The Amazing Trips

it's the most wonderful time of the month (er, year)

2009-12-01T21:35:00.000-08:00

Last night, Charlie and I were up until 1:00 AM wrapping books.

Because today, December 1, we were due to begin our Advent / Christmas book tradition. (In case anyone is interested, here's a link to almost all of the Christmas books that we have as part of our collection.)

The plan was that immediately after dinner, the oldest born (William) would do the Advent Calendar for today. And then, he would open the first book which I had stayed up until 1:00 AM wrapping. (Did I mention that already?)

Each night after tonight, leading up to Christmas, our children would continue to go in birth order - counting down the days on the Advent Calendar and taking turns opening a gift wrapped book that I was up until ... oh never mind.

Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as I had planned.

(They seldom do. That's what I get for making plans.)

There was fighting and crying and whining and a whole lot of disharmony.

So me, being the bad cop that I am, put everyone directly to bed and told them that hopefully tomorrow - they'll find their happiness so that we can have a fun time together.

While I was brushing his teeth, William was sure to tell me that Dad is nice and I am mean.

Certainly his reaction had something to do with the fact that I not only robbed him of his opportunity to open a present, but Dad had just scooped everyone out a small bowl of ice cream and when I saw William deck his sister, I promptly put his ice cream back in to the carton and got him dressed in his pajamas for bed. When it was time to brush the girls' teeth, I walked in to the bathroom and was greeted by Carolyn, standing on her foot stool in front of the mirror and sobbing.

Sometimes I'll see the girls looking in the mirror and crying at their reflections, because I think (I hope?) that they like to see how their face changes with varying emotions. But tonight was different. My daughter was so distraught it broke my heart. I hugged her close and asked, "Sweet Girl, what is it? Why are you crying? Please tell me what can I do to help you?"

With tears streaming down her face, she held up an empty tube and sobbed, "We. Are. Out. Of. Dora. Toothpaste!" Then she closed her eyes and continued to cry harder before opening them and pleading, "Oh no, no, no. What'll we DO?"

Fortunately, I had a brand new tube of Dora The Explorer toothpaste under the sink, which I presented to my child. But her dismay over something so trivial was undeniable. And it was crazy because her actions uncannily reminded me so much of me - when something doesn't go my way or I run out of chocolate during ... uh ... certain times of the month. I instantly had a flash back to college. When there were four girls living in two rooms and sharing a bathroom. And well, you know what happens under those conditions, right?

For a few days each month, we all looked a little like this...

So, I'm sure that this has nothing to do with anything because after all, my daughter is only five. But I am a little scared for the boys in our house with three girls under the same roof. Because if my girls grow up and have a certain set of my characteristics...

Yowzer.

i am the weakest link

2009-11-30T21:14:00.000-08:00

I've written before about my desire to be home, full time, with our children.

But sometimes - I wonder how well I'd really do. Sometimes, I wonder if the arrangement that we have right now, isn't truly the best situation for our children and for me?

More and more, I think that Charlie is the best one for the job.

Take this past weekend for instance.

We had a wonderful four long days together. But the kids? While I love them with every fiber of my being, they tend to drive me a bit bonkers at times. Like when we go in to a store and I tell them to keep their hands on their elbows, they instead discreetly touch whatever they can. And in the process of trying to sneak in a touch - here and there - they knock something down.

Something fragile.

Something breakable.

Do I not go in to a store with our kids?

Can I not take my children anywhere public - except a park?

At what age do kids learn to STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING and just CHILL?

I know this much.

It ain't five.

Charlie took Elizabeth to her speech therapy session today and while he was talking with the therapist, William was playing with one of the huge electronic doors that leads to the lobby. He was pushing the door open, then trying to stop it before it closed. Charlie told him to stop. And he did. But only after he pushed it two more times because the kids don't grasp that STOP means STOP RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT.

Turns out, William jammed the door. Which Charlie had to unjam. Which took a solid five minutes, and although that may not seem bad, it is an eternity when you have four children that you are directly responsible for supervising.

Kids.

You tell them, "Please come here." And although they are making eye contact, they just stand and stare at you. And you can't tell if they are aware of what you are saying or absolutely oblivious. So you say it again, a little sterner. "PLEASE come HERE." And they just continue to stare at you and so you start chanting, "HERE HERE HERE HERE PLEASE COME HERE HERE HERE HERE HERE!!!"

(After a lot of field testing, I've determined it would be easier and less painful to give myself a root canal than take children on a day hike.)

("I can't walk. I'm sooo tired and need a nap!")

And unless you raise your voice and threaten bodily harm, there is a good chance that they will continue to just stand there. Staring at you. Staring in to space. And you might think that they are totally unconscious on their feet until their sibling wanders in to the room carrying one of their toys that they haven't played with for three months and suddenly, they have a meltdown of epic proportions.

Yesterday afternoon when we were at Costco, Elizabeth is fiddling with the ATM/Credit Card machine at the checkout and I ask her to stop because it is registering my total and I'd rather she not hit the button for $100.00 cash back. So I ask her to stop again and she glances at me with a look that very clearly says, "What are you going to do if I don't?" So I grit my teeth and start shooing at the little hands and just then Carolyn pulls at the rubber-coiled lane divider (which are absolute magnets for small children) and it snaps and hits William and crying, nay - wailing ensues.

Out of nowhere, I heard someone yell "SWEET BABY JESUS, SAVE ME." And then I realized it was me and all the eyes for two lanes in either direction, packed with people on a busy, busy Sunday afternoon, were turned in my general vicinity looking at the messy-haired mother who looks like she might go psycho at any moment. Henry is screaming about something that he saw and wants from the back of the store and OMG I need a tranquilizer.

Charlie hardly ever gets upset. He handles everything in stride and is absolutely remarkable. He is a superstar father and has the patience of saint.

(Although I did catch him hiding in the garage a few weeks ago, sucking down a beer in the middle of the day.)

Maybe I'm an incurable control freak?

Why is it that he doesn't mind when the house is flipped upside down?

Why is it that he doesn't need to clean out the car every time they return from an outing to make sure that wayward shoes and clothing items and sippy cups are recovered?

Why doesn't he care that the kids go out of the house wearing clothes that don't match and hair that isn't brushed with jelly smeared on their faces?

How is it that he just takes everything in stride and I go so batty?

My husband will lay on the floor and wrestle with the kids. When I'm home, I'm busy vacuuming and sweeping and making beds.

We are a dichotomy. And yet, we totally jive.

Charlie is the fun dad that is an awesome cook and helps keep mommy balanced. Mommy is the strict disciplinarian that scares the hell out of the kids and hides in the closet to eat chocolate.

At some point soon, I want to discuss other people's children and why it seems that everyone has got an excellent handle on their offspring - when out in public - except for us.

I'm thinking that perhaps they put them in electric shock collars.

COME!

HEEL!

SIT!

STAY!

the ladies man

2009-11-28T08:30:00.000-08:00

I will soon resume my posting of the 3-Day walk. But while I give myself (and my cousin Margaret) a little time to recover emotionally - let me take a quick moment to discuss my little firecracker.

This is Henry.

Adorable, out of this world, my surprise baby that still takes my breath away every single time I look at him, Henry.

Henry is almost 29-months old and he isn't at all happy about my decision that it is time to wean. It certainly hasn't been easy for either of us. I have absolutely denied my child when he approaches me with his gorgeous blue eyes and Amazon-long lashes. When he sweetly asks, "Nurse Mama? Nurse?" and I tell him no, he'll pout and then, tears will splash down his sweet baby cheeks. After a while he'll recover, and then he'll climb on to my lap and like a bad date, he'll slowly slip his hand inside my shirt and grope around for what was once the sole source of his nourishment, while snickering "Heh, Heh, Heh!"

This morning, when I denied him for the 10th straight day, he sounded very much like his five-year-old siblings who are trying to bargain for additional time on the computer. In his charming little toddler voice he said, "PWEASE MAMA! PWEASE! I NEED FIVE MOH MIN-NUTS!"

I almost caved and gave him five moh min-nuts. But instead, he got a nice sippy cup of orange juice and a big kiss on his chubby cheek. Because something about negotiating the duration of a breastfeeding session with a child, makes me believe they are old enough to stop.

But I give him a lot of credit for trying.

He will go far in life with those blue eyes and that kind of perseverance.

from our little turkeys to you

2009-11-26T10:50:00.001-08:00

We are so thankful for the beautiful day outside.

We are thankful that on this day, one of our children woke us up before dawn, because our alarm clock didn't go off, and we're thankful that we dragged ourselves out of bed and made it to the starting line of the annual Turkey Trot. We're thankful that almost 10,000 other San Diegans were out there too, and that almost $500,000.00 was raised for our local homeless shelter.

We're thankful for playgrounds along 5K running routes.

We're thankful that although we were running a 45-minute mile for the first mile (which undoubtedly had to do with a stop at the playground and bathroom) ...

We made up time and completed our three mile race in under 90 minutes.

BOO-YAH!

We're thankful that our children are growing stronger.

We're thankful for each other - for our health - and for this awesome moment in time and we sincerely hope that each and every one of you experience an equally wonderful day and that your hearts are chock full of thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving!

day two - part II: tears of laughter, pain, sorrow and hope

2009-11-25T15:21:00.000-08:00

As we continued our 20-mile walk on day two, our muscles began to get stiff and our feet began to ache. Whenever we would make a stop at the well equipped pit stops staged every two to three miles along our route, we could feel our bodies rebel against the walk. At least for me, the only way I could start propelling myself to walk again, would be to pitch my body forward with the hope that my legs would move before I did a face plant.

We would hobble out of one pit stop and in to the next. When it came time to sit down for lunch, it took every ounce of energy to pull ourselves up from the ground and continue walking - and not say, throw ourselves in front of the shuttles that were cruising alongside us.

I cannot stress just how important the crowds of people that were lining the route and cheering were to our psyche. If you have it in your mind that you could never physically complete an event such as this, don't let that stop you from showing your support on the course. I promise that you will get just as much out of cheering as the people who are out there participating in the event.

And, most likely, you'll be able to walk the next day without first consuming Motrin.

When we were about five miles from camp, when all four of us wanted to lay down and call it quits, our teammate, Cheryl, decided that the time was ripe for her to play some motivational music. Cheryl, the awesome spirit queen that she is, had brought along her iPod and a small speaker that she wore on her fanny pack. As you watch the clip below, keep in mind that we had walked a total of 35 miles by this point, with 15 of those miles walked within the past eight hours.

Cheryl played that same soundtrack again when we were approximately one mile from camp and both she and Debbie danced across the finish line.

We took this obligatory, "Yay I finished the second day of walking, although I think my feet are going to fall off the bottoms of my legs!" photo ...

And then I crawled in to my tent certain I would NEVER move again.

This was my view. Notice the silhouettes of doves?

Once Cheryl and Terrell went back to their hotel room, Debbie and I climbed out of our respective tents with the goal of cleaning up before dinner. I was so impressed with everything on this 3-Day walk, from the quality of the pit stops that were set up along the route, to the delicious meals that were served three times a day, to the medical and equipment support, to overall presentation, to the facilities that were available for the several thousand walkers to take a piping hot shower at the end of the day.

Hey gorgeous! Nice headdress!

(For those interested: there were approximately 10 individual showers - with curtains - within the truck and there were approximately 10 trucks (for a total of ~100 showers). The water came from an approximately 12,000 gallon tanker truck and there were generators that heated the water up before it was plumbed in to the mobile shower truck. Although it might seem like that wasn't enough showers for the number of people at the event, since everyone finished at varying times - and showered at varying times - I never had to wait.)

To the multiple sinks that had both hot and cold running water.

(Something like this would be perfect at our house!)

We no sooner dropped our stuff off in our tents and were making our way in to the main tent for dinner, that we heard cheering and clapping. Those that had gathered were rallying around the camp flag pole and a path was opening up ...

The people in front of us were pointing to something behind us and when we turned to look, we saw that the last walkers of the day were coming in to camp, proudly holding the 3-Day flag, while everyone cheered them on.

And directly behind the last walkers, were all of the police officers that had been escorting us on the course, riding two-by-two. It was an awesome sight.

Debbie and I wobbled in to the main tent where we had dinner and enjoyed two hours of live entertainment...

And then we hobbled back to our tents.

But before turning in for the night, I took the opportunity to go and visit the Remembrance Tent. Luckily, I was the only one there because it was quite an emotional experience for me.

The Remembrance Tent is for those walkers who have completed 3-Day events in the past and have since lost their lives to breast cancer. Inside the Remembrance Tent is a white tent for the host city, flanking the Remembrance Tent are white tents for the other cities where the 3-Day walk is held. On top of each white tent is a pink breast cancer ribbon with the city name and within each tent, a light burns to illuminate it from within.

Along the walls of the Remembrance Tent, there are pictures of the various walkers who have passed. And what shocked me is how young and brilliantly vibrant these women were. Beautiful Tamarra was born the same year as me and passed on my husband's 42nd birthday. She was 37-years old.

Yvonne was a year younger than me and she really looks like someone I would have liked. Her face is so kind and her little boy is adorable.

I spent almost two hours looking at all of the pictures lining the walls of the Remembrance Tent, reading the words that were written in the guestbook and various messages that people had written on the white tents from each of the cities.

And then I left my own note on the San Diego tent, while realizing that although not all of the people whose names I wrote lost their battles to breast cancer - they lost their battle to cancer. And cancer is cancer is cancer and cancer sucks.

Then I felt so exhausted from a full day of walking - and laughing - and cheering - and crying - that I decided it was time to go back to my tent and go to sleep.

Because I still had 20 miles to go.

And like a dope, I left my roller blades at home.

day two - part I: get out the moleskin

2009-11-24T12:55:00.000-08:00

Before I dive in to the adventures on our second day of walking, I haven't yet showed you a picture of our camp, have I?

Although the tents were designed for two people, Debbie and I each had our own tents, because our tent mates had opted to stay in a hotel. Which worked out perfectly fine for us since we were both feeling sick and it's nice to blow your nose and cough and moan without having someone a foot away.

Debbie thought ahead and decorated our camping space with this awesome sign that she had made up.

And I decorated our camping space by covering my tent in white doves and pink balloons decorated like breasts that read, "Feel The Boobs!" and "Know The Boobs!"

*** This blog posting is being interrupted for a quick commercial ***

Do you do self breast exams? Because if you don't - you need to start TODAY. While mammograms are important, self exams are even more so. My sister was diagnosed with breast cancer last year - not because it was discovered during her annual mammogram - but because SHE discovered the mass, a week after her mammogram - that detected nothing.

Do your self exams while you are taking a shower. Do them while you are laying down flat. Just do them enough so that you know what YOU feel like and you know if something changes.

FEEL THE BOOBS.

KNOW THE BOOBS.

*** We now return to our regular scheduled blog posting ***

Once we took off on our walk, we were greeted by mile after mile of well wishers.

There were beautiful ballerinas out cheering for boobies..

There were countless survivors lining the course holding up signs of their thanks...

This survivor, who was dressed as a clown ...

Was married to this 89-year old man who was wearing a kilt and holding a sign that read, "I'M A BREAST MAN!" And while an 89-year old kilt wearing man holding a sign that declares he likes breasts would normally be considered a little creepy, this past weekend - scores of women stood in line to have their picture taken with him and I think he loved every minute of it.

The support that we received from men along this walk was AMAZING.

There is no doubt, the support we received from men was better than the support we received from our bras. OK, so maybe I speak for myself because now that I've weaned Henry, I fall in the itty bitty you-know-what camp.

Not only were there men walking alongside us, like a large team of guys who were "Bustin' Our Balls for Boobs" (three years and counting...)

There were men with pink ribbons painted on their calves, who were completing this walk in memory of their mothers, wives, daughters and sisters.

There were these guys, who had painted every inch of visible skin pink.

There were teenage boys that lined the route holding up signs of support ...

And there was an entire team of walkers, "Team Impact" that was comprised of eleven teenage boys who play on their school's lacrosse team were walking to honor one of the boy's moms who was diagnosed with breast cancer soon after she completed a 3-Day walk, four years ago. (Some of the walkers still haven't reached their fundraising minimums - so if the spirit moves you to donate to this cause, please check out their fundraising page. Click here for more information.)

Isn't that the most incredible thing?

It gives me the chills.

The "Smile Guy" and his little girl, "Grin" were set up at various places along the course handing out smiley face pins and giving us cheers through a megaphone.

And Cookie Monster and Elmo were both along the course route. I'm pretty sure they're of the masculine persuasion. Correct?

Here was the Brown Jeep Guy dressed as an elephant handing out peanuts...

And then he jumped in to his jeep, drove 10 miles, changed his outfit and set up a sign offering free breast exams. Any other day - creepy. But this past weekend - hilarious.

There was this coed cast of characters who had been on the reality television shows, "The Amazing Race" and "Survivor" and although I didn't recognize who any of them were - that didn't stop me from getting my picture taken.

What else did we see along the course?

Well - there was a "Pair Tree."

And cheerleaders...

And adorable little fairies giving out free hugs...

And pink leather clad tutu wearing cross walk patrols that handed out stickers...

And volunteers that handed out beautiful pink gerbera daisies to all of the walkers...

And people who handed out little cups of beer to all the walkers.

And not just any beer - PINK beer.

(I stuck around here for a little while.)

We saw these two adorable children...

And we saw signs made up where the cancer ribbon conveniently replaced any vowel.

All the while, our sea of pink walkers marched and marched and marched, like a line of ants that extended for five miles.

I'm going to stop this post now because you probably need moleskin for your eyes. Once you recover, I'll post more of our story.

Just tell me when you're ready.

day one: stand for something, then walk towards it

2009-11-23T23:23:00.000-08:00

My neighbor and teammate Debbie and her husband, Michael, arrived at my house at 4:30 Friday morning. Michael, being the awesome team player that he is, volunteered to get up three hours before sun rise and drive our team of walkers to the starting line. What I didn't expect was that we'd all nearly FREEZE once we arrived.

Climbing out of that nice warm van, before the sun had completely cleared the horizon and knowing that I had 60 long miles of walking before me, was a tough pill to swallow. Especially since I was sick. And cold. And tired. And would be sleeping in a tent for the next two nights. And wah!

What did I sign up for?

Our fifth teammate, Jessica, had come down with a virus earlier in the week and since she was still not fully recovered, had decided late Thursday night not to walk. Our teammates Terrell and Cheryl had decided that there was no way they could sleep in a tent. So it was just Debbie and I dropping off our camping supplies and luggage at the appropriate locations, while questioning if we were totally out of our minds to be sleeping outside, on the verge of winter, when we were both sick, after full days of walking.

(Answer: Yes, we are out of our minds.)

We rejoined our two teammates and although we were all chattering, we were soon warmed by the sea of pink that surrounded us and the inspiring messages that were everywhere.

When the motivational opening ceremonies concluded, we were ready to join the pink force of 4,000 people that would sweep 60 miles through San Diego over the next three days.

We were ready to walk.

But unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to leave the start for almost an hour, because unbeknown to us, when we filed in to the staging area, we were at the absolute back of the crowd.

So instead of hitting the pavement, we stood and high-fived at least two-thirds of the 3,800 walkers that slowly filed past us.

While we waited and waited (and waited and waited and waited) for our turn to walk down the chute and under the "Hoofin it for the High Beams" sign.

We saw all kinds of people ...

Dressed in all kinds of garb...

And wearing t-shirts that made us laugh... (this one reads: "Help Save 2nd Base")

And t-shirts that made us cry.

After what seemed like an eternity, we were finally out walking and we received our first dose of what would come over the next three days. There was this man, who turned up several times along our walk and would later be referred to as the "Brown Jeep Guy."

We were escorted by the most amazing people, including this sweet woman on her mountain bike. She was with us for the entire duration of the course - all sixty miles - and she never once stopped smiling or giving us words of encouragement.

We were escorted by bikers on Harleys wearing pink chaps and hot pink safety vests.

And we were escorted by pink-shoe-laced and pink-bandana-wearing police officers who had traveled down from San Jose, to not only provide us with security, but to show their support for a loved one.

We walked down the coast.

And past the hospital where my dear friend Deana was admitted last year.

We walked past people who made us laugh out loud at their costumes...

And we walked past people who made us laugh out loud at their slogans.

(Notice, it's the Brown Jeep Guy!)

We walked with people who had on hilarious hats...

And we posed with people who had hilariously large ... uh, tats?

We continued our walk down the beautiful coast and I wondered, aloud, if I was out of my mind to ever consider leaving this place.

While we walked, we were overcome by how many people turned up to show their support. There were people everywhere handing out snacks and drinks and knick knacks to all of the walkers, as a show of their appreciation for our efforts.

We walked past an assisted living facility and were touched by the sight of seniors that were lining the sidewalk in wheelchairs and holding up signs to encourage us. And that little lady in the purple pants to the right, was busting out dance moves that would make J-Lo blush.

But perhaps the best sight of all...

Was seeing our very own family members...

That had set up camp along the route and waited HOURS for us to arrive.

It's no easy task to wait for hours along a walking course. Especially when you have a two-year-old named Henry that likes to run off in various directions and bolt particularly fast in the direction of traffic and jagged cliffs. Let me tell you, walking 60 miles is a whole lot easier than keeping track of that little spit fire.

All told, that first day was a tremendous success.

Even though it took us 11 hours to walk 20 miles and we didn't arrive in to camp until dark.

We were blister free, our legs felt good and since I had totally lost my voice by mile 10, I was able to hear a lot of good stories.

Next up: Day Two.

It gets even better.

(Edit: So awesome that the font changes text and size throughout this entire post. If I wasn't feeling totally zapped of all energy, I might actually go back and fix it. So let's just pretend I was going for an eclectic look. OK?)

oh yeah baby

2009-11-22T22:40:00.000-08:00

We did it!

We walked sixty miles in three days with almost 4,000 other people. As a group of walkers, we raised $9.5 million dollars for breast cancer research, education and treatment. Over the next few days, I hope to post a few of the 350 photographs I took during that time, but for now, I'll give you this...

This photo is actually of Terrell's feet. Charlie thinks that the pictures of my feet are "too scary" for my blog. So you can just imagine what my toes must look like. Especially when you consider the punishment they have taken since May.

If I don't post again until Christmas, please understand it's just because I couldn't find a long enough extension cord to get my foot spa to my computer.

the journey of sixty miles begins

2009-11-19T22:02:00.000-08:00

It is 10:00 PM. In less than six hours, I'll be catching a ride with my friend and fellow walker Debbie - and Cheryl - and we'll be rendezvousing with the rest of our More The Merrier Walkers for Knockers team at the opening ceremony for our 3-Day walk.

Less than 12 hours from now, I will be joining thousands of other walkers as we take part in a three day journey that will take us (nearly) 60 miles around San Diego. We will be sleeping at night in little pink tents and our senses will be filled with what I'm sure will be inspiring and motivational messages (and scenes).

Because I am still sick - very sick - I'm a little afraid that this three day walk will resemble more of the Bataan Death March than a cancer crusade. At least for me.

But I will be there! Dressed in pink!

And by golly, I will be happy and glad to be a part of it all!

ACHOO!

Here are our team t-shirts that the ever so talented Terrell had made up.

This is the front...

And this is the back.

Aren't those GREAT?

So that I remember during my NEXT 3-Day Walk (isn't that optimistic that I'm planning the next one before I've even completed the first?!) and in case any of you decide to embark on a similar journey, this is what I'm packing for my walk.

Two pairs of shoes (wear one one day, one the next and allow the pads to recover for the third day on the first pair. Got that?). Six pairs of socks (two for each day). Three pairs of walking pants. Three sports tops. Three More The Merrier Walkers for Knockers shirts. Fanny pack and water bottle. Daily badge and my lovely pink ribbon baseball hat (thanks Beth!)

The pink shoes were purchased SOLELY because they were pink. I didn't want the blue pair at all, but according to the shoes salesman, they actually fit my foot better. Which might be important considering I'm walking SIXTY MILES. But you know, color coordination is really so critical to me at times. (Shh. Don't tell any serious athletes that. Or my podiatrist.)

This is what I'm packing for my nights at camp.

Sleeping bag rated to 10 below zero. Yes, we are in Southern California but near the ocean, it gets bone chilling cold at night and temperatures will drop in to the 50's. (You be quiet. Everyone who lives north of me. My blood is THIN!)

In addition to my sub zero sleeping bag, I've packed one travel pillow. One camping pad that inflates to a nice cozy mattress. Charlie's shirt which I'll sleep in every night, just to have him close. Two pairs of fleece pants including a pair of fleece overalls. One pair of fleece socks. One hot pink fleece pull over. One fleece vest. One down vest. One fleece hat. One fleece TurtleFur. One pair of fleece gloves. (I hate to be cold which is why I love fleece and subscribe to the 'layer' philosophy.) One pair of Crocs which are perfect to wear after a long day of walking AND can be worn in the shower (double points!). One chamois camp towel. One headlamp (because it's nice to use the restroom without holding a flashlight in your teeth.)

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

No, not really. I'll get to that in a minute.

I'm also packing an assortment of adorable little toiletry items that are almost too cute to use. Each one of those items is no more than 2-inches tall. Have you ever seen such a tiny stick of deodorant? It's just a little wider than a tube of Chapstick. So precious. And yet so highly necessary for a sixty-mile walk. (It would be bad to stink in the pink. I think.)

I'm planning to bring a roll of toilet paper and a few plastic bags that I can use for trash, in my tent. The TP is good to have for runny noses or if heaven-forbid, the Porta Potty runs out. Plus, some might argue that having their brand is beneficial for their posterior while in the wild. Why not do whatever you can to make your trip enjoyable?

Ahhh, yes. I can actually hear you in the future and through my computer screen, bestowing your thanks upon me for this golden nugget of camping wisdom.

You are SO very welcome.

In my fanny pack, I'll have moleskin - Second Skin - and blister bandages. I've got a small Swiss Army knife with scissors for cutting aforementioned blister-preventing-agents. I'll have a wide-mouthed water bottle, my camera, cell phone, sunglasses, gum, small wallet with insurance card and license, small pack of Kleenex, Chapstick, sunscreen, Gold Bond powder, hand sanitizer, tiny hair brush, body glide and a little First Aid kit with Tylenol, bandaids and Neosporin. Last but not least, I'll have a few energy bars. I'm also planning to wear my fleece vest for the first few hours of the walk because it will be CHILLY and since it packs up small, I can store it in my pack once I warm up.

Also in my pack, I'll have about 50 "Be Amazing" bracelets that I'm going to hand out to the people who I befriend along the way. (For those of you that still haven't received your Be Amazing bracelets, I've got 95% of them packaged and ready to ship. I just need to get to the post office to have them weighed. I promise they will be there soon!)

Yesterday, I received a care package from my awesome cousin, Margaret. Inside, there was a card that read something along the lines of, "Jen, these are a few items that I know you'll need for your walk. Band aids, energy bars, pain medicine, epsom salt {what the heck is that for??} and chocolate. The Doves are for our loved ones that we've lost."

OK. STOP.

The DOVES are for loved ones that we've lost.

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know me. You know my family. When you hear the word "DOVES" what are you thinking of?

As for me, I'm thinking of chocolate.

So I go through the box, and I see the band aids and the energy bars and the pain medicine and the epsom salt and I see white plastic birds and I see a bag of Hershey's. And I'm looking - looking - searching - DIGGING ALMOST DESPERATELY - for what I believe to be Dove chocolate bars, buried in the box. That's when Charlie comes in and asks, "What's with all the doves?" and I realize, the DOVES are BIRDS.

And there is one dove for each person we've lost to cancer.

Next to the birds, Margaret has written the names, Raymond (our cousin); Andrea (our cousin); Aunt Carolyn (our Godmother); Jeanne (Charlie's mom); Julie (my girlfriend); Deana (my girlfriend); My Father (my Uncle Bill.)

Yet, there are so many more.

I was so touched by her thoughtfulness, that I took the doves and carefully wrote the names of the person Margaret had in her heart, when she sent them to me. Then, I used safety pins and fastened each of the birds to my pink pirate hat, that I plan to wear on portions of the walk, or at least around camp.

Then I tried the hat on.

And I felt like a living wind chime.

****

As of today, our team of triplet mom walkers have have raised $12,514.00 for the Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. My most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has helped to support us on this journey and to those of you who will be sending your positive thoughts and prayers our way as we participate in this event.

I'll be back soon with pictures and stories and I'm sure a blister or two. But most importantly, with the first-hand knowledge that we are all one step closer to a cure.

Amen. Good night.

no one said the road getting there would be easy

2009-11-19T10:17:00.000-08:00

I'm taking a quick break from packing, and guzzling a packet of Emergen-C every 20 minutes, to provide an update on our potential South Carolina move. Because I know at least Margaret is interested and Anne Marie is standing by waiting to make celebratory confections.

Someone asked me the other day what was the primary reason I wanted to move back to the east coast. And for the first time, it really came to me.

I want to move because I want change. I want to stop working because I can see - so clearly - that taking care of a family and home (in the way that *I* want to take care of my family and home) is a full time job. And although my husband does an amazing job of it, I would do things differently. Not better per se, just differently. Plus, if I stay home, that will give Charlie an opportunity to really go for it with his career.

I want to move because I want to be settled before the children start school. Or, I at least want the option of being home so that I could home school them, if that's something we decide. I want to move to be closer to my mom and Aunt Grace. And while I know that mom has Jim and Auntie has an abundance of her own family nearby, being closer to those two women at this stage in my life - and in their lives - is suddenly very, very important to me.

Charlie received his formal offer letter yesterday and if we were able to support our family of six on a salary that is on par with what one of us was making 13 years ago when we graduated with our Masters degrees, and if we were willing to accept a benefit package that included absolutely no vacation time for the first year, we would be on that job like white on rice.

The upside to that job is that there is tremendous potential for exposure and Charlie might be able to grow his consulting business to great proportions. The downside is zero vacation time for the first year and a salary that would make me stretch my mind in inconceivable ways to save a dime. Probably not a bad thing, but it is quite scary for someone who is currently addicted to having Netflix movies delivered to their mailbox several times each week.

So. Now we're going to .... I have no idea what.

Thankfully, we love a good challenge and we're not ready to give up, just yet.

Who knows? Maybe if I started blog advertising, that would at least help offset the cost of a Blockbuster rental once a month.

chez charlie

2009-11-18T23:29:00.000-08:00

I'm sick. Really sick. I've been sick for the past four days and hopefully, I'll be better within the next day because in two days, I'm supposed to start my 3-Day walk and I have no room in my fanny pack for all of my sick supplies.

I am so sick that today, as I was driving to an important meeting in Orange County, I actually turned around before I even got to the freeway and drove back home. Walking in the door to our house, I dropped my briefcase (which was devoid of a computer because I shipped my broken wreck back to our headquarters yesterday and with a note that demanded they SEND ME A NEW ONE OR SOMEONE WILL DIE), kicked off my shoes, fell on to the couch and promptly dozed off to sleep for the next three hours while children climbed all over me.

During that time that I was sleeping, Charlie decided to start dinner. But since he was missing some critical ingredients and didn't want to leave his four small children at home alone with his unconscious wife, nor did he want to take his four small children to the store, he opted instead to 'shop our pantry' for items he could use in lieu of the key ingredients called out in the recipe.

Have I ever mentioned that Charlie is a fantastic cook and has expressed an interest in starting his own cooking blog? He possesses an uncanny ability to take random ingredients and make something great. His food presentation is incredible and I don't even like eating out any more because nothing that we order in a restaurant can remotely compare to what we eat at home.

But sometimes, once in a blue (blue, blue) moon, my husband has an off day in the kitchen. Annnnnd, today was one of those days.

On the menu tonight was his mother's famous Beef Stroganoff.

It wasn't until he was fully vested in the dinner preparation did he realize that he didn't have approximately 80% of the ingredients required. So what started out as Beef Stroganoff ended up as Beef Whoa Where The Heck Are The Tums. In lieu of mushrooms, he used red peppers. In lieu of egg noodles, he used lasagna noodles that he boiled and then cut in to long strips. (Um?)

He left out the shallots and sour cream. He left in the beef. And salt. And onions. (There were so many onions used that when I woke up from my nap, my eyes were watering even though I was two rooms away from the kitchen.) He threw in some Worcestershire sauce and a can of tomato paste and a handful of other dry ingredients. When we sat down to eat, the children just looked at their plates and started to cry. It could have been that they were overwhelmed with emotion, or perhaps it was the abundance of onions. Tough call.

Trying to set a good example, I picked up my fork and eagerly took a bite. It was nice and hot and the texture was good. But beyond that, seeing as I'm sick, I couldn't taste anything. So I smiled at my husband and encouragingly said, "Yum! Daddy this tastes great!"

Charlie took a bite of his dinner and noticeably cringed before guzzling down his glass of water. He then excused himself from the table for several minutes. When he returned, I had polished off my entire plate and was helping myself to seconds. My husband stood for a moment staring at me in disbelief before he said, "Well, at least you like it. But I'll bet if your cold medicine was actually working, this entire dinner would have been a total bust."

Then he kissed my cheek and added, "Remind me to check your pulse before you go to bed."

the big one zero zero zero

2009-11-18T16:55:00.000-08:00

This post represents my ONE THOUSANDTH published blog entry.

One Thousand.

1,000.

I've been writing to this blog since March of 2006 and in that time, in those 43 months, in those 999 posts, I have shared a lot. Some would probably say I've shared too much. And sometimes I'd have to agree. Especially when I publish late at night and then wake up in the morning groggily remembering sitting in front of the computer and pecking on keys. I'll ask myself, as I pour a cup of tea and walk to the computer, "Did I really publish that last night? Or was it just a dream?" (Cue sweaty palms and heart palpitations when I realize it wasn't a dream and my husband (or sister, or mother, or cousins) will be calling for me in 3-2-1...)

I've written about my children, my marriage, my family, my career, my favorite things in life, my favorite people in life, my struggles and shortcomings, and my hopes and dreams for the future. I've written about sex, movies, politics, infertility and religion. I've written about my obsession with chocolate peanut butter ice cream and wine. And I've written about my incredible desire to live on a farm and spin my own wool, except for my overwhelming fear of spiders and rats.

It's funny how this blog has become such an important part of my life. It serves as a resource and sounding board for so many things that I'm trying to figure out and yet - it captures my thoughts and feelings from this amazing period in time. There is a quote by Anais Nin, that I love. "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."

I am so thankful that because of this blog, I not only have the opportunity to taste life twice - but to share it with you. If this blog was a hot fudge sundae, I guarantee you wouldn't be quite as lucky.

So thanks for being a part of this journey with me. Thanks for sharing your stories and advice and thoughts. Thanks for being here and for inspiring me to come back every day.

Don't doubt it for a minute.

You. Are. Awesome.

poor us! we're trapped in ... paradise?

2009-11-17T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on the phone - with computer support techs who are trying to trouble shoot my work computer - and while they're working their magic via Net Meeting - I'm checking out my archives because there is truly nothing better that I can do.

Except vacuum. And that would be too obvious.

Unfortunately, the technical problems that I am having are due to both my machine and a corruption to my files which are on the server. So a new computer isn't going to completely solve the problem. From what I gather, there is much work to be done. Sadly, nobody knows quite what, yet.

But while I'm checking out my archives, I'm hard pressed to understand why any one, save my mother, would ever read this blog. It's like being caught in the mind of a crazy person.

I am happy! I am mad!!

I want to move! I don't want to go anywhere!!

I want to stay in California! I want to get out as fast as we possibly can!!

I love my job! I don't want to work anymore!!

I want to be with my children! I want to relocate my children to the MOON!!

I love my family! My family drives me iNsAnE!!

I am on a health kick, let's get fit! Shhh, I'm hiding in the closet eating cookies!!

I believe in God!! I was up all night trying to figure out if there is any purpose to life?

Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?

Seriously. I've got some major issues, people.

Do you read this gibberish just so you can feel normal about your own chaos? Or do you like comparing yourself while thinking, "I'm glad I'm not a nut like her! Yowzie. She's off the deep end!"

Oh whatever. Don't tell me. Your answer might scare me.

We've dug deep in to our souls to figure out what our next steps should be. I've prayed on it, lit candles over it, looked for signs in the stars and shook a Magic 8-Ball until I had blisters. I also made a list of the reasons to stay and go. And because I share all kinds of nuggets of my personal life, I'm sharing our reasons, here. Ready, set, play ball!

A DOZEN REASONS TO LEAVE SAN DIEGO

1) Opportunity to experience seasons
2) Real live trees that aren't planted from 5-gallon buckets
3) Slower pace of life
4) Less people
5) More affordable cost of living
6) Potential to live on a piece of property without a neighbor five feet away
7) Proximity to the gorgeous mountains and gorgeous coast
8) Proximity to family
9) Career opportunities for Charlie
10) Better potential for me to stay home
11) New places to explore
12) LIFE IS SHORT. CHANGE IS GOOD

A DOZEN REASONS TO STAY IN SAN DIEGO

1) Our quaint house
2) Our awesome community
3) Our church
4) Our friends
5) Security
6) MY career
7) Charlie's budding business
8) Family that lives an 8-hour car drive away
9) SeaWorld, the Zoo, Legoland and a million museums
10) This...

11) And this...

12) And last but not least, THIS...

Charlie just called me from the beach, where he took the kids to play again, today. It is 75 degrees and they are the only ones there. It's an absolutely perfect day.

My head hurts from all this thinking.

And since I'm looking at the hourglass stuck on my computer screen and a bar at the bottom that indicates I have approximately six hours before this newest "fix" that they are attempting is completed (and which may or may not work - their words, not mine), I've decided I'm going to disconnect from this pointless phone call and go join them.

Ah yes. That's much better.

where do we go from here?

2009-11-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

One day last week, I drove out to a job site to inspect some work that was being completed on one of my projects. As is often the case, the foreman on the job was actually a woman. But what caught me off guard was that she was fluently calling out orders in Spanish to the laborers who were lugging bags of concrete and materials from one end of the site to the other.

I couldn't help but smile.

Here was this petite little woman, no taller than 5 feet and weighing no more than 100 pounds, directing men who were at least a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier around a busy construction site. She had complete confidence in all aspects of the job and I loved seeing her at work.

After I introduced myself and went through a brief health and safety overview, I asked her a little bit about herself. What was her academic background? What is her title? How much experience does she have? Could she teach me to speak Spanish - or at least understand it?

Over the next few hours, we would talk whenever we had a spare moment.

I learned that she is a civil engineer. She worked as a facilities maintenance engineer for a major oil company for 14 years. She was responsible for building gas stations across the country and she traveled extensively. She is happily married and has a four-year-old daughter. Her husband started his own construction business a few years ago and in early 2007, he convinced her to give up her busy career and stay home to raise their little girl. Soon after she resigned her position, they bought four-acres of land in Escondido and set about building their dream home.

As they got closer to finishing the construction, they moved all of their belongings in to a modular home that was situated on the four-acre parcel. The plan was that they would slowly begin transitioning their furniture in to the new house. But the new house wasn't finished quite yet. And because it wasn't finished, it wasn't insured.

And then, there was a fire.

A big fire.

A fire that wiped out their entire neighborhood and burned their new home and their modular home (with all of their possessions inside) to the ground. They lost everything. They literally ran away with their lives, the clothes on their backs and their dog. All of their furniture, pictures, electronics, you name it, were gone. For a few weeks they slept in guestrooms. They borrowed friends' clothing. And then, she began looking for a new job.

Two years later, she is extremely thankful that she had her education and experience to fall back on. Because her husband lost all of his tools in the fire, and the economy took a nose dive, his newly formed business dissolved. So she secured a position working for a consulting firm.

These days she is working full-time (again) and her husband is home raising their daughter. They don't know what they are going to do. They've tried to sell their charred property but nobody wants it. They've tried to rebuild but there have been financial restrictions. They're currently living in another smaller modular home and saddled with a mortgage payment for four-acres of land with no permanent structure.

She says that despite the turmoil her family has endured over the past two years, and even though she gave up her big career with a major oil company - with her pension and outstanding benefits and potential for incredible growth - she is genuinely happy.

A few weeks ago, I was surfing around on the internet and found a job opening, in South Carolina, that I thought would be right up Charlie's alley. With my husband's knowledge, I tailored his resume to fit the position and I crafted a cover letter that I thought would call out his strengths for this particular role. And then, once he read it over and gave it the nod, I submitted it. This past week, Charlie got a call from the company that is hiring.

They want him. Badly.

But the new job would come with a lot of travel. Or at least 25% of the time, Charlie would be on the road. The new job would mean a pay cut, at least temporarily. And the new job will most likely not be able to relocate us, so all of our moving expenses would be out of pocket. But, the new job would quite possibly be something that my husband would truly love. It would call upon his academic training and it would tap in to his experience as a consultant and college professor.

(And, it would still allow him the opportunity to continue working on his business that he started earlier this year. You know, between the quiet hours of 2 and 4 AM.)

There's absolutely no correlation between these two stories. I'm just completely unsure what we should be doing right now. My job is secure at the moment and there is no reason to leave. Of course the possibility exists that I could be relocated to the east coast at some point in the future. But do I want to continue working (and stressing about working) as much as I have been?

For the past month, I've been largely without a work computer and I am becoming more and more frustrated with the feeling that I am so far behind I will never get caught up. Maybe this is a sign to turn in the defunct laptop and say, "Thanks for the laughs. Bye bye!"?

It just feels like we're wandering around with no clear direction. And yet, it seems that we're getting closer to the end and very soon, we'll be able to see where we're supposed to go, next.

Change can be wonderfully exciting and terribly scary. I just hope that whatever happens, happens well and that we never lose everything and have to live in a tiny trailer, indefinitely.

But if by some chance that does happen, I hope that I can find within me, the same kind of good attitude and grace like the woman I met the other day.

(It ain't crap. It's the best fertilizer known to man!)

Or at least ... have the ability to lie well enough so that everyone believes me.

size matters

2009-11-14T08:45:00.000-08:00

Our triplets were born at around the same birth weights.

But with time, they have grown at variable rates. For the first year, William was the largest in the trio, with his sisters always a few pounds less. But once the kids hit around two-years-old, Carolyn has shot up like a weed.

While we strive to make mostly home-cooked foods, with a lot of variety and we offer the children a little bit of everything that we are serving, the kids have totally different eating habits.

Elizabeth will eat anything, but in very small portions.

William is partial to yogurt. But he will also tolerate drinkable yogurt and frozen yogurt.

Carolyn loves carbohydrates. But not just any carbohydrates. Her forte is bread and cereal. She won't touch most vegetables and the only way she'll eat a potato is if I have it cooked as baked wedges.

A few weeks ago, when I woke up early for work, I happened to walk past the girls' room and noticed that there was a funny looking bump in their bed. When I pulled back the covers to investigate, I found Carolyn with a loaf of bread. She was hiding at the foot of her bed, under the quilt, eating the entire thing.

The heels, the crusts and everything in between.

I've written before that I've noticed Carolyn is outpacing her siblings in the growth department. Because where William and Elizabeth can both still wear size 4 clothing, Carolyn fits comfortably in a size 6/7. And sometimes, size 8. But considering Charlie comes from large stock, with one of his nieces measuring 6 feet 2 inches tall, I've always thought that our daughter was graced with tall genes.

During our annual appointment on Thursday, Elizabeth was 43 inches tall and 37 pounds. William was 44 inches tall and 39 pounds. Carolyn was 48 inches tall and 58 pounds. William and Elizabeth are both an average height for five-year-olds. Elizabeth is slightly below average for weight, William is right on target. Carolyn is completely off the charts for both height and weight.

Our pediatrician was surprised. Shocked, almost. He said that in all of his years, he hasn't seen that kind of variable size distribution across a set of multiples, who had all started out at approximately the same size.

To the general public, the triplets don't look like triplets anymore. While William and Elizabeth could possibly pass as twins, Carolyn looks like she is two or three years older.

This is starting to become a very delicate situation for me.

I've become hypersensitive to the way that I am treating the kids. For example, whenever I see the kids after a day away and they coming running towards me, I'll scoop Henry, William and Elizabeth - individually - and swing them around in the air. With Carolyn, I kneel down and embrace her in a tight hug and cover her cheeks in kisses. I wish I could still lift her up and swing her around. Sometimes, I still try. Even though it hurts.

I've become hypersensitive to her feelings. Because while the girls could once share clothes, they no longer can. As such, outfits that they would wear, interchangeably, that now only fit Elizabeth, is sometimes a point of contention. I've taken Carolyn on her own one-on-one shopping trips where we've bought all kinds of new clothes, just for her, but that doesn't stop her from wanting clothes that she once could wear and that her sister still does.

(Take THIS you little peanut!)

I've become hypersensitive to what she is eating. While I know that she is growing faster than her siblings, I know that she requires more fuel. But, this is a fine line - because I've also noticed that she is growing wider than taller and I'm slightly concerned about an eating disorder. So I'm limiting the bowls of cereals that she can have for breakfast - I'm reducing bread at dinner - and I'm trying to offer everyone more fresh fruit instead of crackers with lunch.

I've become hypersensitive to keeping the kids active everyday. Riding their bikes - going for walks - swimming - playing tennis - running around after a soccer ball in a huge field. I've tried to expose them to all the various events that Charlie and I participate in, so that they appreciate the world of sports and what it means to live a healthy life.

I've become hypersensitive to my own thoughts and actions. I strive to treat the children all the same and I don't like to talk about the size difference across the triplets when I'm in a group of people. But if it comes up, I will say that Carolyn is beautiful and she is blessed and lucky to be tall, because one day, she'll be able to reach items on the top shelf.

While I believe that each child is growing at their own HEALTHY pace, I don't want for my daughter to have a complex about her body. I know that most girls do at some point in their lives, I just don't want it to start when she's five.

favorite thing friday

2009-11-13T10:11:00.000-08:00

Last year for Christmas, I bought the children a set of eeBoo Good Manners flash cards.

I saw them while I was strolling the aisles of our favorite toy store, and since flash cards are something that we use quite often around these parts, I couldn't resist.

Whenever we sit down to eat, I've found that it really helps to keep children at the table when I read to them. So during meal times, I will ask the children to pick out a book or flash card set that they would like for me to go through. More often than not, they will select their Good Manners flash cards. And more often than not, they ask that I go through the deck twice.

This one's their favorite. They love that spider.

It's my opinion that good manners are so important. And although our children are still young, I think that there is no better time to start - than now - with teaching and enforcing politeness and common decency. Which is why I love these cards because they review such topics as meeting new people...

I am forever telling our children that you can tell a lot about a person by their handshake. TIGHTEN THAT GRIP. SMILE WHEN YOU LOOK IN THEIR EYES and say, "It's PLEASURE to meet you!"

They cover topics on public transportation...

And interfacing with the general population.

Of course the kids don't yet recognize the subtle difference that if someone opens the door to their own home on say, Halloween night, that's not a free license to walk in and pick up their dog and criticize the canary.

We're working on it.

The manners cards also cover meal time...

At our house, the kids will typically say, "OH NO. I just know I'm not going to like this."

Usually, they're right. But they'll still almost always put their napkin on their lap and they'll say, "Thank you for the meal. That was wonderful of you!" once they finish.

And that gives me a little hope for the future.

just call me poppy seed

2009-11-12T23:48:00.000-08:00

Today is Charlie's birthday.

Yesterday, I left for a meeting at 7:00 in the morning and didn't return home until 7:00 at night. By the time I came back the kids had already been in bed asleep for almost an hour. So it should have come as no surprise when we were awoken this morning by our three five-year-old children who stormed in to our dark bedroom yelling, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!"

Then as they jumped around our bed excitedly, they asked, "Do you want your presents now? DO YOU WANT YOUR PRESENTS NOW?!"

I rolled over and noticing that it was 5:00 AM muttered, "You know what would be a GREAT present? If you guys all went back to bed until the sun came up!"

Of course they didn't.

They ran around the house chattering up a storm and I gave the birthday boy a kick under the covers and said, "THIS is what happens when you put the kids to bed at 6:00 PM."

The kids came in to the room again, a few minutes later, with their little arms weighted down with wrapped presents. These were presents that they had picked out themselves, directly off of our own shelves. Before I left yesterday morning, I told the kids that tomorrow (today) was their Daddy's birthday. So while I was gone, they asked their father which books of theirs were his favorite, and then they wrapped those books in Christmas paper - tied with a bow.

(Isn't that adorable? So, so cute.)

This afternoon, the kids were due for their five-year checkup. During their four-year checkup last year, they were supposed to receive their Kindergarten round of vaccinations, but when the nurse came in to the room carrying three trays full of shots - the kids went in to absolute mass hysteria. They were climbing all over each other and dove underneath the table and desk, with their arms and legs wrapped around whatever they could reach, SCREAMING.

Even though their vaccination records had already been stamped and the syringes were full, the nurse decided that we'd just wait until NEXT year when they turned five. This would suit everyone just fine since we weren't planning to start them in Kindergarten until 2010.

So, today was the day.

The day that each of our five-year-old children were due to receive their annual eye and hearing exam and their much-dreaded Kindergarten suite of shots. A total of four inter-muscular shots each. But a total of six needles, because they needed to have their finger pricked for a hemoglobin analysis and a tuberculosis shot in their forearm.

Instead of bringing them all in at the same time, as we have always done, today at the request of our pediatrician, we had their appointments staged throughout the afternoon. Each child was separated by 30 minutes, so that no single child would need to experience the TRAUMA of the shots, until it was their turn.

Still, everyone knew what was happening. Because I believe it's important to let kids know what's going on, I told them ahead of time that they were getting shots and afterwards, we were going straight to the toy store so that they could pick out a nice little present for themselves. Elizabeth, being the great thinker that she is said, "Mom, I have a really good idea. Why don't we just go right to the toy store and skip the shot stuff altogether?"

Wouldn't it be awesome if life worked out that way? Say, I have another great idea!

Why doesn't my company just send me a check and I skip the work stuff altogether?

When it came time for the shots, it was like a scene from a horror movie. The nurse appeared with the band aids she'd be using to cover the injection sites, taped to her shirt, so that she could just grab them and stick them on. But as soon as the kids saw the VOLUME of band aids they went absolutely, positively INSANE.

You've never seen such screaming and body thrashing in your life. Charlie had three of the kids in the lobby and I had the shot recipient, squeezed between my legs with my two arms holding them down. When it was Carolyn's turn, they had to bring in a second nurse who laid on top of her, while I covered her eyes. And even with the additional manpower, after FOUR pricks, they were still unable to administer the TB skin test and one nurse was kicked in the face.

People in the lobby outside of the pediatrician's office heard the screaming and put down their magazines to inquire, what was going on in there? I wouldn't doubt if people orbiting the earth in a shuttle heard it.

And then after all that insanity, the nurse who had administered Carolyn's shots had the audacity to inadvertently throw out the hemoglobin slide. I saw it flip in to the trash when she dumped her tray of used supplies and I actually dived in after it. Because there was NO WAY I was going to put ~~myself~~ my daughter through the torture of receiving another injection. As the nurse was carefully removing items from the trash to expose items at the bottom, I grabbed a pair of purple latex gloves off the wall and pulled the entire bag out of the trash can and began searching desperately for the itty bitty slide. Which I finally found, once I dumped the contents all over the counter.

When we were finished at the doctor's office, Charlie went to go run a few errands, and I took the kids to the grocery store to pick up - among other things - a birthday cake for their father.

Since I only needed to buy four items: taco shells, crackers, eggs and cake supplies - I didn't make a list. But since I haven't been shopping with all four children by myself in about four months, I really should have. Because OH SWEET MERCY. Shopping with four small children is quite possibly more painful than taking five-year-old triplets in for their immunizations.

While we were at the store, I realized that dinner was in approximately two hours. And there was no way we could make it to the toy store, for the presents that I had promised the children and get home in time to prepare dinner and bake a cake. So I opted, instead, to let each child get a balloon. Because, why not? It was Charlie's birthday after all and we could use them to decorate the house. Besides, what preschooler / toddler mix doesn't love a balloon?

Sure, preschoolers and toddlers love balloons!!

But you know who really doesn't love them?

The mothers of preschoolers and toddlers. Especially when the children that are holding them are so distracted looking at their balloons floating over their heads, that they walk headlong in to each other, random customers, and a seriously unstable bread display.

(That's not adorable. Not at all even close.)

By the time I grabbed the items that I could recall and made my way to the check out, I had major static electricity buildup all over my head because Henry's latex balloon had been held at my face level for an entire lap around the store. As we're standing in line, the kids are telling everyone around them that they are FIVE YEARS OLD and they just had SIX SHOTS IN THEIR ARMS and today is THEIR FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. And that's when I realized I forgot the cake supplies, which were undoubtedly, the most critical items on my mental list.

So I had to pull my cart out of line and go buy cake supplies. Of course I would have just bought a pre-made cake but there was no one at the bakery counter and my children were starting to dissolve before my very eyes. Henry was screaming his crazy-I-have-no-idea-what-is-plaguing-you-but-PLEASE-GOD-make-it-stop-scream and two of the triplets were pretending to be jaguars and were crawling across the grocery store floor on their hands and knees while the third one had to use the potty NOW.

Once I got back in line, I happened to see on the cake box that I needed eggs. And that's when I remembered that I didn't have eggs. So I pulled the cart out and ran to the dairy section at the far back of the store, while children and their bobbing balloons struggled to keep up with me. As fate would have it, once I got to the dairy section, I couldn't even remember what I was there for and stood staring at the shelves, hoping that one of the items would trigger my memory.

(It took several minutes.)

By the time I got back in line, again, I was breathing hard - covered in sweat - my hair was all over the place and I just sensed that eye makeup was dripping down my face.

As the clerk was ringing up my purchases she asked if I had found everything OK. And that's when I realized that I had also forgotten to purchase crackers. So I told her, "Actually I forgot one item and I'd really appreciate it if someone could just grab me a box of crackers - ANY CRACKERS WILL DO - because if I have to get out of line one more time, I will go ..."

She smiled and said, "Let me guess. Crackers?"

Yeah. But I probably would have thrown a fruity adjective in there.

what's in you wednesday (with an edit at the end)

2009-11-11T23:02:00.000-08:00

There are so many ways I could start off this post.

I could start off by writing about the awesome article I read in the December edition of Runner's World magazine about the truck driver, Jeff Clark, who discovered the statistic that the life expectancy of an over-the-road trucker that sleeps in his truck is 61-years-old. Instead of becoming another statistic, Jeff traded his life of eating cheeseburgers and drinking Mountain Dew for raisins and running. Thus far, he has shed 30 pounds, finished six marathons, and is encouraging other truckers to do the same.

Or ... I could start off by writing about another awesome article I read in the December edition of Runner's World magazine about two teenage boys, Phil Carlitz and Andrew Hudis, who organized a marathon in a remote province in Thailand to raise money and awareness for a group of refugees. The article goes on to say, "This past July, they traveled back to oversee the Rustic Pathways Tribe-to-Tribe Marathon. They had hoped for a few dozen runners, but 500 people—including people from Australia, Japan, England, and the United States—raced in the marathon, half, and 5-K. About $10,000 was raised for the orphanage. "In a country where a shirt costs 60 cents and you can eat for a quarter, that money goes pretty far," Hudis says. "We are putting 25 teenage refugees through high school." Just as important, the race raised awareness about the plight of the Karen people."

Or ... I could start off by writing that yesterday morning, I discovered a bag of Halloween candy that we had purchased but had never handed out because it had been lost in the back of my closet. Since it was early and my crazy mid-afternoon craving hadn't kicked in, I threw the bag out. But last night, I seriously contemplated digging the bag of candy out of the trash and eating one or two (but not more than 15 pieces) because I was feeling desperate and those little bite-sized Snickers are SO cute.

Since I've returned to work full time, I haven't been exercising ~~at all~~ as much as I had been. Add to my lethargy a dose of gluttony and since I've almost completely weaned Henry, my little fat vacuum has all but vanished. Suddenly, I've got a layer of insulation that wasn't there two months ago and cute wittle Snickers bites with a chaser of chocolate milk very well might help my depression.

But that's when I read the articles about Jeff and Phil and Andrew.

And that's when I remembered that if I don't put myself FIRST and make time for my exercise routine EVERY DAY, it isn't going to happen. See, I know that life gets busy and I could (and have) come up with a million good excuses not to workout. But I know that the more I exercise, the more compelled I am to take good care of myself. In contrast, the less I exercise, the more compelled I am to sit around and try to rationalize why it is perfectly acceptable to dig candy out of the trash.

So tomorrow morning, and every day for the next week, I'm going to get up and TRY to run for 30 minutes, before we eat breakfast. And next Friday, I'm going to go on a 3-Day sixty mile walk. And I'm doing these things because I want to be healthy and strong and do something good for humanity and be a positive influence for our children. And also, because I don't want to feel a roll of flab flop over my pants and worry that they'll split up the back when I bend over to tie my shoe.

Please do share. What are you doing to take care of yourself?

*****

Edited Thursday morning: Do not make me call you out. Because I will. I know who you are. That's right, I'm looking at YOU...

Heidi

Erika

Carrie

Susie

Jo

Cynthia

Karen

Oh, look and look a MAN! Come on Jon, what are you doing to take care of yourself?

How's the running going?

random questions on a tuesday afternoon

2009-11-10T14:40:00.000-08:00

Is it possible to live off of yogurt alone?

My boy - who discovered our Christmas supply and has not taken off his Santa hat for the past two days - believes that YES, it is.

It sure would make my life easier if I could feed the kids yogurt three times a day. If there is fruit in the yogurt, does that cover two food groups? And if I gave them a side of Goldfish, would that make it three?

Why is it that before our children were potty trained, whenever they got near the toilet all they wanted to do was flush it. But now that they actually know how to use it - they never flush anymore? Has anyone with children ever installed an automatic toilet in their house?

Why is it that whenever I ask the children to go wash their hands, they will protest and put up such a fight, you'd think I was asking them to soak in hydrochloric acid. But when I finally get them to the sink, I have to drag them away because all they want to do is splash in the water and make bubbles?

Why do I have such an inexplicable craving to ~~inhale~~ eat chocolate every afternoon at 2:30 PM? And since I am well aware of this fact, why did I think it was a good idea to throw out all of *our* Halloween candy? Is it wrong that I have an inexplicable craving for a glass of wine every night? If it is - DON'T TELL ME.

How is it possible that my 3-Day walk is in TEN (10) days and during my first 'workout' in more than a month, this past weekend, I hurt my sciatic nerve to the point that I yelp every time I sit down, stand up and roll over? Mommy - where are you?

Why do I have to repeat any request no less than fifteen times, or approximately five times per five year old child? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Why do people 'heart' things? Why don't they just say that they 'love' something? It's not like they are shortening up the word, since heart is actually longer than love. Would somebody please explain?

When will I learn my lesson that I cannot donate items to Goodwill when the children are in the house? Why must they go through the various bags and pull out broken toys and try to tell me that although they haven't looked at the toy for over a year, that they ~~heart~~ LOVE it and want to play with it EVERYDAY? Why won't they wear the clothes that fit them and instead, insist on wearing pajamas to bed that they outgrew almost two years ago?

Why is it that my children go to bed so easily when they are well rested - and yet they fight me tooth and nail when they are overtired? How did I get three babies to sleep through the night when they were four months old, and I still can't get one toddler to sleep through the night at 28-months old? Did I dream it - or did I really take a SCREAMING Henry outside last night at 2 AM and threaten to lock him in the car if he didn't stop wailing and wake up the entire house?

Why do people think that getting sick as a child builds your immunity as an adult? I was a child. I was sick. Now as an adult, I catch all the same viruses that my children do. Where's MY immunity? Why does the right side of my jaw get a crazy insane twangy feeling every time I eat something sweet? Or tart? Or salty? Why am I such a freak that I think it might be terminal? And where on the earth are my girls two left shoes? They are still missing.

Why is it that women have a sense about the fashion condition and safety of their children that men seem to lack? Why is it that Charlie doesn't even notice when the kids go out in public wearing galoshes, a bathing suit top and a velvet skirt AND even though I wasn't in the room, I sensed that our toddler walked past my husband, directly under his nose, as he stood in an open doorway talking to a neighbor and took off running down the street?

Why is it that I have no clue how to use our stereo after almost three years and if my husband doesn't turn off the speakers that are wired in to different rooms before he leaves the house, they will stay on all day? Why does he get so mad at me when I just disconnect all the wires from the back of the receiver because I have a conference call and cannot have CLASSIC VINYL piping through every room?

Is (or are?) there more than one of these trucks? If not how is it possible that I have seen the same one the past four times I've driven to Los Angeles on the 405? Is it just coincidence that I'm in close proximity to the same vehicle driven by a retired ... uh ... marine? prisoner of war? poet? taxidermist? that enjoys cruising up and down one of the busiest freeways in California?

What EXACTLY is he trying to tell us?

And do you think those rocket launchers on the side are just for decoration?

soul food: finding the faith

2009-11-09T02:10:00.000-08:00

With very little exception, Charlie and I have been going to church every weekend.

Now, I feel it's important to note that we're still not at the point of believing everything that we read in the Bible. Nor do I think we ever will be. And the next time gay marriage turns up on the ballot, so help me, I WILL vote the exact same way. And depending upon where we live, we might stick another sign up in our yard.

But it is my belief that even if my actions are wrong (which I fully believe they are NOT), God will love me, anyway.

So that being said, I'm really going to try and make a (better) concerted effort at writing down some of the services that we've been attending (under the Soul Food label) - because I've got a stack of around 30 sermons that I want to share and I'm starting to run out of space in my organizer.

Besides, I've found that writing down my notes from the service, really helps to make the point stick.

As I may have mentioned before, one of the things that I really appreciate about "our church" is that they will do series for a particular topic. Right now, the series is on "Dangerous Church: What Could and Should Be." The premise here, is that our church is DANGEROUS. What does that mean, you ask?

Well...

A Dangerous Church Believes:

1. Ordinary people want to find God.

2. God loves everyone and wants to be found.

The Council at Jerusalem: Some men came down from Judea to Antioch and were teaching the brothers, "Unless you are circumcised, according to the custom taught by Moses, you cannot be saved."

The passage goes on to say that Paul and Barnabas (not sure who he is, I'm still new to this) had a dispute with the concept that you had to be circumcised to become a Christian and went to Jerusalem to see what the apostles and elders would say about the question. When they arrived, they were welcomed and reported everything God had done, through them.

Then some of the believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees stood up and said, "The Gentiles must be circumcised and required to obey the law of Moses." The apostles and elders met to consider this question. After much discussion, Peter got up and addressed them: "Brothers, you know that some time ago God made a choice among you that the Gentiles might hear from my lips the message of the gospel and believe. God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith." Acts 15:1-9

OK. So what this story goes to show is that the Gentiles - (who I learned aren't Jewish - see I told you I had a lot to learn) had to become Jewish BEFORE they could become Christian.

Great News! You can be a Christian!

(But, first there's going to be a little operation.)

THIS is an obstacle. You cannot get to God without going through this door.

(Ding Dong! Snip. Snip.)

If you are laying rules and regulations on people, you are testing God.

I loved the analogy that our pastor gave of a ladder.

Imagine taking out the first five steps on a seven step ladder so that the only steps that remain are the two at the top. And let's just imagine that God is at the very top of the ladder. How are people on the ground - supposed to get to the top - if the first five steps are missing?

The theory is that rules and regulations were put in place, by man, to keep people from growing closer to God. Because if everyone is able to climb up that ladder, than everyone gets closer to God, and well - suddenly you've got overcrowding.

Who wants to stand on a step (or go to a church) with 5,000,000,000 other people?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I don't like crowds.)

3. A church's #1 purpose should be to remove obstacles that keep ordinary people from God.

A church should definitely not make it difficult for ordinary people to connect with God and form a relationship.

Now then, why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of the disciples a yoke that neither we nor our fathers have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord that we are saved, just as they are." Acts 15:10-11

It is my judgment, therefore, that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God. Acts 15:19

The men were sent off and went down to Antioch, where they gathered the church together and delivered the letter. The people read it and were glad for its encouraging message. Acts 15:30-31.

(Especially the MEN who heard, you don't have to that little operation to join the club. Yippee! The skin stays! HALLELUJAH!)

4. Every follower of Jesus is on Assignment.

OK. Hold the criticism, but I - personally - have a very difficult time whenever people talk about following Jesus. While I totally agree with the principle, the words themselves always make me uncomfortable. When I lived in South Carolina, I was asked weekly, if I had been saved and accepted Jesus as my Savior. (Always dreaded that question. Always saw it coming.)

Why is it that I can talk about God all day, but I get so skittish about Jesus? Why does his name have such a fanatical stigma? It wasn't very long ago, one of my co-workers and I were talking about religion and when I asked if she was Christian, with a straight face she said, "No. I'm Catholic."

Wha?

Did I miss something in Sunday School?

(Or maybe she did??)

Our minister said - and I fully believe - that it's because so many churches bring in weirdness that most people stay away.

Quick show of hands for anyone who has been to a church where the minister directs the congregation to turn to a passage in the Bible - and everyone, except you - seems to know exactly what to do?

Instead of feeling like you are connecting with God, you feel totally unworthy, like an outsider - looking in on people who are a deep and spiritually mature group and in order for you to belong, YOU HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO DO.

(You HEATHEN!! What are you doing here in the Holy House of God?!)

I'll raise my hand. BOTH hands in fact.

Our minister further gave an example that when he was young, he was exploring different churches in his area. He went to one particular church where he had to write down his name in a guest book when he entered.

Much to his absolute HORROR, midway through the sermon, the minister had the guest book brought up to the pulpit and he read aloud our minister's name. He asked him to stand, tell the church what brought him there that that day, how long he had been a Christian, whether or not he tithed and his stance on sexual purity, and a host of other questions that made him feel like RUNNING out of the church as fast as he could.

(Nothing like being put on the spot to make you never want to come back ever, ever again.)

While we're on the topic...

Although I'm a little embarrassed to admit this in front of my very large and very devout Catholic family, especially since I went to Catholic school for three years and was baptized Catholic and received my First Holy Communion, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing whenever I go to a Mass and I can barely get by just watching the rest of the congregation.

I'm so distracted with sitting and standing and kneeling and "Also with you(s)" that I totally lose track of what's going on. For those that don't know (and I'm sure my whole family knows by now), I got in to trouble because I received communion when I was in South Carolina last month during Uncle Bill's Mass. (Not REAL trouble, but knowledgeable others asked me WHAT WAS I DOING?)

You think I would have known better (having gone to Catholic school for three years and being baptized Catholic and receiving my First Holy Communion) but I didn't. So I did. Because the Spirit totally moved me. (In the complete wrong direction to the front of the line, apparently.)

By no means am I saying that the Catholic church is weird.

I just ... I just ... I just have no idea what I'm doing whenever I go.

Quick. Moving on.

Look! It's MIKE WAZOWSKI!!

THE POINT IS (to #4, above): Everyone is on a mission to take the focus off of us and help others find God. While keeping in mind that every church - home - business has a culture. You need to find a church that fits YOU.

So, where is there a culture that best fits you?

It's important to keep in mind that your assignment is not to try and change the church that you attend, but rather - find a church where you best FIT.

More than 80% of people in the United States were not in church this past weekend. Because, at least 80% of the people in this country do not believe that church can help them and it would just be a waste of time. Also, who wants to go to a church that tells you what you need to CHANGE about yourself before you can belong?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I sometimes don't respond well to criticism. Just ask my mother. Or husband. Or sisters.)

(It's important to point out here, that after one lap around the park, Carolyn decided that she needed her training wheels back ON.)

A lot of churches are like a ladder that are far too good at removing the rungs that will get you to the top - and ultimately, closer to God. But, if you can find a church that makes the connections easier - people will feel like they can connect and WANT to connect and the next thing you know, they BELONG.

Does this sound like a commercial?

Well it kind of is.

After almost five years of attending this particular church pretty religiously (pardon the pun), we still haven't joined.

HOWEVER, this church has been so amazing for us, our family, our marriage, our little Henry who wouldn't even EXIST if not for a particular sermon, our lives in general (TRUST ME, I'd be a lot worse off if not for the church) - and we've had such an incredible time splashing around the shallow end of Christianity, we are fully anticipating that very soon, we'll be taking the plunge in to the deep end.

For us, that's very BIG news.

But much like my daughter, I'm not sure that I have the faith to just GO FOR IT, because I'm afraid I'll wobble and look silly and ultimately, crash HARD. And then, people who are so much more experienced than me, will feel compelled to tell me that I'm doing it ALL WRONG, instead of just giving me a high five and saying, "WAY TO GO!! STICK WITH IT!!"

See ... the fact is, I am getting closer and feeling a lot more comfortable.

Because every time I go to church, I feel like I am riding on a cloud with the most awesome Superhero running beside me.

namaste

2009-11-07T00:07:00.000-08:00

Much like clouds turn black and winds start whipping up dirt and debris before a big storm hits, so it is with me and my emotions. But once that storm passes through and the torrential downpour washes away all the dust, the landscape is clean and refreshed.

I'm not at all proud to admit ~ although I am extremely thankful ~ that my husband can see the storm brewing within me before it hits, and he has become exceptionally good at ducking for cover. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

When Charlie is having a tough time, he takes off for an afternoon bike ride and returns a new man. But that doesn't work for me. I can feel it building, building until my head explodes. The problem is that for the past several weeks, I've been having explosions, a lot.

Until - we went to Disney on our family vacation and we made a decision.

Finally, we had a plan and it was such a relief.

But just as we were starting to get excited about it, our plan totally tanked. When I considered the real estate loss - and the depressed job market - and my current schedule of seeing the children only briefly before I left for work in the early morning and kissing their sleeping cheeks when I returned home late at the end of a long day ... I started flipping out. Repeatedly.

Now that I'm on the other side of my flip out, I can see that I was being terribly selfish. MY plans weren't working out. Obviously, I wasn't getting what I wanted, so damn it all to hell with a side of coleslaw.

And ... that's just about the time God decided to step in with a heavy-dose of perspective.

Because this afternoon, when I came home early from a meeting, I noticed that one of our sponsored children, through Compassion International, had sent us a letter. Little Elvis lives in the mountains of Peru. He is five-years-old and was writing to ask us for prayers because the swine flu is sweeping through his village.

While I know that people die from the flu every year, the H1N1 strain has me really concerned. More than 25 people have died from it in San Diego since June, including a five-year-old girl who died last month.

We'll be taking the children in to the pediatrician next week for their five-year checkup. I plan to have them all receive the H1N1 vaccination at the same time. We're very fortunate because that vaccination is available to us. But it dawned on me today that even if our children fall ill this year, we are incredibly blessed to have clean water, electricity, Puffs Plus with Lotion, Tylenol, Gatorade, Jell-O and an excellent children's hospital less than 30 minutes a way.

Our friend Elvis lives in a tiny shack with his parents. His father earns in a year what I earn in an hour. When our children are sick, I can put them in the car and take them to the hospital. If Elvis or someone in his family is sick, it might take them days to see a doctor. But the most sobering thing is that of the four children we have sponsored, Elvis is the most well off by a long shot. Our children in Africa, Bangladesh and India are even poorer.

They have dirt floors in their homes and tin roofs that leak.

Huh. What is it again that I'm so mad about?

I'm having a really tough time remembering...

Sometimes, I think that the best thing I could with my life is get rid of everything and go on a mission trip. What an awesome learning experience for our children about what the really important things are in life and yes, Anita, I very well could be bipolar.

(Goodbye! Goodbye! I'm traveling around the world to deliver rice to remote mountain villages accessible only by llamas**. I promise to write!!)

So many of us are shielded from the world when we sit in the comfort of our own homes with electricity at the flip of a switch and clean water at the turn of a knob. Instead of recognizing and reveling in how lucky we are, we bemoan our circumstances.

At least for me, it is so easy to get caught up in having the houses - and cars - and 401Ks with matching contributions - and fancy new digital cameras. Which surely, those things are important - but relatively speaking - they are definitely not critical for survival. Especially when you are reminded that there are millions of people in the world who have absolutely nothing. Except their faith. Which I could definitely use a bit more of these days.

After reading your insightful comments (and e-mails) on my last post, I'm less inclined to run off and see a therapist, and more inclined to send each and every one of you a co-pay along with my most sincere thanks.

Truly, this blog is better than therapy.

If anyone is interested in learning more about Compassion International, I have added a widget to the top left corner of my blog. I have found it to be a wonderful organization that I would highly recommend.

Our children adore the new friends that they have made and I really appreciate that they are having such great exposure to cultures different than their own, while picking up an excellent lesson in caring for others.

*****

EDIT: ** If you see that I spelled something totally wrong, please speak up!

Llama is two "L"s not an "I" and an "L". I'm not sure why I thought it was pronounced Ill-lama ... and not L-lama but when I'm writing a post at midnight, sometimes I don't pay very close attention to spell check. So when my husband points out the error, my husband who once spelled his own daughter's name wrong ("What you mean there's a Z in Elizabeth? I thought for sure it was an S!"), it feels like I've been walking around a cocktail party without realizing that the back of my dress was tucked in to my pantyhose.

I actually witnessed something similar to that once. I was at a concert and the poor woman had seats on the VERY front row. Just before the curtain came up and the lights were dimmed, she walked from the back of the PACKED hall to the very front, with her dress snuggly tucked in to the back of her hose. She was flocked by a group of women just before she sat down - and her reaction was awesome. Instead of passing out from embarrassment, she gave the audience a smile and a curtsy and then pulled the dress out before briskly walking back to the restroom.

Now, if that ever happens to you - you'll know what to do. Or you could just check your dress before you leave the bathroom. Or ... in my case, pay better attention to spell check.

(Smile. Curtsy. Dash back to the "edit post" button.)

divert your eyes

2009-11-06T00:36:00.000-08:00

Do you want to know what I think?

I think that divorce is one of the worst things that can happen to a family. It's difficult for me to share that, because I know how much it pains my mother that she and my father divorced. And while I undoubtedly believe that my mom did the right thing leaving my dad when she did - all these years later - I've got some scar tissue that is terribly ugly.

There are five girls in my family. Of my four sisters, three of them have divorced. One of them twice. I also have two brothers. One of my brothers is married. My other brother, who is closest in age to me (and whose birthday is this weekend), has been with the same woman for almost 30 years. They have three children together. A set of twins that are nine months younger than our triplets and a little boy, who is five weeks older than Henry.

As much as my brother and this woman love each other, my brother will not marry her. I have no doubt that they'll spend the rest of their lives together, but he sees absolutely no value in the union of marriage. You can't change his mind, so don't even try. And whatever you do, don't put his decision or his family down, at least not in my presence. Because I think that out of the seven siblings, he has the best outlook on life and the happiest relationship of all.

As for me, I think that the year that my parent's divorced was the most tumultuous year of my entire life. That was the year that I was living in Massachusetts and my mother was living in South Carolina. Every weekday, I would jump on a bus after school and go to an after school program. When I think back to it now, it was really an awesome arrangement. There were arts and crafts and sports and games. But when I was a child, I didn't appreciate it.

All I wanted was to go home and play at our house, like all my friends did. But since no one was home and I was only nine, that wasn't an option. When my father would pick me up, we would drive home and have dinner. Then we'd watch a little television and I'd eventually make my way to bed after watching my father do the books for his drugstore.

Even though I had two older sisters and an older brother living there with me, and people were always coming and going, it felt lonely in that big house. And I was totally out of place.

One afternoon, instead of going to the after school program, I went home with my friend, Julie. She lived just down the road from us and we rode the bus together every morning. But on this one particular day - her mother came and picked us up from school. I remember her mom drove an AMC Pacer with faux wooden siding, which at the time, was the coolest car on the road.

(Or so I thought.)

(Clearly I was mistaken.)

We went back to Julie's house and while her older sister, Laura, showed us how to fold a dollar bill in to the shape of an accordion and letter M (a trick that I can still do to this day), their mom baked cookies. I can remember, so clearly, that the four of us were huddled in the kitchen on that cold afternoon, while trees blew outside and scratched against the windows of the house.

Soon, the girls father came home and after greeting his family and kissing his wife, he retired in to the family room to light a fire and catch the evening news. It was a warm and comfortable environment and I felt totally at peace. And also, a little envious that I wasn't a part of this intact family.

When my mother came to visit a few weeks later, I introduced her to my friend Julie and her family. When Julie and I were off playing, Julie's mom confided to my mom that it was her opinion, I was a very sad little girl and I really needed my mother.

How astute.

It's funny how something someone said 30 years ago, can stick with you. I've been thinking about Julie's mom a lot during these past few months. Mostly, I've been thinking that she was totally right in her impression of me. I've always had this 'vision' of what a family should be. And since I sadly didn't obtain that 'vision' when I was a child, it was my driving force in to adulthood. Without even realizing it, I developed a plan.

First, there was finding the right husband. A good man. A kind and gentle and intelligent man that knew how to laugh and would make a wonderful father. Second, we would build a home. A warm, inviting home with good lighting and comfortable seating and lots of live plants. Third, there were the children that we would welcome in to our world. God willing, there would be a lot of children, born to me when I was young. Ideally, I would be twenty five years old, plus or minus two years.

But when that third part didn't happen, it rocked me to my core. I looked around and everywhere, people were having babies. Neighbors, siblings, friends, cousins. They were popping them out like candy. And once again, I felt so envious, desperately wanting something that I couldn't have, despite my best efforts. And while it's difficult to admit this, I think it's important to note that the challenges we faced with trying to start a family didn't just put a little stress on our marriage, it almost destroyed it.

Because I was almost destroyed.

The emotional roller coaster of fertility treatments and the mental anguish when cycle after cycle (after cycle after cycle) didn't work were bad enough. But add to that the financial desperation that came with shelling out thousands upon thousands of dollars. We had the perfect recipe for marital disaster. With a side of hurt and resentment.

But then, finally, our long awaited babies arrived and everything we had gone through to get them, was washed away. That time following their birth was the most terrifying and glorious and surreal period of my life. For the first time, I wasn't on the outside looking in on something that I wanted. My dream was being realized.

Until. It was time to go back to work full time. And since then, things have started to go topsy turvy in my world. There is no balance and everything's flying out of control.

If I can be honest (and I can because this is my blog), things aren't so good right now. Just a few days ago - they were good. But then we heard from the Realtor who told us that moving at this juncture, was a very bad idea and the best bet is to stay put until the market recovers. And then Charlie heard from a company (or two) that employment opportunities which were open are now filled. By people who actually live there.

So now I'm mad that I only intended to stay in California for six months and 19 years later, I am still here. I'm mad that our house has lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in equity in 33 short months and we've paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in principal over the past 12 years. I'm mad that when the two of us were younger, we weren't more disciplined and instead of funneling money in to our mortgage, we funneled money in to three brand new cars.

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid!!)

I'm mad that Kindergarten is just around the corner and I have no idea where we'll be nine months from now. I'm mad that we don't have a concrete plan in place and WHY don't we have a concrete plan in place? I'm mad that I feel like the decision about what to do is on my shoulders. I'm mad that it I quit my job tomorrow, and Charlie started a job tomorrow, it would take him a few years to reach the level where I am right now. I'm mad that I'm at this level and he's not, given that he is smarter than me.

I'm mad that I might have to work forever. I'm mad that my employer forced me to return to work full-time. (I'm actually really mad about that.) I'm mad that my job has such outstanding benefits, it's very difficult to give up. I'm mad that I feel stuck. I'm mad that from this perspective, I don't see that I'll ever be able to stay home and bake cookies with my daughters on cold afternoons and show them how to make birds and the letter "M" out of dollar bills. I'm mad about what I'm missing and what I will miss if this keeps up. I'm mad that I'm not doing anything - fast enough - to fix this. I'm mad that I am immature and unable to adapt to my current life conditions.

I'm mad that I haven't picked up my camera in days. I'm mad that I'm missing out on moments with the kids. I'm mad that although I'd like to be home, I'd probably go crazy in a single afternoon and my eerily patient husband is undoubtedly the better candidate to be with the children all day. I'm mad that Charlie is such a good man and why would I ever be mad at him? I'm mad that I'm not more like him. I'm mad that my childhood wasn't perfect. I'm mad that I'm so far away and my parents are growing older and I might never be close enough to just drop in with them for an afternoon visit. I'm mad that because of the divorce, I've missed out on so much time with my parents. I'm mad that my parents aren't getting a better chance to know my children. I'm mad that I can't quit my bitching and be graciously content and abundantly thankful for what I have. Right Here. Right Now.

I'm mad that we only get one chance at life.

I'm mad that I'm mad and I can't stop being mad.

(Check it out. This is what I totally look like.)

But mostly, I'm scared.

I'm scared that my unannounced emotional eruptions are seriously harming our marriage. I'm scared that Charlie, is sick of me being an absolute pain in the ass and is starting to tune me out, completely. Because I am being an absolute pain in the ass. But he is, too. (Although I'm not really sure of that.) (It's quite possibly all me.) I'm scared that moments after leaving the tranquil environment of church, I can't even talk about 'these issues' with out getting upset. I'm scared that divorce happens every where - all the time - especially in my family and I don't want it to happen to us. I'm scared at what this stress is doing to me - to him - and to our precious children and at this point, I honestly don't know what to do.

I'm guessing a therapist is in order.

And some heavy-duty doses of Prozac.

what's in you wednesday

2009-11-04T22:49:00.000-08:00

We've got about a three hour deficit in time everyday.

What that means is that since the triplets no longer nap during the day, we no longer have any down time during daylight hours. The kids typically wake up around 6:00 every morning and go to sleep at 7:30 or 8:00 every night. And if there is one thing I have learned during parenthood, it's that when your children are conscious - you need to be conscious, too.

Fully conscious of them - where they are - what they are doing - and whether or not your camera is located out of reach. Otherwise, you will be forced to look through hundreds of pictures of them taking photos of each other, their stuffed animals and MIKE WAZOWSKI!

Assuming 24 hours in a day - since the children are usually awake for 14 hours a day, we have approximately 10 hours of "free time" when children are otherwise constructively occupied (aka: sleeping). Considering we are supposed to be getting somewhere between 7 or 8 hours of sleep ourselves, that leaves approximately two to three hours a day for personal time and/or couple time.

Most days we spend at least an hour, at night once the kids are in bed, cleaning up the unbelievable disaster that is created during the day and doing load after load (after load) of laundry. And still, we can't seem to get on top of it all until the weekend. (No, I don't want to hire a maid. I've already explored that option. I'd much prefer an elf. Preferably green.)

As anyone who knows me knows, I've been working like a mad woman for the past several weeks and while I keep thinking that I see the end in sight, it's just a mirage. That end-of-the-year budgeting and invoicing and field inspection visits that I need to conduct are keeping me busy day and night and hey, look at that, I just picked up an additional 16 projects two hours north.

The house is a wreck, the kids are growing like weeds, I feel like I'm missing a bulk of their life with all of my traveling and full days and quite frankly, this new work arrangement really ~~SUCKS~~ stinks. There. I finally said it. Out loud.

Today, I wanted to write that I've been exercising and eating well and getting ready for my 3-Day walk that is only two weeks away. I also wanted to write about our plans to quickly sell our house and move back to South Carolina by the end of the year. As in ... this year, within the next eight weeks. Because Charlie wants to go, life is short, I miss my mom, I miss the dogwoods and seasons, I will never have these days back again when the children are small and I don't want to live out my days wondering what could have been.

Hallelujah.

Amen.

I wanted to tell you that I have an insatiable desire to be home with our children and I am fully prepared to give up my hard-earned career to do so. I wanted to tell you that although there are a lot of highly educated women in the work force who are also mothers, and might disagree with me, I personally believe that there is something in the genetic makeup of a woman that undeniably pulls you to your children, once you have them.

I believe that as awesome of a job as my husband does raising our children when I'm off working, I want to do better. Because I want it to be me at home, not him. And, I believe that Charlie would be a much more devoted and engaged full-time employee than I could ever be, because he wouldn't be distracted with whether or not the girls brushed their hair and the boys are wearing clean socks when he is sitting in a meeting discussing a multi-million dollar groundwater remediation strategy.

I wanted to tell you that when I turned down a position recently, to manage the environmental program at one of the largest refineries in the country, I was subsequently offered a promotion and raise to take the job. But I still said no. I was so excited to announce that I would be resigning from my position as senior environmental engineer and accepting the role of full time stay at home mom, soccer and swim team practice chauffeur, arts and crafts mentor, peanut butter and jelly sandwich maker extraordinaire - effective December 1.

The fact that we made this decision has brought us such a tremendous amount of relief and satisfaction. In body, mind and soul. It just feels like the absolute right thing to do.

But alas, thus far, my husband has been unable to secure a job with benefits in the area where we want to live nor does it appear likely that he will, any time soon. Worse than that, we heard back from our Realtor yesterday who informed us that our house has decreased more than 50% in value since March of 2007. That hurts just a little too much, and as such, any plans that we had to move cross country to live near family have crashed and burned like ... well ... the equity in our home.

As a result: I'm not telling you any of those things that I really wanted to tell you. Instead, I'm telling you that I will be working like a madwoman in to the unforeseeable future because that is the financially responsible thing to do ... unless the real estate market miraculously recovers and instantly soars. Charlie will remain home with our children and in his spare time, do his absolute best to get his new company off the ground and in to the Fortune 500, hopefully before my head bursts in to flames and/or the children are scheduled to begin Kindergarten. Ideally, I'd like to be settled in to a new area by then. So that gives us approximately nine months.

I'm also telling you that today for lunch I ate leftover Halloween candy and I just polished off my second glass of wine. For the past month, I haven't done any exercise, have nursed no more than eight times and have packed on at least five pounds as a result of my inactivity, unlactivity and horrendous diet.

On the upside (oh yes, there IS an upside), we did gain an hour this past Sunday with the end of Day Light Savings time, so now we only have about a one hour time deficit each day. That extra hour has really helped, since at this very moment - there isn't one stitch of dirty clothing in the house. Every single shirt, pant and sock has been washed and put away. Moreover, we are healthy and happy and I fully believe that our plans will evolve as they are meant to evolve.

It is at times like these that it's good to remember: whenever God closes a door, someone throws a rock and smashes out a window.

Or something optimistic like that.

yay or nay?

2009-11-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

I have so much to write about - but since I'm finishing up my second 12+ hour work day in a row, my much-needed mental purge isn't going to happen tonight. However, as I sat down to quickly check e-mail, I noticed that the company where I purchased our Halloween costumes last week, is now having a huge sale. Thankfully, only one of the costumes that I purchased at full price was marked down 80%.

Nonetheless, while I was scrolling through the multiple pages of costumes wondering if perhaps I should buy some new ones - at a significantly reduced rate - and hang on to them until next year (or later) when they fit the children, I happened to notice this extraordinary adult sized costume.

Since Charlie's birthday is next week, and our kids love, love, LOVE Buzz Lightyear, and love, love, LOVE their dad to the point that they dress up like him and walk like him and even smart talk me - like him ... maybe this would make a great gift for my husband. He could run around the house in his costume and jump on the couch with the kids.

Doesn't that sound like fun for a 42 43-year old man?

Shhh. Don't tell him.

tricks of the trick-or-treat trade

2009-11-01T20:30:00.000-08:00

Five-year-olds understand Halloween.

They understand that they are supposed to dress up in costume and go door-to-door collecting their body weight in candy. They understand that people in the neighborhood are likely to grab their cameras and gush that they are the cutest things that they've ever seen!

Five-year-olds understand that the day after Halloween, along with Easter morning and Christmas morning, is the only time during the year that mom and dad will grant them free reign to eat candy before breakfast. And because of the large quantity of candy consumed today, five-year-olds are now fully expecting that early in the morning on November 2 - before they even wake up - the tooth fairy will confiscate whatever candy remains.

But since five-year-olds don't yet have a full grasp of social etiquette, these are just a few of the things I (repeatedly) reinforced with our children, last night.

When people open the door, you keep your feet planted on the doormat. You should festively say, "Trick-or-Treat!" and when the people hand you candy, you politely say, "Thank you!" and then, as you retreat down the steps you should tell them, "Happy Halloween!"

You don't knock on the door, ring the door bell, knock, knock, BANG BANG BANG, ring the door bell, RING RING RING. You certainly don't try to OPEN the door and just walk in.

When your candy host opens the door, you don't storm in to the house, like you own the place. And when they bend down to offer you a treat, you don't say things like, "YUCK! I don't like that!" or "Ewww. Do you have anything else?" Whatever you do, please don't stuff your hand in to the bowl and try to take out more than what has been offered.

Please don't ask if the home owner has a dog that you can pet. But if by some chance you see that they do, please don't try to pick it up. And if the home owner has a bird, it's best not to share your opinion on the feathered species. "ICK. We don't like birds! They make a mess and poop everywhere and they are too loud!" might cause an awkward moment and cause your mother to blurt out something like, "Hmm. I doubt birds are louder or messier than children. Maybe I should throw a drape over your bed at night?"

Remember. If you decide to enjoy a piece of candy while you are out, please don't flip your discarded trash in to someone's nicely manicured landscaping. ESPECIALLY when you are standing on their doorstep and they are LOOKING right at you. Because then your mother will make you spend the next five minutes hunting in a starlight lily for a used Tootsie Roll lollipop stick.

Last but not least, if you happen to notice an odor with which you are unfamiliar when you are standing at the threshold of someone's home ... please, please, please don't hold your nose and loudly declare, "Yikes. I don't like this place. It really STINKS!"

Because that will cause your mother to look around and say, "I just found these kids wandering down the street. Do you have any idea who they might belong to?"