I LOVE This Photographer!!!

O.k. -- I haven't used this site as an advertising forum before, but I have to tell everyone how much I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE our photographer, Lynsey Smith. She has the patience of Job and actually came prepared to tackle my gigantic brood (i.e., was smart enough to bring an assistant). Here is her website, and if you look under Portraits and Children, you'll see a few shots from our session. Believe me, once we actually saw the prints, we immediately turned around and ordered more for extended family and friends. Because who wouldn't want a picture of my babies, right? PLUS, they are actually affordable enough that I don't have to choose between photos or groceries...always a plus.

Bottom line, she has such a great personality and is sooo dedicated to making your session a great experience that I loved her before I even saw the first shot. The fact that the pictures were terrific was a huge bonus, though. So go out and hire her immediately and be sure to buy a humongous amount of pictures because she really deserves the business.

The First Step Is Admitting You Have A Problem

First off, a quick Jack update. We went to see our pediatrician today and were told "classic febrile seizure" and "nothing really to worry about" just alternate tylenol and motrin if we even think he might run a fever at some point in the near future. However, at the end of all that reassurance, he still threw in that we need to get a neurology consult sometime before the year is out just in case they might be able to reduce the frequency. We are definitely going to do that, but I have no intention of medicating unless there is absolutely NO other choice in the world. So it might be moot, but there you go.

He's still feverish but hilarious. Over dinner, I almost choked on my Crystal Light when he laboriously polished the table with his napkin, carefully used it to blot his mouth in the most fastidious fashion...then raised it to his nose and honked on it like there was no tomorrow. Life is good, and so is he. Thanks for all the concern.

Now...here's where the problem comes in. Yesterday, after receiving a clean bill of health at Children's Hospital, Jack and I went home, and he almost immediately fell into bed...exhausted but feverless. Our nanny pointed out that in my previous days shopping for the trips, I had failed to purchase any pajamas small enough for Will and he had absolutely none to wear that night. I decided to make a quick run to Gymboree and raid the Sale rack for a few more sets and did so in quite good time. The problem? Anthropology is just next door, and what with the extreme stress and the fact that I am considerably wardrobe challenged since the trips, I decided to just "peek in". A peek led to a quick feel followed by a brief romp to the dressing room. Long story short, I left with a new dress and jacket, and even took 10 minutes out on the way home to drop the dress off for alterations. Once I got home (where all 4 children were still sleeping happily) the guilt began to set in.

What kind of horrible mom would even CONSIDER shopping on such a day as yesterday...let alone take time out for freaking alterations!!! My only defense lies in the fact that my penchant for retail therapy has been well established during times of duress. I suppose I could be camped out in the bathroom quietly polishing off the cooking sherry, but at least I'd look like a better mom for staying home all day being hyper-vigilant. Instead, I'm escaping for an hour of pure selfishness every now and again. I imagine that there's a 12-step program for people like me. I'd join right away...only my fall wardrobe is even sadder than my summer wardrobe. And come to think of it, my winter and spring are all at least two sizes too big now. So I guess my "recovery" isn't looking too good until about this time next year. In the mean time, try not to judge me too harshly...at least not until you've seen my new dress and jacket. The are pretty fabulous.

Didn't Anyone Hear Me Say Uncle?

Sorry...too tired for a real post. Jack had another seizure today -- this one happened at school, so we got to ride in the ambulance again. Everything is o.k., although he seems to have a fever virus as I haven't been able to get him below 101 for most of the day. Pray we get over this hump soon and that his little brothers do not try these same tricks to get attention.

Speaking of little brothers...they turned 9 months old last week. Tom decided today was a good day to push himself into a sitting position (he's been sitting when we put him in that position for ages, just not getting there himself before now). Once he crossed that hurdle, he thought he might as well pull himself up to standing. Not bad for one day's work. Sam and Will refuse to be rushed into anything, and are currently letting Tom take most of the head bumps in the quest for greater mobility. Sam thinks the military crawl is a thing of beauty, and Will continues to roll to get whatever he can't browbeat me into handing him.

Quick anecdote...Tessa asked Jack a question yesterday, and he responded, "No." In disbelief she said, "What do you mean no?" "N-O, No!" he repeated. Guess he thought spelling it might help her understand better. The kid's a freakin' genius, I tell you!

Just Because

O.k., this picture just makes me laugh.















And here's a sweet one where everyone is dressed alike. I freakin' LOVE dressing them all alike. I know they'll eventually rebel, but until then, I'm going to ride it 'til the wheels fall off.

Uncle!!!

People assume that having infant triplets is just incredibly tough. Truthfully, it's not that bad. They're all fairly even-tempered and highly cooperative as long as there's either a spoon or a bottle in their mouth every four hours. They're even sleeping 12 hours a night now. In short, they are exactly like their big brother was only there's more of them. Please note the all important WAS in the previous sentence. As of right now, their big brother is actively trying to kill me. Either that, or he thinks I might be happier in a padded room. I'm not really sure which one is the most likely at this point.

Today, he alternated bouts of hysterical crying and clinging to my neck with high energy romps throughout the house that left nothing but mayhem and devastation behind. After numerous time outs and threats of spanking, I began to wonder if exorcism might be the next course of action. I finally caved and let him play on the screened porch for most of the afternoon. It was suffocatingly hot, but at least the screams abated for a while. He's now in bed -- recharging for tomorrow when (thank heaven) he goes to Mother's Day Out for the morning. They tell me he's incredibly well behaved and easy to deal with there. I think they put mood stabilizers in the juice boxes, but what do I know.

Even though things are quiet and peaceful for the time being, all I can think about is what life will be like a year from now. Then I'll have not one but FOUR children experiencing the psychotic break that apparently arrives with the second birthday. Heaven help me. Oh well, check out these faces. I should have known the price would be high for boys this cute. I'll just blog less and medicate more as the need arises.

Food...Glorious Food!!

See Jodi. See Jodi eat. See Jodi look more an more like the blueberry girl in Charlie and Chocolate Factory with every passing day. Who else out there eats their feelings? It wouldn't be so bad if I only ate when I was happy or sad, but pretty much any event from terrific to traumatic is best experienced with a little something to nibble on firmly in hand. At least that's my philosophy. I've just about given up on ever fitting into a size four and I'm currently shunning a lot of 8s that probably look a little better than the sixes I keep insisting fit me. I thought about a tummy tuck and lipo, but Jamie Lee Curtis said in some interview in some trashy gossip rag (like I read anything more high brow) that after she got lipo-ed, the weight just migrated to other places. That really has to suck for her. I sort of feel sorry for her, but then again...she got to be really hot for a lot of years before everything started falling apart. I was a lost cause in pre-school.

Anyway, instead of focusing on a planned campaign of diet and exercise, I found myself surfing the net for ethnic food. I came across this great new site with recipes that sound pretty darn good. Check out this one for Chicken Curry. It seems pretty easy, and even though I have the energy level of an underachieving slug, I might actually try this one some day. If you have any recipes for stuff that tastes good without requiring much effort on my part, please feel free to share. I think cooking is technically in my job description now that I'm a stay at home mom, but so far I've managed to dodge that bullet. However, in the interests of my waistline and the family budget, I really should try and do better. This is so typical of me -- New Year's resolutions in June. Better late than never, right?

Little Brown Jug

I've decided to be a bootlegger. I've chosen bootlegging because I need money and selling drugs is just way too scary. Why do something icky when according to The Dukes of Hazzard, bootlegging is a joyful pursuit that leads to meeting lots of interesting people and escaping from the law in new and exciting ways each week...preferably involving at least one impossible ramp jump with your souped up 1969 Dodge Charger that presumably came with your do-it-yourself still kit. Sign me up!

Jason keeps blowing all his income on feeding and housing our enormous brood. Not that I would have the kids go hungry just so I could get a pair of Jimmy Choos, but seriously, how cute are these sandals?















They're all I need to totally rock the Betsey Johnson pencil skirt I found for $25 at Parisian (how much is it going to suck when that turns into a Belk, by the way?). Also, lest you think one of my children went hungry, that $25 was birthday money and Betsey was worth every DIME!!! O.k. the one drawback is that it's an 8 and is a bit snug in the waist if the truth be told. However, I'm pretty sure that I've just been retaining a little water for the past few days (months) and it'll be loose in no time because I'm really, truly a size 6. At least I generally refuse to buy anything that says differently. But I'm also really shallow and love a designer label, so I made an exception for Betsey. In fact, I think I'm going to refer to my super cute new pencil skirt as Betsey from now on. Men name cars and body parts. I'm going to start naming my clothes -- at least the ones that make me feel special. Maybe it will spark some kind of jealous frenzy in my closet and all my clothes will start jockeying to see who can make me look best in hopes of gleaning their very own names.

Jeez, I'm starting to sound weird. Usually I try and keep these kinds of thoughts to myself. Maybe I should make a new rule that I'm not allowed to blog after 10 p.m. because I forget to edit out all the crazy bits when I'm tired. I suppose I'll stop virtually shopping as the pain of non-acquisition has become too much for me to bear. Let me know if you decide to run out and buy a pair of rock star shoes as I would like to be jealous of you specifically. In the meantime, I'll be in my garage working on perfecting a recipe for corn whiskey that will sell well in the burbs of Vestavia/Mountain Brook. Wish me luck!

Blogs You'll Like Almost as Well as Mine

If you're a scrapbooker -- which I'm not but vaguely wish I had the energy for -- this site Yellow Fence has the coolest Father's Day book I've ever seen. It's too late for this year, but Jason's birthday isn't for months yet, so there's still a chance I might overcome inertia and do something.

If you just want to laugh until you pee yourself, try Ashley's Closet, a site about shopping and apathy in suburbia. I'll add a language warning on this one.

We're Back!!!

Hey, guys! Thanks for finding us on blogspot again. Below are a few of the posts I've moved over from the Mac site, and I solemnly swear not to stray again (unless I can find someone to build me my own personal page which would be SO COOL!). Anyway, please leave a comment to let me know you've found the boys and me again.

Doggie Deathwatch

Let’s be honest. The only reason I’m not on medication right now is my personal standards for normal behavior are abysmally low. I sometimes yell at my husband. I often threaten to sell a cranky child to the next band of passing gypsies. And I may sometimes have a glass (or two) of wine with (instead of) dinner. In general, I can look at all the aforementioned behaviors, shrug and say, “I’ll do better tomorrow.” But events have taken a troublesome turn lately. I’ve started a death watch on my dog, Gus.

I bet you’re thinking, “No big deal. All pets have to go sometime.” And I agree. If Gus were 20 years old with bad hips it would be one thing. But he’s a perfectly healthy 7-year-old with no health concerns whatsoever. And yet I catch myself staring at him...trying to assess the earliest possible moment that he might kick the bucket. Without any assistance from me of course.

I should clarify...I don’t actually want to KILL my dog. If murder were on my mind, I would hustle off to the nearest pharmacy ASAP. I think I’m just anxious to stop picking dog hair off the babies’ clothes, bottles, pacifiers and mouths. Also, he has a tendency to roll in smelly, dead things. And there are occasional poop issues. Not that he isn’t house trained, but to put it delicately, I haven’t been able to make him understand that grass -- not the living room rug -- is meant to be used as doggie toilet paper.

What really disturbs me about my ghoulish pastime is that Gus is my little baby doggie. From six weeks on, he has rarely left my side. In our childless years, he made my arms less empty and was happy to be on the receiving end of all the love and affection I could lavish on my fuzzy pseudo-child. Then the unthinkable happened...I had REAL children. And I’m not ashamed to tell you -- although I SWORE it wouldn’t happen -- I love them more. And poor Gus gets the short end of the stick, the fuzzy end of the lolly pop, the broken bits of biter biscuit -- o.k. he gets pretty excited over that last part, but you get the point. I’ve gone from Doggie Mama to Grim Reaper in the blink of an eye.

I figure he’s got at least 10 years on him, by the way. Plenty of time for all four boys to get really attached before the inevitable happens. Maybe it’s not the hair or the smell or all the extra work. I wonder if it’s simply the dread of helping four small boys deal with the death of something they love. Maybe I’m simply hoping he’ll go sooner to make his passing less painful on their little hearts.

Nope. It’s definitely the hair. Seven years down...10 more to go. I wonder if it would be easier to just vacuum the dog instead of the floor? Seriously, I told you I needed medication!!!

What I Learned Today

With little boys, all the very best hugs and kisses tend to come with a side of ketchup and/or chocolate. Avoid wearing white, and keep plenty of Shout on hand.

Please Feed the Monkeys

Remember when we were kids and you could feed the monkeys popcorn, peanuts and your leftover hot dog? Pretty much anything went in those days and anyone showing up at the zoo could expect to share a meal with an exotic creature before going home. Those days may be long gone at the local zoo, but are happily alive and well at my house. Should you happen to drop by during feeding time (and I have no intention of broadcasting when that might be, lest you all start trying to avoid it) you can look forward to a chance at feeding one of four lively monkeys currently in residence. Don’t try protesting that baby food makes you gag. Baby food makes anyone over 12 months old violently ill. And if I can do it day in and day out, you can suffer through it at least once per visit.

The biggest monkey has a fairly undiscerning palate and will take a shot at most foods -- without much preference for color, taste or texture. This is probably why most anyone who has ventured into the playroom more than once almost immediately calls dibs on Big Monkey if it looks like a feeding is about to take place. He’s so easy to please that he was the only one who ate all the Beech Nut discontinued flavors I found on closeout at Publix. Before you start sending me hate mail, they weren’t old or filled with botulism...just flavors that were being discontinued because of a decided lag in popularity. Judging by the fact that the other two monkeys gagged and cried when I tried to make them eat it, I would have to say Beech Nut made a good business decision there. All in all, Big Monkey is a great choice if you’re new to the zoo and want to start slowly.

Bouncy Monkey, pictured above happily wearing most of his dinner, is a bit trickier and -- I must confess -- is consistently avoided by his Big Ape daddy who says a moving target with its tongue stuck out is too much for anyone to handle. On the upside, Bouncy Monkey will eat most foods offered. Also, if you pop in a Baby Einstein DVD it will distract Bouncy Monkey long enough for you to shove the majority of his food in before he resumes his impression of a rocking horse on amphetamines. Should you arrive at mealtime and find that Big Monkey has already been claimed, Bouncy Monkey is a good second choice.

Finally comes Picky Monkey. Picky Monkey finds meal times to be a little unsettling, and should you find yourself paired with Picky Monkey on your first visit, you might decide they’re downright traumatic. In addition to having issues with taste, texture and color (sweet foods only, no chunks and nothing green), Picky Monkey needs a calm, relaxing environment in order to maintain an even temperament during meals. This is why it is critical never to let Picky Monkey sit by Big Monkey at feeding time. As I mentioned before, Big Monkey has an almost evangelical zeal for his food. Sometimes he just gets so happy, he has to shout a “Hallelujah!” over his sweet potatoes, or a big fat “Amen!” after his strained ham. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just feeling good about being fed. Unfortunately, these random bouts of screeching tend to push Picky Monkey right off the deep end resulting in him crying hysterically while staring at Big Monkey like he’s the devil. At this point you have to halt the feeding process entirely and reassure Picky Monkey that Big Monkey is NOT the devil, and that no one is mad, and that no one is going to scream again, and would he please for the love of God eat his sweet, orange, not-in-the-least-bit-chunky food before we all die of old age.

Oh! I almost forgot about Cheeky Monkey!! Cheeky Monkey being a whopping two-and-a-half years old is in a much different league than his brothers. Before even trying to feed Big, Bouncy or Picky, you have to spend at least 20 minutes begging Cheeky Monkey to eat the turkey sandwich, cheese stick, chips and fruit cup you’ve prepared for him. The few bites you manage to coax him into will be thoroughly chewed, then spit back onto his Backyardigans plate that you naively thought would make him want to eat more. After you give up and move on to the Monkey triumvirate, Cheeky Monkey will experience a sudden surge in appetite forcing him to eat YOUR turkey sandwich, cheese stick, chips and fruit cup while you’re not looking. And that’s if you’re LUCKY. We won’t even discuss how he can put things in his mouth and return them to your plate seemingly as good as new -- leaving you to wonder if that chip you just put in your mouth was soggy from the leaky fruit cup or for some other, much more disgusting reason.

Now that you have some idea of what awaits you, we’re all looking forward to seeing you down here at the zoo. Remember, admission is free! So come on in and bring your friends!