Blossoms: Lilacs! Another one of the purple flowers I love. One of our neighbors has a lilac bush that hangs over the fence in the alley behind our homes. On our walk today, I lifted up the boys to smell the flowerets. The scent is bewitching.

Listening to: Jimmy Buffett, Songs You Know by Heart. When I was pregnant with the twins, Matthew, known at the time as Baby A, started boppin' and groovin' to the strains of "Cheeseburger in Paradise." We started referring to that in utero twin as our little parrothead.

Poor Thing

Daniel is off from school today because of his strep throat. I was not looking forward to having all three boys to deal with today. Daniel is a sweetheart by himself and the twins by themselves are not difficult, but the three of them together can be a horror show.

We stopped at Kramer's for bagels on our way home from dropping off Tab. On Wednesdays Kramer's offers 18 bagels for the price of a dozen so we stock up and put some in the freezer. Stephen, Matthew, and Daniel chased each other around the store, shouting and laughing maniacally. I ordered them to sit at one of the tables while I placed our order. The counter person looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. "I only have one boy, and he is a real handful. Way more difficult than my daughter. I don't know how you do it with three."

Sometimes I don't know either. When the twins were babies, people who saw us walking them in their twin stroller would stop and ask the usual litany of questions: Twins? How old? Identical or fraternal? Boys or girls? When they learned I had twin boys and an older son as well, at least half the people would exclaim, "Three boys! You poor thing!" After a while those comments really started to bug me. But then there are times like this morning when I think those folks were right all along.

Our next stop was the supermarket, where the boys continued their overly exuberant behavior until I finally lost my temper with them. I directed my wrath at Daniel because he is the oldest and "should know better." As a former oldest child myself, I should know better than to take that line with him, but it is too easy to fall into that pattern.

We left Acme after picking up ingredients for tacos (Cinco de Mayo, you know). We took a walk around the neighborhood to burn off some of their energy. Since they spend most of our walks running on ahead and then running back to me, it's a good form of exercise for them.

One of our neighbors has a stately old Kwanzan cherry tree in his back yard. This time of year it is heavy with gorgeous pink blossoms. When we returned down our street, I noticed that neighbor planting some flowers in his side yard. He'd laid out four rows of marigolds in military precision.

Now, marigolds are one of the few flowers that I do not like. I loathe their colors--gold and orange, feh!--and they don't even have a pleasant scent to make up for their other deficiencies. Still, I complimented the guy on his marigolds, feeling hypocritical but pleasantly neighborly. Then, with genuine enthusiasm, I told him how much I liked his cherry tree.

"It's coming out," he said.

"Really?" I said, shocked but trying not to show it. "Why?"

He grunted and pointed to the tiny, tissue-thin pink petals carpeting his yard. "See that mess? I just cleaned up the yard last night and look at it already. I mean, it would be one thing if that tree bore fruit, but since it doesn't...." He shrugged. "Besides, I want to put in a garage."

Clod.

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