cups and plates and glance at the microwave clock. 8:45 am. I have exactly forty-five minutes to get the girls dressed and pack before Logan comes to get them.
Oh the simple pleasures of shared custody.