wednesday weigh in

For the record: I am not planning to make my blog private. Why, just last month I went on that soul-searching mission and ultimately determined that I rely too heavily upon the support of people I do not know to help me through the maze of parenthood.

(I'm looking at you, Twingles.)

For now, I'm just going to change my name and possibly my husband's so that if there are any crazies that stumble upon this website, they would be hard pressed to Zaba our legal names - obtain our home address and telephone number - know that my favorite color is mocha - see a satellite image of our neighborhood - and discover that in June of 2008, we were detained at the Canadian Border.

Although on second thought, it might be a good thing for any crazies out there to know that we were detained at the Canadian Border for attempting to carry a BANNED WEAPON that would be used against anyone that ever attempted to cause my children harm.

I'm just sayin.

ROAR!

OK, enough about the sickos of the world. How about the sickos in this house?

There seems to be a case of the flu going around that I suspect the children picked up from school. Shocking, huh? Not even a month in to the preschool program and the whole house has the plague.

Elizabeth had it last weekend and spiked a temperature of 103. William had it on Tuesday and spiked a temperature of 102. Henry's nose is running, Carolyn is grumpy, I have a sore throat and Charlie is complaining that his ears feel clogged. I've been administering hot tea and honey, Zicam and Nasal Rinse in amounts that border on excess.

Today, I was struck with the dilemma of what to do with William. Yesterday he was sick. But this morning when he woke up - he was running around the house, with no apparent temperature, no nasal discharge, and instigating pillow fights with his sisters.

So. I thought about the cost of tuition for a moment. And then I thought about having THREE hours almost completely to myself. And then I thought that if he is running around and frolicking and eating breakfast and generally happy ... sure he can go to school.

So he did.

When I went to pick him up three hours later, he initially seemed well - waving and excited to see me, from behind the school gate. But by the time we walked 100 feet to the car, his eyes were glassy, his nose was running, he felt feverish and he wanted me to carry him.

Way to go, MOM!

Sending a sick child to school!

Now the rest of his school will probably fall ill, except, of course, the child that brought the flu to school in the first place. And they will know that it was our fault because they saw us in the parking lot. Me encouraging William to walk because I had Henry in my arms, William wailing, "I CAN'T!! I SO SICK, MOMMY!! MY NOSE!! I WANT A NEW NOSE!! LOOK AT THE BOOGIES!!"

I called the Director of the school this afternoon and told her about the situation - apologized for sending him back prematurely - and said that the chances are great I'll be holding him out tomorrow and possibly Friday as well.

And now, I'm thinking that a good rule of thumb is to keep a child out of school for 24 hours following a fever. But what if they have no fever but green boogers running down their face that they like to wipe off with every part of their arm extending from their pinky finger to their elbow? What then, pray tell. WHAT THEN?!

It's not surprising that there hasn't been much exercising for me this week. Not much at all. Or rather, none. Although to my cardiovascular credit, I have been doing a tremendous amount of jumping up and down to fetch tissues, medicine, juice, popsicles, and a host of other items that my little people need but are unable to fetch for themselves.

Including that. Said with a stuffy nose, "DAT FING OVAH DARE. IST's yellow."

Ah yes. We call it a banana.

Language apparently eludes us when we are ill. So does the desire to exercise.

I did try once. I put on my running shoes and clipped on my shuffle. But my shoes just felt too heavy. So, I laid down on the couch and imagined I was running. In the following pictures, Henry illustrates precisely how I have felt about taking on any physical challenge these past few days.

"Oh, look a ball! If I pick that ball up, I'll add a little variety to my walk!"


"Oh, it's a slippery little devil!"


"Why I'm just trying to pick it up and I get knocked flat on my tush!"


"But, I'll stand up again..."


"... and give it another shot."


"Not to worry that I have a smidge of dirt on my rump. Who ever said challenges would be clean?!"


"Upsy Daisy."


"I've got a good hold on you, now."


"... or, maybe not."


"Let's try this again."

"And bend with the knees ... keeping my back straight..."


"I did it, Mom! I'm well on my way!!"


"OH CURSING CURSES!"


"What is THIS?! Where is the love?!"

"It's a BALL for Pete's sake. It's not an anvil!!"


"Is it covered in Crisco?!"


"Yeah, well. Maybe when I'm inspired I'll be back. So you just think about that while you watch me walk away."

**********

Please, tell me how you're doing.

It's got to be better than me and my little buddy, Henry.

well, hey there!

Hi, I'm Jane.

It's my new name.

I've spent the past two hours corresponding via e-mail with Michele about internet security and when she sent me a map to my house, I almost passed out. When she also sent me a link to ZabaSearch and I went online and plugged in a few details about myself, only to discover that for the low price of $49.95, I could purchase my entire life history and telephone number (a number that is supposed to be unpublished) I decided that it's a fantastic time to change my identity.

Because what if someone CALLS and wants to talk with me?!

Some might think I'm being a little paranoid and last week, I might have agreed.

But after my sister-in-law called my husband this weekend and strongly suggested that we make our blog private because there have been documented cases of people going to family websites where there are photographs of children, and then, deciphering where those people live and selling that information (essentially a photo of a child with a map to their home), that's all it took for me to replace my name with one that I've adored for years.

Jane. It's a lovely name, isn't it?

Here is some information about Jane that you might not know.

She is considering changing her husband's name to Sam. Or Pinot.

Her children will remain named, although the pseudonymns KnockItOff, QuitYourTeasin, GoToSleep and StopScreamingHolyMotherofGod are under consideration.

She has triplets that are about to turn four-year-old. Within the past week, all three of her triplet children have been pooping on the potty. This brings Jane tremendous happiness. In fact, there are not enough words in the English language to adequately capture the level of joy in Jane's heart.

Jane can't say that it was any one thing that happened to result in this monumental occurrence. Although she must admit, she never did think that it would *actually* happen. It's like the Northern Lights. Everyone tells you that they exist and what it takes to see them, but you remain skeptical until the one time it happens and then, the whole Majesty of God opens before your eyes.

Why, just last month, Jane tried laxatives, suppositories and her children's pediatrician provided the telephone number of a pediatric psychiatrist and suggested that she give them a call to profile her one pooping-in-the-potty holdout BECAUSE NOTHING WAS WORKING.

But Jane wanted to give it a little more time.

What Jane believes is that sitting on the rim of the tub and holding hands with the pooper, while making sounds like YOU TOO are pooping, is a good tactic. Having a stash of candy in your child's favorite color for a reward might benefit you too (or rather them, although also you).


It may help to sing "Little Bunny Foo-Foo" a few hundred times while you wait. What absolutely doesn't help is to threaten your child. As in, "If you don't go poop, I am going to eat every last M&M and then you will be sad." That will only cause your child to cry and tense up and that is counter productive to the process of letting go.

Currently, Jane is trying to figure out how to night time train her children, without taking off their night time diapers. BECAUSE, she don't want to be changing sheets and pajamas all hours of the night. So she suspects that once the children are mature enough to wake up and use the facilities, they will. If they are still wearing diapers by third grade, Jane might change her strategy.

For the most part, Jane's children use a real toilet.

But the chances are excellent that she'll still be hauling a portable potty chair around with her everywhere she goes until at least the first grade, because even today, while she was at a location that had a public restroom within 50 feet, it was EASIER to let the children use the portable potty then tote four children in to a public restroom where it was undeniable that they would be unable to resist the temptation to lick something.

That's right.

Jane's children are going through a licking phase and Jane is dying from the grossness. She can handle her kids touching things fine enough. But she can't stand it when they run their tongues from one end of a pool banister to the other.

Or, lick a counter in a public restroom.

Or, a conveyance belt at the grocery store.

Or, the handle on an escalator.

Got the picture?

Here's something else about Jane.

She is breastfeeding her 14-month old son.

Why?

Jane loves not having to worry about "womanly issues" every month. It's been two years since Jane has had a period and she doesn't miss it one single bit. (Jane especially likes referring to herself in third person when discussing things of that nature.)

But mostly, Jane loves the bond that she shares with her baby. And eating whatever she wants. But mostly the bond. Really.

(And if ONE PERSON tries to tell Jane he's not a baby anymore, WATCH OUT.)

Jane nursed her daughters until they were 17-months old and she suspects that when her son is ready to stop he will. If he is still nursing strong at 18-months, she will BEGIN to entertain thoughts on weaning. But not a moment before pass the cheesecake thank you very much.

Since you asked ... although Jane sincerely admires Palin, GASP!, she's planning to vote for Obama in November. And Jane will proudly wear a t-shirt to the voting poll that reads, "Make Cupcakes. Not War."


Go Jane. Go.

at which point I discuss politics

Last month, the day before my mother and Jim arrived, Charlie began a daily subscription to the newspaper because Jim does the crossword every day and loves to read the sports section.

I think I've mentioned before that since we've had children, we are a bit out of tune with the world. Or at least, I am out of tune with the world. I never watch the news, don't read the paper, and hardly ever listen to the radio. Charlie on the other hand, listens to NPR whenever he commutes to work, so he is the one that clued me in recently that we are scheduled to elect a new President this year.

There was once a time in my life I had a subscription to the Christian Science Monitor and would voraciously read it from cover-to-cover. I could discuss intelligibly, anything from human rights violations in Syria to the status of health care initiatives in Congress. These days, I voraciously read Dr. Seuss and can discuss intelligibly the ins-and-outs of potty training and nursing a toddler.

My focus has changed a bit.

But now that we are receiving the newspaper everyday, once every fourth day or so, I actually peruse the headlines. And it feels like I am waking up from a long slumber to see that our country is in really bad shape. As if the foreclosure signs popping up all over our neighborhood, dropping stock market, and soaring gas prices didn't give me a good indication.

Two weeks ago, following our flat tire incident, I had to immediately drive over to a tire store and have our tire replaced. Or, all four tires as the case turned out to be. It was just me and the four children and we had a three hour wait. Thankfully, the Gods of Good Grace smiled upon me and within walking distance of the tire repair store was a Chuck E Cheese's.

As we took a five minute walk over to this children's play paradise, we passed no less than 10 homeless people. I don't know what their circumstances were, but in my own life, I know a few people that have been homeless, and a few more that are currently one pay check away from losing their home.

When I tried to explain to our children that the people we saw have no homes and no place to sleep at night, they were perplexed. They couldn't understand why they didn't have homes. Where do they sleep at night? Don't they get cold? Don't they need a bed? What if they are sick? What if they are hungry?

Can they come and live with us?

Three hours later, as we were walking back to pick up our van with $800.00 worth of new tires, we stopped by In-N-Out Burger and purchased a few meals for the homeless people that we would pass on the way back to the tire store. Two weeks later, our children are still thinking and talking about how we fed the "hungwy people" that didn't have beds. And I am thinking about the doctor invoice I recently received for $400.00 while we were in Boston to take our children to see a Pediatrician that wasn't covered by our insurance.

What if I didn't have the means to pay this invoice - especially after buying four new tires?

What if our children had re-occuring medical issues that we were financially responsible for?

How thick is the buffer separating us from the street?

These are just some of the thoughts that now keep me awake at night.

Along with thoughts surrounding global conflicts that are brewing in North Korea and Russia and Georgia. An ongoing war in the Middle East and over 4,100 American casualties. The nose-diving value of the dollar. The nose-diving stock market. Drastic budget cuts at public schools. Global warming. Our country's huge dependence on oil and WHY IS IT that we have the technology to clone an animal but we are not capable of driving cars that run on salt water?

What kind of world are our children going to inherit?

Now, there is a new political race on and a new President to elect. A new President that will hopefully turn the state of our nation around and facilitate our country making a positive impact on the world.

When I received this link from my friend Tracy a few weeks ago, I laughed so hard I darn near cried. Since then, I've watched the video at least 20 times and I've shown it to everyone who has come to our house. Try as I might, I cannot get the image of Obama on the unicorn soaring over the rainbow out of my mind. It gets funnier every time I see it.

I'm thinking that our country really needs some good magic.

But I'm also thinking that Switzerland looks like a very nice place to live.

the old bait and switch

This weekend, a friend of my mother's - who she met while at the Optimum Health Institute several years ago - came to stay with us. Lea is from Ireland and she is absolutely lovely. She attends OHI every year for a few months to "detox" and whenever she is in town, we always try to see each other.

Lea currently lives in Northern California. She is one of the most gracious, peaceful, classy, soulful, earth loving people I've ever met. Twenty years ago, Lea ran a Montessori school. She is wonderful with children and her demeanor exudes calmness, patience and love.

Just having her in our home has an extremely peaceful affect on me.

Saturday morning when we sat down to eat breakfast, Lea was attempting to tell the children a beautiful story about a Quail named Robert. But she was distracted because Carolyn was trying to look under her shirt to see if she makes milk, William was continuously interrupting to see the earring holes in her ears, and Henry was screeching. Then there was Elizabeth who wasn't feeling well and with a temperature of 103, was trying to curl up on Lea's lap.

It was pure mayhem and the peaceful Lea looked over at me and said "I have no idea how I ran a school for so many years. How on earth did I do it?" I replied, "I don't know, you tell me. I have no idea how I have survived the past year."

The last time we saw Lea, Henry had not yet been born and I remember talking to her at length regarding my concerns with having four children under the age of three. And I clearly remember Lea telling me that if I could just get through three-years-old, four is a wonderful age. Yet this weekend, after seeing the drama and the hysteria, Lea told me that their behavior is perfectly typical and four will probably be the most challenging age yet.

HUH?

I've been seriously holding out hope that within the next month, a tremendous transformation will have taken place. Where suddenly, our children will become reasonable and as a unit, they will become tolerable. But Lea crushed my theory and when I told her that people, including herself, had said FOUR would be the magic age, our elegant friend snorted.

She snorted.

For the past day, I've been thinking about how surviving the first few years of parenting is a lot like learning how to swim. When I was a child, I have memories of my older siblings standing in the swimming pool and encouraging me to paddle out to them.


"Come on, you can do it! It's only a little ways!"

Summoning what courage I could muster, I would jump in to the water and while attempting to stay afloat, I would struggle to reach my siblings, only to see that they were slowly walking backwards, away from me.

Instead of swimming a mere three feet, I would have swum six, nine, twelve feet. I would have made it across the pool and my siblings would be cheering me on, "See! You did IT!! You didn't think you could do it, but look what you've accomplished!!"

"Sure! And hey my whole life only flashed before my eyes once!"

Now, I am on the brink of our children turning four. And although I am proud of how far I have made it without requiring resuscitation, some days the edge of the pool still looks awfully far away.

"Hey little one!! Throw me that thing ... will you?!"

perspective

Despite the best intentions of waking up this morning an hour before the children, we were up for three minutes and 15 seconds before William came in to our room, looking for Batman.

Carolyn was next.

Elizabeth was next.

Henry had been there for the past two hours, rolling across the top of me while I tried to sleep.

It was a flurry of activity to get the children dressed for school, fed breakfast, teeth and hair brushed, faces washed, lunches packed. Charlie will be attending a business trip in Washington, D.C. for a full week in November and I am weak wondering how I'll ever do all of this on my own. Who knows. Maybe by then I'll have a good system in place.

Or maybe by then, the children won't feel compelled to change their clothes minutes before we walk out the door because they want gween undawear. No pink. No, buddafly. EVERYONE wants buddafly undawear. Except William. Because he has a penhus and buddaflies are for GOYLS.

So are yellow carseats with flowers, which even though William has sat in a yellow carseat with flowers on it - at varying times over the past three years - suddenly it's an offense punishable by a full body seizure.

Maybe by November they won't hack in to their lunch boxes that I had packed nicely next to the front door and start eating their sandwich, apple and spill raisins from the living room to the kitchen and back again.

Or, get globs of toilet paper wet and throw baseball-sized spitballs on the walls.

Or, pretend that they are dogs and lay on the ground eating grass.

Or maybe, Henry will outgrow this insane stage of frustration where he screams a lot, sleeps a little, eats even less, and throws himself on the ground in violent tantrums.

Or maybe, I'll just tell Charlie that there is no way is he leaving for four days on a business trip. Because as difficult as it is in the morning to get everyone ready for school, the afternoon - when I pick them up - is even more insane. It's like these children have been "so good" for the past three hours that when they reunite and their triplet energy once again becomes one, they morph in to creatures that prey on me, whole.

My whole mind, my whole body.

Coming at me from every angle, "Mommy, hold me. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!" ... "Mommy, I wet. I WET! I WET!" ... "Mommy, mommy, mommy, MOMMY, mommy, mommy, mommy, MOMMMMMMYYYYY."

Does it sound like I'm complaining?

I'm not.

OK. Maybe I am a little bit.

But the truth is, I wouldn't trade my life for any other.

One of the amazing things about blogging is that I am "introduced" to so many individuals that if not for the internet, I would never know existed. I have stumbled across some incredible people and some incredible stories. And every so often, I will read a blog post written by someone who is going through an extremely challenging period in their life and I'll sit at my desk - looking in on this person's life through their words and photos on my computer screen - and I can hardly breathe through the pain of what they are enduring.

I am so grateful for the blessings that I have in my life. Even though those "blessings" have been known to drive me clinically insane and make me question the need for heavy doses of antipsychotic medication. But whenever I feel myself start to go off the deep end, I remind myself of just how lucky I am at this point in my life.

I remind myself of the blogs that I read.

There is the story of Daniel. An 18-year old boy, the oldest of seven children, who was hit and killed by a drunk driver while riding his bicycle his first month away at college. I have been reading a blog written by his grief stricken mother and I wish I could reach through the computer and give her a hug or make her some homemade cookies. I'd like to do something to take away some of her hurt. Thus far, all I can come up with is leaving her comments to let her know that she is in my prayers.

There is the story of Stephanie and Christian. Together they have four small children and last month, they were in a small plane crash where the pilot was killed and they were left in critical condition with severe burns over their bodies. While the parents recover from their life-threatening injuries, Stephanie's sisters have taken in their four children. Stephanie's sister Courtney, is documenting her sister and brother-in-law's long road of recovery on her blog and has been spearheading fund raising efforts to help offset the staggering medical costs.

And there is the story of Carol Decker. She prematurely delivered a baby girl this past June by emergency c-section, due to complications associated with an infection. Soon after the birth, the infection became worse. Ultimately, the doctors had to amputate both of her legs below the knees, her left arm and one of her fingers. Due to various medications used to save her, Carol is now also blind.

Last week while we were at Sea World, as we were making our way over to wash our hands after feeding the sting rays, I noticed a man and woman who were with their son. The little boy couldn't have been more than seven-years-old and he was confined to a wheelchair. His body was terribly atrophied and on the back of his bald skull, I could see that he had recently had some type of surgery. My heart instantly ached for this family.

When the father spotted our three children, dressed alike in their matching hats, he inquired "Are those triplets?" and I proudly replied, "Yes, they sure are!" He stood staring at us for a brief moment before shaking his head and saying, "You have my most sincere apologies. I am so sorry."

I've heard that line many times before. But I really didn't expect it from a parent who had a child that was gravely ill. My cheerful response was, "These children are the greatest blessing I have ever received. They are healthy and happy and I wouldn't want to imagine my life without them."

When I turned around to walk away and he spotted Henry, previously unseen as he was strapped to my back, I heard him exclaim "OH MY GOD. There's ANOTHER one."

That's right. My bonus baby. And he just got his professional photograph taken which is now hanging proudly on the wall alongside his siblings at one-year-old.

They are the most magnificent little things I've ever seen.

wednesday weigh in

I'm not a very competitive person.

I really don't care what place I finish in my next triathlon, so long as I finish. I'm not at all ashamed to slow down and walk when out for a run, or lag way behind when out on a ride. I very rarely push myself too hard when I'm working out. Sure, my heart rate will go up and I'll break in to a sweat, but I can't stand being uncomfortable for long stretches of time.

I remember going to an aerobics class with one of my friends in high school. Since I had done gymnastics for several years and considered myself rather flexible and coordinated, I thought aerobics would be a breeze.

And the warm up was.

But once they started with the, "And lift. And lift. And lift. And one more time, LIFT. And right and lift. And left and lift. And right and lift. And left and lift. And faster now, right LIFT, left LIFT, right LIFT, left LIFT", I sat down and lifted my foot up and down to the beat of the music.

That marked the end of aerobics for me. Although, in hindsight I wish I had stuck with it, because my friend continued on with the class and she was absolutely cut by the time we graduated. But it seems I always cop out when the going gets tough.

Last week, I went swimming with one of our neighbors, Dawn.

Dawn is in fantastic shape. She rides her bike 25 miles to work several mornings a week. She ran the San Diego Rock-n-Roll marathon last year and has competed in numerous triathlons. She rides with her husband a minimum of 50 miles every weekend, including a trek up a road that is 7-miles long and has a 6% up hill grade. Dawn is always encouraging me to go for walks with her, a jog around the block, a weekend ride, or swim some laps before she leaves for work.

So last week when we went swimming and I noticed that I was slightly ahead of Dawn on the flip turn for my final lap, I discovered a competitive streak I never knew existed. I dug in deep and started to swim as fast as I could - kicking like there was a shark chasing me down. But Dawn, the athletic hard body that she is, started to dig deep too ... because there was no way she was going to let me beat her in the pool.

(I'm absolutely certain that is what she was thinking.)

When we got to the shallow end and I looked out of the corner of my eye and noticed that she had started to catch up and we were almost neck-and-neck, I stood up and RAN the rest of the way to the wall.

And I won.

Although we weren't really racing, it felt so good that I felt compelled to talk smack the rest of the way home. "Yeah. How do you like me NOW? Uh-huh. That's what I THOUGHT."

Today while I was at the gym, I was jamming out to music and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a person on the bike next to me had a higher RPM than I did. So, I stepped it up a notch. And then, I noticed that they were burning more calories than me. So, I cranked up my resistance. When I started pedaling faster, I noticed they started pedaling faster. And before I knew it, I was racing the person on the stationary bike next to me.

And then, I noticed that he wasn't a day younger than 70.

As I've been working out with consistency, I have noticed that I am getting stronger. I have a little bit more confidence in myself to push a little harder and further than I did before. And it feels really good to push myself and know that I can do it. Because in doing it, I become even stronger so I can do it better the next time.

At the end of October, six weeks from now, I'm going to have another iPod shuffle giveaway. I thought about offering up a new prize, but the fact is - those things are so cool. To own a shuffle is to love a shuffle.

To participate in the giveaway, leave me a comment telling me what you are doing to challenge yourself ... and then, every Wednesday from now until then (10/29), you need to tell me how you are doing towards the accomplishment of your goal. If you have a blog, please leave a link so that I can come by and encourage you. Because in encouraging others >> I am encouraged myself.

My goal is to shave 15 minutes off the completion time of my next triathlon.

And just maybe, I'll be able to beat some of those people in the 60-age range.

i'd need something a lot stronger than coffee

Now that the children have started Montessori, on the days that I am scheduled to work, if I don't have a meeting to attend, I will drop them off at school and find a coffee shop where I can sit and have a few quiet hours while sipping on a Chai tea.

Today, I am working out of a Starbucks across the street from a junior college. I'm listening to peaceful music, sipping on a hot drink and nibbling on a scone. As I'm reviewing a few reports and responding to e-mail, a woman and her teenager daughter come in and sit at the table next to me. The daughter breaks out her homework while the mother goes to get drinks for them.

How nice, I think. The mother is going to read a novel while her probably freshman-in-college daughter does some work. And then, because they are sitting directly next to me, I can't help but overhear their conversation.

The mother says, "Honey, I bought you something to eat, if you're hungry."

The daughter responds, "MOM. I'm NOT hungry. I'm trying to do my homework."

"Oh, OK. I just thought I'd let you know. If you get hungry, it's there for you."

"MOM. I just said I don't WANT it. This is SO hard. Why are they making my homework SO hard? All the girls in my biology class say that this is way too hard. It's NOT FAIR. I can't do it!"

The mother puts down her coffee and says, "Well, let me see if I can help you."

"No. You can't HELP me. You don't know anything about this, it's BIOLOGY. Uggggh. I HATE school. I HATE this class. This is so hard. These multiple choice questions are SO STUPID. Stupid, stupid, stupid. DUH this is stupid. I caaaaannnnn't doooooo itttttttt!!"

The mother puts down her book and offers a few words of encouragement.

The daughter asks, "What does it mean when a section is devoid of plants?"

The mother doesn't answer immediately, because it is clear she is pondering the question.

"WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN A SECTION IS DEVOID OF PLANTS?"

"MOM! WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN A SECTION IS DEVOID OF PLANTS?"

Finally she replies, "Well honey, it means that plants don't grow there."

The daughter asks, "Well, WHY? Is it because there is no sunlight or water? Is the hypothesis VALID? I need to KNOW IF THE HYPOTHESIS is VALID!"

"Sure, honey. If there is no sunlight or water, plants can't grow. Plants need sunlight and water to grow. Right?"

The daughter doesn't answer and instead pummels her mother with another question, "Where is my binder? WHERE IS MY BINDER? Did you forget to get my binder off the table at home?! OH MY GOD. YOU FORGOT MY BINDER. Didn't you?!"

The mother reaches in her bag and pulls out a binder. "No honey, I didn't forget it, it's right here." The daughter snatches the binder from her mother and then asks a few questions about cell structure, while nibbling on a muffin.

Her mother, who apparently is no longer as biologically ignorant as "Honey" once assumed, answers the questions before the daughter gets up to use the restroom. When she returns and sits down, she throws a fit because her mother has moved the table to accomodate her getting back in to the booth. "MOM. You moved the table TOO FAR OUT. Duh. How am I supposed to write with my the table FIVE FEET away from me?"

"Here honey, let me push it back towards you."

"Or better yet", I murmur, "Why not just push it OVER her."

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.