The boys built their first ramp today. I’m so proud. I knew this day was coming because with my car-loving boys, everything comes down to cars.
Take noodle necklaces. Read More…
Have you pooped in the reeds? My son has. Today was Adventure Day, the day we set aside each month for one-on-one time with our sons. Today I had the first-born of my triplets and we went hiking around the lake. Hence the reeds. He’s three years old and can’t quite strategize his potty breaks. Hence the poop.
We didn’t start out tushie deep in nature, though. Read More…
I was flipping through photos, looking for something in particular, when these two photos happened to land side by side, stopping me cold. Then I laughed and laughed. They were taken almost two years apart. Wow, what a difference a couple of years can make.
I saw the Easter Bunny’s shadow when I was four years old. I’m totally serious. It was in the hallway, on the closet door. My memory of the image is perfect–it was tall and dark, it had two tall ears, it moved very quickly. It was the Easter Bunny himself. I’d know that profile anywhere. Read More…
This morning the first-born of my triplets told me his ear was hurting “jus a widdle bit.” Given our recent outbreak of ear infections, I was concerned. Dropping to eye level with him, I asked, “Why does your ear hurt, love?”
“Pwobwy because I put gwanola in it,” he replied.
Oh. Of course. Silly me for asking. Read More…
The funniest things pop out of peoples’ mouths when they hear that I have triplets. Just recently, a woman made a comment that summed up the Triplet Experience beautifully:
“TRIPLETS! How delightful—and just a tad terrifying.”
Amen to that.
Yes! It’s official: Three-year-olds can make you insane . . . and that’s okay.
A friend of mine has an almost four-year-old who is acting up. Plainly put, he is driving her batty. This boy was a model child all through his two’s and most of his three’s. Now he’s hell on wheels. What went wrong? she asked his pediatrician during a visit. Read More…
Two months ago, my trio had a group epiphany: They realized what it means to be three years old, they realized what it means to be boys, and they realized what it means to have a wrestling partner within an arm’s reach at any given moment. All of which means that I have realized what it means to be a wrestling referee . . . to contestants who don’t care about rules. Imagine the WWE’s Undertaker and Rey Mysterio, upon hearing the referee’s whistle, pausing their head locks just long enough to laugh in the ref’s face, cast her over the ropes, then resuming their human pretzel maneuvers. By the end of each day, I feel like I’m the one who has been pretzled. Read More…