Speaks for itself. Another wonderful, weird, amazing, thank-God-for-New Orleans event.
The Carlson Twins.
One year ago, about this time, I was preparing to walk across to the Capitol for a legislative meeting. My mother-in-law called my office to tell me that I needed to get back to the hospital, because I was about to be a daddy. This was more than a shock to me - the Twins were going to arrive, like it or not, 7 and a half weeks early. I did not realize that Leslie’s blood tests, done overnight, showed that she had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome. None of us knew that until the doctors showed up in her room to tell her that she was going to have an emergency delivery. She was very sick. By noon we were in the delivery suite, and at 12:39, William Quinn Carlson emerged. His sister, Rowan Chettie Carlson, arrived at 12:42. One of the babes whimpered, but they both looked pale, sickly, weak. The NICU specialists literally whisked them away into incubators and then down to NICU I. Leslie barely got to see them. By the time we were in recovery - Leslie was doing fine - they told me I could visit my children. I took these pictures on their birth day. Today they turn 1, and I remain humbled by their strength and overwhelmed with gratitude that they are alive and well and loved by so many people. Thank God for the power of life. And thank you TMH, the L&D doctors and nurses, the amazing NICU doctors and nurses, and all those who cared for the Twins and cared for us.
Because Johnny Hartman sang more like Bing Crosby than a blues shouter at a time when handsome black singers were not expected to do that, he never really got the recognition he deserved.
This record never gets old.
The Twins, Monday.
We need more Archer. A lot less Two and a Half Men.