does the iPhone have an airbag app?

So, I'm at this business meeting in Los Angeles. And because my colleagues only get together once every few months, we always try to do some kind of special team building event whenever we meet. Tonight, our team building event involved us descending upon a very small comedy club in the LA area.

We arrived at 6:00 PM, enjoyed appetizers, drinks, dinner, and dessert while watching one comedian after another come out on stage. Now, I've only been to a comedy club one other time in my life and after tonight, I'm convinced that if you think stand up comedy is funny while you're watching it on television, it is even more so when you're in an audience, 10 feet from the stage, while sipping an ice cold Corona.

Meanwhile, back at home, Charlie is trying to take all four of the children to the girls' ballet and tap class. Most Wednesdays, either I'll stay home with the boys - or I'll take the girls. But never do we take the boys to the girls class because Henry has a way of making things insane.

It's probably the "two" in him that allows him to take crazy to a whole new level. Because that little stinker my beloved boy has been kicked out of the church nursery three times in the past month and has earned himself the nickname "Henry the Hurricane."

So there's Charlie at ballet. And he's outside with the boys, looking in the window so he knows exactly when he needs to rush in and change their shoes from ballet slippers to tap. He's waiting and watching, waiting, waiting and when he sees the moment, he rushes in with the boys in tow. He said it was like making a pit stop in a car race. As fast as he possibly can, he squats down and WHIPS the ballet slippers off, PULLS the tap shoes from the backpack, fumbles with the tap shoes before STUFFING the girls' feet in, lacing them up, and then turning to find his two-year-old running full force headlong in to the wall of mirrors while William is chasing after him and yelling, "Henry! Noooooo!!!"

The girls finish their class. They make their way in to the bathroom so the girls can use the potty. I call right about that time he is squeezed in to a small stall with four children and ordering, "THIS PLACE IS GROSS! DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!" I can hear the echo of his voice, bouncing off the walls, and instead of saying something like, "Sounds like you're busy, let me call you back," I gush, "GUESS WHAT I'M DOING TONIGHT?! GUESS WHO I'M GOING TO SEE!" and Charlie can't really talk, seeing as he's got our children in a heinously disgusting men's restroom. So I reluctantly hang up and begin text messaging him. "You'll never guess where I'm going. But try. Please try! I can't wait to tell you!"

He never responds.

My text messaging continues.

He still never responds.

Hours pass.

Tonight, when I returned from my comedy show, I called my husband at home. He sounded so exhausted and defeated. "What's wrong?" I ask even though I'm bubbling over with excitement to tell him about MY night. But no, I need to hear about his night first.

(Because I'm a good wife that way.)

"Well, I had a bit of a meltdown," He tells me. As it turns out, he brought small pieces of chocolate for the kids so that when they came out of ballet, they'd get right in to their seats and buckle up. Because - yeah - even though our kids know that they need to put on their seatbelts when they get in the car, that's just something they'd rather not do. For that matter, they very rarely do anything that would help to expedite any process or task that we are attempting to accomplish, at all whatsoever. Without my interference, I'm certain I could plant a seedling blueberry bush and yet have a full harvest in the time it takes our children to put on their coats.

Alas, we have discovered that if we tempt them with prizes (aka: chocolate) not only do they put on their seatbelts, they will get dressed in record time - make their beds - clear the table - put away 12 loads of laundry - and cut the back 40. But when they arrive at the car, Charlie receives a call from his client and only partially buckles Henry in to his carseat. So as he's talking to this important business contact, the triplets are screaming because their brother has slithered out of his partially buckled carseat and is now stuffing all of the chocolate in to his face that their father had brought for them.

Charlie tells his client (twice) that it's a really bad time to talk. He finally gets off his phone, turns his attention to Henry who is now covered from head to toe in chocolate - with cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk - and totally macking on candy. The triplets are screaming. He pulls the chocolate away from Henry and tries to get him in to his carseat and now Henry starts screaming. So there's Charlie with four kids. All of whom are screaming.

No, make that SCREAMING.

And my husband, God Bless him, did what any absolutely rational human being would do when left alone for three whole days with four small children. He had an eruption of anger that resulted in his Blackberry sailing out of his hands and coming in to contact with the cold, hard ground. Much to his immediate and utter dismay.

Sure, it would have been better if he handled this incident in a more calm and collected way. And I'm certain he would have if he'd been taking tranquilizers. But since I've been that irrationally angry place before, I am not even going to remotely pass judgement for how INSANE small children can make you for something totally insignificant.

Let's face it: From the outside, a two-year-old scarfing down chocolate is really not a big deal. Maybe even cute perhaps? But from the inside, a two-year-old scarfing down chocolate when you've been home BY YOURSELF for three days and that chocolate was specifically earmarked for three other semi-volatile children is a big deal. A VERY BIG DEAL. Especially when it feels like it doesn't matter what you do, you are never going to get on top of the chaos and it might be easier to shovel a pit in gravel. Or grow a blueberry hedge.

I'm genuinely thankful that Charlie didn't break a window on the car, or slam a door or throw his phone AT the kids. Instead, he apologized profusely and then took them out for cheeseburgers and milk shakes because apparently the house is a disaster and he'd rather not be at home and now that I've been gone for a few days, he really does see how I actually keep the place clean and organized.

Charlie's telling me all this about his craptastic day and then he says, "OK. So tell me what YOU did tonight."

And with only a very small amount of guilt, I tell him that I went to an awesome comedy club where I got to see Kevin Nealon and Ray Romano perform. Who, I believe, are even funnier in person than on television, which seems impossible because those guys are outrageously hilarious, be thankful you didn't drink too much and are sitting close to a bathroom and wearing dark pants caliber funny. At one point, they took questions from the audience and I asked Ray - who is the father of twins - what kind of advice he would have for the parents of multiples. Which got us talking enough for me to tell him that I have triplets. (Because I'm an obnoxious human being that way.)

So there I am talking with Ray Romano and Kevin Nealon and having the absolute time of my life while my husband is at home with four children, totally frayed nerves and a decimated Blackberry.

Charlie, you are the bomb diggity.

I love you.

I'll be home tomorrow night and we can go phone shopping.

XOXOX