You are hereby sentenced to triple mittening

Only on my worstest of enemies do I wish the fate of triple mittening. Let me put this another way. I would rather change one hundred diapers than execute the triple mittening. I would even consider being in that joke, where somebody (there are different versions) sees the room in hell where everybody’s standing knee deep in poop, drinking coffee, and thinks, not a bad way to spend eternity, only to hear after signing up for this one: “okay, coffee break’s over, back on your heads!”

Winter is a happy time, full of fluffy white stuff, smiles and giggles, but for me, it is just finding the thumbhole six times. Oh I know, I know, skip the thumbhole, just shove the little hand in and tighten up with the velcro. Everything will be fine. Except, NOT. The thumbhole is salvation. Get that little wriggling, non-compliant, opposable digit into its Thinsulated receptacle and you are buying yourself an extra fifteen minutes of quality time. Do it six times, and you – let’s face it – should win a Nobel prize.

My boys have come to understand the psychic agony this Olympic-worthy sport causes their dear papa. While they don’t exactly assist in the process, when they are outside they are quick to notify me when a mitten is even close to becoming dislodged from its owner. And really, no matter how close you’ve come to the holy grail, by which I mean three, four, maybe even five thumbs in the holes, sleeves velcroed over the wrists, tightly tightly pulled, your winter activity for the day will be…re-mittening triplets.

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February 13, 2011 at 4:01 pm Leave a comment

The Perils of Brotherly Love

This vid speaks for itself. Will give you a warm feeling until its somewhat ghastly ending. [I might as well use this space to mention there have been some rumblings of activity on the big sister blog to this one.]

February 12, 2011 at 1:47 pm Leave a comment

Big Boy Walking

Hi everyone – merry xmas if that’s your bag! (that means YOU, Santa!)

Don’t think I haven’t been thinking of you. For the holiday, I present to you a barrage of unprecedented cuteness, in the form of a music video featuring a new song by yours truly. The recording is really a demo, actually, made back in May, but time keeps on ticking and the genuine article hasn’t yet been made…and I can actually live with this one for the time being. The title phrase comes from words of encouragement uttered repeatedly by the boys’ occupational therapist Davida, and I got some backing vox help from the great Elizabeth Burd (aka burdumspoo). Enjoy!

p.s. – quality seems to be much higher if you actually watch on YouTube. Is that always the case?

December 25, 2010 at 2:06 pm 4 comments

Swingtime

in case you thought I made that bit up about dancing to Louis…

December 4, 2010 at 8:51 am 3 comments

Terrible

In my best Andy Kaufman voice, “I’m sorry, I’m soooorrry I’m sooooooorrrry.” My bloggery has essentially plummeted off the cliff, and with each week, and then month of passing silence, it just seems impossible to pick up the torch again, as if the mounting pressure of my silence makes that next blog post ever more difficult to produce, because of the profundity I feel is required (oh humor me, I know all 8 of you remaining readers tune in for the photos alone – won’t anyone use that old Playboy line, “I read it for the articles!”).

Anyway – there’s a lot of water under the bridge, a lot of owed photos, a lot of growing up that’s happened. The boys turned two last week, (twoooooo), and the age begs the age-old question, what’s sooo terrible about two? People HAVE actually asked us that, recently, especially when confronted with the unremitting cuteness and silliness that is our psycho-electric troika. So I imagined a blog post that just unpacked the issues at hand, the difficulties and the challenges, so that subsequent questioners could just be referred to the URL, you know? Because it’s like, yes, we get how incredibly cute they are, especially when dancing to Louis Armstrong or making the sounds of barnyard animals. But you know, whoever dreamed up the term Terrible Two wasn’t entirely kidding around. I think I feel this most accutely at that moment, sitting at the kitchen meal table, when we’ve let the boys sit with their half-eaten plates just a fraction of a second too long. Realization comes, but there is no recourse. Pablo is probably the most dramatic in this regard. Suddenly, he’ll lift his plate in the air, swirl it around his head several times before hurling it and all its sundry contents across the room, remnants flying every which way. And it’s at that juncture that the hapless parent (or pair thereof) thinks, oh, now’s about the time, but of course it’s too late because the example’s been set, and the other spawnlets are making their own Statements, throwing silverware this way and plate matter that, decorating the aging linoleum floor with apple sauce bits, latke-fragments (tis the season), milk (don’t think the milk doesn’t go a-sailin’), and who knows what-all-else. If you’re alone minding this talented and fearsome threesome, your task is to get them out of the kitchen and into the safer confines of the living room, keep them from scratching or eating one another, and perhaps, hopefully, begin the rather thankless and grueling task of picking up the pieces. But should you attempt that, you’ll invariably hear the deathly moans of one outnumbered or outmaneuvered saxlet, stuck behind the couch, or teetering on the piano bench, or recently abused by one of his ever-capable siblings.

You’ve done two. You who question. Had a two-year-old, maybe even a couple, maybe even a bagful. It’s the all-at-the-same-timeness of it, as well as, let’s be honest, the boyness of it, that makes it seem at any given moment like your head might just explode for lack of oxygen. We just weighed the tots – two year physical and all (they grow and thrive, preemies my arse) – and in sum they constitute 90 pounds of senseless energy and fury, cute sure, but celebratorily destructive as well. Strong-willed, rife with personality, or should I say, “personality” (the scare-quotes indicate the tone of voice we use when that noun modifies a rattled painting, a frightened cat, a hurled sippy, a bitten brother, a shattered bowl, a smooshed banana, a soiled face, etc.), our spawnly brood is 90 pounds of pure kinetic mischief. And don’t get me wrong – I ADMIRE them for it! The sheer chutzpah of their mad endeavors, the sense that they not only hold all the strings, but also three pairs of scissors, it’s flat out ballsy. But I am also sleepwalking through life, barely, barely hanging on, and I’m the member of the team that gets to leave a lot more often, gets to spend hours of uncomplicated respite in that resort hotel called Job. Downtime of the keeper of the fort consists only of that solitary nap (2-3 hours in the afternoon), and a bedtime that grows sneakily later all the while.

Don’t take my word for it. Send a self-addressed stamped crate, and I will return it to you with three bouncing baby terrorists, eager to spend a lovely month redecorating your home and reconfiguring your sanity. I ask only that you change and feed them regularly, and send them back with accounting and carpentry skills.

They’re still a sight to behold in the morning. And Al and I do very much treasure the festival of banging, screaming and laughing that inaugurates each new spin on the axis. I will post pictures and videos sometime and you’ll swoon as you do, and as WE do too, honestly. But man, I’ll tell you, it ain’t easy.

December 4, 2010 at 12:38 am 3 comments

August Photo dump part 2

Okay – here’s more…but they’re  coming in faster than I can keep up…will try to get up to speed. And one day I may say a word or two. But for the past six months or so I’ve just been toooooo tired!

Satch rides Jalen’s Thomas train – the latter boy just turned two!

At long last the boys met their predecessors, the Yarmus triplets! Sam, Charlie and Henry, and especially their folks Hilary and Lonny, were super-instrumental in guiding us towards proper clone stewardship.

Here’s the aforementioned Hilary, along with mama and ze clönz

Sorry – this is actually kinda old (not sure how old…long story). but kinda irresistible too (the non-Satch boy is Levi)

Here are the boys, along with the Fernald twins, enjoying a free kids’ concert presented by the Portland Chamber Music Festival

Someone got to check out the stage after the show!

That’s a small one. Coming soon, TONS of photos from our week in Camden, thanks to Grampa Bob  the photographer!

August 18, 2010 at 5:46 pm 2 comments

mid august photo dump pt. 1

been lots of photogenic-type moments. but I can’t find the good camera at the moment, so it’s all iphone and blech quality (as Oscar the Grouch says, “where’s my Blechberry?”). Here’s a first installment, many more formatted and ready to load…coming soon!

Hai-Ting walking the walk with Satch up top and Pablo walking with

Matt and an attentive audience for Hands are Not for Hitting

3 boys 2 girls…5/6 of the Brady Bunch reunion

Levi and Charlotte forevz

Fun on LIttle Sebago Lake. That’s Yory, Serena and Sylvie in the distance

Sylvie supervising Pablo and Levi

mama and her boys

Pablo at work by the lake

Baby you can drive my car

meema feeds the boids

Levi after a hard day’s work

where’d you say those drinks were at?

August 16, 2010 at 8:16 am 3 comments

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