They are teaching Jenna's daughters, Mila and Poppy, the ways of sisterhood, how anything is possible if you do it together. They can finish each other's sentences and each other's dinners. Jenna is the one who pushed Barbara to follow her dreams for better health for all and to start a nonprofit, Global Health Corps she is the one who believes her sister can do anything. When she heard ghostly noises in the White House, Jenna ran to get in bed with Barbara.īarbara was the one who got Jenna ready for her first date with her future husband, Henry she was the one who was there for the birth of both of Jenna's children. Any night at any house could become a slumber party, and often did. Though only Jenna lobbied me to allow her to get a perm. They have been partners in persuasion, right down to their relentless lobbying to get their ears pierced. They have been playmates, confidantes, cheerleaders, sounding boards, and dreamers. For their entire lives, Jenna and Barbara have had each other. As an only child, my greatest wish was for a sister or brother. What I have loved most is watching them grow together. I even loved their teenage years, although I'm not yearning to repeat them. I loved every stage of their growing up, from the time as preschoolers when they scared us half to death by playing on the rocks above the ocean in Maine, to their impromptu theatrical performances, to the hundreds of times they danced up and down the hallways in our Dallas ranch house. Both loved to use their imaginations, creating a cat family and a language of meowing that we found adorable and their grandparents found hard to understand. When we were selling our little town house, Jenna got on her tricycle and rode in tight circles around a prospective buyer's feet, pinning her to our concrete patio.īoth girls were eager explorers, making their way into every nook and cranny of our house, and then venturing down the sidewalk and around the block outside. Barbara was a collector, of rocks, leaves, and piles of Easter eggs. It took a few months of trial and error, but at last we adjusted to our twins and they began to adjust to the world. And it is not an exaggeration to say they cried all the time. George and I had little experience with babies, and suddenly we were heading home with two. Of course, with every wish comes the famous second phrase: Be careful what you wish for. Barbara arrived first, Jenna second, and from then on, George and I each had a baby to hold. Barbara and Jenna were named for each of our mothers. On November 25, 1981, our girls arrived, five weeks early, small and healthy, and feisty from the moment they were born. So when the doctor told George and me that we were having twins, my deepest wish was coming true. When I first learned I was going to be a mother, I pictured two babies in my mind.
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