the male mind

Charlie was off from work today because it is President's Day. This was an awesome gift for me, because I didn't know until yesterday that he was getting today off from work.

So while he stayed at home playing with William, Elizabeth and the baby, I took Carolyn shopping. The goal of the outing was to pick Henry up some new pajamas because the 12-month sleepers that I bought him over Christmas are already too small. Since we would be in close proximity to REI, I was also planning to swing by and see if I could find Jessica a pair of Keen's in a size 10 because she said she'd love a pair of sandles.

And I love shopping at REI.

Even for people I've never met that live on the other side of the country.

Walking in to REI, I found that they had Keen sandles in a size 10. They were normally priced $90.00 and they had been marked down to $59.83, but then they were 50% off that price. As I was walking out with the $29.00 shoes in hand, I noticed that they also had a pair of Keen's in a size 10.5.

So I stopped and started thinking.

In the past five years, I've gone up an entire shoe size. Before I had children, I was comfortably a size 7. But the pair of Keen's that I bought for myself on Saturday were a 8.5 and they fit perfectly. After standing all day, my foot swells and it feels great to have a shoe with a little more room. Jessica is also a mom to a gaggle of small children, so I bet she spends a good amount of time on her feet, too. And if she is anything like me, her foot is expanding with age.

Besides, if Jessica - who lives in Virginia - ever wants to wear her sandles with a pair of wool socks, she can do that and her toes won't feel cramped.

There's nothing worse than having cramped feet.

And if the shoes are a little big, they have elastic laces that can be cinched down.

After torturing myself for a solid 20 minutes over which size shoes to buy, I settled on the size 10.5 and picking up only one other thing on my way to the register - (a snow cabin playhouse toy for the children that was marked from $35.00 down to $9.50) - made my way out of the store.

From REI, we went out to lunch at Panera. Standing in line, I couldn't decide if I wanted a sourdough bowl of broccoli cheese soup, or if I wanted the salad. Or, maybe the honey roasted turkey breast sandwich with fresh roma tomatoes. I asked Carolyn if she wanted the roast beef or grilled cheese. She responded grilled cheese, but when I queried her again as I was about to place the order, she wanted peanut butter and jelly.

Considering I changed my own order twice after placing the original order, I found it rather amusing that my three-year-old couldn't make her mind up, either.

While I ate my french onion soup and Carolyn ate her loaded peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I regretted our menu choices. My daughter was coated in peanut butter and jelly across her face from ear to ear and throughout her hair, and when I went to peel off a hunk of sourdough bowl, the whole dang thing flipped over and sloshed me in beef-broth-based soup.

I called Charlie from the car and told him about my shoe sizing predicament. He asked "What size did she say she was?" And when I replied "10" he said, "Well, then, I would have bought her the 10."

Yes. But. But. But.

"What if her foot swells like mine does? What if she wants to wear wool socks?"

"Did she tell you that her foot swells or that she likes to wear wool socks?"

"No. But...I'm speculating that it might or she'd like to."

"Jen, she said she's a size 10. That's pretty easy if you ask me."

Although I understand what he is saying and I agree with his logic, I appear to have a fundamental problem with following simple directions. If I drive my husband half as crazy as I drive myself, I seriously don't know how he can stand it.

Lucky for him, I'm such a savvy shopper.

the female mind

This morning, Charlie was getting the children dressed while I fed Henry. Since we were planning to go for a hike along the ocean, he wanted to put everyone in long pants - but since Elizabeth is embracing everything girly and pink at the moment - she wanted to wear a dress.

I could hear the power struggle unfold as I was spooning Henry his prunes.

"Elizabeth, you need to wear these pants. You can wear your dress later."

"Daddy. I NOT wear pants. I WEAR MY DRESS!"

"Elizabeth. It is going to be COLD outside. You can wear your dress when we come home."

"DADDY. I NOT COLD. I WEAR MY DRESS!!!"

"Elizabeth. If you fall down you will hurt your legs in a dress. There will be blood!"

"DADDY. I NOT FALL DOWN. THERE NO BLOOD. I WEAR MY DRESS!!"

"You never know, Elizabeth."

"Daddy. I know what I want!!"

After hearing Charlie's exasperated sighs, I suggested that he let her wear a dress over her pants, like I've been doing almost every day for the past week. But after a few more exchanges, Charlie had Elizabeth wearing pants.

He came out to the kitchen and shooting me a sly smile casually said that he had worked things out with her and they had reached an agreement. And seconds later, Elizabeth came out and standing before me with dripping wet pants, informed us that she had just gone pee-pee in her underwear and now required a complete outfit change.

Charlie looked at me with disbelief and then asked "Why Elizabeth? WHY?!" But before she could respond I said "She's thought it through and she doesn't want to wear pants. She wants to wear her dress."

*****

Last month as I was moving clothes out of Henry's drawer that he has outgrown, there was something stopping me from packing everything up and sending it off to Goodwill. This was very unlike the feeling I had when our triplets were infants and they would hit a growth spurt. Granted, the volume of material was considerably greater with our triplets, but once they outgrew clothes and equipment - I would rapidly get rid of it. Almost as quickly as I got rid of all my maternity clothes.

Sure, I wanted another baby.

But I never imagined that we'd actually need those supplies again.

Currently, my primary reservation about adding to our family is that we have been so incredibly blessed with the amazing children that we have and I wonder if we would be so fortunate as to have a fifth healthy child. Another reservation is the greed factor. You know, thinking about how selfish I must be to even consider having another baby when there are people who are still waiting for one. And dare I even presume that we would be successful if we tried?

And then there's overpopulation. There are a lot of people in this world.

Of course if we were to have another child, we would need a larger vehicle. But I've already decided that in the next couple years, we'll replace our 7-passenger minivan with a 12-passenger van. Not just to accommodate another carseat - as necessary - but because the extra space would be extremely convenient. Especially when we go on a road trip and will have a lot of gear. Or, when we have family or friends that come to visit and we are able to fit everyone in one vehicle and won't have to pay to park extra cars at Sea World. Or, when the kids get a little older and will want to bring their friends on various outings.

Then there is the factor of our small house and the local park that only has four swings.

But all of those factors and reservations are offset by the sheer joy that our offspring bring us (most of the time) and how I cannot imagine anything more wonderful than a home bustling with children. I've also seriously considered growing our family by adoption - which is something we might pursue in a few more years.

Currently, there is no announcement. Although that's not to say that there won't be one. At the moment, I'm savoring every day with my baby Henry and I don't want to get ahead of myself. I certainly don't want to dilute the soul-touching magic that this singleton experience has been and continues to be for me.

But the fact that I have a box labeled for Baby 5? in our garage is an indication that I'm open to whatever happens. When Charlie spotted this box one day last month, he looked at me with disbelief and asked "Why Jen? WHY?!"

My response was "You never know, Charlie."

Clearly, I've been thinking things through.

*****

The huge winter sale at REI ends on February 18th.

We went back today to exchange Charlie's slippers for a pair of Keen's. The leather pair that he picked up were normally $90.00 marked down to $14.00 and I picked up a pair in canvas that were also normally $90.00 marked down to $24.00.

Did I mention that my podiatrist thinks that Keen's are the best shoes on the market and he has eleven pairs? Or that Keen's are my all-time favorite pregnancy shoe?

Wow, I love a good sale.

keen and unkeen

Yesterday, I took the kids to REI. The purpose of the trip was to buy Charlie some new slippers for Valentine's Day, but it turned in to a shoe shopping event for the children. Because once I saw that Keen shoes were marked down as much as 50%, I couldn't resist buying a pair.

Or two.

Or three.

Unfortunately, only the red pair were on sale and Elizabeth and Carolyn insisted on having pink and purple, respectively.

I also bought a couple pairs of Merrell slip ons (marked from $40.00 to $16.83), because I have discovered that buying shoes that your children can put on themselves is a good thing.

A really good thing.

Particularly, once they learn how to put the correct shoe on the correct foot.

I've also discovered that when it comes to shoes, it's better not to go cheap. Actually, that philosophy applies to anything important.

After I spent a long and miserably cold night in a $35.00 Coleman sleeping bag on my first geology field trip, I quickly learned that you get what you pay for.

I would prefer that our children out grow their shoes before they fall apart - and even though our kids play hard - I suspect that the $15.00 red Keen's I picked up yesterday will still be intact for Henry to wear. Hopefully, the $44.00 purple and pink Keen's will still fit the girls when they are in first grade (because I bought two sizes larger and their feet grow slowly). But if not, I'll save them for my granddaughters. Or baby #5. If it's a girl.

Speaking of great shoe deals, I also picked Henry up a pair of moccasins through LL Bean this past week. Considering I just spent $14.00 on a pair of Target Robeez knock-offs, I was pleased that I found these LL Bean Robeez knock-offs for only $8.95.

****

The only reason we ventured out yesterday - even though the sky was totally ominous - is because I trusted the weather forecast that predicted "Partly cloudy, warm in afternoon." It was only when we were walking from REI to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory that the winds kicked in, the skies opened up, the temperature dropped 15 degrees and we were pelted with driving rain and hail. During the news last night, the meteorologist indicated that the conditions yesterday were from the worst storm of the season. There were hundreds of vehicles stranded on icy roads in our east county.

With an average temperature of 70 degrees and less than 9-inches of rain a year, just about every day, a weather forecaster in San Diego could predict "Partly cloudy, warm in afternoon" and they would be correct. So, I think that this 'storm of the season' that they missed by a mile yesterday, just goes to show that the meteorologists in San Diego are sleeping on the job.

If I hadn't been stranded in a chocolate store waiting for the storm to pass, believe you me, I'd be writing a letter to someone. Anyone.

How dare it rain in San Diego, when I'm not expecting it to rain!! That's almost as bad as expecting to find a brand new carton of Haagen Dazs ice cream in your freezer and instead, finding a frost covered carton of nonfat lime sherbet.

****

I'm still sick although definitely on the mend. Even though I've had what I think is the flu for the past twelve days, I am standing by Zicam. My neighbor had similar symptoms, and she has been sick for almost five weeks. She missed an entire week of work and a month after her symptoms started, still sounds like she is going to cough up a lung.

****

According to Charlie, he simply told William "You are a big boy now and I don't want to change your diapers anymore. You need to go pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty. You can only wear a diaper when you go to sleep for a nap or at night. The rest of the time you are going to wear big boy underwear. Ready? Set! Go!"

And that was that. Although why it didn't work for me when I told him that exact same thing is a mystery. For the most part, William is doing great, although he is in the bathroom at least five times more frequently than the girls.

But potty training isn't over, yet. My moment of glory from the other day was short lived, since all three of the kids pooped in their underwear the very next day. I have taken to putting them all in Pull-Ups for nap time and then putting a pair of underwear on over their Pull-Up, so that following the nap, I immediately remove the Pull-Up without having to get them fully dressed again. Considering it takes me about three minutes per child to get them dressed ... I've started knitting again with all my free time.

****

The couch in the picture I took yesterday isn't new - it's the infrequently sat upon and hence infrequently photographed couch from our living room. But speaking of couches...

My mother, who rents an ocean-front condo and spends the winter months in Florida with her fiancé, Jim, is currently hosting my sister, Beth, and her seven-year-old son from Massachusetts for the week. Because my father is in the midst of his second divorce from a 25-year marriage and has been having some significant health challenges lately, my sister invited my father to come along with her on the trip to Florida. Of course this invitation was extended only after it was cleared with my mother.

I don't think that paragraph flowed very well, but in a nutshell, my parents who have been divorced for 28-years are now spending a week together in Florida. I don't know if I'm more impressed with Jim who is allowing my mother's first husband to sleep on the pull-out ... of if I'm more impressed with my mother who is welcoming my father in to her life after everything that she has been through. They are both remarkable. And I'm just as proud of my father for going on this trip because he really needed a good change of scenery.

Hopefully, it will be a good week for everyone.

I had more to write about but the kids are now up from their nap.

I've got to go pull off Pull-Ups.

happy valentine's day

I would write more ... but my creative energy has been expelled getting children dressed, hair brushed, signs made, signs laminated, children strategically placed, and snapping off at least 50 pictures.


All so that we could say...


We hope that your day is filled to the brink with love!!

mark this date

As of 2:00 PM, Pacific Standard Time, on this date, Wednesday, February thirteenth, In the Year of Our Lord two thousand and eight ... the only dirty diapers I have yet to change belong to my seven-month-old son, Henry.

After the little "talk" that Charlie had with William last week, he has been using the potty almost exclusively. Not only is he using the potty during the day, he has been waking up dry whenever he goes to sleep. Minus the small set back we had yesterday when he thought that he was making beautiful music - and instead was making the largest underwear disaster I've ever seen, he's done an exemplary job.

Elizabeth, seeing the praise that her brother has been receiving, has decided that maybe gracing the potty with her poop isn't such a bad idea. And Carolyn, who has never once gone poop in the potty, went poop on the potty just today.

And then Elizabeth, who loves praise, climbed up and went poop again.

And then William, who also loves praise, climbed up and went poop again.

And then Elizabeth, who clearly loves praise the most, climbed up and went poop for the third time in 30 minutes while I stood by wondering how in the world a child that weighs so little can poop so much.

Now that my three-year-old children appear to be using the potty successfully, the only obstacle is how to get the girls to sit down when they need to go. Since William has embraced standing up and likes to pretend he is putting out a fire, the girls are trying to figure out how they, too, can stand up and pee. After catching them standing on top of the toilet seat and trying to *aim*, they aren't yet convinced that this elimination stance is limited to boys.

Meanwhile, the time I'm saving from changing diapers, will undoubtedly be spent cleaning the bathrooms.

you could eat off 'em

Now that the baby is crawling, I have been making a big effort to keep the floors clean. I vacuum at least once a day and although we have hardwood and tile floors, I still need to dump the Dyson canister after each time I use it because it is completely filled to the brink.

Oh, how I love that vacuum!!

And Charlie.

I've got to teach that man how to properly use a broom.

lucky, lucky, lucky day

I have really been debating whether or not to buy Henry an exersaucer.

On the one hand, it would provide a safe place for him to sit and play; on the other hand I don't want to "stick" him in something and not allow him ample opportunity to practice his creeping and crawling skills.

Also on the other hand, I've had reservations about forking over $80.00 for something he will outgrow in less than six months. And do I really want to take up a valuable corner of our house with a big plastic contraption?

I had an exersaucer for the triplets. I also had a jumperoo. And a walker. Each of these items were sold for a fraction what I bought them for, about three months before I found out we were expecting Henry. Since Henry has been on the move, I've been barricading him behind folded-up gymnastic mats and our ottoman. If necessary, I'll put him in the small playpen for containment.

But today, after he toppled over and smacked his head on the floor, I decided that I needed to get something to keep him entertained during those times I'm chasing a child down to put their shoes on.

So, I loaded the kids up and we took off for Babies R Us. All told, this outing took me a solid two hours and a lot of hassle. Because when you go in to a store like Babies R Us with three three year-olds and an infant, your three-year olds are going to think that everything is for them to touch and lick, and you just might want to make sure you took an Excedrin beforehand.

Even though I rapidly searched through the boxes to be sure that I was purchasing one that had minimal cuts and tears, when I returned home, I discovered that there were critical parts missing. As in ... the legs that hold the thing up were gone. So, this is going back to the store and we're not getting another one. Because when I opened the box and looked at it, I determined that we really don't have the space for this monstrosity and $80.00 is too much money for a bunch of plastic that I'll be lucky to sell for $15.00 at a yard sale. When the baby needs to be contained, he can go in the playpen we already own.

I love it when my logic comes full circle and it feels like I just found four $20.00's in my wallet.

****

Elizabeth flipped bunny in to the toilet today.

For her sake, it's extremely fortuitous that this happened while we were at home and not at Babies R Us. If bunny went for a swim in a public toilet, there are no guarantees that he would have come out again. Even in our own toilet, I briefly considered telling her that bunny was going to live with Nemo and Dory.

****

Doulala sent me an e-mail today informing me that my etiquette school post that I deleted last week was still in her Google Reader. So for those that missed it and wished they hadn't, read on. And for those that didn't miss it, but wish they had ... here I am doing push-ups with my little workout buddy.

~~~~

Very little grosses me out anymore.

I mean, I've got triplets that are in the midst of potty training. There aren't very many things that are as unpleasant as what I have to face several times a day and I've become rather accustomed to the ickiness.

I've removed huge poop pancakes from the inside of underwear, caught my children dipping their toy fishing rod in a used potty chair in an attempt to "catch a fwish", and have used public restrooms with three kids who have been known to open the tiny little trash can and pull out what they thought was a small kaleidoscope. Because I guess if you don't know any better, a tampon applicator does kind of resemble a toy.

I went in to potty training thinking that it would be easier and probably less painful to pull my bottom lip over my head. Make no mistake: I still believe that. Although, I'm not nearly as disgusted with the potty-training process now as I was when this whole thing started 16 or so months ago. I guess I've just resigned myself to the fact that this is my life, after I cleaned poop out of our Weeble-Wobble Tree House and off the carpet an untold number of times.

Remarkably, I have never gagged. But, I have called Charlie at work and said something along the lines of "I'm cleaning up the carpet from one of our children and I seriously don't remember the last time we fed them corn."

Having children has made us incredibly aware of bodily functions for bodies other than our own. I will excitedly show my husband the contents of a Q-Tip that was swirled around the outer ear of our child after their bath, and I'll gasp in awe when my husband shows me what he suctioned out of our child's nose during the height of a cold.

So this morning, when I came galloping out of the bathroom yelling "Whoa dude, check this out!!" and then proceeded to display the clog that had been prohibiting me from breathing through my left nostril for the past 24-hours ... I didn't even think about how unromantic my behavior was until after I showed my husband the contents of my Kleenex.

I'm not sure when exactly it happened, but sometime during the course of my motherhood, I've turned in to an 11-year old boy.

not like the all-nighters I pulled in college

There's nothing quite like going to bed two hours earlier than you normally do, after cleaning the house and mopping the floors, only to turn on the television and catch the second half of "Sleeping with the Enemy".

And then, once the movie ends, see that they are showing "Sleeping with the Enemy" again, and since it's been 16 years since you've seen this suspense film from the beginning, you decide to watch up to the point when you tuned in, earlier in the evening.

But, instead, you watch the whole thing just to see if you are as freaked out when Julia Roberts opens the kitchen cupboards and sees all the cans neatly aligned. And before you know it, you are going to sleep an hour later than you normally would and full of fear that some psychopath will sneak in to your house in the middle of the night and line up the fringe on your bathroom towels.

Just as you are about to fall asleep, after suffering a dry coughing fit that lasts for a solid 30-minutes, you are soon startled by one of your children screaming that they are wet, but when you run in to their room before they wake up the whole house, the first thing that you notice is the smell of vomit.

And when you turn on the lights, you see that there is vomit everywhere. All over the bed, pillows, blankets, walls and guard rails. The child that is screaming is covered in vomit from their head to their toes and another child is screaming that there is "Bomit all ovah BUNNY!"

After you give the vomit-covered child a bath and your spouse changes all of the linens on their bed - including the waterproof mattress pad and waterproof slip covers on all of the pillows, you bring the freshly cleaned child back in to their bedroom and as you prepare to put them in bed, they begin vomiting again all over the floor that you had just mopped.

You reconsider putting them in bed and instead, decide to let them sleep on gymnastic mats in the family room. So you haul pillows and blankets - and waterproof pads - and make a sick bed on your floor, while your spouse cleans up the floor and sets up a sleeping station on the couch so that he can be near in case they are sick again.

Stealing a glance at the clock on your way back to bed, you calculate that had you not watched the stupid movie twice, you would have been asleep for four hours before this wake-up call, you've been up for two hours dealing with it, and chances are excellent that your fourth child will be awake within an hour.

No sooner do you lay your head on your pillow and start to fall back to sleep, but you hear the familiar cry of your baby. As you groggily climb out of bed, you notice that the sky is turning lighter. You return to bed with your baby and are hopeful that maybe you'll be able to close your eyes for just a minute...

But instead, you are startled by a shrill little voice proclaiming "The sun is up for the day evwybody wake-up!!"

When you stagger out to the family room and place your baby on your snoring husband's chest, he turns and looks at you with bags under his eyes that are large enough to hold your entire wardrobe. On the ground is a sick child with a bowl that had previously been used as a catch basin on her head, and your young son is pretending that his tangerine is a soccer ball and demanding french toast for breakfast.

Knowing that I've got a full day before me ... I feel more desperate and pathetic than I ever did walking in to a Calculus final.

ruthless

Another ruthless winter day in southern California.


Even more ruthless is that it took us almost an hour to get the children in to their bathing suits, coated in sunscreen and get everything set up outside for them to play. They lost interest and started crying in five minutes.

Now they are outside with Charlie playing with their ride-on-toys.

It took almost an hour to get them out of their wet bathing suits, in to dry clothes, after several trips to the potty, in to their helmets and outside - including a 10 minute fight over who got to ride the John Deere Tractor.

I was planning to clean up the disaster areas that have been generated from them being outside - and inside - only to go outside again. But instead, I have decided I better start quickly thinking about what to do next.

They've been out there for four minutes already.

the kid whisperer

We haven't left the house much this week because I've been sick. In fact, today was the first time I stepped foot outside since Monday - and even then - we only went to the end of the driveway. But this morning while we were still in the house - I didn't think that we'd ever get out.

Charlie took care of getting the kids dressed before he left for work. But immediately after breakfast, they were stripped down to their socks. By their own accord, of course.

They wanted to wear their bathing suits.

No.

They wanted to wear their princess dresses.

No.

They wanted to wear shorts. With tights.

No.

They wanted to wear turtle underwear and a butterfly shirt.

No.

They wanted to wear their bathing suits.

Now that the kids are talking more, it seems that almost all of their communication is either by whining or screaming. So, this morning, what I heard sounded something like this:

"Mommeeee. I waannnnttt to wear my baaatttthhhiiiiinnnggg suuuuuiiiittt. Mommeeee. Heeellllllppp Meeee!!!!!" And then they'd lie on the floor and be completely boneless and whining, "Waaaahhhhhhh."

This symphony was coming at me from three different directions.

All at once.

Now. Typically. I'm moving so fast in the morning to get out of the house, that the kids barely have time to blink and we're out the door on our way somewhere. They certainly don't have time to contemplate how they are going to try on every item of clothing in their entire wardrobe and then nag me incessantly to help them accomplish this magnificent task.

But this morning I was moving slow and it was futile to protest their overwhelming demands because by 9 AM, my voice was completely gone.

I called Charlie at work and in a panicked whisper asked "How am I supposed to function if I can't yell and get their attention?!"

Hanging up the phone, I was certain that today was going to be the most difficult day of my life and I should immediately start an IV of tequila and sudafed pumping continuously in to my blood stream.

I absolutely could not talk and when I did talk, the amount of energy it took to produce audible sounds was so great, I would be physically exhausted. Never have I remembered having laryngitis this bad.

At one point, I lost my cool - I don't even remember what happened - but I opened my mouth to shout and nothing came out. I felt about as pathetic as one of those dogs that has been debarked.

But by the end of the day, I was amazed at just how awesome the kids were.

Sure, there was whining and crying and fighting a-plenty. But when I whispered to them that my voice was broken, something magical happened. They started intently listening to me. I would be in the kitchen and whisper their names and they would stop what they were doing and run to my side. And best yet, those very same kids that have no sense of control on the volume of their three-year-old voices, started whispering, too.

I have really appreciated our kids today. It's been a long time since I've been able to say that and really mean it because truth be told, they drive me bat sh*t crazy most of the time. I'm not absolutely certain that we're turning a corner, but I do think that this whole whispering thing is really a great concept.

I have discovered that I've got a whole lot more patience when I don't have a voice. More than that, when I'm not talking - I'm really listening to them.

Boy are they sweet. And funny.

Tonight as I was tucking Elizabeth in and we were whispering our evening prayers, she was quick to add my mother to her prayer list because of her bad knee. And she also added Uncle Bill, because he's sick. What's so nice about this is that she doesn't have a memory of meeting my Uncle Bill - who is currently fighting cancer - but when she didn't hear me mention his name which I almost always do, she remembered.

After dinner, William was running around and very quietly stopped and asked "Mom, Dad. Did you hear that sound?" When we both shook our heads no, he replied "Those are instruments in my tummy and they are making beautiful music come out my bum!" Where does this kid get it? He's only three-years-old and I swear, he has had me in stitches almost all day.

The best though, came from Carolyn.

Currently, William our proverbial talker, is really hung up on how we purchase things at the store. He'll constantly be asking "This milk. Did this come from the store? What about this table? This chair? This plate? This cup? This orange?" So tonight we were serving the kids a small bowl of ice cream for dessert and William asks "Mommy, did this ice cream come from the store?" and before I could answer Carolyn chimes in "No Whim, ice cweam comes fwom GOD." And then with her little finger pointing in to her chest adds, "Like me."

Ah, my sweet child. I couldn't agree more.

maybe pesticides aren't a bad thing

Ever since I started Henry on solid foods in early January, I've been making almost all of his organic baby food from scratch. I have been purchasing fresh sweet potatoes, bananas, apples, squash and whipping up various concoctions a couple times a week with our Cuisinart. I was also using frozen vegetables - and when I noticed that Swistle was making her own baby food too, but was also throwing in a can of garbanzo beans with her green peas, I thought I'd do the same.

So, this past weekend, I picked up a can of organic garbanzo beans at Trader Joe's to mix with my frozen organic green peas.

This afternoon, when I was preparing a batch of baby food, I dug out the can of garbanzo beans, opened it up, rinsed them off, and poured them in to my food processor. I noticed a little bit of black on the inside of several of the beans, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I must have been thinking "That's part of the bean. Or something. Because it couldn't be... you know ... a bug." And because I was so certain that it wasn't something like a ... you know ... bug ... I tossed one of the beans in to my mouth.

Tasted fine to me.

But then, I figured that since this was food that I was giving to my precious infant child, I should probably just confirm.

You know.

Just to be sure.

So I peeled back the bean and this is what I found.


If I better understood how to use my fancy SLR camera and lenses, you would see that this isn't just any black speck. It is a black speck with an abdomen, thorax, head and wings.

It also has two eyes, antennae and six little legs.

On closer evaluation, there were bugs in almost 30% of the beans.


My organic garbanzo beans were riddled with bugs.

Now if I had not deleted my etiquette post, you would know that there are very few things that gross me out anymore.

Bugs throughout my food?

That would be one of the few things that makes me want to heave.

Although, some might argue that there are a lot of bugs in food that we eat that we don't even know about. And to them, I would say: Yep. That may be. But when I can see the bugs and intentionally grind them up and spoon feed them to my baby?

That right there ... that is cause for ferocious gagging. I can't even do Dim Sum Chinese food brunches because they give you platters of fish with the heads still on.

The reason I'm eating beans in the first place is for protein. I don't need any extra protein in the form of a garbanzo beetle. So, the beans are going back to Trader's. Not because I'm overly concerned with recouping my $0.79, but because what if the whole batch is tainted?

Wouldn't you want to know?

"Oh good heavens, can't we please just stick with breastmilk?"

i update because i lack the energy to cleanup

I'm still sick.

I'm completely hoarse and sound like a bathroom squeak toy.

Today, I'm on my own with the kids because Charlie had to go back to work.

Despite the bright blue skies and nearly 70 degree weather, we haven't left the house. I don't plan to, either.

Because I'm hoarse.

And still sick.

While I've been out of commission for the past two days, Charlie took it upon himself to try and potty train William. He also did our 2007 taxes, organized receipts and medical invoices for 2007 flex health care spending, washed at least 238 loads of laundry and made a bunch of great food including a big batch of Jell-O, just for me.

If it wasn't for him telling me that he doesn't know how I do it everyday, I'd want to hit him with a rolling pin. Repeatedly. But, apparently while I was snoozing and the children were all awake at once and under Charlie's supervision, he felt like climbing in to our broom closet and crying. I believe him because I've never seen him look so freaked out as I did on Tuesday night.

Anyway. I'm really unclear on what exactly happened with William. He said that they had a "talk" and voila! the little man is now using the potty.

I'm happy about this. Really, really happy. But I'm also somewhat perturbed. I've been "talking" to the child for the past SIX MONTHS every single day about using the potty and all I got was wet spots on our area rugs.

Today, I decided that we are giving up diapers (during the daytime) for Lent and also, that I'd let the kids dress themselves. (Which means they ran around the house naked.)

Because I want to keep up the momentum on that which Charlie started, I figured it worked out to my advantage that I am sick while the kids are (again) in full-fledged potty training. It's necessary to be home and near the potty which is quite convenient since I don't want to leave the house.

Oh, and since Mardi Gras started this past week, I've added a New Orleans twist to the whole potty training pageant. Whenever the kids use the potty - I throw them a strand of beads.

Between 8 AM and the time they went down for their nap at 1 PM, I must have dumped the potty chair at least 50 times and each of the kids were wearing the equivalent of their weight in plastic beads.

I was unable to get anything else done. I would go to the laundry room and start unloading the dryer, only to hear "TA DA!!" and then I'd have to drop what I was doing to dart out and grab beads to toss and the potty receptacle before someone tried to empty it themself.

While I was running back and forth to the bathroom and taking breaks to tend to the baby, the kids started hauling whatever they could out of their rooms, toy boxes, book shelves and cabinets and dragging it out to our family room. There were blankets, sheets, comforters, pillows, stuffed animals, spoons, shopping bags, blocks, dolls, shoes, and anything else they grabbed - thrown in to random piles.

I think my camera is somewhere in there, too. Otherwise, I would have posted a picture. In exchange, here's a cute one of the kids having a jam session. (I think we need to get William a smaller guitar.)

Then the children took turns laying on the ground while their siblings threw pillows on top of them and dog piled on top until they cried. After a few minutes one of the other kids would shout "MY TURN!" and they'd get off, throw pillows and dog pile on the next one until they cried. This went on and on for the better part of the morning.

Because I lack the ability to speak, I said nothing.

I didn't even bother to waste precious energy squeaking.

I suspect it will take me a month to put everything away again.

But then I wonder - why bother? It's a fight against the tide.

All this thinking about what should be done has made me tired, so now I'm going to take a nap.

Before I do ... in case you were wondering ... I did take down that post from yesterday about etiquette school. Because egads, when I jolted awake this morning, the first thought in my ill-feeling head was "Please let it have been a bad dream that I posted that!" and then when I checked and it was actually there, I asked for Charlie to hit me with a rolling pin. Repeatedly.

So there you have it.

Naked potty training. Beads. Don't waste energy picking up after your kids, especially when you're sick. It's kind of nice not being able to talk. And whatever you do: don't post to your blog after you've ingested a half bottle of Robitussin.

the question of resemblance

My mother called today to tell me how much Henry looks like his sisters ... and my brother, Frank. Then my sister called to tell me how much Henry looks like his brother ... and my Uncle Bernie.

The vast majority of people polled thinks that Carolyn looks like me ... Henry looks like Carolyn ... William looks like his dad ... and Elizabeth is a cross between the two of us.

Because Charlie has been home the past two days while I've been recovering from what is surely the flu, I spent some of my "rest" time scouring our digital photo archives from when the triplets were around the same age as Henry. I also scoured our old family photo albums and tried to pull pictures of Charlie and I when we were infants so I could further evaluate this question of genetics and resemblance.

I present the following for consideration:

Our first born, William Charles, Jr. With blond hair and striking blue eyes, he could have been the next Gerber Baby. There are a hand full of blond haired people on Charlie's side of the family, as well as mine. I have been blond all my life. What?! Oh alright!! I was blond without any assistance until I was around 18 (plus or minus 6 years). His ears remind me of my dad's. His ability to talk nonstop without taking a breath reminds me of myself.

Our second born, Elizabeth Jeanne - although I will forever be convinced that she was actually our third born, and switched at birth with her sister, Carolyn Grace. As an infant, her head full of brown hair had blond tips. Her hair is wavy when damp, much like her father, and she has deep blue eyes, with an even deeper blue rim. With some of the expressions she gives me, the resemblance to my sister, Eileen, is uncanny. We have a photo of Charlie's mom taken when she was ~3-years-old (circa 1932) that makes me think Elizabeth's looks may hail predominantly from her father's side of the family.

Our third born, Carolyn Grace - who is most definitely the middle child of the triplet bunch. With gorgeous marbled blue eyes and slow-growing dark brown hair, she did not require her first haircut until her siblings had each received at least five. She is the tallest of the group by two inches, and given that Charlie and his two brothers are all over six-feet tall, I suspect that she gets her height genes from her dad's side of the family. Her singing ability clearly comes from me. This child can really carry a tune.

Our fourth born, Henry David. With marbled blue eyes and light brown hair, my heart skips a beat every time I look at this face ... even when there is drool on his chin. He has got the happiest disposition of any baby I've ever come across. But his inability to embrace the glory that is sleep, comes from neither his mother, nor his father. To date, this child has not slept more than 9 hours at a stretch. Even still, we've decided to keep him.

Mr. Incredible, himself. This photo was taken on his first birthday. He is so darn cute, I wish I could reach back in time 40 years, pick him up and give him a squeeze. What a wonderful gift Charlie's arrival was for his parents. When Charlie was born, his oldest sister, Susan was 15. His brother George was 13 and his brother Steve was 5. His mother thought that she was finished having babies when along comes this surprise baby boy who they lovingly nicknamed "Little Guy." With time, "little" dropped off, but to this day, his family still calls him "Guy".
The sink bather, herself. This photo was taken when I was around eight-months old. Judging from the hot pink sparkled toilet cover ... it was snapped before my mother completed the remodel of our old house on Walnut Street. Growing up, I clearly remember that downstairs bathroom had gold and black fuzzy wallpaper.

If you can't tell who looks like who, perhaps you can tell me what the purpose of tinfoil is over a soap holder. That has always eluded me.

i knew this would happen

Yesterday, I woke up with a sore throat. By afternoon, I had a temperature. When Charlie came home, I was hardly able to move. I was in bed at 6 PM. I wasn't able to fall asleep until almost midnight because the body aches and chills were so bad - even with my mattress pad heater cranked up to high. Within the past 24 hours, I have dumped an entire container of Zicam nasal gel in to my nose.

This morning, I was up at 5 AM with Henry. Unable to get back to sleep, I painfully climbed out of bed, checked my e-mail and then proceeded to reject the 20-something nice comments on my last post about Henry at seven months. Not because of any reason other than the goop that has filled my head is making blood unable to reach my brain.

Charlie, God Bless him, will be staying home today to watch the kids while I moan help me. Now that Henry is on the move, my life just got a little more complicated.

month seven: in review

My baby Henry ... my how you have grown in this past month!


Last month, you rolled over for the first time. This month - I have to stop you from crawling right out the door.

It has become commonplace that I will put you down in one spot - and moments later - find you ten or more feet away, in another spot. The only thing that can stop you is the couch, which I can frequently find you wedged beneath.


You are learning to sit up on your own...

And when you topple ...


You do it with grace.

You very rarely sleep in the Bjorn anymore, because you are getting much too heavy and it is important for my back - and your routine - that you consistently sleep in your crib.


The very crib that your father had to lower to the middle setting one week...


And the lowest setting the next week, for fear that you would fall right over the side.


You have discovered your feet and like your mother, love chewing on your chubby baby toes.


You also love food.


You adore food.

Every food that I have fed you thus far, you will inhale. With the exception of squash.


You love looking at Cheerios.

You love grabbing at Cheerios.


You are mastering the pincher grasp.

Your siblings will try and help feed you...

Although, I have to be especially vigilant that they don't actually feed you, particularly after Elizabeth tried to give you a heaping spoonful of your dad's famous Chili.


You love the swings at the park ...


And story time...


But typically, I will lay you beneath the book, or else you'll pull at the pages and although you may not notice it yet ... that drives your siblings crazy.


Oh, how you love the sound and feel of crinkling paper!

Other than when you tear at their books, gnaw on their toys, or pull at their hair - your siblings treasure you.


You are the quintessential baby doll.


You are full of joy and you completely fill my soul.


Of course I can't say that I'm happy about how fast you are growing up...


But you are delighted.