no one said the road getting there would be easy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chez charlie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the big one zero zero zero

This post represents my ONE THOUSANDTH published blog entry.

One Thousand.

1,000.

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

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

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

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

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

Don't doubt it for a minute.

You. Are. Awesome.

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

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

Except vacuum. And that would be too obvious.

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

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

I am happy! I am mad!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A DOZEN REASONS TO LEAVE SAN DIEGO

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

A DOZEN REASONS TO STAY IN SAN DIEGO

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

11) And this...

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

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

My head hurts from all this thinking.

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

Ah yes. That's much better.

where do we go from here?

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

I couldn't help but smile.

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there was a fire.

A big fire.

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

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

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

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

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

They want him. Badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

size matters

Our triplets were born at around the same birth weights.

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

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

Elizabeth will eat anything, but in very small portions.

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

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

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

The heels, the crusts and everything in between.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Take THIS you little peanut!)

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

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

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

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

favorite thing friday

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

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

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

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

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

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

They cover topics on public transportation...

And interfacing with the general population.

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

We're working on it.

The manners cards also cover meal time...

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

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

And that gives me a little hope for the future.

just call me poppy seed

Today is Charlie's birthday.

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

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

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

Of course they didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

So, today was the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sure, preschoolers and toddlers love balloons!!

But you know who really doesn't love them?

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

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

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

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

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

(It took several minutes.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

Heidi

Erika

Carrie

Susie

Jo

Cynthia

Karen

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

How's the running going?

random questions on a tuesday afternoon

Is it possible to live off of yogurt alone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What EXACTLY is he trying to tell us?

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