Treehouse Master

I don’t know if it was four years ago or five that Jack first started asking for a treehouse in the backyard. To my surprise, Alex was all, “Sure, Jack! I can build one for you!” He also said a lot of things about getting it done in a weekend, but the fact that he agreed to make one at all was the truly astonishing thing.

Then we waited and waited and waited and Jack kept asking and Alex kept insisting that he was going to build one and then we moved and we were glad that we didn’t build one at the old house and then every time we drove past a treehouse, Jack would say, “Why do they get a treehouse and we don’t?” and then we waited a little more.

Finally, late this past summer, Alex announced that it was finally time. He made a shopping list, stuffed us all into our van, and dragged us out to the first of many trips to Home Depot to buy lumber.

Photo of Alex and Sam putting a long 4x4 piece of wood on a cart.

We had a very strict Home Depot separation of labor: Alex and Sam did most of the heavy lifting, Jack sat on the cart, Quinn laid on the floor, and I took photos. That’s me, always sacrificing for the greater good.

It was fun to get started buying our supplies as a family. There was a wrinkle though.

Guess how many people can fit in a Chrysler Town & Country filled with a bunch of six- to 12-foot pieces of lumber?

Answer: two.

Guess how many people are in my family?

Answer: three more than two.

Guess which of us had to sit in the nearby Five Guys and grumble at each other while the other two took the lumber home?

Answer: Those of us not involved in most of the heavy lifting.

Alex had a plan to build the treehouse and fasten it to the tree. He started by attaching a brace to the tree and constructing a base. I helped nail the base together. Then Alex took out my crooked nails and re-hammered them in correctly.

Photo of Alex standing next to a tree. There is a triangle of wood attached to the tree and the frame of a base on the ground next to him. He looks vaguely annoyed.

See that vaguely annoyed look on his face? He wore that for the next week, especially when I said things like, “Are you sure this is how we’re supposed to do it?” and “Maybe we should have used a different screw,” and “Are treehouses supposed to be that wobbly?”

Even though Alex had the worst, fair-weather assistants in me and the munchkins, he still managed to maintain his sense of humor.

Alex standing at the tree, using a measuring tape to measure from the ground to the top of the brace on the tree.

Alex, measuring what needs to be a pretty precise measurement: “This is a cubit.” Not everyone can build a treehouse using cubits and smidgens.

Building the base was all well and good, except you have to build it on the ground, then position it in its spot in the tree to figure out where to dig your post holes. That means you have to figure out a way to hold the base in the tree without posts while you’re figuring out where those posts go. And that base is heeeeaaaavy.

Our treehouse plans suggested you have three people hold up the base while another person figures out where the posts go. Looking at our little family, we just couldn’t make that math work. So Alex and I recruited a slightly too short ladder to act as one of our people, forced Sam to help, and tried to move as fast as possible.

Once we figured out where we wanted the post holes, we rested the base on the ladder as we used every tool we could find to dig in the hard, hard ground.

Photo of treehouse base propped in a tree by resting on a ladder. Alex is digging a post hole. Sam is walking underneath in a cringing fashion.

There was a lot of screeching of “DO NOT WALK UNDER THE TREEHOUSE!!!!!!!”

Once the base was attached to the posts, things got easier. I mean, not in terms of our marriage suffering from me insisting that the structure was too wobbly and him insisting that I just shut the fuck up already. (He turned out to be right. Go figure.)

The whole family helped build the treehouse. Some helped more than others.

Photo of Jack digging with a shovel and Quinn chipping at a rock with a pickaxe.

Good job digging random holes in the yard, Jack and Quinn.

Actually, Jack was really into the whole thing and helped quite a bit. Quinn, less so. He really enjoyed that pickax though.

I won’t bore you with all the details of our exact process and our million trips to Home Depot and all of the curse words we used, but suffice it to say, we eventually ended up with a house-shaped structure attached to a tree.

Alex standing in front of the frame of a treehouse in the tree.

It is just a skeleton, but it is a treehouse skeleton.

Not everyone in the house understood why we were doing what we were doing.

Photo from outside the house of two kittens inside a sliding glass door looking outside at the saws and wood on the back porch.

Kittens: “We have a perfectly cromulent house already standing. Why are you doing all this work to build that tiny house in a tree?”

It got a little sketchy when Alex had to climb to the very top of a tall ladder to hammer in some of the siding and to put the shingles on the roof.

Photo of Alex on a ladder using a hammer. He looks worried.

I took this photo from my safe vantage point in the treehouse. He was in a much sketchier position on a ladder fifteen feet in the air. That’s his “I don’t want to die” face.

Photo of Alex at the bottom of a tall ladder. He is making a grouchy face at me.

This is Alex’s “stop making jokes about my imminent death” face.

I gotta tell you, building a treehouse is a tremendous amount of work. And it turns out that all the lumber is super pricey. AND you might end up near divorce if you try to build one. But you just might make your inspiration for building the damn thing super happy.

Photo of Jack giving a thumbs up while standing inside the treehouse.

That thumbs up was five years in the making.

It turns out that even though I took seventeen million photos of the building of the treehouse, I neglected to take one from the outside once it was done and it’s dark right now and I don’t want to go outside to take one, so I have to use this one that my mom took as we were finishing up the roof.

Photo of the treehouse with railings and stairs. Alex is on the balcony on a ladder nailing shingles to the roof. I am sitting on the stairs looking at my phone.

And, yes, I do mean WE. Sure, Alex is doing the heavy lifting here, but I was making sure everyone on Facebook knew of our progress, which was almost as important.

We’re Team Stimey, so we had to christen the thing with doughnut breakfast.

Three photos of us in the treehouse eating doughnuts. One is of Sam in the doorway, one is a selfie of me and Jack, and one is a photo of Quinn.

Not only is the treehouse stable, but it can fit a surprising number of people.

Sadly, we had said christening while Alex was at work. Being the dad can be a thankless job. So I would like to take this opportunity to thank him.

Photo taken from the treehouse platform of Alex on the ground. He is waving. He looks adorable.

Thank you, Alex. You did SO much work. The treehouse is amazing. Our kids are so lucky. I hope they truly understand that. Excellent job, sir. Thank you.

Risk, Accomplishment, and One Total Badass

There is a certain terror to being a parent. You want to protect your kids from all the pains and embarrassments and dangers of being a person at the same time that you know you absolutely cannot. You wish you could bear the weight of their heartaches rather than making them go through it themselves at the same time that you know that weight is what makes them grow into the person they are meant to become. You want to hold them back from risk at the same time that you accept that it is only through risk that they have accomplishment.


This afternoon I got a call from Jack’s teacher. Because he was staying after school for drama club, she said, she wanted to make sure he had a ride home.

That was the first I’d heard of drama club, but I was stoked because I love theater and I love acting and I love drama kids and I was super excited that Jack decided he wanted to do drama club as an extracurricular activity instead of his semi-disastrous foray into the Science Olympiad last year.

His teacher had told me the club would be over at 4:15, so I showed up then, but he was nowhere to be seen. I hung out for a while, reading papers on the bulletin boards. On one such bulletin board was a notice about auditions for the fall play and how they were TODAY and they were being held from 3 to 6 and how if you were going to audition, you needed to have a 1-2 minute memorized monologue prepared and I realized that this is where Jack was and I started to worry a little bit because, monologue? He hasn’t prepared a monologue. Oh shit.

I wandered down to the stage and opened a door that led to a hall backstage and heard Jack’s voice say, “Hi, Mom.”

He was sitting quietly by himself eating his lunch leftovers. After I had a little panic that he’d been ousted to the hallway, I realized that food wasn’t allowed in the auditorium and he was just taking a break. So I said hi and asked him if he’d auditioned yet and then I asked him what monologue he was doing and he was all, “One I made up myself,” and that terror that I talked about up above, that fear of risk, reared up inside me as I thought about all the other kids auditioning who had been preparing for the past two weeks.

Jack and I waited until the next audition was done, then he stood up and went into the auditorium and talked quietly to the teachers running the audition. There were probably about fifty kids sitting in groups around on the floor watching the stage. I could tell he was telling the teachers that his mom was here and could he audition soon. It was clear that they were adding him in even though he hadn’t signed up in advance, which was lovely of them.

During all this, my body got ice cold. My chest began to hollow out. I was sure he was in over his head. I had no idea what was going to happen when his name was called.

I didn’t have to wait long. They called his name and he went on stage. I was standing far away against the wall, so I couldn’t really hear what he was saying, but he introduced himself and then performed his monologue which he told me later was about “my character and his brother’s mysterious death.” He spoke smoothly, he emoted through body movement, he was very melancholy, and he was fucking beautiful on that stage.

Photo of Jack walking down a set of stairs from the stage after his performance.


I am so proud of that kid. He is fearless. He made a decision that he wanted to try out and then he performed a monologue that he wrote himself in front of an audience like it was no big thing. I don’t know what the results of the audition will be, but what I do know is that Jack is a total badass.


There is a certain state of amazement that comes with being a parent. When you get to watch your kid be brave, when you see him take a risk, when you see him look his nerves in the face and walk straight past them, well, that is something special. That’s when you pretend that those aren’t tears in your eyes. That is when you feel a joy and a pride and a love that is bigger than anything imaginable. Sometimes it’s a small thing that brings on that amazement.

Sometimes all it takes is 1-2 minutes.


I found the greatest product and thought some of you might be interested in it. It is a lycra bed sheet, but my family calls it a burrito. Quinn’s OT sent me a link to it because he loves OT swings and tools made out of similar materials and thought he might like it.

She. Was. Right.

Photo of Quinn in bed. He is under a sheet that is wrapped around his mattress. There is a cat on the floor by the side of his bed.

Quinn gave me the okay to post this photo because he thinks this might help other people. Also because you can see his cat who sleeps with him every night.

Basically, the sheet is a tube top for your mattress. When no one is under it, it lies completely flat, so when there is someone in it, it gives constant pressure, but it isn’t too hot or too heavy. It is a brilliant product.

Jack was immediately jealous so I got one for him too.

Jack under his black burrito sheet, pulled up to his chin. He has a huge grin on his face.

Jack looks a tiny bit happy, doesn’t he?

I love these. My kids love these. It totally fills a space in our home that was much needed. They come in lots of colors and, at $25 for twin size, it’s totally reasonable. I do have to say that when Jack’s came, it reeked of cigarette smoke, which makes me think that someone makes these in a smoking house. It was kinda gross. I just washed it before I put it on his bed and it’s 100% fine, but, still, kinda ick. You can always Google “lycra bed sheets” and find other places that sell them.

Sweet dreams!


Photo of Sam standing in the school supplies section of Target. There is a pencil-shaped sign above his head that says "school shop."I am writing this the day before I send my kids back to school. We just put them in bed. Alex literally just said to Sam, “You can read 30 minutes of Euclid before you have to turn out your light.” I don’t understand either of those gentlemen. The other two are discussing Super Mario. Them, I get.

So, school. On the one hand, I am going to miss my kids when they’re at school. We had a lot of fun this summer and I’ve really enjoyed getting mass quantities of time with them. On the other, more important hand, I am going to have two days at home every single week without ANYONE to ask me for stuff, to drag along on errands, or to break up fights between.

I was a little worried about the start of school, especially for Quinn, because about halfway through summer he started dropping to the ground and erupting in sobs anytime I mentioned it, but I spent a couple of weeks supersaturating him in the idea of school in an effort to desensitize him to his distress. It seems to be working. KNOCK ON WOOD.

We did the bulk of our school shopping last week, when I dragged the munchkins to the mall for shoes, pants, and school supplies shopping. In retrospect, it might have been a mistake to try to do everything in one trip.

Photo of my three kids at the casheir in Target. Sam, in the background, looks pained. Jack is staring off into space. Qunn is in the foreground, collapsed onto the counter.

I posted this photo on Facebook and it turns out that we weren’t the only family to be entirely undone by back-to-school shopping.

Since then, we’ve been doing things to prepare for tomorrow, but it all really kicked into gear today because we are nothing if not procrastinators. I spent some time with each kid today setting up their binders for school.

Photo of Sam drawing a cat on the outside of his binder.

Part of this was the important task of decorating said binders, mostly with photos and drawings of cats.

Did I mention that we are procrastinators? We also spent part of the day finishing up summer homework packets.

Photo of Jack writing on a worksheet.

This is Jack writing about what her learned from his 300-page, adult-level chapter book that he finished last week. Like a boss.

Sharky helped us with our work.

Photo of Sharky the cat sitting on the table in a pile of school supply packaging. He's chewing on some paper.

And by “helped,” I mean, “caused as much trouble as possible.”

I also had to complete a project for Quinn. Quinn and I went to visit his school last Thursday to meet his teachers before open house. (We also went back on Friday for open house. See: supersaturation) When we were there, we discovered that both of his teachers are cat people. One of them showed us a photo of her late cat, which she’d made into a magnet.

*bing!* *lightbulb!*

As you may have noticed, Quinn’s cats are very comforting to him. Last year I put photos of his cats in his binder. But, for some bizarre reason, Quinn has a locker this year (he’s in 5th grade). After seeing his teacher’s cat magnet and the metal lockers, one of which he will be assigned, Quinn and I agreed that we’d make magnets of his cats.

Thus began the search for suitable photos, followed by printing, cutting, laminating, cutting, gluing, cutting, and eventually showing Quinn the finished product, which, if I do say so myself, is fucking amazing.

Photo of magnets on a fridge. Five are of cats and one is of Quinn.

I made a Quinn magnet, so he could be surrounded by his furry buddies.

We’ve bought lunch food and written down bus route numbers, we’ve attached emergency house keys to backpacks, and I have bravery M&Ms on standby in case Quinn needs some encouragement to get on the bus.

Let’s hope things go well and that the three munchkins have a good start to the school year.

Disaster Strikes! Rain/Snake Edition

I, sir, have had enough.

It all started about a week and a half ago with this:

Screenshot of a Facebok status that reads "Should we discuss the rain? Or the window in my basement that blew out because of the water? Or the GIANT BLACK SNAKE that was apparently living there that I saw retreating into the ground after the window broke? Or the fact that Alex took a 45-minute conference call before leaving work after my panicked call? We can discuss any of those things."It was a bad couple of hours.

I texted my friend, explained the situation, and said, “THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME,” and she texted back to say, “I think this is the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone.”

In his defense, Alex did come home before he had planned to so he could help me. This was fortunate considering where once there had been a window, there was now a gaping below-ground hole. Once he arrived home, he took over the wetvac job from me. He even duct taped the hole that the snake disappeared into.

Photo taken of an underground window well taken from inside the house. A screen is jammed into the hole where a window should have gone. There is duct tape on the metal well sides.

See the ripped screen I jammed in the window hole to keep wildlife out?

But prior to his arrival home, I’d been wetvaccing like it was my job while ready to jump into defensive posture if I found a nest of snake babies that had gushed into the basement along with my window and a significant number of leaves, because, and let’s be honest here, if anyone were to find a nest of snake babies in her house, it would be me.

I’m still not quite comfortable with the knowledge that they live just outside my home. Also, a tip: If you’re afraid there might be a snake in your basement, don’t Google “can snakes climb stairs?” because they can and there are lots of photos—and even some video.

I then had to make an emergency phone call to an emergency window guy without consulting with Mr. Conference Calls Are My Life. I understand that this might not sound like a big deal to a lot of you, but to me it was. Finding and calling a brand-new vendor without discussing it with Alex first? That was all kinds of anxiety for me.

I mean, sure, it’s a week and a half later and we still have a board nailed across the hole instead of a new window, so the jury is still out on how well I chose a window repairman, but at least there is a board there. And the guy came by at 10:30 pm on a Thursday to put it there. And he swears he’s coming back on Monday with a brand new window, so I’ll give you our final opinion then.

Of course, the past week and a half have been incredibly rainy and we did a LOT of wetvac work before really coming to grips with the fact that the exploded window was not a cause of our water problem, but rather another innocent victim. The problem is a window well with rain/snake access points.

Alex has done some temporary patching of said window well, which seems to be helping (knockonwood knockonwood knockonwood), so our panic attacks when it starts to rain are lessening.

The exterminator (to eliminate any mice that might be attracting snakes) has already come. The window guy (as previously discussed) is coming back Monday. And the landscapers (who will fix our window wells and improve our yard drainage) start Wednesday.

I’m pretty sure it will never rain again. You’re welcome.

That said, if any of you ever tell my kids about the snake, they will never go in the yard again and whoever told them will be dead to me.

And the Happy Dance Was Danced All Around

Today was my kids’ last day of school for the year.

*cue happy dance*

*cue more happy dance*

*stand still for a second*

*launch back into happy dance*

Dude. It has been QUITE a school year. Some of it has been pretty rough. Some of it has been fantastic. All of it is now behind us and I can’t say that I’m sorry. I feel very happy about facing down 62 days (Quinn tells me it is 62 days and if anyone knows that particular statistic, it’s him) of summer.

We celebrated by visiting our traditional last-day-of-school ice cream joint.

Photo of my three kids. Quinn is looking at the camera. Sam is reflected in a mirror behind Quinn, Jack is sitting nexdt to Quinn with his back to the camera, but you can see his face in the mirror.

Happy kids are happy.

This particular ice cream place is weird and hardly ever has customers and feels kinda grungy, but several years ago we went there on the last day and now we go every single year. It works out because none of us ever want to go there any other day of the year, so it’s kind of a disgusting little treat that makes all of us happy.

Sam had a pretty good year this year. He was in 7th grade and has really started to become his own person. I know I always say this, but it’s very cool to watch your kid learn who they are. I am really proud of him as a young man. He’s a good kid.

He’s also super into music. He’s been playing both flute and bassoon in jazz band and advanced band, respectively, and he’s also picking up piano from his general music class. He has all kinds of pretentious ideas about who on the radio is a real musician and who is just in it for the money. (Coldplay and Taylor Swift, for example. Guess who falls into which category.)

When I went to pick Sam up from his bus stop today, I found him running joyfully down the street with his arms flailing about in the air. It was his version of the happy dance.

Jack has also had a good year. He started middle school (6th grade) this year and adjusted to it admirably. I think it helped that his two best friends are in the same program at the same school as him. He also met some new friends who are wonderful. Jack is a very popular and lucky boy.

Jack isn’t particularly verbally expressive, but it is easy to see how grown up he is getting too. I love watching him soak up what is going on around him. I sometimes feel like I can see his brain processing things. There is a lot going on inside that boy’s head.

In addition to his deep thoughts, much of what is going on inside his head is probably a constant cataloging and re-cataloging of information about Mario and Luigi. I had absolutely no idea that there was so much written information about that pair and their friends on the internet as there is. Jack could probably write a three-volume biography of them at this point.
Quietly sidling up to the computer to review said information after his bus dropped him at home was his version of a happy dance.
Quinn has had the rockiest year. It was hard for him because he had to start 4th grade at an entirely new school where he didn’t know a single person. I think about the terror that I feel in certain situations and I am awed by how brave Quinn was to walk into that school.
I talked to him about that today. I reminded him of his first day, when we missed the morning bus and he was crying (and understandably so) when I dropped him off in the morning and how in the afternoon he forgot what bus stop to get off at and ended up in the wrong place and how hard it was for him. Then I reminded him about all the friends he’s made and how he is comfortable with the school and its rules and how much he’s learned. I told him how proud of him I am.
He tried not to smile. He wasn’t about to let on that he is proud of himself too. But I know he is. That kid is a superhero. He did a great job this year. He has had a momentous year in terms of school supports and figuring out what works and so on, but that’s his story to tell. All I’m going to say is that he is learning about himself and he has a team that wants him to self-advocate and he is definitely in the right school, surrounded by the right people.
He was the last of my three kids to arrive home today. I was standing on the porch doing my happy dance, which he greeted with a huge smile. That kid works SO hard to get through his day. I could almost see the weight rolling off his shoulders as he walked away from his bus.
All in all, it was a good school year, but I’m still glad it’s over.
Screenshot of my status update from the Stimeyland Facebook page: "For those of you who have kids who struggle in school, who work SO goddamn hard to get through each day, and who do so with strength, resolve, the skin of their teeth, or just plain sticktoitiveness, please join me in celebrating the last motherfucking day of school! Hells yeah."

Also, for those of you who have kids who don’t struggle and also teachers. Maybe especially teachers.

Here’s to summer.

*continue happy dance*

Some of You Will Mock Me. Some of You Will Be Jealous. You Know Who You Are.

Remember nearly two years ago when we headed out one Saturday morning and returned as cat owners to three kittens, one for each of the kids? We had been worried about acquiring three kittens, because, well, that’s a lot of kittens and it seemed like a lot could go wrong.

Sure enough, Alex and I still have lingering regrets over that day.

We regret that we only got kittens for the kids and not for ourselves. As lovely as three kittens are and as wonderful as the three cats they grew into make our lives, not a week goes by when Alex and I don’t speculate on how much better our lives would be if we had five cats instead of three.

Speculate no longer, friendo.

Photo of Alex on a bench inside a room. He is holding a small white kitten who is sniffing another small white kitten standing on the bench next to him.

Because today at the cat rescue facility, we met our fourth and fifth.

I know. I know you have questions. I have prepared some answers for you.


That one is an actual question my friend asked on Facebook. It seems valid. I reply with my own questions: How many members of Team Stimey are there? How many cats did we have previously? How are we supposed to live with such an imbalance in those answers?

I think you have your answer, my friend.

Also, keep in mind that I’ve watched said friend share a glass of water with one of my original cats, so I know that she is pro feline—or at least pro-original cats.

Can I see a better photo? What are their names?

Two photos: On the left, a white kitten with one tabby spot above its right ear. The second photo is also of a white cat, but this one has a butterfly-shaped tabby patch on his forehead.

Please meet Sharky on the left and Pickles on the right.

Sharky is my cat and Pickles belongs to Alex.

Are they girls like all your other cats?

No, we had to go with boys this time because they were who we fell in love with, even though we intended to get girl cats. Hey, love is love, right?

I will probably call them “she” seven billion times before I get used to the fact that I have boy cats.

So, how do these two cats know each other anyway?

They’re brothers. They’re two months old. Their mom is still up for adoption at the cat shelter if you’re looking for a cat to be your only pet.

Photo of an adoption flyer for a cat named Jazzy.

Check her out at the Washington Animal Rescue League. If you adopted her, it would be like we were related. (It’s not as bad as it sounds.)

What did these delightful animals do at the cat shelter to make you pick them?

Alex went into a little room with them first while I talked to a volunteer. By the time I got in there, he was completely enamored with Pickles, who was cavorting all over in the goofiest way possible. Sharky was far shyer, but then I picked him up and he instantly started to purr and it was all over.


Two photos. (1) Sharky is standing in the corner of a small room looking startled. There is one cat paw completely outstretched aimed at her. (2) a blurry photo of Sharky with ears back cowering in a corner. Pickles is in a hilarious posture attacking her.

I love that in the first photo all you see is the paw getting ready to strike. That second photo is everything good about kittens, from the awkward attack pose to the fact that Sharky clonked into the glass wall.

Don’t you worry though. Once we got them home, Sharky totally stepped up and is being as big of a jerk as Pickles.

But seriously. Five cats? FIVE? Really?

I figure as long as the pet shelter is still willing to give us cats, we don’t have too many. However, I am afraid that the receptionist at my vet hospital is going to make fun of me. Maybe he’ll be on vacation when I take them in—you know, every time I take them in.

Is Pickles named after the firefighter cat Pickles in the Jenny and the Cat Club series?

Sadly, no. The name just came to Alex at some point and that was it. The name idea is probably older than the cat actually. Naturally I was okay with the name because of the firefighter cat. Also because Pickles is one of the best cat names in the history of cat names.

Okay, Pickles. I get that. Cute. And there is a cat precedent. But Sharky? That seems weird, even for you, Stimey.

I’ve just started watching House of Cards and I watched the first episode where Frank is all, “I love that woman. I love her more than sharks love blood,” and I was all-in on sharks, blood, House of Cards, and vague television-related allusions in pet names. I am also terrified of Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright on that series, but that is neither here nor there.

So, yeah, Sharky.

Also, he has a fin-shaped spot on his forehead.

Also, he’s a super badass.

Photo of Sharky curled in a small ball, fast asleep on a stack of papers.

See? Super badass.

How are they settling in?

Really well. I mean, they really did not care for the trip home in the car, but once we got them out of the carrier in Alex and my bedroom, they got all confident and goofy and hilarious.

Photo of Pickles and Sharky lying next to each other on a brown striped blanket.

I didn’t get any photos of that, but here they are pre-nap.

How are the other cats taking it? Were they all, “Really? Five cats? FIVE?!?”

We have a whole process planned to introduce the cats to each other. See, we have a really good cat ecosystem here and we are concerned about throwing the whole thing sideways so we want to make sure all parties get along. The kittens are sequestered in one room for a couple of days and the cats are all sniffing each other from under the door while we throw treats at them.

Photo of Pickles standing in a hallway in front of a door. There is a large gap between the door and the floor. In the gap is visible the mustache of Oreo.

See, here’s Pickles acclimating…and what is that over by the door?

Closeup of the mustache of Oreo under the door gap.

Well, it seems to be a mustache, sniffing.

Fingers crossed, knock on wood, toss some salt, etc. We’ll let you know how it goes.

How is Team Stimey Jr. taking it?

About how you’d expect. Tears. Screaming. Rending of garments.

I kid. They’re clearly over the moon. Each of them asked to sleep on the floor in the room where the kittens are tonight. We refused, in an effort to (a) keep things normal for our original trio and (b) keep children out of our bedroom.

We didn’t tell the kids we were getting cats today because we weren’t 100% sure we were going to. So their little minds were blown by surprise kittens. What is better than surprise kittens?

(Answer: nothing.)

Jack crouching with Pickles on his knee.

Jack and Pickles

Photo of Sam lying on the ground with a sleeping Sharky in front of him.

Sam and Sharky

Pickles holding on to a foot with his paw and her mouth trying to bite the big toe.

Quinn’s toe and Pickles (Quinn was sort of “clothing optional” this afternoon, so you’ll have to settle for this photo of  his toe.)

But five cats? Who really needs five cats?

We do, all right? There are a lot of homeless pets in the world and these guys are getting a good home, so I’ll take all of your judging and raised eyebrows. (This is mostly directed at my mom, who is incredulous about our wanting so many cats, but takes full advantage of kitten love when she visits.)

Also, please look at these photos and then tell me we didn’t need so many cats.

Photo of Pickles standing on a blue carpet. He's super cute in it.

Pickles (Ooooooh…)

Photo of Sharky sitting down and gazing off camera.

Sharky (and ahhhhhhh.)

I know I sound a little defensive here, but that’s only because we have five cats. FIVE. I mean, really.

Did you intend to get color coordinated cats?

No, but what a happy cowinkydink, right?!?

Three photos. (1) Black cat Ruby (2) black and white cat Oreo (3) black cat with white spot Starfire

Are the cats in black and white or color? No one knows!

How is Quinn going to turn in his homework if the cats are sleeping on it all the time?

Photo of two packets of paper (Quinn's homework). Sharky is asleep on one and Pickles is lying on the other.

I don’t know. I just don’t know the answer to that one.