So you do know that beta babies (those babies who grow up knowing their first and second beta numbers) are smarter than CPCBs (co-payment cost babies who aren't even acknowledged by ultrasound until the 8th week of life or something crazy like that). There's something in the sperm wash that creates brilliance. And adopted babies, forget about it. They're like brain surgeons by the time they're six--I don't even know what causes the phenomenon. I'm telling you--the children of SQs and SPJs are smarter than all those non-infertiles. With a few exceptions, but all of them are in my family or are the children of friends so...

Sorry.

Personally, if I didn't think it would completely stunt them socially and if they didn't need a nap smack in the middle of the afternoon, I would probably enroll the Wolvog and ChickieNob in a few courses in Quantum physics at Harvard. I think they're ready for college. They can identify all colours and shapes. My daughter lectures me in biology. My son knows how to work iTunes. What more do you need for college?

Oh...reading.

So I'm currently using the Bob Books to teach my children how to read. And I have to admit, I snickered a little when I opened the first book.


But then I stopped laughing when I discovered these books were like crack. Crack that makes you smart for Harvard. I would call "school time" and they would drop their toys and run for the sofa as if I had told them that I was going to let them mainline pixie sticks. They sat on either side of me, sounding out the words. Mat sat and Sam sat. And all was well in the world.

And how do I know that the books are crack and not knowledge itself? Because I tried to get them to use our magnet boards to practice "at" sounds and it was like trying to get lemurs to stop flinging their feces. And the second I dropped the activity and brought them back to the sofa for Bob time, they fell into their trance-like, drooling state. Mat sat. Sam sat. Mat sat on Sam. Drool. Drool.

Just to make sure that the Bob Books were really teaching reading and that the twins weren't reciting text they had memorized on the 80th read-through, I set the books aside for a few weeks. And I really missed Mat and Sam. I wasn't laughing now because I discovered that I was addicted. I missed my old friends, Mat and Sam. What were they doing? Having fun without me? Sitting on each other's laps?

And then they returned and all was well in the world again. Now I'm just freaked out about getting the next set in time. Two thumbs up from the drooling, brilliant, Harvard-bound beta babies.