Santa Visit

Yep, we did it--we took the kids to see the big man himself. We met Grandma Martha in JC Penny's west parking lot, and with her help, escorted the kids to the North Pole in the center of Park Meadows mall. We waited for about an hour, took in the ambiance of that good ol' Ameri-terialistism, and then, at last, found ourselves in a slow-moving line to see Santa Claus.

Now, I have been preparing the kids for X-mas, really since Thanksgiving: "Who's this?" "Santa!" "What's he say?" "Ho ho ho." I now even have Scout saying, "Merry Tistmas." And all three of them are just crazy about lights.

But, of course, I stepped it up today. Right when I got home, I tried to get them acclimated to the whole idea of Jolly Ol' St. Nicholas. "On whose lap are you going to sit?" "Santa's." "When he asks you what you want for Christmas, what are you going to say?" Kiefer's answer: "Big Count." Charlie's: "No-man" (that's "Snowman" to the lay person). And Scout's answer: "Purple"--that's right, Scout wants an adjective.

Anyway, the hope was that with enough practice, visualization, and genuine ebullience, we might actually have an enjoyable encounter (or at least Scout might--possibly?...).

The result?

Score: Daddy: 0/ Nature: 3.

Kiefer was the first to sit on Santa's lap, and was actually amenable to it--at first. Scout approached for a second, then turned and clasped Mommy's leg. And Charlie--well, he wouldn't even go into the room. By the time I swept Charlie up, Kiefer had exploded, and Suzy was saying, "Hurry, Joe!" I quickly deposited Charlie on Santa's right leg, and then grabbed Scout to put her in the middle. Santa, no doubt tired after a long long day, quietly stammered, "W-w-wait--not all three--you're not putting a-all three on me..." Before he knew it, though, he had latched his fingers around Scout's waist, and it was "Look-at-the-photographer-shaking-a-tambourine" time. Yea, go back up to the picture, and check out Santa's face again. That's not a smile. He's mortified--afraid he might drop one or all of the babies--and Scout (look at her arms)--she is doing everything in her power to make sure he does...

...Oh man, it was hilarious!

Now, I know you haven't heard from us in a while.

Well...we're baa-aack!

As you might guess, the tempo just keeps increasing, or we're putting more pots on more fires. In any case, it's getting expensive...

Here's a quick update for you (baseball-card style):

Scout

Nickname: Scouty

Age: Two

Weight: 21 lbs

Height: 2' 8''

Speech: Can't pronounce the "K" sound.

Interests: Writing, Coloring, Reading, Talking, Tissing (--she tisses everything, like cardboard cutouts of Elephants at the grocery store), Dancing, Dressing herself, Bossing Daddy around, and putting herself into time-out (actually, it's the returning suddenly chipper that she loves--think we need to stop celebrating it so much)

Dislikes: Washing hair, Washing face, Being dressed (by anyone), Peas, Ice, and Santa.

Favorite Food: Everything (other than peas), especially if it involves dipping.

Favorite Animal: Zebra

Favorite Song: "The Wheels on the Bus"

Favorite Book: The Napping House (--reminds us all of Granny DeStefano, in fact)

M.O.: Doing for herself (dressing, getting into her car-seat, scooping her own food onto her fork--"No," she says, "My do it.")

Kiefer

Nickname: Doo

Age: Three (according to him anyway)

Weight: 26 lbs

Height: 2' 9''

Speech: Has something of a lisp, but is the most syntactically adept (just recently taking over Scout's long-held top rank there)

Interests: Throwing (anything), Footballs, Talking, Jumping, Being Naughty, Trucks (backhoes, especially), Sculpting Play-Doh (and mixing the colors), Making Charlie laugh, and, bestest of all, Mommy

Dislikes: Yogurt, Snow, Ice, Halloween, Diaper rash, Sharing, and Santa

Best Joke: Hitting himself in the head, or flopping on the ground.

Favorite Food: Raisins

Favorite Animal: Hippo

Favorite Book: My First Trucks Picture Book

Favorite Song: "Twinkle Twinkle"

M.O.: Throwing footballs up into the sky.

Charlie

Nickname: Bird

Age: Two (and he can almost show you with his fingers)

Weight: 25 lbs

Height: 2' 8''

Speech: Can't pronounce the "S" sound (hence, the "No-man")

Interests: Laughing (usually at Kiefer), Catching, Shooting basketballs, Shooting soccer balls, Dancing (the famed "move"), Stacking, Organizing, Kissing with fish-lips, Helping people up the front step, and Cuddling (with Mommy, of course)

Dislikes: The moon, (s)no(w), Ice, Wind, Halloween, and (you guessed it) Santa

Best Joke: Scrunching his nose and/or throwing his voice

Favorite Food: Pasta

Favorite Animal: Giraffe

Favorite Book: Go Dog Go

Favorite Song: "Smells Like Teen Spirit" (just joking)--probably "Rudolph" right now (--might have something to do with Mikey, whom they all love)

M.O.: Getting kisses on injured body parts

Suzy & Joe

Nicknames: Mommy and Daddy

M.O.: Loving parenthood. Just loving it! And, of course, grateful as can be (for your loves, as much as for anything else).

Thanks for keeping up with us.

With all our hearts: Happy Holidays to you.

Or as Scout might say, "Merry Tistmas to all, and to all a night night."

Press the Reset Button

I suppose we're coming to terms with life

...again.

We were initially flabbergasted, totally unsure what was coming our way and whether or not we could handle it. That sense never really diminished from that first ultra-sound through the first few weeks of their lives; though, of course, we also became more and more enthusiastic (--and not merely because we had to--no, Suz and I, even before we met each other, thrilled at the idea of parenthood; and the moment you meet your own child, I am sure you all know, is the same moment you can't have the world without her). But eventually, wondrously, the tempo normalized and, all in all, the truth of raising triplets seemed so much less fearful than its prospect. (Funny to think, amid the sleep training, and breast feeding, and the squeezed hours--the squeezed space, sick nights, shots, and sloshing through Suzy's blood on delivery day--funny to think that none of that registers much anymore. I guess you can't be daunted looking back.)

And we grew proud. The method, together with nature and chance, bore its fruit, and triplets, even triplets, seemed not just manageable, but relatively easy. We were grateful for all your help, but also proud of ourselves and of our happy infants. And we resisted all the more actively the impulse of down-trodden spirits who sought, and who seek, to connect only through commiseration, and, privately, we gloried in how well the honest truth bore that resistance.

Ha. Vanity.

Well, now, more than 22 months into this experience, Suzy and I are looking for the reset button. To our expectations. Boundaries are being tested, and Mommy-clinginess is threatening to swallow Suzy whole. Yep. We're growing up. Readjusting. Remembering how foolish it is to assume, one, that expectations hold, and two, that what we expect is goodness defined.

Reset: when we didn't know what to expect, we were prepared for anything, and goodness revealed more of itself at every turn. We were infants ourselves, and life was amazing only. Reset. Renew. Chances cycle. Confidence must yield to however much integrity we have. What did we--what do we ever have any right to expect? Reset. Be ready. Remember. Yea, remember--I mean, we're still 11 years from the challenges of triplet teenagers...

So, it's timeouts, and counting to three, and open defiance, egged on by siblings, and tantrums. New power craves direction. No, Kiefer, you can only throw balls from now on, not books, nor blocks, nor forks and food and sippies. No biting. No hitting. Yes, I know Charlie laughs to see you do it, but it will eventually hurt, if it doesn't already. Charlie, get off your brother, and get off the kitchen table, and take that straw out of your nose, and that raisin, and that piece of grilled cheese. Scout, put your leg down, please (--the other day, after a nap, I went in to find Scout silently straddling the rim of her crib...)

The little people are growing up, plain and simple, and, to be sure, they are as miraculous and lovable in each of their new abilities as they were at birth. They are born every day into greater recognition of their own will, and Suzy and I smile almost constantly to see it, though we do not much relish the sense of becoming wardens. "No." That's easily the most common pronouncement these days. Are they imitating us? "No," sometimes, "No!" with a finger jabbing in a sibling's or cousin's direction. Who teaches them that? Whole conversations, in fact, of "no."

No, no, no, no, no.

And then, there is the whining. Whining triplets, contrary to what I have said before, are definitely whining singletons times three, and then some. Once one stops, another picks up. And almost always for poor Suzy. Kiefer and Charlie were tag-teaming her, in fact, at the zoo just three days ago. It was exhausting just to watch, especially with the menace of a whole year or two or eight of it propping its pitch...

Yes, it's hard raising triplets, but for every tribulation, there is cause for exultation too--for unexpected delight. I have laughed before at the kids, trying to catch up to their cuteness. But until recently I haven't laughed just because they were funny--as though I were in a comedy club crying for mercy. And not just at the kids. The other night, I fell out of my seat at a dinner party, and Suzy and I were in tears about it--unable to even maintain a conversation with our companions. "Excess of joy weeps," writes William Blake.

Yea, attitude isn't enough, not in the moment, nor even in the ultimate truth of it, of course. We cannot maintain the writer's assurance, his patience, the alien aspect of his reflectiveness when a babe is howling all the way home from Grandma's, or when you prove yourself to be less than the parent you wish you were. We cannot maintain such equanimity, nor should we.

But tribulation is a bit of growth too, of course, and summer's verdure is purchased of winter's rain, and last night, breaking the silence on the monitor at about 8:15, presumably when he realized he was surely falling asleep, Kiefer's voice, or was it Charlie's?, came forth: "Ba-bye ball. Ba-bye book. Ba-bye." Yea, see you tomorrow, buddy... They're all learning at a terrific pace...

Life moves. Chances cycle. And we're looking for the reset button.

And Charlie and Kiefer have also learned to say "Thank you," and it's hard to imagine it could be said more purely. "Thank you, Mommy." "Thank you, Daddy." "Thank you, Ball." I told Charlie when I first heard him say it, "That's good, boy. Those words are basically the religion of this household." Thank you earth, and green grass, and rolly-pollies under rocks. Thank you trees, in any season, and squirrels, and birds, and p-p-p-planes. Thank you sky, and moon, and sun, and all things seen and unseen in the universe. Thank you music of thought fused with care. Thank you challenge. And thank you hardship. Thank you life, and grace of love. Oh, what beauty could compliance to our little hopes and plans ever afford? You teach me that, sweet boys. You, yourself, dear Scout, remind me of what we all once never doubted.

Reset. Remember. Renew.

Thank you, toddling miracles. Thank you.

Impulse

And when he came to offer life,

but only on condition of much suffering

and second guessing,

even he was surprised

by the alacrity of your response:

you took it,

and did not take the time to say so.

All right, already!

I'm hearing you:

#1: too long since the last update.

#2: too many words and not enough pictures.

#3: Shave! --The whole body (--hey, now, let's not get personal).

Well, let me take care of the first two complaints anyway.

I have been busy, and so has Suzy (--would you believe it, in addition to the normal end-of-the-school-year stresses, she has finished her Masters, and is about two weeks away from doing her second triathlon since the babies were born--yea, she's a slacker, no question). Nevertheless, we have been collecting both pictures and videos, and the kids, somehow, keep getting cuter. Every day, literally every day, something new comes out of one of them--some new physical or verbal feat.

Longest sentence so far belongs to Scout: "Ba-bye big poopie." Actually, if you're talking about length in terms of time, she still has the longest sentence: "Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig Poopie." She also hums "Twinkle twinkle," and loves scribbling on paper.

Now, Kiefer knows Scout's name, and he calls Charlie "Bird" (--his clip of "Charlie Bird"), and, he is already something of an athlete: good throw and a good kick--plants his non-kicking foot actually, and when he runs his whole being bubbles with excitement, knees, elbows, wrists--every joint as buoyant as his smile--yippee!

What Charlie lacks in throwing accuracy, on the other hand, he makes up for in effort. His whole body somehow winds up, and when he releases, after a couple of sideways shuffles, the ball might go five feet or five inches in any direction, even behind him. Sometimes it doesn't even leave his hand--a pump fake, so good, that it even fakes him out. But Charlie excels his siblings (and probably all living beings) in two important ways: best dancer, best walking armswing--his left arm--he is either marching--there's a kind of aggressiveness to it, or he is trying to offset the weight of an imaginary ghetto-blaster on his steady right shoulder--serious soul in that kid--or, at least, in his left side. The dance step is even more impressive--and now commonly imitated. He busted it out in Target a week ago. He walks a couple of steps, then drops his hands to the ground, as though he were either starting a round-off, or setting up for a breakdance move, but then he lifts his right leg and holds it in the air, as though to say, "Psyche!"

Yea, he's cool.

(Okay, I get it, close to exceeding the acceptable amount of words...)

Last tidbit for you. When these guys wake up from either their nap or night of sleep, they more often than not are bouncing in their cribs, and guffawing (Katy Williams-like). Their best joke, developed and perfected after 9 months, is an intentional whack on the head proceeded by a over-dramatic"Owwww!" It's a sure thing--no audience can resist laughing. There is a new "Peeee-yuuuu" with fingers pinching the nose that's pretty funny now too (--especially when you are woken up to it in the morning), but the physical comedy is still winning the day. Just yesterday, in fact, after their nap, I took them out of their cribs only to hear them cry to be put back in. I put them in (the boys anyway) and watched about fifteen minutes of ridiculous hilarity...

Oh, and one more note: Favorite activity: Nakedness!!! Freedom--run around and dance Party--unmitigated Joy--that's what nakedness means--that, and maybe a little help with the dishes.

Totally worth a pee spot or two, I'm telling you.

Oops, sorry, one more thing: congratulate Mo Moore on her twins (born three days ago), Mandy and Drew (getting hitched tomorrow), Chuck and Sharyl (little girl due by the end of the month), and Katie D for completing her second masters and getting a new job up in Casper, Wyoming (--if you haven't figured it out yet, Katie is the standout of my family). Oh, and Sam and Shaleen have one in the oven, which will put the DeStefanos up by one on the Kiefers. Go fertility.

Love to everyone,

Joe, Suzy, Larry, Moe, and Curly.

Barfo-rama, Triplet Style...

(The above picture is of our twin neighbors pushing the stroller about a year ago. They are not, unfortunately, also our children, nor are they Suzy and me--though, it would be a big improvement for me, of course. Just wanted to give you an idea of what people see on our walks.)

The comment we most often get when people pass all of us in the park is: "Boy, you got your hands full." Our usual response is: "Yes, full of joy." And the exchange ends there.

But here it is again, translated, extrapolated:

They say, "I can't imagine three babies at once! Seems impossible."

We say, "Actually, it is not half so tough as we imagined it would be. It's not one baby times three--that, from what I have seen and heard from other parents, would indeed be impossible. But this is three babies at once. The whole approach is different, mentally and in all other ways. Kind of like this stroller: it's bigger and a bit more unwieldy, but it's not three strollers at once.

"I mean, sure, it's three times the food and diapers and cost and laundry and teeth--right, sixty of them suckers coming in...but still, like one baby, it is what it is. Adjustments are made, a balance found, and, in short, however incredible it may seem, Suzy and I, and the babies, are getting on fine--thriving, in fact. Thank you...

"Actually, there are even some advantages to having triplets--mainly, two establish a norm and make us less doubtful than if we were just trying to figure out the other one, who for infinite reasons may have been off in some way for some moment. And, of course, they have their own peer group, which allows Suzy and I some freedom to read or do chores, etc., while they play with each other.

"Interestingly, it is almost as hard for Suzy and I to imagine one baby at a time as it must be for you to imagine three, and our sympathies, both ways, are thus limited. The trick is to not judge one another by each other's standards--that's always the trick, though--in all things, it seems..."

They respond, "You don't have much of a chance to talk to people, do you? Ooo, look at the time, gotta go. Good luck with all that."

Yea, the quick conversation is better...

Anyway, this "three at once" logic generally holds up, except...when we are sick. You may remember the last time we were all sick. 5 and a half weeks later, right when we were starting to think our luck had finally and completely turned to ill, things all got better. And the babes are so happy generally, it's hard to even remember that trial.

Well, and then we get a reminder of what precipice we are all ambling along. Here's what happened last weekend:

Scout had come down with something early Saturday morning, vomited twice, had two wardrobe and bed sheet changes, but still managed to fall asleep. We let her sleep in a bit longer that morning. She was tired all day, and we simplified her meals, but by dinner that evening, she seemed fine--went down at 6:00 as usual and slept straight through the night. Whew! I felt some tinges of nausea, but it passed. My main concern was for the boys, but they seemed fine also.

And then Sunday lived up to its name. Hannah and Mochi came over--they were visiting from out of town, and we all spent some time outside (more on that later). Then evening and an early dinner at the Foas (--celebrating Paige's birthday). Babes didn't eat much, so we came home and fed them at their normal time, frozen blueberries among other things. We put them down a little past 6:00--oh, and Scout spit up a little at dinner, but we figured (--more hoped) it wasn't anything worrisome. Babies down, Suzy and I worked a bit downstairs, as usual, but Suzy was feeling a little rocky, so she went up to bed early.Then 9:15 struck...

Charlie had puked and was crying in his crib. By the time I had come upstairs, Suzy was already holding the little guy in the living room. Quietly as possible, I changed the sheets in his crib--vomit was pink and soupy. Blood?!! No, blueberries. Scout turned over in her crib, but remained quiet, whether or not she was up. Kiefer snoozed away. Charlie had calmed down, and Suzy and I managed to get his clothes changed, before I took him so Suzy could change her shirt (--keep track of the changes here). She did that, and Charlie was practically asleep already in my arms. So I put him down, and Suzy, feeling worse, went back to bed.

Then some time later (time became a total blur eventually), Charlie exploded again. Suzy grabbed him, while I finished rinsing off the soiled clothes and sheets downstairs. I came up and changed Charlie's sheets again. Scout was awake, but quiet, sitting up and watching me back and forth. Kiefer: ZZzzzzZZZzzz. I took Charlie, stripped him out of his pajamas, and Suzy went to change her shirt again. She returned and took the little guy again, and then, would you believe it, Kiefer erupted in the babies' room. I grabbed him while he was still puking and took him into the living room. I sat across from Suzy and she was looking a bit pale herself, not wanting to talk, afraid verbal confirmation of her feelings would make them a done deal.

...Oh, we're just getting started...

I managed to strip Kiefer, and handed him to Suzy. Then I took off my shirt, threw it in the pile at the kitchen door, and went to change Kiefer's bed as well. Scout had started to cry now, and was standing at the end of her crib. I came back out and then Suzy finally said, "I am not feeling good at all." We managed to dress the boys again, and I put Charlie back to bed, then Kiefer. Scout was still crying and watching, but eventually tried to go back to sleep. Suzy started a new load of wash and then went back to bed herself, feeling awful. I went downstairs to the computer to put in my absence for school the next day.

Then it was Charlie again. Suzy to the couch, Charlie to her arms, and I went to strip the bed again, but didn't need to--Charlie had nothing left inside him. Oh, that's good, I suppose. But right then Kiefer started up. I turned to grab him, and he puked the rest of his blueberry-dyed dinner right down the front of my shirtless furriness. I went into the living room, Scout was crying again, and Charlie was dry-heaving on Suzy, and then Suzy looked up to me with desperate urgency and said, "I have to puke." She gave me Charlie and rushed to the bathroom.

Scout started coughing in her crib, and I thought she might have puked as well. I looked into the darkness as though into a mirror, Kiefer on my right knee, Charlie on my left, pink soupy bile dribbling down and into my stomach rolls. When Suzy came back out, I told her about Scout. "Are you f-ing kidding me?" She checked on the sweet hysterical, and, thankfully, it was a false alarm. Suzy had to muster the strength to come back in and ask, "What are we going to do?" I said, "Give me the phone."

It was 12:00-something. I had to call twice before Suzy's mom Martha picked up. Suzy was standing miserably in the door way. "Hello," Martha sounded impossibly alert. "Martha," I said, and then, Kiefer started puking again, in the crook of my arm with the phone in it. Suzy, somehow, like a JuJitsu Master, took the phone, handed me a bowl for Kiefer to puke in, and finished the conversation with her mother, and probably did a cartwheel kick press or something, before I knew what was happening. "She's on her way," Suzy managed before dashing off to the bathroom. Kiefer, fortunately, was all out of ammunition too. Charlie was nestled into my side. Scout--well, she was probably talking things over with her pet mouse Doey.

By the time Martha arrived, the show was all but over. Suzy spent more than time in the bathroom, came out, put Charlie to bed, then went back to spend more in the bathroom. I saw Martha's headlights outside and told Suzy she had arrived. Suzy, wordlessly, more or less crawled into bed, feeling helpless, and worse, unable to help--which is Hell on earth for a mother, as I am sure you all know. Martha walked in and I gave her the skinny, then I gave her chunk--Kiefer, that is, and I went downstairs to finally wipe off my chest and belly, and change the new load over to the dryer (--we might need those clothes and sheets again, I thought). Then I came back upstairs and took Kiefer and put him in bed and then told Martha the plan:

"You sleep downstairs. I'll sleep on the couch up here, so that if one of the babes starts up again, I can get him or her without disturbing Suz, who hopefully can sleep this sickness off. If two start up again, I'll call you up to help."

Sure enough, around 3:00ish, Kiefer dry-heaved again. I grabbed him before he started wailing and took him to the couch with me, where he and I slept for the rest of the night (--that was my favorite part). Martha came up at about 4:00 and went on her way, figuring everything was over, which it was. (I think she even went into work the next day--without so much as a wink of sleep--that fold out in the basement is not especially comfortable.) And that was that.

Suzy and I took Monday off together. I ended up taking Tuesday as well, when one of the boys spit up a bit that morning. By Wednesday, we were all back on track, though. It was crazy. The worst part was actually Tuesday morning, when both boys, completely depleted of calories--they did not drink any Pedialite or Gatorade all day Monday and ate nothing more than crackers--they were both just languishing--their limbs limp, their eyes exhausted and listless. Ahh, if I never saw them in that state again, it would still be too soon.

All sick at once--that was a new one for us. I was wondering if I preferred it to the 5 and 1/2 week sickness-rollercoaster; and was wondering how it all came to pass the way it did. Then Hannah and Mochi forwarded these pictures from their visit on Sunday to our email accounts:

Huh, I don't remember that...

In any case, now when someone says, "Boy, you got your hands full." I think Suzy and I might say, "Yes, sometimes too full."

I wonder which answer they prefer.

All well that ends well, though. Love to everyone. And know that I am always working in some way on the next post, however infrequently they appear...

"Our Story" + Update

As many of you already know, Suzy and I were asked to write "Our Story" for the STORM newsletter. STORM is the appropriate acronym for Super Twins of the Rocky Mountains, a group set up as a resource for parents of triplets or more--yea, more. There's always someone who has it tougher than you, the adage goes. But, no, "tough" is far from the first word that comes to mind when I think of our situation... Anyway, the newsletter features a new family every month, and, well, here is what we wrote:

Two Feet In, I Guess

About six years ago, I went on my first and only blind date. Joey took me to Pasquini’s. We shared a calzone and the slime-ball “forgot” his wallet. I ended up paying. Yeah, it was pretty much love at first sight. Seven months later, we were on our way to Busan, South Korea to teach English for a year. That’s a normal decision to make after dating someone for less than a year, don’t you think? Living abroad was simply something we had both dreamt of doing one day. When one of us mentioned it, we both made inquiries, and voila!, we were on our way and figured it would either make or break the relationship. In any case, it would be a terrific adventure. Two feet in, I guess.

Well, it was fantastic. We “taught” for 9 months and then spent our earnings travelling all over Far East Asia. We even got down to Australia. Terrific.

About three and a half years later, we finally tied the knot. That’s when the real fun started. Here’s a little timeline for you for 2008: married during spring break (we both teach); bought a cute little 2 bedroom house in May; honeymooned for a month in Tanzania in the summer; came back and waited for the malaria pills to run their course; pregnant by winter. Two feet in, again.

And, of course, we weren’t just pregnant...

We both are the last to have children in our respective families. Every niece and nephew was born a singleton, so we had no inkling that twins, let alone triplets, were even possible. My mother had twins on her side, but that didn’t occur to us, or even to her, after seven grandchildren already. Eight weeks into the pregnancy, after some hilarious emotional breakdowns, like when Joey found me sobbing all over some pitiful movie on the Hallmark Channel, we went to our first ultrasound.

We didn’t have a clue what we were looking at: little box, black screen, triangular frame. Lori, the PA we had just met, began the ultrasound and was surprisingly quiet. The silence was long enough for Joey and I to look at each other and nod, thinking, “Oh well, we’ll try again.” Then Lori spoke, “There’s one...” Joey and I looked at each other with exultation: Yes, we are pregnant! But then Lori surprisingly continued her sentence, “... and there’s two...” Joey and I looked at each other again, this time with amazement. I think one or maybe even both of us actually said, “Twins? We’re having twins?” But Lori, transfixed to the screen, and still stuck inside her wondrous sentence, remained silent… Our heads were going back and forth, from the screen to Lori, to each other, then back to the screen, and then the verdict finally came (drum role, please) “...and there’s three.” Joey likes to tell the story that my reaction started in my toes, rifled through my entire body like lightning, and then exploded from my mouth: “Are you sh*^ing me?!” Joey, pale as a sheet already, turned askance, and very quietly said, with all the fake composure you could ever want, “We’re going to need a new house.” Two feet in, indeed!

Then Lori proceeded to say, “Is that a fourth?”

Yes, Joey and I were in quite a bit of shock, as was Lori—this was new for her too. (To this day, Joey claims that Lori actually put two more in there through some technological glitch). I don’t really remember much about that day after that. We did meet my OB, because she needed to verify what Lori saw. She also believed there were “only” three, but she sent us downstairs for a better sonogram just to rule out the possibility of a furtive fourth.

Word had somehow already spread everywhere, no doubt starting with Lori. On our way down to the examination room, people were pointing at us and saying things like “There they are,” “That’s them,” “That’s the couple who just found out they’re having triplets.” Some people were excited, others judgmental. We weren’t available to either reaction, blown like leaves in the whirlwind.

Yep, “only” three. Over the next weeks and months, our shock gave way more and more to preparations. Thankfully I was able to finish out my school year and veg for the rest of the summer. Yeah, I began to look more and more like an equilateral triangle, as my husband so nicely puts it. But, even at the height of my discomfort, I knew I was lucky to have the pregnancy I did.

Deciding we had had enough surprises, we chose to learn the sexes: two boys and a girl. The names we had chosen since we first saw that faded pink line on the pee stick were now used up (Charlie and Scout), but we debated over the other little guy all summer. Not until our doctor actually pulled him out and gave him to the NICU nurses who put him under the heating lamp did Joey walk over and look into his tiny precious face, and confirm what we had been leaning toward: “Yep, he’s a Kiefer.” The OB halted whatever she was doing to me, looked over the curtain, and asked, “Did he just say, ‘It’s a keeper?’” Everyone, all 632 people in the delivery room, got a good chuckle out of that one.

That’s right, Scout, Charlie, and Kiefer, each officially born a minute apart, and all three of them most definitely keepers.

Our great fortune continued past that day as well. All five of us came home five days later. They tried to send us home earlier, but as we were smartly advised to do, we kept the great 24-hour nurse/doctor expertise and help around us as long as possible. After that fifth day, however, they did kick us out.

That first night home was unsettling, to say the least, replete with anxious, almost angry sighs. We felt utterly alone. But the moment passed and the plans we had made soon took full effect. A whole army of volunteers, mostly retired colleagues and friends’ parents, all led by my mother, stepped in the day Joey had to go back to work.

It was a great first year, all in all, thanks to the health of the babies, Joey being a fantastic dad, who, although he was teaching, woke up every 3 hours and fed the babies with me (—I still have no idea how he did it), my being able to take a year off, and all the loving and continual support we received. We are now only 16 months into this crazy adventure, and it is, and still promises to be as miraculous as anything could ever be.

Just as you all know, having triplets is a wild and rare experience, two feet right into the full surge of life, every aspect of it swirling about your heads, quicker sometimes than you can grasp, but beautiful, endlessly beautiful.

But that's old news. What can I offer by way of an update?

Well, the people are all walking now, interacting more and more--civil...most of the time. We have just successfully transitioned from two naps to one, thanks to Kori, Martha, and, of course, Hannah. They're eating too well, despite their squat stature--yea, it's hard to keep up with them. "Mommy" and "Daddy" have both entered the vocabulary, though "Mommy" seems to mean "Give me, Give me," and "Daddy" has something to do with poop. There are a few other words, like "Please," which sounds like "p-SSS," and "Ball," which sounds like "Baw." "Nanna" is also in there, their word for Hannah, our nanny. It's funny, I have always been amazed by how parents decipher what their children garble, but I am starting to understand how it happens. Speaking of "baw," Kiefer has one hell of an arm--I've been pegged several times by things not especially soft--in fact, had to put the golf balls away, and the throwing knives... Oh, and they listen to instruction pretty well, like "Sit down, please," and "Take that to Mommy," and "Scout, let go of his penis." Anyway, we've taken some good spills--like Scout head first down Mike and Drea's wooden staircase (--Mike pushed her). Man, she had a pretty good bump on her head for a while. Reminded me of Romeo & Juliet: "Dost thou fall upon thy face, Jule?..."

I have been working on a dance video, but it's far from publishable yet--mainly because they keep creating better moves. You'll have to stay tuned for that one.

But, the real news of our life these days is actually coming from other sectors: Maureen is pregnant with twins--YEA!; Chuck's Sharyl is also pregnant, a girl, somehow already resembling the great Mrs. S; the Swanzinator is pregnant too; my sister Katie and Doctor Paris found a great home in Casper, Wyoming; Andy Hieb, Hannah V, and Mochi are all planning March visits; and Katy Williams and Co are coming back to Colorado for the summer--yeehaw!

Much love and two or three extra layers of warmth this winter to all of you--and, as always, our heartfelt gratitude,

Joe & Suzy (Scout, Charlie, and Kiefer)