a camping we shall go

We went camping this past weekend.

When our friend called us on Friday afternoon and asked if we would be up for camping "sometime" and we tossed out the idea of leaving on Saturday, he couldn't believe that we would be so spontaneous as to pack up the children and a tent and leave on less than 24 hours notice.

Clearly he doesn't know us very well.

Charlie and I used to camp all the time, but this is the first time we have taken our children camping. Probably by the nature of studying geology, we spent a large portion of our college experience in 'the field'. We love spending time in nature and sleeping outdoors, away from noise and light.


After driving two hours to the north and ascending curvy mountainous roads, we unloaded the car at our camp site and Elizabeth promptly threw up the contents of her stomach. Thankfully, she was sick the moment after she stepped out of the vehicle and not the moment before while she was seated inside, because vomit coating our equipment that was squeezed in to every square inch of car space might have meant an immediate end to our outdoor adventure.

Our friend has three children under the age of five - so together with our four children under the age of four - we had seven small children running around and playing. But at one point, Charlie and I decided that if we had been on this trip - alone with our children - it would have been a lot less stressful and more enjoyable. It seems the combination of new children plus our children created an energy level that now as I'm thinking back on it, just hurts my head. My head hurts even more when I think of Carolyn opening our friend's cooler and intentionally crushing her finger in to several of their eggs that just moments before, they had told me they planned to use for a "special" breakfast.

Although we both have a lot of small children, we have triplets.

Our friend does not.

This weekend, I realized just how much work triplets really are. They are more than "just" three kids. The level of effort is exponential. Three children. The same age. The same wants. The same competitions. The same idiosyncracies because of their developmental stage.


Our friend has taken off the past several years from his career to stay home with his children where he works with them extensively on reading, writing and math. He grows all of his own food organically, and is teaching them to play various instruments. He and his wife are teaching their children to be trilingual, since they speak English, Gujarati Hindi and Punjabi, interchageably at home. They are doing an incredible job of raising their children, but when my friend told me that his children have never thrown a temper tantrum because they don't know what a temper tantrum is, I felt like kicking him in the shins.

At one point, I looked over to see him sitting down quietly with his four-year old son and quizzing him on the curriculum of a First Grade activity book while our children were laying face down licking dirt.


No sooner had we started a fire and I was desperate to get our kids to bed. Instantly, my visions of keeping the children up late in to the evening and wrapped warmly in a blanket so we could star gaze, dissolved.

Their lack of an afternoon nap and over indulgence on sugar caused them to run around the camp site with their arms literally waving over their heads while shouting "ARGHARGHARGH!"

I sensed it was the perfect storm brewing and I could just see children falling one after the other directly in to the fire pit. So, while I was sitting nursing Henry at the campfire with our friends, Charlie was trying to get the children in their pajamas. They were so crazy excited to be in a tent, they were bouncing around and pushing each other to and fro.

At one point, Carolyn shoved William who smacked in to Charlie's face and sent his glasses flying. Charlie yelled, all eyes and flashlights from the campfire quickly turned up to see what was happening and when I went to investigate, I found my husband, terribly flustered and ready to wrap the kids in tent line.


Fresh from sitting with our friend and his prodigal children who were calling out all the capitols of the United States, I approached the tent with a gentle and quiet mind. Having been separated from the children for a good 10 minutes prior to that outburst, I had summoned patience and was better able to interface with our children than my husband, who had been subjected to their bedtime ritual insanity.

When I walked up to the tent, I actually said, "Hello Children. Let us all be peaceful loving souls on the earth, Kumbaya."

They just looked at me and I could see their beautiful blue eyes spinning in their heads. Instantly, I could feel myself being sucked in to their vortex of crazy and then someone sat on the potty and in a fit of acting goofy, proceeded to dump a bottle of water all over themself and their dry pajamas and I cracked like Jimmy Corn.

The words I started yelling didn't even make sense. But then again, dumping WATER on yourself when you are CAMPING and it gets COLD at night and you only have ONE pair of pajamas doesn't make sense, either. For the second time in less than five minutes, all the flashlights at camp were again on our tent.

I could just imagine what our friends were thinking. "Peace Loving Man. What is with those kids? Who is in control over there? Our children would NEVER behave that way."

Charlie and I got the kids situated inside the tent, duct taped the zipper close, and returning to the camp fire, opened up our bottles of beer which we then drank down faster than we've ever drank down beer. We then talked animatedly about being admitted to a mental institution and laughed like we were crazy.

It continued to get dark and our friend queried his four-year-old son, "What continent is Saudia Arabia on? What about Germany? Afghanistan? India?" Then he turned to astronomy. "What is the smallest planet? What is the largest? What are the planets in order from the sun?" Then on to math. "What is four plus four? What is eight plus two? What is twelve minus eight?"

"Who is the 43rd President of the United States?"

An hour or so later Charlie and I retired to bed feeling like the worst parents ever. Our kids don't know what continent they live on and I suspect they would be easily convinced that we are citizens of Pluto. They have a slight grasp of math, because they all seem to want FIVE of whatever it is we are having. Five strawberries. Five grapes. Five cookies.


Our kids certainly know what temper tantrums are and they know how to throw a good one. If I sat them down with an activity book, it would just be a matter of time before they tore out the pages and ate them. Charlie and I lose our patience and we get extremely frustrated. Sometimes, it seems that the ONLY way we can regain control of a situation is to channel the alphadog.

Sometimes, reward stickers and time outs just don't cut it.

The next morning, when one of our children was in the process of throwing themself on the ground for a temper tantrum, I ashamedly picked them up and quickly took them to the car where we set off on a 20-minute drive. Charlie remained behind at camp with our other three children.

But when I returned from the drive, my husband had a sparkle in his eye and a spring in his step. He pulled me aside to say that one of our friend's children had tried to reach in to their cooler and pull out various food items. The mother had said no. The father had said no. But the child persisted. And then, the mother - the patient, calm, yogi master - started breathing fire from her nostrils. She snapped at her child in a demonic voice while her husband desperately pleaded, "Walk away. Walk away!"

But she didn't walk away.

She stood her ground and a monster emerged.

An ugly, beautiful monster that suddenly didn't make us feel like the worst parents ever, anymore. When Charlie excitedly relayed this story to me, I felt warm with love, compassion, understanding, comraderie. And I did what any person who tries to feign oblivion to a nasty situation would do.

I walked up to my friend who was still fuming and placing my two hands palm together, bowed my head and unsuccessfully trying to suppress my laughter, whispered "Namasté."

Life is good and I honor the Spirit in you which is also in me. Especially that spirit that goes CRAZY when provoked by small people.

And to think ... they almost had us totally fooled.

favorite thing friday

A few months ago, I asked your opinion on baby carriers. I then spent the next several days looking at all of the various carriers that people suggested.

After pondering for a few days what would be the best baby carrier for me, I narrowed it down to two. And then, I happened upon this summary.

Once I learned that with the Beco Butterfly, Henry straps in to the carrier, before he is placed on my back, and then I read a few posts regarding questionable Ergo business practices, I settled on a Beco.

I selected the Sara print because I thought that the colors were more "manly" and something Charlie would opt to wear as opposed to the vibrant flowers I had been considering. Then, I forked over my credit card information and waited on pins and needles for my new baby carrier to arrive.

Once it did arrive, I ripped open the box, spent 30 minutes trying to figure out how to wear it, another hour or so trying to figure out how to put Henry on by myself, and then I fell in love and have been happily baby wearing ever since.

I love this thing.

Although I can wear Henry in the front and the back, I usually wear him in the back. Sometimes he will put up a protest whenever I try to strap him in, but once he is settled on my back, he is positively content. Until he's not. But typically, he's content for a long while - especially if I'm walking around doing things. It's just when I stand still for longer than 10 seconds that he'll take to SCREAMING in my ear.

In fact, I pulled apart our entire garage and cleaned it from top to bottom, with Henry on my back. All told, he was on my back for a solid three hours and he was happy as a clam the whole time. He fell asleep while in the carrier - and although his head was bobbing around, he snoozed for at least an hour, undisturbed. The Beco comes with a sleeping hood that I have tried to use with little success, so perhaps I just need more practice.

The bobbing baby head syndrome really seems to bother Charlie. But since it doesn't seem to bother Henry, it doesn't bother me.

This baby carrier is like another set of arms for me.

While I'm wearing Henry I can vacuum. Wash dishes. Cook dinner. Grocery shop. GO TO THE BATHROOM. Play hopscotch. And if he gets fussy on my back, I can move him around to the front and he sits snuggly against my chest. All the while Henry, who if not in the baby carrier - would very well be chasing me around and chanting "Wahhhh Wahhhh Wahhhh!!" is usually smiling and happy.

He loves it.

I love it.

My almost four-year-olds love it.


Anyone with an infant or toddler would love it.

Especially if they bought it from The Portable Baby because she is having a sale and select prints on these carriers which normally retail for $139.00 are selling for $89.00.

Yes, that would be $50.00 off.

Now, I must go finish packing because we are leaving for a camping trip first thing tomorrow morning. It's just an overnighter in a tent, but the volume of gear we have stockpiled next to our front door, might lead one to believe we were living for a year in Antartica.

an amazing trip trick: what's in the car?

I wasn't planning to write about the contents of my vehicle ... at least not until I first wrote about how I organize our closets and shoes ... but yesterday we had a bit of a mishap while driving on the freeway. And while I was waiting for the fine people from the Automobile Association of America to show up and change our flat tire, I started taking pictures of the inside of our car and mentally drafting the content of this post.

I'm a big time camper ... and a happy one at that.

I love the challenge of going in to the wilderness with everything I need to survive for at least three or four hours. Or, overnight if the weather is warm. So whenever I leave the house, I am almost always thinking, "What if I get stuck somewhere. Do I have everything I need to make my situation tolerable?"

It is for that very reason I carry a bottle of wine and corkscrew almost everywhere I go.

And breath mints. I always have breath mints.

Our car has pockets on the doors, so on the driver side, I have a good supply of Pampers and Bed, Bath & Beyond 20% off coupons. As soon as they arrive in the mail, Costco coupons are added to my stash. Never again will I be unable to buy something that I need while I'm out because I forgot the coupon that will save me a few dollars. A couple years ago, I wised up and started storing all of the coupons that I will ever need in the car so I have them on hand when I'm out.

I also have an ample supply of waterproof pads which work exceptionally well to place in a carseat if you have small children that tend to say "I HAVE TO GO POTTY!! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!!" followed by "OH NO!" before you have the opportunity to slow from 55 miles an hour to a screeching halt.

On the passenger side, I have a large Johnson and Johnson First Aid kit. Within this kit I have added a bottle of Benadryl, because after William was stung by a bee while at a park, I figured it might be a good thing to have an antihistamine immediately available, in the event any of our children ever have an allergic reaction while we were out on one of our wild escapades.

In the dashboard, I have the vehicle owner manual, registration, insurance - a few maps - a bottle of Imodium and a box of Pepto Bismol. In my humble opinion there are few things worse than needing the soothing comfort of certain medications and not having them IMMEDIATELY available. So go on ahead and eat that donut. I got your back.

I have a trash bag, cell phone charger and a box of Kleenex...

And in the center console, I have some pens and paper, Princess bubbles, a Mini Mag flashlight, a tire pressure gauge, a screwdriver (not sure why), a floating penny (doesn't every vehicle have at least one?), some Baskin-Robbins coupons and that orange thing with the silver metal head is a Life Hammer.

My sister Beth bought Charlie and I each Life Hammers for our cars a few years ago, and I have made sure that it is stored in an easily accessible location, where I know it won't get tossed around in the vehicle should we ever (God forbid) flip in to a canal or get in to a serious accident where we are trapped inside. It gives me peace of mind having this little tool in both of our cars.

The hammer will shatter glass and there is a blade that will slice a seatbelt if you are unable to retract it. In my opinion, it is definitely worth the $23.00 (or less, if you buy them in bulk. What a great gift for friends and family, alike!!)

I also have my back pack / diaper bag which contains a change of clothes, wipes, diapers, sunscreen, cookies and a host of other life sustaining supplies.

In the trunk, I have a stroller with me at all times. Even when our children outgrow strollers, I'll probably still have one in the car.

I have a Mexican blanket that we use almost everyday. Anytime we are out, this works great as a table cloth for picnic tables, or a great ground cover for sitting down.

I have a beach umbrella that I picked up at Costco for $12.00 because in Southern California, it frequently happens that there is NO shade in parks and the sun beating down on you can get old after a while.

I have my beloved Baby Bjorn potty chair that I will tuck in the stroller basket and take whenever we leave the car. We (and by "we" I mean "the children") use that potty chair all the time. Whenever we are out at the zoo - or some park - if the kids have to go potty, 9 out of 10 times, I'll walk around a corner and let them do their business. Then, I just dump the contents in a planter (unless there is a "solid" deposit) and spritz the seat clean with my spray bottle. This method is so much easier than trying to schlep four small children in to a public restroom (particularly when I'm by myself) and I am all about keeping things easy.


Let's see. What else...

I have our kite, because you never know when you'll catch a good breeze ... and I have a bag that contains a sweatshirt for all six of us along with six hats.

I have an umbrella and an "empty" bag that is to be used - theoretically - to unload the contents of the car after one of our outings to conveniently bring everything inside.

(When I actually use this technique, it works great.)

Not shown in this picture, because it's not there (but will be when I restock our car tomorrow) are a few bottles of water and a box of Graham Crackers. And last but not least, I have jumper cables.

Several times within the past year, one of the children will click on a light in the back of the van and if I don't notice it before the next day, the battery will drain leaving me unable to start the car and a panic sets in because I MUST GET OUT OF THE HOUSE WITH THE CHILDREN.

The first time this happened, I ran across the street to my neighbor's house and asked if she wouldn't mind giving me a jump. She looked confused. "A jump? As in, on a rope? I'm not sure what you mean?"

When I explained that the battery was dead and I needed to jump start the car, she stepped back and said, "Oh goodness. I think we need a man for that."

A WHAT?!

A man?

To jump start a car?

I assured her that I'm fairly certain I knew how to do it and when she drove her car over in to my driveway - pulling parallel alongside my van - I masterfully put the red on red, black on black on her battery ... and the red on red, black on black on my battery and then directed that she start her car. When I started my car, ZOOM just like that, the engine turned over and I've never felt so proud to be a woman in all of my life.

The same scenario played out while my mother was in town and we again had a dead battery thanks to small children that turned on all the interior lights without my knowledge. And once again, I solicited the help of a neighbor and rolling up my sleeves, re-enacted my dead-battery jump start prowess while my mother gazed on in amazement.

Her daughter, the mechanic.

I am fully capable of doing things like refilling the washer reservoir, checking the oil, and jumping a dead battery. But when it comes to climbing under the car and securing a tire to a 4,000 pound vehicle that transports my offspring, I'll gladly fork over the $71.00 a year for membership to AAA.


Free maps, travel services, discounts at fine hotels and establishments across the country, and capable mechanics that show up in gleaming tow trucks within 30 minutes to save the day?

That is money well spent.

Amen to that.

school just paid for itself

One of the most appealing draws for me to the Montessori program is that children are taught to be self sufficient, contributing members of a household. They are encouraged to participate in various activities, but they are equally encouraged to take responsibility and tidy up after themselves.

Last night, after their bath, the children were playing with their alphabet blocks. They were constructing towers and knocking them down, clacking the blocks together, sounding out the various letters, throwing them at each other ... that sort of fun stuff.

When I told them it was time for their bedtime story, William grabbed the bag that the blocks are stored in, and without any prompting from me first, called out to his sisters said "Come on goyls, let's clean up!"

And they did.

They cleaned up after themselves while Charlie and I hugged each other and wept with joy.

wednesday weigh in

Hi. How are you doing?

Me?

Well... I learned a few things this week.

I learned that it's not a good idea to eat edamame and drink a big glass of milk before you exercise. I also learned that when you're just starting out, if you put too much thought in to exercise, you're more likely to not do it.

That's right.

The more you think about taking a break for yourself, the more things will get in your way. For instance.

I'll fold a load of laundry first. Oh, now I should put that load of laundry away. But before I do, I'll just dash in and use the bathroom. OH LOOK. We're out of toilet paper. Saaaay. When's the last time this bathroom was cleaned? The floor is filthy. Are all the floors this filthy? Oh my goodness, they are. I'll just run the mop over them really quick. Did I pay the bills? Did I mail that thank you note? Did I remember to call the dentist? Oops. It's dinner time. Darn. I can't exercise after I eat. Double darn. Now it's dark.

I guess I'll have to try again tomorrow.

Shucks if my life isn't just so darn busy.

Contrast that with walking past the basket of unfolded clothes, by the bathroom that is in need of a new roll of toilet paper, across the dirty floors and directly in to your room where you put on a pair of shorts and exercise shoes, pick up a jump rope and flop around for the next 15 minutes.

Don't think about it.

Just do it.

When you take the break and are doing whatever it is that you do, try to clear your mind and keep the focus on you. For me at least, whenever I let thoughts surrounding work or my evergrowing to-do list seep in to my mind, the more likely I am to stop exercising, or cut my workout short, so I can go home and tackle a task that will be replaced by a new task as soon as I finish it.

Unless you are in prison with nothing else to do, or you are a workout fanatic, no time will ever be convenient. There will always be something else that you could be doing. But whatever you do, don't fool yourself in to thinking that you shouldn't be exercising because you don't have the time. Because when you take that time for yourself to workout - when it's just you doing something good for your body - the rewards are immense.

You will find yourself able to function so much better in every facet of your life. Provided, of course, you don't strain a muscle and hobble around for a few weeks.

I learned this week that having good music when you feel like you don't have it in you to take another step and are about to bonk ... can make all the difference in the world.

One second I feel like my lungs are about to explode and I must stop and lay down motionless, the next second, I hear the introduction to Chariots of Fire and I have new found energy and am unstoppable. My stride is back, I'm smiling, I'm running across a beach in white shorts.

Even though I can clearly see that the shadow my body has cast on the ground is jiggling, I pay it no mind. There is no flab. Just lean muscle.

I also learned this week that when my husband downloads Quiet Riot on to MY iPod shuffle and I'm out running up a really big hill and am in DIRE need of some good tunage to help me reach the summit, the absolute last song that I want to hear on MY iPod is Bang Your Head.

It kind of makes me want to bang his head.

Now because I think goals are important to keep me progressing, I have registered for a super sprint triathlon on October 19 to benefit Ovarian Cancer Research and the Surf City 5K run on February 1.

With any luck, I'll be able to convince some of the women in my family to join me in 2009 for the Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk in honor of my sister, Mary. Location to be determined. But possibly Boston, July 24-26.

I'll be having another giveaway at the end of October following the completion of my SECOND triathlon, so come on ... challenge yourself!!

How are you doing with your goals?

snippets 1 through 3

ONE.

We recently purchased three new car seats for our second vehicle (a truck with a 3/4 cab) since both of us will be driving and dropping children off at school.

Today, as I drove the children to school in the truck, they were giddy with excitement to be driving in the seldomly-used-vehicle, packed tightly in to the backseat, mere inches from my head. As they were bouncing around in their car seats making so much noise I could hardly think, I tried playing the "I SPY" game with them.

"I spy ... a school bus. Do you see the school bus?"

"AARGHHAHAHAHAAA I'm a TIGAH!! I'm a ZEBWA! I... I... I an EWEFANT! Hahaha dat SO funny!! AARGHHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Heads were thrashing about, arms were flailing in the air, legs were kicking my seat and the glee was enough to make me crash in to a sign post.

"OK. OK. Order in the truck. I spy ... an airplane! Who sees the airplane?"

"AARGHHAHAHAHAAA. You not a ZEBWA. You a MONKEY!!! You... you... you a LEOPAHD! You a DOFIN and you eat FISH! Bwahahahahahaha!!!!"

Finally, in a last ditch attempt to lower the energy level in the car before we all perished, I asked "Hey guys, I have something to tell you. Do you remember our good friends The Halverson Boys? Well, they moved far, far away to England for a little while and they are living in a brand new house with their mommy and daddy. And ... and ... and ... GUESS WHAT HAPPENED?!"

They took a pause from their out of control laughter and slowly responded, "....what?"

I continued, "Well, last week, they were sitting in their living room WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN a car that was being chased by the POLICE crashed in to the tree in THEIR FRONT YARD. It almost crashed RIGHT IN TO THEIR HOUSE."

They were quiet, so I elaborated, "So they are sitting there, reading their books and WHAM! the car crashed RIGHT IN TO THE TREE. And they all screamed "AHHH!!" and they jumped up and looked out the window and they saw the police!! IN THEIR YARD, chasing a bad man down the street!!"

For several seconds the silence continued while my children tried to imagine the scene unfold. William then piped up, "Mommy. Dat's a REALLY good story. Tell it again."

I told that story eleven more times on the drive to school.

So thank you, Debbie. And thank you to the lone criminal in Lowestoft, England. For without this highly entertaining tale, I surely would have crashed my car in to a tree on the drive to school, today.

********

TWO.

Last week when my mother and Jim were in town, they took the triplets to the pool almost everyday, so Charlie and I could efficiently complete some errands with minimal disruption.

Although it was great to have the opportunity for some quiet time with my husband and Henry, I felt like I was really missing out on some serious fun of splashing in the pool with my family.

When they went to the pool on a particularly busy Labor Day and Charlie and I were out shopping for school supplies, William, who had been sitting in the hot tub, suddenly yelled out "OH NO NONI!! I GO POO-POO!!"

While the hot tub rapidly cleared of people, my mother jumped up - hustled my son off to the restroom - and after a quick investigation of his swim trunks, determined that thankfully, he had had a false alarm. When my mom returned to the pool with William, notifying those who had congregated around the hot tub that there was in fact no poop, she decided that it might be a good opportunity to take the girls in to the restroom.

When mom called out, "Carolyn and Elizabeth, come on girls, get out of the pool and let's go use the potty!" Elizabeth sweetly replied for anyone within ear shot to hear, "Dat's OK, Noni. I just went pee-pee in da pool" and Carolyn chimed in "ME TOO!"

I'm so sorry I missed out on all that good fun. Honestly, I only taught them to pee in the shower. Clearly, our homeowner's association needs to post one of those "Welcome to our OOL" signs. Notice, there's no "P" in the pool.

And then, I need to teach our children how to read and obey.

********

THREE.

Very recently, I've determined that I don't want our children watching television. With the exception of a handful of PBS children shows that I'll allow them to see once or twice a week, the television remains OFF during the day.

The triplets are at an age where they absorb everything that they see, and when they were repeating entire lines from the "G" movies in our library, re-enacting semi-violent scenes, and waking up from nightmares involving Shrek, I decided to package all of our movies up and move them out of sight. My objective has become sheltering our children from entertainment marketing, as much as possible, for as long as possible, to hopefully prevent any further permeation of violence in to their young lives.

On Saturday, we attended a birthday party where William discovered a toy Batman figurine that once he spotted, did not leave his grasp for the next three hours. He didn't even know who or what Batman was but once he eyed the mask and cape and boots and CAPE, he was enthralled.

When it was time to leave and we informed him that he needed to return Batman, there were tears. Big tears. He begged "Please, mommy, can I have Batman? I NEED BATMAN."

The whole ride home, that evening, the entire next day, "Mommy. I NEED BATMAN. I need Batman. You take me to a Batman store and you get me Batman? Batman. Batman. I need Batman. We go to Batman store. I get BATMAN."

I am not exaggerating when I say that TIMES TEN THOUSAND is the approximate number of times I was asked for Batman on Sunday.

Finally, before my ears fell off my head, I went to the Batman store. Also known as Target.

We perused the aisles for several items on our list before making it over to the figurine section. William immediately spotted the Batman that he wanted. And then, he immediately wanted me to open the 20 millimeter thick plastic box that BATMAN was housed in, which would have been impossible with out a hack saw.

So the whole ride home, "You open Batman? You get me Batman? When we get home, you open Batman? I play with Batman? MY BATMAN! MY BATMAN! You open Batman for me?"

Yes, Raymond. I will open Batman for you.

My son was hugging and kissing his toy Batman. For several hours, he was zooming Batman all around the house while his cape flapped in the breeze. At bedtime, I tucked William in, recited his prayers that included a special request that God please keep Batman safe, and then I gave my son a kiss on the head.

Followed by a kiss on top of Batman's pointy head.

When I went to check on the children before turning in for the night, I found William with Batman tightly in his grasp.

At 4:03 AM, I was awoken by a distraught William standing over me asking in a voice much too loud for 4:03 AM, "MOMMY. WHERE MY BATMAN?! BATMAN GONE. MOMMY I NEED BATMAN!! I NEED BATMAN NOW!!!"

I whispered to him, "Oh good gracious, why in the WORLD are you awake at 4 AM? And more importantly why did you have to wake me up, too?! WILLIAM. The sun is not up yet, you shouldn't be, either!!"

He persisted, "MOMMY. YOU GO FIND MY BATMAN. I NEED BATMAN!"

So I heaved myself out of bed, staggered down the hall to his room and groggily searched for Batman in the dark. I found the jagged little figurine underneath his pillow and when I revealed the contents of my grasp to my son, his concerned expression instantly relaxed and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Oh Batman, DARE you are!"

I tucked my young son back in to bed with his Batman and as my eyes adjusted to the dim lit room, I lovingly gazed at my little boy, trying to sear in to my memory the moment. His beautiful blond hair on the pillow, his bright blue eyes gratefully peering up at me, his too-big dinosaur pajamas, his fist clenched tightly on a new superhero toy. I leaned down and kissed his soft baby cheek and whispered, "I really and truly love you little guy."

He smiled and said "Dank you, Mommy. Dank you for finding my Batman." Then he added, "I weally and twuly love..." my heart swelled in anticipation before he added, "Batman."

Huh. I never would have guessed.

month fourteen: in review

My little Henry ... you turned 14 months old this past week and I think it is safe to say that the baby love honeymoon I had been enjoying with you is on pause.


Within the past three weeks, you have learned to walk. And from the moment that you took your first steps and experienced upright mobility, you crave all things vertical.


You do not want to be held.


You do not want to be contained.


You are a toddler on the (unsteady) move.


It takes everything I have in my power to strap you in to a carseat, stroller, or load you in to a baby carrier. And I can just forget about having you sit still for a picnic lunch.


Your first trip to the pediatric dentist this month was the most traumatic 30 seconds of your life and every day since then, when I've had to brush your teeth, it is like reliving the nightmare. I don't remember your siblings putting up this much of a fight to have a soft-bristled brush run across their teeth. Maybe the agony of brushing a baby's teeth is just one of those things I've successfully blocked out of my psyche.


Whenever I do hold you, you will slam your head in to my face. You'll arch your back and push yourself off of me. When all else fails, you'll swing your little baby fists at my nose.

If, however, you want to be held and I am not in a position to do so, you will chase me around the house, crying, shattering glass with your piercing screams and sending the dogs in our neighborhood in to a frenzy.


Unfortunately, my patience with your siblings deteriorates rapidly when you start up with this kind of behavior. And they know it, too. Because whenever you'll start your shrieking, they will unanimously yell "HENRY!! BE QUIET!! YOU DRIVE MAMA NUTS!!"

During the time that mom and Jim were in town, your slightly-improved sleep habits tanked. Instead of sleeping 11 hours at night, you were waking up every 3 hours and causing such a ruckus that if I didn't get you, my mother would.

Your nap routine went down the tubes and you became even more difficult than I imagined possible. But, the experience was a good one for me. Because it taught me that when we have people come to visit, I need to move your crib out to the garage and close the door.

We recently moved your crib in to your sisters room and for the past two days, you have slept exceptionally well. I was concerned that having you in the middle of the house in a room with no doors would really disrupt your fragile sleep routine.

But instead, it appears that when you are in the middle of the action, you sleep better than when you are sequestered in a dark and peaceful space. Now we crank up AC/DC whenever we put you down for a nap and we are guaranteed at least a solid two hours of peace.

But your screaming and sleeplessness and combative manners aside, you remain adorable.


You waddle when you walk, with arms bent up at your sides and fists clenched.


You are completely unfazed when your sister decorates you in princess stickers.


You are so bright and mimic everything that you see.


And because you have moments of pudgy baby cuddliness...


... that more than offsets all the horrific age-appropriate behavior you inflict on those in your life.

we'll call it "real motherhood" by jen

Our plan going forward is that whoever works, will drop the children off at school on their way out. Then, whomever is at home with Henry will pick them up at noon. Because the school is a 20-minute drive from our house, this arrangement will save one person from having to drive 80 minutes a day, dropping children off and picking them up again.

But today, because it was the first day of school, both Charlie and I participated in the drop-off ceremony. With all that we had to do to get prepared last night, we weren't in bed until 2 AM. So this morning, I felt like I was running behind from the get-go. My attire consisted of cargo pants, flip flops and a t-shirt that I'm fairly certain was clean. All the other parents that I saw dropping kids off were driving shiny European cars and wearing Gucci sunglasses that coordinated with their pumps.

After I dropped the children off, I drove 20 minutes home, took 15 minutes to update my blog with pictures, cleaned up from breakfast, made three beds, threw in a load of laundry, fed Henry lunch, read him a story, vacuumed two rooms, ate a handful of M&M's and it was time to drive the 20 minutes back to school to pick the children up.

There was no work out today.

No leisurely pedicure.

No strolling through the local farmer's market.

When I arrived at school this afternoon, I was late. I thought the children got out at noon. Turns out they are dismissed at 11:50. The kids were sitting on the little bench in front of the school with their teacher. All the other part-time students were gone. The kids were so excited, they were yelling "Mama! Dat was fun! I want to do dat again!!"

Meanwhile, here I come, late and feeling frazzled because what was intended to be a relaxing morning was anything but. I was holding what I thought to be a sweaty Henry in one arm, which it turns out, the wetness I was feeling was because my son had a poop monstrosity, the likes of which I have not seen since his newborn days.

All over me.

My arm. My shirt. My pants.

I didn't even notice. It was the kind director of the school who pointed out the explosion.

I don't want to have the title of the oblivious mother who shows up late covered in poop. So Wednesday when it is my turn to pick the children up again, I am going to arrive 10 minutes early and wear something fancy.

Or, maybe I'll just see about starting a new trend.

they're off

After the triplets were almost kicked out of the church nursery school last weekend ... oh, I didn't tell you about that? ... today as we were driving to school, I concocted a song sung to the theme of "We're Off To See the Wizard" from The Wizard of Oz.


It went something like this:

"We're off to go to school, where we'll follow all the rules. We listen to what our teacher says and we take turns and don't cry. We love to learn and learn and learn and we do not pick our nose, we love to share and go to the potty and not wait too late and wet our pants. And then we'll eat our lunch and make sure we drink our water. And then mommy will come back for us and we'll all go to the zoo! HURRAY!!"

The kids loved that song, so I sang it again, with extra emphasis on not picking our nose or wetting our pants. Because that seems to be a problem, lately.

Today is a shorter day for them since they are only scheduled to be at school for two hours. Tomorrow, they'll start at 8:45 and be picked up at noon.

Carolyn told me this morning, "Mommy, I so excited. I not cry today at school. I be happy!!"


We've been building this up so much, that everyone was thrilled to go. There were no tears. Not from the children, and not from me. Well, not until I saw that the first month's tuition is due.


As we drove away, I knew that if it wasn't for Henry in the backseat laughing at the bubbles I was blowing in to the vent so that they would billow over the seats towards him, today would have been a lot more difficult for me.

I just can't believe my babies are off to school.

I also can't believe that I've only been home for 45 minutes and it's time to go pick them up, again.

all consuming

Montessori school starts tomorrow.

We spent the better part of this last week and almost this entire weekend, purchasing and assembling the items that are necessary for the children starting school.

We purchased three small plants for each of our children's classrooms, selected three books for each of the classrooms, picked out three new lunch boxes, filled out the equivalent of a Masters Thesis in paperwork for all three children, compiled Earthquake kits for each of our three children, and so, so, so much more.

We've had pep talks and wiped away tears.

Mine, not theirs.

When I think of how this experience is going to positively shape our children's lives, I am filled with excitement. But when I think of dropping my precious babies off to be in the care of someone other than me ... for three hours a day ... I feel nauseous. What if some crazy person wanders on to campus? What if there IS an earthquake and I am separated from them? What if there is a bully in class? What if the teacher is too harsh?

What the hell am I doing?

How is it that I feel like throwing up ... and yet also ... feel like kicking up my heels and dancing?

Last night, in the midst of getting ready for preschool - which seems to be taking more time than when I moved away my Freshman year in college - we pulled apart the entire house.

For five hours, we moved furniture.


We removed the twin-over-full bunk bed from "the boys room" (with the help of our next door neighbor) and moved it in to "the girls room". Then we moved all the furniture from "the girls room" in to "the boys room" and then, once everything was in place that we had depicted on our cut-to-scale paper model - we sat and scratched our heads and tried to figure out how in the world we could fit two full-size beds, one crib, two dressers and a partridge in a pear tree in to two rooms that are 120 square feet a piece and WHY it worked so bloody well on paper, but wasn't working "real time" at all.

I was so desperate to get the house put back together before morning because I absolutely did not want to wake up to the mess that our house had become. So once we put the children all to bed - and we knew that they were asleep - we continued moving their beds while they slept.

"Shhhhh. OK, pull it that way. OK, hold on, hold on, hold on. I think he's moving. Wait a second................................OK. OK. PULL. SHHHHH. QUIETLY! OK. OK. A little further. STOP!!! SHHHH!! HE'S MOVING."

We never could resolve the furniture placement last night, so at 1 AM, we called it quits and went to bed. When we woke up this morning, we were greeted by a house that was almost completely upside down. My chi was all out of sorts because every room was completely un-feng shui and the impeded flow of energy in a room truly effects my chakras. Couple that with my inability to walk to the bathroom and I'm a real peach to be around.


So I decided to take a break and go swimming with one of my friends.

With each stroke, I was praying for divine enlightenment as to how to rearrange the furniture in our house. When I told my friend of my woes, and inability to do anything other than dwell on where things should go, she volunteered her husband to come over and help Charlie move the twin-over-full bunk bed back in to "the boys room" and move Henry's crib in to "the girls room" along with all of their furniture which had been moved in to "the boys room" the day before.


It was really nice of her to offer up her husband, because the last thing I'd ever want to do is call the neighbor that broke his back for three hours yesterday helping us to move furniture only to ask him to come back and help again.

When I went home and told Charlie that we needed to move everything back to where it had been originally, my children's father balked at the behemoth task. But I offered up a lot of incentives including ... oh, never mind.

****

I wasn't on a blog strike, I've just been terribly busy. Nor have I run out of things to write about. The truth is, I've never had so many things to discuss as I do at this very moment. I could write two posts every single day for the rest of the year and still not write about all the things that I have in mind. But with three free hours a day, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll try.

Provided I'm not sitting in the parking lot with my undivided attention focused on the school to insure nothing happens to my babies.

wednesday weigh in

I dread writing these weigh-in posts only to record I haven't really done much this week.

Sure, I went running one day and went to the pool one day. But on that one day I went to the pool with the intention to work out, I didn't swim because the water was chilly, so instead I climbed in to the hot tub, hung on to the wall, and kicked my legs. For a solid two minutes I kicked. And then I just sat with my back on the jets and stared at the pretty palm trees swaying over head.

So no more am I going to write posts like that.

This is a new game, baby.

AND I AM ON.

I've got until October 19 to get ready for my next triathlon.

There will be a schedule. There will be running three days a week, swimming at least two days a week and bicycling at least one day a week. Although I hear the key to improving your triathlon time is to cycle more, because you spend more time on a bike than anything else.

But, man!

There are some huge hills around my neighborhood. So I think that one day a week over this terrain is probably the equivalent of five days on flat. And yes, as a matter of fact this is a real example of the rationalization I provide to myself.

The kids start Montessori on Monday and since I'll *only* have one baby and 15 hours of *free* time each and every week, I plan to hit the gym with vengeance. I just know that it will be so much easier for me to get in to a good exercise routine once the triplets are in school and I'm sure I'll want to go to the gym every day and work out.

As opposed, to say, laying around the house and reveling in the silence.

Not me.

I'm a workout fiend.

Have you ever seen such a competitive racer?


Don't be fooled in to thinking that "Oh What a Beautiful Morning, Oh What A Beautiful Day!" was piped in over the race course. The only thing I heard on that grueling day was the sound of tires, furiously pedaling across asphalt.

I'm not smiling.

I'm grimacing and trying to look FIERCE to my competition.

And here?

The primary reason I'm smiling is because I'm not the last person to cross the finish line and not because I'm going to bust out a really! good! cheer!

Although you'd probably never know that bit about me not finishing last if I hadn't told you. Because from the look of it, there is absolutely no one in sight behind me.

But oh yes, they were there.

Even though they were in the 80 and up age category ... I kicked their asses and they KNOW IT.

a quadrathlon

My husband is trying to convince me that playing tennis on his new Wii is really helping to prepare him physically for the triathlon he is scheduled to participate in, next month.


He can skip running one day a week, if he plays an hour of tennis at night.

Wouldn't it be fun if after swimming and cycling and running, the athletes file on to a virtual tennis court where the winner takes best 3 out of 5?

Charlie and I first met on the tennis courts. We played each other for the intramural singles championship in college, 17 years ago.

I'm not at liberty to say who won.

But I still have the champion t-shirt.

(that I swiped from him once we were dating).

Tonight, my husband and I were beat in tennis by my mother who whooped our behinds with one hand in her pocket. Charlie was trying so hard to keep up that he knocked a glass of water clean off the table and nearly cracked one of our ceiling fan blades in two.

Yeah, my 75-year old mother is running circles around both of us.