the dead of winter

This past Friday, I received an e-mail from my friend, Linda.

Linda lives in Chicago, Illinois.

This was a photograph that Linda took on her way to work, Friday morning.

This is a photograph of our children riding their big wheels at the beach Sunday morning.

This is a photograph of our children making sand angels at the beach Sunday afternoon.

This is a picture of our children eating ice cream immediately after they made sand angels, when the temperature started to climb in to the high 80's.

This is a picture of the thermometer in my car early Saturday morning. This was the coldest I have seen the temperature drop, thus far in January. (And this is what I look like with no makeup, five hours of sleep and who-knows-how-many-days-since-a-shower.)

Since my blood has thinned to the point that I had the heat blasting and I still felt chilled to the bone, this is why I highly doubt we could live any place other than Southern California.

Unless, I dressed like this.

a walk in the wild

Last night, as I was going through our digital photo archives, I came across a series of pictures that I took when Charlie and the children accompanied me on a business trip to Palm Springs this past October. On one of the meeting days, we were dismissed early to explore the area. So, Charlie and I loaded up the kids and took a tram ride to the top of Mount San Jacinto.


Please, come with me as I relive the experience.

Mount San Jacinto is at an elevation of 10,834 feet above sea level, and is the second highest mountain range in Southern California. There are magnificent granite peaks, sub-alpine forests, mountain meadows and several hiking trails that allow visitors to explore the high-country wilderness area.

In order to access the mountain from Palm Springs, we hopped aboard the Palm Spring Aerial Tramway which runs from Valley Station at an elevation of 2,643 feet, to Mountain Station which is at an elevation of 8,516 feet.


Once we were off the tram, we realized that we had not planned very well and had consumed almost all of our snacks on the tram ride up. So we decided that since there would be hiking involved, we should probably pick up some additional food supplies at the Mountain Station Shop to bribe replenish the children.

With two large bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, a jumbo bag of peanut M&M's, two apples and a banana and $30.00 less in our pockets, we set off on our hike.

We stopped to observe tree that fallen down across the trail. We counted rings and looked at little worms that were burrowing in to the wood.


We scurried to the top of large rocks and played in the shadows of the magnificent trees.

We tried to pose for a family photograph by using the timer on our camera.


We tried again.


And again, and I started to feel harried as Henry threw out indications that he might be getting hungry and frustrated with all of this sitting and LOOKING AT THE BLINKING LIGHT!! LOOK!!


Finally, success. Although, it does appear William is sprouting out of Charlie's head, I was amazed that everyone actually was LOOKING AT THE BLINKING LIGHT!!


I sat down on a rock and soaked up the sun with my boys.


When suddenly, William hears something. "What is that noise? THAT NOISE? What IS that?!" I replied, "I'm sure it's nothing. Sit. Smile. Soak up the sun. This is God's Country, son!"


"No. Mommy. Good feeling is gone. What is that noise? Over there, in the twee!!"


"THAT TREE. What's that noise??"

Since I was not providing the level of support and protection that was dictated under such circumstances, both William and Elizabeth ran to their father, while Carolyn retreated to the stroller.

"Daddy. What is that noise??"


"Oh, what is that? Over yonder breaks, look children! It's a little squirrel!! See it?!"


Insert blood curdling screams here.


And here.


They tried to climb on top of their father's head.


While continuing to scream.


And scream. And then, under the weight of hysteria, Charlie started to lose his balance...


And toppled like a magnificent tree in the mountain meadow.


The kids continued to scream while Carolyn looked on from the safety of the stroller.


"Are you OK over there? Are you safe? Stay there!! Don't move!! Although not attracted to EAR PIERCING SCREAMS IN A QUIET MOUNTAIN MEADOW, small North American brown squirrels that are the size of our shoe ARE attracted to sudden movements and it will SWOOP OUT OF THE TREE AND DEVOUR YOU with their RABID teeth!!"


The first and only wildlife experience offered a prompt conclusion to our nature walk. The children were terrified to put their feet on the ground, so with Elizabeth on Charlie's shoulders, Carolyn in the stroller, William on top of the stroller, and Henry in my backpack, we began the walk up the switch back trails to Mountain Station.


And up, and up and up we went.


And up. And up. While fellow hikers looked on and asked if we had heard the blood curdling screams that echoed through the still mountain air. Was it a poisonous snake? A vicious mountain lion perhaps?

But at a mountain elevation of 8500 feet, while carrying and/or pushing more than 100 pounds of children, two large bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, a jumbo bag of peanut M&M's, two apples and a banana ... I could only shake my head and gasp, "Squirrel."

favorite thing friday

One of the most glorious things in my life ... is after taking a hot shower, using a nice plush towel to dry off. It might sound rather trite, but in my world, it's the small things that matter.

A few years ago ... actually, about 10 at this point ... Charlie and I replaced all of our thin and scrappy towels with Turkish towels from Restoration Hardware. We bought bath towels, hand towels and face cloths. Soon, we added four more people to our family and these towels - that we use every single day - show no wear.

They are still thick and plush and oh so soft and absorbent.

Last month, when we rearranged our entire house, we turned to Restoration Hardware to buy a few new pieces of furniture. And in return, we received several $20.00 gift cards. The way that they work is for every $100.00 that is spent, 20% is removed from your purchase price. They do not work on sale items, Baby & Child, monogramming or gift wrap. And it's no surprise you cannot receive cash or credit back.

But because I have a self-imposed moratorium on buying anything for the next year (or five), and I would hate to see all of these gift cards go to waste ... if you are looking to buy something for yourself - your home - or some lucky person you know - at one of the coolest stores around, drop me an e-mail at TheAmazingTrips(at)gmail.com and I will send you the discount code you need. Or if you are planning to go on a shopping spree, tell me how many discount codes you need and I'll set you up.

The coupons expire on January 31, 2009 and although they cannot be used on web orders, they can be used on phone orders. I just discovered that they cannot be used on bath towels (which are currently on sale) but there are a whole lot of other beautiful things they can be used on. Any of which I would love to buy for myself if only I didn't have this pesky thing called a "mortgage" to worry about. (And you know, food on the table, lights overhead, clothes on our back.) Sometimes it's tough having to be responsible.

Footnote: While I was writing this post, the house became eerily quiet. And this is what I found. I'm responsible all right!

So uh ... anyone know how to get Sharpie off a child's face?

my, what big eyes you have

This is a picture that Carolyn sketched of me.

I have no arms, legs, hair, ears, nose, or mouth. Nor do I have a double chin. But I do have beautiful eyes and a head that is disproportionately larger than my body.

I absolutely love four-year-old art. Especially since I'm not at all offended when my child sketches me to look like a limbless alien.

wednesday weigh in

Last spring, I joined a fitness group called Moms In Motion. I was introduced to the group through my fellow triplet mom, Jessica, and together the two of us would meet with at least 15 other women, every Saturday morning, and train for a 10K race that was scheduled at the conclusion of our eight-week season.

Becoming a part of this group was the impetus that I needed to start thinking about fitness and healthy living. So even though I took off on a 7,000-mile road trip a week before the race and never completed the "goal" that I had set for myself, I made a lot of progress towards the larger goal of getting in shape.

For whatever reason, or rather - host of reasons - I didn't rejoin the group for the summer or fall seasons. But when I received an e-mail from them a few weeks ago announcing that the winter season was beginning on January 10, I tucked the date in my mind with the thought that maybe I would attend.

But honestly?

When I went to bed this past Friday night at 11:30 PM, I highly doubted that I was going to get up at 6:00 AM to go running in the dark. Yet Saturday morning rolled around and like clockwork, Henry was up at 5:00. He was brought in to bed with us and while I laid there nursing him, I kept thinking that my bed felt so warm and cozy. And the baby was so cuddly. And the house was so quiet. And the triplets were sleeping so peacefully. And wow, this is as good as it gets.

And then, for some reason that I absolutely cannot explain, I moved the baby over to Charlie's side of the bed and I got up. I changed out of my warm pajamas and in to running clothes. I put on the running shoes that I've worn on only three occasions since my second triathlon in October. I grabbed my iPod. A bottle of water. A banana. And I slipped out the door and in to a dark, cold morning.

All the while, I was thinking WHY am I doing this? No one is expecting me. No one even thinks that I am going to be there. I could go back in to the house and go to sleep for quite possibly, the next two hours and no one would be the wiser.

But instead, I climbed in to the car and drove 30 minutes north to our running rendezvous. After 10 minutes of exchanging pleasantries with women who I hadn't seen in seven months, I wrote a check for $80.00 to cover my enrollment in the winter season, I signed up for a 4-mile race that is scheduled for St. Patrick's Day. And then ... I ran two miles.

While I was running - or rather stumbling along and trying not to fall down - I kept thinking that I might never be a "good" runner. Or a good swimmer. Or a good cyclist. But, exercise makes me feel more alive than I normally do, and if it helps me to not morph in to something totally soft and squishy, all the better.

If you are having a difficult time getting or staying motivated, I highly recommend joining a group. The group that I am now a part of, Moms in Motion, has teams in 4 countries, 46 states and 162 cities. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training® (TNT) is another great international organization where you raise money towards cures for blood cancers and in return, receive training and support for a host of athletic events including marathons, half-marathons, triathlons and long-distance bike rides.

Charlie just recently joined a Swim Masters group at the YMCA and three times a week, is in the pool swimming laps with 20 other people at 6 AM. There are a lot of groups out there. It's just finding one that works best for you. But it is my honest opinion that it helps to have support and encouragement.

I'm not sure what the driving force was that got me out of bed this past Saturday morning. But now that I've gone to a meeting and shown my face and written a check for the season, I know that I'm committed and I must continue.

Or, I must quickly plan another cross-country trip.

*****

As an aside: Someone left me a comment a few weeks ago asking if I could post a link to my post on tying my shoes so my feet don't fall asleep. Here's that link.

As another aside: Have you set any fitness goals for yourself this year - and if so - what are they and how are you doing?

i will sleep better tonight

Ever since she has been able to walk, I have noticed that Carolyn walked differently from her siblings. When everyone started to run, she would run differently from them, too. Her legs wouldn't really bend at the knee and she didn't seem as flexible. Instead, she appeared stiff and her gait uncoordinated. Whenever we would go for a walk, within a matter of minutes, she was anxious to be carried or ride.


It just didn't seem right.

Her siblings would be running around and exploring and she would be perfectly content to sit in the stroller and ride. Or, she would collapse on the ground and moan, "CARRY ME! I can't WALK!"

Then, she started to complain that her body hurt. Her joints hurt. Her knees hurt. Her ankles. Her thighs. Her hips. Everything hurt. The poor little dear would be on the verge of tears because she was so uncomfortable. Seeing as she was growing so fast, I attributed her discomfort to growing pains - which made sense considering she has at least three inches on Elizabeth and two on William. But still, I had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

What if there really was a problem?

What if she had a bone disorder?

What if she had a muscle disorder?

What if she had arthritis?

What if it was something even more serious?

So a few months ago, I called to schedule an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. But because the wait to get in for an evaluation can take so long, I've tried to suppress my concerns.

Finally. Today. I loaded Carolyn up and we drove north to meet with the doctor. While we waited to be seen, we watched several people emerge from the office. There were young people and old people. There were people in casts, braces and wheelchairs. We saw one little girl, smaller than Carolyn, who had a severe limp when she walked.

After waiting for 45 minutes and reading through every Highlights magazine in the office, I asked the receptionist if they had forgotten we were there.

Apparently they had, because seconds later we were called back.

The doctor was a nice man in his late 60's. He was warm and kind. He commented on Carolyn's sweet features and asked her where she got such beautiful blue eyes? When she matter-of-factly responded, "GOD!" he laughed and asked her if she had any siblings.

Without hesitation, she named off her sister and brothers and then told the doctor their ages while holding up the appropriate number of chubby fingers as numeric evidence. He took pause and asked, "Did she just say that she has a brother AND a sister who are four-years-old?"

When I nodded yes, he smiled broadly and with genuine sincerity said, "Wow. Aren't you lucky?"

I have found that there are two predominant reactions when people find out that I am the mother of triplets. The first reaction is what I consider to be sympathy. The second is what I consider to be wonder.

I much prefer the latter of the two.

After the doctor told me about his family, the four children he and his wife (whose name is also Carolyn) had in five years, he began his exam.

He checked the motion of Carolyn's legs. Could he bend her knees when she was on her tummy? Could he bend her knees when she was on her back? Could he rotate her legs and evaluate the movement of her hips? He checked her gait. He had her stand on one leg, then the other. He had her bend down and touch her toes.

Then, he ordered x-rays. (Which we had to call "pictures" because Carolyn threw a fit thinking anyone was going to take pictures of her BONES.)

While we were waiting, the nurse loaded her up with stickers. Dora. My Little Pony. Princesses. The radiology technician came to take her back and when Carolyn read the sign on the door, she threw another fit. The technician in a desperate attempt to calm her, loaded her up with even more stickers. Thomas the Train. Puppies. Kittens. Horses.

Clutching no less than 50 stickers, Carolyn begrudgingly had her x-rays taken. And then we were sent back to our room. A few minutes later, the doctor reappeared. He pulled the images up on his computer and after a few tense moments, he told me that everything looked great.

Her ankles, knees and hips look fine. Her hips are aligned with her knees are aligned with her heels. The discomfort that she has been experiencing most likely is attributed to growth pains, especially since the highest incidence of occurrence is usually after she has participated in some kind of physical activity. Like gymnastics. Or soccer.

Or jumping on the couch.

Then, he took his glasses off and leaning back in his chair said, "Just a little while ago, I saw a little girl who is four-years-old. She was adopted from Russia. She has a severe hip dislocation and can hardly walk. She will require major surgery," and then hesitating for a moment, he gave me a solemn look and said, "there could be significant complications."

He chewed on his glasses thoughtfully and continued, "You would be amazed at what I see. Children who come in that might never be able to walk. Children who will be crippled for their entire lives. Children who are born with defects, children who contract diseases or have injuries that will effect them, forever."

"Today I have seen two four-year-old girls. The little girl that just left this office was on one end of the spectrum. Your little girl is on the other end. Your little girl is perfectly healthy. She is perfectly fine." He took my hand in his and he added, "This is my favorite kind of appointment and my favorite news to give." Then he bent down to look in to Carolyn's big blue eyes and said, "I think you might be my new favorite patient."

When we left the office and were driving home, I looked in the rearview mirror at my little girl who was randomly placing her 50 stickers on anything within arm's reach. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

A weight that I didn't realize had been so heavy, until it was gone.

freckles (and a frown)

Someone asked me the other day what type of camera I use.

I actually use two cameras. But typically not at the same time.

I have a Nikon D40X digital SLR and a much smaller Canon PowerShot SD 870 IS. This Canon replaced the Canon PowerShot SD 850 IS that was dropped in to a hot tub in Louisiana. I usually grab whatever camera is the closest, but if I want a clearer image - or a better zoom - I will rely on the Nikon. I really like both of these cameras and some day I hope to read the instruction manuals. Because I seriously have no idea what I am doing, nor the time to figure it out.

So if you think any of my photos look good, it just shows how easy to operate these cameras are. A preschooler could do it. Although preferably NOT when standing near a hot tub.

(Edited to add: The sad face is because her brother sprayed her with the hose. Even though she had sprayed him first. Lesson learned: Being a sprayer is fun. Being a sprayee? Not so much.)

january in san diego

This is how we've been spending our mornings during "home school."


A quintessential winter's day in San Diego.


In the afternoons, we have some kind of activity. Today, it was gymnastics.

Charlie happened to be with me today, so together, we took the children to their class. William is in a boys-only tumbling class and the girls are in a girls-only tumbling class that meet at the same time, on opposite sides of the gym.

While Charlie and I were standing outside with Henry, I could see that William, along with his four-year-old peers, were bouncing all over the place. Because the parents are separated from the students by a large plate glass window, I couldn't hear what the instructor was saying, but it appeared as though he was becoming frustrated with his young class.

When he was trying to get them to stand on the line to do somersaults, and they all took off running for the trampoline, he had to chase after them. And when they left the bars to go jump on the beam, he held up his fingers and started to count.

After about 10 minutes, I handed Henry to Charlie and walked in to the gym and right up to William. I squatted down at his eye level and gave him a stern warning. "William, there is a time to play and a time to pay attention. Now is the time to pay attention. You need to LISTEN to your teacher and FOLLOW instructions. Do you understand?"

In a bout of silliness he nodded yes and then said something that sounded like, "Oooga Jugaaa Looga Mooga! HEE HEE HEE!!!"

I could tell that what my message wasn't sinking in, so I held his arm firmly and repeated, "William, you need to PAY attention. PLEASE."

I let him go to rejoin his class and he barrel rolled in to the group.

Instead of joining Charlie in the lobby, I stood off to the side of the gym keeping my eyes focused on my son's class and hoping that he would settle down. But instead, things seemed to get even more rowdy. It was evident that late afternoon energy stores were at an all-time high as the boys chased each other around, knocked each other down and wrestled across the ground.

I recognized that they were feeding off of each other's craziness, but I stood wondering at what point "typical four-year-old behavior" becomes "down-right-bratty." I didn't want to disturb the class (again), but I also didn't want for my child to act like a tyrant. Even if several of the other children were acting up, just as much.

After watching William take off for the pommel horse for the second time in less than two minutes - when the teacher was clearly trying to keep them on the mats, I stepped in again. Walking briskly towards William, I harshly whispered, "William! Follow me."

I took him in to a private office just off the gym and giving him a quick swat on the rear I said, "LISTEN. If I tell you to pay attention to a teacher, YOU PAY ATTENTION. You are acting naughty out there and I do not like it. Now you will go out there and you will LISTEN to what your teacher asks you to do and you will stop acting like a wild child. Are we clear?"

Instead of responding, he dissolved in to tears.

Sobbing, embarrassed tears.

For the next five minutes, I tried to get him to rejoin his class, but he wouldn't stop crying. Soon, Charlie came in to the gym looking for us and when he saw William, he shot me a look of disbelief. How could I get angry with a four-year-old who was acting his age?

Maybe I need to lighten up a bit?

Although he didn't say either of these things, I know he was thinking it.

So I asked, "Don't you think it's important that a parent steps in when they can clearly see that their offspring is defying authority? Or do you think I should just sit back and watch a teacher struggle?? Would you rather have a child that is respectful and has manners? Or would you rather have a child that behaves as though he was raised by a pack of wolves??"

Considering tonight when we came home from gymnastics, it was dark and our children stood outside of the house and howled at the magnificent moon, I'm worried I might be fighting against the tide on this one.

soul food: when the going gets tough

Over the past few years, Charlie and I will go to church pretty consistently - and then - either someone will get sick or we will have a schedule conflict and we won't go again for several weeks.

(Or several months.)

For the past month - at least since Christmas - we've been going to church every week. But before that, we hadn't been to a service since October. It was when we had gone in October and a new minister was discussing Proposition 8 and Christian views on homosexuality, that Charlie and I were both so agitated that we stopped attending.

But then, it seemed like a whole lot of things happened.

We made the decision to pull our children out of school. I was informed that I needed to return to work full-time in May. We were faced with another opportunity to move. My father's health began to decline, rapidly. My mother was admitted to the hospital for what was thought to be a heart attack. My family began to fall apart at the seams.

I've discussed my religious views before and I've already "confessed" that I don't believe everything that I've read in the Bible. I don't believe everything that I hear during sermons. And although I may not have mentioned it before, I was really turned off to organized religion when I lived in South Carolina during my teenage years. My algebra tutor was a student at Bob Jones University and before we would begin a lesson, he would bow his head in prayer and recite verses from the Bible.

It always made me a little uncomfortable.

Almost as uncomfortable as people who would flat out ask me if I had been saved.

The first time I was asked this question, I didn't know what the person meant and I responded, "Sure. When I was three-years-old, I fell in to the pool and my brother Wally saw me floating face down and pulled me out."

The look of astonishment that I received was almost as bad as when I was having dinner with my Presbyterian friend's family and when her mother reached for my hand to say a blessing, I hesitated for a moment before taking out my well-chewed bubblegum and sticking it in to her extended palm.

Since I lived in the buckle of the Bible Belt, I was frequently asked about my eternal salvation. Eventually, just to avoid the shocked stares and questions, I would answer "Yes, I've been saved." And then if I was feeling particularly daring, I might add, "Praise the Lord!"

But in my heart I didn't feel it.

Not at all.

Not even close.

Still, that didn't stop me from being a part of the church community. If any of the local churches were having a ski trip to the local mountains, I would sign up. Over the course of my teenage years, I went skiing with the Baptists, Catholics, Methodists and Episcopalians.

Yet, I always felt like an outsider.

A total fake, looking in on all of these faithful people.

I'm not completely sure what has happened in me over the past few years. Maybe it was becoming a mother. Or finding a church that really works well for us. But these days, I don't feel like as much of a fake as I once did.

Now, I'm in no way a fundamental religious person. Yet, these days, whenever I go to church and I listen to the message, I am almost instantly transformed in to a better person. Whenever Charlie and I go to church - we are a stronger unit.

We are better parents.

We are more kind, gentle and compassionate people.

(At least for the next 24 hours.)

We are both in agreement that attending church provides us an outline for living a better life. And once a week, we have a full hour together while our children are supervised, to hold hands and listen to good music and an encouraging message. Equally important, we like surrounding ourselves with people who are genuinely kind and are trying to live the best lives that they can.

We don't tithe and we're not members of the church because we're not "there" yet. But we like what church does for us and for our family. So we keep going.

Yesterday, when we went to church, Charlie dropped off the triplets in their classroom and I went to drop off Henry in the nursery. As expected, he threw an absolute fit. When I took a moment to look around, I noticed that there were 10 one-year-olds in the room and only one volunteer baby sitter.

Apparently, three people who were supposed to be there, never showed up. One rogue volunteer babysitter was running between the infant room and the toddler room and she tried to assure me that everything would be fine. They had it covered. But for several moments, I stood debating what to do. Henry was making more noise than the other 10 children, combined.

Do I scrape him off me, jump over his little body and run for the door?

Do I take him in to the cry room so I could still hear the service?

Or do I cut my losses and go home?

And then it was as if the very voice of the Great Almighty whispered in my ear to stay and help.

Even though I'd had an extremely difficult week and really needed to have my spiritual cup refilled, I knew that it was more important for me to be there, sitting on the floor with a room full of toddlers. So I put on a smock and a name tag. And when Charlie came looking for me, I had children other than our own in each of my arms. While Charlie went to hear the sermon, I read stories and blew bubbles. I held babies that were crying and I sniffed out dirty diapers.

And I really enjoyed myself.

Some people can turn to other sources for fulfillment. Maybe they can take a walk in the great outdoors and be inspired by the beauty of nature. Maybe they can write poetry or listen to music or exercise. Or trade stocks.

But I need a little bit more. I'm sure some would argue that I shouldn't be attending a specific church unless I am accepting all of the message. But I think that exact position is what has turned me off to church for so many years, prior.

How could I possibly go if I didn't believe it all?

Nowadays, I just believe that it is important to find a church that you like. And then, go. Listen to the message. Take what you need. Don't be discouraged if you have reservations. With time, you might discover that you are transformed in to an even better version of yourself. I mean, after my first full week of homeschooling and family turmoil, I never would have thought I would have given up a whole hour of quiet time with my husband, to sit with a room full of babies.

I'm sure that counts for something.

how do we get out of here?

I had intended to write a comprehensive post summarizing our first week of "home school" but it's late and my bed is calling to me. Soon, I'll write about some of the activities that have been filling our days, but for now, I'll just say that we've been doing a lot of outdoor exploration and a lot of art.

This is a picture that Elizabeth painted for my Dad, yesterday.

When I asked her what it was, she knowingly said, "Pwayers of Color." As in, there is a lot of color AND prayer that went in to it. My caption at the top reads, "Dear Dad, Just a creation of love for you to help speed your healing. Can you believe that at birth this "artist" weighed 3 pounds?!" Since Dad was with me when our children were born, I hope it warms his heart to see his (once) tiny granddaughter's masterpiece.

This is another of Elizabeth's creations.

She called it, "My Family." Charlie is the tall brown figure on the left, I'm the blue one on the right. The little people from left to right beneath us are William, Elizabeth and Carolyn. Carolyn has recently cut her own hair (again) which is why it looks like a hedgehog has camped out on top of her head.

Henry is still in my tummy. But you can see his feet sticking out my side.

When I showed the picture to Charlie tonight, his first comment was, "These children are a gift from God!" But then after looking at the picture again, he added, "You look a little frazzled. I mean, you have bug eyes and shocked hair. And that smile? You look kinda crazy."

Well. This has been a rather crazy week for me - what with all of the chaos that has been going on with my family. I've spent several hours every night on the phone and several more hours reading and responding to e-mails. But even with the unusual drama that has rocked our world, I think the children are thoroughly enjoying their home school experience.

And the fact that they piled up all of their bean bags and were trying desperately to unlatch the door was not in any way related to them attempting to escape from their bug-eyed teacher with the crazy smile.