A Briggs Story Best Left Untold

Note: The events described in this post actually went down last week, but I didn’t get a chance to publish it before our family camping trip, so here it is now.

Okay. This post is a total vent. So feel free to bail right now if you don’t wanna hear me bellyache. Oh. And if you have a weak stomach, you’re seriously in the wrong place. Leave. Immediately. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

So I get home from work a couple of days ago, and I smell something that’s all too familiar in my household.

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Briggs’ ACL and the Long Overdue Revelation

Briggs tore his ACL and I’m officially blaming it on the compacted NBA season. I wonder how many of y’all got that joke. The NBA part. Not the Briggs / ACL part. Because that, unfortunately, is no joke. Miss J (who helps with Luke) said it was a point-in-time injury, or so she gathered by the yelp she heard as he reached the top of the stairs he’d crested hundreds if not thousands of times before. The vet said it probably “just went.” Like Derrick Rose’s.

The whole deal has really thrown me for a loop. It’s pointless to try and explain why — in fact, I’m not 100% certain I understand, myself. Or, actually, maybe I do understand, and I’m just ashamed. [Read more…]

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. Especially you, Caroline. We love you SO much.

Easter Egg Hunts, Claps of Thunder and Natural Depravity

C and the trips last Easter

Please don’t faint, but I’ve actually got a post for you today which I wrote for this site. No clicking over to somewhere else. Original content, I believe it’s called. I know. Shhh. Ocking. I’d like to get back into the habit of writing here more often. Maybe this is a start. I kinda like this one, but I wrote it in a stream-of-consciousness blur, so it’s a bit random. Still, a worthy effort, I believe, on this Good Friday. Here it be:

Ironic, I thought, as we drove to the Easter Egg Hunt. The rain, I meant. Only it wasn’t ironic, well, except for maybe in an Alanis Morissette kind of way, like ray- eee -ain, on your wedding day, which, incidentally, isn’t ironic at all. Bad luck to be certain. But ironic, it is not. I confuse irony more than I’d like to admit, and I blame yesteryear’s bitter songstress for said confusion, too lovesick, I suppose, to fully understand the term, that angry woman was. Still, she, she, she oughtta know.

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5 Years With Caroline

It was exactly five years ago when I married my beautiful Caroline. And I remember the day vividly. Every aspect of it. And, believe it or not, the thing that sticks out most isn’t the part where we said “I do.” Nor is it the reception. Or even that first night we spent as man and wife. Nope. The thing that sticks out is sitting with my soon-to-be stepdaughter in one of the church’s meeting rooms as I nervously pondered my future. It was all about to change, and I vowed that I’d be ready for whatever it was that would come my way. Yet try as I might, there was simply no way I could have ever imagined everything I was about to get.

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Toddler Related Train Wrecks

You see that picture just above this line? That picture, my friends, is of the chandelier in our furniture-less dining room. But more importantly, that picture is the perfect metaphor for Caroline and me right now. We’re awfully close — in the grand scheme of things — to being right where we’re supposed to be. Yet, sadly, we’re noticeably askew. Still, we’re hanging in there. But, let’s fact it… we could collapse at virtually any moment.

Why, you ask? Because of toddler-related train wrecks. That’s why. And I learned of the most recent such train wreck just two days ago via a phone call from my beautiful wife. A phone call which began with a question that no man ever wants to hear his wife ask, especially over the telephone. “How do you turn off the water to the house?”

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Annoying Toys and the Parents Who Loathe Them

So, I’ve been on a bit of a deep thread over here at my personal blog, one which I intend to deviate from with my next post which should be up tomorrow. (Wait til you hear what the triplets did yesterday…) But fear not, dear friends. For I still possess a sense of humor. And today it’s on display over at AimingLow. And I gotta say, I’m kinda partial to this post as I think it’s quite funny. Remember the post I wrote for TLC called 10 Astonishingly Annoying Toys? (It wound up on the homepage of YahooShine!) It was inspired by one toy in particular. And that toy is featured in the AimingLow post that just went up today. But what’s also featured is another dialogue with my exceedingly clever and lovely wife. One in which she, per usual, gives me all I can handle. See what happens when we disagree on whether or not a toy will prove to be annoying by clicking HERE. And, again, swing back by tomorrow if you wanna see me try to be funny on my personal blog for a change.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Nappiness

Parenting is a tough gig. One which calls for many sacrifices. And surely a guy who went from carefree bachelor to father of four in just 13 months would know all about sacrifices, right? Wrong. At least not when it comes to one particular thing which I’ve never been asked to give up.

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The Theory of Relativity as it Pertains to the Departure of Toddlerhood

Jack, Kirby and Sam back in the day.

Everything’s relative. This pregnancy should be a piece of cake compared to the last one, our friends would tell us. And they were right. Because this pregnancy was much easier. No scares. No progesterone shots. No round-the-clock contraction monitoring. No hospitalized bed rest. No problems.

Even so, this pregnancy was harder to endure.

Still, everything’s relative. Taking care of just one baby will be so easy compared to taking care of three, our friends would tell us. And they were right. I mean, there’s a reason for the faint smile that creeps across my face after each successful 2 am bottle. It’s because I remember the days when I’d still have two more hungry customers waiting not-so-patiently in line.

Even so, taking care of Grand Finale has been harder than taking care of the triplets. At least that’s what I’ve found to be the case so far.

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You Don’t Know Who the Baby Looks Like. You Just Don’t.

Even when I look real close, I can’t tell!

Last night I went for a run and took my iPhone along because I wanted to listen to a new playlist that I had downloaded earlier in the day. About a mile into it, the music was interrupted by notification of a tweet I had received from a random woman who was commenting on a piece I had written for TLC which discussed the advantages of being an older parent. I actually fired back with a few taps of my thumbs without even breaking stride, and once I did, I was taken aback by the entire experience. I was essentially having a conversation with a woman I had never met before about the birth of my youngest child. While running. Through the use of my phone. (And I once thought call waiting was the shit…)

Yet as much as technology has changed the way in which I’m able to converse about my newborn, human nature has insisted that some of the conversations remain the exact same as they’ve always been. And I was reminded of this earlier today when Grand Finale and I ran into an old friend who engaged me in such a conversation.

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