A week or so ago Jack and Jill happened to be upstairs when I was busy cleaning our bathroom off the master bedroom. I make my own cleaning solution, simply a mixture of dishwashing detergent, vinegar and water. The fumes from the vinegar, as Jill approached the shower stall that I was spraying with the solution, appeared to really upset her and she swiftly retreated back into the bedroom.

Since that time she's been loathe to enter the bathroom, but if impelled to by something too irresistible to deny, she'll overcome her reluctance. As, for example, when I step out of the shower, towelling my upper torso, leaving my legs lathered with water droplets until I can attend to my bottom half. Those wet legs represent an attraction they both wait for, to pounce on me as soon as I exit the shower, lapping the water from my legs, totally ignoring a water bowl set beside the bathtub.

When I enter the powder room adjacent our kitchen to brush my teeth, they're instantly alert to recognition that this is the place where the daily ritual of cleansing their eyes takes place, and they're anxious for the routine to begin, as they silently and expectantly watch my every move. The hair brushing takes place immediately afterward, when for a brief period they look almost presentable.

Whatever pains are taken to tame their unruly hair to make them less unkempt looking lasts as long as their manic assaults against one another, chasing each other through the house, stopping to wrestle and tussle, with snarls and baby barks accompanying the process. When we hear a particularly loud 'bump' and 'thump' we know someone has been toppled in the fury of their tussling. Though the family room is littered with toys and chewies, when one of them selects a chewing object the other finds it so desirable that none other will do, than to challenge the right of their twin to its ownership and then they tumble and race about as one or the other momentarily takes possession, teasing the other to mount an attack.

We no longer carry Jack downstairs in the morning, since he has gained the supreme confidence of full independence, while Jill still cowers at the top of the steps, running back up when we place her on a lower tread, speaking softly to entice her to follow us. For the time being we haul her downstairs, though she never hesitates to romp back upstairs when the mood takes her. Jack, no more than a few days ago, also feared the descent on his own and would wait for us to take him down.

That's progress, along with their recognition of what 'No!' means. They both used to chase the dry mop I use to dust the porcelain floors with, after breakfast. They no longer do that, though they're drawn to the spectacle of me moving the loopy mop around, as though enticing them with a game of tug-of-war. Now, they content themselves with scampering in front of the swooping mop, knowing they are not permitted to lunge at it and begin pulling the mop away from my control in all directions.