Family Pictures

Say these two words to the next parents you see: Family Pictures.

Then just watch and listen. Their eyes will roll, their jaws will tighten. They may clinch their fists, they may break into a sweat.

But the one thing you can be sure of (or at least 99% sure of), is that the words Family Pictures strike fear and frustration in the hearts of parents everywhere.

First, there's the preparation. Which, in our case, means dressing the girls early enough to get out of the house in time to make it to our appointment. But not so early that they have time to lie on their backs in the foyer and effectively sweep up dog hair with their dark sweaters.

And it means curling hair, putting on tights, getting everyone a snack (which has to be strategically chosen, so as to reduce the likelihood that chocolate will be smeared on their clothes), getting everyone into the car without a fight and without messing up their carefully coiffed hair. And then reversing the entire process when we get to the photo studio.

This year, we added 100% more complexity. Because Family Pictures now also means getting the boys changed, dressing them in clothes that look very cute but that are absolutely the least functional baby clothes anyone has ever produced, protecting those non-functional clothes from the puke that we know is coming, and trying to keep their eyes from getting red and puffy as a result of their protracted crying on the way to the photo studio.

Oh, and the adults have to get ready, too. Which, for me, means putting on whatever clothes my wife has selected for me and trying not to drench them in sweat as I execute steps 1 and 2 above.

At the photo studio, chaos ensues. The girls can't sit still, preferring instead to spin on the photographer's chair until one of them invariably falls off. Which requires an effort to minimize the puffy red eyes. And we have about a 15-minute window with the boys, a window which crashes down quickly if we dare to push to a 16th minute. Getting everyone to sit still, together, look straight ahead, smile like a regular human being (rather than a member of the Insane Clown Posse), and not throw up, is nearly impossible.

I try to avoid Picture Day with any excuse I can muster. It is, without exception, one of the most frustrating days and experiences in my life. I have rarely made it through without pitching a tantrum of my own.

But the results. Oh the results. They're totally worth it, don't you think?

Smiley, Cranky, and Lumpy

A couple of days ago my wife came across one of the outfits the boys wore when they came home from the hospital. It was, quite honestly, no bigger than the pajamas our daughters put on their dolls. It was so tiny, it hardly seemed possible that it could ever have fit them.

And that had us marveling at how quickly the time has passed. My boys are four months old now, and they barely resemble those skinny, miniature little babies we brought home last summer.

What an incredible four months.

I'm a guy who likes to stick a person with a good nickname. My college roommate: Buffalo Head. My wife: Tbird. My oldest daughter: Alley cat. My middle daughter: Boney Maroney. My youngest: G-bear.

And so, for a few weeks at least, the boys had nicknames too. Rusty. All of them were Rusty. Because their hair, such as it was, had begun to resemble my father's. Red.

But much has changed in these first four months. They've gained almost 10 pounds each since birth, with Luke tipping the scales at about fourteen pounds. They consistently sleep five-and-a-half hours each night - enough to make me think I've got the free time to run for office this fall! And they eat, eat, eat.

Of course, there's been sickness. A cold or two, and a couple of ear infections.

Most interestingly, though, their personalities have emerged and are unmistakable. Ben, who two months ago was a pale, shriveled little guy with a poor sense of humor, is now the wiggliest, smiliest child. He flails his arms and legs so aggressively that it's tough to get a diaper on him. And whether we're changing his diaper or waking him up to feed him, he always smiles a wide, gummy smile. Our Olivia has even started calling him the Smile Maker.

Jack, who was once our mild child, is no longer. He is still a sweet little boy. But let's just say that he's found his voice. And the rest of us have found it, too. We find it loud and obnoxious. Sometimes, no matter what we do, he just hollers. He hollers until he gets tired of hollering. Then he takes a short break, and he hollers some more. Doesn't matter, though. Those large, round blue eyes somehow help soothe the ringing in our ears.

And Luke. Well, he's Luke. He's hefty. Big and round and intense. He leans back in his seat, his belly arcing in front of his face, and he surveys the room, his blue eyes darting around as though he's afraid he'll miss something. And unlike Jack, who lets a good cry build up for a few minutes, Luke goes straight to the finish. Sometimes at night, all will be sleeping soundly, and suddenly Luke will unleash a piercing blast that shocks everyone out of bed. He's a lug, a big, solid hunk of screeching baby.

And so, the boys have new nicknames. Smiley, Cranky, and Lumpy.

All this in only four months. Can't wait to see what the next four will bring.