gratitude journal

Do you have a gratitude journal?

I don't, although I've always thought it was a great idea. Even though I don't write down five things every day, I do frequently take an inventory of things in my life for which I am grateful.

For instance.

I am extremely grateful that even though our triplets were born almost 2.5-months prematurely, at three-years-old, they are the picture of good health. They are happy, energetic and incredibly bright. When they are talking back to me, or climbing a bookshelf to reach fragile ceramics that I have perched high, I often stop myself before I get angry and give my thanks to God that they are not only alive, but that they can climb and aren't confined to wheelchairs and that they can talk back and aren't impaired with severe mental handicaps.

It is so easy to take for granted our health and the health of our children. The lengths that we took to get our babies in to our lives and home from the hospital is so often forgotten with the bustle of life and their sometimes less than desirable three-year-old behavior.

Yet once again, I was painfully reminded just how fortunate we are when this past weekend, I read the blog of a woman I met several years ago on an infertility parenting website. Patrice gave birth in October to boy/girl twins that were born 14 weeks prematurely, at 26 weeks gestation.

Her baby boy died three weeks later.

Her baby girl died this past Friday.

I am extremely grateful for my husband. He listens to me and genuinely wants to be a part of our children's lives. He has stalled his career to stay home and help raise our family, together, and he would happily pack up and move anywhere or anytime with me ... in the pursuit of adventure.

I am extremely grateful for my little baby, Henry. Whenever I can feel my buttons start to get crushed, I can almost always look down at his absolutely angelic face and see him smile, and everything ... I mean everything ... is immediately put in to perspective.

I am extremely grateful that the neighbor that lives behind us works for Subway and once a week she will bring me a trash bag full of left over sandwich rolls. Whenever we receive a bag full of bread, we take it down and spend an entire morning, or afternoon, feeding the ducks that live on a nearby lake.

I am extremely grateful that our gymnastics instructor recently asked if I thought it would be helpful to me, if she opened her gymnastics center up every Friday morning for two hours, so that the kids would have a place to come and have "free" play.

I am extremely grateful for my fellow triplet moms that I get together with once a week for play dates and for the strong friendships I am forging with each of these awesome women.

I am extremely grateful for all the people - except the one who thinks I'm a raving lunatic - that left me messages of support in response to my last post. And because of the occasional odd-ball remark I receive, I am extremely grateful for comment moderation.

I am extremely grateful for the 50+ e-mails that I received in addition to the over 100 comments (several of which were not posted because the commenter specifically asked that I not) and the telephone calls that poured in from friends and family around the globe.

I am extremely grateful that even though Christmas is over, Trader Joe's is still stocking peppermint Joe-Joe's. My mood has improved dramatically ever since I came to that realization this past week.

What else has helped me tremendously is constantly reminding myself, during the crunch times, that it's alright for the baby to cry for a few minutes while I'm trying to get a meal ready, or for the dog to bark before I have a free moment to give her a scoop of kibble. After careful evaluation, I have determined that those are two primary factors that set my blood pressure soaring.

Once I realized that, I have made strides to live intentionally and focus on one thing at a time.

It's really no wonder that the most stressful times of my day are breakfast, lunch and dinner. When I need to change diapers, feed children, prepare meals and clean up from meals and either get the children up for the day, down for a nap or down for the night.

All the hours in between, I do just fine.

I am working hard to take each moment as it comes and trying just as hard to not worry about what is coming next. Or next. Or next. Because this has to happen and then this, and then I can do this, and this. Don't forget about this. Or this.

So I am grateful for my renewed ability to take one moment at a time.

And I am grateful for Peppermint Joe-Joe's.

In case I didn't mention that already.

the anatomy of a nervous breakdown

Very soon, I will be writing about a lot of fun and informative things. But before I dive in to those things, I wanted to document the nervous breakdown I had last week. The fun posts will be up in a few days. If you want, you can come back and read those. Tonight, I am going to write about the basket case that I was last week, the very first week of the New Year.

This past week has been great. In fact, I cannot remember a better week than the week I have just experienced. But last week, I thought for sure that the men in suits would be taking me out of the house ... although I wasn't sure if I'd be in stripes or a straight jacket.

I say that what I experienced was a nervous breakdown, because it was unlike anything I had experienced before. It wasn't my typical "Holiday Hangover". It was so bad, Charlie had to stay home from work. It was so bad, I wondered how in the world I'd managed to do everything I was doing up until that point and how I would ever function again.

It was more than a bonk ... I totally capsized.

Charlie came home from work on Wednesday night to me sitting in a dark house. Not a single light was on, save the Christmas lights hooked up to a timer, that were still hanging from our eaves. The baby was sitting on my lap chewing on a bill. The kids were in bed asleep. They didn't go down for a nap until almost 3:00 PM, so they were still snoozing when my husband walked in the door at 5:00 PM. When he asked if he should wake them up, I'm pretty sure my exact words were "God NO!"

A trained professional might have been able to see that I was on the brink. Even I sensed that things seemed to be spiraling out of control. But then the holidays came and there were festive decorations, relatives in town, bright lights and cheeriness all around. Charlie was home from work on vacation, we had things happening every day and there were more hands to help than I knew what to do with.

Then, I was all alone. With new toys, new clothes, new books, new gadgets and .... new stuff from Christmas that had yet to find a place to go.

And four small stuffy-nosed and needy children.

The Christmas decorations that brought me such joy a week earlier were suddenly overbearing clutter that I had to get rid of immediately. But I couldn't get rid of them because I didn't have the time to take things down and neatly put them away, the way I wanted. And I was sick.

There were thank you notes to be written. A Flat Stanley project to be wrapped up for my nephew in Massachusetts that was due ... tomorrow. Yet every waking hour was filled with something else that I must be doing. Playing with the children. Bathing the children. Laundry. Menu planning. Breaking up fights. Holding a fussy baby. Unloading the dishwasher. Feeding the dog. Walking the dog. Getting to bed at a reasonable hour and hopefully sleeping more than three hours at a stretch.

Someone told me that I just needed to "Let it GO!" and I snapped. That phrase is flawed on so many levels when you are a parent. What exactly do I "Let Go?"

The laundry? The dishes? Taking out the trash? Paying the bills? Feeding the kids?

Because at some point I need to have clean clothes for our family. Come to think of it, we'll also need clean dishes AND space in our trashcan. And if we want a roof over our head, running water and a garage free of refuse, I'll need to sit down and pay a bill or two along the way. My life is one great juggling act - where I must keep all the glass balls in the air without letting them fall and smash to pieces on the ground.

Wednesday night, after the children were in bed, Charlie and I discussed what we needed to do to improve my situation. Maybe if he stayed home a little longer before going to work in the morning, he could help me get all of the children up and dressed and fed, so that I could get out of the house before noon. Unloading the dishwasher and making the beds are two things that I must do every morning, in addition to everything else. So, with Charlie's assistance, I could get all of these things done and then I'd feel more empowered to take on the day.

We discussed preschool. We discussed getting someone in to help every day. We discussed me calling my doctor and telling him that I was feeling overwhelmed. We discussed me accepting the job in Houston, returning to work and Charlie staying home full-time. Or, both of us returning to work and putting the children in daycare. We talked about moving. We'll need a bigger house, soon anyway.

It felt like we were bursting at the seams. We had moved a large portion of our belongings in to the garage and had to throw away a large portion of those belongings because of a rodent infestation. More than 20 rats and mice have been killed in the past two weeks. Super sonic devices don't work. Our best bet is to get a cat.

We can't take care of a cat.

We can barely take care of our dog.

"Good heavens. What are we going to DO?"

"I don't know, Margo. Pass the wine."

Thursday morning, while I was nursing Henry, Charlie jumped out of bed and unloaded the dishwasher. He got the children up and dressed. He made their beds. All I needed to do was prepare breakfast.

While I was pulling out ingredients, I noticed that Carolyn and Elizabeth were playing with their new wood blocks. They were filling paper shopping bags with blocks they had "bought" and were lugging them around the living room, carefully avoiding Henry who was laying on the floor. As I started to crack eggs, I saw that their shopping game had morphed in to block throwing. Every time I turned my back to throw an egg shell away, I had to whip back around to tell them "Please don't throw the blocks. PLEASE DON'T THROW THE BLOCKS."

After the third egg was cracked, and I watched a block land inches away from Henry, I cracked.

Now before I go any further, I must add that ever since Henry has arrived on the scene, I expect more of the triplets. I know I expect a lot more of them than I should, considering they are only three-years-old. But I expect that if I ask them to do something, they will listen to me. I can't always be out of the house with them, and when we are at home, I need for them to pay attention. I know that they understand, they are just testing my limits. When I am feeding or changing or bathing the baby, I don't have the patience to ask that they stop hanging from the curtains, or reaching up and pulling random things off the counters, more than twice. Triplets alone at this age are a handful. Adding an infant to the mix takes everything up a notch.

I will also add that if anyone tells me "You need help!" I'll climb right through this computer and throw dirty laundry on them. What I need is for Mary Poppins to magically float in and land on our doorstep with her bag full of tricks. But only when I want her, which is sporadic, at best.

It's not that we haven't considered or looked for part-time help. But our efforts thus far, short of forking out a large sum to a nanny service, have yielded zilch.

Neighbors? Churches? Local Colleges?

Zilch. Zilch. Zilch.

My eggs were sitting in a pan on the stove. There were blocks all over the floor and three kids that were running around and screaming like banshees - just like they do every morning. The baby was crying to eat. I could feel my blood pressure spike. Before I could do anything, I needed to put the kids in time out. I needed to move the blocks elsewhere.

I needed to ... I needed to ... I couldn't even think.

Instead of doing anything, I just stood in the kitchen, put my hands on my head and screamed. From the gut of my stomach I screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Taking a breath only to scream some more.

Charlie came running out - dressed and ready for work - and in an alarmed voice asked "Are you alright?! What happened?!"

I couldn't talk. I was in shambles. I put my hand up to silence him and removed myself from the kitchen. For the next 15 minutes, I stood in our 2 x 2 broom closet, squeezed in next to the vacuum cleaner, broom and Swiffer. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why I went to stand in the closet. I could hardly breathe. It felt like my chest was being crushed. The sounds of the children, who had resumed their activities were muffled, and in the dark I was thinking about our 31-year old neighbor who hung himself in his garage last October. What had happened to this poor man that he felt so unable to handle his life circumstances? What situation in his life was so terminal that he had to get out, permanently?

Standing in the dark closet, I certainly felt unable to handle my life circumstances. But, the one thing I had going for me is the knowledge that it won't always be like this. Yeah, I'm totally overwhelmed. Although, I could remember with clarity, days that are absolutely glorious. Days when I feel healthy and I am on top of the world and capable of handling anything and everything that comes barreling - or toddling - my way.

While I was sequestered in the broom closet, I prayed. I prayed harder than I've ever prayed before that I would have the strength and patience to be a good mother and wife and person. I prayed for compassion and understanding. I prayed that I would have the ability to see past the disaster that our house currently was, and embrace the day. Once I could feel myself start to relax and the death grip that had my heart start to loosen, I stepped out of the closet.

Instantly, I was bombarded with screaming and the fragile serenity that I had been able to summon was lost and I was back in the stress vice. In a panicked voice, I told my husband that he could not leave me alone with the children because I was afraid what I would do to them.

How's that for honesty?

I was afraid what I would do to my children.

Last week, for the first time, I had a glimpse in to how someone would intentionally hurt their kids. For the first time, I saw how someone could snap. For the first time, I told my husband that he could not go to work because I was truly afraid to be home alone with our three-year-olds.

I was afraid what I would do if I had to break up one more fight. Or hear screaming about something, anything, nothing. I was afraid what I would do if I had to pick up the pieces of something that the children broke. Or stop them from doing any of the things that they do a million times a day and that I usually can handle, but on that particular day, could not.

It felt like I had been furiously treading water and suddenly, I stopped. I sank. I was submerged and I could see everyone functioning on the surface, but I couldn't be a part of it. They were in a different world.

Charlie stayed home all day from work. He took the children to the park in the morning and although he told me that I could leave and go to the beach or a restaurant or a store ... I spent almost four hours trying to clean a bathroom, that under normal circumstances would have only taken me 15 minutes. In between scrubbing the toilet, I would sit and cry. I would write my thoughts in my journal and cry some more. I would wash the mirrors and cry. Then I'd just cry and cry and cry some more.

During the height of my breakdown, I did what any irrational person would do.

I called my boss.

I told him that I wanted to come back to work, if possible, the very next day. After talking with him for 20 minutes and hearing the enthusiasm in his voice that I would be returning soon, I felt ill that I wanted to leave my children. Not all of my children, mind you. Just the ones that were capable of walking and talking and fighting and driving me insane.

I know that they will only be little once. I know that I should be enjoying every minute. I know that I will miss these days, one day. Just not today, and probably not tomorrow, either. I was filled with anguish that I wasn't enjoying every moment. I wasn't enjoying my husband. I wasn't enjoying this incredibly amazing life that I have been blessed with. My well was dry.

All of my life I wanted children. And now that I have them, I want to be with them. I want to be the positive stimulation that they need. I want to be the one that they trust. I want to teach them how to use scissors and a glue stick. I want to teach them their letters. I want to teach them how to be polite and gentle. I want to do all of these things until I'm with them. And then I want to pull my hair out of my head by the roots.

Why can't I be the one to do all of these things with them?

Why does it feel like they are sucking the very life right out of me?

After several hours away, Charlie came home and still, I was distraught. I told my husband that I needed help. I needed for us, just us, to go away for a weekend. We needed to reconnect. We needed to rediscover ourselves, our marriage. While I was sitting on the couch, holding the baby, I told my husband "Please, help me. I cannot do this anymore."

Charlie just looked at me and didn't say anything. When I repeated my plea and he still did not respond, I started yelling "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE. I NEED HELP!!!"

He told me that he didn't know what to do. He didn't know who to call for help. But if I gave him a few days he could figure something out. That's when I jumped off the couch and said "Well, that's great. Because if you were to have a heart attack right now and fall to the floor, please understand that I might ask for you to give me a few days to figure something out! Can't you see I'm DYING?!"

Even with my slight flair for melodrama, I seriously felt like I was going to drop.

A few years ago, I was driving a red convertible European sports car, desperate for children and looking for a good reproductive endocrinologist. Now, I'm driving a minivan, full of children, and in need of a psychiatrist. What happened??

I ran in to the bathroom - which was still not completely clean - and while I sat on the rim of the tub with the blood pumping in my ears, I felt horribly embarrassed. I was ashamed that I possessed no self control and exploded like that in front of my husband and children. I was ashamed that I couldn't be a better wife and mother.

Just then, my mom called.

As I was telling my mother how distraught I was, how terrible my day had been and how out of control my life seemed, my mother said - and I honestly kid you not - "Jen, can I call you back in an hour? Oprah just came on."

*****

Postscript: I don't want to be medicated to deal with my every day life. I also don't want to make any drastic changes - like bringing in a nanny and/or putting our kids in preschool. Although, I am evaluating our options.

This past week, I have made some significant changes and as a result, I am feeling completely stable and capable. I have gone to bed before midnight (except tonight) and have been very firm with getting Henry on a strict sleeping schedule. We have been busy with activities every day, the children are napping again (which I had allowed to stop over Christmas) and I have re-established a routine. I have also drastically reduced my computer time and will continue to do so. The fact is, I was spending too many hours when I could be sleeping looking at things like this. And this.

I have also developed a whole new level of respect for my husband. He proved that we are in this parenthood adventure, together. He vowed that he would take off as much time as necessary and not leave me alone until I was feeling stable. On Friday morning, he spent several hours printing up fliers and posting them at churches and colleges in the area. When I returned from an outing with the children, he had cleaned the house and had mulling spices simmering in a pot.

But best of all, he researched buying my mother a TiVo.

signs that your baby is ready for solid food

Holding Henry on our laps during dinner time has become a formidable challenge.

"Hey Dad. Whatcha got there?"

"Oh, I see! Is that potpie?!"

"Peas and carrots. I can eat those! Gimme a bite!!"

It's bittersweet to see my little baby growing up.

It's also bittersweet that I'll be cutting out of my diet, now that the weaning process has officially begun.

negotiation with a 3-year old boy

"Mommy, I want milk with ..." finger stirs in air ... "chocowate in it."

"Hmm. Here's an idea. How about you go sit on the potty and go poo-poo, and then I'll make you a glass of chocolate milk."

"No. Dat's not a good idea. You go make me chocowate milk. I want lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of chocowate milk."

"I want you to first sit on the potty and then, I'll make you lots and lots and lots and lots of chocolate milk."

"No. I not sit on potty. You take poo-poo out my diaper and put it in potty. And then, you make me lots and lots and lots of chocowate milk. OKAY?"

an amazing trip trick: poop goes in the potty

I hesitate posting this as an amazing trip trick because although I might have one of my children completely potty trained during the day, and one of my children completely pee-pee potty trained during the day, I still have one child that will only poop in diapers and one child that doesn't care what they poop in or on, so long as it isn't a toilet.

Even though I may not be the most knowledgeable person about potty training a child ... I believe it is important to share the wisdom that I have gained thus far in the toilet training arena. So without further delay, pull up a chair, potty or other, and let's discuss.

First, children will not potty train until they are ready, even if you do pump them full of fluids and leave them pantless. Try as you might, potty training is all about control. They have the control. You do not. You know that saying "You can lead a horse to water..."? Same concept applies here. The sooner you come to terms with this simple fact - the easier it will be for everyone involved and the cleaner your floors will be.

Second, rewards may or may not work. One of our three-year old children is completely "day" potty trained. As a result of her potty training prowess, she has received a pair of princess shoes and a two-wheeled princess bicycle. She also receives a standing ovation and much hoopla every time she goes. Even though our other two three-year old children would love nothing more than fancy new shoes and a two-wheeled bicycle and exhausting praise, and they know what they need to do to get such favors, they are not willing to bid their diapers adieu. This is their choice. They and they alone, are in control. Refer to #1, above.

Third, the effect of peer pressure on potty training is overrated. People have long told me that once one of our children is potty trained, the other two will follow closely behind. Maybe I'm confused on what the term "closely behind" means, because after three months, I would think any kind of peer pressure would have been exerted by now.

Fourth, just because our children see how we - or small visitors to our home that do not mind having observers in the restroom - use the toilet, does not mean that they will want to hop up and try going themselves. Regardless of how much I plead with them to just try and hit the Cheerio.

Fifth, I'm not entirely convinced on the benefit of Pull-Ups or Easy-Ups or anything that remotely resembles the cross between diaper and underwear. The only reason that we use them is because sometimes, I find that they are easier to deal with when we are on the go. We have one child that will hold their poop until they are in a diaper. We have another child that will come up - holding a clean diaper and wipes - and instruct me to change them before laying down on the floor and sticking their feet straight up in the air. Both of these children are fully capable of going to the potty and have done so at some point in the past. But both of these children, if pressed, will go in their underwear and not mind in the least. When your child is ready to go potty, they will be terribly dismayed if they have to go in anything other than a toilet. At least if they are a girl. By the name of Elizabeth.

Sixth, a good potty training chair is a necessity and more than one potty chair is necessary if you have multiples. Fortunately, I only purchased one type before realizing that it was the wrong type and the best type is the kind that has little to no parts. I now have a fleet of Baby Bjorn potty chairs. I also have a smaller low-profile Baby Bjorn potty chair that I take with me in the car and on walks. The reason I love these potty chairs is because they consist of a small pot that is easily removed and (this is the most important part) easily cleaned. Now, if someone writes to tell me that the Fisher Price variety with the faux roll of toilet paper, lid, music box and flushing sounds actually worked for potty training their head strong child - I will eat my words, before rushing out to the store to purchase one. Until then, I'll also mention that from the research I've done, it appears that Once Upon A Potty also makes a chair that meets my stringent criteria for minimal parts.

Seventh, once you are feeling courageous enough to venture out of the house with your potty trainee ... make sure that you have a clean change of clothes with you. Also, try not to forget that you have a potty trainee in tow. I have been known to forget and am reminded only when a child with dripping wet pants comes up calling me Mommy. I try to encourage our children to use the potty before we leave the house - once we arrive at our destination - while we are at our destination - and before we leave for the car ride home. I also have with me a small foldable potty seat that I keep in my diaper bag that works great for public restrooms. After 36 years on this planet, I am convinced that there are few things in this world more horrifying than watching your youngster collapse bum first in to a public toilet.

Eighth, there are a lot of good books on the subject of potty training. I'm fairly certain we own them all. The favorites in our library include:

A Potty For Me!

Once Upon A Potty Note: we have both the Prudence & Joshua versions AND the movie.

It's Potty Time

Zoo Poo

Everyone Poops

Where's the Poop?

Ninth, relax. Even though I have a platoon in diapers and spend a small fortune every month, I know it won't be like this forever. Although, recently one of my children has told me that they love their diapers and plan on wearing them "Ahways." Of course this is the same child that was the very first to use our new potty chairs - but hasn't gone since - and nowadays, won't go poop without a fight. I've let go of the belief that potty training for all of my 3-year olds is going to happen in one day. Or over a weekend. This is a process and if anyone tries to tell you differently, just nod your head and smile. Remember that many children aren't completely potty trained until they are 3.5 or 4.

Tenth, as much as possible - keep it fun and try not to get frustrated. A few months ago, a woman named Allison sent me a song by the band Over the Rhine. (Hi Allison, if you're reading. I hope your pregnancy is going well!!) In my attempt to make using the potty an event that our children should excitedly embrace, and also to remind them where their poop should go, I set OTR's song to a few of our pictures that I show to our children frequently. Make sure your volume is up.



Now, I'm off to buy more diapers. Because even though our children know where the poop is supposed to go, not everyone is entirely convinced they want it there.

hosting a triplet playdate, 201

Ever since our children were small babies, I have been getting together every so often with a few other women who have triplets approximately the same age as ours for a playdate.

Up until a few months ago, we would routinely meet once a month and each one of us would take a turn hosting the playdate in our home. Within the past four months, we have bumped that frequency up to weekly because we have discovered that with three year olds, we really need to have fun things to look forward to each week. But most importantly, the camaraderie offered by my fellow 3-year old triplet moms is one of the primary reasons I am still sane and most days, can remember my name and where I live.

As our children have grown larger, we have also discovered that hosting a triplet playdate for multiple sets of 3-year old triplets, in one's home, borders on lunacy. Except for that one time, last month when I hosted a cookie decorating party at our house ... we have moved the weekly playdate venue to various parks around the area.

Getting the children outside first thing in the morning has always been my mantra. Or at least it's been my mantra ever since the children have been old enough to walk and cause trouble. And for the most part, it's easy to get outside first thing in the morning when the weather is nice. But when it is dumping buckets of rain - I'd much prefer to be inside and dry than outside and wet.

Especially when I have a small baby in tow.

Because my energy stores for the day are usually nearing depletion by 9:00 AM, around the same time my children's energy levels are still climbing to their cruising altitudes - this morning, I needed to come up with something to do.

"Something" that ideally, didn't involve watching back-to-back episodes of a big purple dinosaur sing about his love for everyone.

"Something" that would serve the dual purpose of keeping the children entertained while completely exhausting them, so that they would easily go down for a nap and sleep a minimum of two hours.

There is no doubt that I have been warmly smiled upon by the Triplet God of Good Fortune because less than a mile away, there lives a woman who has in her possession, triplet boys. Triplet boys that turned three, this past Saturday.

Not only has Debbie been a good friend to me ever since our children were infants, she is one of the most disciplined and patient people I've ever met. She possesses many of the qualities I would like for myself, if only attaining those qualities weren't so difficult and require sacrifice of many things that I love and hold dear.

Things like sleep. And Pixar movies.

Whenever I'm ready to (or do) lose my berrying mind, I think of Debbie who wakes up at 4:00 every morning to get prepared for the day ahead. In her "spare" time, she works out at the gym and writes novels. She doesn't eat ice cream. Or drink wine. Her children don't watch television. Instead, they eat raw vegetables and hummus by the pound. And ... they are the most polite 3-year olds I've ever witnessed.

If I didn't know better, I wouldn't think Debbie was real. I would think she is a Stepford Triplet Mother, powered by organic garbanzo beans. But, I've been watching her pretty closely the past few years and as of yet, have seen nothing to suggest that she is anything other than genuine.

Today, when I called Debbie at 8:30 and asked if she wanted to come up to our house for a 9:00 playdate, she responded "yes" before the full invitation was out. By 9:01, Debbie and her entourage were at the front door.

What I learned this morning is that the key to keeping six three-year olds positively entertained is to let them jump with reckless abandon on your couch and feed them a lot of food. The children all had such a good time that I'm of the mind that having sextuplets wouldn't be that much more difficult than triplets.

Just think, if we were to add sextuplets to our mix, I could have my own reality show. "Charlie & Jen plus Ten".

All I need are some organic garbanzo beans.

rainy weekend

When you have a house full of small children, it can be difficult to find ways of positively expelling their energy when the weather is inclement.

Galoshes and umbrellas to tackle mud puddles is one good solution.


Dressing them in their new bathing suits that they received as a Christmas gift from Poppa Alex and Kathleen and telling them to "swim" through the house and find Nemo is another good solution.


Of course there is also shopping at Costco ... while wearing their new bathing suits - that they love so very much - over their clothing. Because if they are worn under their clothing they can't see them. Right?

This is a good solution only if you don't mind having people laugh at you when you are out in public.

month six: in review

Stop the clock!!


I blink and it's already been a half year since you were born to me.


If I could, I would like to keep you this size for at least another few years.


This size, this perfect size, right where you are, right now.


You are the most delightful and adorable baby I have ever laid my eyes upon. You can often hear me ask your father "Were the triplets this beautiful? Were our other children so absolutely adorable?" and your dad will always respond "Yep. They were just as beautiful. Although it's difficult to remember how adorable they were as little babies when they are hitting each other in the head with spoons and destroying our stuff as rambunctious toddlers."

Henry, please don't ever do that. Okay?

Within this past month, you have mastered the art of rolling from your tummy to your back.

Your bouncy chair has lost it's appeal because you would much prefer to sit upright and watch the world around you. The number of days that you will be bathing in your infant tub are definitely coming to an end, because even when you are reclined in the water - you will struggle to sit up.

Last month, you discovered your hands and this month - you are using them to grab at whatever you can. My hair and my face, your siblings hair and their faces ... everything and anything within reach is fair game.


If it's within arm reach, you will get it and shove it right in to your mouth. Aunt Eileen's chin, a metal mixing bowl, a scrap of wrapping paper. It's all good.

Good luck to anyone that tries to take away something that you have in your possession. Not only are you just as strong as your siblings and are capable of holding on tight ... you scream almost as loudly as they do.

This month, I have only had to purchase two different diaper sizes - since you have now graduated in to a size 5. When I ran out of 5's and had to use a size 6 on you last week, I was slightly dismayed that my "little baby" can actually wear the same size diaper as his three older siblings. At the rate you've been growing - and the lack of food your siblings have been consuming - I wouldn't be at all surprised if you will weigh more than at least your sister Elizabeth, by the time you turn one.

Your siblings adore you. They love to make you laugh, which usually doesn't require more than them being in the same room as you. So long as they are running around and playing - you are entertained.

Although, I have had to become more protective, because it seems that lately - one of their favorite past times is running and jumping over you. Thankfully, your great Aunt Peggy sent you a pair of pants with a big red STOP on the behind that has become a part of your tummy-time wardrobe.

Your schedule is slowly falling in to place. You are routinely sleeping from 7 or 8 every night until at least 4 or 5 in the morning. Most mornings, your father will bring you from your crib and in to bed with us, where I will nurse you on and off for the next two hours. You will take a 45-minute nap in the morning and another nap in the early afternoon - around the same time your siblings take their nap. Your third nap of the day is in the late afternoon around 4:30. Although you will go to sleep in your crib with little to no fussing at night, you would much prefer to sleep in the Bjorn - suspended from my nipple chest - during the day. Because we are so often on the go, this is quite often, a fine arrangement. But when we are at home, I would much prefer that you nap in your crib or pack-n-play. You really don't like napping in your crib. Or pack-n-play. We're working on that. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes, you cry it out before falling asleep. Sometimes, I concede and either let the laundry continue to pile up so I can sit and rock you ... or ... lose all feeling in my arms because I am wearing a baby that weighs more than our vacuum cleaner.

I had started feeding you solids for a few days, but then went back to exclusive nursing. If I could, I wouldn't feed you solids for another six months. Not just because working solids in to my daily routine is slightly challenging, but because I love that you are receiving all of your nutrition from me. I also love that I am able to eat whatever I want and still manage to lose weight every week. The most important reason is because I love holding my little baby closely - several times a day - and watch your beautiful face completely relax with contentment. But when you were eating solids ... Oh!! how you loved your food. You could easily polish off an entire bowl of rice cereal and a full jar of veggies without batting an eye.

You are almost capable of sitting up unassisted and just yesterday, you were able to support your own weight while holding daddy's hand.

You have found your reflexion and will spend long stretches of time staring and laughing at yourself in the mirror. You are probably wondering, who is this gorgeous creature and where did he come from?

I know that's what I think every time I look at you.

the berrying curse cup

A few years ago, Charlie and I instituted the concept of a curse cup (#29). That is, any time one of us curses, we would - theoretically - put a quarter in the cup. We initiated this cup because we really and truly want to be good role models for our children and we need to be cognizant of our language, in front of them - and on the whole.

My mother never swore. My father never swore. I don't remember any of my siblings swearing. But I am ashamed to admit that I am a different story. My ability to make a sailor blush makes me think that maybe I really was left on the doorstep in a clothes basket as an infant and am not one of them, after all.

Whatever the case, whenever I get really frustrated, bad language will flow from my lips like the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon gorge.

And flow.

And flow.

When I started throwing IOU's in the curse cup because I ran out of money, I knew that I had a problem. Try as I might to shield our children from the dump that is my mouth when I get angry, there have been moments when their delicate ears are exposed to my vernacular garbage.

It shames me to write that.

I know I must do better. By and large, I don't curse at all around our children, but $*#%!! it is so difficult for me to hold my tongue when a 3-year old hijacks a new container of mayonnaise out of the refrigerator and squeezes it all over the kitchen counter, their hair - their siblings hair - and the cordless phone you accidentally left within their reach.

Recently, I came to the conclusion that I am completely incapable of not cursing, it's just not a reality for me. Especially not as the mother of three year old triplets. I'd have better luck willing my blue eyes to be brown.

Although I think the idea of a curse cup is a good one, the punishment of a quarter for each time I uttered, or screamed as is often the case, a bad word was not enough of a deterrent. So, I decided that in lieu of continuing the futile effort that came with scribbling down notes that read "Due curse cup $10.50" I would try word substitution.

With great trepidation for the respect that I am positively certain I am going to lose from many of you, I hereby admit that the absolute worst word in my bad word arsenal is the f-bomb. It is only used in the most horrific of circumstances or when I am really irate, but when it is uttered, I can honestly say that I am immediately filled with a sense of satisfaction. But that sense of satisfaction is quickly offset by self loathing at my inability to not use this dreadful word.

It's classless, I know.

Because I do not want our children being damaged by the shrapnel every time this bomb is dropped, I have tried desperately to substitute the word "berry" in it's nasty, ugly place. It is for this reason that Charlie and I had a "conversation" this past weekend that went something like this...

Me: "Charlie. If we're going to get to the zoo at a reasonable hour, we should probably get the kids packed and in to the car. Why don't you head up getting the triplet's shoes on and load them in to their carseats while I change the baby's diaper?"

Charlie: "Sounds good."

I walk in to the nursery and am greeted by every single linen that we own, strewn across the floor. There is an entire sleeve of diapers - out of their sleeve - across the ground along with all of Henry's burp cloths and all the tissues from a box of Kleenex. My blood is instantly boiling. Charlie was just in the nursery with the triplets. Did he not notice that things were ... how to say ... a little out of place?

I change the baby and stepping over the mess, walk to the front door where I am greeted by my happy and smiling husband.

Me: "So, uh, what the berry happened in the nursery? Did you not see all the berrying stuff all over the berrying ground? It's like a berrying bomb went off in there!"

Charlie: "Jen, I don't look at that stuff because if I do, it will drive me nuts."

Me: "What do you mean you don't look at it? How the berry can you not look at it? I'd much rather have you be 1/2 nuts and me be 1/2 nuts than have me be 100% BERRYING nuts."

Charlie: "We need to get out of the house to get to the zoo. It will be dealt with later."

Jen: "It will be dealt with later? By whom? The berrying cleanup fairy? Everybody needs a berrying cleanup fairy. I could use one for sure! Maybe two. Heck, I'd like a berrying bucket load of berrying cleanup fairies!! What the berrying BERRY. You know who I am?? I AM THE BERRYING CLEANUP FAIRY. The one that is incapable of leaving the berrying house when it looks like a big old berrying bomb went the berry off."

Now before anyone gets the wrong idea that my husband doesn't contribute to cleaning up our house, that is simply not the case. He does a remarkable job of helping to insure order. But without question, he does not wage the same neurotic fight against entropy that I do.

I'm not sure if this is a woman thing, or what. But I truly envy his ability to look the other way.

You know what else I envy?

His ability to never swear.

I don't know how the berry he does it.

fighting entropy

I've discovered that the reason I feel rushed all the time is because I am. There is always something to do. But I'm always behind.

I'm recovering from the holidays and have been battling a head cold. Unfortunately, the cold medicine I've been taking hasn't helped with my ability to do much of anything - except go through a 1/2 box of Kleenex a day, as opposed to two.

For instance, last night, Charlie and I were preparing to go to sleep and I started to tell him about a story that my sister, Beth, had relayed to me. I dozed off three times, just in telling my husband that my father's downstairs toilet overflowed and my sister used a wet vac to suck up 20 gallons of water. Charlie had to keep waking me up.

"Jen. You said that the toilet overflowed and there was water everywhere. Was that the end of the story?"

"Oh good gracious no! Beth had to use a wet vac and she sucked up.... zzzzzzzz."

"Jen?"

Yesterday, I took a day off. It wasn't really a day "off" because I still dressed and fed our four children and ran the dishwasher. But, I didn't do anything else. Why, I didn't even get out of my own pajamas until late afternoon.

All day yesterday, I laid on the floor, in front of a roaring fire, playing with the new blocks Santa brought our children for Christmas. I was busy creating small block structures - that I desperately tried to keep our kids from knocking down or 'messing up' and then, when I was finished, I organized every last block, cylinder and wedge in to tidy rows in the crate which they arrived.

I love being organized. I love having a neat environment. I love knowing where things are. Seeing the blocks arranged so neatly in their crate satisfied me to my very core.

But they didn't stay that way for long.

Because children, by their very nature, are the epitome of disorder.

Seafloor spreading moves continents. Wind and water erode rock. Roots and insects breakdown soil.

Children move whatever they can, erode their parent's patience and breakdown anything that they encounter.

Today, I'm paying the price for not doing anything other than feed the kids yesterday. There are loads of laundry scattered around the house and piles of stuff that need to be put away. Stuff that I first need to find a space to put away, because we outgrew this house the moment we brought three children home from the hospital.

It is an understatement to say that it is a constant struggle to have any sort of order in a small house that is filled to absolute capacity with two adults, four children and a dog.

Charlie was out of the house and off to work early, and I woke up to disorder. Because it is nearly impossible to get anything done when the children are awake, I instantly started to feel flustered and began to beat myself up over my lack of discipline.

Maybe if I got up earlier, or went to bed later - I could get everything done while the children sleep and then I could be with them every second that they are awake and not busy with things like trying to fold a load of laundry. Or, wash some random dishes. Or, eat. Or go to the bathroom. Because I was serious when I recently told Charlie that I honestly don't have time to visit the restroom during the day and adult diapers might be extremely useful for a busy parent, like myself.

While I was feeling like I was still at the starting gate and my children were almost completely around the track and on their way back to the barn, my mother called.

As I'm on the phone talking to my mom, Henry has a blowout poop. It is soaked through his shirt and up his back. Of course I need to change him. But as I'm taking off his clothes, the poop smears all over his arms, chest and head. It is behind his ears. I only have a few wipes left. And do I really want to use cold wipes all over my baby's body on a chilly January morn?

Mom is telling me "throw him in the sink!" so I do.

But only after he is in the sink and completely covered in soap do I realize I don't have a towel. So, I wrap my baby in a dishrag and bring him to the nursery.

In the two and a half minutes it takes me to get the baby dressed, the triplets flip over the trash can and empty it of it's contents. There are coffee grinds, melon rinds and the contents of a dirty diaper on the floor that I just painstakingly mopped.

Mom tells me that I should load them up and get out. Normally, this is something that I do everyday, but it's close to lunch and nap time.

Mom tells me that I should open the back door and let them run in the yard. But, Molly has had free rein of the backyard for the past week and I don't want our kids traipsing through dog poop, or a pup lawn hors d'oeuvre, as my cousin Kathy calls it.

I tell my mother that I've been reading the Bible a lot lately and am looking for guidance. I also tell her that I really wish Jesus had had children. More specifically, I wish that He had triplets and a baby. I would really love to know how the Son of God would handle parenthood. Would He yell out "Father, please help me!!"? Or would He send his kids off to Montessori - or - hire a helper?

Mom laughed and said, "Jen, so what? So what if the house is a mess? So what if there is dog poop in the yard? So what if everything isn't perfect? Aren't these the children that you always wanted and prayed for? They won't always be little. They won't always be in to everything and making a mess every where they go. One day, you will have a clean house again. But for now, go out in the yard and let them help you pick up the dog poop. They'd love it. Just let go."

This is something that I already knew, but needed to be reminded of. With my mother's advice, I handed one child a pooper scooper and plastic bags to the other two.

Much to my surprise, when chaos causing agents are in mixed company, peace reigns. At least until the kids get in to a fight over who's turn it is to scoop poop.

But because the battlefield of bedlam can be a messy environment, it's a good idea to wear washable shoes.

auld lang syne

2007 a year in review...

What an amazing and wonderful time this past year has been...
There were some highs and some lows and nary a splash of gin.

Although I certainly can dream...
For a super-sized can of whipped cream.

We rearranged furniture and did a minor remodel of the house...
We visited the zoo, took ballet, gymnastics, and used our toilet to trap a mouse.

There were weekly triplet play dates, painting and sketchy potty training...
Broken appliances and an out of control wild fire because there ain't enough raining.

Most importantly we welcomed our beautiful and perfect baby boy...
Henry David has brought us many sleepless nights but an infinite amount of joy.

Noni and Jimbo flew to California to offer a helping hand...
Without their assistance we wouldn’t have one leg on which to stand.

We celebrated 13 years of marital bliss…
We spent time with lots of family including Susan, Charlie's sis.

With four small children we have been praying daily to a Higher Power...
It's because of our faith that we are able to get dressed and some days, even take a shower.

Despite the craziness, we count our blessings daily and thank the good Lord above…
For bringing four children in to our home that is overflowing with love.

As this year comes to a close, I wish every one of you reading this much cheer...
Thanks for dropping by have a healthy, happy and safe New Year!

no mercy

Nothing says Christmas like a brightly lighted tree. The holy nativity scene. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. The smell of evergreen. A cold glass of egg nog. Home cooked meals. A crackling fire. Joyous carols.

Friends.

Family from afar.

Staying up late and playing games that were received from Santa.

Making your young niece and nephew cry when you take all of their property, all of their money and crush them in a game of Monopoly.


And to think, that man is the father of my children.

exclusive nursing

When you like to eat this:


Who needs this:


When you've got this?


We'll restart solids next week.

Or, whenever our Christmas confection supply is exhausted.

Until then ... Joy to the world!