Day 1: Girls Only Weekend

And ... they're off.**

We loaded up the car this morning with all the supplies necessary for Charlie's 4-day trip out of town with William, and we all drove to the airport to bid the boys farewell. I sobbed had a tear in my eye as I watched my baby, with his personalized "William" backpack, walk alongside his dad clutching his blankie for his first trip away from his sisters.

I waited by the curb for a long time, snapping off pictures as they got further and further away. It dawned on me at that very moment - our children can never go "away" to college. I don't think I could stand it.

Reciting my millionth little prayer that they would stay safe, I started to make my way out of the airport. I was filled with excitement ... we were about to begin our first ever, Girls Only Weekend. I've been thinking about this for weeks and I had some big plans in store, including a trip to the science museum where we were scheduled to meet with our neighbors in the next 15 minutes.

We don't even make it past the terminal when Carolyn has a conniption fit. Screaming, thrashing, throwing her sippy cup, throwing her Cheez-Its, throwing her blankie to the floor. I couldn't very well turn around to see her, since I am fighting airport traffic, so I reach back and try to console her, when she starts kicking me.

Such a lovely little child when she is having a tantrum.

Driving safely is very difficult to do when you're at the airport dodging cars, looking for an exit, and trying to comfort a child two feet behind you, who is in the midst of a fit. After several minutes, I snapped. I screamed "BE QUIET!!! BE QUIET!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP YOUR SCREAMING!!!!"

For a moment she did stop. And then she started again. Louder this time.

THIS, is not what I had in mind to kick-off my Girls Only Weekend.

I screamed again, so loudly that it hurt my throat.

She stopped abruptly and looked at me with tears streaming down her face. I instantly felt like the biggest ass in the world to yell at my little girl. What kind of monster must I be??

DEEP BREATH.

I find my exit, pull off, and while I'm waiting at a redlight, I lean back and kiss her. I apologize for being such a crank and ask that she please not scream while I'm driving. Considering I'm trying to rationalize not having tantrums with a 23-month old ... I'd probably have better luck asking her to make me Chicken Cordon Bleu for dinner.

We finally arrive at the museum. I pull in to an over-flowing parking lot and hear Elizabeth start to cough. I look in my rearview mirror just in time to see her throw up. She starts to cry and then throws up again ... so hard it comes out her little nose. I stop the car in the middle of the parking lot and jump out. I run around the side and hop in the back. She is covered from her hair to her toes in what had been her breakfast and mid-morning snack. I pull her out of her carseat and now I, too, am covered from my arms to my knees in what had been Elizabeth's breakfast and mid-morning snack. This isn't a virus ... it's carsickness, probably exacerbated by my horrific screaming at her sister.

DEEP BREATH.

THIS, sure as heck, is not what I had in mind to kick-off my Girls Only Weekend.

Just then, my neighbor walks up alongside the car with her children. Carolyn's face is tear-streaked and she is still gasping ... while Elizabeth and I are both covered in puke. She asks if everything is alright and I inform her that I'm prepared to call Charlie and tell him if the first 20-minutes following his departure is any indication of how this weekend is going to go ... he needs to come back, immediately.

She pulls out a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies and I cheer up. I'm so damn fickle.

Apparently, I got all the bad stuff out of the way - because the rest of Day 1: Girls Only Weekend, was magical. We had a wonderful time at the museum where we explored for two hours. (sidenote: just as we were leaving the museum, Charlie called to tell me that he had arrived safely. William talked babbled with fellow passengers on the plane and completely warmed everyone's heart. By 3 PM, he had not yet napped and was looking like a zombie. When Charlie called me tonight, he said that William was having the time of his life and savoring all the attention that was being showered on him. This makes me so happy.)

I thanked my lucky stars that I had with me, a change of clothes for Elizabeth and a spare carseat for her to ride home in. When we did arrive home, the girls took a two hour nap, while I scrubbed the inside of the car and washed the carseat cover. I then cleaned out our entire garage, something that I've been putting off for weeks. When the girls woke up from their nap, my friend and her two year old triplets came over for a playdate. While the children romped in the sprinkler for the next hour ... she and I had a chance to talk.

And talk. And talk.

I confided about my emotional outburst in the car and how I felt so terrible screaming at my child. I also told her that for the past month or so ... I find that it doesn't take much for me to lose my temper and that inability to bite my tongue really worries me. Up until recently, I never lost my patience with our babies. I could tolerate the crying, the fussing, the fighting. But not so much, anymore. It seems like my patience quota is exceeded rapidly.

Within the past month, directly following breakfast, I have to get out of the house as soon as possible. Otherwise, all hell breaks loose. They scream, they whine, they fight, they do absolutely everything I don't want them to do - and in the process, they are driving me insane.

See, I believe it is important to be honest. So, I'll say it again.

There are some days ... our children are driving me insane in the membrane. Even despite my positive attitude.

I suspect what is happening is that they get bored and need a change of scenery. I suspect that I am getting bored, too. There is only so much of the house and backyard I can take before we need to do something different ... even if that involves going out alone with three toddlers. Since taking them to the park by myself borders on suicidal, I'll try to arrange triplet playdates as often as possible.

During one of our outings last week, as I was cruising down the freeway at 65 miles per hour, I looked back in the rearview mirror and noticed that Elizabeth was almost completely freed from her carseat. The only thing holding her in, was one leg hung up on a strap.

I see this. While I'm barreling down the freeway. At 65 MPH.

It is no exaggeration that I almost lost control of our vehicle and careened in to a swamp. I made an emergency exit and no sooner did I come to a stop, Elizabeth was entirely free from her carseat, and running around the inside of the van. Taking a huge breath and wondering what the hell had happened to my life ... I looked up, hoping to see God in the sky above me. I needed some form of divine intervention at that very moment more than I've ever needed it in my entire life.

When I looked up, I was surprised to see that there was a vaguely familiar looking office building before me. Slowly - it dawned on me. I was in the parking lot of the infertility doctor who had gotten us pregnant two and a half years earlier.

What this a sign? Could it be??

For a moment ... I thought about unloading all three of the kids ... bringing them in to *see* the doctor, and asking if he wouldn't mind taking them back, for just a little while. I would promise to retrieve them when they were potty trained and stopped throwing their food everywhere. And, when they understood the importance of not giving their mother a heart attack by climbing out of their carseat while she is zipping along a southern California 12-lane freeway, during rush hour.

Thinking it was highly unlikely our IVF doctor would take the kids back (even if for a short time), and thinking it was highly likely he would call DSS, I continued on to our playdate. But only after I had clamped Elizabeth into her carseat so tightly she couldn't move.

Today, my girlfriend confided in me that she is going through some of the exact same stuff. At times she feels stressed out. At times she'll yell. And then, whenever she yells she feels like dirt because these are little children that she desperately wanted and desperately loves. But there are times, when she feels like she is desperately at the end of her rope.

What made me feel really good about our confession session, is that all of this was coming from a person who has family in town, that lend a tremendous amount of support. So the fact that Charlie and I are managing this on our own - with no outside help - well. It's no wonder we sometimes feel like we're going a little batty. Especially since I've been inundated at work and with extracurricular volunteer activities.

When my friend left, there was quiet. The girls were merrily playing and there was no fighting. There was no screaming, no biting. There was absolute tranquility, which is literally and figuratively, completely unheard of at 5:00 PM in our house.

I fed the girls dinner and then we took a bath. I filled the tub with Mr. Bubble and we all climbed in. The last time I dared take a bath with the children, it was a disaster that involved floating poop and pee puddles all over the floor. But tonight, it was perfect. For the first time in a long, long time ... I feel completely relaxed.

I suppose this just goes back to my theory on relativity. The vast majority of people might not consider a 4-day weekend, alone with 2-23 month olds to be a vacation ... but I do.

(**Don't mind the date stamp. The reason I didn't get pictures of the coffee explosion the other day, is because our camera battery completely died. Once it was recharged, I noticed the date was wrong. I just haven't fixed it yet.)

My Theory of Relativity

For the past several months, whenever one of us has to go the store - we always take a child with us. We have found that it is much easier shopping with one toddler, as opposed to three ... and the benefit is a two-to-one ratio for the person at home ... and quality one-on-one time for the pair that goes to the store.

So often, I feel terribly guilty that I am not giving my complete attention to one child. What I've noticed is that one child acts a whole lot differently when they are not surrounded by their siblings and jockeying for my attention. For example, they'll do things like ... listen and pay attention. Kinda sorta. Well, not really. I suppose I'm just more capable of chasing down one toddler than I am three.

Although the benefits of having built-in playmates for the children are numerous ... I think it's extremely important that they also have the undivided attention of their parents every so often, too.

I know it's relative ... but in my world, one toddler is a breeze. And two toddlers are a lot easier than three - mainly because I have two hands. Even though particles children are small, they move fast - and when there are multiple children - it's impossible to keep up with them when they start moving in their own direction, at the speed of light.

(Yes, I just tried to apply Einstein's Theory of Relativity to parenting. Wait until you see my discussion on energy. Then you'll really see why Physics was one of my favorite classes in college.)

If you don't count the time I got hung up on the side yard with safety harnesses, the last time I had the whopping realization just how outnumbered I am, is when I took all three children Christmas shopping, by myself.

That would be one of me. Plus (+) 3-14 month old babies.

In. A. Store.

At Christmastime.

I had tried to do as much shopping on-line as I could, but there were a few items I had to go to the store to purchase. Because it was Charlie's day to work, we don't have a babysitter due to my crazy hang-ups and no family within 10-hours ... I brought all the babies with me to REI, one of my favorite outdoor stores of all time.

Within 5-minutes of arriving, Elizabeth threw up, William had a blow-out poop and Carolyn had an absolute meltdown when a stranger looked at her and said "What a gorgeous baby!" I made a quick sweep around the store, eyes rapidly scanning what else I could possibly need, and with a carriage full of clothing (strategically placed to avoid Elizabeth) - I rushed the front register and unloaded everything. I hardly hesitated when my purchases totaled $150.00 more than I expected. The only thing running through my mind was "Must stop the screaming ... must pay - must leave - must get out of here."

The next day as I prepared to wrap my goods, I figured out that the reason I spent $150.00 more than I expected is because I purchased $150.00 worth of stuff I had not intended. Stuff like ... men's slippers in a size 14, an icecream ball, an XS flannel shirt and a book entitled "How To Shit In the Woods".

What I concluded is that as I was walking around the store, the babies were grabbing whatever they could reach and pulling it into the carriage. When I arrived at the checkout, I didn't pay attention to the stuff I was unloading because of my partially crazed mental state. If it was in the carriage, obviously it was stuff I had put there. Clearly this was before the time I was enlightened to the fact that our babies had minds of their own and a desire to defecate in an environmentally sound manner, while making icecream and wearing an XS flannel shirt and pair of size 14 slippers ... in the woods.

Either that, or ... I had three pint-sized kleptomaniacs.

The following day, I went back to the store with only one baby in tow. I loaded Carolyn in to a Kelty backpack and took off to do my returns and pick up the remaining items I still needed. For the next 90 minutes, I perused the aisles and nearly forgot I had a rider. She was perfectly content. When I finally meandered up to the front to check out, the cashier gave me a surprised look and said "WOW! You really have your hands full. Taking a baby Christmas shopping all by yourself? Boy are you brave!"

At first I thought she was joking and kind of chuckled along with her. When I could see that she was serious, I snorted and said "You think my hands are full with ONE baby? Lady, you have no idea. Really, you have NO idea."

Shopping with one baby? Yes ... I suppose that could be tricky. But after shopping with triplets two days earlier, this was like taking a shit-free walk in the woods.

Because I really enjoy one-on-one time, I capitalize on it wherever I can. For instance ... if one of the children wake up from their nap early - I will scoop them up and play quietly while the other two sleep. Most recently, I got a head-start on teaching William his colors with the help of plain M&M's while his sisters continued to snooze. (I need to interject it is FALSE advertising that M&M's don't melt in your hand. They melted all over William's hand. While he sat on our white bedspread. How brilliant am I to teach our 22-month old child colors with the assistance of multi-colored chocolate on a white bedspread, you might ask? Well, this was definitely not something I thought about beforehand ... kind of like the safety harness fiasco. I think my mind is shot.)

So, the point of this ramble ... because, yes - there is a point sometimes it takes me an eternity to get there is that tomorrow morning Charlie and William are taking off for a long weekend together. Just the boys for some quality one-on-one time. They are hopping on a plane at noon and flying to San Francisco to visit with Charlie's sister and two brothers.

Quick pause while I hyperventilate because the only thing worse than me being on a plane ... is my husband taking my baby boy on a plane.

Tonight as I was helping Charlie pack, I could sense his excitement about the upcoming trip. And it made me think... if you were to ask a man what would he like to do for a vacation, I doubt he'd say "I would love to fly somewhere with my 23-month old son ... ALL BY MYSELF! I'd be overjoyed at lugging a stroller and carseat through the airport and I'd jump at the chance to install that carseat into some rented vehicle, and then try to navigate around a strange city I haven't been to in five years. Where, praytell, do I sign up for a trip so grand as this?!"

See, it's all relative. Because I know that this flight will be a lot easier than the last few times Charlie and I have been on a plane with all three kids. More than that - I know Charlie is ecstatic about showing William off to his family and unless he wants to drive 12-hours, a 1.5-hour flight is his best bet.

As for me, I'm really looking forward to some quality time with "just the girls" this weekend. Since they've never been separated before, I think it will be interesting to see how the children do away from each other for the next four days and I'm excited to see how they greet each other on Sunday.

This should be fun provided I let Charlie step foot on the plane tomorrow morning with my baby boy. I'm really looking forward to it.

Testing 1, 2, 3...

Several months ago, I touched on the topic of discipline. At the time, I was trying to figure out how to keep our babies off the coffee table ... before I finally decided that the coffee table had to go, because there was no way they were ever going to stop climbing on it.

I experimented with eliminating the word "no" from our vocabulary, but quickly realized that was crazy. "No 'no'?"

I tried spanking, and then recognized that the children quickly forgot what they were corrected for and unless I wanted to be constantly swatting my kids, I needed to come up with something else.

I dabbled with time out, but was dismayed that the kids appeared to enjoy time out more often than not. Whenever I put one in the corner, the other two would go and stand there with the one who I was trying to discipline.

Since I can't knowingly ignore negative behavior, I'm always on alert whenever the children are playing together. Even when I'm down on the floor playing with them, I have to keep my eyes scanning what everyone is up to. It is no exaggeration that I say "Be gentle! Let's try sharing!" more than 300 times a day.

There was once a day - that if our children were being mischievous, all I needed to do was redirect them to something else and they'd play happily. Unfortunately for me, those days didn't last and are now long gone.

These days, when our children have their mind(s) made up about something ... they will not stop until they get it. Or, until I snap, give them a swat and stick them in their crib devoid of toys or blankets. I love them with all my heart ... but they are persistent little buggers.

A partial list of the hot ticket items that they will not give up and which are driving me absolutely insane, include: pulling every single diaper wipe out of the warmer and scattering them across the floor (this really annoys me because the tidy cube of wipes that are automatically fed, is now a pile of wet towels); splashing their little hands in anything that contains water (toilet, dog bowl, puddles) resulting in their clothes getting soaking wet (this usually ONLY happens moments before we are about to walk out the door to something we are already 45 minutes late for); taking off every shred of clothing - including their diapers; climbing on top of the table and/or counters; chewing on electric cords that I thought I had strategically hid behind the couch; and last but not least, fiddling with our electronic equipment and reprogramming my cell phone.

I know that they know when they aren't suppose to do something. They will look at me ... and then very cautiously, do whatever it is that I don't want them to do. Let's say I see them in the act of climbing on the table ... I'll say "We don't climb on furniture ... sit on your bum!" and they will instantly drop to their bottom and give me a coy smile. If I turn my back for a moment ... they'll do it again. And again, and again.

And then usually, the other two will join in - and in no time flat, I'm running around like a loon telling my children "SIT ON YOUR BUM! SIT ON YOUR BUM!! SIT ON YOUR BUM!!!"

The girls are the ringleaders. Not so much the boy. William will follow suit to whatever his sisters are doing. Just this morning, moments after I had finished cleaning (of course), they got a hold of Charlie's ground coffee and decorated the playroom with black dust while I was preparing lunch, less than 10 feet away. I knew something was up when our house started to smell like Starbucks and the kids weren't making much noise. When I turned around and looked at them, they stared at me with coffee dust COVERING THEIR BODIES and with huge eyes they shrugged their little shoulders and said "oh oh."

They're testing me, I know it. They're seeing just how far they can push. But I'm starting to suspect all they want is to see my head burst in to flames again.

Our technically savvy toddlers

I am the most technically incompetent person you might ever come across.

It's the truth.

This blog is the most advanced technical thing I have ever done and even then - I am at a loss for how to do simple things like blogrolling or adding picture links to my sidebar. I have gone through 5 "test blogs" and have irrevocably destroyed all of them. If one day Amazing Trips is gone, chances are - I inadvertently deleted it.

I balk at the idea of getting TiVo, because I doubt my ability to grasp the concept of recording television - when I can't even figure out how to set the clock on our VCR. Speaking of televisions, whenever I get a hold of our remote control - which is linked to our stereo - I have this horrible tendency to start pushing buttons. The more flustered I get - the more buttons I push. It drives Charlie absolutely mental. For the past two months, we've been *enjoying* closed caption subtitles at the bottom of our screen, because neither of us the time to figure out how to get rid of them.

The alarm clock in our bedroom? I'm ashamed to admit that the "off" function completely eludes me. Maybe it's because it's relatively new and I rarely use it ... but on those oddball occasions when I need to wake up before the three alarm clocks I rely on that sleep in the room next to us ... I am jolted out of a deep sleep and frantically yell for Charlie to "PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!!!" when instead of hitting the snooze button, I crank the volume up to 50.

My mother can attest to the fact that just a few years ago, I wiped out her entire hard drive when she asked me to help *organize* some files. Fortunately, she attends church with a computer guru who was able to recover what I thought had been lost, forever. It only required 2-hours and reinstalling Windows.

I suppose it would help if I just sat down with the instruction manual before I tried "trouble-shooting" stuff on my own, but whenever I open instruction manuals, I immediately fall in to a coma. It's absolutely pathetic.

Today, I was at a very important and somewhat tense business meeting. While I was there, with 10 very important people sitting around a big table, someone's cell phone started to ring. My first thought was "Oh oh ... someone forgot to turn off their phone." But when no one acknowledged the obnoxious ringing, my second thought was "How rude!"

It was just about that time, that my boss leaned over to me and said "Uh, Jen. I think that's your cell phone ringing." I laughed and said "Oh no ... that's not my ring tone." And my boss with urgency in his voice said "Jen, that is your cell phone. It's ringing in your bag at this very moment." Reaching down to show my boss that he was WRONG and I was RIGHT, I pulled out my cell phone and was horrified to see that it was lighting up like a Christmas tree and emitting this horribly high pitched ring.

Profusely apologizing to the group of very important people, I successfully silenced my phone. But before I had the opportunity to turn the darn thing off, I was flabbergasted to hear it start singing "Hey little dolphin, would you like to come and swim with me? Hey, hey, little dolphin, swimming in the deep blue sea!"

While I sat there staring at my phone - and all the important people in the room sat there staring at my phone, I stuttered "I, I, I don't get it. That's the Baby Einstein DVD I let my children watch. How in the world did that get on my phone?"

And just then ... I heard one of my children say "Helwow? Helwow? Zeebelazeedaazzeemee Weeeee!! Oh oh!" followed by a very familiar voice saying "Holy sh*t! How did you get that?!?" There was some fumbling, some crying and the phone went silent. The very important people at the table who moments earlier looked irritated and then befuddled, burst out laughing. It's nice to see that I can bring comic relief to tense situations.

Our children love to play with the telephone. Although we have several little toy phones for them to play with - a real phone is the best prize ever ... topped only by a real cell phone. When we replaced our home phones, we removed the batteries, and gave the kids our old phones to play with. Sometimes, the only way we can corral them in to their strollers, is if we let them "talk on the phone" during our evening walk.

Unless my cell phone is turned off or locked - I don't allow the children to play with a real phone, because I have heard stories of toddlers that in the course of smashing every button (much like how I work our remote control), place a call to 911 and moments later an ambulance, fire engine and three police cars are sitting in the driveway.

My kids know that I don't want them playing with a real phone, because whenever they get their little paws on one ... they run away from me as fast as they can. What my experience today has taught me is that they are apparently getting very sneaky.

It turns out that one, perhaps more, of my 23-month toddlers hijacked my phone. They managed to change the ring tone, and then succeeded in recording a message so whenever I miss a call, I am reminded that I must stop swearing.

I have NO idea how they did this. I couldn't replicate it if I tried. I have absolutely no clue how to get rid of the high-pitched ring tone, nor how to delete the voice recording. Tomorrow, I plan to call Verizon and see if they can walk me through it. And then, I hope that my 23-month old children will show me how to set the clock on the VCR, turn off my alarm, and maybe figure out how to set the date on my digital watch. It's been stuck on "January 1, 2002" for almost 5 years.

Be Forewarned

Children, it's me ... your mother. I wanted to tell you a few things.

As you grow older, there will be people that will come in to your life who are real jerks have issues. Please don't let their negative behavior bring you down. Their nasty attitude is not because of you. They may try to make you believe that the reason they are jerks acting rude is because of something you have done ... but just remember that people who have no class will sometimes try to make other people feel bad, intentionally.

I am doing the absolute best job I can to raise all three of you in to conscientious human beings. It is my goal that as you grow - you will always mind your manners and be polite. I'd like to tell you to just turn the other cheek when people are nasty, but sometimes it's not very easy. Trust me, I know.

If you are in a Catholic elementary school and one of the nuns hits you with a ruler across your knuckles ... be forewarned that like your great-grandmother did for your grandmother ... I will march right up to the school - and tell the nun that if she ever lays a hand on my child again, I will lay my hands on her.

If you are in highschool and your 10th grade American History teacher makes you cry in front of the whole class because he was playing a cruel joke ... be forewarned that like your grandmother did for me ... I will march right up to the school, speak to the Principal, and have that teacher reprimanded so that he not only has to call you at home and offer you a formal apology, but he then has to make that same apology in front of your entire class.

If we are ever out in an amusement park designed and built for young children and a cranky old woman in a motorized scooter says to you when you are a 23-month old baby, in the five minutes I let you run free after having been contained in your stroller, "Watch where you're going!" and then scowls and shakes her head at you ... be forewarned that I will say aloud with the intent for everyone within a 10-foot radius to hear (including the cranky woman in the motorized scooter) "Be careful sweetheart, there are some very grumpy people in this world."

Maybe this cranky woman has had a rough day and perhaps she is not feeling well. Perhaps she is unaware that you are not yet two years old and are still wearing diapers and sleeping in a crib. I doubt this woman realizes that their mother, more than she, wishes her three toddlers would not scatter in three different directions and shriek at the top of their three little lungs.

However.

You are children ... and running and screaming with laughter is what children do. And if the cranky woman in a motorized scooter does not want to be surrounded by this kind of behavior then perhaps she would be better off staying home, or at least, avoid those areas which are teeming with small children.

See, I don't think that you are out of control. I think that as far as 23-month old children go ... you are perfect and you are acting your age. Your dad and I are very aware of your actions and are hypersensitive that you don't get "out-of-control". And although it shouldn't - it infuriates me when people are obnoxious about their annoyance by small children. Perhaps these jerks people were never children, themselves.

So please be forewarned ... I don't mean to embarrass you. My inability to turn the other cheek whenever one of you is involved, is an inherited characteristic. I'm following in the footsteps of the matriarchs before me.

I love fall

I love the change in seasons. As anxious as I was for summer to arrive ... I'm really excited about the days getting shorter. I'm excited about apple picking in the local mountains and making tasty apple crisps for all of our neighbors that we will deliver in our wagon.

I'm excited about Halloween and Thanksgiving and decorating our house for fall. I'm excited about going on-line and buying the children all new flannel pajamas and slippers from LL Bean. I might even coordinate it so that our whole family has matching jammies. How cute would that be?!

The change in seasons isn't just happening outside - the most drastic changes are happening inside with our children. The kids are doing things this year that they weren't doing last year ... they are doing things now they weren't even doing last month. They are giving the biggest, warmest hugs I've ever had. They're smothering us with kisses and they're cuddling extra close when it's story time. If the truth be told ... they are bringing more joy and laughter to this home than I ever thought possible.

Yesterday was the first day that we really felt fall was in the air. Last night during our evening walk, Charlie and I had to bundle the children up. Even though we live in Southern California (and I have delusions of snowy grandeur from living on the east coast) ... it was a cloudy day and there was a cool wind. We made a stop at the local park and after running around the playground for an hour, we tucked the kids under warm blankets and made our way home in the dusk. We talked about how exciting it will be when the children are old enough that we can all sit and enjoy a mug of hot chocolate after time spent outside on a cold day. We talked about how wonderful it will be when they too, can help us make apple crisps for our neighbors and decorate our house for the season change. I can't wait.

Following our walk, we fired up our patio heater and watched the last bit of sun set. There is so much to look forward to in the future, but we are also savoring these days ... the last days of summer 2006 and life with our three amazing toddlers.

To Pee or Not to Pee...

Life's a bit hectic right now ... even more hectic than normal. My "paying" job has been extremely busy, to the point that I have threatened to take our children AND their fingerpaints back to my boss's house if he nominates me for another special project.

In addition to that - I have been involved in several different play groups and am picking up momentum on teaching people how to knit. Then there's the gym that I feel compelled to attend at least once a month in order to shave my legs justify the $29.99 fee ... and this little blog I must update for fear I will rapidly forget all of these wondrous days of toddlerhood.

There are a lot of things I would like to write about, but today I am going to focus on one of the items that is high on my list for "Brain chatter that must be unloaded on to the blog at some point before Christmas, because otherwise you will forget the details." For the past month, I've been attempting to potty train our kids ... which is why today's topic revolves around "the catastrophe that accompanies a diaper free lifestyle."

Ever since I've set out on this quest to potty train our children, I have heard and/or read stories about people who "purportedly" potty trained their children by 9-months of age. After 30 consecutive days of working with toddlers on potty training, I can tell you that these people are obviously drunk clearly confused with dog years.

In human years ... I do not believe it is possible for a child to be knowingly potty-trained before the age of 3. It does NOT count if you take off their diaper and spread newspaper on the floor. However, if I don't see an improvement in our progress ... maybe this will count next year.

One of the biggest lessons I have learned thus far in parenting - is that potty training is not something that should be rushed or even attempted when you have a million other things on your To-Do list particularly if your child still sleeps in a crib. Since I've already made it abundantly clear that our children will be in cribs for as long as possible, only when the time is ripe ... will I embark on potty training our children - one child at a time.

Maybe I am just being lazy ... but I feel confident that one day our kids will let us know when they are ready to go "on the pot" and until then - a wise person knows when to stop kicking a brick wall. Or, more appropriately, a wise person knows when to stop putting their 23-month old toddler in cotton pants* with the expectation that they will become more aware of "pee-pee" and not consider this to be a miraculous puddle that randomly appeared between their shoes for the sole purpose of their splashing pleasure.

The advantage of the cotton undies is that some of our children (i.e. the girls, ONLY the girls) recognize when they have gone and they will stare down at their little puddle with a look of absolute astonishment. I can just see them thinking "Wha...? Wha...? Is that what I think it is?!" William on the other hand, is completely oblivious to his wet pants and gets so excited about his own little personal puddle that he does a jig and then sits down and plays in it.

After talking with my mother, I was convinced that maybe what I needed to kick this training off right, was a little potty chair for the children.

It took me 45-minutes to pick out the perfect chair. I was positively dismayed at all the features you can get on a child's potty chair these days. Of course, as I'm standing there in the store, I'm collapsing under pressure. I have to get the perfect chair ... potty training is such an important step in our children's development.

I cannot screw this up.

What I learned is that you can get the kind of potty chair that plays a little song when there is a drop of moisture in the pot ... you can get the kind that has a faux toilet paper roll ... you can get the kind that converts to a stepping stool ... you can get the kind that has a little toy "flush".

Or.

You can get the cheapo bucket with a lid because you know in your heart of hearts that your money at this point in time is better spent on Pampers. After 45-minutes of nail biting and fear that the wrong purchase would mean sending our kids off to Kindergarten in diapers, it dawned on me.

It's. A. Potty. Chair.

It's not a Lexus.

I'm glad I went the inexpensive route. Ten minutes out of the box, our little potty chair was nothing more than a flip-top chariot for Elizabeth's bunny to get rides in around the living room. And the kitchen. And the nursery.

Even though we are far from where we need to be ... the girls are definitely light years ahead of the boy in the department of "bodily function awareness."

Carolyn and Elizabeth will tell me before, during and after they go "pee-pee" or "poo-poo". But if I so much as try to put them on the toilet to do their deed in the pot ... forget about it. They'll read a magazine, squirm every which way, and then jump off and wave "bye'bye" to an empty commode ... which they insist I flush.

It's no joke. Our water bill has gone up $24.00 in the last month and I'm convinced it's due to the additional 200 gallons of water a day I've been wasting on flushing ghost poops. Not yet have I flushed a legitimate poop.

Yet, these children know that when I'm going in to the bathroom, the toilet will be legitimately flushed ... and they cannot bear to not witness that event firsthand and wave "bye'bye" to whatever happens to be in the pot. These days, I can't step foot in or near a bathroom without having an entourage of toddlers follow me.

At first I figured it would be kind of cute and good practice for them to come with me and see what all the fuss is about ... you know, mother duck - showing her chicks the ropes. But it appears I have done nothing more than create three little monsters that will stop at nothing to invade my personal space, or any one else's personal space, that comes to our home for a visit. It's like a scene from a horror movie ... pudgy little fingers reaching underneath the door to grab you.

The majority of times, I can't concentrate on the task at hand with the tremendous racket going on outside the door. So, I'll let the children in to the bathroom with me where they'll immediately rush behind the toilet so that they can see anything and everything. What this experience in potty training has taught me, is that whomever coined the term "restroom" must not have had young children.

Like the ghost poops ... the last shred of modesty I possessed has gone down the tubes. "Bye'bye" modesty ... "bye'bye."

*In case you were wondering - the cotton undies only come on when we are playing outside. Yes, I may take down our baby gates 36-months prematurely, but not even I am fool enough to let our kids roam around the house wearing nothing but cotton underwear. OK. Maybe once.

Happiness is ...

... finally having the opportunity to watch football with your son.

WHAT was I thinking??!

I had no idea so many friends and family read this blog. So in response to the large volume of e-mails and phone calls I have received regarding the removal of our baby gates ... I thought it would be prudent to post an update. But seeing as a picture speaks a thousand words ... and rather than write too much about this idiotic lapse in reason experience ... I thought I'd post a few photos with a brief running commentary.

Not after: 400 feet of bubble wrap, through our entire house...


Not after: 500 10-gallon plastic trashbags pulled out of box...

Not after: A jumbo box of Kleenex was emptied and shredded in our bedroom...

Not after: Elizabeth figured out how to climb on to the changing table, pull up the window shade and waved "hi doggy!" to Molly in our yard...

Not after: William fashioned tools to reach his CD player so he could turn on "The Veggie Tales", very loudly...

Not even after: The children pulled out every last article of clothing from their dresser... and Charlie's dresser... and my dresser...

Not after all of that did we reconsider our decision to remove the baby gates and let our children explore.

Nay.

Only when all three of them climbed in to the bathtub and figured out how to turn on the water...

... Did my head explode in to a burst of flames and the baby gates immediately went back up.

Time lapsed? Less than 48 hours.

Lesson learned? Three toddlers running free is insanity.

INSANITY TIMES THREE TO THE POWER OF 1,000,000,000

Moral of this story? I'm not insane. At least not yet. Although, I fear I'm getting close.

The End.

The College Tri Try

This past weekend, we took off for an overnight jaunt to Los Angeles so Charlie could compete in the Los Angeles Tri. If you recall, my company had pulled together a relay team and needed a cyclist ... so I nominated my husband. One of my co-workers swam 1-mile, Charlie was responsible for riding 25-miles on a bike borrowed from my boss, and another co-worker ran 6.2 miles. I was suppose to be there to photograph the event, but that was before I realized the race started at 7 AM. Unfortunately, that early hour just didn't work well with my inability to open my eyes before 8 schedule.

Because there was NO way three portable cribs, three booster chairs, a jogging stroller, a Kelty backpack, two suitcases, a cooler, a diaper bag, five people, AND Charlie's bicycle were all going to fit in our van ... we moved the carseats over to the backseat of Charlie's extended cab truck which is equipped with a camper shell - moved the front seats as far forward as they could go without having our faces pressed against the windshield ... loaded all of our gear in to the back of the truck which lacks a fancy navigation system nor any maps of Southern California, and set off for our first road trip in almost a year.

If you think that paragraph was long and disorganized ... you should have seen us trying to get ready with three toddlers underfoot and no baby gates.

Our goal was to get on the road Saturday morning by 10 AM. We left at 11:41 AM. It probably would have helped if I'd packed all of our stuff the night before, because what I realized on Saturday morning - is that as soon as I would put stuff in the suitcase and turn my back to add more items ... the items I had just packed were strewn about the house and yard. It got to the point where I had to put the suitcase next to the closet and stand in it, to hold down the stuff I'd already packed, while figuring out what else needed to go in the bag.

Of course if I'd packed the night before, that would indicate that I am organized and well prepared ... and quite frankly if there is one thing I am not these days, it is organized and well prepared. Infact, each time I think my life bears any resemblance to organized, my children prove to me otherwise.

Charlie had the brilliant suggestion to put the suitcases in the crib which was the only place the kids weren't able to reach stuff and pull it out. Alas, he didn't come up with this suggestion until I was just about finished ... but it's something to keep in mind for the next time. What's funny is that we weren't packing a whole lot of stuff. We were only going out of town for one night. If I did the math right, that's just a little over 24 hours. Yet to see the amount of gear we had and the volume of swim diapers - you'd think we were setting off for the Straight of Gibraltar.

Anyway. We made a pit stop to top the car off with gas ... and another pit stop to buy new sunglasses. I had lost mine the week before and Charlie needed a good pair of athletic shades for his bike ride on Sunday. Apparently there is scientific evidence to prove that the better you look, the faster you go. Two hundred dollars later - Charlie looked really good.

Four hours, rather than the anticipated two hours, and several unplanned detours later (that took us through a large portion of Orange County), we arrived at my boss's house to pickup Charlie's race registration material. We were desperate to stretch our legs after having been cramped in the front of the truck for the past several hours and our kids were desperate to destroy everything in sight "explore".

I've come to the conclusion it's bad enough when our children splash in our own toilet ... it's a tad bit more horrifying when they splash in someone else's. Especially when that someone else is your boss. I'm really learning to go-with-the-flow (aka: riptide) ... which is what saved me from screaming when our kids ambushed his closet and came out holding a pair of underwear.

Ah, yes. That's a memory for the babybook. Thankfully, they didn't put my boss's underwear ON their head, which is usually what they do with their parent's britches.

After an excruciating 26 minutes and 38 seconds ... everyone was kicking and screaming happily loaded back in to their carseats while we continued on to our second destination, the home of our good friends Mark & Lorie.

It's been several years since we've visited Mark and Lorie at their house, so of course we got lost getting there, too. The last time we were at their home - Charlie and I were just about to start our third round of IVF and Lorie was blissfully unaware that she was two weeks pregnant. Since we all went to college together - and are all geologists - we have a lot in common. Our friendship grew that much deeper when their little girl, Shayna, was born two weeks after our triplets.

Since the catastrophe of visiting our friends last week, we were a bit concerned how this weekend was going to go. I'm here to say that God is good and prayer works. If I ever questioned that before, I don't anymore. I have been praying non-stop for this to be a good experience for everyone. I was actually prepared to cancel the whole trip because the last thing I want to do is unleash our trio in to the house of our unsuspecting friends. (Although, Lorie does read this blog - so she had an inkling of what was coming...)

Mark and Lorie have a fully fenced in front yard surrounding their one-story bungaloo. The doors to the front and back were wide open and a cool breeze was blowing through the house. They had tents set up in the front and side yard and they had more toys than the North Pole. The kids had a great time playing together, we had a great pizza dinner ... and when Charlie went to bed at a reasonable hour because of his race the next day ... the three of us sat and enjoyed wine. Lots and lots of great wine.

Sunday morning, while Charlie competed in his race ... we hung out at a local park near Mark & Lorie's house. The kids had a fun time running around and playing on the different structures, while I savored having two additional adults help me supervise. The only thing that would have made this outing more fun is if we I had a 4th hat so we could pass Shayna off as a quad. With her blonde hair and blue eyes - it would be easy to do. Although, we got enough looks and comments as it was.

When Charlie returned, we loaded up our sleigh - assumed our cramped positions in the truck - and took off for a picnic one hour south (on the way back home). It should have taken us one hour to get there ... but it took us almost two and a half. Once I realized we were on the wrong freeway, my motto of "We don't need no stinking map!" became "Charlie, how could you forget to pack a map?!!"

Over the past few years of struggling with infertility, I have become acquainted with several people over the internet that have gone through the same challenges in achieving parenthood. A few months ago, several of us met for the first time. This weekend, we met again. Unfortunately, we were three hours late arriving to the picnic ... but with all the other things we had happening that day - it's a wonder we made it at all. Before loading the kids up for the 2-hour trek home, we filled their little bellies with a Slurpee. Maybe it was the frozen fruity processed goodness, or maybe it was the excitement of the weekend ... but our children passed out before we even left the parking lot and remained unconscious until we pulled in to the driveway.

Although Charlie is a natural born athlete, he hasn't really been on a bike for at least three years. This race that I signed him up for was a big one and an excellent catalyst for him to get back in to something that I know he loves. His official time for riding 25 miles was 1 hour, 16 minutes. His relay team finished the LA Triathlon 6 overall out of 50 teams. That's not too shabby. As a family we enjoyed a great weekend with new friends and old, and even though we questioned the logistics of leaving the safety of our house, we threw caution to the wind and went for it.

I suppose that if there is a moral to this story, it would be even when you think it's too much to do - it's always good to give it the old college try. When you're packing for a trip with your children - just make sure your humor and sense of adventure are the first things to go in the suitcase.

Along with a map.

I Am Blogger 1734

September 11, 2001: I'm between jobs. I'm preparing for the Geology State Board exam in 3 days. As I breathe, I want nothing more than to become a mom. I wake up at 7:30 on a beautiful Tuesday morning and I wander in to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat before settling down for a full day of studying. My husband is listening to the radio. We hear news that the World Trade Center has been hit by two planes. We hear news that a plane has crashed in to the Pentagon. We hear news that another plane has crashed in to a field in Pennsylvania. With my fear of flying, I am gripped with horror for what has happened. No where in my mind do I think, or could I ever fathom, that these tragedies were pre-meditated. I can't let go of the notion that there was a HUGE glitch with the computer systems. Air traffic controllers have obviously lost all control...

I spend the next three days camped in front of the television set with boxes of Kleenex by my side. I am unable to sleep ... unable to eat ... unable to study ... unable to look away. On September 14, I flunk my State Boards because I cried through the whole exam.

Five Years Later.

September 11, 2006: I'm raising 22-month old triplets. I'm working part-time as a State-certified Geologist. I'm reveling each and every day in the wonder of life and parenthood. As I breathe, I'm praying for peace on earth. For the past month, whenever I have a spare moment, I am researching Perry Anthony Thompson. A man I never knew.

To honor and remember those who perished five years ago today ... 2,996 bloggers will post a tribute to an individual who died during that horrific, perfectly blue sky morning in September, 2001. I am blogger 1734.

2,996. Two thousand. Nine hundred. Ninety six. Lives, lost.

Five years ago, I didn't know anything about any of the people who died, but I did mourn for each and every one of them. I also mourned for the thousands of people that I watched on the news, walking around and pinning up signs of their loved ones. What I remember the most - are feelings of helplessness and desperation. Those feelings gave way to an overwhelming surge of patriotism that resulted in me decorating our home and vehicle with American Flags.

Five years later.

Our American Flag is still flying proudly on our home ... and I know something more than I did, about one of the 2,996 victims.

Perry was 36 years old. He was the husband to Charlette. Daddy to 7-year old Ashley and 3-year old Chelsea. Son to Lula, and brother to Mike and Lisa. From the memorial pages I've read, Perry was a friend to many.

In his spare time, Perry was a celebrity photographer for various magazines. He took pictures of several stars including Michael Jackson, Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston. One of the last events Perry photographed, was a New York party attended by Don King, Stevie Wonder and Florence Henderson. Perry was meticulous when it came to photography ... especially photography of his beautiful daughters. On Christmas Eve, he would spend hours posing them in front of their tree.

I can just imagine it.

On September 11, 2001 - while I was sleeping in California - Perry was working as an insurance adjuster for AON Corporation on the 98th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower in New York. Since the Thompson's were raising their children in Williamstown, New Jersey ... Perry would wake up at 4:00 AM so he could catch the 5:30 AM bus in to the city. Perry got to work early that Tuesday, just like he did every day, so that he could be home by 7:00 PM to spend time with his family.

Perry knew that the north tower had been struck by a plane. Because Perry was a religious man, and would commute two hours to church each and every Sunday, I suspect he was praying that bright Tuesday morning. I also suspect that he was wishing that he could be home with his wife and two little girls.

Like me, Perry was a parent. Like me, Perry wanted to see his children grow up. His daughters were 7 and 3, and I'll bet nothing on God's green earth held a candle to the adoration they these children had for their daddy. What I learned about Perry during this past month is that he was well loved. I also learned that he will never be forgotten by those whose lives he touched. I found tributes to Perry, written by several people who knew him best. All of the tributes were moving ... but the letter written by his daughter, three and a half years after his passing, brought me to tears.

***

Daddy,

On this First day of 2005, I realize how much I need and miss you. As you now rest in peace I remember the good times we use to have. It is around the Holidays that your spirit is especially in our hearts most. We remember how your special Holiday traditions, brought us together as a family. We will miss you and love you always. We will reunite in Heaven one day.

Love, Ashley

***

The United in Memory Quilt has a square honoring Perry Anthony Thompson. Although this image is a bit fuzzy, Perry's square contains the image of a camera. This is undoubtedly due to Perry's love of photography and his joy in taking pictures. Unlike the image of Perry's quilt square - the picture in my mind of September 11, 2001 is crystal clear. Even though five years have passed since that beautiful blue sky day ... I will never forget.

Five years later.

I will never forget the confusion, the horror, the senselessness. But more than that, I will never forget the strength, the resolve, the compassion, the determination, the outpouring of love, support and patriotism. From this day on - I will never forget Perry Anthony Thompson. A guy I didn't even know.

One of the things I learned when I finally passed my State Board exam is that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. With all of my heart, I pray that the Thompson family is always able to find Perry's love and energy around them. You're right Ashley, your daddy's spirit is with you.

It's with me, too.

Problem Solved!

Here's the thing. I try to drink at least 64 ounces of water a day. That's great for my digestive system ... but not so great for those times when I am out in public, by myself, with our children.

Whenever I go out, by myself, it damn near always happens that I am struck by the urge to use the restroom. One adult + Three toddlers + One public bathroom = Not a very good situation. Especially when you are a germophobe. My options are severely limited. As such, I'll often ask myself do I:

1) Bring all three kids with me only to have them TOUCH every disgusting item in a public restroom??

2) Try to maneuver the massive triplet stroller in to the stall??

3) Take the chance of leaving the triplet stroller outside the stall with my three precious children inside, completely unattended?? OR ...

4) Hold it and rush home.

It's a dilemma. It's an even worse dilemma when you've REALLY got to go.

Unless there is an enormously large handicap stall that I can occupy - there are usually no stalls large enough to hold our triplet stroller. Because I never want to leave our children unattended ... my only option is to bring all three kids in to the bathroom with me ... and then furiously scrub them down with Purell and antiseptic wipes.

Although I haven't provided all the details of our potty-training saga ... I will give the teaser that these days ... our children love following me in to the bathroom. They absolutely rejoice in being anywhere close to "The Potty." The love seeing "The Potty" - they love touching "The Potty" - they even love trying to kiss "The Potty." Yes, it's true.

With that in mind ... during my recent internet travels - I stumbled upon this gadget which I think might solve my public restroom dilemma. More than that ... I whole heartedly believe that this one little contraption might simplify my life in more ways than I could ever possibly imagine.

Think of it.

I could go to friend's houses ... I could go to church ... I could go to public restrooms ... I could cook, clean and maybe even take a nap. All the while, my kids would have a great time - just hanging around.

Can it be ...

Guess what we're working on?

Here's a hint:



After my monthly triplet mama dinner tonight, I don't have the brain power to dive in to the details on our experiences with the potty. Maybe tomorrow I'll muster the energy and courage to review why I'm prepared to keep our children in diapers until they are 5. Or 8.

They have those pull-ups ... right?

The Peak

I have a little piece of paper that hangs on our refrigerator that I try to refer to daily. It is a passage, written by Chuck Swindoll about "Attitude". It goes like this:

"The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important that appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company ... a church ... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we embrace for that day. We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people act in certain ways. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you. We are in charge of our attitudes. "

The importance of having a positive attitude in life cannot be over emphasized.

Especially when you are a parent.

It's the honest truth that sometimes, I am emotionally, mentally and physically drained. And I haven't even gotten out of bed yet.

There are some days, I would give my right arm, minivan, unopened bottle of Jack London 1994 Cabernet 1/2 gallon of Rocky Road ice cream to stay in bed until 10 AM and watch back to back re-runs of Bridget Jones's Diary on Bravo while I painted my toenails. The most challenging thing that I would have to deal with is determining whether I would wear my shorts or my sarong to the pool, where I would sit all day and read a book, with a frozen cocktail in my hand that was magically refilled.

As much as we love our children and even after all that we went through to become parents ... the shots, the surgeries, the psychological rollercoaster, the tens of thousands of dollars shelled out over 8+ years ... there are moments in time when we wish the only responsibility we had ... is to take care of ourselves.

One of the biggest adjustments for us, after having been married for 10 years before children, is the giving of ourselves completely each and every day. There is no doubt - the happiness that our children bring to our lives is immeasurable. But so is the amount of work that is required to care for and clean up after them.

During a recent dinner with our triplet group, I sat next to a new mom. She looked exhausted and at one point, leaned over to me and in all seriousness asked "When will it get better??" As I was about to respond, another triplet mom chimed in and said "You think what you're going through now is hard?! Just wait until you have three toddlers that are in to EVERYTHING and are an absolute danger to themselves!"

At first I felt like saying "Ah ha! validation! I'm not alone!!" But when I looked at this new mom and the expression of horror that spread across her face, I felt compelled to say something positive. So I added "It doesn't get easier, per se ... it gets different. You will be a lot more capable of handling the challenges of parenting triplets when your babies are sleeping at night, and that will happen soon. More than that - the JOYS that you get to experience with three babies are exponential."

I must not have been very convincing because she went on to order vodka ... straight up.

On Saturday, we attended church again. After the service, a mother with 3-year old triplets came up to me and said "This sermon [on patience] was so timely. I was at my wits end. I actually called my husband and told him to come home because I couldn't spend another moment alone with 3-3 year olds."

Giving her a stern look I asked "I thought it got easier at three? Someone TOLD me it got easier when they were three!! Can't you reason with them?? Can't you just have them color quietly while you paint your toenails?" Her husband sensed my anguish and chimed in "It doesn't really get easier, per se ... it just gets different..." Before he had a chance to finish, I looked him square in the eye and said "I was born at night - but not last night. You go tell that to someone who doesn't know any better!"

Yesterday, I took down all the baby gates and let the children have free run of the house... moments before I stepped out the door to go to work. I'm good that way.

But I figured since Charlie's Los Angeles triathlon is this coming Sunday, an increase in his aerobic regiment would be welcomed. Besides, maybe we are being too restrictive on our children. Maybe they do need to explore more...

When I called home a couple hours later to see how the kids were doing with their new found freedom, Elizabeth was scaling the bookshelves, Carolyn was standing on the dining room table playing with the chandelier, William was hiding beneath our bed and Charlie's heart rate had been sustained at 180 for the past two hours. I think he'll do just fine this weekend.

As far as I'm concerned - we are at the peak of how challenging raising children can be. If you'd told me last week that THIS week was going to dish out new obstacles I'd never considered (trying to flush the remote control for our television down the toilet; figuring out how to unscrew the child-resistant cap for Maalox; unlocking and opening the backdoor), I wouldn't have believed it. It's nearly impossible to imagine our lives being any more chaotic than they are right now ... but I suspect they will be.

So what it comes down to is ATTITUDE.

At some point, each day, I usually have to remind myself that these moments with my three children are fleeting. They are growing up so fast. Our standards for the immaculate house we once had - have been completely shot. Our standards for the hours upon hours of "me" or "us" time we once had - have been completely shot. In their place are a messy house ... children hanging off our legs ... hugs - kisses - and laughter.

There is little doubt, these are challenging times and TODAY we are at the peak in raising triplets. But these are also the best days of our lives, and from this perspective, the view couldn't be any better.

This is why we don't go out ...

Today, we went to our friend's house for a barbeque. They have an 18-month old and 4-year old. They assured us their house was fully baby-proofed and they would love to host Labor Day at their place. So ... after Charlie convincing me everything would be fine ... we went.

Their house was immaculate. Their children were well behaved. Their house plants were still alive and their floor lamps had not been toppled. They only had one baby gate blocking their flight of stairs and not a single bathroom door was closed. There were no safety latches on their cabinets and their CD's were in plain sight and less than 2-feet off the ground. Did I mention they have an 18-month old?

Within seconds of stepping foot in their house, I realized that their idea of "baby proofing" and my idea of "baby proofing" are vastly different. Suffice to say, this was the worst dinner party of my entire life and I have vowed to not return to our friend's house until our kids are 10. For those that are wondering - this dinner party was even worse than the time my professor from college and his wife came over to our apartment, she got completely drunk, smashed her corn-on-the-cob in to her salmon and called everyone at the table, including Charlie, a bitch.

On the drive home tonight, Charlie and I had a talk. I asked if it was possible that our children were absolute tyrants ... or if their children were abnormal. Three hours later, I'm still completely confused how in the world they can co-exist with an 18-month old AND house plants. And CD's in plain sight less than 2-feet off the ground.

At our house, there are areas where children can play - and areas where they can't. We do not give them free run of the house. That was not the case at our friend's home ... the kids could "explore" where ever they wanted to. While their children left all of the CD's alone and didn't press every single button on the stereo player ... our kids zoomed in on those two objects faster than a moth to a flame. And ... they left ALL their sand in the sandbox. While our kids were flinging sand all over creation ... their children sat quietly in the box sifting sand and building little castles with moats.

This experience begs the question: Are we doing something wrong by restricting what our kids can play with ... at our house?? Should we take down all the baby gates and let them have "at it"?? If we give them this kind of unreigned freedom ... will it make them less likely to destroy absolutely everything that they can get their hands on??

I wonder... (But I'm not entirely willing to take the chance.)

While their children sat and ate their food - our kids threw rice and beans all over the place and decorated their table and walls with guacamole. When they brought out brownies for dessert, our kids were double-fisted with mouths full of chocolate and grabbing for more. Giving Charlie the look of death that clearly says "MUST LEAVE RIGHT NOW" our children promptly laid on the ground and threw temper tantrums.

Our hosts just smiled at us and said "Oh, they are so cute." Yes ... cute kind of like my college professor's drunken wife who slurred her speech and tried to pick a fight with our cat.

Even though our kids aren't yet 2 ... my worst fear is that we are raising brats. At this age - we're not really doing anything to stem their erratic behavior because there is very little we CAN do. There are three of them and they feed off one another, like a storm brewing.

My analogy is a rip tide at the beach. When you're stuck in a rip tide, the best thing to do is conserve your energy and wait until you get spit out so you can swim safely to shore. Or, signal for help. If you struggle against the rip tide too much ... you're likely to drown ... unless your mother from South Carolina a lifeguard comes to the rescue. I feel like it's a futile effort to try rationalizing with three toddlers. Doesn't it make more sense to conserve my energy, keep my head above water, and reason with them when they get a little older?? Or, by that point - will I be washed out to the middle of the ocean and consumed by sharks??

I want to be a relaxed parent ... the kind of parent that doesn't hover over their child and constantly chant "No, No, No, No, No."

I also want to have relaxed kids ... the kind of kids that are not afraid to explore but don't destroy everything that they touch. I also want for them to be obedient and to not throw their food all over the place. But at THIS age ... I wonder if I'm asking too much.

Am I asking too much???

In the meantime we're staying home with our rats and spiders and three toddlers that have arrived at Hurricane Level IV status. Going out is hugely over rated. Especially when it involves having dinner with our friends and their abnormal children.

Good Things

Today was my day to work. Like every other morning around here I was off to a late start and wasn't fully prepared to leave the house until 9:30. Actually, it might have been closer to 10. Thankfully, I work part-time and no one expects me to be anywhere before noon.

Just as I was preparing to leave and Charlie was running out in the garage to feed Molly before the morning walk, I heard a scream. Well, maybe not a scream like the scream I made on Monday ... but a "WHOA!!! WHOA!!! WHOOOOAAAA!!!!"

I grimaced and thought "Ugh! I bet he smells the dead rat that's been in the trash can for the past 48-hours under the hot southern California August sun."

A moment later, I hear Charlie come stomping in to the house with wide eyes. "We caught another one. There's ANOTHER rat in the trap!!!"

Looking at him with complete disbelief I said "What?! Another rat? You mean there's MORE than one?!"

I peered out through the garage door and sure enough, there was another big, dead rat. This one was caught by the second trap that was also laced with beef jerky and peanut butter that I had tried to convince Charlie on Tuesday night to disarm, because surely we had killed the only rat in our zip code.

Charlie was completely grossed out, just like I had been. He asked me where I'd put the gloves and he asked how exactly I had managed to get rid of the rat on Tuesday. "You used a bag, huh? What kind of bag ... a trash bag?!" I heard him go back out side ... and twenty minutes later ... he came back in the house telling me that he felt the overwhelming need to take a shower.

And then Charlie said something that made me realize there is a big difference between he and me ... males and females ... men and women.

The first thought that came to my mind is that the rat we killed on Tuesday, must have been a mother. Or father. They had gone out to gather food for their little family and met their demise in our trap. A couple days later, driven out by hunger and wailing baby rats ... the other parent goes looking for the missing parent - and food for the baby rats - only to meet it's demise in our trap. How terribly sad. I am now motivated to sprinkle graham crackers drizzled with honey around the perimeter of our property for all the baby rats that will undoubtedly starve without their parents.

When I told Charlie my theory - he scoffed at and said "Rats are solitary animals!" And then he recalled a scene from "Lethal Weapon" and figured we could streamline our rat killing operation if we laid plastic sheeting beneath the traps. For the next "victim", all we'd need to do is wrap it up and throw it away. "Think of it Jen. it will be like a mob killing. We won't have to worry about cleaning up the mess at all!!"

Sometimes I just don't get it. How can we be so different - yet so very much alike?

I head off to work and meet with one of my co-workers. I relay to him my events of the past few days. The huge dead rat on Tuesday ... the huge dead rat, today. I told him how I had to pick the rat up and throw it away - all by myself. I was expecting him to be impressed by my ability to handle dead vermin and walk through a monster spider web without dying on the spot. Instead he gives me a puzzled look and says, "What? You didn't keep the trap?!"

I was stumped by this question and a bit annoyed. "What the hell do you mean, 'I didn't keep the trap'?! How the heck would I keep the trap when there was a HUGE dead rat in it?!?!" He went on to tell me that when he was a boy - GROWING UP ON A FARM - he would set traps for mice, rats and gophers. Whenever they would catch rodents ... they would empty the trap and reset them. Meaning - he had to actually open the trap - shake (or PEEL) the contents of the dead vermin out - and then reset it. Of course, they caught several vermin a day ... so emptying a trap was as simple as buttering bread. So he says ...

His experience just reinforces my previous statement that I could never live on a farm. NEVER. EVER.

At around 5:00 this afternoon ... I remembered that I was suppose to meet my fellow triplet mama's tonight for a knitting fest, in less than two hours. I also remembered that I was still at the office ... had more work to do before I could leave ... had not yet showered ... had not yet eaten ... and had not yet told Charlie that I was suppose to be going out tonight.

I finished what needed to be done at work, rushed home and casually told my dear husband that this knitting event had slipped my mind, but it was really important for me to go. All of the women who I had taught to knit at the beginning of the summer - had surpassed 25 feet on their "3-inch test strip" I had started them on. They had no idea how to end the knitting, but were afraid to stop because they were certain they'd forget.

Charlie gave me his blessing so I had a quick dinner of M&M's and orange juice, jumped in the shower and headed out the door. It took me 25 minutes longer to arrive at my destination than it should have, because I am an absolute idiot when it comes to directions and am hopelessly lost with out a navigation system (which is in the car which is in the shop).

The funny thing is - I spent four years in undergraduate and another two years in graduate school studying maps. Yet, it's the honest truth that a frying pan possesses a better sense of direction than do I.

The place where we gathered tonight was a spot where I had gone with my mom, two and a half years ago for a knitting group. (Mom, do you remember?!) The day that I went with my mom, happened to be the day after I had received my second negative pregnancy test - following my second failed IVF cycle. I remembered, so clearly, my state of mind at that time. I recalled sitting on a stool, guzzling a beer, knitting a blanket for a baby that was not meant to be and feeling completely BROKEN inside.

Now, here I was ... less than three years later ... the mother to three beautiful children.

It's just incredible how fast things can change.

Arriving at my destination, I am greeted by my fellow triplet mama's. We wander in to a funky quaint coffee shop and sit down on oversized couches. This place eerily reminds me of "Central Perk" from the TV show "Friends". We order ice cold lemonade, triple chocolate fudge brownies and are serenaded by "Amateur Musician Night". People of all ages and walks of life are up on the stage with their guitars, harpsichords, harmonicas and violins ... playing everything from Folk Music to Irish Jigs.

My fellow triplets mama's pull out their knitting and I am over-the-moon thrilled to see that even though it's been at least 8 weeks since our last get-together ... everyone that I taught how to knit ... actually knows how to knit. I can't get from Point A to Point B without getting lost for 2 hours ... but damn if I can't teach a group of women how to make blankets for babies in South Africa.

So to sum up this day ... the "good things" in my life on August 31, 2006 are:

1) A husband who was home today to deal with the second HUGE DEAD rat in our garage in less than 3 days and who realizes the importance of me having a "girls-night-out"...

2) The reality that we live less than 1/2 a mile from Home Depot where they stock as many rat traps as we could ever possibly need and thus, there is no reason we should ever have to reuse a rat trap...

3) Being so incredibly PROUD of my fellow triplet mama's that I taught how to knit and seeing that they have stuck with it through the entire summer...

4) A funky coffee shop with big comfortable couches, dim lights and amateur musicians...

5) My babies. When I came home tonight, I stood over their cribs watching them sleep. They are absolute perfection and it frequently happens that I have to pinch myself to be sure I'm not dreaming this all up. I will try my absolute best to give them everything I can in life. But kids, I just hope you never ever want to live on a farm.

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For those who inquired about the blankets I'm making ... a few months ago, I stumbled upon a blogger in South Africa, "So Close". This blogger's sister started a charity called "Bosom Buddies" establised to help the destitute mothers of South Africa. A reader on "So Close" crocheted and sent blankets from the US to South Africa for these babies with care packages for the mothers. When I saw that this reader (Bridgette) was making such a huge difference, I thought to myself "I can, could, should, MUST do something, too!"

And so, I have.

It's not much - but it's something ... and I like to think that there are honorable people in this world that are using the supplies I'm sending them - for a good cause. If not, God will sort them out ... right? :)