This back to school season Friday fun day is more like Friday flop day.  I find with 3 kids and 5 schedules we hit the end of the week a bit flat.  

With Ollie-Boo under the weather I thought we'd all take a "personal day" and stretch out a bit.  Easing into the weekend at more of a jog than a sprint.

We found the woods.  It's been a bit soggy and we've had to keep our new "school shoes" to the path.  Today we ventured a bit deeper to breathe in the decomposition and all things lovely that are Minnesota Fall.

I love fall photo sessions!  Looking to get a family pic for your Christmas card?  I'd love to help you with that.

School pictures of your sweets uninspiring?  I can help with that too.  

 - Jen

In order to take 3 boys to an apple orchard...1 must be sleeping, fingers should be kept clear of car doors, there must be food.

Taking selfies with a 35mm fixed - that's the challenge!

Happy picking Minnesota.  Go (boy) crazy!

Seems like less than a blink and more than a lifetime all at the same time.

Lots of moving parts around our house.  These are a few of my favorites.

My kids are different.  From each other.  I expected them to be alike and they aren't.  Not even close.

Two of them argue constantly.  One of them isn't big enough to challenge the first two.  He will.  It will happen.  Some day they will all disagree on which power ranger is the baddest.  It won't be long until I can here "that's mine" in three different voices.

At times when all five of us are screaming – trying to claim more square footage than we should – my boys find moments to connect.  They almost crave each other at times.  These fleeting glimpses of utopia are what keep me sane.

Raising boys is a circus act.  Taming the lion while walking a tightrope on the back of an elephant – not to mention the protestors and the haters right outside the tent.

They are tender.  Boys.  It's hard to remember that sometimes.  Even Power Rangers give kisses to babies.

I love this picture of big, tough Ollie.  How paternal he is with his left hand keeping the baby so safely on the couch – and then with the other hand he plays with his own feet like the toddler that he technically is.

I wrote Otto's birth story to share with y'all.  I wanted to set the record straight about the "new cesarean," about bravery and about section-stigma.  I had so many words down on paper.

This isn't that draft of the story.  This is the one where I say all that matters about the birth of Otto.

I watched him be pulled from my body by the seat of his birthday-suit.  I, for the first time, witnessed a tiny boy that I had grown become part of a much bigger world.

As the cord that tied us together pulsed for the last few times I held his hand from the opposite side of a clear drape.

Most importantly I held him.  First.  I got to be first this time.

Otto – you are loved.