You Stayed With Us

Toddlers on Set

Lisa's POV

It was one of those mornings.

Jennie was still curled up in bed, her face half-buried in a pillow, soft snores barely audible over the gentle hum of the baby monitor. Pregnancy was hitting her hard this time—nausea, dizziness, exhaustion. Basically, a nonstop ride on the "I hate everything" roller coaster.

So I did the only logical thing.

I tiptoed into the room, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "I've got the kids, babe. Sleep."

She murmured something that sounded like "cheese fries," then rolled over.

Close enough to "thank you."

Operation: Let Mommy Sleep was in full effect.

Step one: Ella.

Our daughter future Nobel Peace Prize winner, occasional volcano fact-sharer, and full-time chatterbox was already up, brushing her hair in front of the mirror like she was prepping for a magazine shoot.

"Morning, baby," I said, ruffling her hair. "You ready for school?"

"Yup! But I can't find my purple pen and I need it because it's the only one that matches my notebook and—"

"We'll find it later. Priorities: breakfast and lunch box. Come on."

She grabbed her bag while I herded the twins—Noah and Nathan, my little chaos gremlins—away from trying to climb the couch backwards.

I whipped up a simple breakfast while simultaneously making Ella's lunch: egg sandwich, apple slices, yogurt, and a handwritten note that said "You got this! Love, Dada" which she stuffed into her pocket instead of her lunchbox like it was classified.

"Noah, no—don't put yogurt on the dog—NATHAN, that's not a spoon, that's my phone—"

We survived.

Barely.

I shoved tiny shoes on four wiggling feet, braided Ella's hair with one hand while using the other to stop Nathan from dumping cereal into his pocket, then drove her to school like a responsible adult... with exactly one sock on and baby food on my jeans.

She kissed my cheek before running off and yelled, "Don't let the twins touch expensive stuff today!"

"I make no promises!" I called after her.

And now... I was alone.

With the twins.

At work.

Step two: Survive the studio.

I walked into the photo studio with Noah on my hip and Nathan trailing behind holding onto my leg like a koala. My camera bag was slipping off my shoulder, Cooper's chew toy somehow made it into my purse, and both kids were already trying to climb the stool before I could even turn on the lights.

My coworker and fellow photographer Seulgi took one look at us and froze mid-coffee sip.

"Oh god," she whispered. "You brought them?"

I grinned. "Jennie's out. I had no choice."

"They're like mini tornadoes with legs."

"Accurate."

As I set up the lighting for my 10 AM shoot, the twins wandered the space like curious gremlins in a forbidden forest. Noah pressed every single button on the printer. Nathan pulled a reflector over and used it as a slide.

I was snapping test shots while wrangling cords and muttering Thai prayers under my breath.

Seulgi tried to help.