One day a month or two later Bly said, "We don't want to go to school, I hope you know!"

"I'm your mom," I said, "and I love you. But you do have to go to school."

"Well, we don't want to!" Rowan huffed.

"Do you want to go back to Golden Years Montessori rather than Blake?"

"No way," Rowan answered.

"No," Bly said.

"So you like Blake?"

"We do," Bly said, "but home is better. You can stay home and watch us."

"The law says we must send you to school. If I don't send you to school, I might end up in jail."

"We hope you do go to jail," Bly said. "Then we can do what we want."

"I'll be sad in jail," I said.

"Too bad for you," Bly said. "You make us sad when you say we have to go to school, so too bad if you're sad."

"What will you boys eat when I'm in jail?"

"Whatever's on the shelves," Rowan said. "We don't need you, and we aren't fussy."

"You mean you'll eat tuna, and peas, and everything?"

"No, we'll eat candy," Bly said.

Would this conversation have taken place with two kids who were not the same age, with the same needs and desires? Would two other kids have felt the same unity of purpose, the same utter confidence that staying home alone, with Mom in jail, might work out just fine? I don't know. Being twins, they did not fear being without Mom as much as a single child might, and they were so relaxed in the world of creating and learning the two of them made together, they didn't want to spend as much time at school as a single child might. And when both were united in strong, assertive statement about their lives, it was hard to persuade them to change their minds.