Netting Shrimp To Use As Bait To Catch Redfish At The Beach

This post is about netting shrimp to use as bait to catch redfish at the beach. Shocker, right? Anyway, it’s a very cool process that my friend introduced us to. Yes. Same guy. My partner in dipshittery crime in the Great Balcony Lockout Debacle of 2012. Goodtimes.

Anyway when not lending a helping hand in shattering kitchen windows of beach-side condos, my buddy isn’t afraid to go to the tip of the island — right near the place his family stays — and catch redfish.

And this year, Alli, the triplets and I tagged along. It was awesome, y’all. Here’s how it went down from the throw of the net to the catching of the fish:

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The Unplanned Baby That Was Always Part of the Plan

Caroline and I were having dinner with my sister and mother last weekend when my sister, who totally loves Luke, said something quite interesting. It was along the lines of “You know, when I first heard Caroline was expecting again, I was like ‘No, no. I like it the way it is.’ ” She went on, of course, to talk about how now, she’s so smitten with Luke and with the current iteration of our family that she couldn’t believe she ever had such thoughts.

And anyone who’s ever had a surprise baby (as Luke was) can probably relate to such a sentiment. At least, I could. Anyway, the wonderful conversation which ensued inspired this post that I wrote for Disney, and, for the first time ever, I feel as if I finally put into words just why it is that we’re all so lucky to have Luke onboard — most notably, perhaps, the triplets.

Anyway, it felt great to write it for some reason, and if you’re in that same surprise-pregnancy boat (or know someone who is), this might be something worth reading. OH, and thanks to S.A. who corrected me: I meant “throes” as opposed to “throws.” (Embarrassing, but oh well!)

Our baby Luke was a surprise, y’all. And when Caroline and I learned she was pregnant with him, we fainted were smack dab in the middle of the throes of toddlerhood. Times three. You see, I went from carefree bachelor to father of four in just 13 months thanks to marrying a single mom, then quickly conceiving triplets.

And the triplets had proven to be quite a handful, especially when they were three-years-old, which was exactly when we learned of Luke (or Grand Finale as I’d taken to calling him at that point). And the end result was two 41-year-old parents who loved their family exactly as it was. Four kids were plenty, thank you very much. Especially in light of the difficulty which came part and parcel with the triplets.

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The Best Thing About Triplets

You know what the best thing about having triplets is? Watching three kids who share the same parents, the same house, the same school, the same siblings and so many of the same experiences turn out so differently. And I’m telling you one thing, y’all — this will probably go down as one of my favorite summers of all times because their differences, which have always been prominent, are becoming more apparent than ever before.

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Another Happy Birthday

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.

That’s right. Just days after we celebrated Grand Finale’s birthday, it’s time to celebrate yet another. And no, it’s not Alli’s, as the above picture might suggest. Nope, today’s birthday belongs to another girl. But not Kirby. Because then that’d mean that Sam and Jack would also be celebrating a birthday today, and they’re not. And it’s not my birthday. Nor is it the birthday of our faithful hound, Briggs. So that just leaves one person.

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The Time We Met Our Brother

Soon after Caroline and I first learned that she was pregnant with Luke, I was surprised to find that I actually had to mourn the loss of something: the “youngest child” status that the triplets would soon give up. This, of course, made me appreciate just how incredibly well Alli handled the triplets’ arrival. Sure, you could hear her gears grind just a bit during the first few months of their lives, but all in all, she adjusted beautifully. So beautifully, in fact, that I honestly don’t think Caroline and I would be half as effective in raising the triplets without her.

So now the question, of course, becomes how will the triplets handle the arrival of their brother?

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The Birth of Grand Finale Osborne

Luke Fiser Osborne

So, it’s official. Grand Finale Osborne finally began his much-anticipated reign of the planet Earth yesterday at 1:08pm. Early indications suggest that he will be a sleepy, even-tempered and flatulent ruler. My incredibly beautiful, smart, funny and charming wife proved that she’s also a total gamer (as her tennis exploits have long attested) — she was intent on having a vaginal birth and she did just that. After much deliberation we opted to not subject our fifth and final child to a state of general namelessness, but will instead call him Luke Fiser Osborne. Luke weighed 7lbs 4.8oz at birth. Both Caroline and he are doing well.

More, later, I’m sure, but for now, I’ve posted a slide-show after the jump if you’d like to see a few pics of him. And one more thing: Caroline and I wanna thank everyone for all the love and support we feel lucky to have received. We have taken each and every such display as your biding offer to help us around the house as we get acclimated over the next few months. So we’ll be calling you. Repeatedly. Until you answer. So don’t screen us. ‘Cause that’d be bullshit. Oh. And feel free to just treat yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.

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Boat Camping With Pook

Two things real quick: (1) I’m a dork who likes to make movies and (2) I’m not afraid to go camping. Those facts teamed up this past weekend when I took Pook boat camping. At the ripe old age of nine, she’s already logged more nights under the stars than most adults via five different camping trips. But this was her first time boat camping.

What’s more, it was also my brother-in-law’s first time boat camping, and only his second time camping ever, the last coming when he was 16. So let’s just go ahead and call this his first time camping, shall we? Same for his 5-year-old son. Though they left camp on Saturday morning, a good friend of mine and his daughter joined us right as they were leaving, so we spent the rest of the trip hanging out with them.

So how did everyone fare?

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When Triplet Toddlers Do The Dishes

No one likes to do the dishes. Well, except for the tiny trio (who are about to outgrow that moniker, by the way). As they take great delight in the chromed magic that is our dishwasher, opening and closing and once again opening its door. And even standing upon it if they’re feeling saucy. Of great fascination are the two racks which slide in and out. And the silverware holder? It rivals Dora.

Okay, that’s bullshit. Nothing rivals Dora. Except for possibly Caillou. Who’s bald at age four with no apparent medical condition which would require any type of hair-losing remedy. And whose parents are annoyingly empathetic, not to mention always successful in conveying moral-laden nuggets of wisdom in sing-songy fashion. And, oh, by the way, could someone please tell Caillou’s narrator to dial it down just a touch? This isn’t Shakespeare, girlfriend. It’s a borderline sanctimonious, B-minus cartoon about a bald kid. Yet, I digress. This post isn’t about Caillou. It’s about what happens when toddler triplets do the dishes.

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Twas the Night Before Christmas 2010

Twas the night before Christmas, and here at our house,
Our children were stirring, yet nary a mouse.
For what kind of mouse would be living with us?
The kind who would grumble and mumble and cuss.

The screaming, it starts at the drop of a hat.
It’s quite hard to handle—for even a rat.
Lovie and me are both trying our best.
We can’t restore order. We never get rest.

Such is the case when your triplets are 3.
Of course, they are cute (because, they look like me).
But they bring a clamor to all that they do.
Whenever they’re playing, our house is a zoo.

Our Monster is brash—and he throws quite a fit.
Though after he naps, he’ll quietly sit.
He’ll hug you and snuggle and bust out a smile,
Then leave you and raise holy Hell for a while.

He’s fussy and hyper and kinda mischievous
But good out in public so folks don’t believe us
Whenever we tell them that he’s hard to take.
“Who him?” they will ask us. “Why, he’s sweet as cake.”

Monster, post nap.

Then there is Peanut, who’s really quite loud.
She often runs naked. (We’re both really proud.)
She’s bossy and funny and messy but neat,
Demands to watch Dora from Lovie’s backseat.

Me and Peanut.

Oddly we’ll often just do as she squeals.
Something ‘bout oil and a loud squeaky wheel.
But we’re good with Peanut and all her demands,
‘Cuase we’ve got our Biggs, and he likes to hold hands.

He’s snuggly and quiet—he plays all alone.
With either his train or his red mobile phone.
But that doesn’t mean that our boy wouldn’t spar.
You’d better not touch even one of his cars.

I wasn't kidding about the cars.

Seriously. Not a joke.

Because if you do, he’ll scream awfully loud.
While Monster is busily bouncing around.
And Peanut is shouting ‘bout this or ‘bout that.
And Briggs, our brown dog, is harassing a cat.

Thank goodness for Pookie, she helps us stay calm.
She’s truly a beauty—takes after her mom.
She’s thoughtful and playful and does well in school.
She’s loves to shoot baskets and swim in the pool.

It’s hard to believe that she’s already 9.
Though not my “real” daughter, she sure feels like mine.
I’ve loved her to pieces since she was just 3.
And much like the triplets, she’s precious to me.

Pookie.

Although they are precious, we weren’t planning more.
We’re really quite good with our posse of four.
But add even one and we’d prob’ly go nuts.
That’s what we thought before Dunkin Donuts.

‘Cause that’s where we learned that my Lovie was preggo.
News that was greeted with “No. No. No. No. No.”
Eventually, though, we would both come around.
And then from our hearts, much joy would abound.

My heart that is joyful has also a hole
Because of my sister and her gentle soul.
Although she did well in her fight once again,
The cancer’s the one who would win in the end.

Her battle was epic, and this past July
All of the experts had said she would die.
And though in a coma for 9 days she stayed,
She somehow would answer the prayers that we prayed.

My sister was able to come back to life.
And showed us much beauty through all of her strife.
And though she would leave us just three months from then,
She lives in that hole in our hearts now, my friend.

The joy of the season makes room for the sad.
My sister’s in Heaven right now with my Dad.
And though we all miss them and wish they were here,
Their heavenly Christmas, it fills me with tears.

But isn’t that just what this season’s about?
Feeling the ties that unite us throughout.
Christmas with fam’ly, both here and above.
I think that Christmastime’s all about love.

And so this is how I will finish my rhyme.
With love that has humbled me time after time.
The love that’s He’s woven throughout my whole life.
The love that He’s growing inside of my wife.

We’ve so much to live for, each one of us do.
Perhaps to write poems like this one to you.
Or simply to hold our beloved so tight.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Here’s a little slideshow from my family to yours. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season.


Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

Snowman photo: stock.xchnge

Indian Summer

It’s a beautiful fall day in Ktown. Unseasonably warm. Isn’t that called an Indian Summer?

Unfortunately, I have bronchitis and feel like shiz. So I’m in bed. But don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for Lovie. She’s knee deep in kiddos right now and she’s not happy about it. I don’t blame her.

Anyway, since there’s an Indian Summer going down today, it seemed like the perfect time to create a photo album of summertime pics. These were taken by a woman named Beth whom we met in Hilton Head. I’ve also got some great shots of all four of our kids from the fall. I’ll try to get those up soon…In the meanwhile, check these out.


Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

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