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.

who dunnit?

Sometimes deciphering the guilty one...

... is as easy as spotting the one holding the magic marker with the clean face.

the power of support

A few years ago, soon after our triplets were born, I joined an online parenting support forum.

In that forum, I met a woman named Deana. I've written about Deana before. She and her husband, Jack, adopted a little boy and less than two years later, adopted another little boy, born to the same birth mother.

Because Deana lives in San Diego County, we would often toss around the idea of meeting for a play date. But, we'd get busy and time would pass and our get together never came to fruition. Until, last fall when we finally met up at the San Diego Zoo.

Truth be told, I was a little nervous going to meet someone that I had only corresponded with 'online'. For all I knew, Deana was really Dean, a 60-year old man with bad intentions and access to a beautiful adoption story and photos. So, I went to the Zoo with a contingency plan. Charlie was working nearby and said he'd come over if there were any problems and I had an alternate route mapped out to drive home, with lots of twisting and turning roads - where I'd quickly lose anyone that was trying to tail me.

But a phone call to Charlie with the inconspicuous code phrase "Honey, we need more diapers I'm in the reptile house" and extreme minivan driving skills weren't necessary. Because Deana was fully legitimate and we had a great time spending a day together, while our children ran around and played.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from someone asking if I'd heard about Deana ... asking that I check out the online support forum where we had met (and that I very rarely frequent any more because there just aren't enough hours in the day) ... informing me that Deana needed my support.

"Huh?" I wondered. "What could have possibly happened to Deana since I'd last had any type of correspondence with her ... a few days earlier?"

Nothing could have surprised me more when I logged on to the parenting support forum last night and read that my friend had just been diagnosed with stage IV cancer. A very rare form of cancer that affects 100 people a year in the United States. A very rare form of cancer that is extremely aggressive and has a 70% success rate. A very rare form of cancer that really should stay away from a mother who has two small children and a husband that need her.

Most of the night I was up thinking about how scared my friend and her family must be. To have small children - a husband - plans for the future - and to be hit in the middle of all the goodness that is life with something as horrific as Burkitt's lymphoma has to be extremely frightening.

Today, I felt compelled to do something for this woman that I've known through the computer, and met face-to-face, only once. So, this afternoon we loaded up the car with all the children and we drove north, stopping at a few stores along the way so I could put together a gift bag. And then, while Charlie sat in the car with the children - before we went for a hike along the beautiful sandstone cliffs of Torrey Pines - I ran in to the hospital and delivered it to Deana. (All the while, wishing that I had picked out the foot massage kit instead of the lavender body wash and lotion because if I was going to be in the hospital for 2 to 4 weeks, I'd love a foot rub or two. But then again, I always second guess any gift that I select, so why should this be any different?)

Deana didn't know who I was at first considering it had been almost a year since we last saw each other. I visited for less than five minutes because I didn't want to impose on the quiet time Deana was having with her family and I didn't want to leave my husband in the car with four children half of whom were screaming as I walked away because they desperately wanted to go see my "fwiend".

But I wish I could have stayed longer. If for no other reason to explain that journaling is so important to me, and I hope that the journal I added to the gift bag might help her to channel some thoughts. And the nail file and nail brush I added were something that I had picked out because I remember she had left me a comment several months ago that she wanted to stop biting her nails and maybe if they were filed, that might help. Or maybe not. Because I file my nails and still manage to bite them. But maybe she'll be different. And the Jolly Ranchers are because I've heard that hard candy can really help during chemo. And the peanut M&M's are because ... does that really need an explanation coming from me?

What I noticed in the short time I was there, is that Deana - who was receiving her first round of chemo - was surrounded by her family. Her husband, her mother, her father. Those who love her most in the world were by her side. And later, I was thinking about the people who were at her home, caring for her children - and will continue to do so, while Deana heals. And then there are the scores of people from the online parenting forum that are sending her balloons and cards and helping to set up meals, and holding her in their hearts ... constantly.

There are so many people that are coming forth to support this beautiful woman. Deana is facing one of the greatest challenges in her lifetime, yet it makes me weep just thinking of how blessed and lucky she is by the abundance of love in her life.


Deana's job in all of this is to get well. It is my job to pray that she does. And then, we will go to the Zoo again.

This time, without a well rehearsed exit-strategy in place.

favorite thing friday

I had planned to write about something else, today.

I had planned to tell you about this most awesome thing that has come in to my life and now that I have it, I can't imagine how I lived with out it, and why haven't I had one of these things years ago? But, I'm waiting for some thing to happen before I write about that particular thing, so hopefully that will happen soon and until it does, I'm going to instead share the love that we have for bubbles. In my humble opinion, bubbles are as much a part of childhood - as riding on carnival boats.


I love bubbles.

But unfortunately, having the ability to successfully extract a bubble wand from a wide-mouth bubble jar when you are 2 (or 3) or 37-years old, can be rather messy and horribly frustrating.

So whenever I found these bubble tumblers from Target and I bought one for each of the kids, we now happily and neatly blow bubbles all the time. The beauty of these bubble tumblers is that if they are tipped, the bubble solution doesn't spill out as it would from a traditional bubble cup.


Which means, little kids can actually have fun blowing bubbles - or licking the wand (as the case may be) - and parents don't have bouts of lunacy because they watch a gallon of bubble solution wasted for less than two minutes of play, while their children are crying that they! want! more!

Call me simple, but these ingenious tumblers have transformed my life. Or at a minimum, afforded us the opportunity to wholeheartedly enjoy at least 15 minutes of bubble play, several times a week.

A mother of three-year-old triplets having a quarter of an hour of happy play while at home, several times a week?

That's a very good thing.

oh mercy. mercy me.

I'm not sure why it is that now that I have all these extra hands to help around the house, I feel so tired. I'm exhausted. Completely beat. It seems that I'm totally sleep deprived and now that my mother is here, my body is just giving out on me.

At night, I'm wasted by 10:00 - which is usually the time I hit my stride.

I tried to jot down some thoughts last night and I fell asleep sitting in front of my computer. I woke up when my head snapped back seconds before hitting the keyboard. My post started out coherent enough and then, it seems that I started typing some dream that I was having because my storyline goes from how utterly precious three-year-old children can be, to cooking spinach fettuccine in a tent.

Charlie's been out of town for the past three days on a business trip and if not for my mother being here to help, I'm sure we would have eaten delivery pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

There would have been no baths and no teeth brushing, either.

And no laundry. We'd just wear our bathing suits all day, everyday.

This morning, the baby who I had pulled in to bed with me at 6:00 and tried to nurse so that he would just lay still, climbed over me and took off crawling around the house. For a good 10 minutes, I charged two of my three-year-olds with the task of safe guarding their infant brother, so that I could close my eyes for just another minute. I finally climbed out of bed when I heard them yelling "Mommy! Henwee in the TOILET!"

I took a 2.5 hour nap today and fell asleep sitting on the couch watching footage of the DNC, tonight. So, blah, blah. I'm tired and I wonder if I have mono. Here are some other interesting tid bits from the week.

I almost dropped dead of a heart attack this afternoon when I was inside preparing dinner and saw William throw his baby panda on top of the roof of our house. And then watched my mother's 84-year old fiancé climb on top of a rickety chair to try and get the panda down with a broom and when I was rushing out to get Jim off the chair before he fell and broke a hip - spotted the baby, toddling almost 6-feet off the ground, on top of the fort.


Henry has mastered the ladder.


Oh mercy.

Mercy me.


Now you see me.

Now you don't.

Speaking of ladders.

We are the proud owners of a new bunk bed. When it was delivered on Tuesday, the kids were all in bed taking their nap. When they woke up and saw the newest piece of furniture, they promptly changed in to their pajamas and climbed back in to bed where they remained for the next two hours, until dinner.


I took down the ladder and have expressly forbid them from going up top. So far, so good. Now all we need to do is disassemble the bunk bed and move it in to the girls room because it is too big for the boys room it is currently in. (I knew that it would be too big for the boys room, but no one ever listens to me. I'm sure I'll repeat that only one or two more times in my lifetime.)

But before we move it in to the adjacent room, we need to paint the girls room from pink to something other than pink, and change out the hardware for the curtains. And then we need to paint the boys room because that is where the girls bed will be going. And why oh why, didn't we just paint every bedroom gender-interchangeable green?

Charlie went to pick up my new camera - (a replacement for the one that William destroyed when he dropped it in to the hot tub in Louisiana) - and instead, returned with a Wii.

My husband totally forgot to get my camera - even though the sole purpose for going to the store was to get said good. Apparently, the store had just received a shipment of 10 and when Charlie saw the pristine boxes stacked, all he could think to do was buy the coveted game and run to the car before he was ambushed by people who missed their fleeting opportunity.

I must say, the huge marketing and sparse distribution of this game has been spectacular. I really applaud the people at Nintendo who figured out the best way to keep the population rabid about their product, for years, is through scarce supply for overwhelming demand. Sure, they could stock all the stores in America with enough of these things so that every family has two. But, then, no one would want them anymore.

This much is true. Charlie has wanted a Wii for a while. And even though he forgot to get my camera, I love this guy so completely and I am so glad that he is home. I love playing footsie with him at night before we go to sleep and I especially love that he will get up with Henry in the early morning hours and insure that my baby doesn't fall in to the commode, while I sleep on.

For that act alone, I'm convinced he can have whatever he wants.

wednesday weigh in

Even though I've been working out, I am having an extremely difficult time keeping up with my mother, despite the 38-year age difference and a bum knee that she needs to have replaced.

Mom gets up in the morning, gets dressed, unloads the dishwasher, starts a load of laundry, brings the trashcans around the side of the house, starts to cook breakfast, get the kids dressed, packs a lunch for the pool and makes a pot of coffee.

I have ... brushed my teeth.

Mom whips up banana bread, reads the newspaper, decides to try out a new recipe for dinner, prepares a grocery list, re-pots our basil plant, sorts through children's clothes, folds and puts away a load of laundry, and dusts all the wood furniture in the house.

I have ... taken a conference call and eaten half a bagel.

A bagel that mom toasted for me and topped with cream cheese.

It seems I'm standing still and mom is buzzing all around me. She'll have 10 projects going at once and there I am - looking at the vacuum and trying to remember how it works. I am so distracted by her hyper-efficiency that today, I didn't even realize that I was still wearing my pajama bottoms until 3 PM. My groove is all in a funk.

Mom takes a nap every afternoon and is in bed asleep every night by 9:00, but not me.

Oh no.

My magic hours are those between 9 PM and 1 AM when I clean the house, eat banana muffins and update my blog. Although, what I should be doing are all the chores that I normally complete first thing in the morning. I don't know how mom would react if there was nothing for her to do. I'm afraid she might try to sweep out our chimney. Or worse yet, rotate the tires on the minivan.

But there's one more thing my mom can do, that I could never do.

Today, while she was resting on the couch, I read her all of the awesome "Challenge Yourself" entries ... and she was able to pick out a winner for the iPod shuffle. This was no easy task because there were so many inspiring entries that if mom wasn't here reminding me of the four college educations I need to fund - I would have shelled out a small fortune on iPods for Kathy and Ichan and Mama DB and Courtney All Things BD and Christine and Boston Sherill and Wendster and Mariah and Mindy and Jenn and Lori and Erica and Mystik and yes, you too.

But alas, there is only one. And the winner is: SANDRA!

Here's her story:

"When you first issued your fitness challenge, my 39th birthday was looming, and I was feeling fat and old and tired. Keeping up with my full time job and my two kids was wearing me out. I was exhausted by 5pm every day. So, I finally started the couch to 5K program that I had been thinking about doing for months.

The couch to 5K program has you start very slowly: warm up by walking 5 minutes, run for 1 minute and then walk for 2 for a total of 20 minutes. At first, doing this made me feel like I was going to have a heart attack! I was so incredibly out of shape! But now, a short 2 months later, I have joined a local USAfit group, and I am training to run a half marathon in January. I run 4 times a week, and I cannot believe I am saying this, but LAST SATURDAY I RAN 6 MILES!!!! I have never exercised before, and 2 months ago if you googled "couch potato" my picture would have come up! But I feel so much more energetic, and I am thrilled at my ability to do this. I never thought I could. Granted, I am only running at a 14 minute a mile pace, but I am sure I will be able to speed up with time.

So to those of you who are wavering, I promise you, if I can do this at almost 40, 30 lbs overweight, and never having exercised, so can you!"

Way to go, Sandra!! Please send me an e-mail with your contact information and I will get your new iPod shuffle off to you.

And for everyone else, keep up the great work. Even though your own success will be reward enough, there will be more fun prizes to follow.

Up for us next ... Charlie is competing in another sprint distance triathlon in early October and I am competing in an all-women's sprint distance triathlon to benefit ovarian cancer in mid-October. Currently, I'm strategizing how to increase my endurance. Something tells me that if I can keep up with my mother during the day, I should be all set.

quick, quick I need advice

We are scheduled to have a new bed dropped off for William, today.

It is a twin over full bunk bed.

I'm rethinking my decision on this purchase - - and all the associated linens I bought for a twin and full bed, yesterday. Today, I'm thinking that perhaps I should just buy William a twin. But soon, I'll need the extra space for Henry and I like the idea of a bunk, but maybe not now.

I just want the one purchase that I make now, to last for years and years - and not have to replace it down the road. My concerns with this bed is that:

1) It will be hard to make - especially the bottom if it is pushed in to a corner;

2) Fall factor. I know someone whose child broke their neck falling off a top bunk (my plan is to keep the ladder off until the kids are old enough to go up top >> ~6yo);

3) Space factor. I could split the bed in to a twin and full, but we really don't have a lot of room in this house. Especially since Henry is still in his crib.

The advantages:

1) It's very cool.

2) Space factor - we could fit all three kids in this spot.

3) There is more space in the full, if they boys ever want to sleep together.

This bed will last us for the next 15 years - or more - so I want to make the right choice.

The buzzing with all this indecision is making me dizzy. I have until 11:00 AM to make the call.

What would you do?

4<4<2

If we were to reverse the order in which people crossed the finish line of the triathlon today, awarding medals to those who came in at the end ... I would have placed fifth in the over all race. That means, there were five people slower than me.


Count 'em: One, two, three, four, five.

Cinco.

Actually, there were another 20 or so people that dropped out and didn't finish the race, so I think that should count for something, too.

The winner of the race did it in 51 minutes. My total time to swim 1/2K, bike 15K, and run 5K was 1:55. Charlie's total time was 1:48, but he could have shaved 30 minutes off his time, easily, if he hadn't stuck with me on the ride and run. Our swimming time was about the same at approximately 17 minutes, but he waited for me on the bike and then, ran backwards for almost 2-miles so he could talk to me while I staggered along.

This action on his behalf both touched and infuriated me.

"Oh, so sweet that my husband is running backwards to talk to me!"

"OH! WHAT THE HELL. He's running BACKWARDS to talk to me!"

The swimming portion of the race was a lot of fun, until I was a few hundred yards off shore and the theme song of Jaws popped in to my head. And then a huge strand of kelp got wrapped around my foot and I took a wave in the face and thought for sure I was going to die.

Swimming in the ocean is so unbelievably, totally different than swimming in a pool. Not only can you see in a pool - but you don't have currents that pull you off course if you're not paying attention. Or, completely paranoid about a sea creature having your leg for breakfast.


My transition time from swimming to running was pitiful. I don't know what the exact time was (we won't find out until they are posted on Wednesday), but I sat down on my towel and leisurely ate a tube of Power Gel before carefully lacing my shoes and hopping on my mountain bike with knobby tires and pedaling off with wobbly legs and a salt crusted body.

I think I only saw two other people on mountain bikes. It seemed that everyone in this race could have graced the cover of a fitness magazine with their rock-hard bodies and sleek equipment. Throughout the event I kept thinking "You know what we need here are more chubby people on one speeds. How can the chubby, out-of-shape people of the world feel inspired to do triathlons if EVERYONE looks this good?!"

We completed the ride, and my second transition was about as slow as the first. I savored my Power Gel, had a little drinky-drink of water, folded my stuff and put it away, fixed my pony tail, put on a hat, took another sip of water and then took off jogging.

Charlie and I ran and walked together for the next three miles, and were so excited to see that our good friend and neighbor, Dawn, had ridden her bicycle 20-miles to come see us. Having someone there to cheer you on - or encourage you with cookies that they wave in front of you before riding off on their bicycle (as the case may be) was such a good boost.

"Who wants a cookie? Come get it!!"

Overall, we both know that we could have done the race a lot faster. Sure, it would have helped if we actually TRAINED more than we did and if we didn't do things like sit down on the side of the course to re-lace our running shoes, or slow down to look at new houses they were constructing in front of the beach. But the important thing is that we did it, we had a lot of fun, we finished and we are ready to do it again. Mostly, we are really proud that with four children under the age of four, we completed our first triathlon, in under two hours.

When we returned home this morning, Charlie signed up for another triathlon in early October that he'll be completing by himself - and I'm planning to compete in another triathlon in mid-October by myself. We've decided to split up during the next race because one of us will need to be with the children.

And really.

How am I ever going to improve my time if I'm constantly distracted by my husband running backwards?

****

(Challenge Yourself iPod giveaway update: after getting up with the children this morning at 6:30, Mom was in bed sound asleep by 8:30 tonight. I'll post the results within the next day or so, once she has the chance to help me select a winner.)

tri this on for size

Tomorrow is our big race day.

This afternoon, we picked up our pre-race packet containing our bib number, timer chip and colored swimming caps. Then, we went to a triathlon store and spent a small fortune on tri shorts, which are similar to bike shorts but you can swim in them and because they have a thinner seat pad, when you come out of the water, it's not like you are wearing a soggy diaper.

We also bought bib belts - a novel gadget that holds your bib number on a belt that you wear in the back when you are riding, and then move around to the front when you are running - so you don't have to fiddle with safety pins.

We bought a few packs of Power Gel.

And new socks.

And new goggles.

And I bought two new tri tops because I couldn't decide if I liked blue or black better.

And I also bought a new pair of shoes - that everyone told me I most definitely shouldn't wear running tomorrow, but eh, what does it matter. I'll probably walk most of the way, anyhow.

Although, now that I look so good in all my new gear, I'm sure I'll be pumped.

Tonight, we packed our bikes in the car and our duffle bags are ready to go with all of the gear we purchased today, as well as our bike helmets and gloves, running hats, sunglasses, towels and water bottles. I'm thinking that I should also bring my passport because this race is being held at the most southwestern beach in the entire United States. All it would take is a moderate current, and I'll be washed right in to Mexico.


If I don't post tomorrow night, chances are:

1) I've been consumed by a shark, or

2) I'm on my third margarita in Tijuana.