anno nuovo felice!

Buon Natale!

Merry Christmas!

Aspen's story

Aspen had a physical therapy appointment today. The therapist feels that she does not need intense PT and that home based PT by Drew and myself should do the trick. Many of you do not know Aspen's story, and maybe it is the Christmas season that throws my moods out of whack, but as I was doing some last minute (of course) shopping, I decided I needed to get this off my chest.

Aspen was my original Baby C. She came out as Baby B but I think that is because Ryan missed his turn in line. Drew and I did not know about her until 9 1/2 weeks. I sometimes don't even believe my own pregnancy story, it is so unreal. But that is for another time.

So after being on bedrest with the twins, we went for a follow up appointment with my RE Dr. Fisch. Holding my breath waiting to hear the 2 heartbeats that were there before, my loving husband started to laugh hysterically. Almost serial killer worthy. It was that weird. Dr. Fisch was shaking his head, and I looked up at the monitor, where I saw 3 heartbeats. To this day I still don't remember anything after that point. This was December 21, 2005. My mom had arrived that morning for Christmas and when the initial shock wore off, we sat down and had a long talk about NICU life and preemies, and the fact that selective reduction could possibly be advised by the doctor. I remember telling her that I would rather have 1 hour with them then to reduce just because there was 3. Little did I know how those words were about to hit hard.

Dr. Fisch released me to a Perinatologist, who followed me for the duration of my pregnancy. At 12 weeks I went in for a follow up appointment. Nothing could prepare me for this appointment. When the ultrasound tech left the room to get the doctor, I still had no idea what I was about to hear. The look on his face said everything. There was a problem.

Aspen had lost all her amniotic fluid. She still had a heartbeat, but without the fluid, she would not develop. I was told that day that 1 of many things could have happened. My water could have broke, it could be a chronic abruption, or Potter's Syndrome. He felt that the heartbeat would probably stop and that I would continue as a twin pregnancy. Or, if the sac ruptured, I could go into preterm labor and lose the entire pregnancy. Either way, Baby C was not going to make it. I don't remember walking out of his office, driving home, or telling Drew the news. We went back to the doctor the next day so he could talk to us, because I had no idea what to even say to Drew. He advised us that IF the baby made it to delivery, life expectancy was 1-4 hours max, due to the fact that no lung tissue had developed.

We went every week for ultrasounds, wondering if this would be the day that my triplet pregnancy officially became a twin pregnancy. What most women find joyous, I approached with fear every time the ultrasound machine was turned on. At week 18, I remember being told that since the heart was still beating, that the baby would make it to delivery, and I had to decide what to do.

Instead of picking out nursery colors, I was deciding between a funeral or cremation.

How do you enjoy being pregnant when you know you are carrying a life that would cease to exist? How in the hell was I going to make it through the delivery and celebrate the birth of the surviving 2 babies and grieve at the same time? How could this happen? After all we went through to get pregnant, I felt like I was being robbed of the whole experience.

I remember asking my friend Kelli what to put on the birth announcements. She deserved to be on those announcements, but she was going to have to have 2 dates listed, instead on one. It was not fair.

What about baptizing the baby?

I tried to find peace in the whole thing by deciding to donate anything I could from the baby, if it would help another baby. I was told I couldn't , due to the circumstances. That was my last attempt at keeping my sanity during the whole thing. I was done.

When someone asked me what I was having, I said twins. I had a baby shower for twin boys. I bought twin clothes, and doubles of everything. I actually got to the point where instead of dealing with the roller coaster, I convinced myself I was having twins just to get through the rest of my pregnancy.

On April 18th, we went for an ultrasound. I just realized typing this that I found this out on my birthday. I never put it together until now. The tech left the room to get the doctor and I thought that this was it. The doctor came in, looked at the monitor and told us - "Baby C has fluid"

What?

On that day we found out that Baby C had gained some, not much fluid. Enough to cause him to get a pediatric cardiologist to evaluate the heart chamber. On April 25th, we found out that Baby C had a 50/50 chance, instead of 0%.

4 days later my water broke at 28 weeks, exactly 15 hours after my mom got on a plane back to Baltimore.

The next 11 days were a blur of fetal monitoring, hospital food nightmares and Drew snoring on the cot in my room. At 6am on the morning of May 8,2006, Drew and I picked a name for our daughter. At 7:34am, 2 minutes after Dominic and 2 minutes before Ryan, she was born, a 2lb, 3 oz miracle.

Then the NICU experience began, which I am not emotionally at the point where I can even began to talk about it.

Fast Forward.......

75 days later, on July 21, 2006 (the due date) Aspen Kinleigh Grace came home.

Aspen has an energy around her that I will never understand. Perhaps my father is watching over her. I look forward to the day when I can sit down and tell her all about her story, and how she defied the odds. But deep down inside, I think she already knows.

Please forgive me....

I am a slacker.

I can't believe it has been 17 days since I updated this.

I have let my fellow bloggers down.

OK-on to the update. We took the trio to have pictures done like idiots. It helped even more that they were running an hour behind. THEN, it was even better all the other rocket scientists that had to ask all the dumb questions.

"Did you know you were having triplets?" (No, I stole the 3rd one from the hospital just to see if I could get away with it)

"Are they identical?" (Hey Einstein- one is a girl- do they look alike to you?)

""Ha- better you than me" (well, considering that you are a 40 year old man wearing a reindeer sweater- it is better me than you)

So, after that fun adventure, we got the pics and I came home to design the card.
Here is the finished product. . .

Meeting of the minds...

I'm not quite sure what they are discussing, but I have a feeling that it has something to do with the fact that they are a litle upset that they are turning orange. That't right- I have tangerine children. I knew when they started solids that I would have peas, carrots and the whole produce lineup flung everywhere in my house. But NO ONE told me that carrots and sweet potatoes not only stain clothes- they stain babies.

Now, it's not like I leave them looking like they just went headfirst into the jars, but Ryan spits. And steals the spoon. And has to stick his hands in his mouth. And there is THREE OF THEM. So when I am by myself, they all line up in the bumbo chairs and I assembly line feed them like a frickin cafeteria lady. Spoon, spoon, spoon, wipe, wipe, wipe. I tried using one hand to feed, the other to wipe. Problem is, I am not that coordinated. If you have seen me dance, you know that this is a true statement.

So by the time I am finished, they have orange rings around their mouths. What the heck is in this stuff? Now, I am sure that Michelle (you know who you are) will tell me to food process these veggies on my own. I even think I own a food processor. I just do not know how to use it. My mechanical abilities in the kitchen include mixers, microwaves, corkscrews and can openers. I even ruined one of those $499.99 Pampered Chef ice cream scoopers by sticking it the dishwasher- which apparently is a GIANT no-no.

So, I have to choose between slightly tinted triplets or out of control kitchen appliances.

Touchdown RAVENS!

The Baltimore Ravens have 3 new fans- complete with gear -courtesy of our friends Dawn and Brian :)

They all got dressed and watched the Ravens embarrass the Steelers today.

Christmas came early this year!

I'm just finishing up feeding breakfast bottles when the doorbell rings. Assuming that it is the 54 cans of formula that I just ordered, I go open the door to drag those suckers in.

When what do my wondering eyes does appear? (or however it goes)

But a case of crab chips (minus the beer)!

There are certain things that should never be taken for granted:

1. A great pair of black boots

2. Jeans that always fit

3. The ability to get care packages from home.

It all started when Drew flew back to Baltimore for a golf tournament. He calls at 1 am in the morning crunching on crab chips after just leaving a Wawa (desperate for food, nothing was open, he was scrounging at this point). That started my cravings for cream of crab soup, shrimp salad, crab cakes, butterscoth krimpets and UTZ CRAB CHIPS! For those of you who have no idea what a krimpet is- that just means more left for me!

I have harrassed almost every server in Las Vegas where the chef makes the mistake of putting "Maryland crab cakes" on the menu. The only thing close to a crab cake is the fact that they are round. Then they go and put stupid stuff on them like roumalade sauce, or garlic purees, or even (gasp) APPLESAUCE! I have NEVER seen a Maryland crab cake with applesauce on it. If you even attempted this at home, you would be taken downtown, shot on Federal Hill and dumped in the Inner Harbor.

So anyway, I can check crab chips off my list. Now all I need are the rest of my Balteeemore fixes. (shhh- don't tell Drew- I hid the chips!)

Happy Turkey Leftover Day!

Since I just came out of a self induced turkey/mashed potato/apple pie induced coma, I could only muster up enough strength to post pics of the kids on their 1st turkey day:

Dominic was so happy he decided to try a little bit of "air guitar"

Ryan doing some warm up stretches before eating

Aspen wondering how much bigger her hairbows are going to get.

Acetone lifesavers

Fun fact for the day....

1 gallon of paint will cover approximately 350 square feet.

BUT

a 1/2 ounce bottle of nail polish will cover 6 12 x 12 tiles.

Unfortunately this tidbit of knowledge was tested in my kitchen last night, when, a very small bottle of "Candy Apple Pink" nail polish decided to jump right off the counter and throw itself on the tile floor.

Yep, it looked like I massacred Pink Panther right in my kitchen. It was EVERYWHERE. Thank goodness Drew (aka Mr. Clean) was not home or he would has passed out right there on the floor. What the heck was I going to do? He was going to KILL me (even though technically it was not my fault- the polish must have had a death wish). It's not like when I spilled it on the carpet and I snipped it up- NOPE- this called for drastic measures.

Meanwhile, one of my neighbors had flowers delivered and they were not home. So I got to babysit them. They STUNK. My house smelled like a funeral parlour.

So I do what any resourceful ex-girl scout would do. Ok, so I was only a girl scout for 3 months, no one told me you actually had to camp in the woods - I do not camp, nor did I ever feel like I would need to know how to tie a good slipknot. Betcha Drew knows how, since when he saw this mess, I surely was going to the bottom of Lake Mead with some new concrete shoes.

Nail polish = nail polish remover

So I get on my hands and knees and start scrubbing, like Cinderella trying to get to the ball. By the time I was finished, I decided that I must write a letter to Revlon to 1] complain that they really should make shatterproof nailpolish bottles, and 2] if not, at least they make a damn good polish remover.

Beirut, Nevada

Drew and I had finally went to bed at a semi decent hour last night. Only for me to be scared ****less at 3 am.

I thought we were having an earthquake.

1st thoughts - get the kids
2nd thoughts - get my shoes and purse collection
3rd thought- get the dog
4th thought - find my husband

When I realized it just must have been some sort of boom, I figured I may as well use the lavatory while I was awake. It's a DANG GOOD THING I was already there because what happened next pretty much scared the p*ss right out of me. Thank goodness for tile floors. The loudest BOOM that I have ever heard shook my house like a meteor came right through it. Once I started breathing again, I looked outside and saw flashes of light behind my neighbor's house across the street. I ran frantically through the house trying to find Drew, who was MIA. As I am tearing through the house, I look outside and the field behind my neighbors house has a GIANT fireball burning in it. I scream, telling Drew that a plane just crashed in the field and to call 911.

(ok - this I don't understand- the kids apparently can sleep right through flaming fireball explosions)

So Drew calls 911, to let them know. And they tell us it is a vehicle fire. WHAT??? What vehicle spontaneously explodes at 3am???

Construction trucks.

Some freakin yahoo blew up a construction truck.

Now, I understand being a disgruntled employee, but wouldn't this be taking things a tad too far? I mean, when Drew has a bad day at work, he doesn't toss a designer out the window, and I don't pitch my computer off the balcony (ok- I did come close 1 time, but then I realized that I just would end up with an even slower one).

So hopefully tonight, all major construction equipment will remain intact, and I will get some sleep.

I might gather my shoes up just in case.

Stay tuned......

On January 1st, 2007, Drew and I will be unveiling our new project. We are very excited!

and no, I AM NOT PREGNANT!

Stay tuned for more info!

6 Months Old!

and Aspen is below!

Midnight chats

Aspen came off the oxygen!!! Drew took her for her sleep study Oct 24th and we just got the results. Apparently calling the doctor's office everyday did not light a fire under their behinds. But anyway, she was tape free as of last night. Now we are just waiting in Dominic's results, but according to Drew (who apparently is a Pulmonologist and I was unaware), Dominic's saturation levels were even better.

All three have figured out how to make sounds, which REALLY is enjoyable when they all decide to debate world issues at 2:00 in the morning. Last night we woke up to:

Ryan - "Ooogie woogie" (with a hint of whine to it)

Dominic - "Hoo Hoo"

Aspen - " Caa Caa"

Me and Drew "SHHHHHHH"

Tonight's topic will probably be how Mom's ugly maternity clothes did not sell on Ebay.

The rice cereal exorcism...

Drew and I are boneheads.

WHY WHY WHY we did the stupid thing we did last night I will never know.

It all started out as a quiet evening. The munchkins were fed and SLEEPING. Around 10pm, we decided to MOVE them upstairs and put them in the crib (well, Ryan sleeps in the bassinet because he is too dangerous in the crib with Dominic and Aspen, scootin' around like he has wheels attached to his rear).

Up goes Aspen
Up goes Dominic
Up goes Ryan

Then all hell breaks loose. All three start screaming in sheer anger at the MORONIC people that became their parents. Apparently there is some truth behind the saying "Do not wake a sleeping baby". The new motto should be " Do not wake sleeping triplets unless you are prepared to handle the same amount of chaos that could be compared to a prison riot."

They screamed in unison for 20 minutes. Bloodcurdling screams like we just told them that there was no Santa Claus.

So what do I decide to do? It is at this point that my parenting membership card should have been revoked. Most parents would have soothed them to sleep. HA! Amateurs! THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO TRY RICE CEREAL! COMPLETE WITH BOWLS AND SPOONS!

Words of advice....

1] Babies do not like spoons when they are mad.
2] Rice cereal goes very far when spit from mad babies.
3] Rice cereal and formula will stain the paint on your walls.
4] It is very difficult to get rice cereal out of ear canals.

Stay tuned for more "Parenting 101 by Drew and Joselle".

Don't let PETA find me.....

Remembering Murtle started me thinking about all the other pets that I have had in my life. I really do like animals, I just did not have good luck with pets. I have had lots of luck with Baci, but my husband told me that I gave Baci gender identification issues because I dress him. YES- I DRESS MY CHIHUAHUA-BACK OFF! He gets cold.

Anyway, It all started with Ojo - poodle #1. Dad went for ice cream, brought back the dog. Things went well until we came back one year from vacation and Ojo had turned the house into a flea carnival. Ojo went to a nice family that lived next to my uncle.

Pepe, the horse across the street got loose and ended up on our deck. Scared the crap out of my mother when she opened the door. Then the damn thing bit my pinky finger when I tried to feed it carrots. No one told me about the "palm down" procedure.

Mitzi- poodle #2. Sniff, This was the best dog. However, the neighbor's German Shepard decided that it looked like lunch. I really don't want to get into it.

Buffy- poodle #3 (do you see a trend?). Buffy was a chocolate poodle, and supposedly chocolate poodles are the smartest of them all. The breeder even told us she was paper trained. If we had thought about it, we would have realized that the breeder's entire house was covered in newspaper. Apparently we had SUCKER written all over our face.

My mom took a hiatus from animals at this point.

Then came Bobby.

Bobby was a cross between a gorilla and a goat, with an overbite to match. And he smelled like a rotten dumpster. Bobby lasted 23 hours until my father came home and yelled- "What the hell is that!"

By this time I was living in Bel Air and Drew decided, at the mature age of 25, that he wanted a gerbil. To me, gerbils are rats with fancy names. But, we got one, complete with the little gerbil house, little gerbil wheel, and all the little things that gerbils enjoy. Quigley was NOT a smart gerbil. First, he peed in the wheel than ran in it. Then, while Drew and I were in Jamaica, he chews his way out of his cage. We found him 3 weeks later. He dove to his death in our sump pump.

My brother's ex-girlfriend's domesticated miniature bobcat ends up in my mom's bathroom. Again- not a pretty scene.

Xerox- the free cat I took in for my receptionist. Cute cat until it shed it's ENTIRE EAR in my living room.

I always wondered why no one had us pet sit for them.

And I still haven't told you the story of Sammy the Parrot.........

My soapbox for the day

There is a lot of brew ha ha going on about the number of embryos doctors should transfer during IVF. Having been faced with this decision, I thought I would throw my 2 cents in.

I had a nightmare getting pregnant. Long story I will get into another time- but it was hell. On IVF try #3- I remember telling my doctor to put all 7 embryos back in- I didn't care if I ended up with the Brady Bunch. I just wanted a child(ren). We decided on 3, due to my previous failures. Was I aware of the increased chance of twins (20%) and triplets (only 5%!) - absolutely. My embryos during previous attempts looked like scrambled eggs, even though my RE during those times said they were "textbook perfect" Maybe comic book perfect, but definitely not textbook.

I remember looking on the internet for ways of financing attempt #4 when the call came.

I was pregnant. Very low positive, but positive nonetheless. My RE thought it was a singleton. Another long story for another time.

Fast forward.......

I now am the proud mother of 29.5 weeker triplets. Would I change anything- No. If I could go back and only transfer 2 embryos , would I- No. I knew what I faced, my mother has been in Peds for 20+ years. I was not jaded, nor uneducated about the risk factors. Nor did I ever consider selective reduction. I remember telling my mom that I would rather have 1 hour with them then to have to reduce, just because"there was too many". After the tumultuous pregnancy that I was having before I found out I was pregnant with triplets, I knew there was a reason for all of it.

I was fortunate that I had a wealth of knowledge surrounding me from my RE, my Perinatalogist and every other specialist in the book that I saw. True, high order pregnancies are difficult, but I think that rather than guilt REs into only putting back 1 or 2 embryos, perhaps more time should be spent getting more information into the hands of prospective parents so that they can be the ones with the final say.

What the hell was I thinking.......

I decided today to list all my maternity clothes on Ebay. Why? BECAUSE I will never need them again. Also, because I shudder in sheer embarassment every time I see them in my closet by some of the clothing choices I made when I was preggo.

If it was floral, I bought it.

If it looked like a table cloth, I wore it.

I don't know why I made some of my disatrous fashion decisions. I did really well with maternity jeans and pants, but once I was left to my own devises to purchase a shirt, all common sense went right down the comode. If I just relied on my ol' trusty black and brown staples, I would have been fine. But no, I decided that I needed to rival Thelma Harper from Mama's Familty over who wore flowered prints the best.

Case in point....

I HAD to have this skirt. Even when my friend Dena, who was also pregnant (we were 2 days apart) tried to talk me out of it- I was persistant. I thought it was the cutest maternity skirt EVER made. Looking back, I now realize why it was on clearance for $6.00. Bees wouldn't even pollanate the thing.

It can be all yours for $2.99 on Ebay.

Jimminy Crickets!

ok- so those who know me have a pretty good understanding of my fears of all bugs. From ant to lady bugs, and all in between- they creep me out. I still shake my shoes out before I put them on in case there is something hiding in there. I once even beat my poor boob at work one day because I had on a Polo shirt and from my peripheral vision I thought the pony was a spider (I'm still nursing bruises).
Anyway, tonight Drew and I stole away for a quick bite at the Ol' Red Lobster. I even indulged in a glass of wine. I am in the midst of a very important coversation with him about something of which I can't even remember when he gently reaches over and brushes off my shirt. My first thought was, "Aww, how sweet, he flicked bisquit off my shirt." I kept talking, one, because I do not shut up, and two, because I was now on glass numero dos. This is when he decides to tell me that he flicked a CRICKET off my shirt! A GIANT CRICKET attack me in the Red Lobster!!! He had a look of relief on his face that I did not see the cricket because he would have been covered in Chedder Bay bisquits and salad dressing when my flailing body went egg rolling on the floor.

A] Why would a cricket be in Red Lobster?
B] Of all the diners, why pick me?
C] WHY WOULD HE TELL ME?

Rule of thumb- If for some reason I am ever with any of you, and if a GIGANTIC lizard, bug, rodent, snake, the Burger King from the BK commercials, crab or creepy wiggly creature is anywhere on my body...PROMISE me that you will just remove it and NEVER EVER tell me.

Ringling Brothers here I come!

If I have predisposed Dominic to having talented toes, then I am afraid I may have set Ryan up for a career in the circus. See, the child is the happiest when he is in his swing. He laughs, he giggles, he sings. Aside from the fact that he goes through sets of D batteries almost once a week, I never thought it was a problem. Or it could be because I call him Chunky Monkey. But yesterday, when we put him in the baby glider, he was trying to grab the overhead bar with both hands. To swing from it? Or to beat me senseless for making him wear a sailor suit in his 2 month pictures? ( Alright, looking back, probably NOT the best choice in attire, since he did look like someone from the Village People). Anyway, the boy is a CLOWN, a certifiable ham and he knows it. Check out the progression from birth to now....

No rest for the weary.....

Ryan decided to sing ALL NIGHT LONG in his baby papasan chair. Needless to say I was chugging a very caffienated Coke at work by 7:10am. Therefore, I have no wit or humor this evening. I was going to take the lazy way out and copy one of my old posts from the other website but instead, I thought I would provide some pics of baby Frank Sinatra himself:

Baby neck boppys

If you have never tried to feed 3 screaming babies at one time, then I do not think that you have thoroughly experienced life. Anytime you would like to check this off your "to do list" let me know and you are more than welcome to come to my house and take a feeding.

Since there are no volunteers beating down the door, I had to get a little creative. Plus, I was becoming a 24-7 formula fountain, feeding at all hours of the day. So 1st I tried these bottles called Pacifeeders.

They are supposed to be a "hands free feeding system". FINALLY, a solution to my problem! Ha! They do not tell you that you will need a doctorate in nuclear science to figure out how to get the formula up the straw. These were probably rejected from NASA so they repackaged them to unsuspecting triplet moms like myself. You have to squeeze the nipple, release, and repeat. Anyone overhearing my husband and I trying to read these directions would have thrown holy water on us and told us to repent for our sins.

So after this $60.00 failure, I sought the advice of other triplet moms. My friend Michelle directed me to my next hands free feeding apparatus attempt. I went to Baby Depot and purchased them. I could not wait to try them! I was so excited! WOO!!! HOO!!! (just visualize me doing the shakin' my booty happy dance right now).

THEY HATE THEM

You would have thought I was pulling Ryan's toenails out they way he screamed,

Dominic had a look of fear on his face

and Aspen decided to rebel by going to sleep.

Needless to say, it is a work in progress.....

The Pink Pony

We bought Aspen a pony today!

Ok, well, actually, it's, um, like a stuffed pink pony. But she's too young to know the difference yet anyway. Plus, it doesn't need to be fed, never poops, and because I think there is some strange county ordinance about having livestock in the backyard. Too bad that is not the same for Baltimore County since my favorite brother (well, technically he is my only brother) still has Sammy the Frozen Parrot in the freezer. But that's a story for another time.

I don't remember asking for a pony when I was a kid. Which was probably a good thing since my dad's best friend collapsed my ENTIRE swimming pool with the back of his truck. God only knows what unfortunate fate the horse may have met. Pets did not do well at my house. Once, I found a turtle and I brought it home (this was before I realized that turtles aren't the best smelling creatures on the face of the earth). My father told me it needed to be with it's "turtle friends" and to paint a bid red M on it's back ( I had creatively named it Murtle- hey, give me a break, I was 8). So I set it free. Only to ride my bike the next week and see a strange flat looking turtle with remnants of red nail polish smooshed like a pancake in the middle of Spring Avenue. Looking back, I am pretty sure that there were mysterious Lincoln TownCar tire marks.

R.I.P Murtle the Turtle.

I hope the pink pony fairs much better.

Holy Toes!

When I was pregnant and about the size of a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, I became very resourceful. This included avoiding bending at all costs. So I pretty much used my toes to pick up anything. Pens, earrings, clothes, you name it, I could pick it up with my toes. Don't be jealous. After all, I do have an unfair advantage since I did take intermediate gymnastics as a child. So the time on the balance beam did pay off.

Anyway, the problem now is that I think I passed it on to Dominic. So maybe it is a genetic thing. The boy can Houdini out of socks in 1.3 seconds flat. Short of scotch taping them to his legs, I have no idea how to keep them on his feet. On numerous occasions I have had complete strangers run up behind me and hand his socks back to me. I guess he leaves a trail of socks in public places in case we get lost. I also catch him with his oxygen tube between his toes, as well as his blankets.

It's not so much a huge problem now, but I am a little concerned about when he starts school if this habit has not stopped. I can see this conversation now..

ring ring...

"Hello Mrs. Williams, this is Dominic's teacher."
"Hello, is there a problem Miss Teacher?"
"Yesterday in the cafeteria, Dominic ate his entire lunch holding the spork with his toes, and it upset the Lunch Lady."

So I guess only time will tell. Today I found them up by his ears. Maybe he thinks they go someplace other than feet.

OMG! I'm a blogger!

Since I have never been accused of having nothing to say, I thought I would give this whole blog thing a try. Some of my other triplet mom friends have them and if they have the time, I figured I could probably find some time also, After all, IT"S NOT LIKE I HAVE ANY OTHER FREAKIN' THING TO DO! Well, besides my very expensive scrapbooking addiction (shoulda stuck with the graphic design degree in college- would have saved some money!)

So there is my formal blog introduction. I may even allow Drew to post on here also.

When he is done with his honey-do list.