Over the weekend I saw 'Star Wars: The Force Awakens,' which allowed me to pick up my nearly-revoked nerd card and continue on my merry way as a happy geek don't worry, just in case there is still someone out there who hasn't seen it, there will be no spoilers here. But it was awesome. I cried entirely too much at points where you aren't necessarily supposed to cry like the opening credits. But whatever.

This is also the soonest I've seen a new release since the kids were born. It hadn't even hit the second run yet. Well, it probably would have if it had been any other movie. But it wasn't. It was still playing everywhere. That's another point in my favor.

There's a notion that because you have multiple children, they will have a magical bond of love and will want to do things like share their toys and cuddle all the time. And though there are times when the cuteness of two or more children hugging or playing together is extreme, there are many, many times where they don't want to share.

Being a triplet doesn't mean you aren't a normal child. No child wants to share. I don't care if you're a singleton, a twin a triplet or some other higher order. We've gone through enough birthdays and Christmases not to mention other holidays to prove it.

We live to compare. We like to think that it's helpful. Until one of your kids starts falling below average. Which is funny, especially if they haven't even started school yet.

One of my kids has what are commonly called 'delays' - a speech delay among some other gross and fine motor skill delays. In all honesty, it isn't something I worry about very often. Everyone always says, don't compare you can't compare. Well, apparently you can, and there are tests for it. With math and numbers and median scales. They can test everything from how a child walks up stairs to how one holds a pencil.

Multi-tasking is a buzzword that is tossed around by people who are doing too many things. Studies have shown that it is impossible to focus on more than one thing at any given time no matter how many tabs you have open on your browser or notifications on your phone. This goes for kids too.

When you have more than one kid doesn't matter if they are all the same age or they've been spaced out a pace you can only really focus on one (outside of a pig pile, anyway). But they will try to trick you or at least argue that you should be able to do more than one thing at a time. And maybe, if they try really, really extra hard, they can actually make it happen. Sometimes, I like to think if I try really, really hard I can actually be in three places at once so long as one of them is on a tropical beach.

I am a bad influence on children and dogs. I don't even own any dogs. But it's true. When I see a happy puppy, I want to play with it, get it riled up and excited you know, not calm and sedate like many people like their dogs. I don't mind puppy kisses, and I kind of want to give them treats for no good reason other than the fact that they are dogs and therefore awesome. I inject chaos into the lives of dog owners.

And with our kids it's much the same. I like to rile them up, play with them until they are giggling and out of breath and absolutely fired up. I'm the person who taught them how to pillow fight. I taught them that beds were bouncy, that splashing is fun and we all know most kids don't need encouragement to splash in puddles.

Mom-munity - or mom-immunity if you prefer - is defined as the temporary immunity to icky diseases that infest your home, keep you kids up at night, and generally cause mayhem and misery for the duration. The mom loses said immunity once everyone has been cured of this ailment, been nursed back to health, and received sufficient snuggles, hot teas and homemade soups.

You are never guaranteed mom-munity, you can only hope you get it. Total immunity, is of course, preferred, but good luck with that.

The running joke is that the babies ate my brain. Even in utero, my mental capacity shrank considerably. Since they've started sleeping through the night, things have gotten better, but I think it's safe to say that I'm still not 100 percent. I'd be the first person to tell you that I'm a crazy person but I happen to know what kind of crazy I am. I'm the forgetful crazy.

When I had a recent 'annual' physical I knew I was late like a year late. I did the math, because my kids make great watermarks for when I last did a thing. I had a full memory of speaking with one of the RNs about planning a playdate (that never manifested because of the aforementioned eaten brain). But they said I was later than that that I must be remembering something else.

Earlier this year we determined that one of our awesome kids was behind in verbal skills. We decided to be all proactive and whatnot and get her evaluated. She received some services at home with a speech therapist, which worked well, but that only lasted until she turned 3.

Now in a couple weeks she'll be enrolled in school.

Ever had your house cleaned from top to bottom without lifting a finger? Ever arrived home after working like a dog and found logs on the fire, a meal in the fridge and the surface of your kitchen counter clean and clearly visible? Chances are your home has been visited by the same house sprite who generously sprinkles her fairy dust over the abodes of adult children everywhere: YOUR MOM. 

I don't know why they do it or what the exact cut off age is, but the mothers I know (my friends are all over 30-something) just can't stop mothering. Funny thing, that maternal instinct doesn't seem to ever shut down. Middle aged moms keep doing laundry, bringing meals, letting the dog out, buying tablecloths and arranging centerpieces for every season (pumpkins for the fall, holly berries for the winter, Easter lilies for the spring and fresh lilacs and linen candles for the summer). Moms swoop in to save the day in their retirement cars and comfortable shoes without every expecting more in return than a phone call. 

I remember thinking how difficult it was to meet new friends after graduating from college. When I first moved to the state from 'away,' I basically knew my husband and his family. That was pretty awesome, because they're great people, but it didn't take me long to realize I kind of missed knowing people outside of work.

There's only so much griping about the job that one can stand before it gets old. It was three years before I met one of my very best friends, which brings me to my point: it was that hard before I had kids.