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“As Easy As 123?” – An Audio Documentary

5 Jun

Yesterday I made reference to a documentary project about having and raising triplets that contains an interview with me and, with the producer’s permission, I’m posting it below.

It was produced by Andrew Parkinson (a triplet dad himself) through the University of Sussex in England and, frankly, I think it’s great. The material that has specifically to do with Tips On Triplets / our family begins at around 21:40, but the whole thing really is worth a listen.

(Also, be aware of some frank language in parts, as this is the uncensored version of the production.)

Thanks, Andrew.

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Where The Fire Began

4 Jun

Last night I dreamed of a fire. I don’t remember everything about the context, but I was outdoors and it seemed to be a fire that sprang up quickly. And it’s hard to say how, but I knew it was a fire covering the whole world.

People were running, shouting “This is it! This is the end!” And a sort of Clint Howard-looking guy pointed to a very specific spot near a tree line that was consumed in flames and said “There! That’s where the fire began, so that’s where it’ll burn out first! It’s our only chance! Go to where the fire began!”

And, listen, I’m the last guy to pull faux-inspirational instruction out of dream logic, but today is a day for trying to make sense out of the senseless, so I guess I’ll follow Clint’s advice.

Today is my boys’ second birthday.

Honest, it was never my intention to turn this blog into an annual affair, but that’s sort of how it worked out. I was interviewed for a documentary project about triplets a couple of months ago and the interviewer asked if I regret writing this blog, what with how things ended and all.  I told him no, I really don’t, because it’s the best chronicle I have of what it was like to anticipate them, to meet them and lose them.  It’s the piece of my sons that’s still out in the world, meeting new people from time to time and occasionally peeping their heads out on page five of a Google search or wedged between pictures of other babies on a Facebook news feed.

In the early days of grief, I spent a lot of time wondering how Future Me would feel about all of this.  Painful as it was, one of my biggest fears was that the pain would go away.  It makes sense, I suppose.  Pain defined my short time with them and if that disappears, well, does that mean they go away too?

But pain is still there.  I have more of a choice than I used to, I guess, about when and how I access it.  I’m of an age where my friends tend to be wrapping up their baby-having and are focused more on child-raising and it’s inevitable: there are lots of stories.  From potty training to homework trouble, there’s an inexhaustible stream of precious moments and with every story, I’m making choices.  Other grieving parents will know what I mean.  We make choices about how deep to let it cut us, whether we’ll be happy for you or bitter for us.  The thing is, by and large, we want you to have your good life and your beautiful children. For the most part, it makes us glad to see things going well, particularly if you love your kids and you’re doing your best to do right by them.  But understand that “happy-for-you” is sometimes a choice and it’s not always a natural one.

Anyhow, that’s a digression.  If today’s theme is Going To Where The Fire Began, it’s easy to see that the fire began in our little hospital room.

A year ago today we made the mistake of… eh.  We made the choice, put it that way, of visiting the hospital to bring hellos and flowers to some of the staff that had helped us in our darkest time. And I guess it sort of caught us by surprise because, after an absent left turn or two we realized we were standing right outside of our old room.

And like a wrecking ball, it came back, too much, all at once.

I’m guilty of romanticizing our small hours with our boys when the truth is it was the opposite of romantic. It was tears and confusion and hesitation.  It was pain and it was awkward fumbling with rushed eulogizing and shaky cell phone pictures, trying to figure out whether or not it was appropriate to wear a smile while posing.

And while the memories I have of our morning with our boys are maybe the most precious memories I have, I feel the need to be honest about it.  Truthfully, in those moments, more than anything, I remember wanting it to be over.

I wanted to be anywhere but there, doing anything but that.  I’m ashamed and embarrassed to say it because it’s so contrary to the sort of man I want to be, but looking at my wife’s anguish, watching Desmond and Oscar trying to grab air into their little pecan lungs that weren’t quite strong enough… I just wanted the pain to stop.  I knew I should be cherishing the time, but instead I wanted to be designing a web site or playing Angry Birds or driving to the grocery store.  I wanted to be at my boys’ memorial, remembering this time instead of right there, right then, actually living it.

I wanted no more pain for Carey, no more pain for Rudyard, Desmond or Oscar.  No more pain for me.

And now I look back at it and I hate how I remember feeling almost as much as I hate what happened.

Anyhow, that’s what I live with.  I wish it were prettier.  The fire began in other places too.  Our living room where Carey’s water broke.  Our room where the doctor gave us the odds.  In the bassinet where we said goodbye to them the morning following their birth.

But this year, two years into grief, if I’m grateful for something, it’s that the pain is still there.  It hurts because it should hurt.  And whatever stupid thing I felt in that little room in those moments, my pain today, right now, reminds me that I love them.

If you’re a reader of this blog and have been waiting a year for an update, thank you for your patience. Particularly if you’ve left a comment or offered love or encouragement to our family over the past couple of years, I can’t tell you what it means to us.  Our story is our boys and our boys is our story.  Following along with us makes all the difference.

Birthday

4 Jun

Today is (well, would’ve been) (well, is) the boys’ birthday. A year ago today, we met them and lost them.

I think nearly every parent of a dead child has the same epiphany about the anniversary of their child’s birth and/or death: let’s do what we can to associate the day with something positive. Let’s, I don’t know, have a party or take a trip or open up that champagne we’ve been saving. We’ll toast/sing/pray/light a candle/release a balloon/plant a garden/buy a puppy/recite a stirring passage from Whitman. It’ll be a day we’ll actually look forward to someday. We’ll flip it. We can do that, can’t we?

Sure.

And we’re doing some of those things. Not really because we want to turn the day into something cool or happy and not really because we want to make ourselves feel better. I suppose I don’t really know why we’re doing it. Maybe because we have to do something.

It’s hard to know how to describe the past year. 12 months later and I’m still trying to figure out what grief is, how it works, how to do it correctly. Frankly, I felt like I was better at it in the weeks immediately following than I am now. When those certain moments come, the Red Moments I call them, when they hit like a cinder block to the chest, there’s really not much to be done. Breathing exercises, hasty trips to the stalls in the office men’s room, mini mantras… they don’t really help as much as they should. You sort of have to wait them out. I thought I’d eventually get used to the Red Moments, that they’d hurt less and less as time goes by, but it doesn’t work that way. I suppose they come a little less often, which is something, but the bite is still strong as ever.

“I miss my boys,” I say often. Usually it’s when I’m alone in the car or maybe just into my hand, under my breath at work. Or the shower. I say it a lot in the shower.

And it’s not just ‘The Boys’ I miss, as if they’re one kid with three heads. It’ll be a different son on different days. I had a lot of Oscar days in the beginning. Then, for awhile, it was Rudyard almost nonstop. Only in recent months has my focus gone most often to Desmond. I don’t know why, I’m sure there’s some sort of science to this, but I’m not privy.

And you’d think, a year in, I’d quit making mental plans with them. “I can’t wait until the boys are old enough for Shel Silverstein.” “I wonder when I should start thinking about parental control stuff for our internet.” And then: “oh, right.”

Carey and I have met a lot of grieving people and we’ve both, at this point, been exposed to a truly formidable assortment of grief strategies. For example, when I hear someone refer to our kids as “Angel Babies”, I don’t know. It’s usually fine and I know that sort of thing helps a lot of people, but I sometimes can’t stop myself from wanting to drive my car through the wall of a Pizza Hut.

“Does it help to know they’re with God?” Not as much as you’d think.

“Are you trying for more?” Not at the moment, no.

“You do know that, in the short time you were with them, you were a wonderful father, right?”

No. I guess I don’t know that.

But, a year later, I just mostly want to talk to them without feeling like a fucking lunatic. If there was one thing my old man was never short on, it was advice. And is it so ridiculous that I really want to be able to do the same thing? That’s a man’s right, isn’t it?

Well, boys, for your birthday, that’s what I think I’d like to give you. Trust me, I’d rather this were something more along the lines of Tonka Trucks or clever T-shirts, but it is what it is. I realize this has much more to do with my own neediness and very little to do with your edification, but, today only, I’m not going to sweat it.

So here it is. Words of wisdom from your old, broken dad.

A Few Things I Wish I Could’ve Said

Rudyard:

When I was growing up, my own dad was full of advice for me and I didn’t always want to hear it. He seemed to have ideas on how I should be doing just about everything, from the sort of language I used to how I spent my Saturday afternoons.

But there was one piece of advice your granddad always gave me that’s stayed with me the most. Maybe it’s what he said most often or maybe I’m only remembering it that way. Anyhow, I’d mention something about being pushed around or ridiculed by the other kids. Or he’d overhear me repeating something vulgar or telling a particularly tasteless joke. His response was almost always the same:

“Son, rise above it.”

There were times that I hated “rise above it”, but I couldn’t deny it was a good thing for me to hear.

Rudyard, there are things you can’t really change about yourself, however much you might want it and one of those things, I’m proud to say, is that you’re a leader. I know it’s hard for you to remember, but kids look to other kids when they’re trying to decide who they are and how to act. They’re looking around for someone to imitate, someone who’s in on some sort of life secret. And you may not realize it, but other people your age, your brothers included, are looking to you.

You won’t always want to be an example, but those are the breaks, bud. I wish I could tell you that you get to coast sometimes, but that’s just not how it works. And, fair warning, there’ll be times when you’ll want to use your powers for temporary popularity. You’ll be tempted to reduce yourself for an easy laugh or a fast friend.

But remember who you are, what you’re about. Pettiness and cruelty: rise above it. The easy way out: rise above it.

Keep in mind that you have a family who loves you, who wants to see you become the best version of yourself. But mostly, remember that when you do mess up (and you will), I’m always proud of you.

Love you, Rudyard. Deep breaths, you’ll be fine.

Dad


Desmond:

When I first met your mother, there were two things I noticed: first, she was a very, very pretty lady. Second, I could tell right away that she was the most big-hearted individual I’d ever encountered.

It’s not so easy being the way she is, but you already know that. To a truly big-hearted, compassionate soul, the world can start to look awfully mean and cynical. Others don’t always understand why it’s so important for you to go to such ridiculous lengths to help those who can’t help themselves. They’d rather you were more like them: head down, unquestioning, self-serving, status quo.

But Des, the world doesn’t really work without people like you and your mom. It’s very difficult to be the person who stands up for others, who reminds us that it’s better to be selfless and good. It’s tempting to trade in your compassion for something quick and easy and fun. But there’s a tiny voice in the back of your brain telling you The Truth, no matter how loud the world gets. “Be kind,” it’s saying. And maybe that’s all it’ll ever say.

Don’t ever let anyone convince you that compassion and understanding are weaknesses. In fact, it takes more courage than just about anything. And it doesn’t stop when you’re a grown-up. Everyone everywhere will seem to have all sorts of reasons why compassion is silly or naive or inefficient or even intolerant. Don’t ever believe it.

You’re true blue, my big-hearted boy.

Your family loves you. Your dad, no matter what, is always proud of you.

Love you, Desmond.

Dad


Oscar:

Like you, I was not a very big guy growing up and I remember: it’s frustrating. You have people twice your size and half your intelligence making your life extremely difficult. And there are days when it seems like it’s never going to end. But also like you, I had something that most of the other kids didn’t. It was equal parts blessing and curse, but I decided early on to become very clever.

It’s fun being quick with a comeback. That bruise on your arm from the bully in your class will heal in a few days and, I know, it hurts. But the wisecrack you fired back at him about his crooked teeth? That’ll stay with him for years.

The fact is, Oz, you have to be careful with people. It’s often the little guy with the big brain that winds up intimidating everyone. Believe it or not, bullies bully because they’re scared. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but you’ll have to trust me on this. On the inside, bullies are smaller than everyone, so they tend to puff out their chests, ball up their fists and try their best to destroy everyone around them because they’ll do anything to keep people from discovering their secret.

You’ll be tempted to cut these fellows down to size, to expose them, to make them cry with your clever remarks and your sarcasm. And, okay, sometimes they should cry a little. But whether it’s them bullying you with their fists or you bullying them with your words, well, what’s difference?

You’re going to find, my man, that being funny is one of the best things in the world. It’s a gift and, just like Spider-Man, with great power comes great responsibility. Being able to make someone laugh means that, every so often, you get to be the right guy at the right time who makes someone feel good instead of feeling awful. Isn’t that the perfect sort of person to be?

I know your brothers are bigger than you, Oscar, so this will probably sound a little strange: but go easy on them. You’re able to say and do things that they can’t. You can think of things they’ll never consider. Use your powers for good.

Make us all laugh, guy. You’re good at it.

Your family loves you. Your dad is so, so proud of you.

Hang in there. Love you, Oz.

Dad

Anyway, if you’re reading this, thanks for indulging a brief dad and his ramblings on a particularly difficult day. Your grace and understanding is appreciated.

And Happy Birthday, my boys. Your dad misses you terribly.

Heaven for Beginners

7 Sep

While Carey was pregnant, I began writing an essay about my ideas on Heaven.  If you know me, you won’t be surprised that it has little to do with clouds and harps and (as Schwyzen puts it) chucking Hosanna-propelled crowns at the resurrected Christ.  Heaven, for me, was easiest to think about using geometric concepts and maybe a quantum mechanic thrown in here and there.

It’s been just over three months since the boys left us and these ideas are more precious to me than ever.  People have asked me about where I think they are and whether they’re able to see me and hear me.  “I think they can,” I tell them.  “In fact, I think they can see and hear everything.”  My wife has asked me if I think they miss us as much as we miss them and I told her I didn’t think so because I think we’re with them.

Anyhow, thanks for reading.  I’m still deciding how to use this space.

Dissent/discussion welcome.

HEAVEN FOR BEGINNERS

1 (Line)

To understand One, grab a pencil and draw the number one itself, which is to say, draw a line. It can be as long or as short as you like. One has no depth or thickness, only length. It’s a single axis, a way to describe point A’s relationship to point B.

That’s really all there is to say about One.

2 (Plane)

Two is a plane, a flat surface. It’s circles and squares, length and width. It’s the Mona Lisa or a page of Brahms’ Cello Sonata in F.

But Two has no depth, so if you want a Two representation of your own life, they best you can do is a photograph. For example, take a look at that snapshot of you from Heather’s wedding. Beautiful reception and everyone remembers that gorgeous flower arrangement at the head table. But what kind of flowers were they? The photograph isn’t telling because your shoulder’s in the way. Turn the photo over if you want, look underneath it, or zoom in on the image as hard as you can, lose yourself in the grain of the pixel blur… you’ll still never know. The information, like the photo itself, is flat.

Color, shape, length, width.

That’s Two.

3 (Depth)

Three is length plus width plus depth; the x, y and z axes. If Two is a circle, Three is a sphere. 2D is area, 3D is volume.

We live in a Three world and it’s here we can crane our necks and see over your shoulder and, yes, chrysanthemums.

Perspective, thickness, dimension, atmosphere. Board a ship, sail around the planet, end where you began.

Three.

4 (Time)

Ask a friend to locate the Eiffel Tower on a world map. If they’re reasonably educated, they’ll find Europe, then France, then Paris. “There.”

Maybe they’ll give you precise coordinates, latitude and longitude, distance above sea level. It’s conceivable they’ll tell you how far it is from the Earth’s core or the nearest tip of the Crab Nebula.

Now ask them to locate The Olympics.

Four is when.

We may be living in a Three world, but we’re coasting through a Four reality, one moment at a time, so casually and consistently that we forget what a marvel it really is, like fish who only know Wet.

We exist on an earth that’s hurtling around our sun at a breakneck 18 miles per second, which is attached to a solar system traveling even faster. “Where” changes so fast and so often that the concept itself is borderline useless if we don’t couple it with “when”.

We die, then we make babies together, then we fall in love, then we’re born, then we’re married, then we meet. (Not necessarily in that order.)

Three is space. Four is time.

Onward.

5 (AllNow)

If you could step outside your own body and observe your activity for one day, it may or may not be all that remarkable, but imagine consolidating all your comings and goings into a single, 3 dimensional, long-exposure image. A you-shaped blur that begins in your bed, curls into the shower, the kitchen, your car, into your workplace, eventually snaking back into your home, and ending in bed. Depending on your routine, that single you-caterpillar would likely stretch for miles, if straightened out end-to-end, a perfect map of everything you did, everywhere you went that day.

Now think of the Earth itself, winding around the sun for centuries, millennia, as a single image. A solid blue ring around a little yellow star.

Now imagine all life, everywhere, all activity and every event as a single, literal object. The entirety of time and space, every birth and death, every asteroid collision and every cup of coffee drunk. The blurs of human history, overlapping and intersecting, piping through the cosmos, as the earth spins round the sun spins round the galaxy spins round the universe.

And not just everything that’s happened, but everything that will happen. All time, start to finish.

This is Five, what Morrison refers to as the AllNow.

For us, “today” is everything. In fact, it’s all we have. Your maximum point of influence in the universe is the instant you’re experiencing at this precise moment. But look: that moment’s gone and now you’re in a new one. And look! A new one.

Et cetera.

Not so in the AllNow, the time/space object where we all exist, but can’t perceive it properly because we’re forced to experience it one moment at a time.

Your life story will conclude; it’s a fact. As surely as it began, it’s going to end. If you could see your Three/Four life from a Five perspective, you’d understand and you wouldn’t be afraid, because there it is. No more surprises.

That’s Five.

6 (Possibility)

You’re in a coffee shop, you accidentally knock your spoon off the table. He notices, gets you a new one. You begin talking, get married and live out your days together in Walla Walla.

You’re in a coffee shop, you bump your spoon, but catch it just in time. He buys his coffee and leaves. You move to the Dominican Republic to volunteer at an orphanage.

One happened, the other didn’t. There’s only one you, only one destiny, only one fifth dimensional time/space object. Right?

Six: possibility.

Schrödinger proposed a simple scenario in which a cat is trapped in a box with a radioactive atom, a Geiger counter and a poison flask. The cat’s dead, unless it isn’t. We can’t know for sure until we open the box and observe it. It’s conceivable there are two realities operating simultaneously: one in which the cat is dead, the other in which it’s very annoyed.

What if time and reality are constantly forking and branching, accommodating every possibility, every permutation of every event that ever was? What if the time/space Five object we’re inside is simply one option, one strand of infinite realities?

Somehow, somewhere, you did get the job. You did wreck your car. You did quit smoking.

He does love you.

What if every story ever written, ever dreamed, however outrageous, really is happening?

AllOccurs in AllNow.

Six.

7 (Heaven)

“Why is there something rather than nothing?”

That’s Leibniz asking the question from the 17th century, and he wasn’t the first.

To recap: a time object supercontext, infinitely versioned to allow for every possibility of every event in the universe. 3D worlds inside 4D realities inside 5D timespaces inside 6D possibilities.

At last, Seven. The omega level, the authority, the governing dimension, the place of souls.

Seven is Heaven.

If you’ll allow that only the eternal can contain the infinite, that we’re, all of us, being prepared for something… there must be some method of building, containing and nurturing all that is.

It’s here the iterations of time and space are nakedly displayed, where we’re there to see it and understand it. As e. e. cummings describes:

everything which is natural, which is infinite which is yes.

It exists because it has to, because it’s the only Somewhere that makes sense. If Five is AllNow and Six is AllOccurs, Seven is, must be, AllIntimacy.

Your ambitions and purity and the completion of the You project is Here. Your dead ancestors and friends and even your descendants: they’re not just fond memories and they’re not simply with you “in your heart”. Even your loved ones and your enemies and everyone you’ve never met, who are still living now in the “present”.

They’re HereNow.

And you. The Real You, not the moment-to-moment crash test dummy you’re riding now, where the past is memory and the future is unknown. The Authentic You. The 7D You:

You’re HereNow.

AllIntimacyOccursNow.

“Why is there something rather than nothing?” (Yes.)

“God is Love.” (Yes.)

Heaven is here. We’re in it unknowingly.

Deep breaths, friend. You are loved infinitely. Take comfort: One is a line.

Heaven is Everything.

Memorial Video: The Bear Triplets

28 Jun

Below is the video produced for the June 25th, 2011 memorial service for Rudyard, Desmond and Oscar Bear, our triplet sons.

Please be warned: while this video contains a handful of images from their brief lives, it also contains some imagery captured shortly after their passing. If you’re disturbed or offended by this sort of thing, please don’t feel any obligation to watch.

Thanks for celebrating them with us.

Faces

25 Jun

Today was our boys’ memorial, which was shared with a few dear friends and family.  It’s another example of something I’d like to talk more about later, but suffice it to say it was a really tremendous time.  If you were there in person or in spirit, thank you.

It probably hasn’t escaped you that Carey and I have been very precious about sharing photos of the boys.  Only a very few people have seen them and that may change eventually, but to commemorate the day, it seemed a good time to share my drawings of our sons, produced for the memorial.


Rudyard


Desmond


Oscar

Good night and God bless.

Hello

17 Jun

Carey and I can’t quite escape it and maybe we don’t want to: writing blogs and reading blogs and being members of the blogging community has meant more to us in recent months, particularly in recent weeks, than almost anything. We should probably hang around.  Well, we need to. I suppose there’s a part of us that feels that, if we’re writing and others are reading, that’s a piece of our boys that gets to stay with us.

Anyway, it’s a start.

I’ve received emails and Facebook messages that have been written with such zeal and honesty that I’ve wanted to say to the sender: Could you paste this onto a FB wall or a message board or even a blog comment? Because I think others should read this too.

Carey and I are putting together a memorial next week and as we prepare material for it and discuss the people and places that have meant the most to us in our time with Rudyard, Des and Oz, we keep returning to you. And when I say “you”, I mean, well, you. You, looking at your laptop or desktop or smart phone, at home or at work or out and about. You, who maybe know us already or maybe not. You, who know our little fellows as well as their aunts or grandparents know them because you’ve taken the time to check this space.

There’ve been some really, truly generous souls who’ve gone back to their own Facebook statuses and even their own blogs who’ve used their own digital real estate to talk about us and our sons. Often asking for prayer, sometimes just mentioning who we are and how what’s happened to us has affected them, in some cases petitioning others to visit us here or at ModVegan to lend their support.

In not just the spirit of reciprocity, but also true appreciation, I’d like to mention a handful of blogs who’ve brought others here by writing about us. They’re the reason people know about our boys because they took the time to tell people. And, bonus, in every single instance, I’ve been moved or intrigued or in some way struck by their perspective. They’re worth reading and I want to tell others about them.

If you’ve got a second, give these folks a click. Odds are decent you already know at least one of them:

Multiples and More
Amanda is the queen of all things multiples and her mini-empire isn’t so mini anymore. If you have twins, triplets, quads or quints, Amanda wants to meet you. Without question, she’s directed more good people here than anyone and it’s been a real blessing to be a part of her network.

Stay At Home Triplet Dad
When I was flailing around, panicked and bleary-headed, after discovering our triplet pregnancy, Al was my first triplet-parent friend. He’s been generous with advice, spreadsheets, schedules and, most recently, prayers. I hope to meet him for reals one day.

Newlyweds Next Door
Kirsten is a real-life friend with a real-fun blog about the comings and goings of herself and her husband Jon. Her help and support has been a big deal to Carey and me and we’re lucky to know her.

Fireworks to Fireplaces
“Ms. G”, a very dear friend of ours, writes about her pregnancy and eventual loss of their little one, “Baby G”, last December.  She graciously offered to spread the word about our children and she’s kept her promise.

Spontaneous Triplets Blog
Good friends Esther and Jason have generously shared the journey of birthing their spontaneous triplets with the world. William, Jackson and Emilia were born healthy and strong one week ago today.

Pyjammy’s Blog
Pam knows social media and she’s maybe the most committed blogger I’ve ever seen. She left the very first Tips On Triplets comment and she’s been on our side ever since. Her boys are lucky to have her.

Lost and Found Connections Abound
A network/blog that exists to provide a supportive community for parents and parent-hopefuls, particularly those who’ve experienced loss.

Crossing the Double Pink Lines
Chloe, like us, lost all three of her triplets recently. Her words and support have been essential to both of us. During our hospital stay, she advised us, “you won’t feel like it, but take lots of pictures. You’ll want them later.” We did and she was right.

She Breathes Deeply
Mandy is cool, energetic, tattooed and her blog is popular for a reason. I’ve only discovered her recently and I’m glad I did.  If you’re not reading her, you should.

What the Blog?
Jenn doesn’t just entertain and inform, she provides a valuable service to lots and lots of people everywhere: she inspires.  A very insightful blog with nitty-gritty anecdotes genuinely helpful to new parents.

This Beautiful Mess
Charity and her family are old friends and we’re lucky to know them. She’s beautiful and intelligent, just like her blog.  Also, she’s a pastor’s wife, but try not to hold it against her.

All This Grace and Charm
Carly is an admitted fan of all things fun and clever. A stylish lady with a stylish blog that I’ve just recently begun to enjoy.  Her mojo is infectious.

Multiple-y Blessed, written by Kim

The Adventures of TaderBaby, written by TBONEGRL

Three Times the Giggles, written by Helen

OneParkBench, written by Susan, who we’re lucky to know

Triplet Diaries, written by Kari, Mariann and Trude

Zone Defense, written by Kitty

No.17 Cherry Tree Lane, written by Rachel, who prays a lot

Spermination Station, written by Genevieve

Just a Dash of Sanders, written by Jamie and Chrissy

These Mountains are Mine, written by Noelle

Three Little Ladies, written by Ryan

About the Small Stuff, written by Cary

A Magnolia Heart, written by Whitney

Fille d’Eve (Daughter of Eve), written by Tami


I do apologize if I’ve left you off the list and, admittedly, this doesn’t include the people who’ve spread the word about us through Facebook, Twitter or email, even though it should. If I’ve neglected to include you, please say something and give me and everyone a link to your blog/twitter/tumbr/facebook.

And, for that matter, I think this would be an appropriate time, if you feel so inclined, to introduce yourself, whoever you are. If you’ve been reading/hoping/praying or even just lurking, say hello, would you? And, holy smokes, if you have a blog, please mention what it is and where it is.

There are good people here, who’ve made the last couple of weeks a little easier.

And if now isn’t the time to come together, then, man, what is?