There's two to wash, there's two to dry,  
There's two who argue, there's two who cry.  
One's in the mud having a ball,  
The other holds a crayon, another marked wall.  
Some days seem endless, my patience grows thin.  
Why was I chosen to be a mother of twins?  

The answer comes clear at the end of each day,  
As I tuck them in bed and to myself say,  
There's two to kiss, there's two to hug,  
And best of all, there's two to love!

(skrevet av: Ukjent)