favorite thing friday

** Edit: Please read the comments on this post because there is more discussion regarding the apple corer and recipe!! **

We drove up to our local mountains and went apple picking last weekend.


Because we have three children that were very interested in picking apples, and wanted nothing more than to hold their very own bag, we picked enough apples to last us for the next four months. Or, to make apple pies for 60 families.


During the drive home, I was telling the children all of the magnificent things that we would do with our three overflowing bags worth of apples. We would make pies! cobbler! sauce! juice!

Heck, we would just pick them up and eat them, like an apple!

We weren't in the door for five minutes and I had three little helpers that were PUMPED to help me cook apples. So I set to work making one of my all-time favorite recipes and ultimate comfort foods ... apple crisp. And to make apple crisp, I called upon one of my all-time favorite kitchen utensils and ultimate fruit preparation gadget .. my apple corer.


I feel an apple corer is one of those items that probably everyone has in their kitchen. But maybe (like me up until about five years ago), you have never heard of an apple corer. And when you learn how this tool can slice apples (and pears) cleanly in to perfectly spaced wedges - with no risk of cutting fingers - you will want one.

And even if you know all about the glory that is an apple corer, I'll be you don't know all about the glory that is my family's ancient apple crisp recipe.

To make this food that to me, is the true embodiment of the fall season and represents everything that is good in the world ... you will need apples. Approximately eight if they are moderate to large in size.


Or, approximately ten if they are the approximate size of a pool ball.


You will also need:

• 2 sticks of softened (not melted!) butter
• 1 cup of sugar
• ½ cup of brown sugar
• 1 ½ cup of flour
• Cinnamon
• Lemon
• Oatmeal
• Almonds (optional)

First, you will peel and core your apples.

If you want to do an OCD screening test, you could then line all of the cores up and see if it troubles anyone that some of the stems are facing a different way.


You will then place all of your nice and evenly sliced apples in to a 9 x 13 baking dish.

And squeeze the juice of a lemon over them.


Then, you will evenly sprinkle approximately one cup of oatmeal over the apple slices.


And then, you will evenly sprinkle cinnamon over the apple, lemon, oatmeal concoction. You'll want to exercise caution that your cinnamon container is set to "sprinkle" and not "pour".

Oops.


If you have little helpers, this is a great time to call upon them because they will thoroughly enjoy dumping the various dry ingredients in to a big bowl.


In goes the sugar!

In goes the flour!

The brown sugar!

The softened butter!


This is the part your little helpers will especially enjoy, because once they have nice clean hands, they get to squish all of the ingredients together.


Sure, you could use a mixer if you have one - but I think that the consistency of the "crisp" is so much better if the ingredients are gently "merged" as opposed to "mixed."


You'll then evenly distribute the sugar, flour, brown sugar, softened butter concoction over the apple, cinnamon, oatmeal, lemon concoction. If you are feeling a little nutty, you can evenly sprinkle on top of that - some sliced almonds.


And another gentle sprinkling of cinnamon.


You will place the whole getup in to a pre-heated 350 degree oven and bake uncovered for one hour, or until the apples are soft and the top is lightly brown.

While the crisp bakes - bathe your helpers who will most likely be coated from head-to-toe with flour, sugar and butter. And because the lovely aroma of apples and cinnamon will be wafting through your house, you should have no trouble convincing your helpers to get out of the tub and in to their PJ's, which on any other night, might take every last bit of energy that you possess.

Before less than a minute has lapsed once you remove it from the oven, you will carve out a piece, place it in a bowl, throw on a huge dollop of vanilla ice cream, light a candle, reflect on all that is good in the universe, and prepare to experience pure joy.

But first you must decide whether you will eat this masterpiece with a spoon or a fork...


Or, perhaps you will opt for both a spoon AND a fork if you happen to be three-years-old.

more things to cry about

Thank you for all of the well wishes and phone calls that have flooded our house in the past day. Your notes and calls have really lifted me up.

Thankfully, my mother and father are both doing well and are at home.

With Dad, his stroke was very mild. He woke up one morning and had blurred vision out of one of his eyes. He was admitted to the hospital for a few days and has since regained full sight. When I spoke with him today, he sounded chipper and loved the joke that I had received from my friend, Lorie.

"If you had purchased $1,000 of Delta Air Lines stock one year ago, you would have $49 left. With Fannie Mae, you would have $2.50 left. With AIG, you would have less than $15 left. But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, drunk all of the beer, then turned in the cans for the aluminum recycling REFUND, you would have $214 cash. Based on the above, the best current investment advice is to drink heavily and recycle."

(Thanks, Lorie. It's a very rare thing when my father laughs out loud.)

With Mom, after spending 24-hours in the hospital and undergoing a series of tests, it was confirmed that she didn't have a heart attack. Mom has been under a lot of stress and although I talk with her every day, I am so busy rambling on and on about what's happening in my world, I have been oblivious to the challenges that she is facing. Right now, Mom needs prayers and love. If you have her address, please drop her a note. (If not, drop me a line and I'll send it to you).

I'm reminded, once again, that it's really difficult living so far away.

If only I could be a little closer to help.

So within the past 24-hours, Charlie and I have extensively researched real estate from South Carolina to Vermont. And then we looked at the approximate value of our home and nearly wept when we realized that the nice chunk of equity we had established has almost completely vaporized over the past year. And then I received our third quarter financial statements yesterday and choked when I saw that the children's college education fund has dropped by 25% and both of our 401Ks have dropped by 35%.

No, we don't need that money any time soon, but GAH.

Drink heavily and recycle, indeed.

**********

I've been really struggling with varying degrees of sickness for the past few weeks. I think what happened is that I caught a cold from the kids - and then - was hit with another bug (from the kids) before the first bug was fully out of my system, and because my immune system was suppressed, I'm having a very difficult time recovering.

What is up with these lethal preschool germs?

Sweet Camellia! If they bottled this stuff up and blasted it in to enemy territories, we'd be seeing white flags everywhere. This is biological warfare. And to think, I'm paying good money to be this sick - every single week!!

On Monday, I went to the doctor and was prescribed an antibiotic that four days later, has done nothing. Clearly this is a deep-seated (seeded?) viral infection. I don't think I've ever experienced anything like it ... as in ever in my entire life have I been this sick. Or maybe I have, but the sinus pressure being exerted on my brain is blocking out all memories of any previous illnesses.

I've had to cancel all of my appointments and have left the house only once since the beginning of the week. If I hadn't had my tonsils taken out 25 years ago, I would be thinking that I had a severe case of tonsillitis. My days have consisted of taking taking pain medication every four hours, blowing my nose, sipping Green Tea with honey, and looking for some place to put my head down.

Thank God for Charlie. If not for him, the children would be eating Club Crackers and drinking water that they'd have to get for themselves. At least he is staying on top of the laundry and grocery shopping. And cooking. And dishes. And bathing. And teeth brushing. And dropping the children off and picking them up from school.

Charlie told me earlier this week that he was starting to feel sick. But I immediately went to bed and moaned, "Only ONE of us can be sick and MY sickness trumps YOUR sickness. TAKE A VITAMIN." Tomorrow, I have another doctor's appointment. I don't know what they are going to tell me, but I hope they tell me SOMETHING. More importantly, I hope that they DO SOMETHING. Otherwise, I fear this whole survival of the fittest thing is working it's way in my life and I'll be gone soon.

**********

The children turn four next week.

As part of the Montessori tradition, on the day of their birthday, they will walk around a circle of their peers - carrying a globe - completing a full rotation for each year that they have been alive.

The teachers informed me of this tradition when I went to pick the children up one day last week. They told me that they would be having three separate "parties" for the children - since they are in three separate classes and I needed to come to school with snacks for all 24 of the children in each class with drinks, cups, plates and napkins and a goody bag (optional). Considering there are 24 students in each class times three ... I need to provide enough snacks, drinks and associated equipment for 72 children.

And for the first time ever, I wish that they were all in the same class.

What I have figured out is that the school our children attend is largely Hispanic. And I think that although goody bags and sugary treats are 'against' the Montessori method ... they are very much in line with Hispanic traditions. Think of the piñata, right?

Seeing as the children are all in separate classes and they will be out of town with me next week at a business meeting in Palm Springs (because Charlie has declared that there is NO WAY he is staying home by himself for four days), they were scheduled to have individual parties in each of their classes, this week. William was due to have a party on Wednesday; Elizabeth on Thursday; Carolyn on Friday.

All of last week, I brainstormed what kind of snacks I would provide during the parties - and what - if any, goody bags I would supply. Since personally, I am opposed to giving children too much sugar and a bunch of cheap trinkets, finally, it came to me.

I took the children to a local pumpkin patch and we carefully selected 72 gourds which would represent the treats. This took me ten times longer than it should have, because when I was counting them out, "One, two, three, four..." the kids were also counting, showing me that they have learned numbers in school. But they weren't counting in any particular order. "Fourteen, Nineteen, Twenty-Eight, Eleven, Thirteen, Fifteen, Forty-Four." I must have restarted at least twenty times before I wised up and handed them pieces of gum to keep their mouths busy.

Then the next day, I took the children to an apple orchard, deep in the local mountains, and we hand picked organic apples. These would be the snacks - to accompany the fresh carrot and banana muffins that I had planned to make the day of the parties.

But seeing as I am so sick - I had to reschedule because there was no way I could carry off three separate parties, three days in a row. And just today, I noticed that the THREE BOXES of carefully selected gourds which have been in the back of our car in the blazing heat are rotting. I have since precariously stacked the remaining gourds on a very small table in front of our house in an attempt to "aerate" them.


Whether or not they last for the two weeks until the children's parties remains to be seen. In the meantime, I'm sure any one that walks by will think, "That lady is out of her gourd."

And they would be correct.

**********

The one outing that I took this week, aside from visiting my doctor's office, was to the grocery store to pick up a mere three items: Omega-3, lettuce and bacon for a BLT that Charlie had been craving. The children were with me since it was the one time all week that I had picked them up from school.

My mother had seen something on Oprah earlier in the week and said that because a woman's brain shrinks during pregnancy (I had heard that before), it is really important that we take an Omega-3 supplement for our neurological health and memory. Or something.

So off I went to the store. With the triplets.

Carolyn is riding in the cart, stealthily pulling apart the leaves of lettuce that I had neatly put in the cart next to her and dropping them on the ground as we walked through the aisles. I only noticed this later when I was circling back and saw all of the Red Leaf Lettuce strewn about. William and Elizabeth are walking. They are touching everything. They are throwing random things in the cart. I am taking things out of the cart and placing them on random shelves.

I wander over to the vitamin aisle in a daze. My head is throbbing, my throat is raw, my nose is running and I have no tissue. I stand there for an eternity and I cannot remember WHY I am there. I know I need something but what I absolutely cannot recall. It was only by the Grace of God that I overheard someone ask a clerk where the Omega-3 was and my memory was jogged.

I follow my fellow customer to the Omega-3 source, pick up a bottle, make my way to the checkout, pay for my groceries, load the children in the car, drive home, get all the kids in the house, unload the packages and Charlie sees that I forgot to buy bacon.

The first and most critical component of the BLT. But alas, I did purchase, thanks to my children, a Kakakiki KombBrush for African American hair care.

"Charlie, sure I forgot your bacon. But here's a nice brush to untangle your not-quite African hair. Because I am so on it."

wednesday weigh in

Last week my father was admitted to the hospital for a stroke.

Today, my mother was admitted to the hospital for a heart attack.

Yesterday, I was offered another opportunity to transfer to the east coast with my company.

With thoughts swirling around my parents ... and whether I'll ever beat this virus that has inhabited my body for the past three weeks ... and researching real estate on the eastern seaboard, I haven't done much exercise.

Although my tear ducts have been getting a pretty good work out.

the best thing to ever happen to me

I wasn't going to post tonight. I was planning to go straight to bed. But then I was thinking about the date - and I'm nothing if not nostalgic - so I decided I'd do a tiny post.

Now, I could wax some serious poetic on this topic, but it seems that the bug I've had for the past two weeks, that I thought was on it's way out over the weekend, has come back swinging and landed me in the doctor's office this morning. Since then, I've made all kinds of promises about trying harder to get at least eight seven hours of sleep at night and I must stick to my word. But before I slip in to a healing slumber, I feel it is necessary to reflect on how my life is so different than five years ago on this very date.

Five years ago, Charlie and I were gearing up for our first round of IVF.

That cycle didn't work out.

Nor did the next one.

We were crushed.

I was crushed.

Our bank account was crushed.

I didn't think it would ever happen. I didn't think that I would ever become a mother. I didn't think that we would ever have a family. I didn't think that I'd ever know the joy of waking up on Christmas morning and have a child to share the magic. All around me, people were having babies and we remained heartbroken and childless. Year after year. After year. After year.

(After year).

I certainly didn't think that there would ever come a day where we would fill up every child's seat at the local hair salon.


One out of six couples is struggling with infertility. If there is a child in your heart, don't give up. However bumpy and pit holed that path to your dream may be, don't give up. When you are laying on the couch - unable to move - and your much longed after child leans over and gently kisses your forehead and rubs your hair while whispering that they hope you feel better, and then points out that you have a big boogie in your nose, all of the pain and suffering and tears shed to bring that child in to your family will be well worth it.

I mean that with all sincerity. And although it may not seem possible, you'll love them a smidge more when they run and get you a box of Kleenex.

month fifteen: in review

My beautiful baby Henry ... yesterday, you turned 15 months old.


This past month has been one of incredible growth and change for you. (Yes, those are pink flower pajamas. Your grandmother bought them at a thrift store because up until very recently, I couldn't find any warm 18-month pajamas in all of Southern California).


You are quickly figuring things out.

And are discovering how to do something new, every day.


Just like your siblings ... you love sitting down with a good book.

You will chase me down with your favorite books and hold them over your head - a sign that you want nothing more than for me to scoop you up and read a story while you are perched on my lap. Your favorite book is "Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear?" and whenever I get to the page with the lion - you will roar and then fiercely laugh.


You love bath time...


And I have to sort through the rubbish at the end of the day because you love throwing random things out in the garbage (Note to self: need new trashcan locks).


You have an intense curiosity fascination obsession with electronic equipment and are happiest when you have a calculator, remote control, telephone, or iPod within your grasp.


The more valuable the item - the more you want it.

When the triplets were your age, we had gates up all over the house. But you have free run of the place and are climbing any thing and every thing you can.

You are making me a nervous wreck because I can't turn my back for a second without you scaling furniture.

If you see something that you want - you will get it.

Nothing will stop you once you've got your mind made up. One day last week, I found you STANDING on my lap top computer with one hand holding my cell phone and the other hand pulling on the dining room chandelier.


Your sleep habits are extremely "dynamic". When the triplets were your age, they were on a very strict routine - but with you, no two days seem to be the same.

I'm not sure if this unpredictability has more to do with the fact that you are a singleton, or that you are my "second" born. Regardless, I strive to give you a nap in the morning at around 9:30 or 10:00 - but within the past few days, that nap hasn't worked out too well with your agenda.

Instead, you've been falling asleep on your feet at around noon. You are usually in bed anywhere from 6:30 to 8:00 and you will sleep until at least 5:30 every morning. When you wake up in the morning, your father will run to retrieve you before you disturb the rest of the house, and then, you'll nurse and snooze for the next hour and a half.


I'm rather sleep deprived, but it's cool. I know it won't be like this forever. Or maybe it will and I'm just in denial and need to start enjoying the taste of coffee if I ever expect to survive?


You went camping for the first time this month and I was tickled that I was still able to stuff fit you in the 3-6 month bear suit that I bought last year from LL Bean.


You met Spiderman this month and that is one thing you could have done without.

Even though you don't care much for men that dress in red bodysuits, you adore your siblings and whenever one of them is put in time out (usually for attempting to catapult you across the room when you take one of their toys), you are quick to forgive.


And although they might sometimes yell - or scream - or throw themselves in to a full body seizure when you come near ... rest assured little guy, they think that you are awesome.


You are our shining star and we love you ... to infinity and beyond.

favorite thing friday

I'm not sure where I first heard about this simple trick for keeping children entertained, but whenever I give our kids a clean paintbrush and a bucket of water, they will stay busy for a good 30 minutes. Give or take 25.


Several months ago (around the time William entered his "Tarzan" phase and strips down to underwear whenever we're at home), I picked up some inexpensive paint brushes at a hardware store and since then, "painting" water has evolved in to one of our favorite pastimes.


The children "paint" water on concrete - the house - plant pots - outdoor furniture - each other - and they pick up a science lesson regarding evaporation in the process.


With much sadness, I can see that naps are beginning to disappear for the triplets. So today when I realized that I'd have better luck solving the financial crisis than getting our children to lay down and have quiet time for an hour, I filled up small buckets with water - handed them their paintbrushes - and set them loose in the backyard.

For an hour, we all sat and painted various shapes, patterns and faces on the ground. But after that time, the children started to get ornery and began teasing one another. "I'm gonna kick over your bucket."

"Noooo! Don't kick MY bucket!!"

It didn't take much of their bickering before I felt like *I* was going to kick the bucket if I didn't get away from the noise, so I went inside the house.


Which leads me to another favorite thing: a soundproof door that locks.

wednesday weigh in

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from a marketing company that wants to offer me a six-month supply to try out Sensa. From the e-mail that they sent, "Sensa is a new approach to weight loss that offers life-changing results without a change in lifestyle. It is a revolutionary product based on 25 years of research. Sensa is not a dietary supplement, strict food plan, fad diet, or diet pill."

I turned the offer down to complete the review because I'm not a supplement kind of person. For me what works is to have a well-rounded diet and exercise several times a week. Losing weight and getting in shape isn't magic.

However, if someone is struggling with portion control - this might be useful to try out in conjunction with whatever good diet / exercise routine they are trying to foster. If anyone is interested, you can use the code ROCKETXL at checkout, which will give you 15% off your order (no minimum) and free ground shipping.

In other news.

My husband bought a wet suit this weekend, to wear in his triathlon that is this coming Sunday. The wet suit belonged to a man that runs the local bike shop and has competed in over 30 triathlons and is currently preparing for his eighth Iron Man in Hawai'i.

He can swim 2 miles, bike 112 miles and run 26.2 miles in 9 hours and 8 minutes.

It would probably take me 9 hours and 8 minutes to do any one of those things.

Charlie wore the wetsuit for the first time in the pool last night and he said that he couldn't believe how much faster he was able to swim. When he got out of the pool, a man who had been swimming in the lane next to him asked if he was a Navy Seal or perhaps in ocean rescue. He went on to tell my husband that they way he cut through water, with his big strong muscles, he looked like a professional athlete.

Now, I'm a very supportive wife but I laughed so hard I pulled a muscle when Charlie told me this story. Probably because to see him tell the story was almost funnier than the story itself. I reminded my husband that he needs to be sure his WEDDING BAND is always visible. Because I think that is a pick up if I've ever heard one. Meanwhile, Charlie thinks the $100.00 it cost for his slightly used wet suit is the best money he's ever spent. Not just because it makes him faster in the water but because it makes him look good.

Sure I can laugh. I've done nothing this week except chortle myself in to a sweat when Charlie told me about his fan club. This most recent virus has wiped me out and once again, I am befuddled as to how viruses serve to build a person's immunity? When the children get sick, I get sick. Even though I was sick as a child. Although, Henry hasn't had this bug, so perhaps whatever immunity I do have - is being leached out in breast milk?

When Charlie dropped the children off at school today (the first time all three have been in over a week), he said that they walked in holding hands and they all hugged and kissed each other before going to class. My husband called to tell me that seeing our children this morning as they departed in to their own separate classrooms, radiating love for each other, was the most magical thing he has ever experienced in his life.

I told him that laying on the floor playing trucks with Henry while two people cleaned our whole house and scrubbed our toilets was the most magical thing I've ever experienced.

****

How are you doing with your goals?

yesterday, today, tomorrow

Hi!

I didn't see you there!!

Oh. About yesterday?


I was feeling a little overwhelmed, weepy, desperate. I was up until midnight talking to Charlie about our lives. What are we doing?! We need to move!! We need to grow organic food!! We need to live off the land!! We need to get away from all the craziness in this neighborhood ... in this world!!

Our babies!! Our BABIES!! They'll be going to college before we know it and we're MISSING it all!!

Poor Charlie could hardly keep his eyes open listening to me rant. Finally at 11:45, I begrudgingly agreed that we weren't going to figure out our future within the next 15 minutes.

At midnight, we went to sleep.

At 1:07 I was up with William.

At 2:18 I was up, myself.

At 3:11 I was up with Carolyn who had thrown up all over her bed.

Between 3:12 and 5:58, I laid on the couch with my daughter and a bucket, getting up several times to get her a Kleenex, a glass of water, more Tylenol.

At 5:59 I was up with Henry.

Between 6:00 and 7:59, I remained on the couch with Henry and Carolyn, and then noticed that OH MY GOSH, I have 31 minutes to get our healthy children up, dressed, fed and out the door to school. But first, I realized that the reason I was feeling so weepy and desperate yesterday is because the glorious hiatus I bragged about enjoying for the past two years came to a screeching halt today.

Oh yeah. Now it ALL makes sense.

The mounting psychosis and the overwhelming need for chocolate?

I'm not sure why I didn't recognize it sooner.

I kept Carolyn home while William and Elizabeth were sent to school.

While at school, Elizabeth participated in her EIGHTH birthday party. Which means, she brought home her EIGHTH birthday party bag. As of yet, only one child in William's class has had a party this year and none of the children in Carolyn's class have. In the three weeks of school, Elizabeth has come home with goody bags several times a week - while her siblings are empty handed.

Yesterday, she came home with a flat of Krispy Kreme donuts and superballs that looked like eyes. I'm not sure if nearly half her class has September birthdays, or what. But I'm prepared to tell her teacher that I don't want her receiving any more "goody" bags.

My decision to put a kibosh on the festivities is not just because I'm a grinch. Nor, because it causes too much controversy when the other children don't have something to bring home. Instead, it has to do with the the volume of SUGAR that my three-year-old has picked up in three weeks of school. Our kids have had sweets in their lifetime, but I don't want them eating it every day. Nor do I want them bringing home small plastic toys that are the perfect size to get lodged in Henry's throat.

While I worked this afternoon, Charlie called and canceled with the 18-year old sitter who was suppose to report for duty, tomorrow. Instead, we have a team of cleaning women who are due to arrive at our house at 8:30 in the morning.

While they clean, I will feast on chocolate from the blasted goody bags that I have confiscated from my three-year-old daughter.

talk me down, quick

Tonight we had fish for dinner.

Or rather, Charlie and I had fish for dinner.

The children picked at rice, squashed applesauce in to bread and exercised extreme caution to insure that the energy field of their fork did not intersect with the energy field of the one-inch square piece of halibut served up on their plates.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen, before putting the kids in the bath, Elizabeth asked why I was packaging up the leftovers and putting them in the refrigerator. I answered, "Because I don't want to throw them away."

Since we have unequivocally entered The Age of Why?, my three-year-old again asked, "Why?"

"Because this is food that we might be want to eat tomorrow for lunch or dinner."

Again she prompted, "Why?"

"Because we will be hungry and we will need something to eat." And then I added, "Besides, Elizabeth, a fish gave it's life so that we could eat it and the last thing I'd ever want to do is throw it in the trashcan." This seemed to satisfy her curiosity and she pondered that while continuing to flick rice about her plate.

I finished washing the pots and pans that were in the sink and loading up the dishwasher. A few minutes later, I called all the children to the bathroom for their bath. In came William, in came Carolyn, in toddled Henry. When Elizabeth didn't arrive after a few minutes, I walked back out to the kitchen to see that she was sitting at the table, eating her fish.

When I asked what she was doing, she replied, "Mama, I don't want this fish to go in the trash, so I'm eating it." And she did. Every last bite.

These children are the most perfect little creatures ever.


Look at these faces.


Why would I want to be away from them?

They are perfection. With a smidge of silt.


I went back to work so that the children could go to school. Now, I'm actually considering working more so that I can send them to school for a longer period of time and/or bring in a sitter. All of this working, working, working so that I can pay other people to watch my children?

What am I missing here?

Doesn't that defeat the purpose of having children in the first place?

I'm sick. I'm tired. I'm running around like mad. And tonight while I was bathing the kids it dawned on me that what I really want out of life is to move to the country and home school our children. I've eluded to it before, but never come clean. Now I've said it.

Call me crazy.

Maybe I'll make candles and spin wool. We'll have solar panels and a well. I might write a book. I might even try to make soap. We'll grow vegetables in a garden and tap maple trees for real syrup. We'll have a canoe. We'll fish in a lake. We'll have 12 children and we'll be as happy as the day is long. Now, once we can figure out how to make a living ... we are so totally there.*


*Not sure where "there" is yet. I'd like it to snow, but not be too cold. The ocean should be within a days drive. And the mountains need to be close. And although I want to move out of suburbia, we'll need some nice stores nearby. Definitely a store that sells good cheese. I can order a lot of things through the internet but not cheese. [edit: It turns out you can get good cheese online. But ice cream is tricky. So, I need a store for good ice cream. Whenever I've tried to make it myself, it never comes out well.] And there should probably be a pscyh ward close. I'll probably need it, once I come to my senses and realize that we ditched our careers and moved our family out of San Diego to the middle of nowhere and if we're going to have cereal for breakfast, I need to go milk a cow.

growing pains

So here's the deal.

I just figured it out.

Less than a month in to it and we've discovered this whole school schedule is really tough and wearing us out. The level of effort that is required to get the children up and dressed and lunches made and breakfast prepared and teeth brushed and out of the house by 8:30, just so that we can drive 20+ minutes and drop them off and then drive 20+ minutes to work or home, and then drive 20+ minutes and pick them up less than three hours later and drive 20+ minutes home again ... is a lot.

Especially since as soon as we get them home, we are getting them ready for their nap. And then, we're trying to coordinate four children going to sleep at the same time. This is entirely hit or miss. It frequently happens that three go down just as one is waking up or vice versa.

Having a helper seems to make sense just to take off some of the burden from that late-afternoon crunch, right around the time I need to prepare dinner. Right around that time my energy stores are low - the children's energy stores are high - I want to lay down and take a snooze - and they want to dump the contents of their dressers.

What if we just coughed up the extra $100.00 per month per child and sent them to school from 9 until 3, as opposed to 9 until noon? Would those three extra hours a day be everything that I need? Or, would it just take my babies children away from me for that much longer everyday?

I'm planning to put our children in various sport programs through the Y. And oh my gosh, all of a sudden, they would be gone from 8:30 in the morning until possibly 5:30 at night and they are way too young for that.

And you know, I really miss them. Even though they're only gone for three hours a day, I feel like this whole school schedule has put a major wrench in the daily routine that we had.

Besides, I actually think it was less exhausting when they were under my care the whole day.

a discussion with my conscience

For the past several years, our families have been encouraging us to hire a mother's helper.

Whenever my mother comes to visit us in California, it is her mission to find us help. When mom was recently in town, she stopped everyone who had a pulse made eye contact and asked "Do you know of someone who might be available to babysit?"

For years and years, mom has been telling me to go to the local high school and talk to the Principal. Or one of the guidance counselors. Or post a flier at a local Junior College.

"The flier could be simple" she said. "Just post that you need a Mother's Helper. But..." she added, "I wouldn't mention how many children you have - or how old they are - in the ad."

I'm sure any potential babysitter would love to have it sprung on them, the first day of work that there are one! two! three! FOUR! children. And by the way, they're all under the age of four. I suspect there wouldn't be a first day of work. They'd ditch their black umbrella and bag of tricks and take off running down the street, never to be seen or heard from again.

To our credit, we did once post a flier at a local JC and never received any response. And when I was first returning to work in 2005, we ran an ad in a local newspaper - interviewed several people - and then decided that hiring help wasn't our cup of tea.

Charlie and I could make this work, just the two of us.

And we did.

And we have.

And wow - look at that.

Almost four years have passed and we're still relatively sane.

"All you need is someone to come over and play with the children for a few hours in the afternoon so you can get some things done", mom would stress. "Think of how nice it would be to have a little time to do some laundry or cook dinner. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Theoretically? Yes.

Realistically? I'm not sure.

But after enough people have been pressuring telling me how liberating it will be to have another set of hands to help in the afternoon, for a few hours a day, I have finally decided to give it a go.

My concession is that either Charlie and I would be here - folding laundry, participating in a conference call, preparing dinner. Maybe we would take one or two of the children and visit the grocery store. The babysitter's responsibilities would be to play with the children, read them stories, paint, string beads, push them on the swing.

Although, I really enjoy doing ALL of those things with the children. Why should I pay someone to come and do that? And really, we've managed for FOUR years with just the two of us, why do I really need to bring someone in, NOW? If anything, I'm away from the children for three hours a day in the morning - why do I need to be away from them in the afternoon, too?

Dear God, are you there?

Can you hear me? Is this thing on??

Today, one of the people that my mother talked to at church, many Sundays ago, came over. She is 18-years old and a Freshman in College. She has a very busy schedule, but is available a few afternoons a week to help with the children.

My initial impression was that she was very nice, but very shy. What I didn't notice (because I was chasing after Henry), but Charlie pointed out, is that she didn't talk to the children at all. While my husband walked her around the house and pointed out their various play areas and toys, and discussed what we were looking for and her availability, she clutched her bottle of water and nodded, "Oh, OK. Um. OK."

Maybe she was just overly shy and will be more engaging with the children when we're not standing right next to her. But so far, we're not off to a good start.

See, here's the thing. If I am going to have someone come to watch our children, they better do just as good of a job - if not better - than me. Better, I would expect, because they are going to be here for a short period of time and they will be paid. They need to be energetic and fun, resourceful and imaginative, carefree and disciplined, loving, kind and patient.

Extremely patient.

And they sure as heck better TALK with the children.

Once she left, Charlie and I were discussing compensation. When Charlie had asked her what her expectation was, she replied, "Whatever you are comfortable with." I remember giving that exact same empty response when I was a teenager. Perhaps 18-year-olds just haven't yet developed the self confidence to assertively declare what they want, or feel that they deserve.

Back in the 80's when I would babysit, I would make around $3.00 an hour. So I really have no idea what the "going" rate is. In talking with several of my friends, they have told me that depending upon where you live (i.e. Northern California Bay Area), the going rate for a sitter is $25.00 an hour and each additional child is $10.00 per hour.

To which I asked, what comes with that?? Will they also sanitize the house and teach our children Italian?? Because seriously, if I could be pulling in $55.00 an hour to babysit, graduate school was a bad investment.

Charlie called our sister-in-law, Kathy, this afternoon and according to her (mother of two teens both of whom babysit), a fair salary would be $10.00 an hour, assuming Charlie and I are here and the babysitter can come and ask us questions. Charlie assumed then, that if we pay $15.00 an hour, we should be left COMPLETELY alone.

Truthfully, I'm not too keen on any of this.

I definitely don't like having things forced upon me.

I feel like this whole "thing" of hiring a routine-sitter has been set in motion and I'm not too sure I want any of it to happen. My unwillingness has nothing to do with relinquishing control and allowing other people to care for my children because I already do that five days a week with school.

Instead, it has everything to do with the fact that I don't want to put an extra burden upon myself to find someone that I like and trust. I don't want to give up more time with my children, than I already do. I don't want to be committed to someone every week. It seems that bringing some one in is supposed to make my life easier, but from what I can see thus far, it seems like this is only going to complicate matters AND it will cost me money.

Why is that good??

Why do I have to try and fix something that isn't broken??

Although, right now, the kids are stirring from their nap and I am wishing that I had just a little more time to myself. Especially since I can hear William growling and screaming "ARGH!" and that never bodes well with my psyche.

Who knows. Maybe things would get better with time. Maybe this is just the kind of thing I need to try out for a while. Maybe this sitter will be the answer to prayers I didn't even know I was praying. Maybe everyone who has made the suggestion that I hire someone knows exactly what they are talking about, and I am clueless.

Or ... maybe not.

bad hair day

Every one that lives in this house is sick.


Well, except Henry.

So while we were laying on the couch today, we were nearly helpless to stop the newest toddler who is climbing on top of the dining room table and grabbing at the chandelier. We were bribing him with Cheerios and Goldfish to lure him near, and whenever he came within grasp, we'd grab him and hold him tight until he squirmed away from us. Then, we upped the anty to M&M's.

Oh, how Henry loves him some M&M's.

Thankfully, we're such good teeth brushers around here.

No?!

Tonight, Charlie made homemade chicken noodle soup. And much like it is imperative to clean out both cavities of a turkey prior to stuffing and cooking (we made the unfortunate error on Thanksgiving in 1998 and didn't notice the oversight until we were carving the bird in front of 10 guests and the knife snagged on the gizzard bag - OOPS), it is imperative to clean out both cavities of a whole chicken prior to boiling.

Did you know that if you fail to clean out both cavities of a chicken, prior to boiling, the heart and liver will disintegrate and turn the water dark brown? Nothing says "GET WELL SOON!" like eating soup that has chunks of various poultry organs floating about that give the dark broth a nice resemblance to raw sewage.

Charlie being the culinary genius that he is, saved the day by straining the soup, adding some organic chicken broth and an assortment of fresh vegetables and herbs that yielded the best tasting concoction I've had in a long while. If not for him commandeering the remote control and subjecting his family to almost TWELVE hours of football, I might have considered throwing him a parade.

OK. I'm still considering it. That soup was awesome.

favorite thing friday

A few days before Charlie and I were married in 1994, my mother underwent a major dental reconstruction. Mom previously had her top teeth extracted and was fit with a temporary bridge while her permanent bridge was made.

My mother's dentist gave her strict instructions to avoid certain foods because her temporary bridge would not be as secure as the permanent bridge, and since mom was slated to read a verse at our wedding in front of 200 guests, she promised that she would be careful.

But on the plane ride from South Carolina to Massachusetts, a mere two days before the wedding, mom bit in to a seemingly harmless-to-fragile-dental-work sandwich and nearly died when she looked down to see that her bridge was still in the sandwich when she took it away from her mouth. Mom threw a napkin up to cover her face and leaning over to my Aunt Grace, who was traveling north with her, muttered "Oh NO!"

When Auntie encouraged mom to drop the napkin, she initially panicked - before falling in to a fit of hysteria. My aunt and my mom laughed and laughed. Because there sat the mother of the bride, almost completely toothless.

I've written before that dental hygiene is very important to me.

I have had our children in to see the dentist every four months since the time they were 18-months old, and Henry had his first checkup the same month he turned one. When my mother was in town recently and she watched me struggling with Henry to brush his four little teeth, she casually mentioned that she didn't own a toothbrush until she was seven-years-old.

So. As I was saying.

Good dental hygiene is important. And my mother knows that although she was born during the Depression and before the current day emphasis that is placed upon taking care of one's teeth, mom always made sure I had my teeth cleaned every six months when I was growing up.

For Christmas in 2000, mom bought me an Oral B electric toothbrush.

Up until that time, I had always used a manual toothbrush, and once I made the switch, I couldn't believe the difference. I went on and on about how awesome my new electric toothbrush was and Charlie had such toothbrush envy, he ditched his Reach and went out and bought an Oral B for himself.

For the past eight years, I have used the exact same toothbrush, changing out the heads once every few months. I had no plans to replace my Oral B toothbrush, but very recently, it seemed that whenever I would brush my tongue (I cannot consider any toothbrushing session complete without a good tongue scrubbing), the toothbrush head would come off and get stuck at the back of my throat.

No kidding.

(Does it amaze you as much as it amazes me, the things about my personal life I divulge on this blog?)

The first time it happened, I thought that maybe I needed a new toothbrush head. But when I replaced it - and the same exact thing happened again - I got a little fearful that I was going to die while brushing my teeth.

Instead of running out and buying a new toothbrush (or using one of the 50 manual toothbrushes I have stockpiled from my [nearly] quarterly dental visits), for the next few months, I exercised extreme caution when brushing my tongue to insure that the toothbrush head didn't disconnect from the body, get lodged in my throat, and kill me.

(Seriously, in my mind's eye I could actually see the obituary about how I choked to death on a toothbrush head and I leave behind four small children and a grief-stricken husband.)

All this to say ... I recently bought a new toothbrush.

I had heard great things about the Sonicare from my dentist, but never felt compelled to fork over the $100 (or $170 depending upon the model) until my recent disconnecting-toothbrush head-escapades. Now I can honestly say that as much as I loved my Oral B, I love the Sonicare that much more. The level of clean that is achieved after just one tooth brushing, is comparable to the level of clean one obtains after having just visited the dentist.

From the Philips website:

• Sonicare achieves its bristle velocity through a combination of high frequency and high amplitude bristle motion.

• This velocity generates dynamic action.

• Dynamic action is gentler on dentin than a manual or an oscillating toothbrush. This action cannot be achieved by oscillating, spinning, rotating, or pulsating brushes.

• The cleaning power of dynamic action, coupled with the specially designed bristle orientation, results in deep penetration of interproximal spaces.

• This process results in a distinctly different brushing experience.

We purchased the Flexcare at Costco for $169.99. It came with two toothbrushes, a recharger and travel recharger (this is convenient for us since Charlie needs HIS OWN charger because he doesn't like sharing his recharger with me since I do not share the same neurosis about cleaning my toothbrush prior to charging. Whatever. He has his hang ups, he says I have mine) a travel pouch and a UV sanitizer.

If it wasn't so late, I would do a little comparison to the Flexcare that is sold at Costco versus Bed, Bath & Beyond. They also show a sale price of $169.99 but I'm not sure if the package sold at Costco is exactly the same, or slightly expanded. If they are the same, purchasing this toothbrush through Bed, Bath & Beyond (with a coupon) could save you 20%.

Our children are still using inexpensive battery-operated electric toothbrushes, but once they are a little older and not as likely to put their toothbrush in to the toilet, I will consider purchasing a Sonicare for them, too. Because dental hygiene is important to me.

(As for my mom: she visited a dentist in Massachusetts who placed her temporary bridge back in, the day before we exchanged nuptials. She had teeth, but her dental work was incredibly fragile and awkward fitting. I love you mom. Thanks for everything you do for me. And thanks for reading at our wedding. I think the lisp was adorable.)

next time, it's charlie's turn

Tonight we went to Costco.

One minute we are having fun chattering in the freezer section, the next minute I am informed - very loudly - that one of our children needs to go poop. As in, NOW. THIS VERY SECOND.

Charlie has one cart loaded with groceries, I have the other, partially loaded with children and more groceries. Our eyes briefly connect while our child is dancing around our feet, clutching themselves and yelling, "I NEED TO GO POOP! I NEED TO GO POOP! I NEED TO GO POOP! POOP! POOP! POOP!!"

As our children are rapidly approaching the age of four, their language has become much more articulate than it was just a few short months ago. No longer are we the only ones to understand the words that they use. Now when they speak, anyone who has any grasp of the English language would know exactly what they are saying.

There's no covering this one up, so we do our best to ignore the fellow shoppers who have stopped their shopping and turned to stare. My husband actually attempted to feign oblivion to the situation and looks around, saying aloud to no one in particular, "Oh would you look at that! Raspberries are still in season and they're on SALE!"

Meanwhile, I abandon my cart and taking my child's hand, lead them to the restroom - all the while praying that they don't drop a load somewhere between the absolute back corner of the store and the very, very front. As we are walking away at a brisk clip, I notice that my other two three-year-old children are running behind me yelling, "I need to go POOP too, Mama!! Wait!! WAIT!! I GO POO POO TOO!!"

To all the people who had stopped to stare at us as we trotted along the 1,000-foot corridor from where we had been standing in the freezer section, to where we were going in the latrine section, I smiled and nodding my head to the back of the store declared, "There's a great deal on raspberries! They are on sale and going fast in produce!!"

We make it to the bathroom and there is a long wait. And while we wait my children are chanting in unison, "I need to go POOP. I need to go POOP." Which very soon causes a stir because in the land of three, when you have to go poop, only YOU have to go poop.

No one else dare lay claim to that bodily need.

Yet because more than one of my children purportedly needed to go poop, there was bickering, "You not need to go poop. I NEED TO GO POOP!" Followed by, "NO. YOU NOT POOP. I GO POOP!!"

And on.

And on.

And finally, after what seemed like 15 minutes, after much shushing and mouth covering, a stall opened up. One of the standard small stalls, not the over sized handicapped stall I had been hoping for. I ushered the kids in to the small space and then tried to corral them in the corner while I closed the door. They are trying to kick the trash can which is piled high with who knows what. They are trying to pull seat covers out. They are trying to flush the toilet. They are touching everything and attempting to squeeze in behind me and open the door.

"HOLD STILL!!" I bellow.

"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR ELBOWS AND DO NOT MOVE!!"

I wipe off the seat and put a seat cover on before depositing the child who started the mad dash to the bathroom. Only to see that their request to use the bathroom came about ... uh ... five minutes too late. They finish what remains of their business while their siblings crowd around the back of the toilet and inquire, "You go POOP? Lemme see the poop. Where the poop?!"

I put the next child up. While they are trying to do their business, two other children are crowded around the back of the toilet inquiring "You go POOP? Lemme see, lemme see. Lemme see the POOP. OHHH!!! I SEE POOP!!!!" and then grabbing at their noses, "OH, it's STINKY!!!"

The second child is taken down and the third is put up. They don't have to go poop. They just like all the attention and fanfare, so they sit for a while, soaking up the excitement, reveling in the moment.

The third child comes off the potty and I decide that while I'm there, heck, I may as well go, too. As I'm preparing to sit down, one of my children kneels down in an area where only a three-year-old could fit and demands, "Hey, where's your PEANUT?"

My other two children stop talking long enough to hear me respond, "Girls don't have peanuts." Now although I believe it is important that children know the correct nomenclature for parts of their body, the public restroom at Costco is not necessarily the place I want to give the kids a lesson in anatomy. KWIM?

In that time that I was talking to the children, I noticed that the bathroom was eerily quiet. For a brief moment, I thought that maybe everyone had vacated and we were left alone in the restroom. But when I peeked out underneath the stall door, I could see that there were at least 20 pairs of shoes - standing in line - and the stalls on either side of me - were occupied.

Great.

One of my children saw me look under the stall and dropped to their knees to see what I was looking at. The other two children were attempting to cluster around the back of the toilet. "Mommy, you go poop? Lemme see, lemme see, lemme see. Do you go poo-poo, too MOM? Where's the poop? I don't see any poop? Mom, you go poop or you go pee-pee?"

I pulled the child off the ground who who was now attempting to crawl under the stall, and as they stood up, they exclaimed, "HEY MOM! You have a BIG bum!! Look at your big bum!! Turning around they pointed to themselves and continued, "I have a wittle bum!! See my wittle bum?! It's WITTLE!"

Chuckling I replied, "Yeah, but you know what? You have a BIG mouth!"

I'll be darned if everyone wasn't eavesdropping on us, because the whole restroom erupted in to laughter.